Go, Go, Second Time Student

June 2, 2010 at 11:19 am | Posted in Self-importance | 22 Comments

“Yet a fear remained, which for all his clarity of mind he could not yet examine. He knew it was there. He felt his presence as surely as one feels the menace of a nearby flame; yet he could not turn to it and acknowledge it.”

(Cry to Heaven by Anne Rice)

In plain English, I’m scared shitless.

I don’t know what having no shit has to do with being frightened, the phrase really makes no sense, but I guess that’s the only way to express how extremely scared I am. For the future, that is.

I’ve just been accepted to University of Toronto. That’s what I call skills, boy. Haha. Hopefully, they were impressed by my grades. But being the cynical and realistic person that I am, I’m guessing that they have lowered their standards just so they can fill in the empty spots in the program. But this is great, since I can just easily get to school on a bike. And if I walked, it would probably only take me about 30 minutes. Sayonara, unreliable public transportation.

This means we’re now going to take it more seriously, from here on, kiddo. Now you listen, you have to reduce the number of films you watch in a week. From about 15 films a week to 2-3 films a week. I know that’s eventually going to drive you nuts especially from the tons of reading and studying you’ll be doing, but you’re also going to have to fit in exercise, blogging, reading novels, and part-time work in your tight schedule. So much for my almost non-existent social life. So Chris, you’ll probably be a mental case by the end of the school year then. But that’s okay, at least you’ll have satisfactory grades?

We’re entering a more competitive environment this time; I can already feel the almost wildlife-like atmosphere at the university, people preying on one another, leeching on another for selfish interests, and doing everything to get the juicy prey, the job, the reward. Not that this is any different from a community college, but this time we’re dealing with more ambitious people and people who actually have the brains. You heard me.

I never liked uncertainty. That’s why I probably chose something more practical before. How foolish I was back then. My past self has failed to realize that I can’t stomach being in an office all day long, working on the computer, with a bunch of yuppies and capitalists for workmates. I can’t imagine being a slave to this capitalist system of ours. And for a measly amount of $10.50-$16.00 / hour. No thank you. To hell with it, I am just going to be a psychologist, with a majority of upper-class and bourgeoisie clients, and blame their unhappiness, dissatisfaction in life and feelings of having no purpose to their consumerist habits, willingness to accept everything for what it is without questioning it, and the hellish impact of mainstream culture and capitalist propaganda on their lives and their puny heads. Bohahahaha.

We’re entering unfamiliar territory now. Prepare yourself for those tyrannical teachers and megalomaniac students who will look down on you. They’ll be torturing you not physically but with their fake smiles, annoying small talk and unyielding conformity to social norms. We’re putting in a lot of money here, and the student loans are just going to accumulate year by year, not to mention the fiendish interests. And you don’t even like owing someone any amount of money for a long period of time. No more tomfoolery. You have already gotten rid of the idea that maybe you might have some creative inclinations in you for the possibilities of pursuing something like journalism and film studies. You just don’t. You weren’t given at least that. It’s not practical, what you’re pursuing. It requires more effort, wait, even twice the work for you since English is still not a language you’ve fully mastered. But you can’t imagine yourself doing anything else. If it means a lot of questioning and hesitations from almost everyone else you know, so be it. We’ll make it.

Go, go, second time virgin student.

