I'm not really known for my rarely awkward moments, since I'm more known as someone who does that to other people. My nasty tendencies towards other people's object of fondness, and by this I mean those that are stupidly trivial and conventional, makes me shameless and other people shameful. I'm not really sure if I treasure these rare moments, yet I am weirdly fond of them. To wit: It is any day after having my daily workout, with friends opting for many drinks because of someone leaving two days away, and so calls for decent pulutan in the form of barbecued pork belly.
Since I am the most accustomed to cooking, we set off to buy meats and liquor on a nearby mall. There is some protest regarding the bought meat, prompting the following exchange:
Guy-with-the-Gs: Nakabili na kayo ng liempo?
Me: Oo.
Guy-with-the-Gs: Sarap nyan, yung may marinate na.
Me: Hindi yung may marinate ang binili ko. 230 yung meron eh, 180 lang to.
Guy-with-the-Gs: Ha?! Eh magkano lang ba ang difference nun?
Me: Cincuenta. Marami na tayong mabibili nun, exempla garati: isang 2 liter na soda.
Guy-with-the-Gs: Ang korni naman eh, nagtitipid masyado. Nabili mo na ba?
Me: Oo nga.
Guy-with-the-Gs: OK na yan.
Me: All the more reason this debate is pointless.
We leave the grocery, heading out to our friend's car outside. With approximately 6 meters before the door, someone comes out of a boutique with, presumably, her sister. Wearing a sleeveless shirt whose color is somewhat in the shade of yellow, her long hair tumbling down her shoulders, the girl looks at me. We lock eyes for about 3 seconds, then she smiles, waves. Since I was cut short on laughing on a friend's joke that time, I was already smiling, conveying a see-I'm-happy-to-be-with disposition. I waved back, exchanged greetings with her and continued to walk. The name's Kimi.
My friends were a little excited and asked me how old the pretty girl is. They always reflexively ask me that whenever they see me talking, greeting, dancing, or even just chatting in YM with someone pretty, since it's an inside joke within us, because of my profession. I told them she's 16, and someone almost immediately said something apalling: "Penge naman ako nun!" I just rolled my eyes and answered inquiries about what school, how and why we know each other blahblah.
Then, in a flash of pure truth-seeing, I recognized something: I'm wearing crappy clothes, those that are good for playing basketball in the street, but inappropriate for malls.
This is not something new. I usually wear shorts and t-shirts, especially when I go out to the gym. I always wear these things, after thinking what to wear, then remembering not to think what to wear, wearing what I have worn have I not thought of thinking what to wear, the look of no look at all. What's new is me being conscious about it. I felt awkward, having to meet her, at the mall, with me like I've been in the public market.
I don't know if this is a case of me being awkward in front of someone pretty. But then again its not really a bad thing, the girl's darn pretty by objective standards anyway.
Tinatablan na ba ako ng hiya ngayon sa mga hindi naman nakakahiyang bagay?
But then again, maybe that's not the case, because I'm still brutally honest. If I weren't, I wouldn't be here, writing this post.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
OK, this is not about Taylor Swift
Program 3, 25 minutes. There.
***
I envy Lyndon. He doesn’t jog, run on the treadmill or sweat in a stationary cycle but he’s already lean. He doesn’t look like someone who lifts weights for a living but he’s twice as strong as me, and to think that he was thin back in college. But then again, he rarely drinks, and so he manages his weight and physique like that. Unfortunately, that won’t work for me, not now, not here in Quezon where, it should be mentioned, that drinking is part of our way of living, or at least my peers, and so I am ostracized whenever I bail out of drinking sessions or leave early because I hate to lift weights the next day, post-drunk. Here I am, sweating my ass off this treadmill, wishing I could resist those fish nuggets for lunch, knowing it would be futile, but then again comforting myself that I should not be on a slimming diet because I don’t want to be found bloody and dismembered one day on the bench because of collapsing while lifting that 105-pound
barbell, the plates smeared with goo.
***
We were both young when I first saw you
I close my eyes
And the flashback starts
I'm standing there
On a balcony in summer air
***
I should cover this screen. Running in this machine seem to take forever when I see these digits. I’ll cover everything but that heartbeat thing. There. Why on earth is Manuel playing this song, on loud speakers? This is too cheesy. But then again, I love the singer’s immaculate nose, she looking like an angel, would be ideal if we would be married 5 years from now. Ho-hum…
***
That you were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles
And my daddy said stay away from Juliet
And I was crying on the staircase
Begging you please don't go, and I said
***
20 minutes, 5… is this kilometers per hour?
***
A writer-friend once told me that surrealists have “night journals” where they write whatever they remember of their dreams immediately after waking up. It’s kind of hard to do, really: an attempt to put on paper the contents of your subconscious that were depicted in your dreams the night before. Dreams, dreams, dreams.
Speaking of which, that one last night was weird, not really affecting though, just… entertained, sort of. To wit: it is a day in our subdivision where suddenly I’m on a couch with someone who is not cute, not hot, but beautiful. And she’s wearing that short black dress, kind of shiny too. She’s Psyche chased by Cupid, a clear lake beneath the floating mist, a bloom on a blanket of grass.
She’s Nami.
***
We were drinking, me, Paul, Lyndon and her. It is implied in the dream that something is happening between us, as evidenced by frequent giggles and moments of damn-I’m-melting-don’t-look-at-me-with-those-kay-rikit-sa-singkit-eyes-but-I-love-them. And then we were out of beer, and so we bought some more, going to the store side by side. Me shuffling and she gliding. As we arrive at the store she tells me that she has something to say, like something more important than the revision of neo-classical economics, whatever. I ask her what, but then again as she starts to talk, I wake up.
Though I have a disclaimer: Last night, I read her reply to my comment on her new album posted in multiply,com, and so that offers an explanation why the dreamed dawned on me while I was sleeping, given the fact that I wasn’t thinking of her or anything related to her before I sleep.
***
15 minutes, 6 kp/h: jog!
Look at that. My heartbeat’s over 110, and I think it’s because of this song, this tachycardia-causing tune. Haha.
