Are We Passive. Or We're Being Lazy?

OK, people do us wrong.
But we leave it to God.
Let it be.

I say this holy passive attitude is a cloak.
It's inaction.

People continue to do us wrong,
because they know we will leave it to the will of God.
They are well aware of this extreme Catholic excuse.

Will they really find karma?
Or our inaction is a bigger karma that affects more people?

The beast which roam this world,
savagely looking for their prey,
in a jungle existence,
trounce upon the sheepish ones.

The more beasts are given room to wreak havoc,
the more there will be sheep to serve as their next meal.

And when they are full, like contented cows,
relishing the rewards of their manipulative acts,
they yearn for more.

They have tasted power like an irresistible meal.
And they will go for more.

The weaklings would rather focus on their daily lives.
Using survival as an excuse, they refuse to go further.

People don't fight for what is right any longer.
No wonder this era is lost.
No wonder in a modern world, coups can still happen.
Inequality has obviously become more unequal.
No wonder there's recession. No wonder there's no vision.

No wonder no one moves the cheese.

The beasts even mastered appearing like gentle saviors.
They adapt to their targets' woes and needs.
Then once they seduce with solutions,
they eat us whole.

Then they move on to another cattle.

This generation is lacking of cause.
No wonder it is lacking of true leaders.

Only when survival itself is at risk,
will the passive ones act.

It's future survival which we should worry about.
Not the trappings of the current needs.

The more we focus on the present,
the less there is to hope for in the future.

There's no tomorrow if we stop thinking about tomorrow.

Go beyond the now, and let's fight for something that will do good.

Justice is a lonely word.

Somebody's got to pay.
And we should start fighting to finally
get our long overdue payback.

Fight for right.
Just keep on fighting.
Kill the beasts.

I still believe the good should overpower the bad.
That's what Christ's message was all about.
Now that is Catholicism used as a reason as well,
to hopefully make us act.

It doesn't have to be a big act.
It can start with fighting for what is right
in our daily little lives.

Win Some, Lose Some

So this racketeering stage has evolved into advertising pitches as well.
There's this expenditure that we're not sure if we'll recover,
unless we win an account against other agencies.

First was a bookstore that needed communications overhauling.
That one was fun to do.

The next one, an outdoor advertising campaign pitch,
was scarier.

We were up against two really big ad agencies.
And here we were, unassociated with any company,
except our bum selves, giving it a shot.

It was a major pharmaceutical company.

So we did what we can.
Three contenders.
Two small guys against two big giants.

We didn't even have foam board nor spray mounts
for the first round.

Yes, there was a second round.
One agency was out, so there were just Us and The Big One.

We went through the motions, and revisions.
And just reappeared.

The day after,
I got the bad news.

We lost the bookstore account.
So when my pitch buddy's window, over Facebook chat,
reappeared, saying he woke up suddenly,
I was already conditioned to receive another bad news.

I knew the client has called him.

I knew he'd tell me about what happened to
the pharmaceutical pitch.

And, my expectations were already so low,
with the preceding misfortune.

But, no!
We got the account!
It's much bigger.
So it's a sweeter victory.

So there.
One down, one up.

Now we got to learn to do the Math.
We're no account executives.

We gotta spend the client's money wisely.
And whatever income we get along the way,
we gotta be disciplined about that, too.

So I can have my well-deserved rest.
And still have money for bills, bills, bills.

After I finish a tycoon's documentary,
and after I set-up a celebrity's website,
and after a rush TV ad project someone
requested me to do.

But from Sunday to Wednesday,
I'll be away.

I deserve it.
And there's more tasks to come anyway.

So my mind needs to rest.
Where there's solace and solitude,
there's life, the way I want it to be.

Life is still good to me.
And I thank the heavens above
or whatever force which helps me survive.

Life is a pitch, then we drink.
Cheers!

Walk Another Way

For almost two years.
I haven't traveled outside the Philippine Area of Responsibility.
I envy the typhoons crossing our territory then moving on
to the next destination.

I resisted the desire to travel, because of investing on a condominium.
And the rest is house arrest history.

I have memorized every crack down High Street.
But I yearn for Orchard St.
I miss the Eastern and Western Sts. followed by a number
as I tread and get lost in Manhattan's labyrinth.

I miss the hawker noodle stops along Sukhumvit St.

Millenium Mile's strong winds under freezing temperatures
are craved, now that I've melted under Makati's harsh sun, or get wet
by its unstoppable showers.

I miss walking along foreign avenues.

Where, o where is Vallejo St. and its quaint
City Lights bookstore, just across the Coppola wine bar?

Even nearby Midlevel's longest escalator walkway,
passing by good bistros, and ending up in a cinema
where great movies are shown, the IFC, I can accept.
Even if it means insignificant amount of frequent flyer miles.

By the time my condo expenses are over,
I wish I can still walk like I used to.
By that time, I wish my constant cardio routines will pay off.

And by that time,
I wish I am still capable, financially, to do so.

Against the current pandemic situation,
I will brave the virus,
and fly, somewhere nearer,
cheaper.

Anywhere but here.
Two years is too long to be stuck.
I am tired of walking along Ayala Avenue.

I need to be stimulated once more.
I need to be anonymous somewhere, once again.

I believe I can fly.
I believe I can touch the sky.

I will fly.
I will touch the sky.

Soon. Soon.

I Am No Longer A Daytime Zombie

Makati, on a weekday, before sunset, and after high noon.

The lazy breeze lulls me to daydream, caressed at the wind tunnel
right at the corner outdoor table of M Cafe.

Unmindful of some mothers passing by with babies in strollers,
it makes me realize how lucky I can be to choose to truly live,
rather than live to work.

The Japanese bamboo trees sway, as if dancing to the beat
of nirvana rhythms running inside my head.

A sip of freshly squeezed banana juice refreshes my
tired soul ravaged by decades of stressful employment
and a hundred characters at different stages,
all trying to be the lead, and chasing the spotlight,
which made them dark, instead.

There's no need to forcibly smile.
There's no room to argue and prove a point.
There's no breath left to heave a deep sigh for the irritants
I had to contend with.
Now they are like avatars from the past I've muted and frozen.
Now I am the master of my fate.

But it doesn't make me brain-dead.
They say when you leave the rat race,
you become dumb.

It actually awakens the other realms,
induced by spirituality, sensuality, solace, solitude,
and yes, silence.

The mind begins to create other worlds
not customized by the authority, or those who pay,
to have their way.

A story crosses my mind, untapped before,
without the need to explain a product's advantage,
but the story will always revolve around a person,
not a thing.

Suddenly, thoughts are about living and life.
Suddenly, afternoons are brighter than high noon.
Suddenly, I am not on siesta mode, but alive again,
in a different zone of wakefulness.

I realized, how foolish I've been to ignore, and abandon,
for money's sake and the elusive quest for pyrrhic small victories,
how asleep I've been to the zombie-like world of
economic robotic productivity.

I've parked the more fulfilling works that matter, and lasts longer,
beyond another awards show that only a few of us know, made
to simply pat each others' backs.

The past had to die, so that life begins once again.
There's more to life than work.
I chose soul over mortality.
I chose to truly live, than be a part the daily living dead.

Not As Bad As I Thought It Would Be

The racket world.
At first, I thought, it will be scary.

For the letter of Paul to Timothy declares,
"if you don't work, you don't eat."

Two months after unshackling myself from corporate chains,
I realized, I am still surviving.

Time is more flexible, in fact, my harvests in
virtual FarmTown have been kept under good care.
Only a semi-bum or a freelance agent can manage
such web-developed hobby.

And as a freelancer, we're pitching for our second account.
No, I am not yet the enterpreneurial type who would set up
an agency.

I have no dreams of becoming a CEO, President,
or whatever highest ranking position there is.
And I have no messianic tendencies.

It's still transition to me, in between jobs.
In a span of two months, I have completed
two advertising salvos, as myself, not associated
with any other entity, except for Dino Jalandoni,
who's also freelancing now.

I even managed to finish a rewrite for a movie!

I can still afford to avoid brochure writing.

I can still pay my rent.
But I have drastically minimized buying clothes.
There's not much need since I don't face clients everyday.

Greenbelt area has practically become my office,
where there's free wi-fi, there is I.

But I realized, life is much simpler without bureaucracy.

Indeed, we have become used to the corporate process,
but things can actually be done in a simpler, and more efficient manner.

Gone are the series of meetings, whether within an office,
or client meetings.

In fact, this simplicity can be addictive.
It makes things faster, less of the analysis - paralysis syndrome
that mark corporate discussions.

And of course, there are lesser egos to be careful about, too.
And there are no powers to contend with, or politics.

I realized, experience is indeed the best investment into
this racket life. I never expected it to be so useful,
the thinking becomes faster, and more sound.
It has become inherent, through the test of time.

Sometimes, we make our lives complex than how it should be.
There are things we have learned in the corporate life,
and yes, there are things too, which have to be unlearned.

So far, I am not complaining.
So far, so fine.

Drag Your Friends To One Hell Of A Movie

I've avoided horror films for years now.
The overdose of Ringu and other Asian flicks made me so tired of the genre.
Then Hollywood remakes them, all the more I got tired of it.

But suddenly, this scary movie that seems to be having fun,
appears out of nowhere. Well, Sam Raimi has done Evil Dead.
So it caught my attention.

But his "Drag Me To Hell" gives us memories of movies when they were movies.
Fun, scary, and a real entertainer!

Well, I won't narrate what happens in the movie.
But if you're in for curses, and its effects, this one's a terrifying romp!

The moment the old lady begins to show quirkiness, with that
defective eye and a 70's car, the fun and terror begins.

Never have I seen a hand-to-hand battle between the cursed
and the curser like this one.

