I just found out that a dear friend of mine is gay.
With boisterous laughter ricocheting all around her placidly conjured smile, this dear friend declared “Guess what? I’m gay!” A timid smile followed. And for a split second of an eternity I stood there wary of my reaction. The words that flew out of my mouth didn’t strike me as anywhere within the vicinity of polite.
“It’s written all over you tonight.” And that same meek smile of hers resurfaced. Or was it ever expunged at all?
Within the same breath of that nighttime air, only several minutes apart, another friend had confessed in lengthy detail of the phenomenon that is his life, including the romance of his marriage proposal to his then girlfriend and now fiancé, coupled with the turmoil that haunts both of them since.
And I blame all these on three intoxicating glasses of California red wine.
I did not, do not, will not mention any of your names, because I cannot do so. As I am sworn to secrecy, only your reactions to this prose shall ever fan the flames of curiosity of those who are curious, and might in the long run validate their long-standing suspicions about your identities.
It’s just that I cannot be expected to hold so much information with a tied tongue. And although I am keeping my lips sealed, as the stupid cliché goes, modern technology has enabled me to course my ramblings through with unbound fingers and a DSL connection. It is only a question of who is reading.
Keep the grapes fermenting. There will never be enough red wine on earth to untangle a tongue that holds a treacherous secret.
Friday, December 22, 2006
Thursday, November 09, 2006
...starbucks 101...
As I stood in line here in this crowded coffee shop, Seal blasts some words of motivation through the earphones of my iPod. “…there’s so much a man can tell you, so much he can say…”, he goes, as if the words were pervasively written for pseudo-sentimental writers like me stuck on a gloomy afternoon inside a roomful of adolescent socialites enjoying the rush of commercial caffeine in their brains. Seal can’t even hope to spark my opinion now.
In my attempt to strip this mini-society around me and psychoanalyze the people in it, I am facing a blank wall. “…hearts and thoughts, they fade, fade away…” Eddie Vedder softly croons as his song goes into fade, much like the fleeting anti-social opinion I am harboring for these individuals. I get distracted by boisterous laughter, or a whispered gossip from four tables away.
There is many a lesson in psychology to be learned in a place like Starbucks. The new culture that our young have unwittingly created is an experimental haven for psychoanalysis and research. Imagine, a pre-teener whose pubic anatomies have just barely started to manifest, cavorting with fellow pre-teeners while discussing such important world-changing topics as hair gel, or the latest issue of Cosmopolitan Magazine. All these they do over a 200-peso sandwich drowned by a 150-peso caffeine-deficient coffee drink. That’s more than what an average worker earns in a day. In this coffee shop, that amount buys only half an hour. If there’s a new entry on their resume, it’ll be for special skills – able to spend money they never earned in the first place.
And let me tell you about the place itself. Never had commercialism been more influential in our society than when Starbucks was conceptualized. How on earth were we made to believe that a predominantly sugar and foam concoction can be tantamount to Starbucks coffee, and sold at a price roughly equivalent to the GNP per capita of some impoverished central African nation. We really must have placed Starbucks at a very high social regard for it to still continue its existence in the market.
“…can’t stop, addicted to the shindig…” yells Anthony Keidis of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, as if on cue when I mentally asked the question, what makes this almost caffeine anemic assemblage click? The lethal combination of a highly commercialized capitalist entity leading an obligingly clueless society is enough reason for us to re-evaluate our values and outlooks as communal beings. It doesn’t take a genius to know that this partnership translates to more money and societal standards degradation.
“Sir,” the darn barista woke me from my trance, “your Caramel Macchiato, will that be Tall or Grande?”
In my attempt to strip this mini-society around me and psychoanalyze the people in it, I am facing a blank wall. “…hearts and thoughts, they fade, fade away…” Eddie Vedder softly croons as his song goes into fade, much like the fleeting anti-social opinion I am harboring for these individuals. I get distracted by boisterous laughter, or a whispered gossip from four tables away.
There is many a lesson in psychology to be learned in a place like Starbucks. The new culture that our young have unwittingly created is an experimental haven for psychoanalysis and research. Imagine, a pre-teener whose pubic anatomies have just barely started to manifest, cavorting with fellow pre-teeners while discussing such important world-changing topics as hair gel, or the latest issue of Cosmopolitan Magazine. All these they do over a 200-peso sandwich drowned by a 150-peso caffeine-deficient coffee drink. That’s more than what an average worker earns in a day. In this coffee shop, that amount buys only half an hour. If there’s a new entry on their resume, it’ll be for special skills – able to spend money they never earned in the first place.
And let me tell you about the place itself. Never had commercialism been more influential in our society than when Starbucks was conceptualized. How on earth were we made to believe that a predominantly sugar and foam concoction can be tantamount to Starbucks coffee, and sold at a price roughly equivalent to the GNP per capita of some impoverished central African nation. We really must have placed Starbucks at a very high social regard for it to still continue its existence in the market.