Love/Hate

May 28, 2010 at 3:41 pm | Posted in Angst, Doki Doki | 18 Comments

HATE
Yuppies. Taxes. White supremacists. Tweety the bird. Injustice. TV, the idiot box. Facebook stupidities. Corporations. Asian boy bands. Rednecks. The word “bitch”, you misogynistic cunts. Bigots (JC’s favourite word, haha). Old-fashioned beliefs. Cliches. Stereotypes. Groupies. Hardcore Beatniks. Capitalists. Donald Trump, I want him dead. Filipinos worshipping Americans. People on the North beating baby seals as a sport(!). Herd mentality. Colonial mentality. Conformists. Consumerism. Che Guevara T-shirts. Quentin Tarantado Tarantino. Machismo. Patriarchy. Dad getting all worked up over and complaining about small stuff. Snobbish bourgeoisie. Materialistic people. Brands. This copyrighting business. Over-ambitious people. Plastic surgeries. Girls passing off as bisexuals for the pleasures of their boys. Twilight fans. Heterosexual public displays of affection. Mainstream multiplexes. Impersonal parties. Excessive make-up. Annoying sound of high heels on hard surfaces. Superficiality. Chihuahuas as fashion accessories. Mainstream culture. Endless tributes to dead celebrities, ehem, Michael Jackson, ehem. Meaningless holidays. People who go use public washrooms and don’t wash their hands, yuck. Misleading advertisements. Ads defacing women and treating them as sex objects. Kalabasa. Small talk. Class clowns. Trying so hard to be funny and to cheer people up. Sexist, homophobic or racist jokes. Pretentious art. Posers, wannabes, “gangsters”. Loud music on cars. Sports.

LOVE
Stories. Fantasy fiction, science fiction. Sylvester the cat. Bubble wrap. Light rain. Crumpling paper bags. Floating on water, facing towards the sky. Curling myself underwater. Polaroid pictures. Downtown. Breakfast. The smell of baked goods. Sugar cubes. Old video games. The normal thumping of the heart. The feeling of my body against the wind. Underground video stores. The occasional bondings with my sister. Dad’s love of plants. Mom’s excessive worrying. People’s little quirks. Morning orgasms. Old letters from friends. Reminiscing. Hearing or remembering old songs you haven’t listened to in a long time. Various accents. Cinematic gestures. Musicals. Gay icons. Joan Crawford. The crisp and color of autumn leaves. Huskies. Baby penguins. Baby seals. Watermelon slushies. Vinni-Pukh. Silent fall of snow. Northern lights, I wanna see it. Black-and-white films. Foreign languages. Old film posters. Cheesy gay porn lines. Old-fashioned trains, I find them romantic. Unintentional humour. Schadenfreude, look it up. Campy films. Armpit fetishes. Homoeroticism in films and novels. Tight leather. Natural body smells. Male bodies drenched in sweat, oh yeah. Cup noodles. Daredevil rides. Intellectuals. Revolutionaries. Meaningful conversations. Just eating out with friends. Counterculture. Cinematheque Ontario. Socialism, Marxism, communism, feminism, liberalism. Fred Astaire tap dancing. Friday movie nights, I miss them. Bumming out. Groucho Marx. Buster Keaton. Day-offs. Skipping school. Spirituality, not organized religion. Musicals.

Despite all the ugliness in this world, it’s really the small things that make living worthwhile.

A childhood sexual fixation

May 23, 2010 at 10:37 pm | Posted in Oddball | 33 Comments

Okay, so compared to last month, I’ve been blogging less lately. It’s not that I’m busy. I have few work shifts and I am still passively looking for another job and waiting for a response from the universities I’ve applied in. It’s just that I have been spending my time watching films instead, which most of you must have noticed is my hobby, my obsession. I’ve been trying to watch most of the the films selected (that I haven’t seen yet) for a competition in the forum The Auteurs so I can participate in voting and all. It beats looking for a better job, anyways, and keeps me occupied.

So, enough of the general pseudo-social critique and babbling that I usually post in this blog of mine for a while. That’s just me being tired and sick of all the hypocrisies and mediocrities in this world. Instead, I’m here to admit something that I haven’t personally shared to anyone I know in real life. It’s just something from my childhood that I’d never forget.

When I was a kid, I used to jack off to Disney’s The Jungle Book. Seriously.

Among all the Disney films and other animation films I had in my collection (those VHS tapes are now all not in my possession), one of the few I’ve watched hundreds of times is The Jungle Book. The film’s not that good. Aside from the catchy The Bare Necessities song, the film’s mediocre, at best. Personally, I think Alice in Wonderland, Fantasia, Bambi and The Three Caballeros are the best films that the purely evil Walt Disney has ever produced. The rest are about 1-dimensional damsels-in-distress who dream no more than getting it on with Prince Charming, the real villain of them all Disney villains and a bunch of talking animals, with apparently thick human accents. So that’s how animals communicate with each other.