***
Do I have to stop this? I know she has a boyfriend, and I have an idea that they’re already over a year now. Mas madaling hulihin ang manok na nakatali, but then again there’s the fact that I’m sort of friends with the guy, the horrible karma and most of all, it’s not the right thing to do. When she talks and I listen, it always dawns on me that this is my definition of wow, and I haven’t met someone like her before. That brain of hers is sexier than Cindy Kurleto, and that smile’s just a sight for sore eyes. The way we make fun of each other tickles me more than her fingers poking my ribs. She even called me up, when I was in Olongapo en route to Zambales a week ago, saying sorry, thinking I was mad because of a smart-ass comment she quipped. And my friends laughed at me because I was stupidly grinning the whole time. Think, think, think.
Perhaps I’ll just enjoy this for a while.
***
That you were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles
And my daddy said stay away from Juliet
And I was crying on the staircase
Begging you please don't go, and I said
***
10 minutes, 8 kp/h: run run run!
***
I wonder if Nami remembers our first meeting, there in an event held by our organization in a small bar in Timog. I wonder if she knows me as the guy who, while drowning in the blaring juxtaposition of banging instruments, held up a phone in front of her, pointing to the screen where the words “naiintindihan mo ba yung tugtog?!” were typed since I’m not sure if she’d hear me. Come to think of it, we were sitting side by side back then. That simple gesture, born out of irritation and boredom, paved way to conversations with her and her friends, who were really n-i-c-e. I wonder if she thought what I thought back then, that it was odd, strange that instead of the usual exchange-of-numbers routine that people do, what we gave each other was, get this: blogs. Yes, url addresses of our respective blogs. Weird because we were sharing a common fondness about something as ephemeral as, say, literary works in blogs. I wonder if she knew that I was rolling my eyes when I saw someone in the crowd trying to hit on her, the poor fellow, not knowing it was over quickly. I wonder if she knows or if she has an idea about what I think, and if she knew about this work—
Anyway, privacy’s overrated and cheap, so I won’t hide this from her and other people.
***
There, finished. My shirt’s wet with sweat, feels good.
Oh, what would the mind be if not these cerebral exercises from time to time?
***
I envy Lyndon. He doesn’t jog, run on the treadmill or sweat in a stationary cycle but he’s already lean. He doesn’t look like someone who lifts weights for a living but he’s twice as strong as me, and to think that he was thin back in college. But then again, he rarely drinks, and so he manages his weight and physique like that. Unfortunately, that won’t work for me, not now, not here in Quezon where, it should be mentioned, that drinking is part of our way of living, or at least my peers, and so I am ostracized whenever I bail out of drinking sessions or leave early because I hate to lift weights the next day, post-drunk. Here I am, sweating my ass off this treadmill, wishing I could resist those fish nuggets for lunch, knowing it would be futile, but then again comforting myself that I should not be on a slimming diet because I don’t want to be found bloody and dismembered one day on the bench because of collapsing while lifting that 105-pound
barbell, the plates smeared with goo.
***
We were both young when I first saw you
I close my eyes
And the flashback starts
I'm standing there
On a balcony in summer air
***
I should cover this screen. Running in this machine seem to take forever when I see these digits. I’ll cover everything but that heartbeat thing. There. Why on earth is Manuel playing this song, on loud speakers? This is too cheesy. But then again, I love the singer’s immaculate nose, she looking like an angel, would be ideal if we would be married 5 years from now. Ho-hum…
***
That you were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles
And my daddy said stay away from Juliet
And I was crying on the staircase
Begging you please don't go, and I said
***
20 minutes, 5… is this kilometers per hour?
***
A writer-friend once told me that surrealists have “night journals” where they write whatever they remember of their dreams immediately after waking up. It’s kind of hard to do, really: an attempt to put on paper the contents of your subconscious that were depicted in your dreams the night before. Dreams, dreams, dreams.
Speaking of which, that one last night was weird, not really affecting though, just… entertained, sort of. To wit: it is a day in our subdivision where suddenly I’m on a couch with someone who is not cute, not hot, but beautiful. And she’s wearing that short black dress, kind of shiny too. She’s Psyche chased by Cupid, a clear lake beneath the floating mist, a bloom on a blanket of grass.
She’s Nami.
***
We were drinking, me, Paul, Lyndon and her. It is implied in the dream that something is happening between us, as evidenced by frequent giggles and moments of damn-I’m-melting-don’t-look-at-me-with-those-kay-rikit-sa-singkit-eyes-but-I-love-them. And then we were out of beer, and so we bought some more, going to the store side by side. Me shuffling and she gliding. As we arrive at the store she tells me that she has something to say, like something more important than the revision of neo-classical economics, whatever. I ask her what, but then again as she starts to talk, I wake up.
Though I have a disclaimer: Last night, I read her reply to my comment on her new album posted in multiply,com, and so that offers an explanation why the dreamed dawned on me while I was sleeping, given the fact that I wasn’t thinking of her or anything related to her before I sleep.
***
15 minutes, 6 kp/h: jog!
Look at that. My heartbeat’s over 110, and I think it’s because of this song, this tachycardia-causing tune. Haha.
***
Do I have to stop this? I know she has a boyfriend, and I have an idea that they’re already over a year now. Mas madaling hulihin ang manok na nakatali, but then again there’s the fact that I’m sort of friends with the guy, the horrible karma and most of all, it’s not the right thing to do. When she talks and I listen, it always dawns on me that this is my definition of wow, and I haven’t met someone like her before. That brain of hers is sexier than Cindy Kurleto, and that smile’s just a sight for sore eyes. The way we make fun of each other tickles me more than her fingers poking my ribs. She even called me up, when I was in Olongapo en route to Zambales a week ago, saying sorry, thinking I was mad because of a smart-ass comment she quipped. And my friends laughed at me because I was stupidly grinning the whole time. Think, think, think.
Perhaps I’ll just enjoy this for a while.
***
That you were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles
And my daddy said stay away from Juliet
And I was crying on the staircase
Begging you please don't go, and I said
***
10 minutes, 8 kp/h: run run run!
