2 New Things I Hope to Learn This Year: Playing the Guitar and Learning La Lengua Española

Been playing with my new toy, my guitar, since I got it a couple of days ago. I bought it from an office mate who sold it to me for only Php500. I don't know any guitar chord yet other than the two I learned to play Michael Frank's "Lady Wants To Know" a few years back. I was still in high school then. So right now I'm concentrating on hurting my fingers by making them get used to tapping the strings. They'll eventually have calluses, which is a signal that I can already start learning the chords while making sure I produce the sounds clearly when I strum the guitar. 

I just had my nails done and I love how they look like now so I'm still I'm only using the thumb on my right hand to strum.

Also, I've been trying to learn Spanish and I'm loving it so far. The website www.spanishdict.com has clips that are really helpful. Here are a few everyday phrases I have learned, so far:

It annoys me- Me molesta
I don't mind- no me importa
It gets on my nerves- Me saca se quicio
I don't know- No lo se
It's not worth it- no merece la pena
Maybe- quizas
Can i help you?- Le puedo ayudar?
It's all the same to me- A mi me da igual
No idea- No tengo no idea
Don't worry- No te preocupes
It depends- Depende
What's the point?- Para qué?
Poor thing- El pobre
Just coming- Ya voy
Darling- Cariño
By the way- A proposito
What shall i do?- Que voy a hacer?
So much the better- Tanto mejor
Too bad- Mala suerte

I'm enjoying learning these two, so far. Hopefully my interest in learning them won't fade after a few weeks.

Jose Rizal: Komikero

 

I read this interesting piece today about our National Hero. I never knew he did some comics too. He created the first known Filipino comic strip. Another reason to admire this guy.  Thanks to blogger Dennis Villegas.

While Rizal was staying with the Ullmer family in Wilhelmsfeld, he created a comic strip called “The Two Brothers,”which he gave Friedrich "Fritz" Ullmer as a gift. Fritz was the young son of his friend and host Pastor Ullmer. These comic strips, along with several other drawings and sketches done by Rizal during his stay with the Ullmers, are intact to this day. The Ullmer descendants kept these precious mementoes and were eventually discovered by Mrs. Paz Mendez (of the Jose Rizal National Centennial Commission), while she was traveling to Germany to retrace Rizal’s footsteps.

 You can read the entire blog by clicking the link below.

 http://dennisvillegas.blogspot.com/2011/06/rizals-self-portrait-circa-early-1880s.html

Addicted to Amy

I spend most of my time staying at our apartment's kitchen these days. That's where I can usually be found when I'm not at work. I'd be sitting there facing my laptop, tapping the keys when I'm writing something or chatting with people. Most of the time I can be seen watching clips on YouTube, where I find videos I refer to as precious gems. Below is just one of those that I found recently. Aside from the genre, and the late Amy Winehouse's voice giving life to it, its lyrics is beautifully honest. I've listened to different versions of it already.

Listen to this song and get addicted to Amy with me.

Still Alive

So I haven't posted anything here for months. I found something I like doing and it has been taking much of my time. It's a secret I might write about on my future posts. And yes that was an excuse. The real reason I disappeared was that I got lazy. I haven't even been sharing my thoughts on facebook which I used to do a lot. Is this a sign of aging? That must be it. I'm getting old.

So how have you guys been? Come here and have some coffee with me.

I Still Prefer This French Clip

I just saw the official music video of the song "Call Me Maybe" by Carly Rae Jepsen and I found myself not liking it so much. Yeah the guy was cute but the concept wasn't original. It reminded me of this 1995 music video of a French singer named Zazie, which I discovered a couple of years ago. This still remains to be one of my favorite clips on YouTube: 

This is beautiful, Frank

I haven't heard of Frank Ocean before the news of his coming out last week. All I knew was that he did it through Tumblr. Since he was unknown to me, then, I ignored the links and updates about him even if they seemed to be on all of the blogs I visit frequently, and on my Facebook feed.

