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

Punching

As many of you know, I am a martial arts aficionado under the tutelage of Grandmaster Ernesto Presas. It's been a while... er... a long time since I trained in our dojo there in Quiapo. For the past 6 months or so, I have been improvising my training by myself, trying to develop anaerobic routines.

I was doing a shadowboxing routine last week when I suddenly checked my form, my punching form. I begin to wonder if what I'm doing is correct, since no one at that time would correct it for me since I'm training on my own. Although I train for efficiency, not aesthetics, mind you.

Then I remembered the basic punching fundamentals--to tense the fist JUST BEFORE THE IMPACT for maximum speed and power. So i practiced my punches according to that principle. Hours later I watched a video in youtube and an FMA grandmaster there said that when punching, you pull the energy back towards you while when you slap, you eject it. So the latter is better, according to my interpretation to what he said.

When I got back home I tried it, and when I was punching the air and clenching my fist just before the imagined impact, I thought that I was indeed pulling the energy back to my arm instead of ejecting it to the target. When I did the straight punch, my fist was relaxed until about two inches before the impact when I clenched it. I'm getting the feeling that I was indeed pulling or holding the energy back because I suddenly clenched my fist.

I AM CONFUSED. WHAT SHOULD I DO?

Pushy?

Ito ang unang entry ko na maramdamin... er... basta nababanas ako.

May nakausap ako kanina, at inaabangan ko na ang pagpupuyos nya sa internet habang nag-uusap kami...

...pero hindi yun nangyari. Bakit ko ba inaabangan? Kasi may nakapagsabi sa akin na dapat ko nga daw abangan. At sinabi rin niya sa akin na dahil daw masyado akong PUSHY. Well, well, matingnan nga muna ang depinisyon ng katagang ito bago ako magpatuloy. Ayan:

PUSHY: Disagreeably aggressive or forward.

Now, now...

Tatawagin ko muna sila dito bilang K1 at K2.

Nag-uusap kasi kami ni K1 sa kanyang blog, tungkol sa isang sinulat ko. Sabi niya kanina, hindi yung mismong sinulat kong prosa ang kinagagalit niya, kundi yung sinabi ko sa blog nya bilang komento. Ngayon, ang nangyari sa aking palagay ay ganire: nauna/nagkasabay ang inis sa pagtingin, tuloy nagalit si K1. Karaniwan na sa mga kababaihan ang ganito (hep, hindi ako seksista, mga ulol.), kaya nga mas kakaunting babae ang nagiging matagumpay sa hard fields tulad ng medisina, arkitektura, inhinyera at kung anu-ano pang nangangailangan ng matinding konsentrasyon at neutral na pagtingin. Bakit? Kasi nga ay nauunang padaanin ang obserbasyon sa damdamin bago sa isip. Ito sa tingin ko ang problema, at hindi ko rin sinasabing mas matalino ang mga lalaki.

Knowing this, ok na sa akin eh.

Pero kung tatapatin kita, mambabasa, medyo kinabahan ako ng kaunti sa sinabi ni K2 na nakausap ko bago si K1 kanina. Sa pagkakasabi kasi niya, tila yata napakagrabe ng nagawa ko samantalang ito lang naman ang ginawa ko: sagutin at panindigan ang mga sinagot ko sa mga tanong sa blog ni K1. At iyon na nga, masyado daw akong PUSHY.

Natatawa akong naaasar, dahil base sa depinisyong nasa itaas (na halos ganoon din naman kung hahanapin mo sa iba't ibang diskyunaryo), hindi ako naging ganoon sa pagkakataong ito. Ang ginawa ko lang naman ay nanindigan sa mga sinabi ko, at ipaliwanag ang mga ito base na rin sa mga naisip ko nang gabing iyon. Sa pagkakataong ito, hindi ko na suliranin kung hindi maunawaan (sa kung anumang nararapat o di karapat-dapat na dahilan) ng ibang tao ang aking sinasabi. Nariyan ang internet upang makatulong at siyempre, ang isip ng mambabasa. At ang nakakabanas pa ay sinabi niya na hindi ko raw kasi pinakikinggan muna si K1. ha? Ano raw?

O ako ba ang hindi napakinggan, sa kabila ng pagpapaliwanag ko? Sino ang naagrabyado dito? Ang masakit pa dito ay posibleng matapos mga araw na ito na para bang walang nangyari, na ako ang ginawang punching bag, pagkatapos bulabugin at bigwasan ay iiwanan na lang na lalambi-lambitin.

Pero hindi ko naman mina-masama ng ganoon. Naaayos na naman ang sigalot, lamang ay may mga naiwang nakabitin. Yun bang nakakasakit. Hindi rin ako galit, nainis lang.

(rolls eyes)

Ikaw naman, mambabasa.

Raphael Likes To...

Iisa ang lumabas sa name na ZALDY so RAPHAEL na lang. Bayolente ako...

Go to Google and type in quotation marks your name and then "likes to" (ex. "Bugoy likes to"). Type in the first ten things that come up and repost in your own blog.