***
I wonder if Nami remembers our first meeting, there in an event held by our organization in a small bar in Timog. I wonder if she knows me as the guy who, while drowning in the blaring juxtaposition of banging instruments, held up a phone in front of her, pointing to the screen where the words “naiintindihan mo ba yung tugtog?!” were typed since I’m not sure if she’d hear me. Come to think of it, we were sitting side by side back then. That simple gesture, born out of irritation and boredom, paved way to conversations with her and her friends, who were really n-i-c-e. I wonder if she thought what I thought back then, that it was odd, strange that instead of the usual exchange-of-numbers routine that people do, what we gave each other was, get this: blogs. Yes, url addresses of our respective blogs. Weird because we were sharing a common fondness about something as ephemeral as, say, literary works in blogs. I wonder if she knew that I was rolling my eyes when I saw someone in the crowd trying to hit on her, the poor fellow, not knowing it was over quickly. I wonder if she knows or if she has an idea about what I think, and if she knew about this work—
Anyway, privacy’s overrated and cheap, so I won’t hide this from her and other people.
***
There, finished. My shirt’s wet with sweat, feels good.
Oh, what would the mind be if not these cerebral exercises from time to time?
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Roadwork Thoughts
While jogging around Pacific Mall this morning, I was having random thoughts, so as to take my mind off my tiring body..
***
1.) A lot of [rich] people wonder why German Shepards die of heat stroke. Duh. Those dogs evolved in cold European climate, and their dogs are in the Philippines, what do they expect?
2.) I envy boxers' discipline. They wake up at around 4, and run and run and run. If you take that time studying something, what would your grades be?
3.) Another reason I envy them is that it's hard enough to jog, and its damn harder if your ribs ache like what mine did earlier. Your stamina would be HALVED. Imagine having to spar today, suffering from body blows or even strained muscles in your torso, then run tomorrow morning. It's hell.
4.) I wish I ate banana before doing my roadwork.
5.) Muscles are like toffee, you warm them up a little, then stretch. They're brittle if you stretch without warming up.
6.) Most old people here at this time make jogging look like a joke, theirs is jittery. Unlike one gray-haired jogger I saw who looks like he's a regular marathon runner, muscles firmer than mine, even the glutes. Haha.
7.) I will not be like these old people, who, because they are compelled by their doctor, family, or rheumatoid arthritis, exercise in their life too late.
8.) This wind is annoying, I can't feel my sweat because its evaporating too fast.
9.) So is this throat.
10.) And that doberman who shamelessly defecated in front of me, unmolested.
11.) Why are there people who bike around here, a place for jogging?
12.) I'll bring my jacket tomorrow as a warmer.
13.) Arvin is a no-show.
14.) Practicing boxing drills in front of a glass door brings people to stop--young people's mouth agape, busty women stop, religious people fall to their knees.
15.) I am really against weight control solely by reducing food intake. Having exercise is better, is pleasurable, since NO ONE would take pleasure in limiting their eating habits. You don't enjoy, become really healthy, and don't meet new friends because of just dieting.
16.) Speaking of diet, my ideal is a high protein, high fiber, high carbohydrate BUT low fat one.
17.) Stupid are those people who, in a trip to somewhere really far from their usual residences, say, something exotic, unusual and unfamiliar, look for fast food when they become hungry when really affordable and wonderful local cuisine is around.
18.) It's really hard limiting your drinks, especially when your peers have weekly ethanol-loving sprees.
19.) I'll have omelet later, with lots of peppers.
20.) I should get new running shoes. Mine's OK for the treadmill, but it won't work for shit on concrete or asphalt.
***
1.) A lot of [rich] people wonder why German Shepards die of heat stroke. Duh. Those dogs evolved in cold European climate, and their dogs are in the Philippines, what do they expect?
2.) I envy boxers' discipline. They wake up at around 4, and run and run and run. If you take that time studying something, what would your grades be?
3.) Another reason I envy them is that it's hard enough to jog, and its damn harder if your ribs ache like what mine did earlier. Your stamina would be HALVED. Imagine having to spar today, suffering from body blows or even strained muscles in your torso, then run tomorrow morning. It's hell.
4.) I wish I ate banana before doing my roadwork.
5.) Muscles are like toffee, you warm them up a little, then stretch. They're brittle if you stretch without warming up.
6.) Most old people here at this time make jogging look like a joke, theirs is jittery. Unlike one gray-haired jogger I saw who looks like he's a regular marathon runner, muscles firmer than mine, even the glutes. Haha.
7.) I will not be like these old people, who, because they are compelled by their doctor, family, or rheumatoid arthritis, exercise in their life too late.
8.) This wind is annoying, I can't feel my sweat because its evaporating too fast.
9.) So is this throat.
10.) And that doberman who shamelessly defecated in front of me, unmolested.
11.) Why are there people who bike around here, a place for jogging?
12.) I'll bring my jacket tomorrow as a warmer.
13.) Arvin is a no-show.
14.) Practicing boxing drills in front of a glass door brings people to stop--young people's mouth agape, busty women stop, religious people fall to their knees.
15.) I am really against weight control solely by reducing food intake. Having exercise is better, is pleasurable, since NO ONE would take pleasure in limiting their eating habits. You don't enjoy, become really healthy, and don't meet new friends because of just dieting.
16.) Speaking of diet, my ideal is a high protein, high fiber, high carbohydrate BUT low fat one.
17.) Stupid are those people who, in a trip to somewhere really far from their usual residences, say, something exotic, unusual and unfamiliar, look for fast food when they become hungry when really affordable and wonderful local cuisine is around.
18.) It's really hard limiting your drinks, especially when your peers have weekly ethanol-loving sprees.
19.) I'll have omelet later, with lots of peppers.
20.) I should get new running shoes. Mine's OK for the treadmill, but it won't work for shit on concrete or asphalt.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Distemper
I just wasted 450 pesos, not to mention Johann's time and mine, on an ill-planned and ill-advised outing yesterday.
We were supposed to have this picnic at Villa Del Prado in Sariaya yesterday with my students, and the assembly time, take note, is 10:00 am. And so I woke up early, bought a kilo of chicken lollipops and cooked it, sweet and chili. My primary contact, a student-friend of mine, proposed to meet me 10:00 am at a waiting shed near the house of another student of mine (we were supposed to go there to COOK FOOD for this... this outing.) I arrived at the suggested meeting place at about 10:20, so as to give allowance if ever she would be late, too.
