FOR JOEL

For Joel: Siblings’ Shenanigans

I have been lucky to have known my brother since infancy (silly; how an infant could know that?)—well, since I have known enough that I exist. He is two years younger than I, and therefore, he was actually my rival to my parents’ affections. Or that is what he thought. I, on the other hand, have not realized the sheer definition of jealousy back then—the fact that I never experienced being the only child—or, rather, realized that I was the only child. So here came Joel Jr, along with my consciousness, and since then, I have never been alone.

Let me see… the first thing that I remember was that I shared beds with him—or, rather, everything—from toys, cribs, coloring materials, and even diapers. I once saw a picture of us in a crib, looking stupidly at the camera (Oh, what a foreign material that captured my sight!), and of course, my brother also have the identical expression. With tongues wagging, eyes widening and saliva dropping, we turned to the camera as laughing stocks. Clearly, I have never known myself being separated from my brother.

But the picture that you are imagining now—which is a perfect relationship with him—was just a spect of that. You see, although I never remember fighting with him when I was still a baby, my uncles told me otherwise. There was a time that I soffucated my brother—a very harsh deed, indeed—by mounting on his stomach like riding a horse. I don’t know really, but I was told that when I sat on his butt, he gasped large amounts of air that his lungs could possibly accomodate. Like a fish out of the water, gasping for his life. My uncle, seeing my innate brutality, removed me from his stomach and away from the innocent and hurt. Of course we went back to our hobbies (which was to act like babies) like nothing happened. You must think I had experienced that concept called “penis envy”.

Of course there was my brother’s desire of diving into pools, to the poor nerves of my mother. He loves swimming; the fact that his inability to do it yet was not a limit. The first time that he had seen a swimming pool, he fell in love with it, at first sight, that when my parents were not looking, he dove on the pool, and again, gasped for his life. This time, I remember this: I was directly looking at him while he paddled, producing bubbles all over, until my father rescued him from such a mishap. Do not think that I was that brute, of not screaming at the top of my lungs: “Bloody hell! Somebody help his poor soul! My brother is drowning!” the fact that I don’t know drowning and the ways that one could be, yet.

Then when my family was still living on my grandparent’s house, we were under the tough and binding influence of my strict Lolo and Lola. My father’s stories about Lolo’s strict rule and authoritarian guava stick always have a part on them. But, I did not remember having a bite of the notorious guava stick. It was a rope. Yes, I remembered being tied onto a post of the sala, along with my supportive brother, because of our inevitable naughtiness. We dared not to cry, and I remembered a smell that origined from my brother. And disgust. Maybe it was because of fear. I understood him anyway. But I was told not to say it to anyone. So, imagine, people.

But even with all the misfortunes that I told beforehand, I really can’t tell how grateful for having a companion since childhood. When we were still in gradeschool, I remembered being with him in all his childhood escapades. We were like brothers; we went to places that our subdivision could offer. We took journeys away from home with our bikes as modes of transportation. We used to go to a stream with his friends and play, even without the notice of my mother. The place was surrounded with trees and grasses. He now knew how to swim, and asked me not to tell mother. Of course, I happily obliged, because I liked the idea too.

I also remembered collecting toys with him—particularly the “boys’ toys”. I remembered that we built a big track where our marbles could infinitely roll. We did it on the sala, and fortunately, my mother did not destroy such wonderful engineering. We used to collect text cards of Dragonballs, Pokemon, and whatever anime that was famous back then. We were allies at school; we played with other boys to gain more toys. Since such elementary schools were too paranoid to see text cards and marbles being played by children, the teachers confiscated them. Us, being too clever for our own good, had played good strategies against this paranoia. My brother played, while I collect his winnings. Whenever a traitor in the form of his classmate reported that Joel had illegal toys, Joel would simply show his bag without the evidences. They were already in my hands. Well then, how could a girl, like me, play with such things? Silly, again, of them to think. (Hohohohoh)

But the most outragious that my bother and I had done was the Moymoy singing. Well, at first he was too shy to lipsynch, laughing that he was not good at it. But when the chorus hit, he shove me out of the video screen and lipsynch his heart out. You see, he was better than I. You must think that I was a bad influence—I admit that I am, thank you very much.

