Painful to be Private Preoccupations [Part VI]

VI.

At last, I’m finished with the final revision on my thesis. I’m quite lucky that the modifications I have to do are only minor ones, and now I have polished and printed all three copies of it, two days before the final “finally”. I already had my own copy unbound; I am keeping the most untidy one for myself. I need binder clips for this so I go outside to buy some. Outside, I see Joyce sitting in the pavilion, sighing through what seems to be her homework. I sit beside her, ask what she is doing and she answers it’s her assignment in logic. She tries to apologize for our postponed appointment, and I interrupt her, telling her that it’s fine. I don’t want to talk about it, have no reason to blame her because her excuse was legitimate anyway, do not see a reason why I have to pour it on her because it would only convey that I am still preoccupied with it, that it’s really a big deal for me (was it?). We chat idly while I massage her hand, her perfect small—

“Ano ba yan, nagpapawis.” I say.

“Heh, yabang!”

We kid around; tease each other while going through her assignment. Her classmates pass by, look at us, then to our hands and we are given a look like we’re burning crosses. When they leave, they say something that Joyce denies, out of my earshot. Then I hear a sigh.

“Zaldy…”

“Bakit?”

“May ishe-share ako sa ‘yo.”

“Mamaya na, samahan mo muna ako sa Asturias. May bibilhin ako.”

“Ano?”

“Binder clips para dito sa thesis ko.”

We leave the pavilion and head for a bookstore outside the campus. It’s almost noon, the summer heat begins to be unbearable. When we arrive and I pick out some binder clips, she says something.

“Zaldy, alam mo ba, nagparamdam si ex kagabi. Nagtext siya sa ‘kin—”

“Wait Joyce. We’re not going to talk about your ex boyfriend. What we’re gonna talk about is how are you going to have fun with me.”

“Ha?” she says, her mouth agape. “Ok, sige.”

“Tara na, balik na tayo sa AB. Malapit na ang klase mo.”

We part ways when we arrive at the lobby. She is caught off-guard, dumbfounded by my remark. This girl, she might be thinking that I am her friend. Well, I am, but not the friend-friend sort. She is not on her toes, not calculating enough, not seeing that things are pulled taut. Is it not obvious to her yet that I like her? Does she wants me to tell her that first before we go out? It’s too conventional, which of course I am not. Actually, I planned on telling her what I feel the day I was to take her out for lunch. It seems that she has trouble sensing and confirming subtle clues about these things. Then it dawns on me that I have another problem: that she does not know how to flirt. This means that I would be having a hard time because half of the things that I would express would be meaningless to her.

□ □ □

It’s our final examination next week, and I am feeling something weird. Half of me is feeling relieved, as it would be my last exam in my stay here in the university. No more expensive tuition, cluttered boarding houses, last-minute ironing of school uniforms and unbelievable deadlines from demanding professors. But at the same time, the other half of me is missing it already. Before, I was often told that high school is the best, that college would be boring and too pedantic, but now I defer. Though I am not certain that college topped off my high school life, I’m sure that they’re at least even. High school never gave me satisfaction on my intellectual vanity—college just did that. My high school peers always thought that my line of thinking is weird, that I was being too unconventional, misshapen because I’d rather be in Book Sale alone than be with them at Penshoppe, window shopping. They still think so now, but I have my theories and paradigms to back me up, to show them that I am doing not only what I want but what I need to do, I as a denizen of the growing penumbra between mainstream and alternative. Years ago, I also told a friend of mine, while drinking brandy mixed with Sunny Orange coating our throats, in a snug condo unit, that if I’m not getting any girlfriend in college, it would probably turn out that having one in the future would be impossible too. We both had some hearty laughs about it but now that I remember it, I’m feeling a bit concerned. With the semester ending in three weeks—a week for senior students—it’s one of my top preoccupations now, and I am dubious if I could make it.

It’s The Hour of Great Mercy, and I go to the faculty to submit my thesis to one of my panelists. I see Joyce in the lobby and I invite her for a snack. She concedes, then begins to complain about her school work.

“Ang dami-dami naming ginagawa! Magkakaroon na ‘ko nung… ano’ng tawag dun? ‘Yung puting buhok?” she pulls up her hair, “Ayun, unat! Magkakaroon na ‘ko nung unat!”

“Huh? Eh uban kaya ‘yon!” I say, cackling.

“Basta ‘yun na rin ‘yon!”

This Alabang Girl needs a Filipino dictionary; this is not the first time that she said something that exhibits her being tongue-tied on the language. I almost always feel disheartened because of people like her whose tongues—and therefore mindsets—are fluent with foreign words without being on average on speaking the national language. But then again, why is she using that old-model cellphone? Well, it’s not my business anyway.

After walking idly outside while still telling me that she cannot believe the end-of-semester requirements that they must work on, she realizes that she isn’t hungry after all.

“Eh ano palang ginagawa natin dito ngayon?” I ask.

“Ewan. Ikaw kasi eh.”

“Anong ako? ‘Di sana hindi ka na lang sumama, nakakapagod maglakad, sobrang init na.”

“…”

“Ang mabuti pa ihatid mo na lang ako sa AB.”

“Ano? Ayoko nga, babae kaya ako.”

“So?” Although she is refusing, backing up her static-gender-oriented reason earlier, she is in fact walking me back to the lobby of our building. I think of cognitive dissonance. When we arrived, some of my classmates see us. I introduce her to them and even before my classmates could pull off some jokes at my expense, she excuses herself after seeing her classmates and leaves us, waving. When they are gone, Ces, a friend of mine, speaks to me about her.

“Siya pala yung Joyce.” She says.

“Oo, siya nga”

“Saan kayo nanggaling nyan?”

“Sa labas, dapat kakain. Eh hindi pala siya gutom kaya nagpahatid na lang ako dito.”

“Ay ang kapal! Ikaw pa ang nagpahatid. Mahiya ka naman, freshman lang yun, ang bata bata—”

“Manahimik ka. Wala na akong kaso dyan, 18 na yan.”

“Kahit na.” We chuckle as we kid around with both our ages, then I tell her that I’ll just drop by the faculty room to submit my thesis. When I arrive, Ma’am Gamo is there and she asks me something appalling.

“Hoy Zaldy! Nanliligaw ka ba sa presidente ng 1jrn2?”

“Po? Sinong president?” I deny, smiling nervously, my face admitting it.

“Kunwari pa ‘to, eh ‘di si Joyce!”

“Hindi naman. Bakit po ba?”