11:55 AM
See that? That's when she arrived. I was fuming, since she was clearly not displaying any appreciation and respect of my valuable time. And there she is, in a dressed-up-to-kill attire, telling me "Wala na akong load sir."
I did not speak, because I was cautioning myself not to explode, to wave my fist, to bang my head on the concrete, telling her pretty face that everything's supposed to be PULLED TAUT. That this time, time is money, is mana. Mind you: she did not apologize, and I don't know if she's thinking of doing that in the future. So I didn't talk to her, the whole picnic.
When we arrived at the house, her friends there (also my students) are not yet ready, haven't started cooking yet or even buying stuff to cook. There was some problem with money, which clearly they did not collected early. Since they are not prepared, are not anxious enough to arrive early and get things done especially when their p-r-o-f-e-s-s-o-r is with them, I asked for a glass of cold water to drink, to cool my head. And because I was hoping that things will get fine, I didn't leave.
Then stuff were bought and cooked (the latter by me). Because of other self-conceited-VIP-people, we got off at, again, take note of the time, 5:30pm. Can you imagine that?
12 hours later I realized something; that we have no food already and no money, so I told Johann that we'd have to go because it would be meaningless and impractical, not to mention downright stupid, to stay. And still no apologies made. So we left the resort at 5:30am this morning. The sunrise was immaculate, and the morning breeze the best I had in months.
There are times that impatience is a virtue.
We were supposed to have this picnic at Villa Del Prado in Sariaya yesterday with my students, and the assembly time, take note, is 10:00 am. And so I woke up early, bought a kilo of chicken lollipops and cooked it, sweet and chili. My primary contact, a student-friend of mine, proposed to meet me 10:00 am at a waiting shed near the house of another student of mine (we were supposed to go there to COOK FOOD for this... this outing.) I arrived at the suggested meeting place at about 10:20, so as to give allowance if ever she would be late, too.
11:55 AM
See that? That's when she arrived. I was fuming, since she was clearly not displaying any appreciation and respect of my valuable time. And there she is, in a dressed-up-to-kill attire, telling me "Wala na akong load sir."
I did not speak, because I was cautioning myself not to explode, to wave my fist, to bang my head on the concrete, telling her pretty face that everything's supposed to be PULLED TAUT. That this time, time is money, is mana. Mind you: she did not apologize, and I don't know if she's thinking of doing that in the future. So I didn't talk to her, the whole picnic.
When we arrived at the house, her friends there (also my students) are not yet ready, haven't started cooking yet or even buying stuff to cook. There was some problem with money, which clearly they did not collected early. Since they are not prepared, are not anxious enough to arrive early and get things done especially when their p-r-o-f-e-s-s-o-r is with them, I asked for a glass of cold water to drink, to cool my head. And because I was hoping that things will get fine, I didn't leave.
Then stuff were bought and cooked (the latter by me). Because of other self-conceited-VIP-people, we got off at, again, take note of the time, 5:30pm. Can you imagine that?
12 hours later I realized something; that we have no food already and no money, so I told Johann that we'd have to go because it would be meaningless and impractical, not to mention downright stupid, to stay. And still no apologies made. So we left the resort at 5:30am this morning. The sunrise was immaculate, and the morning breeze the best I had in months.
There are times that impatience is a virtue.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
To Sociology Majors
I have been reviewing some key philosophical ideas for the past months, thanks to the following persons for being my inspiration:
- Dominic Gonzales and Adrian Alcala, ex-seminarian friends
- Mr. Jay Aureada, ex-seminarian and co-faculty of mine
- Tracy Llanera, the summa cum laude of our batch
They're all philosophy majors.
I taught that subject, Philosophy of Man, last semester, and have been astonished because of a fairly obvious thing: that the key for understanding Sociological theories is to have a firm grounding on the basic concepts of philosophy, be it classical or modern (I am not acquainted with post-modern thought just yet). This is a thing that I wasn't aware of long ago, because I'm a moron. My last semester's Socio-Anthro class was rather boring, since they were only 11 students, and were rather passive ones, and so I preoccupied myself with my 2 philosophy classes. And so I spent hours on the library couch reading this and that book, exclaiming "aha!" much to the surprise of the librarian many times, getting scolded because I was not in the faculty room during my consultation hours because I was studying somewhere else.
When my philosophical interest was reawakened, it set-off a series of I-am-such-a-fool-to-think-that-such-and-such chain of events so horrible to even mentio--
I was reacquainted with the 3 Giants of Greek Philosophy, which strengthened my grip on Comte, Sorokim, Durkheim, Weber and Marx. Concepts that were unknown and unclear to me years ago were now crystal. Leafing through pages of Kierkegaard, Sartre, Husserl, Nietzsche and Heidegger enabled me to understand and interpret more the theories of Phenomenology, Ethnomethodology, Structural Functionalism, and Communicative Action. A clearer glance at postmodernism, too. What surprised me is the strengthening of my faith when I read Aquinas and Augustine. Not to mention conversations about the basis of the Roman Catholic Faith while drinking every Thursday after the novena mass. I remember joining the TWG years ago to get my hands on more academic and creative pastiche. It helped me a lot.
Then a painful regret dawned on me: that its too bad I never bothered to consolidate my philosophical knowledge to understand sociology more.
This exactly why I was vomiting in the PICC restrooms two years ago, I don't want to graduate yet because of my inadequacies in my academics.
I would've excelled more on my academics, got higher grades in PolDy and LRT, not to mention a better thesis. I regret not knowing Tracy earlier, and not talking to my batchmate Leonel, her classmate, about these stuff not (really?) knowing that it'll be helpful to all of us. I was a fool forgetting that my inadequacies in Sociological theories is a result of my loose grip on philosophy. No wonder why Emanovich Batonivsky, that ex-seminarian who once slapped my own incompetence to my face 3 years ago, is so damn good. I envy those people, their academic rigidity to stay focused in these things. They are the people who would change the very face of the world, the people who, two decades from now, would be taught to all schools.