Well then, after all the emotive descriptions, and bold story telling, I must wish you a very happy birthday, my dear brother. Although I did not have an ample oppurtunity to greet you in person and even through text, but I hope that this post will satisfy you. Otherwise, we could have a duel about matters when I come home. Prepare the katana, Joel-kun.

Sincerly,

Jkezia-oneesan, P4.

P.S. You must be very sad of not having the computer fixed. Too bad. Viel must be very estatic about this.

Sweep Me Off My Feet.

It was beginning to swallow me and dissolve me into its world. It did not even catch my curiosity first, because its title is the same with the work of Jane Austen. I just thought that maybe, it was just an adaptation, or a manga that cartoonized Austen’s Emma. I thought wrong. It was different; it was not set in 18th century England. It was a century after.

Though I thought that it would not satisfy me, the graphic novel repeatedly appeared into the internet explorer whenever I button “Select random manga” in Onemanga.com. Whenever I see the title, it striked me to rethink and change my first impression and said, I am going to read this manga. Several times this situation happened to me, until the last month of 2008, where, finally, I found Emma was restricted upon opening in Onemanga.

Well, I found a very good site for manga downloads, and so far, it has never left me dissatisfied. When I found out that Emma could never be opened in Onemanga until further notice, my curiosity intensified. Onemanga is an easy access to good and “readable” mangas published in Japan; it is always updated, easy to navigate. But Emma was inaccessible then, and soon I realized that I should have checked it out before. Way back the rethinking and changing my mind. Way back before I went back home, when I was still in LB, enjoying the fast bandwidth of its internet cafes. Before that moment that I sulked because I could only have a 52-kbps bandwidth that would keep a whole night just to download a single chapter of the manga.

Everything was wrong timing. I read the whole series (even its extended versions) during the height of the semester. Everytime I had nothing to do, or whenever I stared the ceiling every morning, I thought of how romantic the plot is, how fascinating Emma and William circled around their love pit (just jump and be done with it!), or how intricate its drawing, or how dreamy Wilhelm was. And after that, I can’t suppress a smile—no, a burst of giggles because of—well, how dreamy Wilhelm was, and how good he and his wife, Dorothea, look together. The rest of the day seemed bright. Full of sunshine. Hopelessly romantic.

The addiction became stronger, as I found out that the manga already had its anime version in Animax. Repeatedly I curse myself for not thoroughly, irritatingly, and effectively convinced my mother for a damn cable installation, which I asked and highly coveted from her since the day that she bribed me into it, in exchange for a highschool scholarship. It was a frustrating feeling of not having those cable channels, or that everyone had their cables intact, that whenever the three P4s were talking about some movie in HBO, they would ask me, “How did you find the movie?” or, “Did you see the movie in HBO?”, I would scowl at them, flick my head to their direction, and imaginarily paste a big sign on my forehead saying: I TOLD YOU THAT WE DON’T HAVE CABLE CHANNELS SINCE BIRTH, OKAY!?! And they usually forgot about it.

It never stopped there. Since I have a limited access of TV here in LB, I utilized the fast bandwidth of the internet here, downloading like hell from Youtube just to watch the anime version. I began to draw a lot of characters from Emma whenever I felt like it, and became disappointed whenever I compare my drawing to the original one, because it was not perfectly copied. I began to love the sight of tux and three-piece suites, or the elaborate designs of dresses during the Victorian England. I began to wallow myself in the anime’s OST, and lost myself to its melody. Furthermore, I began to regret that I did not learn how to play the piano, because I was unable to play the OST’s melody (and it was only through piano). I began to reread vital parts of the manga after opening my laptop, and even during my LRP days. For me, it was a phenomenon.

I was in flight, that when I found out that there were two chapters of Emma not included in its tenth and final volume, I burst in raptures. To my disappointment, the chapters were not yet translated from Japanese to English. I asked myself, “Haven’t the translating groups in the internet noticed the new chapters?” Then suddenly, I noticed that those chapters were about William and Emma’s wedding—the finale that we mostly noticed in romance novels and stories. But, after the entire cliche, I thought otherwise. It was as if there was rapture. The moment was comparable to a dark, gray, stormy sky that was broken and raptured by the blazing rays of the sun. And they shone upon me. And I was twisting myself in circles, dancing, smiling, and looking like a moron. And it was on a Sunday, when the LRP week started. Even though I predicted that that week would be bleak, and full of sleepless nights and indescribable headaches, I declared in front of my beloved room mates: “THIS WEEK IS GOING TO BE GREAT!”