Anyway, of course, I haven’t reached puberty yet and I had no definition, no sense, of what I felt for the same sex. And I didn’t exactly know what I was doing. But I felt tingles whenever I watched the snake, Kaa, seducing hypnotizing Mowgli. Seriously, Kaa could have just eaten him quite easily without the need of hyposis. While watching those two scenes where the snake Kaa unsuccessfully tries to hypnotize him before devouring him, I would lie face down on a sofa, cling to it, and press my body, and my puny cock, against the soft texture of the couch, humping it until I released those body fluids, until I finally came. Sometimes, I would just fast-forward through the rest of the film just for those two key scenes. And I remember wishing that the film would have been a whole lot better if Kaa did get to eat Mowgli in the end after all those seductions that left me with an erotic sensation.

And, apparently, I am not alone on this one. After viewing a couple of the Kaa and Mowgli scenes posted in Youtube, the exact scenes I quite enjoyed during my childhood, I read a bunch of comments on the video, stating that they also got turned on by Kaa and his hypnotic ways, that they have/had erotic fantasies about Kaa and Mowgli, and that they themselves wanted to be wrapped around Kaa’s, er, body. And I don’t know which would have been better: knowing that there are other people who also felt the same way as me or thinking that I was the only person who felt that way towards those scenes.

Trying to vaguely explain as to why we are sexually aroused by Kaa, I guess it must be his aggressive seductions on Mowgli, his hissing sounds, , the voice actor’s charming voice, and finally the way he tries to trap or prey on the poor, innocent Mowgli. If this was a cartoon about humans instead, Kaa would have been a pedophile. Now, don’t start getting all Freudian on me, okay?

I know that’s a little bit fucked up but, just thinking about it now and watching the scene again years later, I’m feeling some kind of erotic sensation overwhelming me.

The Idiot Box

May 18, 2010 at 12:38 pm | Posted in Snobbery | 22 Comments

I don’t watch cable TV anymore. Well, okay, fine, not entirely. I still check the weather on channel 24 and, during dinner with the family, I am forced to guess the word puzzles in Wheel of Fortune, answer the film-related questions in Jeopardy and favour the likeable contestants over the obnoxious and cocky ones when we could just easily turn off the damn TV and talk to each other about the past and the distant future.

I just can’t help but frequently roll my eyes whenever I watch TV. If it’s not Willie Revillame’s gloating and ugly excuse for a face hogging the whole screen, it’s news reporters with their fake smiles and obligatory small talk, talking about the most humdrum things happening in Toronto. If it’s not an awkward stand-up comedian who claims to have socially relevant jokes when he’s just really reinforcing stereotypes rather than mocking them, it’s Donald Trump with that grumpy look in that capitalist show of his whom I would be nothing but pleased to kill.

Now that I have grown an affection for films, I think that TV preys on caters too much to idiots, naive and/or uneducated people and people with short attention spans. Or maybe it is the other way around and the short-attention spans people have is the cause of their excessive TV exposure.

Okay, they start off with stuff like American Idol and Survivor. They find out that millions of people are into this stupid shit: judges acting like they know what they’re talking about, white people congratulating and complimenting each other (yet again), and the viewer having the illusion that they control the lives of these contestants with a single text/vote. Next, they start coming up with the most farfetched ideas and create reality shows in the fields of culinary arts? Modelling? Fashion designing? Business? Interior designing? Travel? Even dating?  What’s next? Surgeries? Oh wait, right, you can already watch people performing surgery operations in TV nowadays. Shouldn’t work and entertainment be two entirely different things? Is nothing sacred anymore? Does everything in our lives have to be watchable? Must they create such artificial melodrama about the dullest part of our lives?

And what’s so dramatic about life at the hospital? Must they really create countless shows about that? Do doctors really get that involved with their patients? Um, I think there’s this something that they call confidentiality. I don’t think there’s anything romantic and interesting about overfatigued nurses and capitalist doctors.