Sociology people: learn from them and let them learn from us. Learn from our professors in the university as much as you can, and use the skills in other subjects to complement the major ones. Remember what Vision and Mission means, what theory and practice is, because without the sufficient amount of both our 4 years in college would be futile. Never fall into that trap of learning more and more about less and less.
Sociology majors have been looked down upon for the past years, LET US NOT GIVE THEM REASONS TO DO THAT AGAIN.
- Dominic Gonzales and Adrian Alcala, ex-seminarian friends
- Mr. Jay Aureada, ex-seminarian and co-faculty of mine
- Tracy Llanera, the summa cum laude of our batch
They're all philosophy majors.
I taught that subject, Philosophy of Man, last semester, and have been astonished because of a fairly obvious thing: that the key for understanding Sociological theories is to have a firm grounding on the basic concepts of philosophy, be it classical or modern (I am not acquainted with post-modern thought just yet). This is a thing that I wasn't aware of long ago, because I'm a moron. My last semester's Socio-Anthro class was rather boring, since they were only 11 students, and were rather passive ones, and so I preoccupied myself with my 2 philosophy classes. And so I spent hours on the library couch reading this and that book, exclaiming "aha!" much to the surprise of the librarian many times, getting scolded because I was not in the faculty room during my consultation hours because I was studying somewhere else.
When my philosophical interest was reawakened, it set-off a series of I-am-such-a-fool-to-think-that-such-and-such chain of events so horrible to even mentio--
I was reacquainted with the 3 Giants of Greek Philosophy, which strengthened my grip on Comte, Sorokim, Durkheim, Weber and Marx. Concepts that were unknown and unclear to me years ago were now crystal. Leafing through pages of Kierkegaard, Sartre, Husserl, Nietzsche and Heidegger enabled me to understand and interpret more the theories of Phenomenology, Ethnomethodology, Structural Functionalism, and Communicative Action. A clearer glance at postmodernism, too. What surprised me is the strengthening of my faith when I read Aquinas and Augustine. Not to mention conversations about the basis of the Roman Catholic Faith while drinking every Thursday after the novena mass. I remember joining the TWG years ago to get my hands on more academic and creative pastiche. It helped me a lot.
Then a painful regret dawned on me: that its too bad I never bothered to consolidate my philosophical knowledge to understand sociology more.
This exactly why I was vomiting in the PICC restrooms two years ago, I don't want to graduate yet because of my inadequacies in my academics.
I would've excelled more on my academics, got higher grades in PolDy and LRT, not to mention a better thesis. I regret not knowing Tracy earlier, and not talking to my batchmate Leonel, her classmate, about these stuff not (really?) knowing that it'll be helpful to all of us. I was a fool forgetting that my inadequacies in Sociological theories is a result of my loose grip on philosophy. No wonder why Emanovich Batonivsky, that ex-seminarian who once slapped my own incompetence to my face 3 years ago, is so damn good. I envy those people, their academic rigidity to stay focused in these things. They are the people who would change the very face of the world, the people who, two decades from now, would be taught to all schools.
Sociology people: learn from them and let them learn from us. Learn from our professors in the university as much as you can, and use the skills in other subjects to complement the major ones. Remember what Vision and Mission means, what theory and practice is, because without the sufficient amount of both our 4 years in college would be futile. Never fall into that trap of learning more and more about less and less.
Sociology majors have been looked down upon for the past years, LET US NOT GIVE THEM REASONS TO DO THAT AGAIN.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Envy
To whom? To TWG members / alumni.
I can't write, not even a single relevant or significant post in my blogs since January 25, much less something of literary value. This academic year's been a bitch for me. Although I got to work as a college instructor (modesty aside, in a ho-hum, so-so institution), it seems that since then, I have been in a sort of writer's block. Block, as in mental block in writing. Everytime that I get an idea of what to write, which also rarely happens since then, my pen would just end doodling on the paper. My eyes would just get watery staring at the screen in an attempt on changing the very face of the world with my text.
Worse, when I finally wrestled with myself into writing anything, usually in the form of a poem, or say a blog post like this, it'll just get butchered, not expressed even as a sigh, but a yelp. Instead of cooked sausages for breakfast, it'll be served looking like a mashed spam.
Pathetic, because everytime I see pictures of TWG alumni members in an activity like a workshop, forum, or just drinking beer, the more I refuse to succumb to the fact that the reason I cannot write is because I am not with them, although it seems that its obvious as the sun in midday. I cannot write because, it seems, as I am isolated from them, so am I isolated from literary practice. And to think that just after my graduation I have been hoping to improve my poetics, tch. So much so that when I imagine myself being with them in this or that event and the topic would be literature, I wouldn't be able to understand, much less keep up.
This year I don't remember writing anything with literary content, much less published on anything. Even managing to pass applications for workshops weren't done. I am not sure if this is to be blamed on my situation, or just my lack of organization and "talent," whatever that may be. I am thinking of being "invisible" from TWG people until I can write anything worthy of serious thought, but am not sure if this could be accomplished, or what would be accomplished by doing it.
As if being abused and degraded by my co-workers is not enough.
Fuck. I so hate this self doubt.
Was I really able to write?
I can't write, not even a single relevant or significant post in my blogs since January 25, much less something of literary value. This academic year's been a bitch for me. Although I got to work as a college instructor (modesty aside, in a ho-hum, so-so institution), it seems that since then, I have been in a sort of writer's block. Block, as in mental block in writing. Everytime that I get an idea of what to write, which also rarely happens since then, my pen would just end doodling on the paper. My eyes would just get watery staring at the screen in an attempt on changing the very face of the world with my text.
Worse, when I finally wrestled with myself into writing anything, usually in the form of a poem, or say a blog post like this, it'll just get butchered, not expressed even as a sigh, but a yelp. Instead of cooked sausages for breakfast, it'll be served looking like a mashed spam.
Pathetic, because everytime I see pictures of TWG alumni members in an activity like a workshop, forum, or just drinking beer, the more I refuse to succumb to the fact that the reason I cannot write is because I am not with them, although it seems that its obvious as the sun in midday. I cannot write because, it seems, as I am isolated from them, so am I isolated from literary practice. And to think that just after my graduation I have been hoping to improve my poetics, tch. So much so that when I imagine myself being with them in this or that event and the topic would be literature, I wouldn't be able to understand, much less keep up.