And a goat in one of the film's highlights, adds to the comic
ingenuity!

Struggle to the grave, open a coffin,
use a stapler to mangle a face,
have a fly in your cake, and eat it too.

Got the point?
It's like a drive-in movie show.

They should bring that back.
But I hope the scary lady's car isn't one of them parked out there.

Never, ever reject a lady who begs.
If you do, you'll have one hell of a ride,
that drags you to cinema at its most entertaining form.
And, yes, be prepared to scream once more, while you're laughing.
Now that's a hard mix, but this movie shows us how, and wow!
Deliciously wicked.

Mobile Office: My Favorite Free Internet Spots

Yes, it's free wi-fi!
Well, it's crucial to someone like me.
I never liked tagging along my Mac.
But now it is a must.

So outside of home,
where my internet is reliable,
I have spotted the internet zones
where I don't have to pay for web hours.
And at the same time, they are great places for working,
brainstorming, receiving and sending e-mail.

M CAFE, Greenbelt 4, Makati

THE PENINSULA BAR, The Peninsula Manila Hotel, Makati

BO'S CAFE, Bonifacio High Street, Taguig

ALEXA DELI AND WINE BAR, Classica Condo, H.V. Dela Costa St.,
Salcedo Village, Makati

UCC CAFE in Glorietta 3 Park, Ayala Center, Makati

Well, the rest, I don't know yet.
Starbucks requires you to load a prepaid internet card worth a hundred bucks for an hour.
It's a hundred and twenty bucks for 30 minutes at Seattle's Best, Greenbelt 3.

I wish there were more.
But the place has to be conducive for thinking or meeting.

Any suggestions?

Our Short Films for Cinemalaya Are Now On YouTube

We did three short films to promote Cinemalaya,
the prestigious Philippine Independent Film Festival,
now dubbed as Our Sundance.

I wrote the films.

Please take time to visit these sites where you
can freely view them, and don't forget to share the sites to others.
It will help make people more aware of the independent cinema spirit.

The film festival begins on July 17 until July 26, 2009.
Happy viewing and see ya at the movies!

"Saan Nagtatago Ang CCP?"
(Looking for CCP)

Stars Dino Jalandoni.

View this film at this site:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZK5cW0cro9Q

"Candelabra"
(The Candle Holder)

Stars: Erik Matti and EJ Galang

View the film at this site:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KxlcAriGREE

"Ang Kapatid Ko'ng Nagpupumilit Makita Si Ricky Davao"
(My Sister Wants to See Ricky Davao"

Stars: Ina Feleo, Cinemalaya 2007's Best Actress, Ricky Davao, and Coco Martin.

View it at this site:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZK5cW0cro9Q

And lastly, we did a 60-seconder TV commercial to promote the festival.

'The Gallery"

Stars: Dennis Trillo and Angel Aquino.

The ad can be seen at this site:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ims2GdGj4cM


Thanks! Do spread the word, and the sites.

One Wham of A Revival

Overheard from waiters at a videoke joint:

WAITER 1: Seems like no one is singing "Careless Whisper" tonight.
WAITER 2: Yesterday. most room guests were singing it.

WAITER 1: Yeah, they even had to wait for their turn, since the tune
was requested in most rooms.
WAITER 2: Today, some people from Room Number 9
were singing it.

WAITER 1: Were they dancing in their underwear?
WAITER 2: Not in their underwear. But I saw the guy touching
the girl's boobies.

WAITER 1: Was he a doctor?
WAITER 2: The girl was not too gifted though.
WAITER 1: Bad singer?
WAITER 2: Nah, I mean no melons to see.

Definitely, we weren't on Room Number 9 that night.
But I had a grand time discovering the effect of a scandal
on videoke joints.

Time can mend the careless whisper of a bad friend.
The whisper has turned into a loud noise.
This madness will die down soon.

Cinemalaya 2009 - Looking For CCP (Saan Nagtatago Ang CCP?)

Click on the title of this blog to see the video.



One of three short films to promote Cinemalaya Independent Film Festival 2009. Watch the festival at the Cultural Center of the Philippines from July 17 to 26, 2009.

Directed by: Thierry Notz.
Written by: Lilit Reyes
Produced by: Underground Logic and Production Village
Starring: Dino Jalandoni as the Lost Film Critic
Agency: Blackpencil/ Leo Burnett Manila
Client: Cultural Center of the Philippines
Product: Cinemalaya 2009 Independent Film Festival
Soundtrack: HIT PRODUCTIONS
More credits are shown in the film.

Please share this video to spread the news about Cinemalaya 2009. Thanks.
See you at the movies!

Cheesy Conversation

Potential: You won't like me, I gained weight.
Suitor: I like you for what you are, not what you should be.

Potential: I've had my pains.
Suitor: So have I.

Potential: You're better off with (*** beep ****).
Suitor: I'm better off with you.

Potential: I've had it with love. I want to be wild.
Suitor: I've had it with being wild. I want to fall in love.

Potential: I'm scared of us being more than friends, I like you as a friend.
Suitor: I'm thrilled of us being more than friends.

Potential: You will hate me, once you get to know me more.
Suitor: Let me be the judge of that.

Potential: (silence)
Suitor: (silence)

Suitor: Dinner. Let's have dinner.
We won't lose anything.
We can only become closer friends, or something else.

Potential: (silence)
I like lobsters.

Suitor: (computes budget)
I think they're overrated. Too pricey. Less meat.
But don't get me wrong, as I've said, I like you.


LESSON LEARNED:
Sometimes, it's obvious when the one chasing has no fighting chance.
But if it's worth the fight, let David slay Goliath, against all odds,
and fall to the ground, and fall in love.

Farming, Virtually

What is it that attracts people to virtual farming?
It's this application called Farm Town @ Facebook.

I've been hooked.
I started plowing the field, inviting contacts to be my neighbors.

I realize I've been visiting their farms, too.
I rake a tornado-hit field, or water dry lands.

I receive coins, sheep, and trees.

I go to the Marketplace and sell my services
for a few coins. I harvest other people's fields,
strangers, for coins!

And they all rush at the marketplace, their avatars
overrunning mine, so they be hired instead of me.
Madness!

I freeze animals.

Crazy! From a beginner, I became Popular Farmer.

It's called bumming around.
But I never thought even busy people
will go to this frou-frou application.

It either feeds a dream to retire and have a farm.
Or it may be the mindless activity to do to make our brains rest,
if we do have busy and productive brains, in the first place.

Whoever thought of this application sure knows
how to make our lives silly, yet, fun.

I am amazed at how my contacts have
amassed higher farming levels.

I can imagine how many hours they've spent
on the web, to till the fields.

Build your field, and they will come.

Try it.

In this world, I am Hogwash.
Yes, that's my agrarian name. See you at my farm.

Power of the Spoken Word

Have you seen "Ded Na Si Lolo?"

I have been receiving that question five times over.

"It's a riot!"

"It's a hit!"
So I read. Some say in some theaters,
the film was earning more than "Wolverine."

In fact, when we finally had time to see it,
the ticket vendor said it was on its second-week run.
Fueled by word-of-mouth.

So there, I saw the second film in the SineDirek Series,
which started with Joel Lamangan's "Fuschia."

This time around, it was Soxy Topacio's turn,
for his family comedy on death rituals.

Armed with a great ensemble cast which includes the likes of
Gina Alajar, Elizabeth Oropesa, and Roderick Paulate,
who's back to where he does his best, the campy gay role.
And Manilyn Reynes displays her comedic timing skills once again.

With all the gags and high emotional level,
I was wondering, if this was seen by foreign audiences,
they might think it's "My Big Fat Greek Funeral,"
and that's a compliment.

The Greek wedding opus also gained momentum
by word of mouth because it was funny and fresh.
So is this family comedy drama.

Staged like a well-orchestrated play,
to which Soxy Topacio has gained his expertise,
it was working well, proven by the audience laughing with it.

Like a play, it was ridden with well-written exchange of dialogues.
It was spiced up with good-timed acting and delivery of punchlines.

It was so entertaining, people recommended it to others.
Therefore, I have a feeling it's an indie hit.

It's been so long since an indie film was able to pull in audiences.

It's not a great film, but definitely,
you'll "die" laughing with this mourning story.

You only have two days to catch it at SM and Robinson's cinemas.
Nope, the Ayala Theaters don't have it, so Makati people,
you have to go out of your way to attend this funny wake.

Available for Abuse

After a quickie project, soon to be done by Wednesday,
and a continuously long-running task,
I realized, I've got nothing to work on the next week!

It can only mean danger to my ATM balance.

I got to search far and wide for the next source of moolah.

So this is how the non-employed cycle goes.
The unpredictability scares me and thrills me at the same time.

Maybe I should widen my services to include
baby sitting, or plowing the field, which I can only do
in Facebook's funky new application called Farm Town.

Hiatus sounds good but financially, it gives me the shivers.
I can use the break to go somewhere out of town,
but I might end up down and out, begging for the next meal.

Not yet, that's too dramatically impoverished a thought.

However cheapo it may sound, I am now more available
than the past few weeks. Yes, a blog post can also
serve as a wordy classified ad.

You know what you can use me for.
Except for sex, I am not the type
who can sell his flesh or it's not even marketable.
The meat market has excluded my age range.

Use me, abuse me, for a fee.
"It's only words, and words are all I have."

Don't Let It Rain

What a letdown.

Suddenly, at this time of the year,
this archipelago is beset with rain clouds.

Umbrellas' spikes may hit my eyes, specially if people
walking ahead of me are shorter, and they walk slower.

Cab drivers transform into power brokers..
They choose who has the right to take a ride,
if the price is right, or if the destination
is flood-proof.

Walkways get muddy.
There's no path for exquisitely handcrafted leather shoes.