And I am still doing the damn declaration every week, hoping for good luck to sweep me off my feet.

JAKE CUENCA MET MOM

Five or six years from now, I see myself walking on English soil, watching the London buildings tower their great heights above me, trotting along the
pedestrians of the complicated channels of the London streets. I imagine myself in a black trench coat, with a white scarf that enveloped my neck, chatting with my best friend as we travel along those sidewalks, hoping to see a person that surely would knock our feet. These are the ultimate goals that we always love to discuss, wherein we imagine ourselves in places we hope to stay.

Well, speaking of traveling, my mother, who happened to be in their department’s training went to an unexpected, “thrilling”, “bone melting” experience while she was working. Of course, my mom, being a camera freak (which means that she likes to take hundreds of pictures of everything that moves whenever she’s somewhere else), could not erase the existing files on her digital camera. Why? Because my research photos were there, challenging my mother to choose between her own folly and her child’s clearance requirement. Nevertheless, she chose to exploit the remaining bytes of the camera’s memory card to the landscapes, flowers, talks, and human beings that she considered “memory worthy.”

Well, the human beings, those beautiful cream-of-the-crops, blessed products of repeated modifications of those gorgeous gene pools, are definitely – I don’t know, but they are not only “memory-worthy”! – few in a million. And my mother, with her guts and courage (the special virtues and characteristics that made me survive from the ill and hellish experiences at dorm, just like dorm-hopping), never choose to just plant herself in one location gawking only at those striking entities, but to raised her feet and threw all her bash just to make her five senses work while they are close to her vicinity of five inches. That was just plain awesome, because her bragging about her “unexpected meeting” with those men (okay, now I blurted it out!) made me realize: could I have that same situation in such random moments when I reach London? The mere thought of meeting him (okay, for some male readers, I know you are disgusted, anyway, I care less) in such unexpected flash, in my black trench coat and snow-white scarf around my neck, makes me want to punch my bedpost while I laugh at that ridiculous but giddy thought.

Still, Jake Cuenca and Cesar Montano definitely did not escape the fiery and tight grasp of my mother’s vengeful camera and of course, her arm. Now that I think of it, my mother was still on her clothes that she wore when she met them, I just chortle at my working imagination. She hadn’t changed her clothes, which was worn out since this Friday, March 14, 2007. I visualized the scene in which my mother was the fastest track-and-field athlete in the lot, and she was running – or should I say run scampering – to the direction of those two lovely human beings (whom she said had just finished their taping). She was making a semi-quiet squeak just grabbed a random person, and said: “Would you please take a picture of us?” Well, I guess that that random person­ also wanted to have a picture with those exquisite blokes, yet my lucky mother maybe said to herself: “I went first here, and I am soooo lucky!!!!”, which also would be my first reaction if ever I were there with my mother. So there she went, and everything is history. And I wish that I were part of that history!

Then, my visions rerouted to another hopeful image, of my best friend and I just bumped into a random person. But then, he wasn’t just any random person but…!

My mother is a lucky one, and she happily told me that experience, which I grimaced because, I was supposed to be with her! Wait until you hear the news Viel, you’ll see; you surely might copy the contorting expression in my face, the fact that the magnitude and intensity of your admiration to Jake is infinite and in no-limit state.

Then, I, Jovienne Kezia Carable, will submit myself to the endless depths of my imagination. And those people who my mother just saw won’t be included. But the one in Muggle London.

Please, just tolerate my reactions, will you?

Cellphone Distress

I remember the last time I checked my phone, and that was three months ago. I could not remember any single period of those long nostalgic three months that I wanted to reload, even to recharge the poor thing. I felt shame running through me, like a rock falling above me, ready to crush me with its destructive acceleration. The shame that I feel whenever I borrow someone else’s, whenever I see their face turned into intricate lines, like my existence and the fact that they are facing a teen without a cell phone make their visions of me turn me into an alive lemon. They flinch. Isn’t nature wonderful? Me turning into lemon?