This year I don't remember writing anything with literary content, much less published on anything. Even managing to pass applications for workshops weren't done. I am not sure if this is to be blamed on my situation, or just my lack of organization and "talent," whatever that may be. I am thinking of being "invisible" from TWG people until I can write anything worthy of serious thought, but am not sure if this could be accomplished, or what would be accomplished by doing it.
As if being abused and degraded by my co-workers is not enough.
Fuck. I so hate this self doubt.
Was I really able to write?
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Lactic Legs
As some of you know, this semester started with me weighing 142 lbs. However, since my birthday, students and friends of mine have been treating me to a lot of stuff (beer, food, beer)and so that fairly OK weight has turned into a whopping 155 lbs. Before I get dismayed with my general health, I took things into my hands: Common-sense-less-carbohydrates-and-more-veggies diet and exercise.
My good friend, Manuel, has been bugging me to start working out again. I took the opportunity, and so for the past 2-3 weeks we have been into a sort of a gym-cardio-gym-cardio workout schedule. I go to his house thrice a week, run that semi-dreadful treadmill programs, stretch and work my ass off to shed some weight and tone my, uhm, physique. It's good, really, even though so many are the times that I can't reach my back to scrub it while bathing because of the pain and strainon my shoulders and arms.
Yesterday, a Saturday, is also included in our schedule. So I sweated my way out of that treadmill program # 3for 30 mins, stretched, and worked my way through bench presses, lat machine exercises, hammer and dumbell curls. After a gruelling 2-hour workout, I decided to warm down by doing some stretching again, shadow-boxing routines and working my legs.
I decided to do some boxing stuff by doing some hook-ducking footwork while carrying that 1.5kg medicine ball. The drill goes like this:
Your partner delivers slow hook punches, one at a time, while you carry that medicine ball with both hands in front of your chest. You duck a little and bend your knees a good deal to evade the hook while simultaneously working on a V-shaped footwork alternately to where your partner's punch came from. He steps back, then you two repeat the same procedure several times. 1 set consists of 40 repititions; 20 reps forward and 20 reps backward. I did 3 sets. Do the math.
I decided to do another set, a one-for-the-road thing. Then that's where the funny thing began.
When I bent my legs the first rep of that set, I froze. I can't move my legs, they were stiff and in GREAT PAIN. I think of lactic acids rushing to my leg muscles, busy overloaded trains jamming on a Dusseldorf station, people cursing the operators to their graves as if they just skinned babies.
Push 2 milligrams ativan. Stat!
My legs turned to wood, painful hardwood.
Wincing every second, I inched my way to a chair in a half-squat position. After taking some deep breaths and praying, I labored to stand up straight. Beads on my foreheads. Then I calmed myself, sat down, and massaged my thighs.
hehehehe... hehe...
Now I can't get up easily from bed, er.. bedding, since I sleep on the floor; can't quickly stand up from a chair, much less on a toilet seat; I canNOT freaking bend my knees without laughing painfully. Everytime my vastus lateralis flexes, fire shoots up to my gluteus maximus. Hopefully, on Tuesday, I can climb up the stairs to conduct my classes to room 301 of 2 different building in the campus.
This is insane, and I like this. I could use this stuff from time to time.
My good friend, Manuel, has been bugging me to start working out again. I took the opportunity, and so for the past 2-3 weeks we have been into a sort of a gym-cardio-gym-cardio workout schedule. I go to his house thrice a week, run that semi-dreadful treadmill programs, stretch and work my ass off to shed some weight and tone my, uhm, physique. It's good, really, even though so many are the times that I can't reach my back to scrub it while bathing because of the pain and strainon my shoulders and arms.
Yesterday, a Saturday, is also included in our schedule. So I sweated my way out of that treadmill program # 3for 30 mins, stretched, and worked my way through bench presses, lat machine exercises, hammer and dumbell curls. After a gruelling 2-hour workout, I decided to warm down by doing some stretching again, shadow-boxing routines and working my legs.
I decided to do some boxing stuff by doing some hook-ducking footwork while carrying that 1.5kg medicine ball. The drill goes like this:
Your partner delivers slow hook punches, one at a time, while you carry that medicine ball with both hands in front of your chest. You duck a little and bend your knees a good deal to evade the hook while simultaneously working on a V-shaped footwork alternately to where your partner's punch came from. He steps back, then you two repeat the same procedure several times. 1 set consists of 40 repititions; 20 reps forward and 20 reps backward. I did 3 sets. Do the math.
I decided to do another set, a one-for-the-road thing. Then that's where the funny thing began.
When I bent my legs the first rep of that set, I froze. I can't move my legs, they were stiff and in GREAT PAIN. I think of lactic acids rushing to my leg muscles, busy overloaded trains jamming on a Dusseldorf station, people cursing the operators to their graves as if they just skinned babies.
Push 2 milligrams ativan. Stat!
My legs turned to wood, painful hardwood.
Wincing every second, I inched my way to a chair in a half-squat position. After taking some deep breaths and praying, I labored to stand up straight. Beads on my foreheads. Then I calmed myself, sat down, and massaged my thighs.
hehehehe... hehe...
Now I can't get up easily from bed, er.. bedding, since I sleep on the floor; can't quickly stand up from a chair, much less on a toilet seat; I canNOT freaking bend my knees without laughing painfully. Everytime my vastus lateralis flexes, fire shoots up to my gluteus maximus. Hopefully, on Tuesday, I can climb up the stairs to conduct my classes to room 301 of 2 different building in the campus.
This is insane, and I like this. I could use this stuff from time to time.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Kanino?
Itinanong ko sa iyo
noon kung kanino ka
maaawa:
Sa nag-alay ng lubos
o sa kanyang nagtaboy
sa handog at nagkaila.
Ang Ayaw Ko Tuwing Kapaskuhan
PESTENG TRAFFIC. Daig pa ang mga balang sa palayan kung mamerwisyo.