“Eh tuwing magkaklase ako sa kanila eh ikaw ang tinatanong sa akin ng buong section, tapos hinahanap ka daw ni Joyce. Ikaw ha, kaya pala kahit na tapos na ang Bilibid nakikita ko pa kayong magkasama.” I tell her it’s nothing, barely managing to hide my grin. I bid farewell to my professor and leave the faculty room, still chuckling. Now even their whole class knows the score, but she doesn’t seem to acknowledge it. The issue, I hope, would be an edge, would be a background to amplify even more that which is already obvious. Social proof!

Later, when evening arrived, I and my classmates went out drinking in one of the drinking potholes around the university. Everyone seems to miss each other already, drinking every other night after school, taking advantage of the fact that we all have only a few requirements left before the final examination. When we finished, we got out to the street to hail a cab for our other classmates. Then I and some of the ones left started walking towards Ces’ apartment. When we were at the front of the campus’ gate, we saw a group of students in uniform—Joyce and her friends. I introduce them to my classmates. One of them, Jen, looks at me and says something totally unexpected.

“Kuya Zaldy, kailangang lumabas na kayo ni Joyce!”

“Ha? At bakit naman?” I ask

“Eh tingnan mo nga, ang lungkot lungkot niya oh.”

“Ganun ba? Sige.” I look at Joyce, broken, haggard from all the school work she has been doing and whatever that reason that made her lonely tonight. She is lost in thought, her eyes heavy and flushed—she appears to have been crying a while ago. She is staggering, her feet dragging something heavy at every step. Her classmates hail her a jeepney and we bid farewell after she boards on it. I head my way back to my boarding house.

I want to know what happened, the cause of her teary eyes earlier. Is it about the person she wanted to talk about with me before? It might, it is. Her feet appears to be so heavy, every step filled with weary hesitation, as if they were chained to something that prevents her to walk, to move forward. I’m perplexed, at a loss for an explanation. Another piece of the puzzle appears before me, only to discover that it doesn’t match anything, the piece being another riddle itself. I know that this is not the time to be perturbed about what she thinks but I can’t help but worry, worry that this is another obstacle, that this would be both our preoccupation for a while that we would try to put aside—a stone that stubbed our toes that we would both try not tripping over again.

Painful to be Private Preoccupations [Part V]

V.

I am staring at the monitor for almost half an hour already, trying to edit a poem even though it became obvious to me a while ago that it would be futile to do so, because at the moment, I am preoccupied with something. Joyce would be arriving soon here in the office to conduct an interview with me regarding the community service projects in Bilibid. At first, she wants to have it on the phone, but I wouldn’t have that because I have no phone in my boarding house. Besides, it’s another chance for us to be able to know each other more, a possible entry for me to ask her out.

A knock on the door, here she is.

“Sorry late ako.”

“Anong petsa na?”

“Eh kasi…”

“Hindi, joke lang. Ayos lang yun.” I motion for her to sit down. She sits on the chair in front of me, the punching bag. I begin to be a little thoughtful of my words, trying to make them more memorable. I am energetic but not too eager, not maintaining eye contact too long. I cross my legs. How? The manly way or the womanly-elder man’s way? If I do the latter, would she think I’m gay?

We go quickly over the technical aspects of the programs, and then she asks me to tell more about of the projects and events spearheaded by Sociology. She is surprised that such programs do exist in the faculty. She begins to tilt her head, an indication of interest—and attraction!—and so I make big gestures pointing to this and that, using my hands as parentheses to emphasize ideas. She begins to smile while nodding, and as I look into her pupils I see them dilate, and I see not only a dating possibility but something more. This is not a mere interview any longer but a merging of souls, friendship transcending into—

“Patingin ng mga pictures ng immersions nyo!”

— We go to the computer and I show her the pictures, and I wonder if this would increase my chances with her.

“Wow… may ganoon pala sa AB.” She says, eyes widened.

I check the time and tell her that her class would be starting soon. She gets up and fixes her things, thanking me. Then I get an idea.

“Ano ‘to, TY?” I say, grinning.

“Ha? Ay token! Eh kasi wala akong…”

“Ok lang yun.”

“Teka, ano bang gusto mong—”

“Wag mo nang alalahanin, kontakin na lang kita pag nakaisip na ‘ko. Tara, hatid na kita sa taas.” I open the door and start walking with her while chatting idly. As we reach her room, her classmates looked puzzled, seeing us together, walking side by side. I open the door for her.

“Salamat ulit ha.”

“Wala yun. Yung token ha.”

“Oo ba, bye.”

“Bye.”

I walk back to the office, smiling to myself. Now I have to think where we would go out as her “token” for the interview.

□ □ □

Today is Luncheon Meat Day, and as the name implies, I would be eating that canned food for lunch and supper. It’s almost a week after I went to the grocery store to buy a 10-day supply of instant food for me to eat while saving for this day. It’s like the first two years of my college life: eating instant food for weeks, even months, usually sardines, even tuna was too expensive for me then. When I get a little lucky, I’d cook and store adobo way back then, eat two or three morsels per meal for one whole week—even when it’s sourness would be too inedible for human consumption. When I’m short of luck and allowance, usually because of voluminous and expensive readings, I’d resort to eating fishballs, adidas or betamax during dinner, my plate overflowing with the sauce, would keep some for breakfast the next day and hope that days like this wouldn’t come again while knowing all too well that that’s not the case. I don’t know how I survived, how I don’t have stress-caused nodules on my chest anymore like the ones I had two years ago, must be a trick I somehow pulled—a jump from the stratosphere, the hiding of Eiffel tower.

Hours later, I’m at The Flame office, playing a computer game, while waiting for 1jrn2 to be dismissed. Today I would be taking Joyce out to lunch, even though it’s almost 3:00 pm, as I know she haven’t eaten yet because of her class schedule. I am determined to give her a new experience this day, would be dining in a restaurant she haven’t dined in yet, absolutely no fast food but a healthy meal. When its five minutes away till her dismissal, I go to the restroom to wash my face. When I returned to the office, our literary editor, Ron, is grinning, hands on his lap, and begins to tell me something. This is gonna be good.

“Uy, may naghahanap sa ‘yo kani-kanina lang ah. Yung freshman yata ‘yun.”

She’s already looking for me, I knew it! I’ve seen this coming, the eagle has lan—

“Marami daw siyang gagawin eh. Pasensya na daw, hindi daw siya pwede ngayon.”

I sit, slumped on a chair in front of the computer. I send her a text message asking where she is.

“’Yun na ba ‘yun?” Ron asks.

“Ha?”

“Yung freshman na dinidiskartehan mo raw, siya ba yung pumunta dito?”

“Ah oo, si Joyce. Bakit?”

“Hindi naman pala maganda eh.”

“Ano?”

