Monday, October 28, 2013

4th August 2013, Sunday |07:36AM

One Sunday Morning

I just brushed my teeth and washed my face to welcome a new Sunday, but my hands are numb, my head is reeling, and I’m not even drunk.

The questions keep confusing me at this perfect hour of my morning when my heart flaps at speed with not even a teaspoon of caffeine in my blood. Blame it on my future, because I fear that I’m losing it now. 

Each morning, I wake up breathing the cold air, thinking about how to kill the next 15 hours. I feel naked with this routine, ripped of reason and merit. With no work not even play, I recount the times I said these lifeless days should be over. I repeat, these lifeless days should be over. If not, either my life goes penniless with an everyday can of beer or I go lifeless with my sanity all over my liver. All the same every day.

To all the angels and saints, I implore that may these frozen days find their warmth soon, then I’ll start believing again that my dreams are not yet broken.

The irony of my life: There’s plenty of time to rest when we die, Adam Lambert sings, and I firmly believe so in the power of each word put together that one only rests when one dies. It was my life and it has now become my lie.

I have been sleeping a lot these past few days that since yesterday until today’s breakfast time, up to this very second, my brains, my eyes and the rest of me are still working. In the coming days of the coming weeks, I will wander away the comfort of Sonata ready to rest my mind and body from working overtime because of sleeping overtime. I will instead write until I write no more which I hate to say will put me to sleep until I sleep no more. Who needs rest? I do, and I am so dead.

I guess I have to wait for the epiphany whether it happens on the road or in the comfort room, as long as it is here. And I will be waiting patiently for the good news to come out of this gamble even if I am so unsure of its worth. Knowing this is what I want now is enough. I am just scared that what I want is not what I need to get there.

Tomorrow before lunch, I pray that I get unstuck before my anxiety attacks. Yes, I shall find my rhythm. Soon, I shall.
10th October 2013

I am writing today like I'm walking on air, remembering the not-so-good old days when I was not writing.

Monday, August 5, 2013

[First Draft]


Photo by 3GATTI

See the sound move. Listen through your eyes. This bar takes you to a warped world of black and white. Feel the music hit you in this caved space with alive walls and ceilings. Designed by an Italian architect Francesco Gatti, this project gives liberty to digital design in this world of busy reality.

Spot the drinks bar right at the heart of this breathing ground and sip through your plum wine while under the spell of funky live music. When the sun is up, see its light jazzing through. Come nightfall, the yellow-lit space turns into a sweet captive of your dreamy love affair.

Zebra-inspired, as the name suggests, this place offers you an unspoken revolution for your vision, where your love for music becomes re-imagined in a hypnotizing band of black-white walls and white-red wines.


Tuesday, October 30, 2012


Same features :))
Once a kid, I drew my days off with toy guns, marbles, and headless dolls until Mr. Sandman walks me to his world of dreams.  No one played the role of Lola Basyang when I was growing up. No legends colored my night. Stories of curses of giants and dwarves were never told.  No princes with long nose, of the birds and the cowardly encountered. Magical creatures never appeared before my forty winks. If not the games I played, the power of television was the only magic I have known that silenced me until I fell asleep. Yet, I had a fair and blissful childhood. Without the storytelling of how castles in the sky are like, I grew up enjoying reality. I needed no fantasies to learn my values. Bruises and scratches accounted a day’s lesson. The streets and even the trees cultured me. The bicycle marked my leg; yet, I knew all along how well I have been taught. No magic was responsible; I was. And all others around me.

Just when I was exploiting the power of television while waiting for Mr. Sandman, a story was told. I listened to it like a snooping kid I was once. No, it was nothing about kings and queens. Not a tale with enchanted characters. It was far from the world of fantasy. Yet, it painted my night in vibrant colors. It did not put me into slumber, but it did silence me.

The tale was told by a drunken man. No magic spells were involved; his real experiences with the real world were. He began with his childhood. He accounted his growing years with another family until he was distanced farther apart from his own to move to the second another. Those were years divided into days of farm work and nights of school lessons. Not once he mentioned about having the luxury of toys to play with. Two sets of denims were all he had to wear for years in high school. A simple man, he is.

He is a man who had a simple dream of changing his homegrown fate. One Sunday, he left. He hoped. Sure he was that leaving home would let him build his chances for a better future. Only heaven knew what fate his faith would bring him into. He just believed. He never looked back.  Job after job, day after another, the race got harsher. Knowing no other way, he moved forward until he became the man I see every Sunday.

That fair night, I was a kid once more. With my learning eyes, I looked at the man before me who just got off from a feast. It was a feast the man himself hosted. Dishes like no other were served. In that house of marbled floors and brawny stairs, a family of his own is sheltered well. The man’s dream was realized. My ears in full attention to a fulfilled man that he is, I felt the magic in his words played on me.

I was humbled.

His story is not a legend. No fairy godmother made it happen. He is no fictional character. Yet, it is legendary—to him, to me and to all who would listen to it.