A couple of hours ago, since I got nothing better to do, I checked one of the links about him just to finally know what made this guy's coming out so special. I got my answer after one of the links led me to his Tumblr page. And suddenly it felt as if this guy has been a long- time friend who wrote to me. It was a post entitled “Thank You’s.” A note so familiar, that I involuntarily made a short pause after reading it. It’s the kind of thing I usually do after realizing that finally, there’s another human being who felt exactly what I did. A great part of its contents was composed of happy and painful thoughts the younger me used to have. It’s sad and beautiful at the same time. Just what I’ve always thought this life has been, for me, at least.

Here’s the post that made me an instant fan of this guy:

Going Back to Poetry

It's been more than six years since I last wrote a poem. The life I found as an adult in the big city, the new people I met, and the internet came into my life and, it's as if I have forgotten the art that has been my companion growing up. It saddened me to realize this, especially knowing how much poetry, as a form of expression has helped me survive the most difficult times of my life as a teenager. Good thing I got to reunite with Athena Garcia and Rey Carlo Sajulan, two of those people whose mere presence, not to mention, poems. reminded me of what it is that I lost and that I have to regain. 

Here's a poem I wrote recently as an attempt to resurrect the little god in me by creating a little world, through the power of words and imagination.

Poetry and I

When I think of poetry, I think of a precious gem,
Teasing me from a place so high and too far for me to reach.
It's an uphill climb,
A foggy mountain top
Which chokes me as I raise a foot
And move towards it.
Veins in my eyes get visibly bold,
Glowing like neon lights in downtown whorehouses
And on otherwise dark alleys with dancing and flying candy wrappers,
Flattened cigarette butts,
Corners that reek of the smell of old and dried urine.
Places, I think, you'd cringe even at the thought of visiting alone.
And those veins, they're lights that grow bigger and bigger
And then burst.
Blood splatters
And flow like lava from the angry volcanoes
which are my eyes,
I'm blinded.
I can't see my paper
Nor feel the presence of my pen.

It's an uphill climb
Every word, seems to give more strength
To that hand that pulls me down
Tightens it's grip in every attempt to conceive
A line that contains both truth and beauty at the same time.
I haven't gone that far
'Cause I am being pulled down.
My own shadow, my past, pulling me down
As if preparing me to drown
And die from that quicksand below
Where my doubts, my feeling of hatred towards myself
Are calling me, asking me
Begging me to join them in their misery
After I buried them deep on the ground
Not too long ago.

Quicksand, tomb of my past.
It's filled with thumb- sucking, jackstones, magazines under the bed, used rubbers,
Crucifixes hidden in the drawer, dusty, untouched rosaries, dried tears on my pillows
Forming dead shadows of that world that exists only in my dreams.

I am being pulled down, blinded and out of breath
My hands, shaking
My feet, groping the floor for the pen
And where it went, after it fell, I don't, anymore, know

So here I am together with the sound of the crickets
And spirits that watch me from afar
Making sounds that seem to celebrate my failure
Snickering at the thought that the art of poetry
Remains distant to me.
I give up.
I can't touch it.
It's a mountain I can't climb.

Goodbye, Whitney

I joined a singing contest for the first time, in third grade, with my Kuya Angelo. It was in 1993, a year when almost every girl was taught to sing a Whitney Houston song. I was a boy, but that didn't stop me from having my mom teach me Whitney Houston's "Run to You." It was not an easy song to sing, I tell you. Wait, I don't have to tell you, at all.

It's just that I was an ambitious little girl --I mean-- boy, so I chose it, 'though just a few hours before the contest began I chose another song, instead. I remember the reason for the change was the "Ooohoooh" part which made me sound as if I was having an early puberty. My problem would have been solved if not fot the medley part of the contest. And in the medley, I had to sing the dreaded "Ooohooh" of Whitney's song. The rest is history. Don't ask me what happened, when I finally sang it.