People crowd at the corner
where the roof, which serves as rain protection, ends.
There's no way to pass,
unless I forcibly push my way through.
I feel like an American Rugby player,
sans the helmet and shoulder pads.

Strangers sneeze uncontrollably,
throwing all caution to the wind.
It seems handkerchiefs and paper napkins never existed.
I wonder if the sneeze was rain-induced,
or it came from the dreaded pandemic pig.

Always look at the sunnier side of life.
The water reservoirs will have their fill.

The rice paddies need no irrigation.
The harvest this year might be good.
Prosperous rice yield means more carbs,
and bigger bellies.

If I could say the weather is cooler,
however, humidity is at its peak.
I am wet, not only because of raindrops
falling on my head and face,
but by sweat as well.

What a wet blanket I've become.
It's so wet, I've forgotten how dry feels.

Humans can control their destinies.
But weather controls our everyday, present lives.

Rain, rain, go away,
come again August 23, 1030 am to 1245 pm.

What's in August?
I don't know.
All I know is, don't let it rain.
Not now. Later, perhaps.

Jobless But Busy

Why is it that I am busier now than when I had a regular job?

I can't fathom the fact that 24 hours are not enough
to finish what needs to be done in a day.

I had more time having long lunches,
longer sleep, and night outs, when I was employed.

It takes time to adjust to being a one-man enterprise.
I should've taken a break first to prepare me for this.

But we strike while the iron is hot.
So I had no choice but to immerse myself
with a series of tasks, that not one man can bear.

When I was employed, I always make it to the deadline.
Now, no! Weird! Just one deadline though, but the rest,
I accomplished on time. And when I say the rest,
that's a lot!

And I am proud to say, the ideas I've churned out
are good, in spite of the lack of time!

There's even an advertising pitch that I'm involved in!
So it's like being in my old job, except, if you mix
scriptwriting and advertising at the same time,
it's manic, maddening and manic!

And the consecutive shooting days, for a project
I won't earn anything at all, darn, but it gave me the groove
and the soul, yeah, took a toll on my health.
If I didn't get sick, I could've gone full speed ahead!

Lesson is not to take in all things at once.
I miss having team mates!

As Lani Hall would sing, "no it's just too much,
taking on the whole world all by myself."

I assume this is only an adjustment phase.

Once I get the hang of this, I'd manage.
Or maybe, if the projects multiply,
I'd get a writer-assistant and play creative direction once again.

Now, when someone asks me to have lunch,
I always end up caught in a meeting!
That's a missed social-friendship opportunity.

Freelancing involves lunch and dinner meetings.
Since most of my business sources have a day job.
They can only meet with me during their office breaks,
or after hours.

I didn't even have time to submit my curriculum vitae
for a job prospect! Can you dig that?

I've even forgotten about dating, sheesh.
Too much work is bad for one's sex life.
As if we didn't know that, right?

I need to stop, just for three days.
I need to recover.
I need to gain my momentum,
for bigger tasks ahead.

I've become so busy I can't even
go and get my check/payment!

Sure, I can get a messenger to do this,
problem is, I need to sign the "paid"
document myself!

Do I earn more with this set-up?
I am still doing the math.

I should say, for the past three weeks,
yes, I'll be earning more, if I did finish all of the assignments!

If I increase my pace,
and procrastinate less,
definitely, I'd make more money than I used to.
Lots of money.

Give me just a little more time.
Then I am sure I will unleash
the powers to accommodate the world.
But wait, let me breathe!

Palawan, I need to see sunset at Palawan.
I need to be in an idyllic place for three days.

Then, I'll take on the world.
Anything this world has to offer.

I'm on my way, and getting there!
Whatever it takes,
wherever that is,
whenever!

Too Much To Blog About!

There's so much characters I've met.
There's so many anecdotes to share.
There's simply so much to talk about.

With all these running in my mind,
I can't think of which to post in my blog!

Snippets from my weekend:

1.

One of the weirdest stories I've heard from a new acquaintance:
A buyer spots the cutest dog in Chatuchak, Bangkok.
She puts it in her bag, managed to bring it to another country.
She wonders why it can't walk with its four legs.
She brings it to the vet.
The vet tells her, it walks on two feet,
it's not a dog, it's a bear!
Why would a bear be sold in the market? Bad, bad, bad!
They readily gave the dog-bear to the zoo.


2.

From the same acquaintance:

She's been wondering what her friend does for a living.
Her friends keeps on traveling, sometimes on short notice.
The friend must be a jetsetter, so she thought.
She finally had the guts to ask her friend what she does.
She's an "organ" courier.

When there's a car accident, people alert her.
The inner organs are kept in a refrigerated hand-carried container.
Off she flies to other countries, where hospitals are waiting
for the much-needed organs for transplant.
Add that to the weirdest jobs in the world.

3.

After not seeing my best friends, due to our hectic week,
we finally met for coffee before attending Sunday Mass.
My amigo was wearing the same shirt as I was.
It was the same Fred Perry shirt, with the same stripe colors
on our collars and sleeves. We figured it out.
When we see people we know, by chance,
we can always say, "it's a Sunday choir thing. This is our uniform."
We made sure we avoided walking by the Fred Perry store at Greenbelt 5.
They might mistake us as its store salesmen.

4.

A Pacquiao fight telecast is like the Superbowl of Ads, of Too Many Ads.

At least I finally saw what the latest spelling of remittance was.
L-B-C. Ewww.

And I finally saw the right use of Sharon in an ad.
The new ads of McDonald's.
That kind of role fits her more.

Then there's this Elasto-Seal ad which I found really tacky.
This sultry cheap model on the roof, wet because of the rain.
It's a sad ad, sad that someone even thought of it.

5.

I gave in. I watched "Fuschia."
Some styles never evolve.
I felt like I was stuck in the 80's.
I forgot that this film is now, 2009.
I got confused, will this be a senior citizen's love story?
Or will this be about social and agrarian justice, and activism?
Even the cause they were fighting for was too cliche and overused.
It's a two-in-one film, a schizophrenic one.
But Robert Arevalo gave an amusing, natural performance.
Too bad he died earlier in the film than Eddie Garcia.


What a weekend.
Whew.

Wanted: A Different View

OK, Pacquiao and Wolverine will dominate this weekend.
But I've had too much of Pacquiao. And I don't know why
I've never seen an X-Men film or its incarnate.

After a truly exhausting week, I crave for something different,
and substantially good, at the same time.

I had to go all the way again to Valencia St.
to pick-up my DVD orders, nothing pirated.
JCVD, The Wrestler, Frost/Nixon.

I was so excited to see it, except I've been working nonstop.

Meetings on Labor Day Holiday.
Writing over the weekend.
And fighting so I won't give in to fever.
Psyching up myself that I won't get sick, I won't get sick.

At least during the week, I saw Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day.
That was a welcome break. Chick flick with a good script.
Frances Macdormand never failed me.

Then, chatting with my friend, he asks me,
have you seen "Fuschia?"

I told him, what is it? Where?

He says, "saw it in Ali Mall. Gloria Romero moved me to tears."

Wow, I never heard of the film, it whetted my appetite
for a different view!

But Ali Mall? Uhm...

Then he further said, "it's directed by Joel Lamangan."
Oh, uhmmm...

Ali Mall and Joel Lamangan.
A big "uhmmm" times two.

Let me think about it. As in, really think about it.

The Last Time I Felt Like This

Pure magic and ecstasy.
Seeing what I wrote being filmed
and lines coming out from superb actors.
Heaven!

Imagine penning something you never realized
will mobilize a lot of people
to make a script come to life,
from the light man, to the production assistant,
up to the harassed director, and the tired actor.

Somehow, it felt like God commanding "let there be light."

Then this writer commanded, "let this story be told."

Then all forces combine to make a dream become a reality.

All for Cinemalaya.

This independent film festival has become an aspiration
for all dreamers. It has become prestigious,
to the point where "if you can make it here, you'll make it anywhere."

Actors all willing to help out to support this worthy endeavor.
Pro bono. Angel Aquino, Ricky Davao, Coco Martin, Ina Feleo,
Anne Curtis, Erik Matti, and Dennis Trillo! What more could one ask for?

There was a moment, when Piolo Pascual
almost joined the fray, yes, almost! But scheduling problems
got in the way, but it shows even Piolo was willing to help.

Of course, thanks to Lee Meily, and her kindness,
she was able to bring talented people together,
to make three small short films, paying tribute
to the mother of all independent film festivals.

I won't earn from this either, but my love for films
is enough a reward, to help out this festival,
I wonder, what's next?

A full-length movie? Hmm.
If you build it, or in this case, pen it,
they will come.

There's no harm in dreaming.
Three short films, with three talented directors,
and a great cast, can only mean
dreams do come true.

Keep on dreaming, keep on believing.
The more you want it to happen, the more it will happen.
There are people out there who have the same belief.
For the love of movies. For the love of their craft.

For the love of something worthy to do in this lifetime.
We only live once.

Electric Shock

How can a single dweller in a small apartment consume
4,500 pesos worth of electricity?

I've been figuring it out.
I know I spend more time now at home.
But still, the amount was shocking.

No wonder my next door neighbor
has sneaked in through the common hallway's
electric outlet and plugged his rice cooker there.
This didn't happen once. One time,
I caught him boiling water for his soup there, too.

Well, I know it's robbery, to do that.
I kept my mouth shut catching him
plugging his cookware in our building's common area!

He knew it was wrong to do that.
And I never had the guts to reprimand
a 70-year old man. But I know it's wrong!
Someday, our building engineers or security people
will catch him. It's just too sad to see an old, helpless man
doing it.

What if I ask my maid, too, to iron my clothes
outside my apartment, and on the common hallway?