I ask myself everyday if I could remove everything fancy that is inside my backpack, everything that nature and economics do not consider a necessity. That I could prove that I, an almost city girl, living in a household where the most “space”-eaters are appliances, could live without them. I decided that I could start by eradicating my familiarity of using the revolutionized cell phone. I was successful of putting it in my drawer, protected by a small bag, which was
given to me when I went to a retreat. I felt the idiosyncrasy on how I treated my
phone the day that I saw it in my father’s golden hands. He felt that I had my eyes on that new phone he was silently bragging to me, where he “unconsciously” swished his arms while I was passing to the kitchen, then said, “Oh, I just received a message!”, knowing that the inhabitants all heard the loudest volume the phone could produce while it was still new. Then why did that enthusiasm that I had when I first laid my eyes on that phone, slowly diminished like the steam from water being boiled.

Why does its utility - for me - shrink that fast that I didn’t even notice that I was throwing it and even leaving it outside my room, giving all the potential opportunities the stealers could have had? I remembered that a year ago, I had the most irritating ring tone – or rather – alarm clock that ever vibrated in the whole vicinity of my dorm. The sound of torture: that was what they called it, the death tone, which was claimed by my stealthy phone. They wanted to get rid of it, mind you, because every time they had the chance of even borrowing it, they had this tinge of evil and immorality in their eyes, the eyes that murderers and cold-blooded serial killers – the maniacs – mostly have. Unluckily, they would not.

One theory why I stop using that cell phone is because, most of the time, I am not using it. Logic, duh! They would say. Honestly, I have no one to text with, let alone text myself. How large Smart is as a network; advertisements in TV say that they almost have whatever millions of subscribers, yet I, a frustrated texter, have not received any messages, as far as my working charger is concerned. I have dealt with the search of potential companions in the network;
however, even though I have advertised myself painfully, still, no replies were
admitted. Another is that I am so tired of the bloody network eating the load
that my blood and sweat have earned. I thought that those machines, or whatever “clock” they put into their networks (dictating the time range that one loading could spare), would be disciplined enough in eating my load at the right time, when it expires. However, it seems that Filipino time is being applied among the conglomerates that hold large network companies, only that it is being applied with terrible punctuality. Punctuality that eats earlier than deadline!

God, how hungry this people are! I see no reason why they eat them; I just thought that once I exchange my P30 in a store, thus giving me an electronic message on my phone that I’ve received my load means that the company already have the blasted money. The storeowners bought that electronic load from another store, in which the owner was somehow connected to the network
extensions and somehow, the companies have been receiving money even before I am buying for it. They have all the money needed, because I know that in the first transaction, they already have the money. The profit. Then why are they depriving the little extracted joy from the people that are currently “exploiting” the load? I, who seldom load my phone , have this scenario.

I’ve enjoyed the fact that I am not using any. These arguments were just out of hatred to the episodes of my life in the house wherein they freak out to where I have placed my phone, or whether it was misplaced or destroyed. I have more, but this is very exhausting. I just felt my brain drain from all the sermons. Nevertheless, I could not care less.

FOR MY SISTER

Does anyone agree that the little sister always gets the right genes? Well, the phenotypes that my sister had prized from my parents are definitely amazing. I mean, I am actually concurring to the “opinion” that my sister is better-looking! Yes, she is! Now that she’s become thirteen, let us see what puberty would bring to my dahling.

First of all, this femme fatale has been good with saving her energy almost all the time, which, unlike me, she doesn’t talk too much… according to her teachers. She has that character since she trotted on the corridors along the classrooms, with her innocence shining brightly among her fellow classmates. Really, “tranquility” and “quietness” are her epitomes.

Haha! Not for long! This girl, who happened to be one of my secret-keepers, has been loud (well, only at home) about the latest happenings in television, that would surely bother me to oblivion whenever she tell the hottest biz. Example, she would say to me before, “Hey, I’ve watched this good episode of Desperate Housewives, and it rocks!” Such exclaims would make my blood churn, that would draw a pretty smile on my face, almost pleading, with teary eyes, begging her to – “Would you please tell me the story?”