That was in 19 years ago. The adults at that time were amused at the thought that it seemed all their children wanted to be Whitney Houston. I'm sure many of those children being referred to are feeling a certain loss now. I do. I was one of them.

Whitney Houston's career went downhill in the 2000s. She lost her singing voice and it seemed everything we heard from her were, if not about her drug addiction or her relationship with then- husband Bobby Brown, it was her failed attempts to make a comeback, due to the voice which has obviously deteriorated. Now that she's gone, these are not the things I'll remember when I think of her.

I'll remember that beautiful woman who touched my young heart with the greatness of her voice. And the things I learned from her, especially the way she expressed emotions when conveying the message of a song she's interpreting, will always remain with me.

Rest in Peace, Whitney.

Alimungaw 3

Here I am again, playing with fire as if my wings were never burnt before; and chasing after dreams that are as fragile as bubbles in the air. Will I ever learn? I don't know. It's just that there's something about the roller coaster of emotions they bring; the moaning, groaning, screaming and the feeling of pain I get once I hit the ground after the fall, that makes me feel more alive; and that makes me clearly see the beauty of these genuinely valuable things I fail to, at least, acknowledge, most of the time.

Alimungaw 2

Sometimes you wake up with the thought that there's nothing to do but turn on the laptop, go online to see what's there. You pull up your email, Facebook, and other online social networking sites you use and you find nothing new.

It's as if the world hasn't moved one bit since the last time you were awake, yet it was more than twelve hours ago.

It was twelve long hours ago when you decided to shut down the the burning laptop because it's temperature seemed to reach your head. You felt the urge to spend more time in front of the damn rectangle screen that changes what it shows in just one click. But you know it can eventually make your eyeballs fall out of their sockets and explode, allowing constellations of blood to form in a universe composed of your lap, the keyboard, the dusty walls, and your computer screen.

You imagine these things happening and then you realize, twenty minutes has passed since your imagination started to make a fool out of you, giving you the false impression that you'll end up with a fucking brilliant idea, so brilliant it could turn the hell you're in into heaven.

But like what you've always known 'though never really admitted, you are not wise. And so you spend twenty empty minutes which you can't take back but still comfort yourself by thinking otherwise. There you are, drunk and incapacitated by your own illusions, wasting important seconds like annoying drops from a leaky faucet, little things which could have helped make a big difference in your life and in the world which has imperfections you want to change but won't because you're too lazy to entertain the possibility that you can.

So there go those pieces of life, flowing merrily down the drain. You let them go without lifting a finger. Your eyes staring at them as if the scene never registered in your brain, and as if you don't have eyes at all. You sit there and watch them slip away with arms across your chest; with every part of you cold and indifferent.

You stand up, grab your towel, and move on.

It Started with Kisses

Earlier today, while at our office's pantry, I and my officemates, who I usually discuss random stuff with, got to talk a bit about this campaign by United Colors of Benetton called "Unhate."

There are three LGBT blogs I read: Boxturtlebulletin, Joemygod, and Queerty. All of these had posts about this controversial ad from Benetton but I have to admit, I ignored them, and dismissed them as just posts about another campaign by a clothing company that, of course wants to sell. Queerty even had a series of posts regarding it but it was not until earlier today that, I got to have some idea on what some people around me thought about the said ad. So, when I got home I watched clips about the campaign on YouTube. Here's one of them:

Oh it had commercial purposes alright and Benneton definitely got the publicity it was expecting but since there were reactions from different types of people, I feel the need to share mine. And the result is me spending time on my lappy and ignoring some online flirts just to be able to post this, before my head starts to ache.

A handshake would have sufficed, I guess many would say. Why do they need to kiss? Personally, I think it's the fact that kissing somebody, especially in a passionate way, isn't easy. You can easily shake the hands of your enemies even if you still bear grudges against them. A passionate kiss on the lips requires much more effort, I'm sure we all can agree to that.

