about this blog

Others want it hard, others semi-hard. A few have it poached from them. The rest wants the freakin’ cacophony of an omelette. As for me, I want it sunny side up – life, that is.

Friday, October 29, 2010


Ever since I was a kid, I’ve always had an issue with guards. It’s probably because I have an issue with everything, but I beg to disagree. I DON’T have an issue with anything at all. Everyone has an issue with me. (Har har)

Please feel free to add your grudge to this list

1. They do not treat everyone equally.
In our office, everyone wears a uniform – save for the managers. I guess that made the lives of said guards easier since they only have to look at what people are wearing to identify whether the person should be respected or not.

One time, an officemate requested a guard to help him hail a cab. The guard said, “Dun ka na lang maghintay sa harap.” My friend was humiliated and furious but he didn’t show it in front of us because we were with his girlfriend. PERO kapag managers na ang kumausap sa kanila, mabilis pa sa alas kwatro.

2. They hate my hair.
I’ve kept a short and well-trimmed do for years – and it doesn’t mean it looked good. Let’s just say that I lived a relatively saintly childhood and pubescent years, meaning to say that if they declare I need to crop my hair, I always indulge them. Barber’s cut, 3x4, Oasis, tell ‘em all, I’ve probably had it.

But right after college, I realized that I look a bit Korean if I kept it long (or so they say). And that through it, I get compliments from the right people (i.e. flings). So, I decided to maintain my long do. This by the way gets me in trouble with those bastard, bald-headed, vile creatures.

3. Their eyes are just for me.
Yes, that’s true and it’s not a good thing. Everything I do is magnified a hundred fold. I think they hate my guts and my disrespect for the self-righteous. But damn, I didn’t study in UP for nothing. If they want war, well I’ll not be wearing my red stilettos at the office, but expect me to do something equally bad. Like hitting on their gay son.

Monday, October 11, 2010


I’m listening to the rhythm of the rain that has just started to pour. It commences with a gentle drizzle and ascends to a generous downpour, making a monotonous cycle of sounds as the rain drops collide and splatter onto the rooftops. Aside from this, pretty much everything is still.

The formerly lit sky is now engulfed in eternal darkness. It was not too long ago when the full moon exhibited itself upon its audience – the stars.

They were on a constant display of affection. A steady stream of burning red, patches of blazing orange, strings of scorching yellow, and blotches of brilliant blue stretched as far as the eye can see. Intense passion flared upon the midnight sky for everyone to behold. Too intense that their light could fill every crevice in the heavens above. Too intense that they could replace the sun. Too intense, indeed, that it hurts.

And as the night neared its climax, every color in the sky swirled into one giant white mass, blinding anyone who dared to open his eyes. And then suddenly, without consent, a loud explosion was heard in the night sky. After that, everything went blank. Black. Uncertain.

The colors faded.

I’m still lying here motionlessly on top on the sheets, pain, guilt, and remorse washing over me. These sheets still hold the pieces of evidence. Your sweat, come, scents mixed with mine. Your last concrete memory.

Like how pathetic could I ever get by clinging to these sheets like a prized possession? But I don’t know. Maybe these are the last things I own that could ever have a part of you in them.

Yes. Hopefully, after washing these sheets, you’re off my heart.

Friday, October 8, 2010

after a thousand years -

- i found out that my blogspot account is still alive. Tabula rasa. It's gonna be fun.

Time for CPR