I must have heated more meals.
I must have kept the aircon on too long.
I must've kept the lights on, even if Earth Hour,
and Earth Day remind us not to be wasteful.

But I know I still behave the same way, electrically,
for the past month.

Someday, I wish the electric company
will declare a sale.

It's an expense we can't let go.
And we can't do anything when it raises its fees.
It defies the rule of supply and demand.

With the ongoing recession, I am sure
industrial electric needs have dipped.
But the bills just keep on rising.

Don't be surprised if you catch me
playing my plugged Nintendo down the hallway!
Oops, when I was a kid,
I was told I shall not steal.

OK, I'll play my Mario Kart race in
someone else's house.
At least I'll have a playmate. Yeah!

Goodwill In Bad Times

Hard times don't mean people have ceased to care and share.

The generosity of actors and film makers and craftsmen
has been pouring like the sudden midsummer rain.

Actors, more specifically, readily say yes, pro bono,
to our three short films in the making.

We had a hard time looking for production houses
to join in. Indeed, bad times are here again.
It was much easier two years ago to hunt for
companies willing to spend money for a good cause.

But eventually, more painful it may be for
financial balance books, they came.
They're helping. And they're shelling out their own
money, talents and resources to make our cause
for independent filmmaking a success.

On the business side of writing,
contacts, suddenly, like from Facebook, serve an unexpected purpose,
they become business contacts as well!
Close and not so close acquaintances
offer me opportunities to write.

It enables me to sustain myself and
the seemingly endless bills coming my way.

This world is filled with goodness.

Nothing can stop the human spirit.
Not the downtrend in global economy.

There's always an uptick in human goodness.
There's no need for a bailout.
It will always be there, and will never run empty.

Past Is Past

There was a time when...

1. Makati ended with Rizal, not Metro Manila.

2. Roxas Boulevard was Dewey Boulevard.

3. Ayala Center was Makati Commercial Center.

4. ShoeMart was a shoe store without theaters, and no one called it SM.

5. V Mall was Virra Mall.

6. Glorietta 1 was QUAD.

7. DVD was Betamax.

8. CD was cassette.

9. iPod was Walkman.

10. Vinyl record was called LP (long playing record).

11. Jack N Jill Chiz Curls had relatives like Barbeque Curls, Prawn Curls,
and Shrimp Curry Curls.

12. ABS-CBN was BBC 2 (not British Broadcasting Corp, but Banahaw Broadcasting).

13. RPN 9 was KBS ( Kanlaon Broadcasting)

14. Cheers was Sunta.

15. Blogs were handwritten diaries.

16. Landline phones reigned with party lines and cross lines.

17. Tropical Hut was the Jollibee and McDonald's fastfood burger chain.

18. Tawag ng Tanghalan and Bagong Kampeon were our American Idol.

19. For Adults Only meant Rated R.

20. Standing Room Only meant Sold Out.

21. Game and Watch was PSP and Nintendo DS Lite.

22. Atari was XBox and Playstation.

23. Cinemascope was widescreen.

24. Primetime news, Newswatch, was in English, not TV Patrol nor 24 Oras.

25. CB radio was the means for EB, not through chat nor internet.
It was those days when 10-4 meant "okay, affirmative, got it, roger."

26. FF meant hardcore porn. ( I think this acronym came from "fighting fish"
which actually meant you'll be seeing "full fu**ing." )

27. Bold films meant softcore porn.

28. Crispa was today's Bench T-shirts.

29. Ford Fiera was today's FX.

30. Grosby Shoes and Botak were our Adidas and Nike sportswear.

If these sound so alien to you, then definitely, you're 20 something,
or a teenager who'll watch Hanna Montana The Movie.

Midsummer Rain

Rains! Very welcome now, but very untimely!
We're towards the end of April, which is right smack
at the center of Philippine summer, and it's raining!

It feels like being drenched with lukewarm water
when temperatures are in the 30's. (Celsius).

It's hard to figure out what to wear.
The heat and humidity prompt us to go cottony light summer,
but the suddenly wet pavement tells us to wear wet-proof footwear.

"April showers bring May flowers" is so Western springtime.
But for almost equatorial countries like ours,
it's SPF season, and sexier clothing.
Until the clouds gathered and changed the
clear blue summer sky.

Dust easily turned into mud.
Shiny vehicles fresh from a car wash
get the surprise of their lives and become muddy.

I wasn't prepared for this.
I was ready to sink myself into a pitcher of frozen margarita,
feeling like a summer bum, but the showers stopped me.

Squishy squashy sandals hitting unexpected puddles,
is not what a summer picture which includes drinking
and dancing to the summer reggae beat should be.

My senses were already conditioned
to go summer lovin' on a summer night.

Global warming has created this sudden global wetting.
Our usually dry April turned into a very wet June overnight.

My Havaianas are confused.
They're grounded during its supposedly prime walking and partying season.
And so was I, sigh, and so was I.

Gain Without Pain

It makes me so weak to know as I sweat it out, slowly but surely
trying to have better form and some added muscle mass,
that a gym mate will hide somewhere
and inject himself intramuscularly with...
steroids.

It's the quicker route.
For me, it isn't natural at all.
But it works.

It's a choice, do it the slower,
all-natural way, like I do.
Or go for the booster.

In fact, I can easily tell,
looking at the various gym rats' bodies,
who had it and who didn't.

The muscle swelling is obvious.
I have no ambitions to be shaped
like a Miami Beach lifeguard.

But still, it's as if all the pain I went through
to somehow have a toned and defined body,
went to naught. I feel someone cheated.
But they insist it's normal to have that IM steroid boost.
They estimate around 45% of people who workout
for muscle mass gain do it.

If it's any consolation, the injected one
can't drink while doing it, alcohol I mean.
And it might post renal failure risks or endanger the kidneys.
But it depends on which kind of steroid you use.

But with all the added kilos for each weight I bear,
how difficult it is to up the ante when all your body
could lift is the same old weight,
I hated knowing someone "cheated,"
depending on your body building principles,
if it's cheating at all.

I hate it because I am tempted to make things quicker.
After two years, I want to see myself become
quite a muscled man.

This natural route, the slower painful way,
makes me wonder, should I go on this route,
and build my body with integrity?

It's what you believe in.
Some may find steroids part of the process.
Others, like me, would rather have the natural build.
There are still 55% of us sweating it out in the gym
who believe so.

I am tempted though, very, very tempted to go to the Dark Side.
I want to see a marked difference with all this sweating.
It's been two years of pain without very visible gain.
I've spent a lot of time and money.
I am vulnerable now, very, very vulnerable.
No thanks to the alleged "cheater."

Just Don't Do It

This work-from-home set-up is challenging.
There are a million barriers to keep me from writing.

Seeing my pillow, my mattress, is an invitation to a relaxing nap.

The world wide web isn't of help, either.
I always have the urge to write a blog, or chat the night away.

When writer's block hits me, I yearn for endorphins
derived from an intense workout.

Then after the endorphins strike,
sleep beckons.

Not counting the temptation to watch missed performances
from American Idol, the DVD's seen from my peripheral view
are yearning to be played.

It's boring brainstorming with myself.
It's as if the burden of this enterprising world
is solely on me, like Atlas.

I get lost in idleness, and the craving for
nothingness, productivity dips.

I plan in my mind the next WOW Philippines destination.
I park for a while the payables, and indulge myself
in more expenses, like imagining myself in a new Paul Smith shirt.
I have checked in a hundred times for a flight to New York,
even if I am under house arrest.

I make reasons to go out.
This four-walled abode is now beginning to
look like a factory.

But there are policies born out of this one-man office.
I declared there'll be no writing after midnight.
There will be longer coffee and cigarette breaks.
The whole area is a smoking area.

CNN will be my default background.
It's news happening around me but I don't even notice it.

I have begun to stack up on snacks.
I know it isn't hunk-forming a habit.
But the mind wanders too much, it makes me
obliged to at least DO SOMETHING.

When the bedroom becomes an office cubicle at the same time,
the thin line between living and working becomes blurred.

There will always be a reason to delay.

My door sign keeps on interchanging
from "Do Not Disturb, Man At Work" to "Do Disturb: Man Not Working."

If this dilemma isn't cured,
I'll be back in an office like anyone else
sooner than I thought.

"Man For Hire."

Any takers?

Our Very Public Lives

You always have to be at your smiling best.
You always have to breathe in, and hide that tummy.

Photo moments happen anytime, anywhere, and are posted anywhere.

You cannot control the photos people post on the Web.

In this digital age, you just find your face
splattered across sites.

Google your name under google images,
and you'll understand what I mean.

Suddenly, untagging a photo becomes your self-defense.

My name was even tagged against a cow's photo!
Yes, a bovine creature.
But that was made out of prank.
I found it funny, actually.
So I untagged it, and replaced it with another innocent friend's name.
Heehee.

In case you're part of a photo, where there's another person in it,
chances are, the one who posts it finds his or her shot nice.
But not yours.

It means you got to invest on facial spas.
Photos can sometimes be mean and make you look older.

Everyone has become a public figure.

Be careful, though, when you use that webcam.
You don't want to be a part of a video scandal.
Or worse, be a feature on XTube.
XTube, kids, is the porn version of YouTube.
Unless it's to your liking.

So when you see friends holding a camera,
it's either you hide, or position yourself
with your best facial angle.
Practice it at the mirror, or take shots of yourself.
Most people I know have figured out their best smile and angle.

I've seen people transform from being shy
to getting used to be in front of the camera.

I've seen people too, who loves being part of a shot.
Somehow, they appear on a lot of pictures,
because they chase the camera, and manage to
insert themselves in every photo opportunity.

You can easily tell who they are, by the number of photo tags
one person has. They always top the count.

