To Live In A Rainbow Or To Fall In The Grey

We are all born to yearn, to want, to need, to love. Many times I've found my mind asking itself what the point is in all this. The world is how we see it and yes, it's oftentimes a dark place. No wonder some people consider it hell. I've reached a point once, that even the blood from the wounds I didn't even see, found a way to bleed. But that's a whole other story. I've noticed a trend forming on my friends' blogs: they've all posted their life's bucket lists or to put it in verbatim, "The Things I Want to Do Before I Die."

My religion taught me that our bodies are but temporary vessels for our souls. That we are just pilgrims making our way through. I can't fathom where the curse of humanity is in that. Is it in our bodies that crave for fleshly, earthly, even lustful things; Or in our souls, in the incessant ringing conscience that hold us down when we are about to give in; So it can save itself from hell or non-attainment of Nirvana? Maybe it's the contradiction between the two, no? They lock us all in a paradox. Anyway, there is no point in talking about humanity in general. All men are created equal, yet we are all unique (alas, another paradox). With all the beliefs and agnosticism in circles out there, what you believe can easily be found in the agree-to-disagree basket.

So what am I to do with the remainder of my days? Listing them down in a blog seems shallow, disappointing even, should I look back at it from the not-so-distant future.

I want 'ol Dave to grow in creativity. I want him to think out the box but with a catch: I want his box to be so big that it encompasses those of most people. So, when he thinks out of it, his ideas become remarkable. Like those of Steve Jobs' or Adam Young's. Today, he studies Journalism (speaking of which, a midterm exam is up tomorrow and he has still not done any sort of reading. Stubborn kid). There's hardly any room for creativity.

I want to live in a rainbow. To appreciate the colors, to mingle among them and be reminded of how far I am from whence I was on the ground. But I guess, as the age-old saying goes, you can't have everything you want. I am falling in the grey. Yes, it's opposite of standing in black or white, but sure as hell, it is no place to find contentment. Neutrality? What do you make of that? A view of the positive and the negative with nothing to stand for.

I have, honestly, no idea as to how I'll expand my horizons. How does one become creative? What goal, right? Well, we all live life to the fullest in our own ways. This is mine.

On Animals

(From 8/19/12)

 

Today, I alighted a jeep going home from church. My feet hit the ground and I turned my away as I and my sister made way for the sidewalk. She was going on about buying something from the grocery before heading home; I didn't care about it. I was trying to recognize the wet, jelly-like thing I felt on my foot. I looked down and saw it was, indeed, animal shit. Running over my slipper, reaching even between my toes. I walked home limping, and dodging glances. Good call, anonymous pet owner! You just ruined half my day!

This isn't first it happened time this week. The other day, on my way to school, I boarded a jeepney. I was about to sit when I looked down... to find almost half my pants stained with the same thing. I arrived 20 minutes late and a temp professor was already in, tending to our group meetings. Still, I strolled in without bother, pulled myself an empty chair, removed my shoes and went straight to the bathroom without so much as a "pardon me". I had to wash it with my bare hands. How I did it in detail? Yeah, I'd be glad to share that personally, sicko.

So what, am I going blind? Are my reflexes failing? Is my sense of cautiousness starting to droop? I'm 18, fit as a bull, and I don't think so. My opinion, is household animals here in the Philippines are fucking out of control. 300,000 people are bitten every year, 67 lives on average are claimed by rabies every three months, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who found his foot in a pile of shit today. I mean, come on. This is Metro Manila! A bustling city with 20 million inhabitants; a number bound to again leap up by the next 10 years! What place do animals have among us? The irresponsible outnumber those who answer for their pets: A sign that our country is yet to face more underdevelopment. If you walk down Times Square in New York or Shinjuku in Tokyo, and find a single stray dog, I'd be happy to change what I think. If you ride a scooter through Seoul, or even Kuala Lumpur, and find a cat gnawing something under a parked car, I'd have you to mentor my opinion.

Your transformational perspective could kiss my ass, or better yet, my if-I-ever-assume-office political will. Filipinos will never learn to be responsible (settle down, I'm talking about the majority). If I become a senator in this lifetime, you could kiss your dog that loiters and shits around the neighborhood goodbye. I'll make it a point to license owning animals. I don't care about your freedom to own a pet, I don't want to come home with a shoe drenched in shit when the road gets a little dark, or my unmindful toddler's leg bitten in the future.