Kids and teens have no idea what satire is. They only get a kick out of shows like The Simpsons and South Park because they are crude and offensive, unlike wholesome family shows, and Bart Simpson, Homer Simpson and Stewie are supposedly people they can look up to. But those weren’t the creators’ initial intentions. Bart is a brat. Bart, brat, get it? No? You’re a nitwit then. And Homer is an obese, irresponsible, uneducated, couch potato: the average American. I don’t think we should make T-shirts and other merchandise out of them.

Cars marketed to define ourselves and what we are? Commercials reinforcing typical female/male roles and mainstream gender relations? Consumerist, capitalist agendas? Women in humiliating and degrading situations and roles for the pleasures of prepubescent boys and perverted men? All for business and no room for art? TV viewers and producers getting a kick out of untalented and uneducated people on TV? So much for human progress.

The Philippine dream(?)

May 12, 2010 at 12:14 pm | Posted in Criticism | 11 Comments

So, my cousin and her husband are arriving here in Canada this coming Tuesday. And they’re planning to stay here for good. They have been wanting to get here ever since her brother, my other cousin obviously, got here and probably told her how great it is here. I dunno about you, but I never found out what’s so great about living in a country alien to you, having been born in another foreign country myself. Great, another big caplitalist city. Great, another overcrowded, fool-infested mall.

Trust me, living in another country isn’t as great as you think it is. It’s all a myth, probably due to our people’s inexplicable fascination with foreigners especially Americans and created by people who migrated elsewhere trying to convince their peers and relatives to do the same, with the usual exaggerations and none of the forewarnings.

What you might have studied in the Philippines whether it is in a university or a community college may not be up to their standards. And this must mean that you might have to do some extra courses or go back to university/college. Or else, you’ll just fall to the option of working in a factory, a fast-food restaurant or whatever. And I’ve been acquainted with some people who do two part-time jobs just to make ends meet, and even this is not enough for them.

And even though other people may not say or do it right in front of you, some of them can be condescending or patronizing, especially if you just immigrated and are new to the foreign nation. They do, after all, have a name for us new immigrants, what they call F.O.B.s (fresh off the boat), which they usually use to call people with broken English and any other kind of stereotypically foreign behaviour. And please don’t tell me that Filipinos are innocent of making any kind of racist, misogynistic or homophobic remark because even my parents and my friends are guilty of such things. They’d usually say something like, oh, this kind of people is prone to crimes and ill behaviour, oh, thank god you’re not like the other gays (What? Are we divided into two factions!?), and, oh, I wouldn’t be caught dead dating a person of such race (Please, you’re not that hot yourself.). If that’s not offensive, then I don’t know what is.

We’re a bunch of sheep, I tell you, just going with the flow, never going against it.

And what’s up with a lot of Filipinos aspiring to be nurses? Herd mentality, much? If not that, they’d want to be accountants (I’ve been guilty myself), and older ones would just settle for less and become caregivers instead. Caregiver, a euphemism, a fancy term, for yaya, maid, domestic servant, babysitter, nanny. Oh no, the blacks are now thinking for themselves, let’s go oppress the Filipinos and Hispanics instead. I can’t help but roll my eyes whenever I see Filipino women taking care of a bunch of white kids. Folks, this is how much we adore the foreigners, that we’re willing enough to live in their homes and clean their toilets or kids’ butts ourselves. Do we take joy at serving other people, scrubbing other people’s backs and butts? Are we already contented at having less? Why can’t we aspire to be something greater instead? They already reached the stars, and what have we done, other than assisting other people who think less of us, taking care of others who are of no relation to us? Is this more or less the Philippine dream, if there is one? Either to serve others or to follow the American dream?