“…can’t stop, addicted to the shindig…” yells Anthony Keidis of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, as if on cue when I mentally asked the question, what makes this almost caffeine anemic assemblage click? The lethal combination of a highly commercialized capitalist entity leading an obligingly clueless society is enough reason for us to re-evaluate our values and outlooks as communal beings. It doesn’t take a genius to know that this partnership translates to more money and societal standards degradation.
“Sir,” the darn barista woke me from my trance, “your Caramel Macchiato, will that be Tall or Grande?”
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
...beggars can't be choosers...
It is in melancholy times that I find myself wallowing in my state. In between the hustles of my everyday life that I take small breaths and ponder on what I am, what I had led myself into, and what I might expect at the next turn. My life’s roller coaster is in its downswing at the moment, but only half of the car has turned downward, the rest is in an anticipating stage of curve. I am seated in the first seat and I can see the deep plunge ahead. I am sporting a scream that can’t seem to find its sound yet. The anticipation of falling while seeing to where one is falling to.
My professional life is at a crossroad, one that doesn’t have any direction marks at the corners, neither are there any crossing guards to ask directions from. It is in the middle of a vast land called nowhere. Well, that’s an exaggeration, but a close approximation though. Several weeks from now, I will know where this crossroad would have led me, and whether my decision, if ever and when I finally make one, was leaning towards the better or the worse. I hate this feeling, of not knowing what will happen, or how it will happen, or worse, when. It is like I am being held hostage, or that seven days of waiting for the next episode of my favorite weekly television show.
And yet, on the one hand, I cannot complain. The situation is out of my control, and I am but a simple leaf floating in the gutter after a rain. I am a beggar who doesn’t have the luxury of a choice. This fact, however, instead of consoling, makes everything – the whole situation - all the more exhilarating and agonizing. Now that’s another exaggeration.
On the other hand, I do have a little choice. Even though I cannot choose the scraps that fall off someone else’s table to help me last the day, I can in fact choose which table to wait under. I can choose to stay under this table now, where I am fully aware of the kind of stuff that falls, and be content with its occasional sallowness. Or, I can find shelter under a different table, one where the shoes of those dining are as shiny as my bathroom mirror. There I can surely expect better scrap to fall from the table. Healthy, tasty and more luxurious.
Beggars can’t be choosers, but they definitely can choose where to beg.
In time, this sentimental embellishment might come to pass, or it might not. Still that decision has to be made. And I must weather this lonesome state I am in, until finally somebody tells me the storm has passed. But right now, I must hold tightly on to the rail handles, hold my breath deep, and ready myself for the eventual fall ahead.
This roller coaster is moving.
My professional life is at a crossroad, one that doesn’t have any direction marks at the corners, neither are there any crossing guards to ask directions from. It is in the middle of a vast land called nowhere. Well, that’s an exaggeration, but a close approximation though. Several weeks from now, I will know where this crossroad would have led me, and whether my decision, if ever and when I finally make one, was leaning towards the better or the worse. I hate this feeling, of not knowing what will happen, or how it will happen, or worse, when. It is like I am being held hostage, or that seven days of waiting for the next episode of my favorite weekly television show.
And yet, on the one hand, I cannot complain. The situation is out of my control, and I am but a simple leaf floating in the gutter after a rain. I am a beggar who doesn’t have the luxury of a choice. This fact, however, instead of consoling, makes everything – the whole situation - all the more exhilarating and agonizing. Now that’s another exaggeration.
On the other hand, I do have a little choice. Even though I cannot choose the scraps that fall off someone else’s table to help me last the day, I can in fact choose which table to wait under. I can choose to stay under this table now, where I am fully aware of the kind of stuff that falls, and be content with its occasional sallowness. Or, I can find shelter under a different table, one where the shoes of those dining are as shiny as my bathroom mirror. There I can surely expect better scrap to fall from the table. Healthy, tasty and more luxurious.
Beggars can’t be choosers, but they definitely can choose where to beg.
In time, this sentimental embellishment might come to pass, or it might not. Still that decision has to be made. And I must weather this lonesome state I am in, until finally somebody tells me the storm has passed. But right now, I must hold tightly on to the rail handles, hold my breath deep, and ready myself for the eventual fall ahead.
This roller coaster is moving.
Monday, October 30, 2006
...friendship 102...
I have, just as of this evening, come to a conclusion that friendship is an obligatory relationship much like love. As being the product of chemical reactions in one’s brain a commonality between love and friendship, so is the fact that to consummate friendship, one must enter a reciprocated state, one being described as a “two-way street”. Thus, it is further defined that one party is entitled to demand the same level of attention and affection as is given the other party.