There's no such thing as invisibility no more.
Not in this age, not in this wired world.

Just make sure you're always at your best.
Even while you sleep, you'll never know
someone's taking a picture of you.

Well, no one can practice smiling while sleeping.
If you can do that, it means you're still awake.

Unless you're experiencing a wet dream.

Afternoon Delight

BETWEEN CONSENTING ADULTS. BOTH ABOVE 50 YEARS OF AGE.

"We always behaved like teenagers. You had an abortion.
That was fifteen years ago. You said it wasn't the right time.
When will the right time be?"

"You were not the right person."

-----------

"There are a thousand women, in this internet dating thing.
You will survive. Although it's the same conversation, the same silence."

"Don't you think this is the first time we really are talking to each other?"

------------

SON TO FATHER

"You never learned how to commit.
You're asking me to leave my wife and kids?
You're asking me to abandon them the way you
abandoned us?"

"At least it was honest. It was an honest thing to do.
Go beyond that rage, that adolescent rage.
Then we can start talking."


--------------

FRIEND TO FRIEND

"There's the beauty barrier.
Go beyond seeing her as very beautiful.
Look at what's inside of her."

---------------

PROTAGONIST WHILE HEARING
FORMER FLAME'S VOICE OVER THE ANSWERING MACHINE

"I collapsed as though I was hearing what she was saying over and over again.
She was in love, she was getting married, perhaps she was even asking
for my blessing."

----------------

BETWEEN FORMER FLAMES WITH A BIG AGE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THEM

"You cut your hair!"

"I always did after us. So when it disappears, I won't miss it that much."

-----------------

"I never had a boyfriend who loved my body as much as you did."

"How many? How many were they?"

"I am sick, very sick.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You're the last person I wanted to talk to.
When I learned about it, I lived in pure fear.
I feel I am older than you now."

"Consuela, you can't do this alone."

"Why do you say that, you've always done everything alone.
Will you still fuck me if I lose one of my breasts?"

-------------------

It's a film I saw this afternoon.
It's called "Elegy," starring Ben Kingsley and Penelope Cruz.
How was the film? Let these lines speak for themselves.

Before Sunset

Got to sleep till 830 am, until my cleaning lady arrived.

From then on, I didn't know what to do.

A paid by the hour meeting was moved to 7.

I've played maybe 8 sets of Mario Kart races solitarily.

I am beginning to miss my Kart Race mates.
But I can only go as far as the reception area of my former office.
I think. It's more of my ethics, or an act of courtesy.
I doubt if bluetooth-like signals can allow us to race that far from each other.

I realized I skipped a gym session this week.
So I tried my luck if I can squeeze myself in, unscheduled,
with my trainer before that 7 pm meeting.

Luckily I was able to do so.
This was after changing my Facebook status update
thrice in a row.

What a bum.

Still restless, perhaps avoiding the burden
of sinking myself into a B-movie script,
delaying the ultimate burden to happen,
I flirted with some of my "crushes" online.
That's too juvenile a term.

Let's make that potential cuddle mates.
That's too kiddie a term as well.

Let's make that potential one-night stands.
Now we're talking.

I have used my first freelance paycheck
to pay a huge amount of building fees.

There have been warnings, like shutting down
my water supply, and electricity.

I felt like North Korea or Cuba,
being threatened by an economic embargo.

But that's been taken care of.
I am at peace again, with the Building Administration.

I look again at other Multiply sites.
Finally, Nonie uploaded her batch of our Ilocos gig pics.
It becomes the mother set of all albums, including mine,
Mike's and Sheila's.

That cusp from corporate to freelance sortie
remains etched in my mind. That Northern trip.

I eat my tocino, dipped it in my Ilocos vinegar with chili pepper.
I begin to miss those wonderful sunsets painting the sky,
and setting the sea ablaze in solar colors, and with every drop
of acetic acidity fresh from that region,
they're all coming back to me now, oh so vividly.

I've drank 6 cups of coffee, and smoked a dozen cigarettes.

I am in no mood to write for a living now.
But blogging? Sure, anytime.

I know what I need.
A longer vacation from professional life to freelancing.

This is too soon for me.
If not, I'll continue to flirt.
I have a feeling this will be more productive.

But this has not gotten to the point
I'd use my body, too, to pay my bills.
A forty plus man, at that.

I'd surely earn more from writing.
But my fingers aren't willing to type,
except for this bumming blog post.

I think I'd rather hit the treadmill.
Let myself be tortured once more by my trainer.

But after that, my testosterone will rise again.
I'd end up flirting on chat again.
I'd end up delaying another task again.

The mind isn't willing, but the flesh is.
I am looking forward to the midnight crowd
on world wide web.

Perhaps, with fellow souls awake at night,
I'd learn a thing or two about life and its drudgery.

Or who knows, I'd end up actually cuddling with somebody.
Yeah!

I'd take kissing anytime than keep on writing for a few bucks.
Let the sunset in.

Before Sunrise

Uh-oh, I am too early for today.

Way too early than the color-coded cars
trying to beat the 7am deadline.

I woke up at 3am, remembering
a task I haven't done.

I appease myself by thinking
there are others like me, who work longer hours,
by this time, they are at the tail-end of their call center duty.
Sleepier than I am, that's for sure.

At this hour, Facebook is speedy.
Online contacts below 20 people.

It's hard to write
at this time of the night turning into day.

The national anthem indicating
a TV station is signing on
brings a little bit of panic.

Oh no, it's morning already!

As the hours pass, more YM users log in,
and one by one, Facebookers appear to up the online count.

I have to get used to this kind of time zone.

Screenplay writing will also begin soon.
That will make me one with the 24-hour
taxi driver's shift.

Now I see some of the sun's rays
peeping out from the night clouds turning gray,
and sooner than I thought, to morning white.

I imagine the vampires caught at this cusp,
still roaming the streets,
vanishing into dust.

At least, I console myself to the fact
that if I do make it to today's deadline,
I can sleep the whole day.

No salary deductions for being absent or late.

It's different now, the less I write,
more bills become outstanding.

It's all up to me.
I am adjusting, and realizing
I can actually choose which projects to do.

Too late, this one that woke me up at 3am
seems thankless a thing to do.

I re-adjust the thanklessness thought
into tangibles.

It will pay my electric bill.
It will add to the month's rent.

The more I think of the payables,
the more I write.

Before I knew it, I am done.

Necessity finishes a task in a faster, and more furious fashion.

When the real day begins, which means while the sun is up,
I will savor the darkness of sleep.

I know my phone will ring.
I hope it doesn't require me to be physically present
and be claustrophobically bordered by corporate walls.

Everything can be accomplished with a phone call.
I am excited to press the "send" button
through my email. It's comforting to know
that my writing task has been sent.

As it travels, powered by broadband internet,
I know the lights will stay on, this room of mine
will still be mine. It's money that will arrive soon.

The more I send, the more I'll receive.

But sooner than later,
I think there's a strong need to purchase an eye cream.
Dark circles round my eyes don't make me look good.

To purchase a good eye cream,
it can only mean, I should write once again.

Hopefully, the next one happens in a friendlier time zone
that is in synch with Manila and the employed one's hours.
Not with those employed to answer calls from
a country that's 12 hours behind us.

The sky is brighter now.
The summer sun, is meaner with its heat.

I should flee from its rays.
And disappear, the way vampires do.
I have no plans to vanish into thin air,
or end up in the dust bin.

It's time to press the "send" button.
After which, I shut down.
Oops, I mean, I sleep, for a few hours only.

For the more I stay awake,
the more I can write,
the more I will survive.

Ciao, for now.

The Freelancer's First True Week

Someone give me an assistant to coordinate deadlines and meetings!

It's the pitfall of being a one-man independent money earner.

Yesterday, I attended a meeting with a client, as a freelancer,
but only to be a senior ad man figure.

So how do I charge that?
I figured, man hours, for cases like these, I charge by the hour.
It isn't bad, I just behave the way I do like when I was officially
with a company, and I earn! When I speak, with impressionable authority,
I earn. I love it!

Then, I brief a respected actor for our Cinemalaya ads/ short films.
I ended up watching that horror local flick, T2, with him.
Nice guy. I just have to get used to people suddenly stopping
us as we walk for a picture with him.

I haven't started writing that B-movie French film.
I will, once I get the momentum, I will be unstoppable.
And that's for a Monday deadline! Whew!

Today, I get my check, my first freelancing check,
for doing a political candidate's ad. Yeah!

This morning, I called a director/ friend of mine
and gave her my idea for how a viral ad should be.
I liked the story I relayed to her. Hard to film,
but a funny and touching one! I hope her client likes it!
That I only thought of before I slept last night.
Hopefully, I will earn from that, too.
And I just talked over the phone, instead of typing
it in an official copywriter's sheet.

Then I go to that Theater by the Bay, for a meeting,
still a leftover task from my previous officially professional ad man's life.

I have moved a deadline which was supposed to be today, for tomorrow,
for another project, which up to now, I have no idea how much I'll be getting for this.
Maybe that's why it's so hard for me to begin writing that assignment!

You bet I need a coordinator! She or he should be able to prod me,
and tell me which things I have to do first.

She or he will be the one to collect payments, which I realized, is hard to do.
I'm so shy to remind people of payments, or to even give myself
a figure or quotation!

She or he should also tell me the screening time of movies now showing.
Haha, now I can watch an afternoon movie on a weekday! Yeah!

It's too much a load to bear for my first freelancing week.

But I hope it's a sign that this route is lucrative enough
to sustain me and my bills so overdue.

But to be able to watch a movie with an actor I admire,
whew, that's priceless.

Too bad the film we saw wasn't that admirable.

Oh well, a guy can't have everything right?

On to my next deadline, and meeting.