Some of us try to pass off as of a different race, ashamed of our “inferior” identities. Some take advantage of the fact that they have grown up abroad and know the ABCs of English to go back to the Philippines and pursue a career there, usually an acting career. If they’ve gone to America, can speak a bit of Tagalog, can switch back and forth from Tagalog to English with ease, and look “presentable” enough for the spotlight, they’re already overqualified. Any acting experience or capability must be beside the point. If that isn’t bad enough, even the foreigners know that we just can’t get enough of them that they even decide to live in our country. It’s not that the living conditions are terrible in their homeland and that there’s a promise of better living in the Philippines. No, it’s that living in the Philippines is relatively less costly than it is in their home country. They know they’re better off there; they narcissistically like to be adored and worshipped. They don’t plan to liberate us, to get us off our third-world situation. They just want to take advantage of the situation. Cheap wages, higher profits. Globalization galore. Call centres, sweatshops, you name it.

So, this must be our version of the American dream, since we do tend to dearly imitate everything American, the ultimate Philippine dream: to be subjected or to freely choose to serve the ones who in the past have invaded our country and have oppressed our ancestors and who in the present still have a subtle imperialistic control on our government. Now, reveal those whips, leather, ropes and handcuffs you have hiding in your closet, you masochistic perverts, and I myself will do the whipping for you.

Coco Martin, go back to being gay-for-pay.

May 7, 2010 at 11:26 am | Posted in Heterophobia | 21 Comments

Coco Martin, must you be a sell-out? Instead of just sticking to art house and independent films, why must you go and ruin your entire career by starring in trashy teleseryes where you play such dull hetero roles? We liked you better when you pretended to be a homo.

I’d have just loved to put you in suspended animation before you decided to sign contracts with the devil so you’ll always and only be remembered for your films with Brillante Mendoza, Masahista, Serbis and Kinatay and Raya Martin’s film Next Attraction. And you’ll be forever young and gorgeous.

Now there’s no excuse for us gays and women to watch you make out with another man for the sake of art. Even though Raya Martin’s film Next Attraction seemed almost pointless and wasn’t exactly a favorite of mine, I still impatiently waited for the scene where you made out with fellow actor, Paolo Rivero, in the shower. Yes, wash each other’s backs. Ooh, that’s the stuff. Now I can’t say that the film was a complete waste of time. I do like my films lingering and slow-paced sometimes but I didn’t see the point to the film Next Attraction.

This may not mean much to you but you represented the gay man who oozed sex, masculinity and Filipino male beauty. Sure, you’re straight in real life but for all we care, you were gay in our eyes. You weren’t just a gorgeous bod to stare at. Your great ass, good looks and distinct lisp were meant for something greater. But then you decided to let yourself be tamed by the mainstream entertainment industry, the embodiment of evil, even more deviant than kapres and manananggals because of its omnipresence and powerful influence on the masses.

Why did you have to cater to the mainstream audience? Why did you have to compromise your integrity and principles? You’ve just gone hetero on us. You just stabbed us gays in our backs. In our eyes, you have been converted from homosexuality to heterosexuality, from alternative film to mainstream trash, from coolness to blandness and tackiness. You just lost yourself an avid fan in me.

We better go to Cuba or I’ll seriously throw a tantrum

May 2, 2010 at 11:24 pm | Posted in Self-importance | 21 Comments

From left to right: Demi, moi and Ana

The two hot mamas on either side of me are my BFFs; that stands for best friends forevah, yoh. Haha, that just sounds so awful. Trust me, I don’t talk like that in real life. I just do it out of mockery and I don’t ever refer to them as my BFFs in real life. But indeed, they are my best friends. We were a larger group of friends back then in high school but we all drifted apart and split into smaller groups because all of us never had anything in common, aside from the fact that we were all a bunch of Filipinos fresh from the Philippines. I’m glad we did since I can’t seem to get along with at least half of them and I don’t like pretending to enjoy one’s company when I actually don’t.

Sometimes, a bunch of us do get together. But it would be just us going through the whole small talk and formalities. Sarcastic smiles and fake hellos, that’s all there would be to it.