I think I just found my Lola Basyang. And I call him Lolo Ilo.

Till his next storytelling.
I may not be old for fantasy stories, but I would rather hear a story as true as his, may it be over bottles of beer. After all, I am no longer a kid.

Author: Rebecca Stead
Publisher: Wendy Lamb Books

Photo Courtesy:

 The most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious. –Albert Einstein (The World, As I See It) 

The mystery enclosed in this book made me commit each significant page element to my memory. No wonder this book won Rebecca Stead the 2010 John Newbery Medal. 

Oops! I suggest you stop reading this review further if you want to savor the mystery in the story. I have done no checking of summary or review before reading this book for I wanted to keep the element of surprise in the story. I wanted the pages to disentangle the mystery for me when it should as I was being warped into the flow of the story. Having done so was the best thing! If not for keeping ahold of myself, the pleasure and appreciation of the mystery would not be this much. 

The tension and the questions were intensely building up as the scheme progressed provocatively. My curiosity to chase after the mystery offset my patience pretty well. 

Things started to boil up when Miranda, a 12-year old New York sixth grader, received a cryptic note just after the emergency key of their apartment got stolen. 

First note: M, this is hard. Harder than I expected, even with your help. But I have been practicing, and my preparations go well. I am coming to save your friend’s life, and my own. I ask two favors. First, you must write me a letter. Second, please remember to mention the location of your house key. The trip is a difficult one. I will not be myself when I reach you. 

This piece of puzzle awakened the kick for this read at this point. The complication came in when she had no clue about who this person was. Surely, this was someone who knew her and someone whom she was helping. All the more, this was a person who knew her best friend, Sal, whom she had no communication with after getting punched by a kid on the block. Concludingly, this was someone who knew what’s coming forth and who would try to prevent the worst from happening.

These mysterious notes nodded danger for her apart from the ‘laughing man’ (crazy bum on the street corner) whom she and Sal tried to avoid for extra caution. At that instant, she’s alone, with Sal not close for any help. 

The presentation of Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time as a featured read in the story and the discussion about the curvature of time-space continuum with the other kids in the story were indications. 

Second note: Your letter must tell a story—a true story. You cannot begin now, as most of it has not yet taken place. And even afterward, there is no hurry. But do not wait so long that your memory fades. 

The four notes she received in total came from the person in her future. This person stole their apartment key with the help of Miranda’s letter that she will be writing. The person went back to Miranda’s present to get the key and left the note inside their apartment, so the letter that Miranda is about to write will include the key location. 

Time traveling for me is a theory of jumping from one point in time to another as it is parallel to space. It’s structured in a way that these time-space points are continuously running their progress, thus going back to my time of birth would mean witnessing it happen real time. 

Unscrambling the mystery powered by this notion of bending the time-space continuum, you realize this is not a tell-all review, don’t you? Oh yes, I won’t empty the glass yet, just taste the spill I have yet made. I know you would not forgive me if I’ll tell you the missing puzzle pieces. You’ll soon figure out the whole picture. You can only tell yourself when. ;p _______________________________________________________________________
This book knows no age, though it’s meant to delight children of 8-12 years of age. Now, this makes me want to read Rebecca Stead’s First Light. 

Monday, October 29, 2012


(a couple of months late. a summary for the bosses. #storyline love)

Celerino Caluag (Tatay Siling), a 67-year-old third generation tenant farmer of their family, was raised in a livelihood of animals, especially carabaos, in Pulilan, Bulacan. He gave up school after finishing his 6th grade to embark on farming where his passion is. He’s the most famous farmer and carabao trainer in Pulilan. He was 9 years old when he learned how to make carabaos kneel. Pulilan is known for its Carabao Festival (May 14 and 15) where hundreds of carabaos are led on a parade in their colorful embellishment. The carabaos are made to kneel down all together in front of the church as a symbol of thanksgiving for the year’s harvest. This is also when the farmers all over the town pay tribute to the patron saint of farmers, San Isidro Labrador. Tatay Siling mentioned having no regrets to this kind of living. Carabaos are with them until now through their struggle for a seemingly rags-to-riches life. He said, “Kung hindi dahil sa kalabaw, di ako makakadayong Maynila.”

The passion for farming was handed down to Kuya Eddie, Tatay Siling’s 41 –year-old son, the fourth generation bearer and unfortunately, the last.  He wasn’t able to finish grade school because he didn’t want to continue his studies anymore. He told his father that what he wanted is a life of farming. At the age of 8, he learned how to make a carabao kneel. The carabaos as their means of living are treated as an additional to the family. When his wife died, he mentioned during the interview, “Yan [carabaos] na nga yung naging asawa ko eh.” When asked about his feeling of being the last bearer since he has no sons and his siblings’ sons are not interested , he said, “Hindi lang ako malungkot. Kumbaga ito na kasi yung kadugtong ng buhay ko eh.”

Last May 14, both of them joined the parade with their carabaos. Tatay Siling brought his 2 carabaos. Kuya Eddie brought his newly bought carabao.
talking to strangers, finding Storyline stories, I terribly miss.

