beginnings, middles and ends

Hope

2006-02-13T06:57:00.000-08:00

About a year and a half ago I was devoid of this… thing called hope. I was beaten down, broken and just about ready to call it quits. This year, I’m on the verge of changes that have my excited beyond imagination. And I am full of this… thing called hope. Hope. What does it mean…

Hope. Possibility. Trust. What does it all mean?

I’ll tell you what it means. It means waking up in the morning and looking forward to the new day. It means getting in the shower and singing at the top of your lungs. It means jumping on the train with a bounce, a smile and beaming eyes. It means planning out the rest of your life without really knowing where you’ll end up and actually enjoying. It means being fearless in the face of the unknown. Hope.

It means being able to choose where you want to go. It means flying through the sky on wings of pure will fueled by technicolor dreams. It means building skyscrapers on floating islands in the clouds. It means traveling beyond the sun and out into the unknown. Possibility.

It means faith in love, life, destiny and freedom. It means sense and logic bowing down to the strength of religion. It means power in beliefs, morals and scripture. It means unbreakable bonds of friendship, camaraderie and kinship. Trust.

All of this makes for a lovely outlook on life. One that I could not have conceived of a year and a half ago.

I haven’t felt like this in a long long time. It’s as if the possibility of tomorrow knows no bounds. Everything from hereon out is a step in a new direction towards a beautiful tomorrow.

That tomorrow used to be scary. It used to be blurred and clouded. It used to be dull and dreary. It used to be predictable. But change, change has brought about hope. And hope has changed tomorrow into sheer beauty.

Hope. Brilliant, It’s just brilliant.

Rapture

2006-02-10T20:55:00.000-08:00

Amber rays of gold flood the room
Engulfing the atmosphere thick with sweat
Sweat from tireless sweeping with a broom
A consequence of a reckless bet

Along with the broom came a mop stick
To polish the marble floor upstairs
An orange shammy completes the hat trick
For the debt you incurred fair and square

And for what endeavor did you risk all this
For manual labor is not your best friend
You might wish to say before it is missed
Engulfed by this poem’s monotone trend

A simple task someone had to perform
One that took all night to negotiate
A peck, a sweet kiss on your lips so worn
From whispering “our love is willed by fate”

Job Satisfaction

2006-02-10T20:50:00.000-08:00

This morning an old man was in the middle of the road
Right in front of the bus stop to work
With a huge pile of aluminum cans on his left
And another huge pile of crushed cans on his right

He picked up a can from his left
Placed it at his feet
And jumped on the little bugger like a 10 year old boy
Picked it up and threw it on the pile on his right

He just kept doing that, over and over again
While smiling a wild carefree smile
Bearing his yellow teeth and black gums
And having a great time in general

The Stampede

2006-02-08T05:18:00.000-08:00

79 people dead, hundreds more injured. All for PhP20,000.00 handouts from Wowowilly and his gang of entertainers.

It's very easy to point fingers. It's very easy to enumerate what went wrong, who was wrong and why everything went wrong that Saturday morning. The thing that is proving to be really hard for everyone involved is what really surprises me.

Why hasn't anybody learned anything from the tragedy?

The Wowowee anniversary is still pushing through. Everyone who actually got into the Ultra venue agreed to return for the show. Bystanders during the coverage of the tragedy where still yelling "Wowowee number 1" while waving at the camera with insidious grins plastered on their faces and dead bodies at their feet. ABS CBN officials agreed to take full responsibility for the disaster PROVIDED that a government fact finding body with "no ulterior motives" prove that they were at fault. And I believe that to this day there are still "wounded people" walking up to ABS CBN media men claiming to be victims of the tragedy.

Of all the stupidity. Honestly. The stampede was unexpected, and nobody meant for it to happen. But now that it happened, people refuse to step back, absorb, learn, and correct their mistakes.

I'm not going to point fingers. I'm not even going to name names. I just want say that a great tragedy has just happened. Let's do what it takes so that it never happens again. Let's put aside our differences and care for the wounded, the widows and the widowers. Let's lay the dead to rest in peace.