The ad above features a montage of doctored photos showing the US President Barack Obama kissing Chinese President Hu Jintao,  French President Nicolas Sarkozy kissing German Chancellor Angela Merkel, Pope Benedict XVI kissing senior Egyptian imam, Ahmed el Tayyeb, and other political figures.

While the White House, expressed disapproval on  "the use of the president's name and likeness for commercial purposes," (source) the Vatican did not react favorably to the image of the Pope kissing the imam and called it "an absolutely unacceptable use of the image of the Holy Father, manipulated and exploited in a publicity campaign with commercial ends." This resulted to the removal of the said picture from the campaign.(source)

At first, I thought,  the act of kissing another man is too much for the pope since, we all know the Roman Catholics' stand on homosexuality. It would be considered by them as a form of disrespect, which is understandable. Then again, the same church has disrespected homosexuals for ages. Considering that fact, I am inclined to ask: Is a doctored picture of the pope kissing the the Egyptian imam, Ahmed el Tayyeb, too much, if only to show that there is a possibility of us all being united, regardless of race, gender, nationality, social status, religion, or sexual orientation?  Is protecting an "image" more important than allowing a message of  love that knows no boundaries, to go through?

Apparently, the answer to those two questions I asked was "Yes," which did not surprise me, at all.

Here's the film version of the ad.  I hope this makes sense to people. If only we could see the message that is being conveyed, and allow our own prejudices to be drowned by it, the world might become at least a little bit better than it is, now.

Don't hate.

People from the Show "Face to Face," What Were You Thinking?

If my roommate, Dandie, decides to get rid of the TV, I would not even attempt to stop him. There's nothing good to watch on it, anyway and the good ones can be found somewhere on the internet. Also, since we don't have cable, we're stuck with these local stations which, with shows that, with the exception of a very few, make me roll my eyes, the frequency of which makes me a good candidate for exorcism. Obviously, I could not stand watching or hearing some of them, while I'm on my computer, without cringing.

And then this happened earlier:

I was watching some clips on YouTube, when my housemate, Kim came in and watched this local show called Face to Face on TV. It featured a trans- man (tomboy,) who cheated on his female partner with a man. For some reason, there was priest present. The sight disturbed me. Even if I wasn't paying that much attention.

So when it was the priest's time to speak, I had to pause what I was watching on my lappy to listen to what he's got to say, with my eyebrows crossed. And I heard those words again. Too bad, I didn't find the remote. I had to get out of my bed just to turn the TV off.  
 

How could a show allow that priest to speak in that situation. Did they even ask what their guests believed in? Did they even take time to ask if they prayed to God? And if they did, did the creators of the show even consider what their prayers were?

And that priest, did he really have to be there? I was wondering, how could they allow someone who is expected to say a revised a version of "God created only Adam and Eve. Period"   be in the same room with a trans man and a lesbian? Didn't they know that this has been said to them in different ways and versions a thousand times? Weren't they just trying to be morally correct by insinuating that being gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgendered is a choice?

I'm not trying to start some sort of fight here but for a show that exists in this age, where access to information needed for awareness regarding different issues, especially, sensitive ones, like the ones that are LGBT related, is just one click away, this show is pulling us backward.

What that priest said on that show, was disrespectful, and if only he and the creators of the show were considerate enough to realize... No, I'd be a fool to even think of that.

Dang.

Did You Ever Feel This Way, Dorothy?

Now, I'm sitting at a coffee shop in a city that raised me. The streets and some of the buildings remained familiar, even if a lot of changes have been made. The Bol- anon accent of the people I overhear resonates the sound of home, yet I am here. Alone. 

And no matter how much I try to pretend that I am in the place where I should feel happy the most, the emotion I have now, is the opposite. 

I hate it.

Family Day

The day was exhausting but it's a good day nonetheless. Spent our company's Family Day with my mom and brother. The place where it was held was full of people and it was freakin' hot, you'd suspect some people have conspired to cremate you alive. 

But then there's always something in people's smiles when they are with people who matter a lot to them. Looking back at the images I saw earlier, now that I am in my room, relaxing while typing a few words. It was beautiful. The presence of my mom and brother, of course had something to do with it. 