I can’t believe his comment. I look at Ron with disbelief, then scorn. I want to pop his skull like a water balloon. And that FHM calendar! I’m leaving anyway. I stand up; go to the lobby not knowing what to do. I scan the place while pretending not to look for her. It’s stupid, really. Ron already told me that she was too busy, and I am here, still looking for her, assuming that she is still here in the building, perhaps idling in the corridors. Busy people have things to do, busy people are on the move. But still I am here, doing this, because I am a stupid person who does stupid things. She is not replying yet.

I return to the Flame office, where some of my friends have arrived, playing cards. I sit again on a chair. I sigh, feel my head getting heavy so I massage my temple with my fingers. As expected, Ron already briefed them about what happened. They begin to tease me, and we all have a few hearty laughs about it. Then they ask me what I would do now. I kid around, telling them that the question must be posed on Joyce, as she is the one compelled to do something now. After someone suggests that we eat merienda at Asturias, we all go outside.

I don’t know what this means. It’s the first time someone I asked out canceled it the last minute, and to be honest, I’m quite surprised, caught unarmed, not anticipating this. I’m thinking what prompted her to do so, what kind of activity she is doing right now that she cannot be bothered with anything. I must find a way to ask her out again, while not implying that I must, so that she would not think that I am needy, since I am not. We arrive at a burger stand in Asturias; I open my wallet and look at my savings. I order a footlong sandwich and a fruit shake—it’s the first time in a week that I am to eat something that’s not out from a can.

Painful to be Private Preoccupations [Part IV]

IV.

It’s mid February, and it seems to be unseasonably cold this morning so I hasten my pace. Even though I just slept for about six hours last night, I feel refreshed. I’m quite excited today because it is the first day of the two-day Exposure Trip to Bilibid Prisons that we have organized, even though I have been there for several times already. I am walking towards the university and as I enter the gate, I saw the buses already lined up beside the catwalk, warming up their engines. Half of the students have already arrived, and some of them greet me and I return it with an upward jutting of my chin or a simple wave, while I begin calling our staffers, giving orders and checking things that are to be checked. It’s routine, really—it’s my sixth time being an usher, my fourth time being the organizer.

But because I want to impress someone in her usual long-skirt-and-unbuttoned-bottom-button-blouse attire this morning, I do this in another manner, as casual as I can, maintaining elegant composure all the time. I squint, almost whisper, make significant gestures while minimizing facial expressions. I begin to move and speak like a secret service agent, short on details, half expecting that my staffers already know what to do because I have briefed them already. I pace around the catwalk, snapping my fingers, attending to stupid and redundant questions of cheeky boys holding their guitars because they were not attentive to the orientation we gave two weeks ago. And even though I am pulling this off, I’m suddenly startled when a girl gives a scream from behind, greeting me. Chesca, as I expected.

“Kuya Zaldy, asan na si Ma’am Gamo?” she asks. She is wearing an orange jacket.

“Nandon na sa Bilibid. Taga-Cavite kasi yun kaya hindi na pumunta dito, sayang lang, so dun na nya kayo imi-meet.”

“Ha? Eh pa’no yun, sinong kasama naming prof sa bus? Akala ko ba sya?”

“I’ll attend to that later.” I lie, because I have been planning to be with them in the bus in place of my professor. Then I tell Joyce, who is beside Chesca, “Buti hindi ka tinanghali, hindi ka na-late.” And before she can answer, I follow up, “Get a large piece of paper, write the name of your section, ilalagay natin sa windshield mamaya.” She wants to clarify something and because I am a master of strategy, I assume that it’s not really necessary; I turn around and go to the other sections to tell the same.

I am determined to purposely ignore her a bit this morning, because we already chatted last night via our cell phones, and it is not very advisable to drown her with my attention now because it’ll just bore her. Besides, it conveys too much interest, and I cannot afford that, it’ll be such a waste not to keep her guessing about my motives, not too keep her a little confused, not to keep her thinking of me. I need to build and consolidate attraction because now, I think I’m beginning to like her, as cynical and critical as I am of such things, like, say, her current thoughts and preoccupations which I had a glance last night. At the same time, it’s not really good thinking and being preoccupied too much of what she thinks, as it would only consume my time and energy instead of thinking what I really need to do to ensure that what I am feeling would be reciprocated. Anyway, you’d be surprised if you’ll know how seldom people think about you. Always anticipating, not to mention worrying, about what other people think of you would only lessen one’s confidence, and I don’t want that to happen to me while trying to date this girl. And because I am not a chump, I plan such things so as to lessen the probability to fidget and get tense while, say, asking someone out, though not too much because of the same reason mentioned above aside from the conventional wisdom of being spontaneous.

A half hour later, the students boarded the bus. After checking all the things that needed to be checked with the other buses, I climbed up to the one that I would be ushering—1jrn2. I tell everyone to settle down. After realizing that they wouldn’t, I dig the sarong in my bag and wear it around my head, and then I stand up and tell everyone to settle down because we’re leaving in a minute. The class shut up, surprised with what I was wearing. Somebody asked me if I am a Muslim, which I denied because I am not. Then:

“Kuya Zaldy, bakit ikaw ang nandito sa bus namin?” someone asks.

“Siyempre, sub ako kay ma’am Gamo.”

“Baka naman dahil nandito si Joyce!” the class laughed. Dianne, a staff of the exposure trip, was giggling on her seat opposite to mine. She knows about Joyce.

“Ah oo,” I replied, rolling my eyes “magdasal na tayo.” I lead the prayer and thought that I’m getting used to this teasing, and I’m sure more of it would come after the trip. Joyce was sitting in the back, which disappointed me. Now every instruction that I would give her would be needed to be relayed to her other classmates or sent to her through text messages. On top of that, I’ll not gonna be able to talk to her en route to our destination.

“Paano ba yan kuya Zaldy, nasa likod si ms. President?” Dianne said, still chuckling.

“Babawi ako mamaya.” I replied.

To keep the class from being bored, I entertain some questions regarding their professors and subjects, the current events in our faculty and the people behind it while speaking through the microphone. I kid around with them, particularly with the girl wearing the orange jacket, who is as lively as always. I also gave some advice about their academics and when the topics were exhausted, I sat and waited for the bus to arrive at Bilibid.

□ □ □

The program went on smoothly earlier. The participants were entertained by the presentation of the inmates, the inmates were happy to see new faces to mingle with during the lunch break. Seeing it all happen, it makes me realize, time and time again, that our effort and time for preparing activities such as this is worth it. This day again confirmed my thought that trips like this are badly needed by such institutions.

I am still wired from my nap; I look out the window and notice that we are in Lacson already. Its rush hour and the traffic is murder. I look at the seats in the back and saw Joyce combing her hair, she just woke up too. I call her and tell her to sit beside me. She reluctantly agrees and plows her way through the isle with some of her classmates on their seats in it. Dianne is smiling from her seat opposite mine, I am given a look. Then the president finally arrives.