Promise, I will always have the time to post a blog.
Or maybe, I'll have more time to do it.
But this first week is so hectic, blogging will be my
therapy in between the writing tasks.

Travel Warning

The government warns us about traveling to Thailand.
Yeah, right.

The biyaheras can't be stopped.
Jatujak shoppers who buy lots and sell it back
in our tiangges won't be daunted by red-shirted
demonstrations.

The only time it will really create havoc
is when protesters conquer the airport.

Coming from similar protest-ridden situations
we know too well that life goes on.

The CNN media hype makes it appear
as though gunfights have conquered the streets.

I have never heard of a protest happening
within The Emporium or Paragon.

I doubt if tear gas and gunshots will
happen in Suan Lum Night Market.

What's happening in Thailand is a political power play.

It doesn't mean there will be a soldier aiming his
gun at you while you're swimming in Phuket.

I am more scared of the ghosts underneath
that sea after that sad tsunami disaster.

It's like knowing where protests happen, so why would you walk in that area?
When people demonstrate along Ayala Avenue,
Greenbelt is still open.

We consider it simply as traffic nuisance.

I have no idea where this desire for power change in Thailand will lead to.

But in shaky democracies like ours, life will go on.

It's a way of life, for us.
It's not a crisis as news organizations tag it to be.
To us, it's simply, a disturbance.

There will be pockets of instability anywhere.

The world spins continuously.

Nothing can hinder someone from eating khao pat and tom yum.
And yes, the lowly retailer of Jatujak clothes still need to make a living.

Terrain Unlimited

There are a lot of geographical learnings while doing the Ilocos Driving Journey.

Mountain Range.

It's an endless view of seemingly repeating mountain scenery.
It's called the Cordillera Range.
It runs for more than four hours on the road.
Then when you hit Pagudpud, and go further,
it is still there. It's like the moon that is always above you.
You can't get away from it. Denudation is all around you.
Illegal logging has taken its toll.

Swamp.

Marshy lowland plains. It's the constant view
while passing through North Luzon Expressway.
Birds from other countries migrate here for warmer weather.
Which makes a friend of mine ask, "then why is there
no bird flu in the Philippines?" Candaba Pampanga is where this place is.
If you wonder why the expressway bridge is long, it's called a viaduct.
it passes through lowlands, so you're car won't be swamped by floodwaters.

Desert.

It never rains much in Ilocandia.
Therefore, there will be desert spots, good enough
to shoot "Himala" and "Ang Panday."
Check out the Sand Dunes of La Paz.

Coast.

Be it La Union or Ilocos Sur, or Ilocos Norte,
there will always be the sea.
Boracay is quieter compared to the surfing waves
of San Juan in La Union.
And Pagudpud's Saud Beach is no stillwater.
I love the sound of waves crashing through the shore.
I can't wait to see more. If only I can be
in the land of Air Supply and Mel Gibson.

Plains.

Plain means plain view, too.
It's either you see rice fields, or tobacco plants.
There are no opium poppies nor cannabis sightings along the way.
This part means straight roads too. It's boring.
Sometimes there's corn planted, too.
Corny like Nino's long-drive jokes. (Heehee).

Hills, Waterfalls, Brooks, Rivers

Dividing the hills is a river.
If the flow is fast, then there must be waterfalls to end the path.
The trail to Kabigan Falls is a good trek.
For urban people who wants it mild, the only challenge
is if your Havaianas can easily cross on rocks.
But there's no torturing uphill climb.
It's so lazy. But the weather is cool.
And the falls and its mildly rampaging waters are clean.
It's called a city boy's journey to say he is outdoorsy,
but he'd rather not sweat it out, or slide down the mud
when it's a steep downhill trail. Steep is not present here.

Bay. Gulf. Sea. Cove.

I don't know the difference.
All I know is at the northwestern tip of Luzon,
the seas intersect. Maybe it's the reason why
the waters aren't still.
The white crest of the waves, I wonder what it's called.
I call it sea froth. I just invented that.
It makes me yearn for beer, a frothy beer.

Coral and Limestone Reef

It's at Currimao, Ilocos Norte.
Wait until sunrise. We never saw it in the dark.
Which means, calcium formations aren't luminous.
The only thing that might glow is a luminous rosary
hanging on your rearview mirror. You might need it.
The road is so dark, the blessed beads might protect you.
Or try hanging Ilocano garlic on it. They say it wards off ghosts.

Windmills Beyond Holland

This is not a topographical sighting.
It's man-made. And they aren't like La Mancha windmills.
They're white modern structures, geometrically suave and smooth.
But the waves here are so strong, it provides natural mist all around,
unlike the Greenbelt and Trinoma mist sprayers.
Maybe, Dutch wooden shoes here will make sense.
Sheila got punctured by sharp dried weeds.
And there's a barbed wire on the path, which seems invisible.
Until you say ouch, it means your Havaianas covered feet landed on it.
Discover them at Bangui, Ilocos Norte.

Cobblestones.

Again, it's man-made.
It's what greets you at the Spanish city preserved till today, Vigan.
We arrived here before midnight.
Scary. I don't have a third eye nor sixth sense,
but my little body hair stood up, and my nape felt
a different kind of heat.
Never look at opened windows.
It's so dark against old walls, I thought Sadako will make herself visible.

Bust.

The Marcos bust, we didn't see.
If we did see it, then we're on the wrong route.
It's going to Baguio, not Ilocos.
If you do want to see it, take the Marcos Highway instead of Kennon Road
when you go to the Mountain City.


Cloverleaf

It's a clover formation of road intersections which means traffic and reality are back.
It's called Balintawak Cloverleaf. With the MRT construction and MMDA
sporadic road repairs, I wish I was stuck in Ilocos.
Metro Manila is too bad to be true.

The 14-Hour Highway

After a series of towns named after a saint, like San Juan, San Ildefonso,
San Nicolas, Santa Rita, and more, there's a town in Ilocos Sur that's simply
named Santa. Either they ran out of names, or they prefer a Christmas jolly
good fellow rather than prayerful people.

--------

You know you're near or in Pagudpud, Ilocos Norte when the town kilometer markers
are capped by a cemented big shell sculpture, opening its tacky mouth
towards the sky.

--------

Never enter the Subic - Clark - Tarlac expressway at dawn on Easter Sunday.
A procession called "Salubong" will slow you down in spite of the high-speed
zone.

---------











On your way up north, it's easy to know which town you're at,
with most of the major towns having an arch and its name.
On the way back, they all say, "Thank You," so you don't
know which town you're approaching. At least most towns
are courteous enough to show their gratitude.

---------







Pagudpud will be a shorter trek if Tarlac and La Union provinces
were deleted from the map. They seem to consume more kilometers
to pass to finally reach Northern Paradise.

----------







Surprisingly, there was no President Marcos image or statue
on the road to Solid North, which was the despot's stronghold.
I am only referring to the road to Pagudpud.

----------







If you hit the wrong turn, you might end up in Abra.
I wonder what scenic spots are to be seen in that province.

-----------

The sleepiest part of the long drive will be
monotonously straight Tarlac, NLEX, and SCTEX.
For night driving, sharp curves and road constructions
will surely keep you awake.

------------







Motorcycles never give way. They will remain in the middle section
of your lane. Their drivers don't even have helmets.
And you have to grin and bear them because
it's hard to overtake them for curve after sharp curve prevents
you from doing so. Tricycles are also nuisances.

---------

Checkpoints with blocks as though you're in a slalom race,
doesn't mean there's someone to really check you out.

----------

It's better to detour to another highway that leads to Paoay
than take the main highway. Although it was dark on our way back,
it's a very nice town, and there's Currimao which supposedly,
has coral formations along the way. And there's the best
Ilocano food I've sampled ever while we were up North.
It's at Herencia Cafe, Paoay, right at the perimeter of the church plaza.

----------

On the road to Pagudpud, make sure you have a travel mate
who never sleeps and talks a lot, and a lot of club mix
music and rock CD's to play, to keep you awake.
It is indeed a very long route.

-----------







Never fear, the long route is safe.
And as they say, with a lot of sights and interesting towns
along the way, sometimes the journey is better
than the destination itself.

No Fear

At first, I thought joblessness will be doomsday.
The risky decision I took, impractical it may be,
made me worry a lot for tomorrow's next meal.

But like the birds in the sky, so says wise Solomon,
they never go hungry, for God takes care of them.
What more with Man made in His image and likeness.

Man, who upon God's breath on clay came to be.

Now there are more routes, sooner than I thought,
available for me.

The freelance writing option, which I now took,
came at a faster pace than I ever expected.
Monday, after this Holy Week, already has myself
full of pending deadlines, and projects to consider.

They range from screenplay writing to a meticulous brochure.

Now I think I need a personal account executive
to remind me of what I have to do first, and when it's gonna be due.

The other options, of course are advertising options.
And it doesn't only concern my current creative field,
but another discipline!

Then, the other route is to work overseas.

Every time I think of the condominium and mortgage,
for a future dream dwelling, then this becomes attractive as well.

But frankly, I want to stop first.
Three months at the least.
For now, I'll be freelancing to make both ends meet,
so I don't consume whatever pension fund is about to come.

But I thank the heavens above, for Divine Providence
remains consistent. I think of the birds who don't go hungry.
Have no fear, for God is always here.

The unexpected options are coming too soon.

I now believe my decision to leave my current job is right.
I'll surely miss it, but somehow, inside of me,
I enjoy the uncertainty of the next phase of my life.

But I praise the One who, as always, as ever
in my transition periods, lead me to what I never planned in the first place,
but to where He wills me to be. And guess what, He's always right.
I never made a mistake every time I move on to the next source of living.