Friendship should be in the highest form of mutual understanding, with the unwritten consent of both parties for equal manifestations of compassion, concern and commitment. I cannot be a friend to you unless you agree that you will be a friend to me. For as long as I find reason for you to be a friend to me, I cannot resign being a friend to you. This is one option friendship simply does not allow me to do. Thus I will continue to provide you with the services a friend gives, with all expectation that you will continue to do the same.
But with the way things are going on between us lately, I just might be forced to abandon this concept.
Friendship should be in the highest form of mutual understanding, with the unwritten consent of both parties for equal manifestations of compassion, concern and commitment. I cannot be a friend to you unless you agree that you will be a friend to me. For as long as I find reason for you to be a friend to me, I cannot resign being a friend to you. This is one option friendship simply does not allow me to do. Thus I will continue to provide you with the services a friend gives, with all expectation that you will continue to do the same.
But with the way things are going on between us lately, I just might be forced to abandon this concept.
Friday, October 27, 2006
...hate me...
i'm a sucker for good words in songs. as i am a lyricist by heart, sans the music, songs like this one never fail to catch my attention. and as i am a very generous person, i'd like to impart with you what this song wanted to say. should you find that you share my passion for intolerably sensitive and icky-ly mushy songs, well, this is one that'll tickle your lyrical palate. look for the mp3, or i can send it to you... hit me back.
HATE ME
Blue October
i have to block out thoughts of you so i won't lose my head
they crawl in like a cockroach, leaving babies in my bed
dropping little reels of tape to remind me that i'm alone
playing movies in my head that make a porno feel like home
there's a burning in my pride, a nervous bleeding in my brain
an ounce of peace is all i want for you. will you never call again?
and will you never say that you love me just to put it in my face?
and will you never try to reach me? it is i that wanted space
Hate Me Today
Hate Me Tomorrow
Hate Me For All The Things I Didn't Do For You
Hate Me In Ways
Yeah, Ways Hard To Swallow
Hate Me So You Can Finally See What's Good For You
i'm sober now for three whole months; it's one accomplishment that you help me with
the one thing that always tore us apart is the one thing i won't touch again
in a sick way i want to thank you for holding my head up late at night
while i was busy waging wars on myself, you were trying to stop the fight
you never doubted my warped opinions on things like suicidal hate
you made me compliment myself when it was way too hard to take
so i'll drive so fucking far away that i never cross your mind
and do whatever it takes in your heart to leave me behind
Hate Me Today
Hate Me Tomorrow
Hate Me For All The Things I Didn't Do For You
Hate Me In Ways
Yeah, Ways Hard To Swallow
Hate Me So You Can Finally See What's Good For You
and with a sad heart i say bye to you and wave
kicking shadows on the street for every mistake that i had made
and like a baby boy i never was a man
until i saw your blue eyes crying and i held your face in my hand
and then i fell down yelling, "make it go away!"
just make a smile come back and shine, just like it used to be
and then she whispered "how can you do this to me?"
Hate Me Today
Hate Me Tomorrow
Hate Me For All The Things I Didn't Do For You
Hate Me In Ways
Yeah, Ways Hard To Swallow
Hate Me So You Can Finally See What's Good For You
For You
For You
For You
HATE ME
Blue October
i have to block out thoughts of you so i won't lose my head
they crawl in like a cockroach, leaving babies in my bed
dropping little reels of tape to remind me that i'm alone
playing movies in my head that make a porno feel like home
there's a burning in my pride, a nervous bleeding in my brain
an ounce of peace is all i want for you. will you never call again?
and will you never say that you love me just to put it in my face?
and will you never try to reach me? it is i that wanted space
Hate Me Today
Hate Me Tomorrow
Hate Me For All The Things I Didn't Do For You
Hate Me In Ways
Yeah, Ways Hard To Swallow
Hate Me So You Can Finally See What's Good For You
i'm sober now for three whole months; it's one accomplishment that you help me with
the one thing that always tore us apart is the one thing i won't touch again
in a sick way i want to thank you for holding my head up late at night
while i was busy waging wars on myself, you were trying to stop the fight
you never doubted my warped opinions on things like suicidal hate
you made me compliment myself when it was way too hard to take
so i'll drive so fucking far away that i never cross your mind
and do whatever it takes in your heart to leave me behind
Hate Me Today
Hate Me Tomorrow
Hate Me For All The Things I Didn't Do For You
Hate Me In Ways
Yeah, Ways Hard To Swallow
Hate Me So You Can Finally See What's Good For You
and with a sad heart i say bye to you and wave
kicking shadows on the street for every mistake that i had made
and like a baby boy i never was a man
until i saw your blue eyes crying and i held your face in my hand
and then i fell down yelling, "make it go away!"
just make a smile come back and shine, just like it used to be
and then she whispered "how can you do this to me?"
Hate Me Today
Hate Me Tomorrow
Hate Me For All The Things I Didn't Do For You
Hate Me In Ways
Yeah, Ways Hard To Swallow
Hate Me So You Can Finally See What's Good For You
For You
For You
For You
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