“Bakit ba? Ang kulit mo ah.” she says.

“Dito ka nga. Mag-uusap tayo” I say. She scoffs and sits beside me. “So kumusta yung program?”

“Ayos naman, astig.”

“Nagwawala ka noong tumutugtog na yung rock band nila ah.”

“Oo nga. Astig kaya! I mean, Wolfgang pa yung tinugtog, gusto ko yun eh.”

“Buti na lang matino pa ang taste mo. Hindi pogi rock.”

“Oo nga. Paano kayo nakakapag-organize ng mga ganito?”

“Mahabang proseso, minsan hindi ko na rin alam kung papaano nangyayari.”

“Kailangan ba talaga sa Sociology majors yun?”

“Hindi naman, officer kasi ako kaya kailangan talaga. Tsaka marami din naman siyempre akong katulong sa mga projects. Ikaw, kumusta ka naman sa major mo?”

“Ok lang. Adjustment period pa rin.”

“First choice mo ba ang journalism?”

“Hindi. Communication Arts talaga dapat ako. Ito yung second choice ko.”

“Ano ba ang gusto mong career?”

“Gusto ko talagang maging newscaster or broadcast journalist, ganun.”

“Ah, so it makes sense kung bakit second choice mo ang journ.”

I look outside; somebody in the marketplace is quarreling with a vendor. The vendor is going nuts. Then I see Dianne giggling to herself, shaking quietly. Then I look again at Joyce, both for dramatic effect and to see if she’s still listening. She is so I continue.

I tell her not to pursue that anymore, that she would look awful in TV, she talking there with a trace of her Alabang Girl accent. She disagrees and this is what she tells me; she of the long-skirt-and-unfixed-collar-blouse standard issue:

“If I know, magiging fan lang kita.” She gets the paper posted on the bus’ windshield and writes something on it and what on earth does this girl think she—

“Oh ayan, babasahin ko sa ‘yo ha. ‘Dear Zaldy, stay as loyal as ever. Yours truly, Joyce.’”

— and she signed it, with strong lines, arching curves and all. She thinks its funny, well, I think it’s funny. We laugh and she asks me my career plans. I tell her that I want to be in the Thomasian academe while participating in community organizing, and no, I don’t want to be a newscaster and no, she isn’t included in my plans. She raises an eyebrow, smiles and tells me that she doesn’t want me to be her professor someday. We both laugh and noticing that she is about to say something and we are already in the campus, I interrupt her, saying:

“Oh tama na. Bumaba na tayo, baka magbago pa isip mo eh” I motion her to stand up.

We got off the bus and said good bye to each other. Her classmates did the same to me and Dianne. Walking back to our building, Dianne is teasing me, pinching my arm.

“Ayos ah! Ang kapal din ng mukha mo kuya Zaldy!” she says.

“Ethnomethodology yun” I say. She didn’t get it though, “oh wag mo nang isipin.” I follow up.

When we arrived at our building, we checked the things that are to be attended for the trip tomorrow. Then I briefed my co-staffers about it. After that I start off to go home, singing “Arise” by Wolfgang.

Pinay Classifications from a Chode

A. The pretty little overachiever
B. The sUpA fOiNe gAngStA gUrL
C. The overdressed girl
D. The backstabber!
E. The anti-flip whitewashed girl
F. The kind, sweet girl

Five certain truths about the attitudes of Filipino girls:
1. They want to be "the shit"
2. They want to be the girl that every guy wants.
3. They want to act like they're too good for you.
4. They want to act like they're so high-classed.
5. They want to be singers/dancers/models/actresses.

My greatest piece of advice to Filipino girls:
Listen close...
Listen real close...
"Be a bitch because you have to, not because you can."

*Memo to black guys that want to date Filipino girls:
-I hope y'all got a JOB!-

A. THE PRETTY LITTLE OVERACHIEVER
Age: birth and up
Intelligence: 90
Honesty: 54
Modesty: 12
Backstabbing: 60
Ho-bagness: 78

a. Usually seen at: at family parties showing off her awards, or her mother is showing them off. Also, she'll be at the parties playing the piano, while everyone is singing and dancing to "Achy Breaky Heart". Also, she is following her little scumbag control-freak boyfriend
everywhere, always paging him while he's cheating on her!

b. Usually wearing: a decent dresser- nothing too cheap and nothing too expensive. Just something from Contempo or Judy's. Usually wearing those long sundresses that she wears while playing piano during Sunday Mass. But sometimes wear skanky outfits just to tease her boyfriend!

c. Friendly? Yeah, but only to her friends and people of her "class." And also, like most Filipinos, she has an innate ability to talk behind people's backs. She is very competitive and thinks highly of herself. A snob at heart, she has been taught by her parents to act snobby and think less of other Filipinos.

d. Materialistic? Of course, she believes that just because she has excelled at everything (grades, money, success), she deserves the best guy available. Always believes she deserves "10's." Wants to date a guy at her "level" or "status". You know the rich guy, who drives a nice Toyota Supra and has a high paying job at the bank! But what happens is that he ends up being a controlling, womanizing, physical and mental abuser who fucks up her whole life.

e. Other attributes:
-Has always had straight A's her whole life.
-A show-off, always talks about herself and always has to prove her intelligence.
-Believes she is better than every other Filipino, but will never say she is.
-Goes in and out of relationships because she can never find the right guy who is at her level. Expects too much from a relationship.
-Wants guys to spoil her because she deserves it for being sooo smart,
sooo beautiful and sooo privileged.

B. tAh sUpA fOiNe gAngStA gUrL
Age: 12 and up
Intelligence: 15
Honesty: 15
Modesty: 45
Backstabbing: 88
Ho-bagness: 95

a. Usually seen at: Flip nightclubs jocking new guys, bending over at pool halls, video arcades, in bed with someone she met at the club, practicing routines with her dance crew for the nightclubs and did I say nightclubs?

b. Usually wearing: Something revealing her ass, navel, shoulders and sphincter? Not that there's anything wrong wit that. Well, she always wearing something that gets attention from sex-starved guys. Hmmm...like short shorts, crop tops, high, high heels, and those tight, bellbottom pants every girl wears! Also likes to wear all that Tommy Hilfiger, Nautica and Polo stuff. Sometimes she dresses like a little butch!

c. Friendly? Well yes if you're a fOiNe guy and if you have something to offer to her. If she wants something from you, she'll work her ass... errr, magic on you. A friendly girl who is just misdirected. She doesn't use her natural friendliness and charm to impress, she uses her looks and ass. She can be so beautiful, but lowers herself into looking like a slut to appease guys. She believes in order for the best (fOiNe) guy to like her, she has to show more ass and act like a slut.