But even though Ana, Demi and I are tight like that, we absolutely have nothing in common. Sure, Demi and Ana may have some common interests but other than that, nada. They have more mainstream interests and are not really into what I like. Unlike me, they never get too passionate or obsess too much on something. If they do, it’d be just a phase and they’ll easily grow out of it. Opposites attract?

I could easily mock or insult them on their tastes in films, etc. and they’d still love me, haha. Or maybe they try not to show their annoyance when I do that, I dunno. What? Insults just come naturally to me. They can put up with my sardonic comments and blatant remarks, and I can put up with their poor tastes and shopping habits. All is fair.

After a month or two of not seeing each other since we were pretending to be so busy were so busy on our own lives (one with trying to find a job and the rest of us with school which I’m glad is finally over for now), we decided to catch up on each other’s lives. We decided that we’re going to pull ourselves together and get a better grip on our lives. Our own goals are slightly different from each others’ but mine would be to study AGAIN, to study another course completely, I repeat completely, different from the college course I just completed. If you ask me why I spent three years wasting my time on that accounting shit, I’m afraid I would go on the verge of tears.

All of us are trying to find a new part-time/full-time job, just for the meantime, for the summer, to save enough money for our own separate goals and for our plans to go to Kokomo Cuba (Nahawa kay Salbehe?).

I do hope we go to Cuba. If we don’t, I would seriously throw a tantrum. That’s how serious I am about this plan of ours. It would possibly be only the four or five of us, including their boyfriends. I know, I am so behind. Sori, hindi umuubra ang charms ng lola niyo. I know how long-term plans among friends, plans that have been planned and thought thoroughly of, are the ones that usually don’t happen but it seems like they’re really into the idea. They must have heard from this person we know who went to Cuba about how enjoyable her stay with friends was. Maybe, it will happen. That’d be awesome since all of my out-of-town trips have been always with family and family friends. Gosh, I am such a dweeb.

I have decided that I shall put these months before I finally start studying again next year to better use. I shall find another full-time/part-time job that is not related to accounting at all, get my G1 driving test which I should have done months ago so I could have started with working on my G2 instead, practice my English oral skills, study French, and inquire more about my education and my career of choice. All of this, I should have done ages ago but only now have I had enough sense to take my own future seriously. No more regrets for me, baby.

The Japanese creep me out.

April 30, 2010 at 11:13 am | Posted in Criticism | 29 Comments

This is not a racist statement. This is merely an observation, a criticism of the Japanese culture. And as usual, this is also just a generalization. It doesn’t apply to all of them.

I just can’t help but notice that most of the Japanese are a bunch of sick sad fucks. You’ll soon see my point.

Fantasizing of women being raped by monsters with tentacles? Women in nurse and maid outfits? Women in student uniforms? Grown women acting like little children? Women being groped by creeps in crowded subway trains? Women pretending to be raped or not to like sex? Sex with prepubescent girls (or boys)? Incest, bestiality and human bondage? That’s not sexual exploration. That’s just warped, my friends. Did anyone teach them passionate and intimate sex? When they told us we can spice things up in bed, they didn’t literally mean that it had to involve beasts, torture, underage children and rapists-cum-maniacs. The fuckos. And wait, there’s more. The men also seem to have strange fetishes for panties, sniffing and collecting them. Pathetic.

No wonder the Japanese men have no decent or good social relations and interactions with women there. It’s no wonder that misogyny is typical of their culture. It’s no wonder the Japanese are one of the least sexually active people in the world. They’re afraid of the actual thing itself. The actual sex doesn’t feel as sexually gratifying as their perverted sexual fantasies, and real women don’t live up to their unrealistic perceptions of them anymore.

Seriously, there must be a high rate of rape, murder, and pedophile cases in Japan. Of course, they can get away with featuring incest and pedophilia in their porn because they only show it in hentai (animation porn) and not actually using actual children or actual blood relatives. Does this make the fantasy less immoral and less indecent? Hell no. If the Japanese were to analyze and explain these countless criminal cases in their country, I wonder if they can even pinpoint it to the fact that it is due to those sick male fantasies and that this is somehow already ingrained in the Japanese mainstream (and possibly even its underground) culture. Prostitution is prevalent in their society. Their society is all about the women trying to please the men, serving them and fulfilling any of their fancies or whims. That’s what the geishas were also for back then, entertainment purposes for the wealthy males.