She is also a thrifty person, very thrifty that she would walk in unbelievable distances just to have one ride to her school instead of two. I couldn’t blame her; she is a natural traveler, thus makes some alluring stories of her being the “walker” in the house. One proof is when she was still in grade school; she would walk a couple of kilometers, without even stopping, just to ride on a single-fair trip to home. She would not buy snacks just to save money, neither treat us even a two-peso ice cream, even though she got these loads of bills. Getting rich? She would definitely say yes.

There is the erratic pile of papers, with loads of her slanted penmanship gliding along the fading blues of the pen’s ink that I would surely ask her to throw. And the story goes on, with her eyes glaring at me, saying “Bakit ako?” Also, her firm character definitely turned the tides whenever I was home. She is rather an obedient person, but once a high-pitched voice tells her to arrange her things, I’d say, “Leave it to me.”

Then, later she would throw or “arrange” her pile of papers, and sat with me on the bed, while I read a random book that I bought. She is a bookworm. Books are one of her passions, evident from the books that she had read which have been arranged in the closets. Thanks to me, she has lot to read (Kidding!).

Viel, I hope that you have read this, though this post may not say all about you; you are more than any small number of pages. Truly, I’m saying Happy Birthday, and hope that you, miss Foxy Girl, have more courage to face challenges. Hope that this year would be nice to you!!!

Your beloved more beautiful sister,

Kezia

Clichés for Fun

Just this afternoon, I heard my father’s priceless laughter soaring and echoing through the walls of our house. Though he was three rooms away, I could hear the prime cause of his booming mirth.

Farnando Poe Jr.’s movie.

I don’t know the reason of this sudden change of atmosphere in our house; it seems that the misty silence that dehumanizes it boomed into clatters of joyful voices, and thumps of jolly feet. Well, the classic Filipino action movie did it all.

There, in my parents’ room, my mother was lying comfortably on the bed, insensible of the waves resonating in the room… or just used to the typical movie flashing from the screen of the TV. As I look upon FPJ’s figure on the screen, with his familiar stance that fascinated my dad, I was urged to watch the movie till its end. Well, what’s wrong with it? Is the movie too cliché that we don’t appreciate it, like the Philippine movies that usually come out?

I, however, out of my curiosity, did watch the movie, after all the antagonistic attempts of my mother to disconnect the plug from the pristine entrance to the undying realm of electricity. I know the clichés everyone is talking about when they witness an action movie, whether it would be Erap, Da Boy, or, Robin. Yes, there are the young, attractive, stubborn, hard-to-get vixens, who later on would fall to the traps of their macho partners; the leading ladies mending the wounds of the “bida”, after he rescued her from the slithering hands of goons and rapists; the sidekicks ready for punch lines and “banat”; the big, rugged, monstrous and greatly muscled goons, wearing dark “sando” or black leather jackets, whom later would be punching bags; the police that always comes late, after all the explosions and series of nerve-wrecking machine guns greatly wasted just to pulverize the protagonist. And in the end, the winner takes it all: the girl, the guns, the honor, the hero status.

But dude, this is different. I’ve seen all the clichés that I’ve mentioned, and probably clichés that flows endlessly through your mind. You perhaps thought that I leveled myself humbly this time, just because, you might think of me as a foreign movie freak, who seldom had the enthusiasm to appreciate such things,
especially in my teenage years, when Hollywood movie stars are greatly idolized
as gods and goddesses of beauty and fame. I am sorry, because this is the state
that I am currently in. Yet, I’ve found beauty in the recent entertainment that I’ve had.

Why?