The media fiasco, the finger pointing, the distasteful jokes and the ratings war is very unnecessary at this point. Let's act like civilized members of society and work things out.

Some more poetry

2006-02-06T05:27:00.000-08:00

Calling

I called just now… just to say
Just to say… what I have to say
I hope you don’t think me rude
For calling at this time, for being such a prude
I need to do this, I really want to actually
But I find it hard to express verbally
I called… right… I already said that
But of course, you already know that
I called to ask, or to say… just to say
What I have, what I mean to say
So I say that I wanted to tell you this thing
This thing that you might be interested in
I wanted to ask your opinion on it
You know, your thoughts, just a bit.
I wanted to make sense at least
I’m not really right now, I sound like dead yeast
I’m sure you didn’t come to that conclusion
I think by now you believe I’ve had some sort of contusion
In my brain or in this space between my ears
Which is badly failing me now it appears
I called to say, to say what I have to say.
I li…. lighted you a candle on my way home yesterday.
I’ll call again, if you’d let me.
Tonight I’ll… just… let you be.
…

Something Revolting

2006-02-06T05:07:00.000-08:00

Something revolting

Recently, I came across an email that seriously annoyed me. Here it is in all its hateful glory.

Filipinos.....*make me puke* (Art Bell)

As we've all come to notice, in the past few decades, Filipinos have begun to infest the United States like some sort of disease. Their extensive involvement in the U.S. Armed Forces is proof of the trashy kind of qualities all filipinos tend to exhibit on a regular basis. You can see this clearly by studying the attitudes and cultural Icons of most Filipino Americans. Origins of Pinoys/Pinays: Are they really asian? Well we've come to accept the fact the filipinos come from a part of the world known as South East Asia. But the term "Asia" is used in the wrong way. You may notice that contemporary Filipino Americans try very hard to associate themselves with groups that we know as Asian. I cannot count the number of times I have seen a ' Third World' Filipino try to connect themselves to the chinese or Japanese people. There is no connection and here's why. The Philippines is a Third World country. Nothing respectable has EVER been created by Filipino people during our entire human history. Young filipino men in America have become obsessed with "import racing". They have an enormously perverted affection for Japanese cars. It's a common phenomenon. In their minds, these Filipinos somehow believe that they are asian and that it somehow connects them to Japanese people and japanese cars. They often take credit for the ingenuity of Japanese people and say how it's an "Asian thing". This term..."Asian thing" derived directly from African American slang "black thang". "It's a black thang." "It's an asian thang." You can see the connection. It's even funnier that, in Japan, Filipinos are heavily discriminated against. The only filipinos that can live successfully in Japan are the filipino prostitutes. But that's the case for most Filipino people no matter where they live in th e world. Now we've come down to this fact...and it is a fact. Nothing in Filipino Culture can be seen as Asian.They have no architectural, artistic, or cultural influence which is in ANY way, asian. Thinking of the great countries in Asia such as Japan, Korea, and China there is no way you can possibly connect the Philippine Islands. This assault by filipino americans to connect themselves with the great peoples of North East Asia is foul and disgusting. Try visiting a young filipino's web site too. You'll see something called the "Asian IRC Ring". It has to do with the chatrooms. The most horrible thing about this is that these TRASHY people are trying to associate themselves with Asia again!! People in Asia don't act like this at all. What we are seeing here is the natural Filipino in its element with full access to technology and this is how they act! You will consistently see this behavior over and over again. Another interest ing thing is that these "thirdworld" people also frequent RC chatrooms such as #chinese #japan and #asian. They must believe that they are somehow related racially or culturally to North Asians. But it's completely WRONG! There might have been some distant contact With China and even less with Japan during World War II, but these people are actually more closely related to african americans and Mexican americans. Do the parents of these young filipinos know what's going on? Would they accept this? I believe that they would and do. This is the natural "Trash" element in filipinos manifesting itself. Nothing good has ever come from Philippines and I don't believe anything good ever will. Recognizing your Roots (A Message to Filipinos). To all filipino people: Please recognize your ROOTS! You come from the Third World! You country is a disgusting and filthy place. Most people there live in poverty! Your culture has MUCH MORE SPANISH influence than chinese, and absolutely no JAPANESE influence whatsoever. People in Japan and China, d o not act like you. They do not constantly talk about sex and they have a MUCH HIGHER level of RESPECT for each other. There is NO WAY that you can connect yourself to Asia other than location. Your culture and technological advancement does no! t even come CLOSE to What Chinese, people have done in the past and what Japanese and Korean people are doing now! Everything you do is distinctly filipino. You cannot take credit for Japanese cars, video games, or Hentai! It's not an "asian thing" it's an "American thing". You have no concept of culture...no concept of asian ideas or asian philosophy! Can you demonstrate how you use Confucianism or Taoism in you everyday life?? You can't. And you will NEVER be able to. I understand that you are trying to create an identity for yourselves as young people... but it is NOT related to Asia. Your Identity is Filipino. That's all you are. Just Filipino. Think about what that means....