God is great, He is alive, not just this Easter Sunday,
but everyday in my divinely guided existence.
And He is the reason why I am still alive today.

I hope this inspires you all to admire His greatness.
You, me, and everyone we know are nothing without God.
We all know that. Amen!

As If We Never Said Goodbye

"The whispered conversations, in overcrowded hallways."

Yes, the walls do speak. No secrets are kept.
The tiles beneath your feet have ears.
You're transparent. You're naked.
And the sight is an abomination to my senses.


"I don't know why I'm frightened, I know my way around here."

A new coat of paint cannot mask an old hue.
Scary to see those true colors shining through.


"A world to rediscover, but I'm not in any hurry.
And I need a moment."

Three months of lull.
There's a bigger me that yearns to soar.
But for now, I'd be still.
I'll allow the world to keep on turning without me.
I'll sleep at dawn, and wake up midday.
Indolence is bliss.

"This world's waited long enough,
I've come home at last!"

The deeper soul in me hibernated.
It's about time this spirit makes itself felt.
An inner flame which can never die.
It only takes a spark, to keep the fire burning.
Home is where the soul is.
Everything before that is mortality,
it expires quickly.

"Has there ever been a moment,
with so much to live for?"

The gift of renewal.
The life I never saw,
I almost died with your slow death.
Easter is all around me.
There's so much to do.
I don't even have time to spit on your grave.

"Yes, everything's as if we never said goodbye.

The dark shadows behind me.
The light before me.

"So watch me fly. We all know I can do it."

Why The Holy Days Were Labeled As Such

Why Monday is called Fig Monday,
Wednesday as Spy Wednesday,
Thursday being Maundy,
Friday, became Good Friday,
and Saturday is Black.

Fig Monday for Holy Monday?
I never knew that, and I never knew why.
Makes me miss another comfort food, "Fig Newtons."

I can understand Wednesday, being the day
when Judas sold Jesus for pieces of silver,
is called Spy Wednesday sometimes.
Judas was the informer of Christ's identity and whereabouts.

Maundy is a proper noun, but it evolved
from a Latin term meaning "mandatum",
perhaps when Christ mandated at the Last Supper
that we should "love one another."

Good Friday, well I am just guessing why it became good.
Maybe it's because 'the good shepherd laid down his life
for his sheep."

Black is darkness of death, I think.
Ergo, it's Black Satuday.
The skies must have gone dark, as well,
when Christ was laid in his tomb.

All I know is, there's no term for today,
being a Tuesday, except for Holy Tuesday.

It's back to work, but my last two days of work,
so I am not complaining.

I doubt if today's going to be that Holy, though.

"Di ba ako'y tao lang na nadadarang at natutukso rin."

A Bum's Offbeat Options

Writing for fulfillment is a given. Now I have time to do that.

But as I start my bum days, it made me think.

To do more, within this lifetime.
To be more.

Maybe teaching, since I've done the school rounds,
giving talks, might as well do more than powerpoint speeches.

Or I can be a culinary student.
But so I heard it costs 400,000 a year.
Four classes a week.

It's either I be a good teacher
inspiring a dead poet's society.
Or turn into a Ratatouille.

A teacher every Saturday doesn't sound bad.
Of course there's no other topic I can teach
except for Creative Advertising.

They say experience is the best teacher.

Cooking? The most I can do is anything sauteed or marinated.
I got to learn the next level.

To teach and to learn at the same time.
What a dream.

If it was for real, my students
might be doing ads, while sampling
if my dish from a culinary school is good enough.

While filling their brains, I fill their tummies.
I will be a good role model for tummies,
with beer belly as proof.

As I teach them what a tagline is,
I can share what greasing a pan is.
As they sizzle with ideas,
I tell them to simmer once in a while.

And I'll be a singing cook and teacher, too.
At least the audience is captive.
If they don't indulge me in my singing,
I'll give them more assignments and tasks.

On the side, they will learn authentic
80's dance steps.

Ads, dance, dishes, and songs.
It will be a variety show on school.
College Musical.

While defining a big idea, a headline, a campaign,
they learn new terms too like coriander and basting.
Advertising jargon can be confusing.
Culinary terms can be exciting.

A bum's life.
Boredom is the mother of all inventions.
The process of reinventing myself has begun.

Idleness

The summer of my discontent.
Due to lack of funds, I'm captive within these four walls
of my humble habitat.

The heat tempts me to sink my face
into cubes of ice.

Shuffling from CNN news to replays of
American Idol, the standstill usually
happening Holy Thursday begins earlier for me,
as Jesus enters Jerusalem triumphantly.

Abstain from meat may also mean from flesh.
I put on my Bosconian halo and try to be a good boy.
Carnal desires take a back seat.

Malling is tempting, but the wallet is wanting.
Maxxed out credit card means I have
to contend with same old clothes.

Is this a preview of a bum's life?
Perhaps.

I can't even lift a finger to finally play
the original DVD I've been waiting for weeks,
Charles Kaufman's "Synecdoche, New York."

Hosanna, Hey, Sanna, Sanna, Sanna, Ho!
It will be the longest mass today.
The Passion of Christ will be read once more.

Those tacky palms far from the real
ones used in Israel a thousand years ago
will wave everywhere.

These palms, after being blessed, placed
on one's door, are believed to ward off evil spirits.

But they can't cure idleness.
Palm Corned Beef does, for a while.
A gustatory delight.

The fiery 33 degree temperature
leads me to Ice Cream Land.
Only in my mind. Dipping into loads of freezing
cream, and chocolate bits. But why does this
image give me kinky thoughts? Harhar.

The only solace is my aircon.
Humming as it lulls me to slumber.
But I'd rather be blown off by summer breeze by the beach.

Take me to the beach where everyone's skin is on display, oops,
dirty thoughts are bad during Holy Week.

Idleness is the workshop of the devil.
So free me from being still.

Take me to a place where waves meet the shore.
Not Boracay, not at this time of the year.
Where it becomes like an SM Mall, except
the footpath is made of sand.

At this time of the year,
it's better to be idle with the penguins of Antarctica.
At least it's cooler, and I will finally see
if they're really what Happy Feet are made of.

For now,
Charles Kaufman might indeed be good company.
Not a bad option, I must say.

The moment I become wealthy once more,
I will roam the earth.
With a vengeance.

It's better to be idle somewhere else,
than this place called home, humble home.

Forgive me for talking about the stillness of summer.
It only happens when I'm broke.

My Favorite Bear

Leaving makes me value all the more the people I'll leave behind.
One of them will be Leo Burnett's unofficial Bear.
Gelabear, as she is fondly called in the office.
Gela Pena, as she is labeled in the groupwise email address list.

She's the Burnetter's friends, account manager,
morale booster, driver, weekend companion,
overtime hang-outer, lunch venue hunter,
secrets keeper, data dumpsite, locator board
for people's whereabouts, and the unofficial
owner of Leo Burnett ( an inside joke ).

She's the first recipient of bad and good news.
She was the first person who knew I was resigning.

She's a heavy Sunday Sleeper.
And a Saturday afternoon Lazy and Lost bear.
A Starbucks addict, and its avid calendar/planner collector.

The first time I encountered her
was during my talk at UA&P ( University of Asia and the Pacific ).

She was my twin nieces' batch mate at Colegio de San Agustin!

She was the first to tell me point blank that I was immature.
Maybe she meant, I was impulsive. Why am I being defensive?

She's the shock absorber of all angst, and the
receptacle of all fun and good times.

She's a voracious eater, and a relentless dessert consumer.

She refuses to exercise.

She's the brightest spot in the office.
Never is there a dark day when you're with her.

I wonder where she gets all these positive vibes.
Resilient and resourceful.

Ask her anything about Burnett, and she can readily
answer everything you need to know about it.
Who needs a Burnett website when you've got Gela?

She's Angela actually.
Very fittingly, for she's an angel on earth.
The true Angel of the advertising world.

I will miss you, Bear.
But we'll still be malling, and watching movies.
Maybe one working day, because you
don't use your work leaves.

Saturday, may I use you as my driver?
I need to get the original DVD's I ordered in New Manila.
Hehe.

Actually, Saturday is my second despedida gathering.
So it will be amongst Bear's closest colleagues.
And I am sure she's more than willing to eat, a lot!

See ya, Bear!

My Favorite Bun

Solitarily located then at old Greenbelt One.
It was the treat before the movie treat.

But it disappeared for a while.
Until it reappeared closer to home,
at the corner of Rufino (Herrera) and Ayala Avenue.

Oddly placed beside a shoe discount store.
Hopefully here to stay.

A comfort food, an old friend.
Choriburger from Bun on the Run.

Eastern Sausage meets Western Burger.

Aside from this conveniently located spot,
the Bun of My Life is also at the Trinoma,
and Metrowalk.

But I am a Makati Man.
So those two locations are far off my perimeter.

Some good things do last.
They say goodbye.
But they return like General Douglas MacArthur.

Like a favorite sandwich, I will relocate too, soon.
But remember goodbyes, doesn't mean forever.

See ya. Soon.

Hail Don Bosconian

I just joined a Facebook group, Don Bosco Makati.
And they had a thread asking, "what's the best thing about being a Bosconian?"

The first thing that came to my mind was we have two diplomas when we graduate.
One for the academic side, the other for the technical side.
It's like having two degrees.
In my case, it was Graduate of High School, and Electrical Technology.

From managing India Ink in grade school for our Art subject,
we handled technical pen ink for four years of Industrial Drafting in high school.

We're no High School Musical.
We're High School Technical.

Most people easily segue to engineering when they go to college.
For we have been prepared, for four years.

Soccer is also a trademark of a Bosconian.
Since Italian priests head our school, they manage to
allot a piece of school space as soccer field.
We're Euro-bred.