Although after all the clichés that I saw, there is still the Filipino touch in it. Clichés are boring, but this clichés made me laugh, because I know what scenes might happen next. The scenes where FPJ met the leading lady in a very uncomfortable and embarrassing moment, in which the girl flared her stubbornness, him flirting indirectly with her, made corny clichés turned into hilarity. The goons constantly bugging him and everything inside his vicinity, attempting to made him loose control, but in the end, the last punches would always be from FPJ. The good performance of the side kicks humanized the movie, did all the punch lines after all the fights, helped FPJ get the girl, and aided him to stand to the highest level of heroism. Though such clichés made the digested food be regurgitated unintentionally, still, these made me react violently, no, constantly, that later formed into entertainment. Boring shows made their viewers felt nothing. Well, I’ve felt happiness out of its undying corniness; I felt glee on jokes that could only be found in the set of “tambayans”; I felt repugnance upon “romantic” moments of a couple having undoubtedly long age gaps. Typical or not in most action movies, still, it brought me into series of emotions. And those are great deals when they come to entertainment. I felt happy that I’ve watched it, that somehow, the rugged and heroic idols that we see in the movies, at least, had shown their own perspective of justice and moral fiber, thus succeeded with such battles, which the real world could not exhibit among its inhabitants. With that, I saluted action movies.

Now, how about in romantic movies?

A Life Beyond Feeling

I cried. Hell, I did cry.

It
was an overpowering, unstoppable sensation that was release outside my body,
flowing away all emotions that I had. It came to me in a speed of thought,
which reacted faster that I can’t summon myself to be calm. Is this what it
feels like? To cry as the character faces the tragedy in a movie? Damn, the
idea of living the characters’ lives was utterly heartbreak for me. It was City
of Angels.

It
was only a short movie for me; however, every object played an important sign and
symbol for every scene. When I watched that movie, once I’ve seen a random
peach (as in the fruit), it made me think, “Hey, that is Maggie.” Dark
silhouettes of coated men tell me of Angels. Blood there was a sign of life.
And the inability of sense is a sign of immortality. I stared at the computer,
puzzling about what would happen at the ending, scrutinizing every movement for
clues. Yet, tragedy seems to be the common but heart-piercing adjourns. Crying
was the best way for me to release everything after the show, fearing that my
parents would find it out, if I raise my voice and shout out of irritation and
melancholy.

The
state of just watching Seth (Nicholas Cage) trying to touch and feel Maggie’s
(Meg Ryan) hands while a glass wall separated them tyrannized my brain. Even
Seth’s ignorance and desperation about learning what humans’ feel were enough
to freeze my attention. Their acting was as easy as pie, but they delivered the
message so clear, which made me, cried more. The difference of this movie from
others is the uniqueness of the plot and its theme. Simple: loving and dying.

My
teacher quoted once that true happiness starts once you die. Death signaled
that the known or unknown purpose of an individual has been done. She said that
death is the just the start of another venture, however not in the form of
flesh. In this movie, it showed the perception of how souls understand their
role in a place they once called home. They felt happiness, yet concerned about
the people they’ve left behind.

Here,
Angels define the entity that literally unable to use the sense of feeling.
They smell nothing, feel nothing, taste nothing, but they see and hear
everything even the thoughts that never come out of the mouth. They don’t have
wings but they travel with the speed of thought. They can speak all languages;
hang out in the library, and even stroll about the tallest heights without the
fear of falling. They even gather in a beach where they can hear songs that
only they can witness. Their existence in this movie was perfect because they
perceive everything that happens. For them, there is no such thing as time. And
they all looked good with their uniforms.

But
beyond those analyses, the theme is just the romance between an Angel and a
surgeon. Like the bizarre combination of Religion and Science.

Ice Breakers

Ok. It’s been a long time. Typing my unstable thoughts
seemed to be a exasperating task now; converting these stored memories consumed
a lot of energy. However, these stuffs that I am going to show are ice
breakers…

First of all, the movie The Invasion. This is Nicole Kidman that we are
talking about; I haven’t seen her for a long time. She had been out of the
range of the widescreen (only in my perspective), and you’ll never know, she
might break the immobility of my fading familiarity of her. In the case of the
male antagonist, the actor David Craig, I will, again, not consider him as
James Bond this time. This is a science-fiction movie, thus I am much
particular with aliens; and in fact, I like them. Let see if my eyes will be
fond of it.

The next one is The 11th Hour. This one is a documentary about the
universal yet bewildering topic, the environment. This is focused on the real
state of the global environment and also has solutions for its restoration.
Definitely a kind of Day After Tomorrow genre, but this might make me think again of the unknown
yet damaged surroundings. Leonardo DiCaprio supports this stuff.

