31

As a child, we learn to define occasions in terms of gifts. Christmas was bombarded with reminders about giving and of course, the reaction was inevitable: expectations and anticipation. Not that it is a bad thing.  Gift-giving became a symbol of sacrifice, apology and appreciation. We want to make someone feel good.

Altruism is human nature. Selfish even. The receiver feels heavenly; BUT the giver, in that moment feels like God.  It’s a win-win situation, if you ask me.

Two nights ago, in a very uncharacteristic move, my mom admitted to her inability to provide us with what we want while I was growing up.  Broken promises were a common theme. That explains a lot why I would go berserk over the tiniest detail about cancelling plans and breaking promises. I shrugged off her admission like it was a tiny thing. But it was generally a heavy cross. When you are a kid, you only expect the best things, without much reason.  But such is the story of my life:

I always get what I don’t want.

I am adult enough to accept that gifts don’t define happiness, but it does give you the needed sense of importance. You won’t see people crying over you in your funeral so this is the closest to a statistic (about people who cares) that you can get.

Why am I whining?

I have been blessed with a beautiful girlfriend, a newly-released album and a new job that I enjoy doing.  This year started well, more than I have expected and I am thankful. I honestly am.

But that advice about counting my blessings has been exhausted and over-used.

I have been trying to verbalize what drives people to experience birthday blues. I am not an exception, and friends know it. Is it just about gifts? I think it may have something to do with existential questions but that’s me trying to be deep. 

But to feed your curiosity my dear readers, these are the usual queries: Why am I still here? Do I deserve another year? Why stay when people don’t care?

I honestly don’t know how to end this blog.

Maybe just an admission of my shallowness.

But are you really righteous enough to point that out without looking at your own expectations and wants?

My blues remains. 31 years and counting.

YOU'LL SEE...

There is a wave coming. Hold on to your loved ones, 'coz every turmoil and celebration is best shared.

Mundane Monday

I haven't listened to the album but I am glad Mumford and Sons' Babel got the album of the year award in this year's Grammy. Reminds me of Arcade Fire's win last year.  Indie folk is indeed in the rise. This will surely push the buttons of those pop kids in the net to do a "mumford-who" ignorant queries.

I lost my job two weeks ago. I was not devastated like most of my (former) colleagues. Must be because I prayed sincerely the night before for a financial breakthrough. And I got it --- in the form of a massive company lay-off.

Why would I classify  that as an act of God? Well, first off, learning in my former workplace is a downward slope and monotony is already taking its toll. It is not healthy intellectually to say the least. Curse me for forcing myself to work about something that isn't close to my interest. Second, the "no professional growth" statement is similar to the closer-to-nil salary increase. I can barely buy myself anything without loaning. I have two kids, I'm taking up my Master degree and I rent an apartment. You do the math of how poverty-stricken I am. And third, a separation pay package is offered if you are sacked. Financial breakthrough it was. The icing of that cake was revealed 20 minutes later, when I received a call from this (my present) company, offering me a new job. Coincidence, some might argue. I am sorry but I will be the first to flush your doubting mouth in the toilet. There is a reason for everything. Call it new age thinking, call it bull-crap, but I am smiling now like never before. Everyone who knows me knows that this is a very peculiar occasion. They need to get used to it too. 

Change is hard, but change is good. I have to be honest, I am not fond of this truth, but this will serve as my timely advice to friends who are feeling the backlash of being a bum. Redemption is coming, ever dearest colleagues. Have faith.

Local Natives' Gorilla Manor and Foals' Total Life Forever are splendid music for getting back to the jungle. Traveling to Ayala requires me to wake up earlier than usual and I'm still not used to it. the percussive rhythm of these bands serves as my entrance theme to change --- like Rocky Balboa getting ready to beat the crap out of Apollo Creed, but armed only with a blue pen and a free leather-cased DHL notepad.

I just hope buses in Manila offer bigger legrooms. and for jeepneys, higher ceilings. I mean, are Filipinos really condemned to be shorter by nature that everything should go hand in hand with the height --- smaller spaces, tiny servings, limited salaries? Plus, if we are really aiming to attract tourists, these miniature design may look interesting but will surely be no fun when it comes to comfortability. Think about it.

It is confirmed : The renovation of EDSA is pushing through. The renovation will take two years and it is happening sooner than we think. Hello traffic from hell. As if we haven't seen that before but this time, it's more apocalyptic. I say, strut the road-less traveled: use the Pasig river. Clean it up again, and build more ferry stations, and obviously, more Ferries. That way, we won't be too dependent on roads. PNR trains should also be given attention. More of them. Building additional MRTs will take two years so that won't be a plausible option. The solutions are right on our face. We just need to consider other possibilities, instead of scratching our heads and ranting against the government.

hits and misses

Misery loves company. an old man's drunk babble.
Heard it first from the band Soul Asylum. 
I have always loved the build-up in the chorus.
A nostagia hit.
Never understood it until now.

There are people addicted to sadness, according to Billy Corgan.
Labels are not advisable, but indulge me when I say artists are usually
the saddest people in the world.
Hurt makes good art.
Good art doesn't necessarily sells, but it leaves a mark.
and maybe wins you a Winona Ryder on your side.

But what if you got the Ben Gibbard syndrome and tried to encapsulate happiness
in one package, go where Codes and Keys failed?

Failure is a probability. Some things need not to be proclaimed to the whole world.
You just let your glow speak for itself.

And it goes back to Dave Pirner's sage-like lyric in the first paragraph.
what if your friends doesn't want that glow to blanket their space because it's blinding them?

Will you adjust to fit their idea of gloom?
Is it acceptable to wallow in bitterness because they seem to distant themselves
suddenly even during times when you need them there?
Do you change your concept of friendship from then on?