d. Materialistic? Not really, she doesn't give a rat's ass if the guy is rich, smart, privileged or has a nice car. Well nice car does matter, but really as long as he is fOiNe! I don't know why, but she always ends up dating a gangster. She always goes to clubs and pool halls in the search of this fOiNe guy. Unlike the pretty overachiever, who has to have the "perfect" guy, the gangster girl prefers her guy just to be fOiNe!

e. Other attributes:
-Blond hair, plucked eyebrows, colored contacts... she is the antithesis of plastic girl.
-Her lifelong dream is to be a rap ho. You all know what that is. Here's the definition: the token Asian ho in a rap video, nuff said!
-Really is sad girl, low self-esteem.
-Always ends up with guys who use her for sex and for physical
punishment... then throws her away.
-Oh, there is so much beauty in her, too bad it's wasted and distorted.

C. THE OVERDRESSED GIRL
Age: 15 and up
Intelligence: 50
Honesty: 45
Modesty: 3
Backstabbing: 75
Ho-bagness: 98

a. Usually seen at: the mall in her skankiest outfit. At Sunday Mass, in her skankiest outfit with the priests and fathers checking her out. At the club, in her imperial skankiest outfit, usually dancing with no guys but with her other skanky friend. At the pool hall, in her supa-dupa extreme skankiest outfit. Also, at the grocery store at 9am in the morning in her skank outfit.

b. Usually wearing: anything tight. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Like skirts, business suits, those tight bellbottom pants that every girl wears. Also has a new pair of shoes every week. Dresses up for everything. Must wear those tight polyester or rayon pants with a spaghetti strap top, with a dark colored cropped jacket. Wearing a lot of makeup and she tops it all off with a snooty, snobby attitude

c. Friendly? Not at all! Hated by other girls deeply, the overdressed girl is the most snobbiest of all of the girls. Why? She thinks she's better than everyone else. In the way she dresses, in the way she looks, in the way she walks, and in the way she acts. She becomes snobby to all guys and the center of competition of other girls. Her goal in life? To become the bomb! She always has an attitude of "Why do all these guys want me?" or
"I'm sick of all these guys hitting on me!" When in fact, she loves and craves being the center of attention. She loves guys jocking her all the time. No matter who the guy is, she loves the attention. She loves it when girls stare at her in a jealous rage. These things are her only source of self-esteem.

d. Materialistic? Nope, she thinks she has everything. But really, she finds herself too good to be with anyone. She just wants to date someone at her level in looks. She usually dates either a gangster, a racer, or some rich guy. They become her accessories. She is a little heartbreaker usually treating guys like shit and using them for her own purposes (cars, rides, money, gifts).

e. Other attributes:
-First and foremost, she is the filipino girl that takes too long in the bathroom. You know when you go out with friends. And everyone goes to the bathroom, well she goes in first and comes out last. When she does come out it's already been twenty minutes.
-Always wanting to be the center of attention, she physically places herself in the middle of every group picture.
-Always placing attention on herself, she puts on little acts to try to get guys immediate attention. This is her only source of self-esteem besides her looks.

D. THE BACKSTABBER
Age: 14 and up
Intelligence: 80
Honesty: 11
Modesty: 44
Backstabbing: 100+
Ho-bagness: 90

a. Usually seen at: Talking shit behind people's backs. At parties and clubs. At the usual pool hall. Also at college filipino clubs and organizations.

b. Usually wearing: The usual Filipino gear, the tight pants or the sundresses, or the Tommy Hilfiger, Nautica and Polo stuff. The difference is that all the clothes she has are not hers, they're all borrowed. And she never contacts anyone wanting to return them.

c. Friendly? Only if you have something she wants. If you have something to offer to her, she will love you. Things like money, cars, free dinner, free tickets to Disneyland, connections to discounts and anything materialistic. If you have it, she will certainly put on the act to try to make you do her will. Really can put on the cutesy voice mail voice. Acts nice to everyone but when you speak to her one on one she really can talk up the shit. She
has the foulest mouth of all the girls, worse than the gangster girl. Will even make up lies to put people down and to move herself up in the popularity ladder.

d. Materialistic? Extremely, but she never admits it. Will only show her shallowness in her actions. Her choice of guys is much like the pretty girl, she wants a rich, handsome and nice-car driving guy that she can use to give her money, gifts, and popularity over other girls. The Filipino desire of wanting to be superior than other Filipinos is exhibited in this one completely. Except that she does it in an dishonorable, dishonest, cowardly and guile manner.

e. Other attributes:
-When you meet her, for the first two months, she'll be cool with you. But when she gets tired with you or when the "new" and "cooler" group of flips come in your life, she will ditch you, no doubt.

-She is a low-maintenance girl who believes she is high maintenance.
-She moves from guy to guy with reckless abandon. Like a locust, she
moves from one guy to another, using them for all that they are worth.
-Then when she doesn't need them anymore, she throws them away and goes for the next one.
-Be careful on this one.

E. THE ANTI-FLIP WHITEWASHED GIRL
Age: birth and up
Intelligence: 82
Honesty: 91
Modesty: 25
Backstabbing: 30
Ho-bagness: 65

a. Usually seen at: Disneyland showing off her white boyfriend. Coming in at the middle of big family parties showing off her reluctant white boyfriend. At college campuses showing off her white boyfriend to other Filipinos, thinking she's better.

b. Usually wearing: Just this, anything as long as it has her Greek Letters on it! Or sometimes a college sweatshirt, it has to be the college that her boyfriend goes to. Or anything that represents her boyfriend's school, class, car, anything!

c. Friendly? Not to Filipinos. I know everyone going to get mad at me at this one. But I'll say that 95% of Filipino/white relationships are Filipino girl and white guy. Why? Is it a "I'm dating a white guy and white guys are better than pinoys" thing? Maybe. Is it a "White guys are rich and they have all the power while pinoys only care about their cars?" thing? Maybe. Is it a "I want to be apart from Filipinos as much as possible" thing. Maybe. I can't put an answer to that one. Be it ignorance, hate, arrogance, or be it all, this girl does not get along with Filipino guys. I don't see why or why not? Overall, this girl is friendly but it has to take time because she has many stereotypes and prejudgments about her own race.

d. Materialistic? Somewhat and sometimes... really she just wants to be a little different. She wants to be in her own world, but also she wants to show off her goods (boyfriend and his possessions) to everyone and every Filipino. I knew a girl like this once, in fact I really liked her... but she said she was a simple girl, but she had rich-ass cracker boyfriend whom she used for all he was worth. It's hard to say about this girl, if she is materialistic or not. Who knows?

e. Other attributes:
-Always thinks that other Filipinos are looking at her and are jealous of her because she has a white boyfriend.
-Loves making a big deal and a huge issue the fact that she is in a interracial relationship.
-Look, here, we don't give a rat's ass who you date... but don't make race an issue or your badge of superiority.
-The thing about this girl is that despite how "un-Filipino" she wants to be, she is skilled at the Filipino desire to be superior than other of her fellow Filipinos.