I’m Not There, a movie that is based from the life of Bob Dylan. Well,
to be honest, I do not know the Bob guy; however, what makes my interest magnet
to it is because of Cate Blanchet. She played the Bob guy, along with Mr. Dark
Knight #? (How many batman movies exist right now?) Christian Bale, and Richard
Gere. They have played the different stages of his life, and just think, maybe
I won’t notice their sudden transformations. But then, it was rated R. Poor me.

This one is loaded. Ocean’s 13, the last of the Ocean trilogy, is about
to set the team back to where they started: Las Vegas casinos. The big guys, Brad Pitt,
Matt Damon, and George Clooney will be against the ever undeniable Al Pacino. I
have seen the last two movies; there were much unbelievable scenes that made me
say, "will you repeat that scene again?” One spoiler though, Andy Garcia,
a former victim of the lot, will join them. This is the last in the trilogy, and
maybe there’s never going to have a movie will all the three hunks in it.

Capt. Jack Sparrow. After being eaten along with his ship,
by a Kraken, being such a dessert of this horrible beastie is finally coming
back with the cast of Pirates of the
Caribbean: At Worlds End. Teamed up with the LOTR arrow man Orlando Bloom,
and the Pride and Prejudice star, Keira Knightley, he will face another
endeavor with Chao Leung Fat and Geoffrey Rush as they battle against the
invincible pirate, Davy Jones. Yo ho ho with a bottle of rum!

The best of all mature yet childish family movies this year:
Shrek 3! With the best 3D animation and the goofiest jokes, Shrek 3 will take
the intestines out of us, laughing. The first movie was on the heat with all
the familiar kiddy jokes and extraordinary voices, and the second one was
packed with lots if unforgettable characters in Far Far Away. Maybe in this
movie, the newcomer, Justin Timberlake, will bring love stoned in the big
screens.

This one was already released ages ago, but still, to those
who haven’t seen it yet, join me. This movie will take two giant villains
against our hero, Spiderman. So far,
he has been with the love of his life, Mary Jane, yet there is still the uncertainty
in their strong relationship as a new girl arrives, again, in his life. Will
deathly enemies, Sandman and Venom take him down with their combined powers?
Will the son of the Green Goblin finally take his revenge on him? Or will the
Spiderman, for the first time lost his senses and drown himself in his ultimate
frustrations? I’ll find out anyway.

These are the movies I want to watch. But I can’t watch
those right now. Truth to be told, I seldom go to the theaters, but soon, after
the release of the vcds or dvds, it’s the time for me to go nuts.

Drama is Contagious

I’ll tell you about P4.

For the past three years, I never
had the opportunity of having them as classmates, well, except for one (who I
am greatly grateful for having her and her transmittable mood around). The
years of closeness bonded us and even created our group. Our experiences under
the roofs of the girls’ dorm, along with our universal irritation to undesired organisms
(humans and animals alike) brought delight to our usual meetings in the F
station.

Our history is very rewarding,
though the exact date of the founding of our group was quite uncertain. Well, it
doesn’t matter. Only the series of death-gripping bed-hopping crossed my mind
as I searched the real event where it started all. Our beds were only a meter
away (when I was in first year), and I was excited to meet my unknown bed mate,
and I did not falter to meet her with her preferred songs. Another friend came along
with her frequent ventures to her folk, Ciacia. She was, as usual, the thin,
moody, and wore I-don’t-care-what-everyone-thinks stance. Then there’s another,
with her devilish electric fan that spread all our sheets and turned the
hellish, saturated air into a thick fog of ice. Yes, I remember three things
when our paths met three years ago: tapes, electric fan, and connected, bored
eye brows.

We are different people, like the
four houses of Hoqwarts. And like all group, we have a common denominators.
Like Griffindor-ish things (an observation from Paoie) and Art Guild, for
examples.