The license would require a citizen to prove he/she can confine an animal within his/her property. It would also entail the need to prove that he/she can take care of her pet's waste and needs, so there would be no more throwing of shit wrapped in last week's paper to the empty yard next to you. I would also exterminate stray domestic cats and dogs (or asong kalye and pusang kalye, Aspins and Pusakals as we call it here), humanely. Owner-less aspins and pusakals mind you, are street vagrants in animal form. Except they are more common and they can dump and pee on national monuments without the act being a crime. They can also kill with rabies or give you mange (or both) with impunity.

Many, I'm sure, will frown upon it. Pfft. To hell I care. It's a far-fetched scenario anyway. But, you know, I think that if we are to progress as a nation, we should take care of little things first before handling the big ones. A lot of people are so wrapped up in GDPs, Forex, national growth indexes and reproductive health bill opinions, and here I am, connecting stray animals to national progress because of what happened this morning. Ha ha.

Disorganized

I can't think of anything to write. Kind of ironic considering how talkative I am. But that isn't exactly anyone's fault, is it? No. It's mine.

In a hotel last week, I shook hands with yet another experienced journalist. Can't exactly recall his name, but it's something close to Luis Castillo or so I think. He said that to be a good journalist, one must continuously read. In verbatim, he said it like "Tandaan niyo 'to, para maging magaling na journalist... Tandaan niyo 'to and someday you will thank me. To be a good journalist, you must read and read and read and read and read." Yup, he said it with matching hand signals to emphasize. I guess you are only as good a journalist as you are a good reader, but again, like all thoughts that cause the receding of my self-confidence, that's subject to change. You need to be a good observer, too. You need to be objective, accurate, charismatic, straight to the point, and the list goes on. Who knew it'd be this much fuss to be a writer? If my neighbor saw a meteorite pummel down the opposing house and wrote about it, does that make him a journalist? I guess not. But if he has a degree in journalism, does that make him one? Maybe no, maybe so. If he has an agency that puts him on an editor's leash, does that make him one? I guess it does! I'm not belittling journalists, I just may not know what makes them a cut above the rest. The Information Technology people know how to create programs in codes and numerals that half the time change the way we live. We now have iPads and phones named after fruits. The guys over at the Engineering building graduate with what it takes to build common houses to skyscrapers. Thanks to them, people don't mold walls and roofs barehanded with clay. The guys at fine arts master human expression. Without them, we are all walking machines without identity. But what does a journalist do that leaves a mark on the world? Is our greatest purpose confined to writing war journals and insider scandals? Is it talking about issues that lead society down a dark path? Is it to cater to the people for market? Is it to cater to the government for propaganda? Is it to cater to our own? The last one seems an inviting option, but we already have Jersey Shore and Teen Mom for it (pfft, shit). Someone enlighten me...

The read and read and read advice is one I'll probably remember for a while. I have not actually read a book yet. You know, under my own will, as a pastime, without an authority requiring me to do it? I know of many people that form love affairs with such objects, these books. I know of people, too, that hate reading some (namely Twilight) like they hate themselves, as if they're off to better its story. I can read well. Fact, I've always joined reading comprehension contests way back; not to brag. 

We all have those friends who walk in dreams and are willfully absent to the present. I, on the other hand, have no trouble dealing with reality. (Well, almost). Dreams are just too easy.

I don't want to turn into one of those people who prefer locking themselves up in solitude to camp on other people's printed daydreams. You know, those people who are awkward in parties, who occasionally drift off in the middle of a conversation, who dream of being a literary being... Newsflash! Don't date a writer. Unless you're prepared to put up with a weird eyeglass-wielding introvert, down on a road to poverty the rest of your life. It's a shot in the dark they make it into today's competitive market. And creative writing is such a make it or break it kind of field...

Heading back to the read and read and read advice, I've just noticed how reading has its edge. People whom I've known to be bookworms normally have the best vocabularies. They also have the brightest ideas though most don't really apply in reality. They also write more, let's say, better than most people who post all they want in the internet. Perhaps reading is habit-forming, so yes, I'll start but only to continue in moderation. Haha. Man, I made such a great deal out of this. I better pick up a book.

*Sigh.*

Napakarami naming requirements sa college ngayon. Kung tutuusin, dapat matuwa ka kung estudyante ka. Sa gawain ka raw gumagaling, e. At dumadating 'to sa napakababang presyo; buong-pusong handong ng PUP. Kung baga may ari ka ng kutsilyo, at halos nakakalibre ka ng hasa.

Konti pa at matatapos na naman ang semestre. Kung isasama ang Christmas break at bibilangin ang mga araw, aba, nakalagpas kalahati na kami. 'Di ako makapaniwala. Wala akong natatandaang effort o hard push, 'ika nga sa Ingles, na ginawa ko ngayong sem. Wala akong gana gumawa. Ba't ba 'ko nagkakaganito? Himayin nga natin. Tignan natin ng malapitan kung ba't hindi ako grade conscious, kahit kung tutuusin raw, hindi ako mahihirapang grumadweyt ng maraming nakasabit sa leeg.