1.) Raphael likes to spend his nights on the prowl

2.) Raphael, likes to burrow in the soft river bottom so provide a corner of fine gravel or sand

3.) Raphael likes to let his imagination take off

4.) Raphael likes to fight first and ask questions later

5.) Raphael likes to finish his work

6.) Raphael likes to help us get something started

7.) Raphael likes to stand RIGHT BEHIND me as I try to make dinner

8.) Raphael likes to read about faeries

9.) Raphael likes to use physical, expel, and force attacks

10.) Raphael likes to keep his opponent guessing, and always be one step ahead


ayan..

IMPLORING

Ako na...


-alam kung saan ako tutungo noong kolehiyo

-presidente ng klase ng apat na semestre

-presidente ng klase nang umingay ang Nestle Issue sa AB

-hindi kumakain/umiinom ng Nestle products ng dalawang taon na

-asset sa immersion

-asset sa research(?)

-kinokonsulta ng mga kaklase ko sa mga teorya

-apat na beses naka-Dean's Lister award

-ayaw sa corporate world for GOOD reasons



ay wala pa ring trabaho makalipas ang pitong buwan. Bakit kaya?

steamy dream

I had a dream the other night, and it involved someone of my own past, someone who I dated more than a year ago. Let's call her Leenx.



The dream started in an alley where I and Leenx were walking. She was ranting something about her school report. Four of her friends appear from nowhere and discuss it together. After that, someone suggested that we get dressed up for a party. I go to the bathroom and don a polo and black shoes and Leenx enters our car (which appeared from nowhere) and got dressed too. Her attire, for some reason, appalled me and so I started chastising her for wearing it. She scoffs, walks towards me and puts her arms around my neck, as if we're dancing intimately. She looks up to me, closes her eyes and kisses me. Of course I was surprised and I kissed her back too late. She pulls away her head and loks down, a bit disappointed not with me but with herself. I told her that I was surprised, and she pulls me to another place, at the corner where a bench appeared. nod

We sit and she pulls me closer and again we kissed. This time it's different--it's torrid, like there's no tomorrow, like we're two heroes kissing each other to save the world, we're already fiddling with each other's tongues inside each other's mouths--

I wake up, it's already 7 am.

I don't know why this happened, does it mean something? Am I preoccupied with her? I don't think so. Yes, we kissed the last time we saw each other, after the date, but...

I don't want to think about it.

Unkowledgement II

The success of my memoir, I feel, depends largely on how appealing the author is. To address this, he offers you the following, without any regard on privacy:


1.) that he is a product of an unwanted pregnancy

2.) that ater 6 months, he is still unemployed, and is losing hope about it

3.) that his biological clock has been reversed for months now

4.) that he has been losing weight, hopefully for good

5.) that he also hates milk

6.) that is a bit confused about his feelings, even if he is having fun with it at the moment

7.) that he is currently entertaining the idea of building jealousy plotlines

8.) that he is planning on rekindling something soon, for better or worse

9.) that he is meeting two deadlines, the first one being self-imposed; the second one imposed by a publication he disdains and

10.) that he is again experiencing a taste for travel.

the "Joyce Dialectic"

Lately I have been reading blogs of people linked to my own. Save from the fact that a considerable number of them hold considerable amounts of statements or stories that implicates ideas I myself disdain, their contents are, in overall, OK. Coincidentally, it's a good thing that most of them write in their blogs as if they're writing in their diaries. These narratives give a view of what they think about what is going on in their environment, and it helps for me to read, if only to know them better, at least triangulation-wise.


Now...

Many of you know that I am currently in progress-- and stalling-- of writing a memoir. This work, if you might want to acknowledge, is not solely about the author (which is what a memoir is essentially about), but also of a person who has preoccupied me during my last days in the university. I 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 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. But then again, we could all do worse, like, say American government or that lying bitch in Malacañang.

For all my bluster elsewhere, the memoir is not entirely a work of non-fiction. There are considerable amount of its contents that are being, and has been, fictionalized. Although in the course of the work, I am trying to channel the thoughts that I had during my last days in UST, I have taken certain liberties especially with what I was thinking on certain instances in the narrative. For example, usually, when I am thinking of something while in a certain situation in the memoir, its not that I'm actually thinking of that thought that time. More often than not, those thoughts occurred to me after the situations or events happen, and I only insert such and such for the sake of appearing and sounding articulate because frankly enough, I do not have the skill to write such a work so I have to do such in order for it not to be sooooo boring. Moving on...

The Joyce Dialectic: she being both an inspiration and impediment to the writing of this... this memoir.

The inspiration concept is easy enough, but the impediment... I really can't see a reason reasonable enough for her not to have her name on it. I thought that she liked the idea before, when I let her read the draft. The reason why I let her read it is for APPROVAL, but now that she knows that it might be published this February, she wants none of her real name on it. I thought that it would be OK for her, she extending the meaning of the word generosity and courage by letting her name on it. I am thinking that if that's the case, I would abandon it already. What's the point of writing a memoir if its not based on actual accounts? Oh well... What could be the synthesis of this dialectic?

I cannot write anymore, that's all for now...