Of course, I’m not saying that the Japanese are only the perverted ones. Others are as well. Any sexual practice that involves real or simulated torture and debasing/degrading someone is perverse. But it’s just more evident in the Japanese culture, or at least we’re more exposed to American and Japanese culture and that’s what most of us tend to notice. I mean, duh, most adult women in Japan talk as if they haven’t even gone through puberty yet and act all innocent-like. It’s horrifying.

How do I know all this? 7-8 years of anime and hentai consumption. Yes, I know, I’ve been exposed to hentai myself but it’s obviously an unhealthy and nasty practice. And I’m just glad that I have almost entirely gotten rid of my anime obsession.

I feel like Regina George after she found out she’s been eating fattening chocolates.

April 26, 2010 at 2:09 am | Posted in Angst | 27 Comments

FUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKK!!

I just feel like screaming the way Regina George did in Mean Girls once she found out that they’ve been giving her fattening chocolate bars and that Cady is interested in her ex-boyfriend. Oh yeah, life sucks for the oh-so-pretty Regina George. Poor her. Only my reasons for screaming are relatively less superficial than hers. I would put a screencap here of that epic scene where she screams, still with some chocolate stuck in her teeth, just to plainly express how I’m feeling right now, but I couldn’t find any in the Internet.

After going out and having a couple of drinks with the people I work with at McD’s (Yes, I know, ew, I have a McJob but hey it pays the bills for now and I just can’t seem to get my ass to find at least another part-time job), I just wanted to leave for a bunch of reasons. I just couldn’t handle it. I was ahead of them as we went towards the lower subway platform and I just couldn’t wait for the others who were still in the escalator that I just went straight through the train even though it was about to close its doors, leaving the rest behind. And I couldn’t bring myself to wave back to them; I just stared into space. The way they are, they probably were calling me names like bayot(?) and fag, cluelessly wondering why I decided to do that. But I just couldn’t care less.

I don’t regret it one bit because it was probably the best decision I’ve made the whole day. I won’t mention names. It makes the judgments I’m about to make about them much easier to express. Okay, first, Woman 1 tries to call her long-distance boyfriend in the Philippines just to ask for his permission to go out with friends. Uh, yeah. Wait, wait, I’m not done yet. And the douchebag-cum-boyfriend keeps questioning her if she’s with any guys, whether she’s drinking beer or not, etc. and they took more than an hour to talk about it. Um, what the fuck? First of all, there is such a thing called trust. Please. Jealousy is so 19th century. What’s next? Asking his permission just to go outside the house? Second, the woman’s too faithful to him that it’s beyond pathetic so he shouldn’t go worrying too much. Next, I would worry more about the guy cheating than the woman doing the same thing. Sorry, folks, but in general the men are the real sluts. Excuse my French. Men are the ones who really want it. Finally, the boyfriend has to stop bossing her around and the woman should start deciding for herself as well too. I just kept rolling my eyes while she was talking to him. Yeah, that relationship’s obviously not going to work on the long run.

Next, Woman 2 keeps telling us how great it feels to be single with having no commitments and just having a fling here and there and boys on the side. Yes, it’s great, the idea is great but if she keep talking about it over and over and over and over again, I might just shoot my head. “Oh, it’s great to be single. Don’t you think so?” “It’s a good thing I’m single; no commitments.” The more she keeps going on about it, the less convincing she sounds. I think being single is great when you can get to have more chances of finding the right one but she seems to be telling herself that instead of us, trying to either comfort or fool herself. Not to mention the pathetic attempts of Man 1 in flirting with her. I just had to turn my head away out of embarrassment for his sake.