I also found out that this letter was a hoax. It turns out Mr. Bell is actually married to a Filipina. He is an outspoken radio personality, and this letter was obviously written to discredit him and his opinions on whatever it is he talks about over the air. Nevertheless, the letter was written with utmost disrespect and disregard for Filipinos and the Filipino people.

This is what I have to say about the author of this letter. (Who is obviously an American as Mr. Bell only broadcasts in America, and who I will refer to as the author for the rest of my post for lack of a better term for the bastard.)

I think it's revolting that someone in a first world country where ideals, morals and social propriety are supposedly to have emanated brood such insulting and pompous thoughts on other people.

I think it’s revolting that an American, a supporter of the ideal that all are equal under the eyes of God, attacked a people by boxing them into a stereotype founded on nothing but his own individual biased observations.

I think it’s incredibly revolting, that there are people in this modern world where physical, cultural, religious and social barriers are being torn down every day, still cling to ancient, and obsolete, mantras of racial superiority and discrimination.

We are no longer living on opposite sides of picket fences. We are living together, in one world, sharing the same skies and the same seas. We are all benefiting from each other’s advancements, achievements and victories. We are brought down by each other’s failures, frustrations and losses. We as a people, as one unified human race, no longer have the convenience of the boarders of yesterday. History will tell us, that those boarders and boundaries only brought about hate, suffering, death and destruction. There is simply no room in the world for racist bigots.

And there is evidence of this, in our anonymous author’s own “race”.

The author refers to Filipinos as a “social climbing” race that adopts ideas, trends and inventions from other races to achieve social stature. He must be blind to the millions of white Americans who put on baggy clothes and listen to loud rap music all made popular by their “second class colored” brothers.

The author refers to the Filipino youth as “unoriginal” junkies addicted to Japanese Cars and Anime. He must be blind to the millions of white Americans who spend hours and hours wasting time playing on the latest video console from electronics giant “Sony” which happens to hail from an archipelago their forefathers bombed with two of the first atom bombs.

The author refers to the Filipino Christian as “unable” to relate or compare to superior philosophies such as Taoism and Confucianism that were forged in the “superior” Asian cultures. He must be blind to millions of occults, anti-Christ worshippers and agnostics that seem to spawn only amongst the Aryan races. He also seems to be blind to the fact that all dominant world religions today did not originate from his country.

The author refers to the Filipino as a “lost race” with no identity of its own. He must be ignorant of his people’s own roots. A young race of colonizers that were rejected spat upon and deemed as rebellious up starts by its mother country England. He probably does not know that although ‘his’ world is primarily white, his countrymen are actually brown and yellow and black.

The author’s statements have no foundation, no basis, no weight and no bearing. And his letter has only succeeded in exposing his own country’s flaws.