Lumuwas ako noong isang araw para umattend ng party sa Maynila. Lagi kong ginagawa iyon, apat na taon na. Pero nito lang ako nakaranas ng ganoong katinding traffic. Mula ala-una ng hapon hanggang alas-siete ng gabi ang naging byahe ko. Yaong karaniwang tatlong oras na biyahe, naging anim. Mabuti na lang at pasko at medyo mahaba ang pasensya ko, kundi kinain ko na yung paslit na kasama ng babaeng katabi ko sa bus. Sobrang likot, maya't maya tinapakan ang pantalon kong nanlimahid dahil sa sandalyas nya. Kapag ako nagkaanak at kailangang isama sa byahe, sasaksakan ko muna ng ketamine para walang malay.
Ayos na sana, aircon naman. Kaso matapos kong bumaba sa Megamall para maghanap ng banyo (habang naglalakad na parang si Jason Bourne sa Waterloo Station, south entrance), at sumakay ng bus papuntang Quezon City, napurnada na. Sobrang traffic na naman. Isa't kalahating oras akong nakatayo sa salimuot ng pagsakay ng bus sa rush hour. Yung puti kong kamiseta, puta na. Dirty white -- LITERAL. Masikip. Mausok. Maalikabok. Madumi.
Dumating ako sa venue namin nang nanggigitata na. Iwas ako agad sa mga dalagang nagtangkang humalik sa pisngi ko habang nakataas ang kamay at nagsasabing "Hep! Oiliness to ugliness ako. Mamaya na lang." Mabuti na lang at maraming pagkain, matapos ang halos 8 oras kong pakikipagbuno sa trapiko ay pinuno ko naman ng bihon, adobo, lechon, puto at dinuguan ang sikmura ko, habang sumasagot sa mga tanong na:
"Bakit ngayon ka lang?"
"San ka galing?"
"Diretso ka ba mula Quezon?"
"Bakit nakakunot agad ang noo mo?"
"Gift ko, asan na?"
"Kumusta ang trabaho?"
"Sinong nililigawan mo ngayon? Estudyante?"
"Hindi mo na ba talaga ako mahal?"
"Ayaw mo nitong lollipop?"
"T-back, hipster, o see-through?"
"Ano ulit? Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis?"
Mabuti naman at nairaos ko ang araw na wala akong pinagbabalingan ng sama ng loob. Sa susunod na taon, ayaw ko nang lumuwas nang ganoong petsa kapag mataas na ang araw. Maigi pang pumunta na lang ako ng Baguio, ganoon din katagal. Kinabukasan, maayos naman ang biyahe pabalik ng Lucena, mga apat na oras lang dahil sa traffic, at maigi ring may katabi akong magandang binibining alumna ng UST. Masayang kasama, kahit na mukha siyang nagtanan na hindi sinipot ng kabiyak sa dami ng dala.
***
Mapagpalayang pasko
Lumuwas ako noong isang araw para umattend ng party sa Maynila. Lagi kong ginagawa iyon, apat na taon na. Pero nito lang ako nakaranas ng ganoong katinding traffic. Mula ala-una ng hapon hanggang alas-siete ng gabi ang naging byahe ko. Yaong karaniwang tatlong oras na biyahe, naging anim. Mabuti na lang at pasko at medyo mahaba ang pasensya ko, kundi kinain ko na yung paslit na kasama ng babaeng katabi ko sa bus. Sobrang likot, maya't maya tinapakan ang pantalon kong nanlimahid dahil sa sandalyas nya. Kapag ako nagkaanak at kailangang isama sa byahe, sasaksakan ko muna ng ketamine para walang malay.
Ayos na sana, aircon naman. Kaso matapos kong bumaba sa Megamall para maghanap ng banyo (habang naglalakad na parang si Jason Bourne sa Waterloo Station, south entrance), at sumakay ng bus papuntang Quezon City, napurnada na. Sobrang traffic na naman. Isa't kalahating oras akong nakatayo sa salimuot ng pagsakay ng bus sa rush hour. Yung puti kong kamiseta, puta na. Dirty white -- LITERAL. Masikip. Mausok. Maalikabok. Madumi.
Dumating ako sa venue namin nang nanggigitata na. Iwas ako agad sa mga dalagang nagtangkang humalik sa pisngi ko habang nakataas ang kamay at nagsasabing "Hep! Oiliness to ugliness ako. Mamaya na lang." Mabuti na lang at maraming pagkain, matapos ang halos 8 oras kong pakikipagbuno sa trapiko ay pinuno ko naman ng bihon, adobo, lechon, puto at dinuguan ang sikmura ko, habang sumasagot sa mga tanong na:
"Bakit ngayon ka lang?"
"San ka galing?"
"Diretso ka ba mula Quezon?"
"Bakit nakakunot agad ang noo mo?"
"Gift ko, asan na?"
"Kumusta ang trabaho?"
"Sinong nililigawan mo ngayon? Estudyante?"
"Hindi mo na ba talaga ako mahal?"
"Ayaw mo nitong lollipop?"
"T-back, hipster, o see-through?"
"Ano ulit? Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis?"
Mabuti naman at nairaos ko ang araw na wala akong pinagbabalingan ng sama ng loob. Sa susunod na taon, ayaw ko nang lumuwas nang ganoong petsa kapag mataas na ang araw. Maigi pang pumunta na lang ako ng Baguio, ganoon din katagal. Kinabukasan, maayos naman ang biyahe pabalik ng Lucena, mga apat na oras lang dahil sa traffic, at maigi ring may katabi akong magandang binibining alumna ng UST. Masayang kasama, kahit na mukha siyang nagtanan na hindi sinipot ng kabiyak sa dami ng dala.
***
Mapagpalayang pasko
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Balbas
Sa mga hindi nakakakita sa akin nang matagal na, hindi pa ako nag-aahit, mga magtatatlong linggo na.As in hindi lang balbas, pati bigote at sideburns. Intentionally untidy ang mukha ko. Tuloy, ang mga tanong ng mga kaibigan, estudyante, at katrabaho.
***
Co-Faculty1: Sir, bakit naman ganyan ang hitsura mo?
Zaldy: Bakit?
Co-Faculty1: Ang pangit kasi pag ang haba ng balbas mo.
Zaldy: Lalo naman siguro ikaw, pag may balbas...
Co-Faculty1&2: hahaha!