F. THE KIND, SWEET, SIMPLE GIRL
Age: birth and up
Intelligence: 85
Honesty: 97
Modesty: 97
Backstabbing: 0
Ho-bagness: 0

a. Usually seen at: At school studying, at the beach, having fun with friends, at work or at home studying.

b. Usually wearing: Doesn't matter. Doesn't dress up too much or dress down either. Always looks decent. Knows how to dress up for the occasion. Someday she looks like the girl next door and someday she looks like a princess.

c. Friendly?: Very, very, very. It's not that she's friendly, she honest, modest, and sweet. A great listener who empathizes well. Really kind and gentle and always knows the right words to say. She will always pick you up when you're feeling down.

d. Materialistic? Simply, no. All she wants to do is give her time and effort to you. Doesn't matter who you are, she's there for you. So you got to be obligated to be there for her.

e. Other attributes:

-A smart girl who understand people well. Not ashamed to drop down a "level" and talk to someone in need of a friend.
-Does she exist? I hope so. I've seen girls like this but some of them have disappointed me.
-And sometimes, isn't it ironic when a nice girl like this dates the biggest asshole. It always seems to happen.

Rejected categories (They just missed the list.):
1. The actress/singer/model...well, that's everyone, maybe?
2. The fat girl who everyone calls "ate"
3. The mestiza girl, who makes a big deal because she's different and "mixed."
4. The bitchy girl that has a job at the bank.
5. The clubber/nymphomaniac.
6. The blue-haired alternative girl.
7. The ugly girl who thinks she's fine.

Painful to be Private Preoccupations [III]

III.

It’s almost 3pm, and I am thinking of something. I am thinking of what I was doing exactly a year ago, February 14, 2006—Valentines Day. Of course I was not dating that time, not making a feeble attempt at manipulation of someone from the opposite sex by wooing her with gifts, not waiting in line at a branch of Sogo or Wise. I was in Quiapo, in our dojo, training, striking canes and bags, which I have done also two years ago, will be doing dozens, hundreds of times in the future. Yes, I would do that, because the concept and the very sense of this day eludes me, is not worthy of my time. As far as I know, it is a foreign concept, a dubious one, not originally indigenous of the Filipino culture. I do not believe in it; do not have a use for it except as a fodder for trashing in conversations with my friends. There seems to be no internal logic in the celebration or anything of this day. Why celebrate a day dedicated to such a mundane concept such as love? And I cannot do anything but cringe seeing a lot of guys, a lot of wuss, carrying flowers—which I believe happens to be the plant’s vagina—around in the university.

I’m having a break from the usual training-during-valentines regimen, as I am not training right now. Because at this very moment, I am here, sitting idly on a bench in front of the Audio Visual Room of our faculty, waiting for freshmen class presidents for final announcements for the educational trip tomorrow. Five of them came already and gave me the remaining fees of their classmates for the trip, and god knows what is keeping the president of 1jrn2 from showing up.

3 o’clock in the afternoon, “The Hour of Great Mercy”, and the waiting is starting to get uncomfortable. After a while someone in her usual long skirt appears, shuffling in the lobby towards my location.

“Pambihira” I say, feigning relief.

“Ayun! Kuya Zaldy, eto na yung mga bayad.” Joyce says. Her tone seems startled. She hands over the payments for the trip. She’s holding two roses.

“Salamat. Oh, andami mo yatang rosas, kanino galing yan?”

“Ah, wala.”

“Ok, sige, kitakits na lang bukas.” I’m squinting, noticing something wrong, and as she notices me noticing something, she asks me.

“Teka, bakit?”

I point to my face, then to hers. “Makapal, punta ka sa CR, retouch ka.”

“Talaga?” She squirms in her uniform, as if it’s too tight for her already small build.

“Oo, {rolls eyes} makapal.”

“Oh sige.” She seems to be convinced now. She turns around to walk away.

But then I start roaring. She turns around, frowning at me.

“Nanggagago ka?!”

“Hindi! Hala, retouch na!”

“Oo na nga eh!” She walks away again, stomping, towards the women’s restroom.

It’s unnatural, her makeup. I don’t know but her face is so white, too thick with that creamy powder thing.

I sigh, what a relief. Now all I have to do is fix my things, go home, take a nap and prepare for the party this night.

□ □ □

It’s good that they have invited me to this party, as I really need a break after months of schoolwork. We’re all having a good time, although most of the people here are not of my own demographic. We’re only a handful of young people here, sitting on the carpeted floor, and I’m the only one still studying. A friend of mine, Lenlen, a news reporter, have been tugging on my Arabian pants, noting how pretty it is, and asking if she could have it.

“Akin na lang.” she says.

“Hindi nga pwede eh. Ihahanap na lang kita sa ukay.”

“Please? Sige na.”

“No. No.” And I tell her that even if she would have it, it wouldn’t matter because it wouldn’t change her looks anyway. We both laugh because we both know that I am kidding. “Maganda ka na, wag ka nang magsuot ng ganito. Exaj na.”

“Sige na nga!”

She stands up, another friend of mine, Lyndon, slides in and asks me about the Exposure Trip tomorrow, if all things are set and good to go, and I tell him of course we’re ready.

“Eh yung first year?”

“Ah, si Joyce? Ayos naman, patawa nga kanina eh.” I tell him what happened in front of the AVR, her makeup, all of it. “Mai-text nga kaya?”

“Oo nga, go!”

I send her a text message asking if she already removed her makeup. She replies that she only did that because it’s Valentines Day. To have a “peek” on her preoccupations at the present, I ask:

“And that makes you special because?”

She says she’s special because she doesn’t need any man at the moment to complete her. Then it occurs to me that she might have had a heartache recently, an obstacle for someone like me. I do not want someone who is presently preoccupied with the past, of getting rid of this or that thing, of proving everyone that she is not bitter with anything.