A message to the author:

We, the Filipino community, are part of Humanity, a loving and caring society devoid of barriers and boundaries. We are committed to the alleviation of the world’s problems, and not only those of our own people. We live our lives, day to day, striving to lift our country from its “Third World Status” through just means that are beneficial to all of mankind. We share the same skies, and the same seas. We breathe the same air and drink the same water. We read the same prose and the same poetry. But we do not share the same thoughts and ideals as you sir.

Ours is a proud race, filled with heroes and patriots bred form centuries of colonization and subjugation. Ours is a race of infinite hospitality that has been abused by so many before you. Ours is a race that struggles to find its place in this ever evolving global community in spite of all the hardship that we are experiencing today. Ours is a glorious race that does not deserve to be belittled by your race or by any other race. And so is yours. The truth is, all of these things can be said of all the races and cultures in the world. All of them. Americans, Filipinos, Japanese, Chinese and the rest of the world. We all live in the same world. We all share in everything.

The question here is, is there enough space in this world for people who think like you?

Office Hours

2006-02-03T20:06:00.000-08:00

There he was, a charm less man who would not be able to withstand the oncoming storm, alone, broken and facing the unbearable.

I’m going on leave tomorrow

Again? What is it this time? What is so important that you have to miss work for the third time this week?

I need to pick up my wife from the airport

Your wife? From the airport? You’ve used that excuse one too many times mister. I cannot believe you, the nerve. And it doesn’t even take an entire day to pick somebody up from the airport. You’ve done it countless of times, if you really have been picking up your wife at the airport. And on those occasions you’ve only asked to leave off work for half the day.

This time it’s different.

What?!? Exactly what makes it different this time around? Are you planning to surprise her with a grand welcoming committee complete with a marching band? Maybe you’re planning a little getaway yourself? Pick her up from arrivals and whisk her off unto another plane bound for some cozy little beach far far away from your responsibilities here at the office? Honestly, I cannot understand why you are still employed here.

This time it’s different.

How exactly?!?!?! Explain this to me? Come on!!

I need to rent a car.

A car?!?!?! Do you think me daft? You have a car! What? Did you get into an accident again? Did you crash your car into another stationary vehicle? You really need to get yourself together man.

I need to rent a car that can carry a box.

A box? So that’s it, your bread winning wife is coming home with a box of goodies for you and all your loved ones. Is that it? You need a truck to cart home all the things your wife’s hard earned dollars have bought you? Hmmm? Your dependence on her sickens me.

I need to rent a car that can fit a box, a man sized box.

What?.... I don’t follow you.

You don’t need to. I think I’m not going to take the day off tomorrow. I think I’ll be taking the whole month off. Good day sir.

What? Now hold on a minute, I’m not done talking with you!!!! Can you believe the nerve of that man, turning his back on me. He will not hear the end of this. No he won’t. Man sized box. Rubbish. And taking the whole month off!!!! YOU CANNOT TAKE THE WHOLE MONTH OFF YOU FILTHY LITTLE SLOTH! I WANT YOU BACK HERE THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW!!!!!

The shouting did little to drown out the pain. There he was, a charm less man who would not be able to withstand the oncoming storm, alone, broken, and on the verge of unemployment. Leaving work to rent a small truck he could not afford to carry a box home from the airport to his family. He had a lot to do, and he had no time waste, not on tears, not on self pity, no time to waste at all.

A bit of poetry

2006-01-26T19:01:00.000-08:00

The quiet little boy shakes in his trousers behind the stage.
In his right hand, a recorder, in his left, his notes.
In a few minutes he will be playing for the entire school.
He’s afraid of crowds.
He’s afraid of the stage.
He’s afraid both won’t like him.

It’s his turn now, he emerges from the curtains of crimson red.
The blaring lights assault his eyes, slowly they reveal the stage.
A solitary seat for a solo act in front of the boy’s entire world.
He never liked crowds.
He never liked the stage.
He never wanted to be where he was.

He arranges his notes, on the silver stand and takes his seat.
He places the recorder to his lips, and blows a sharp screeching noise.
The entire crowd before him cringes at the sound of his note.
He hated those crowds.
He hated the stage.
He hated what would happen next.