Then, who gets drunk from Smirn-off and just a couple of Buddweisers? Uh, yeah, stop pretending you’re drunk. It’s obvious. I just had to get away from them when they started wailing, screaming, etc. at the sidewalks and in the subway. I think even drunks have more self-restraint than whatever they had. Next, all the time we were together, I think we only talked about sex, sex, work, and sex. I wouldn’t mind talking about sex but when you have to be so immature and misogynistic about it, no thanks. Sure, I laughed at a bunch of their jokes. I can be lurid when I want to but there’s a time when enough is enough. On contrary to popular opinion, I don’t always think about boys and cocks. We can talk about something else too, you know. Finally, how can you make such obscene comments when you’re in the middle of the gay community? Be respectful, folks. If you think you’re about to say something ignorant, keep it to yourself. You’re just beginning to support my presumption that you’re all air and no brains inside.

Wow, it feels good to release all that anger out. Now I shall go back to finishing the other half of the nine-hour film Shoah and getting me my mandatory beauty sleep.

Soy espiritual.

April 21, 2010 at 6:24 pm | Posted in Melancholia | 15 Comments

I’m still alive. Don’t think you’ll be able to get rid of me that easily. It’s just that I’ve been busy during my final week of school. I still have one more exam left but that’s not until Friday. And after today’s Statistics exam, I have finally accepted that I’m not good at math. Wait, that’s an understatement. I suck at math. Or, I could just easily blame it on the online course and how the professor chose the most obscure questions, resulting to my confusion and dumbfoundment, but I would be kidding myself.

Anyway, I didn’t come back here just to talk about school. Last week, I believe, I was on my way home in the subway train sitting, feeling pretty, and reading Mysterious Skin (I just finished it and the ending is as devastating as it is in the film adaptation) when I overheard a brief conversation between two people of Spanish descent which was abruptly cut short since the other had to get off at the next subway station. And apparently, they were strangers to each other as they just exchanged names before the other left.

I will be, of course, paraphrasing here as my memory’s not that good anymore, kids. Here’s what I remembered from the conversation:

“No soy religioso. Soy espiritual.” (I don’t speak Spanish but I don’t think you need to just to know what this means)
“The way I see it, religions just set a lot of barriers and restraints. And that’s where the problems come in.”
“Being spiritual, I have more freedom. The sky’s the limit. I can soar like a bird.”
“Like a phoenix.”

Yes, the soaring-like-a-bird is such a cliche. That’s the exact figurative speech that they used but I couldn’t agree more. I couldn’t have said it any better towards another person, only I am neither religious nor spiritual.

Hey, I am the last person whom you should accuse of being against religious practices and traditions. My dogma is, as long as what you do doesn’t involve inflicting long-lasting physical/mental/emotional pain on others or any form of repression, I’m all for it. But I can’t help but think that most people join organized religions out of tradition and routine. Religions give some reassurance and order to their lives, that, no matter what changes in their lives, this will always remain constant. There is no ambiguities in religions. What it says in the scriptures, that’s the way it’s going to be. Organized religions have a firm standing on what they believe in, sometimes to the point of stubbornness. People like the idea of order when the truth is, there is no such thing. Let’s just try to seek inner peace, rather than try to maintain order in our lives.

Just being spiritual without belonging to any religious organization or without labelling yourself, the way I see it, is more ambiguous and indefinite, the way it should be. Just the way life is: uncertain and enigmatic. Instead of saying “I don’t eat this because my religion says so” or “I don’t do that because my religion says it’s sodomy”, you say something along the lines of “I don’t eat meat because I reject to eat something that’s been a living thing before” or “I don’t do this because it doesn’t tune in with my own personal beliefs.”

Although I’m the kind of person who is quite logical and believes only in the existence of something once I see it with my own eyes, I’d like to believe that there is some other world out there, that there’s an afterlife. Maybe out there, there really is a Supreme Being, I don’t know, we don’t know. I believe the Supreme Being is more forgiving, more accepting, and less judgmental of people. With something that is ambiguous and that has no real and tangible evidence, perhaps having a firm and unyielding viewpoint on religion, afterlife, and the origin of life is not necessary. And I would like to believe that, not having to tie myself on any specific religion.

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