Are they even friends to begin with?

the sentencing of faith

How do you gauge one's credibility : by the number of promises fulfilled or number of mistakes repeated?


My mom promising me a G.I. Joe and WWF action figure and leaving that promise to rot in dust never left my childhood memory. Heck, I can still remember how I envy my cousin for having a complete set and I have to settle with her own version of "remarkable" toys that I should be playing with. That leaves a mark, you know.

A lover giving you assurance to change for the better and not considering how you feel a day after is plain deception. Like trusting a blank wall to spew colors.

Both hurts real bad.

Mistakes are learned, not repeated. 

And there will be special instances that a jury vote or senate hearing debate is needed for those various occasions that should be in the exemption list.

or better, there should always a plan B.
It's difficult to create an ideal situation that all is given equal attention
So you adjust. We adjust.

The important thing is you have given your child or partner the "priority" thought. and it goes hand in hand with a verb : express.

To compliment, to please; to give; to sacrifice; to be there : this should all be automatic. For a prize of one toothy smile.

You can't expect anyone to read you. but there is such thing as obligation.
and obligation is sweeter when done out of initiative.

Psychologists do not read mind,  but they read patterns.

and these patterns I kept seeing are not recipes of future happiness.

but of internal combustion.



nakakapagod na tumanggap ng sorry.

TO HOPIA OR NOT?

I woke up to a hope that everything in my life will glide smoothly; intuition more adept to steer away from humps and road blocks, eyes clearer in spotting danger signs. As always, I was being arrogant.

My morning was greeted with a happy post from a friend claiming to have seen our music video in Myx.  

I have always dream of being on TV. People who grew up in provinces have this perception that you hit it big time when you find yourself on the boob tube. Of course that is absurd, but I secretly share that same perception. I will forever hold on to Andy Warhol's theory of everyone getting their 15-minute of fame in this lifetime, in whatever forms possible. Hopefully, not in an accidental mood swing video link (think Amalayaer video). I do refuse to give my soul to the likes of Willie Revillame or Lito Camo for my art should not be compromised. Marketing though, is the b-side of each art form. Why limit yourself to a crowd when you know your music deserves to be seen or heard? It can be a tool to maybe educate people about other forms of great music out there. 

Yes, arrogance oozing in. 

Anyway, it all boils down to this thought: I want my kids (who are residing in Bicol) to boast about their pot-bellied dad being on TV and doing his thing. That will surely inspire them that anything is possible.

There is a gig tonight where Your Imaginary Friends will perform for the first time for Bing Austria’s production. Khalid is still in Hongkong, trying to be a happy tourist amidst the racial discrimination. We settled to do it the early-Nirvana set-up because we miss playing and we are already giddy to celebrate the future success of our new EP.

Something is pricking all the happy bubbles though. I worry about not being competent to play the electric guitar alone. I have been performing ever since I learned how to strum an electric guitar (that was in 2nd year high school) and here I am, hesitating to deliver what I know I am good at. Currently injecting tea to my veins so I can smile the fear out with the help of this ever-reliable liquid caffeine.

Suddenly a bad news: I learned that my 3 and half days spent for Christmas vacation is not credited. My fault for only having 1-and-a-half day vacation leaves left, but I always thought that since it is part of the cut-off (Dec.24 to Jan.9), the leave credits of January can be carried over and used (and abused) within the duration. I was wrong.

And I call that the XMAS backlash. That’s 3 thousand minus from my salary. What a pitiful way to start 2013. There are bills to pay, loans to settle etc. Every blessing has its curse, as I say.

My girlfriend can be very church-y about these things, uttering verses of encouragement. She’s an emblem of positivity.  I find it equally amusing and impressive. And me? That’s another story. All I can do is nod and ask for a kiss.

Hope is the word here.  Hope is what I lack too.

I think about the atheists who settle for the practical truths. For tangible reasons. 

Do they still hope? 

I do believe that religion is a drug. And I cringe on the ordeal these believers go through, keeping on with mindless man-made traditions. I am with the atheists there. I understand what they find about the movement so repulsive. But faith for the unknown, for a force, for positivity, for answers against existential questions --- this is a common need. A heartbeat to cling on. And you can’t blame these believers to have sung praises unto the air for a God they haven’t even seen. Everyone wants to believe in something. And I pity those stubborn heads that are always standing by their arguments to disapprove anything relating to innocence, to hope for the sake of debate. Anything that is righteous is wrong.

What I am saying here is I know early on that Santa Claus is just my mom putting 3 pieces of 1-peso corn chips in my white school socks, but I still ready my socks every Christmas. Because innocence is a beautiful thing. I mean, what’s wrong with a little childlike happiness? I think I deserve to be arrogant with this stand.

"the emo-ness of esteban" by Mawhi Ballen

Let me shed a tear now because like all humans, I still crumble in fear and disappointment brought by bad luck. The weather can't be tamed by your own will or doing. But I will hope harder that it won't rain badly in my life this year.

As Lewis Bowman of Chapel Club stated; “in time, we will be fine”. Indeed.

tongue-twisted

Why is it a pain to write when you are in a happy plain?

Irony has its way of inserting into your epidermis when you’re more likely covered in armor. 

Like the above thought. Happy but mute? Humbug.

Now I am writing because I have to unleash a paperweight saddled on my chest.

To unmute.

But I have nothing to write about .

Maybe a few.

Gluttony is not an effective remedy for this hurt.

I wonder why girls indulge in such debauchery when they simply know that it adds to the burden. 

And weight.

Sublimation.

And I am being a girl right now.

My feminine side exudes confidence in unleashing this tirade of emotional outbursts

just because they were cracked open beforehand.

Too much trust can cause that, you see.

Unmuting.

But settling for silence instead.

I need a drink.