In our typical territory, either
the F station or the cement chairs under big trees, we are determined to spend
every second, dealing with all kinds of talks. Orlando, Clive, Darcy, Gaara…
name the topic. Different loudness and frequency of sounds are heard everyday
echoing to the corners of the Admin building, and the loudest and most frequent
came from yours truly. The loudest ever made, I guess, was the “Oh my God!”
blurted thunderously along the dusty roads of Pisay, which was heard from the
food court to the pineapple grounds. And the quietest sounds ever was the
discreet tantrums with a couple of whining and grunting of Paoie.

Right now, different waves of
seriousness were evident from the statements in a website. A friend said that
that seriousness was definitely contagious. Yeah, she was right. The sudden
exclaims of reactions made me think that our times together will be later
limited. Maybe it’s because this is the last year. Symptoms such as this were
never been obvious before. We usually laugh with each other, sometimes at each other, but real seriousness was
seldom and only expressed once, when we had our last day in the third year. The
after-classes time is the thing we needed. It’s one of the medicines.

This is for Mae, Yami, and Paoie.
It came out of the blue. Drama is highly contagious.

Dawn of May 9

Blurred images surrounded me that very moment. Scrutinizing
every part of what was left on my mind; I molded my hand to the softness of my
pillow, pushing it like an ancient artifact in the familiar clay of calmness.
It was rather foreign, however, the feeling of lying my back in my bed,
covering myself with a thin cloth, which enveloped me comfortably. I suddenly
felt the coldness of the late night, blowing through the pink, pale curtains
that blew and glided with the wind. As it blew, it supported such overwhelming
thoughts which intensified the fear that the images had showed me which slowly
but surely, could devour my sanity.

Then, a nearby series of blasts furiously spun my head into
blurred blackness. My phone. It rung, and its light, sipped into my eyes like
the sourest juice of lemon in a deep wound. Shutting my eyes from its
penetrating light, I snaked my free hand to get it. One message received,
it said. Then, I realized, that it would be better to start my day early. I
hastily put my thumbs into good use, hopefully to finish my reply to an
anonymous person who greeted me at that time of night, or rather, nearing dawn.
I pushed the last button. I cursed. My message was not sent, no matter how many
times I tried, unfortunately, my load had reached its expiration. Rather
disappointing, I thought, after all the “Thank You” notes that I typed. It
was not a good expression to start another day, which maybe woke up my Mom
after a few echoes of the vague words that traveled to her room. I abruptly
regretted my rushed outburst, though it was a whisper, I knew that she have a
good hearing.

I fixed my bed, and felt, again, the blowing coldness. I
got out of it, stood up, and stepped on the freezing ice beneath my heels. With
its dust, rather. Dust bonded with my sluggish feat, fusing its faint heat with
the dropped temperature which later turned into equilibrium. Having a blank,
slow function of synapses, I lifted my feet and brushed them unwillingly to the
floor, giving static to the dusts. It seemed like Physics clogged my mind,
evident from the resisting friction of the floor. After determined efforts of
controlling my weight against gravity, I walked to the distant computer. My
eyes were not in pain anymore, thus welcoming the computer’s light, as I pushed
its power open.

It swept me into void, the strange twirl of intricate
flashes of light. The first splash of dawn crawled upon the capacious room,
seizing authority from the gloomy darkness. There, I sat, in front of my loyal
computer, with its enthusiasm marked from its constant cry of sounds.

That day, I’ve grown enough; have known more established
thoughts; have lost friends; and fail simultaneously. I have traveled with time,
neglecting its big picture. I have never known myself completely. Until now, I
face a slow horrendous dance with the past. Embarrassing, funny, regretful, and
memorable moments flowed upon my mind. It’s hard to paste possible
consequences, mostly from the series of numbing and frenzied events. To my
chagrin, I’d rather sleep forever, than to take all of them into my system. Due
to imminent possible events, I fear for my future, of what I would be, after
all the decisions I would make. The feeling of insecurity and uncertainty
changed me well. I hope everything will change for me. Such selfish
notion.

Then this ironic bliss that engulfed my being had brought
such heat when pair of arms encircled my crouched shoulders as I was sitting in
front of my computer. That familiar fragrance, that warm and soft touch, and
the calmness of her voice had turned my pouting mouth into a smile, inverting
the protracted curve to a pleasant one. “Happy birthday,” she said. Thanks.
After all, it was not only my day; it was also my mother’s.