***
Student1: Hi sir! May klase ka?
Zaldy: Wala pa.
Student 2: Ano'ng oras?
Zaldy: 2:30 pa nga eh, kakainip.
Student 2: Ahh...
Student1: Ano ba yan sir, ang amos mo na!
Zaldy: Ha? Amos ka dyan, hindi naman ako kumain.
Student2: Hindi yun, mag-ahit ka na kasi.
Zaldy: Pengeng pambili ng pang-ahit.
Student1: Nge!
Zaldy: Wala ka pala eh...
Student1: Pa-beso na lang.
Zaldy: Ha?
Student1: Sige na!
(rolls eyes and concedes)
***
(Sa bilihan ng banana que)
Teenage Friend(TF): Hi sir!
Zaldy: Hello girl.
TF: Kumusta naman yang banana que mo sir?
Zaldy: Drop that "sir", kilala mo na kaya ako noon pa bago ako maging prof.
TF: Hmp, ok.
Zaldy: Yan.
TF: Bakit naman ganyan ang mukha mo?
Zaldy: Bakit, may dumi?
TF: Maduming tingnan!
Zaldy: How?
TF: Ayan o! (holds zaldy's face, pulls him near a little) Ang gaspang na kaya. Mag-ahit ka na kasi...
Zaldy: (reflexively holds her waist, then checks himself) Yes, yes, I'd get to that some other time.
TF: Promise?
Zaldy: Promise. Oh ayan na yung tita mo, sumabay ka na (removes her hands)
TF: Ok! bye!
Zaldy: Bye.
***
Zaldy: Hoy babaeng lupa! May sayaw ba kayo?
Girl: Oo sir, sa 3. Nuod ka ha! Di ka nanuod nung sa convention center, dapat doon manuod ka.
Zaldy: Saan ba? A que hora?
Girl: Ha? sa Enverga gym. Hapon daw eh. Wag mo nga akong gamitan ng spanish.
Zaldy: Hayaan mo na, mukha ka namang Española.
Girl: Bakit ganyan hitsura mo?
Zaldy: Ha?
Girl: Mag-ahit ka na kaya...
Zaldy: Wala ngang pambili ng pang-ahit.
Girl: Magkano ba yun?
Zaldy: Php260. Yung Gilette Mach 3.
Girl: Sosyal! Hahaha
Zaldy: hahaha. Mag-aahit ako sa bertdey ko.
Girl: Kailan naman yun?
Zaldy: Sa May, hahaha
Girl: Hindi nga?
Zaldy: Sa December.
Girl: Talaga? Lapit na ah, anong date?
Zaldy: Basta mga 3 weeks from now.
Girl: SIge tingnan ko sa friendster.
Zaldy: Bye. May klase na ako.
Girl: Bye sir!
***
Mabuti na lang at hindi pa ako namememohan ng admin namin dahil sa hitsura ko. Hell, nagagawa ko naman ang trabaho ko kahit balasarado ako ah!
***
Co-Faculty1: Sir, bakit naman ganyan ang hitsura mo?
Zaldy: Bakit?
Co-Faculty1: Ang pangit kasi pag ang haba ng balbas mo.
Zaldy: Lalo naman siguro ikaw, pag may balbas...
Co-Faculty1&2: hahaha!
***
Student1: Hi sir! May klase ka?
Zaldy: Wala pa.
Student 2: Ano'ng oras?
Zaldy: 2:30 pa nga eh, kakainip.
Student 2: Ahh...
Student1: Ano ba yan sir, ang amos mo na!
Zaldy: Ha? Amos ka dyan, hindi naman ako kumain.
Student2: Hindi yun, mag-ahit ka na kasi.
Zaldy: Pengeng pambili ng pang-ahit.
Student1: Nge!
Zaldy: Wala ka pala eh...
Student1: Pa-beso na lang.
Zaldy: Ha?
Student1: Sige na!
(rolls eyes and concedes)
***
(Sa bilihan ng banana que)
Teenage Friend(TF): Hi sir!
Zaldy: Hello girl.
TF: Kumusta naman yang banana que mo sir?
Zaldy: Drop that "sir", kilala mo na kaya ako noon pa bago ako maging prof.
TF: Hmp, ok.
Zaldy: Yan.
TF: Bakit naman ganyan ang mukha mo?
Zaldy: Bakit, may dumi?
TF: Maduming tingnan!
Zaldy: How?
TF: Ayan o! (holds zaldy's face, pulls him near a little) Ang gaspang na kaya. Mag-ahit ka na kasi...
Zaldy: (reflexively holds her waist, then checks himself) Yes, yes, I'd get to that some other time.
TF: Promise?
Zaldy: Promise. Oh ayan na yung tita mo, sumabay ka na (removes her hands)
TF: Ok! bye!
Zaldy: Bye.
***
Zaldy: Hoy babaeng lupa! May sayaw ba kayo?
Girl: Oo sir, sa 3. Nuod ka ha! Di ka nanuod nung sa convention center, dapat doon manuod ka.
Zaldy: Saan ba? A que hora?
Girl: Ha? sa Enverga gym. Hapon daw eh. Wag mo nga akong gamitan ng spanish.
Zaldy: Hayaan mo na, mukha ka namang Española.
Girl: Bakit ganyan hitsura mo?
Zaldy: Ha?
Girl: Mag-ahit ka na kaya...
Zaldy: Wala ngang pambili ng pang-ahit.
Girl: Magkano ba yun?
Zaldy: Php260. Yung Gilette Mach 3.
Girl: Sosyal! Hahaha
Zaldy: hahaha. Mag-aahit ako sa bertdey ko.
Girl: Kailan naman yun?
Zaldy: Sa May, hahaha
Girl: Hindi nga?
Zaldy: Sa December.
Girl: Talaga? Lapit na ah, anong date?
Zaldy: Basta mga 3 weeks from now.
Girl: SIge tingnan ko sa friendster.
Zaldy: Bye. May klase na ako.
Girl: Bye sir!
***
Mabuti na lang at hindi pa ako namememohan ng admin namin dahil sa hitsura ko. Hell, nagagawa ko naman ang trabaho ko kahit balasarado ako ah!
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