Monday, March 19, 2012


To be honest, it was only by the end of the last quarter of 2011 when the idea of detoxification approached me for the first time. It was through the blog of Bianca Gonzalez and her post about the juju cleanse.  Including 6 bottles of green goodness, this Level 1 (one day) package met me in the eyes but I never entertained it. Even though it is ‘reasonably priced’ as Bianca put it, I did not dare checking the website to know how reasonable it would be for me. I kept this detox idea to the safe corners of my memory for the months that followed. These were months of red labeled food—the grilled, the street and the junk. I’m not forgetting the alcohol. To darken the red all the more, I’m a no fan of veggies. Tell me now who needs some cleansing.

Level One
From Juju Cleanse

Months went by until last night, March 20, I revisited and roused my long forgotten acquaintance. Then and there I checked the website and found out about the price for the one-day package. It’s 2500php. It could be worth the good reasons. However, I need to set a handful of my pocket to one side to avail it for I won’t be buying one package alone. It has to be two at the least because I may need a companion when doing this juice fasting. I did my own research and I found out that doing this would be easier when told to family or friends. Support will stretch my good short patience a bit longer. I hope so. Spending my day eating full meals with snacks in between, I’m not expecting this to go easy. Not at all. Let’s see if I can get this done in a month or two, slashing other expenses first. No malling. No online shopping. No drinking. No hanging out with friends. No extra expenses. Holy cow, just spare my booksale-ing. 

Hence, having my pocket not ready for this juju cleanse, I was introduced to a less expensive cleansing. Point of fact, there’s no expense at all. No need to order all the detox stuff from stores to clear the toxins off my body. Our basic need, WATER , is the solution. And so I started. My clock for this 24-hour water fasting began ticking last 12 midnight. It’s past 1 in the afternoon now of the 21st. I’m trying to keep my mind busy writing. No food thoughts for a while except now that I’m writing about it. The difficulty is eating me slowly. I’m on my third glass now. 7 to 10 glasses, 8 oz. each for the whole fasting duration. Sleeping would be a fine idea in a while.

It wouldn't be the same face in a few hours. I just know.

I’ve read several online articles about this and I’m doing this the hard way. Partial fasting can be done first to condition your body before submitting to the 24-hour water only routine. It would be easier that way.

Give your body a break. Try this at your own pace. Research!

***Read this article for better guidance until you break the fast.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

ISBN 978-971-828-076-8
Original Price National Book Store:  P220.00
Author: Carljoe Javier


Photo Courtesy: Milflores Official Weblog
Carljoe’s short essays in his first book cover diverse topics like being a certified geek with eyeglasses, the panties of celebrities, the dilemma of peeing, teaching at a school for girls, playing with an edgy rock band, and joining a local reality TV show.

-A men’s magazine writer who once believed that being a porn star is a well-paid profession when you get to sleep with hot chicks and still get paid right after.

-A patron who’s the prize in a tug o’ war battle between two ladies of his life… as a video game geek. Such awesome vendors!

-A nosebleed trigger whose English fires bridesmaids with great intimidation making them feel like they’re  ducks not swans.

-A victim of a widespread virus which screwed his memory away with no ifs or buts. If only condoms could protect the spread of this virus, he’ll not be regretting the memory taken away from him. Such an awful digital destruction! Goodbye, Hard drive.                                              
                                                                                                                        Love, Computer Geek.

-An untidy fat man whose secret words of vanity I lingered upon, “I may not care about how I look, but I care that I am heard.” This is a Google plus for you and for your first book worth writing about! ;)
Love, Reader-slash-reviewer.

-A man wishing he’s answering English-related questions when the first date proposal struck him off guard. This is a man who will never bend rules, even for a prom date. Fool, yes? Not really, ‘coz that’s how hard to be a professor in an exclusive school for girls. ;p

-A journo Kuya who figures out if he would use the wider scope of political science, a comprehensive explanation about the capitalist system, Ursula LeGuin story to explain to his younger sister why there are rich and poor people in this world. Lovely sister, in books you shall find the answer.

                                                                                                                     Love, Book Geek Brother.

-A wordsmith delaying his bathroom urges so as not to miss the manslaughter soon to materialize on screen. That’s a film geek coining the word peelemma.

-A target prey for the bullies who used his homework to protect himself from getting bullied. Equipped with his grammar proficiency, he safeguarded himself a spot with the cool ones. And the geek bested the parasites.

-A mutant-turned-human whose super-sweat and super-urine reveal the superhero in him.
                                                                                                                                  Love, Super Geek.

-A rock and roll slave at his own claimed right whose band scares the other enthusiasts to believe in music because of their songs which are about to become an album released soon. That’s a Rock Geek singing, Wag kang sasama, kakan****n ka lang nila.

-A reality show contestant who recognizes that no such force that of Big Brother’s  could influence his play of this game so-called life of a Geek.

And the Geek Shall Inherit the Earth.  May the Force be with you. 

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...

Search Box