He plays out his song, a short simple routine of highs and lows and clefs.
He plays really fast, to get it over with, He wanted off the stage as soon as possible.
Then he remembers the worse part, the waiting for applause… he slows down.
He stares at the crowd.
He stares at the stage.
He stares off into space and waits.

A clap, one, two three four, all of the sudden the whole crowd was clapping.
Applause! Applause! Everywhere, strangers where cheering and smiling.
They liked what I played! They liked how I played! They loved my work onstage!
He loved the crowds!
He loved the stage!
He loved what was happening!

All of a sudden a jeer breaks the merriment and shatters the boy’s smile.
The boy looks up to mocking eyes over the smiles of those feigning applause.
Then terrible cuss words of all sorts and an all too wicked collective laughter.
He shrunk from the crowd.
He shrunk from the stage.
He shrunk from his whole known world.

How cruel a joke, to make him believe he was good, he was admired, he was adored.
How cruel a prank to make known to him how insignificant he was to the crowd.
He only longed to please them, the stage and the rest of his known world.
He died in front of the crowd.
He died on stage.
He died from sadness and pain and rage.

A bit of writing

2006-01-26T18:43:00.000-08:00

CONTEMPORARY HUMAN INTELECTUAL EVOLUTION

How sad it is to think that the world has accumulated too many thoughts and ideas for one mind to hold. So many that we need to create our own synthetic, “intellectual” evolutionary paths so that each may specialize in his or her own field, wasting not a single scrap of knowledge to memory loss. Is it not tragic that one so eloquently versed in the languages of the world should feel incompetent amongst those equally eloquent in the physical symmetry of sport and athletics? Is it not a travesty that one gifted with the art of theatre and song would be lost among those gifted with the art of numbers and equations? Better still, is it not a tragedy that we rely on the ephemeral to preserve that which should be immortal? I shudder at the thought of the fountains of knowledge lost forever in the barbaric book burnings of Hitler, McCarthy and the ignorant sons of the Medieval Church.

It is all logical actually, for it really is impossible for one person to store the enormity of accumulated human knowledge in his inadequate person. Necessitating the invention of scratching, cave painting, writing, book binding, printing, typing and finally, internet posting to augment the “obsolete” human standard issue storage device. But it is still so flimsy, so frail. So many people spend their lives in complete ignorance of the wealth of knowledge available to us all. And so many will never realize any of it exists.

I caught on to this reality when I was reading “Jude the Obscure” by Thomas Hardy. I came up on a page with several mind blowing concepts and statements.

“Teach me to live, that I may dread
The grave as little as my bed,
Teach me to die…”
-“Evening Hymn” by Bishop Thomas Ken (Late Seventeenth century)

“Why should we faint, and fear to live alone,
Since all alone so Heaven has will’d we die?”
-“Christian Year” by John Keble (1827)

“My argument was…that absolute certitude as to the truths of natural theology was the result of an assemblage of concurring and converging probabilities…that probabilities which did not reach to logical certainty might create a mental certitude.”
-“Apologia pro Vita Sua” by John Henry Newman (1864 Autobiography)

These passages completely blew me away. The past is literally overflowing with ideas trying to answer fundamental questions that people ask themselves constantly to this very day. And we don’t even encounter half of it in our lifetimes. I’ve never read anything by John Keble or Bishop Thomas Ken or John Henry Newman. I don’t even know who these people are. I haven’t even finished reading “Jude the Obscure”. It shows you how misleading the tip of the iceberg really is.