We continue sending text messages to each other for quite a while, until the party is over. When I and my friends were riding the jeep on our way home, I tell her to sleep because it’s already late, and we both have to be early for the trip tomorrow. She tells me that its brownout in their house so she can’t sleep, and I tell her to try nonetheless, because now it would be harder for her to sleep, implying that it is because of me. She didn’t get it though, she is not calculating, not anticipating enough. This is the problem with digital communication: you cannot decipher subtle clues other than the messages themselves. The human brain is not “hardwired” for such things. I tell her that I’ll see her the next morning, that she is not to be late because she is the president. I doze off, and when I woke up I am already at España. It’s going to be a long day hours from now.

Painful to be Private Preoccupations [Part II]

II.

Bilibid Exposure Trip.

This is my last off-campus project as the Minister for Community Development of USTSS. I’m not certain if this is rewarding, but it surely is tiring. I only got this position—after a stupid amendment of the USTSS constitution—halfheartedly, since I know that there are some in our class who deserve this more because they have more time and are more committed to it. Besides, I’m used to working behind the curtains. These “worthy” people assured me last year that they would help me on things that would be needed, and I was partially contended on that. But then again, to be honest, I think it’s unfair because they have no commitment in any extra-curricular organization while I have two. So to burden me with this—they’re the scourge of the gods.

Nonetheless, I am surviving despite some criticisms. More students in the faculty took notice of me, knew who I am, what I do, even my pranks at the corridors. Some of them befriended me, greeted me, which is good, being said hi to. At times, this publicity’s too known and shared too much for comfort. There were interviews, letters, calls, text messages inquiring about this and that project, how they can exploit (implicitly) these things to the recognition and even survival of their organizations. What pains me is that half of the time they do not introduce themselves first, and it doubles because I have this paranoia of being monitored and being put on surveillance for possible recruitment or assassination by the state, the CIA, GLA, whatever. And so my eyes are usually in a jarring sort of way when confronted by this people, oh this is UST.

But this is good. This is social proof. Social proof that I could use to my advantage as a source of numerous DHV (demonstration of high value) spikes on dating. It has worked before for the intended effect, and I do not see any reason why it wouldn’t work for Joyce. That is why almost everytime that something is needed to be updated to her section, 1jrn2—she’s a freshman—I take the time and effort to do it myself so I could see her and talk to her, all the way calculating my actions, taking two steps forward and one step backward, so as to eliminate any possibility of boring her with my presence because right now, to be honest, I don’t look good, even though I don’t have my beard (dirty look) anymore. On another point, usually, people like her, those who are new at the alternative culture of AB, have not refined their tastes yet. This is so, at least partially, because she is still quite young. Her and my points of view are different as far as I know because she is still a freshman. Was that already mentioned, that she is a freshman? My thinking is relatively different from her because, like what the 24-year old date of mine has said a year ago:

“Wow, kung mag-isip at magsalita ka parang ka-edad ka na namin. Astig!”

This is not to say that I could not relate to younger people at any way. I need bridges for that, and one of those bridges is this social proof that I have now. This is not merely bragging, more like asserting in a sort of way. If this is bragging, I would not be responsible, would not be here in the Flame Office on a day that I am supposed to be resting because I have no class, panting while editing the schedules of the Exposure Trip not two days away because some inconsiderate people are demanding this to be so, not realizing (or caring) how hard it is for me, this revising and rescheduling of excuse letters, the customary dirty look that the IPEA people give me whenever I update them of sudden changes, how it is for these freshmen to adjust to their still-observed-feebly PE schedules, because, according to them and to my usual assumption, some of them would be failing already the subject if they would be absent one more time. It’s the usual we’re-still-adjusting-because-we’re-new-at-it thing of these teenagers.

It’s almost seven in the evening, and 1jrn2 would be dismissed already. I run up the stairs, past the chatting commerce students, into the corridor. Rm203, there is no professor and everybody’s preparing to leave and I interrupt them, announcing another change, and a unified sigh vibrates through the corridor. I tell them the reason; some of them crowd before me, my back against the wall, a crescent army before a shocked platoon. I maintain my composure; Joyce is looking at us, maybe amazed. Maybe she is amazed, or at least surprised, that her friends are cornering me now. I tell them the reason, and some indignant girl named Chesca is shoving her way through the people in front of me.

“Kuya Zaldy naman! Hindi pwede yun! Baka ma-FA na ako eh!” she exclaims.

“Wait, wait. FA, anung problema?” I call her FA. I gently inquire, facing her usual lively self.

“Heh! Di ba nga malapit na akong ma-FA? Pano yan, ano’ng sasabihin ko sa PE prof ko?” her hands are on her waists now. Then it occurs to me that she’s cute this way, when she’s annoyed, her already little eyes squinting, accentuating her Chinese(?) features. And I remember my two prospects, the first one I dated, both having tsinita looks also. Do I easily fall for such?

“Ok, FA. Ikaw na lang ang may problema sa schedule di ba? So ang gagawin ko bukas ay ia-update ko kagad ang IPEA sa case mo. Kung pwede rin sana kausapin mo yung prof mo. Ayus lang?”

“Sige na nga! Hmmp. Ba’t kasi ganito?”

“Wala na akong magagawa. Yun na lang.”

And I tell everybody to calm down, that I’ll get in touch with their president, whom I glanced while saying this. Instead:

“Uy, text sila lagi ni Joyce!” someone said. Then laughs ensued.

“Kesa naman hindi!” I remarked, grinning. She’s trying to hide her faint smile when I look at her again while saying it.

I ask them if there’s any question. When my inquiry met silence, I begin to walk towards Joyce, telling her that I’ll contact her if anything new comes up, while holding her right arm with my left hand, squeezing lightly. She smiles, says OK, and I leave.

Strangely enough, I feel refreshed after a long day.

Painful to be Private Preoccupations [part I]

I.

I’ve been rushing lately, despite finishing my thesis defense a week ago. I’m overworked, dead half the time and still getting heavier because I’ve been compensating my lack of sleep with eating. I’ve been rushing because three weeks ago, after being in Asturias where I ate a hearty bag of bikang-bikang, Ma’am Gamo told me that we’re organizing the annual Exposure Trip to Bilibid Prisons again. Of course I was surprised because just last semester, our program was halted and released a chain of events too horrible to even menti—

This is tedious work, and even though I have briefed my juniors and sophomores of the activity and their part in it, the stress is becoming unbearable. I can’t take this anymore, not now, not in my last semester as a college student in this university. The only consolation I want to have is that now, I hope, there would be another girl to date, who is worth my time, who would give way for anyone or anything to give me a break on everything that’s happening now.

I take the waivers and letters upstairs, to rm201 of 1jrn1. Ok, ok. Now to the next room, that of 1jrn2, where there seems to be a commotion because they have no professor for the next subject. I talk to someone standing in front of the door.

“Pwede sa president?” I say.

“Uhm, nasa CR po eh. Pakihintay na lang. Ayon, anjan na. Joyce! May naghahanap sa ‘yo!”