Marian Boys are what we are.
We are dedicated to the Virgin Mary,
as we seek guidance from St. John Bosco and St. Dominic Savio.

We burn our pornographic magazines during a Grand Recollection,
declare that we leave our sins behind, and dedicate ourselves
to Mother Mary. Our smut magazines become our bonfire's fuel
on concrete grounds.

One thing that bind us too, which others don't have
is a technical subject called General Shop.
That's two years of being exposed to different technical disciplines.
It's like AB General before majoring into an expertise or major.

We discover files, the handy man's type, to smooth out
edges of steel or wood.

Our vise is the bench vise, which holds our piece of wood work
in place, as we perfect it to a form devoid of irregularities
and rough surfaces.

We discover calipers, the Vernier type, as we simultaneously
learn Geometry's corollaries, and Chemistry's ions and electrons.

Our tables are large, for drafting, complete with moving
perpendicular rulers, so our triangles land perfectly,
for the ultimate right angle.

We are not soldiers who clean their guns regularly.
We clean our Staedtler and Rotring technical pens weekly.

Our pencils are no Mongols but Stadtler HB, F, 3H,
and more.

We play softball and swim too, for every quarter,
our P.E. classes change into another sport.

We do soirees. Being an exclusive boys' school,
we seek neighboring schools with girls for a party.

We climb fences to cut classes, for Don Bosco Makati
is situated in front of Walter Mart, and Greenbelt is
just 5 minutes away.

We go to Mass weekly, sometimes confess our sins weekly,
start the mornings with a prayer, the national anthem,
and a sermon from the assistant principal.

Our first graphic novel and superhero is of course,
Don Bosco. We have a comic book, to learn more
about his life.

I guess there's really something different about a Bosconian.
We all thought about being a priest, if it was our calling.
But only a very few succumb to the religious vocation.

To sum it all up,
we're the handymen, the soccer players,
and the Rosary reciters,
all rolled into one.

No one else can fill it like we can.

More Reasons to Drink

Like a dog who wants to pick up a fight,
there's always a reason to drink, eat and be merry.

"Stressful day, whew." (That may amount to at least 6 bottles of beer.)

"I'm bored." (That means at least 3 bottles, but more food.)

"I wish someone dead." (This will be 3 buckets of beer and two hours of angst talk.)

"I got a raise." (3 bottles each per freeloader. Raise these days can't be that big.)

"It's my birthday today." (Big group, hard to count how many bottles were drunk,
get ready for a dubious bill.)

"What's the meaning of life.?" ( I avoid these kinds of beer talk. I'd rather drink milk
at home.)

"Where do we go from here?" (8 bottles, minimum, but you won't end up answering
the question after 4 hours.)

"Remember those days when..." (Lots and lots of food, plus two bottles of beer.
It's nice to reminisce.)

"I am sad, but I need my space." (Peanuts, and four bottles, alone, at home.)

"Life is cruel." (10 shots of whiskey, and some drugs, to end this life.)

"I am horny." (2 glasses of wine for setting up the mood, 3 bottles of beer
for confidence, but, lousy sex after.)

In heaven there is no beer.
But heaven is a place on earth where people say "cheers!"

Packing. Sheth.

Actually, I'll begin to pack my things in the office today, but with no regrets.

Such pile of nothingness and somethingness gathered in two and a half years.

I wonder why in Hollywood films, they manage to go, bringing just one single box.


Cleansing indeed, timely for Holy Week.

When they ask me, "when is your last day, Lilit?"

I answer, "Holy Wednesday, then on Easter, I shall rise again."


New life as Christ rises from the dead.

How allegorical. How Bosconian.

For me to think of it this way.


I expect no big farewells, for it falls on a Holy Week.

If there is one, at all.

Funny, I did the videos for Richard Irvine and Dino Jalandoni's despedidas.

No wonder adobo magazine ended my farewell announcement with,

"so who's gonna do his video, now?"


But I do expect a lot of drinking sessions,

from the people at the 24th floor. My 25th floor buddies

are not known to be drinkers, well, except for Tamara.

She's even discovered a new drinking station at The Fort.


There are Munnys and some frames,

mostly with my photo on it to bring home.

A lot of paper documents to shred.


The wall dividing me and my Creative Director may soon fall down.

What's the use of dividing a room into two,

when one has left, anyway?


I remember before transferring to that new office location,

we were worried if it was a lucky spot.

Perhaps. The guy who occupied my area before

chose to live life rather than to work.

He chose the Big Wheel, and he is now doing what he loves, painting.

He has an exhibit now at the Ayala Museum, by the way.


There have been some regular job offers.

I will take a break first, and weigh the best path to take, later.

I shall take advantage of this rare second lease in life.

And the very rare hiatus. The very first intermission of my life.

Awaiting my second act to begin.


I shall walk down the hallway, bringing my boxes,

containing yesterdays, and emptying them soon,

to accommodate tomorrows, without looking back.

I was proud of what I've done in that little office.

Mission accomplished.


Now, who's gonna drive me home with all those boxes?

This is the time I regret not learning how to drive,

and availing of the car plan.

Packing sheth.

My Memory's Hits And Misses

I have no vivid memory when it comes to names,
numbers, and past personal events.

But when it comes to work-related things, I do.

Every little meeting, I recall.
Lucky is the one with me during that meeting for I have
the minutes of the event retained in my mind.

Lucky for those who made good, if one is part of an good ad's reason for being,
or good handling of meetings, or anything positive about work.

Unlucky for those who erred, or made foolish calls, and decisions,
for I do remember those as well, precisely.

But, when friends remind me, or acquaintances,
about way back moments of togetherness, I forget.

Perhaps my brain was set to work and remember .
In advertising, it has to be vividly recalled.

People even remember how I met them for the first time.
I don't. More often than not, maybe I cracked a joke,
or made a snide remark, so they remember. Or maybe,
I make an impact during the first meeting, hehe.

I don't recall my one-night stands easily. Haha.
That too, can be embarrassing.

I don't recall the gift one has given me during the past Christmases.
That too, can lead to me giving an unwanted gift, to the giver.
It has happened twice. I was passing on a gift to someone,
as I pack my things, it turned out that someone gave it to me.

Like most people,
I remember well when you did me wrong,
accused me, badmouthed or betrayed me.
I may forgive, but I can't forget.

I don't recall a movie a month after, maybe its story,
but not the scenes.

I remember well the lyrics of songs from 1980 to 1985.
It was the time I was glued to the radio, specifically, 99.5 RT.

I remember friends who visited my Daddy's wake and funeral.

I remember all the telephone numbers we've had at home.
And the exact address of my family's dwellings through the years.

I remember even if I am not supposed to,
some things I observed when I was a child,
to the dismay of adults, who'd rather I never did.

I remember those who helped me survive, and those
who supported me along the way.

I even remember the wrongs unjustly done to other people
close to me, or those who mean so much to me.

I remember well, terms, encountered in Science during grade school
and high school. The subjects I hated, I don't.

I remember secrets.

But if you ask me, I still would prefer
remembering 70% of what happened in my life.

The 30%, too bad, I do remember vividly.

The saddest, and the happiest moments are stuck in my mind.
The best people, the worst, I've stored in me.

The in-between's, the mediocre ones, I forget.
Maybe I see the world as either black or white.

Grays have been sent to the trash bin, and emptied,
to be lost forever. No recycled files. Gone. Kaput. Poof.

I wonder what I will be able to remember when my hair has turned grey, though.
That is not too distant a future, but I hope my past is not too distant to recall.
I love my past, mostly. Let the memory remain, forever in me. Please.

The Best Philippine Road @ 160 kph

Coming from Bagac, Bataan, we took the shorter, speedier route back home.
It was my first time to pass through the Subic-Clark-Tarlac Expressway or SCTEX.

Finally, I thought to myself, my withheld taxes were put to good use!

What a wonderfully paved road it was.
And the scenery that changes frequently was a marvel to see.

For a while, I thought we were in Utah,
as plateaus and hills, geometrically sculpted,
with their blunted edges, surround both sides of the road.

Then it felt like passing through a desert
as volcanic sand-covered portions of Pampanga
enlivened our otherwise sleepy journey back home.

Dried by summer, there was a part when tree-covered
mountains looked as though it was autumn in Colorado.

Surreal, as the Broadway soundtrack of "A Chorus Line"
blared from our car stereo.

As we appreciated the quality asphalt kissing our
pick-up's tires, "Music and the Mirror" was making itself felt.
The song was off-tangent with the road view.
And we were way beyond the maximum speed of 100 kph.

We had to switch to Foo Fighters music to keep
my driving friend awake.

The amazing expressway easily connects
to the North Luzon Expressway, with Dau as starting point.
It was still a breeze to pass through, now @ 120 kph.

It's a far cry from the South Luzon Expressway
which is still under construction, for more than
four years now.

Until all good things come to an end.
By the time we entered EDSA, the stumbling blocks
never ceased.

The extended Metro Train path is being built.

After graduating from the two-laner
under construction phase of EDSA,
we thought we were free as a freeway.

But no.

There were trickles of short-distance road blocks.
Again, parts of EDSA had more construction,
the portion fenced by tacky pink steel fences,
Metro Manila Development Authority's trademark color.

Traffic on a Sunday in contrast with
speedy expressways up north only
reminded us we're back to reality.

I pity those who come from Quezon City
who take EDSA daily to go to work.
If this was how it was on a weekend,
weekdays must be horrible.

Our Strada must have suffered multiple personality.
From getting lost in Bataan to no man's land,
another story worth telling, to exhibiting its
stability at high speed on the expressway,
to EDSA's snail-paced rhythm.

But surely, Strada enjoyed the long-distance drive.
Everyone deserves a break.
Even a black pick-up vehicle does.