We are all so caught up in each of our own worlds, our own “intellectual” evolutionary paths. The paths we deem ourselves worthy of, that which we choose over all the other possibilities. Sadly, the more common “intellectual” evolutionary paths don’t even aspire to be as worthy as the paths of Philosophy, Theology, Medicine and Mathematics taken so many years ago. Each generation produces more and more mediocrity and ignorance and less and less brilliance and intelligence. I mean, come on, this generation of scholars is largely dependent on the F7 button to check for grammar and spelling. And society, society contributes to this ignorance. Society today tells you to engorge yourselves on the mundane pleasures of life. It’s easier that way. No worries about the fundamental questions of life, love, death and meaning in the universe. Just sex, drugs, and rock n roll. You will not see huge paid advertisements for the Philosophical heroes of our time such as Heidigger or Kierkegard. No average joe will be able to enlighten you as to where you can find a copy of the “Tao of Lao Tzu” or “The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire” by Edward Gibbon. Every Politician elected is too concerned with building waiting sheds and repaving run down highways and bridges to even think about putting up a Town Library. Hell, I’m sure if you asked a Police Officer where the nearest library was he wouldn’t be able to answer you.

You see where I’m going? There’s so much to learn, a wealth of knowledge at our finger tips compiled by the blood, sweat and tears of our forefathers over a time period spanning centuries. There was line by Morgan Freeman in a movie several years ago, I think it was a mystery flick, he walks into a huge library at an ungodly hour, notices that there are four guards on duty playing poker, and he says “The wealth of the world’s knowledge at your fingertips, and you play poker” shakes his head and goes about his business. Brilliant, absolutely brilliant.

Our scholars today, our scribes, our experts and authorities on the different facets of life, science and literature, they are all exceptionally well versed in their respective fields. But should the world be torn apart by war, famine, loss of technology, all of it, every single bit of information will most likely be lost. The ideal situation is for each individual human being to be able to reproduce the greatness of human knowledge and ingenuity, the fundamental spark that sets human beings apart from all other animals. But that ideal situation is too tall a task. Our task now is simply to familiarize ourselves with the fundamentals of each discipline so that we may at least be able to discern bits and pieces of information and instruction.

There are those who are willing to go the extra mile and reach out to the world through popular mediums. People who seek to make intelligence entertaining and attractive. Movie directors, song writers, poets, and actors, all striving to inform the misinformed, but they are often upstaged by other elements including their own chosen mediums.

Beginning

2006-01-24T07:19:00.000-08:00

Pondering my fate upon the impending expiry of my binding contract with a certain financial institution that will remain anonymous I find myself at a crossroads. A crossroads between what I want, and what I need. I want a career in writing. I need to make a living.

The two are unavoidably separate.

I want a career in writing. I want my mind to shatter this world’s conventions and bring forth an era where imagination, passion, creativity and art rule over precision, logic, policy and commerce. I want to scatter rhymes of love, lust, pain and sorrow to the far corners of this dull and dead society. I want to burn my words and thoughts into the eyes and minds of my readers. I want to write.

I need to make a living. I need to support myself and those who depend upon me. I need to roof and wall my home, provide it with light and running water, feed it with electricity, television, phone lines and internet cables. I need to build my body with food and drink, clothe it with all forms of apparel, and move it to and from its daily tasks. I need a stable and financially rewarding day job. I need to work.

The two are unavoidably separate.

Writing does not earn. It would take twice as long for me to earn, through writing, what I earn through the un-enjoyable task of finance. It will never compare, financially.

Earning does not satisfy. Any angle I look at it points to the same conclusion. I will never enjoy myself without writing.

The two are paths to a fork in the road leading in opposite directions. They are unavoidably separate, both leading to prosperities of different forms; prosperity in mind and prosperity in pocket. It cannot be joined. (And I say this half-wittedly as I know not what to expect from either situation as of now.)

Pondering on this has gotten me nowhere. So I will leave the issue unresolved, unanswered, and open. Open to any who feel they can offer me a middle ground. (or at least something worthwhile to help me along) I am simply torn.

The fundamental question would be this; is choosing a profession of writing still a viable source of income in today’s world? Or maybe; is writing professionally, despite meager compensation, sky rocketing personal and professional expenses and uncertain political stability, fulfilling enough to merit a serious career? Or better still; can a young upstart of a writer survive a world ruled by faster-than-a-speeding-bullet economics and more-powerful-than-a-locomotive stress on success?

Again, I am simply torn.

“One must not waste time entering into a profession that will most likely prosper him. Instead, one must enter into a profession that will most likely prosper because of him.”