The girl walks in, glides in, and looks at us. She squints. Poor eyesight? And that long skirt, why so long? Or is it just me? Lesbians in my high school wear skirts that are too long. I really think it’s too long. She approaches me, we introduce ourselves, I state my purpose, the trip, everything, and I hand her the papers that should be photocopied for the whole class. She says OK. Come to think of it, she’s quite cute, her looking at me with her head nodding and her shoulder hunched. Maybe she’s shy, facing someone with wide shoulders, unshaven, with distended, exhausted eyes below a scarred forehead.

Do I look intimidating? Or just pathetic?

Then I smell something. Cigarettes. From her blouse or hair maybe. This Joyce smokes. I don’t see that there’s a possibility that she has a source of income to subsidize that vice. Oh well, teenagers. I smile and she smiles back before I say goodbye. Then to the stairs.

That girl, that smile. But I’m used to this. The fact that you’re taking 10 or 11 sections to an educational trip leads to things like these because, out of that 400 or so youngsters, there might be someone pretty (and lucky!) enough to consistently get my attention. And so far, as far as my anticipation is concerned, she’s it. Perhaps I’m graduating with a girlfriend anyway. Oh no. No. I must not get my hopes up too soon. Jinx!

But then again, maybe she has a boyfriend already. That secure look, maybe she has someone more masculine that me. Some guy who could lift heavy things for a living, if he wanted to. A boy-next-door type who doesn’t have creative facial hair, who is cleanly shaven. But I remember that she was with her friends and classmates earlier, a reason for that secured look. Maybe she’s single after all.
Days later, I meet up with all the presidents of the 11 sections. I usually show her to my classmates or friends when I see her, in the corridor or after meetings. I see a pattern implicit in their comments about her looks—that she looks pretty “mundane”. Commonplace, natural, ordinary, at least in comparison to my past prospects or dates. A classmate tells me that I’m so phenomenological just like my thesis, very fond of mundane things, even persons. I neither find the joke funny nor offending. It’s too pedantic. Good thing is, I’m gonna be dating with someone again. Consistently that is, if she’s worth my time.

I’m not arrogant or conceited, but after reading a considerable amount of literature on eidetic sociology, on dating, and hearing tons of feedbacks from other people, I always establish the fact that I’m the (or also) the prize. And women (or girls) must also make their way towards me. It’s pretty simple, really. Dating, being also (but not only) a political phenomenon, requires that there must be a healthy alternation of power. In this sense, I’m only lessening the opposite sex’s leverage and leveling it with mine. And while many jerks and narrow-minded skeptics scoff at the idea, many of my friends, particularly girls, like it and are entertained by it. Oh well, might as well review some stuff on the matter.

Painful to be Private Preoccupations

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The author wishes first and foremost to acknowledge Bathala, if it not because of Him/Her none of this would be possible, ever, and we need no proof of that. He wishes to acknowledge the many people who have extended the meaning of the word generosity for allowing their real names and actions to be included in this work. Further, he also acknowledges the people who, even if they were not mentioned in here, contributed one way or another to the making of this memoir, such as Celest and Angelique, who again gave him the drive to abandon his stalling. The author would also like to acknowledge his penchant to exaggerate, and to fib, for better or for worse, depending on the situation. He would also like to acknowledge that yes, there are perhaps too many memoirs being written by different people so this is not something new, and that yes, writing about REAL people and REAL events as opposed to kind-of-made-up ones is shameless and wrong and vile and evil and corrupt. And maybe the idea of relating stories of stinginess for postponed dates and flirting while inside the bus and looking like a Pip-Guy teen flick is unappealing to everyone but to the author’s college classmates and a few Journalism students in Sampaloc, but there are schemes that are diabolically worse, like cheating in elections or JPEPA and we could all do worse, like, say American government or that lying bitch in Malacañang. Anyway, if you’re bothered by the fact that any of this is real, then he suggests you pretend that it’s FICTION. He also tips his hat to the kind and friendly inmates of the Medium Security Compound of Bilibid Prisons, especially the students of the Modular Class in Sociology. The author also wants to acknowledge his friends in the Thomasian Writers Guild and The Flame, for the endless booze and for giving him a degree of satisfaction for his intellectual vanity. He also wishes to acknowledge your problems with the title, he too doubts if it’s the best.

Now, he would also like to acknowledge the themes of the memoir.

A.) The Haunting Preoccupation of Being Single

More often than not, persons who would get to know the author would eventually ask him why on earth is he still single, and would be surprised—or even appalled—by a number of reasons.

B.) Social Proof as an Edge in Dating

The social value of someone is indispensable as a background to amplify his/her characteristics desirable for dating.

C.) Disclosure as a Result of The Author’s Not-So-Important View on Privacy

We all like disclosure, especially if it pertains to that person’s frustrations and weaknesses. Privacy is cheap, overrated, and many petty fights, quarrels and terrorist attacks would be averted if everyone follows this view.

Also, the following threads:

1.) The Joyce Dialectic I: She being both an inspiration and an impediment to the writing of the memoir.

2.) The Joyce Dialectic II: The Dissonance between her language and her socio-economic status.

3.) The Being Confined to Digital Communication as Being Only Feasible Medium to Keep In Touch Idea.

4.) The Attachment VS. “I’m Fine Without You” Idea.

5.) The Self-Imposed Romance Deadline Idea.

6.) The Nostalgia Disguised as Intellectual Vanity as a Reason for Writing of Memoir Idea.

The author also wishes to acknowledge that for all his ranting elsewhere, this is NOT totally a work of non-fiction. Many parts have been fictionalized, especially the dialogues that reflect the author’s limitations and his imagination’s feedings. Although in the course of the work, he is trying to channel the thoughts that he had during his last days in UST, he has taken certain liberties especially with what he was thinking on certain instances in the narrative. For example, usually, when he is thinking of something in a certain situation in the memoir, its not that he’s actually thinking of that thought that time. More often than not, those thoughts occurred to him after the situations or events happen, and he only inserts such and such for the sake of appearing and sounding articulate because frankly enough, he does not have the skill to write such a work in order for it not to be sooooo boring. The author also acknowledges—and congratulates!—you for noticing the work’s flaws and imperfections. Finally, the author would like to acknowledge the kindness and consideration for letting this work continue that was given by Joyce, and of course for obvious reasons. Here is a picture of a puto bumbong:

the memoir

after much deliberation (was there really one? I hope so...), Joyce decided that she would not have the work published.

But anyway, I'll have it here. Feel free to give comments, enjoy or get pissed reading my posts-as-parts-of-memoir.





THIS IS UNCALLED FOR