'Yan ang mga gawain namin. Naipon lang siguro dahil midterms na. Wala ni isa sa mga 'yan ang makakatulong sa 'king mapag-igi ang pagsusulat ko. May kaibigan ako, si Erika. Kaklase ko siya dati sa PUP, pareho kami ng kurso. Pero matapos lang ang isang taon, lumipat siya ng UP para mag-aral ng Communication Research, isang kursong mas nakatuon sa facts and figures kaisa sa style and substance. Nung kinausap niya 'ko at binalitaan sa paglipat niya, inisip ko rin na sumunod. Pero dahil mahirap iwasang ulitin ang pagfe-first year sa isang unibersidad na wala akong kilala at maraming proseso pa ang dadaanan, 'di 'ko na lang tinuloy. Big mistake.

Ngayon, ang buhay ni Erika, e happy-go-lucky. Nakabisita ako sa kanya nitong nakaraang buwan at ang ginawa lang namin, kasama ng org niya, ay manood ng indie film, pumunta sa art exhibit, uminom dun, at magkwentuhan sa KFC. Sa tono ni Eka, e wala talaga siyang pakialam sa mga grado niya't performance. Pero akalain mo, parang ako pa 'ata ang kailangang magpaturo sa kanya kung pa'no magsulat ng mas dinamiko't nakapagbabago sa isipan ng iba. Parang noon lang, tinatawanan ko pa ang grammar niya sa mga status updates sa Facebook. Kahit kailan, 'di ako nakadama ng ganun sa ibang kakilala, kahit karamihan, e mas matalino sa 'kin at nag-aaral rin ng pamamahayag.

Magtatapos na ang sem, walang improvement sa 'kin! Totoo nga siguro ang sabi nila na 'di talaga grado ang sukatan ng galing, pero shit naman 'di ba. Kung ganun, bakit humihilig sa 'kin ang sandamakmak na requirements na 'to? Ang bigat, mawalang galang na. Para saan sila? Hay nako naman.

Shit.

Maybe this is just my frustration talking. Makagawa na nga. It's a shot in the dark, you know, beating the system. First up: Sports journalism requirements...

Parental Advisory: Soft Porn Content

If you're a parent, you'll like this. If you're a kid, you will, too. If you're both looking, you won't.

Many consider us Asians as, well, lacking. In d-cups, in leisurely sized lips, in bubble butts, and in government. But I prefer to differ. See, Brazilians were born bearing what, two times our body mass? So they are taller, leaner, and bigger than Asians in general. It isn't surprising then, that they're given much more by virtue of flesh. In men, the average size of a penis (though it very seldom matters) is 5-6 inches here in Asia. Westerners pack about 6-8. And you still wonder why most if not all of your porn is American.

But do not underestimate us. In our orients lie beauties unquestionable. And I'm not talking landmarks here. My past romance(s) are Asian-Koreanovela type(s) so it's kind of weird, I guess, that I have a fetish for Asians. Not that the past has anything to do with my sensuality, it's just, weird I think. But enough getting personal. Here are the main and only (and skin-deep) reasons why I love the Asian crowd:

1. Looking flawless in action.

It's simple soccer give-and-go. They're all muddied up. And what is up with those silly numbers on their skin? But man, just look at that. This scene is just as flawless as the girls remain. Proving how important how you look like in motion: just another day in Asia.

2. Sexy without the mainstreamed bumps.

Bulging boobs and stick-out butts have always attended to man's animal instincts. But Asian is a race where someone is still perfect without them. I'm not talking about the it's-what's-inside-that-counts bullshit some teacher taught you in kindergarten. For one, we are naturally slender (or at least most of us are). We're also less prone to pimples, freckles and spots. These girls look like porcelain dolls on a bad day, which is good.

3. Close-ups are good.

Most of the picture shows a woman deadened. She doesn't have an expression at all! The other third shows a woman in tears. I think it's best not to care about balance and  technicalities. You don't have to, to appreciate the forces at work here. I think, if I was there brushing the tear off her cheek or touching the lead girl's face, it'd feel like touching silk.

By the way, my fave Asian group is SNSD from South Korea and I'm 0% gay. So fuck all you stereotypical people.

Take note, these are only top 3: There are many other reasons, I just don't feel like writing about them anymore. They're freaking innumerable! The question still stands: am I weird for such a fetish? Maybe no, maybe so. But what the hell. We're all individuals.