 Love this day.

Astrud and Joao

My definition of beauty at the age of 10 was shaped by the voices of these two.

I was in 5th grade, then. Mama and papa came home from Cebu and I remember waking up at dawn and seeing them in the kitchen sitting in front of each other and talking while playing the cassette they just bought. The first song I heard was sung by a girl with a strong foreign accent, and was of a different kind of music. A little weird at that time since it was around 1995, a year when children of all ages thought ‘Macarena’ was the best song ever created.

I have to admit; at first I didn’t appreciate the songs that much. They were so melancholy, sort of ponderous, and, I’d have to say, strange. It was easy for me to disregard them then because in school, it seemed no one knew of a song entitled ‘The Girl from Ipanema’ or ‘Dindi.’ Another thing, I remember the effort I gave just to not be ostracized. It was hard enough being a sissy that I had to be able to relate to the rest of my classmates’ interests. But then again, it was inevitable. I found out that I couldn’t fit in. No matter how funny my jokes and stunts were, and no matter how current my interests were; I was still an outsider.

As a result, I found comfort in sitting alone while appreciating nature. I most especially loved trees with their leaves dancing, I still do. I’m sure this scene has been put in writing and has been painted many times before but it was just different for me. Maybe it’s because I’d have to think and believe that this pair of eyes, I have, saw something in them that only someone suffering from the kind of pain I felt could only see. That feeling made me comfortable being alone. So, with a new-found love for solitude, I, one day, stayed home and played some music (which I have come to prefer over playing games with children in the neighborhood.) I found that cassette again, the one which had a picture of a girl who seemed afraid of the camera. I took it out of it’s case, inserted it to the player, and hit the ‘play’ button.

It was perfect, I thought. What better company in solitude than good, melancholy music. For you to know what I mean, I suggest you try sitting beside the window alone in the afternoon while watching the air outside making friends with the drizzle, then have Astrud’s ‘A Certain Sadness’ on the background. You have to be alone to fully appreciate it.

There’s a male voice in that cassette which I haven’t paid much attention to until after college. What happened was; my mama has long stopped buying her wants. She may have bought some cassette tapes from time to time but her work, family, and, according to her, her age seems to have sucked out her zest for her own interests. So, as soon I got out of the house and found a job, I did the rediscovering of Jazz Masters for her. With the internet and bootlegged cds sold on the sidewalk, it wasn’t hard putting a smile on mom’s face every time I got home. Imagine how happy she was when I brought home a copy of Astrud Gilberto on a cd with an American Flag print, sold for Php20 on a sidewalk. Mama and papa both smiled, with eyes all round in amazement.

They played the cd. We noticed the last track was different from the others. It was a Portuguese version of ‘Desafinado’ sung by a guy with a light voice, a beautiful one. Upon listening, I wondered why the sound of his voice was familiar. It did not take long for me to recognize that he was the same guy who sang the Portuguese parts in ‘The Girl from Ipanema’ and ‘Corcovado.’ I didn’t realize how much I loved that voice until it was left alone to do magic with the instruments that accompanied it. That voice was Joao Gilberto’s.

His cds are hard to find in the Philippines since he sings in Portuguese. I am still yet to find out if he ever released an album in English (does anyone of you here, know?)

Astrud and Joao, introduced me to the music called Bossa Nova (Brazilian Jazz,) a music genre which holds a very special place in my heart.

***

Let me share a few of the many songs i love from these two:

From Astrud:

A Certain Sadness

Wanting Things

The Dreamer

Corcovado

From Joao:

Vivo Sonhando

Desafinado

So Danco Samba

A Very Gay Weekend (Part 2)

Smiles in the rain

The day after our night out, we woke up in the afternoon, at about 2 o’ clock. Four of us slept in one room like sardines. I don’t know about the others but for me, sleeping wasn’t hard even if we were overpopulated since the wind coming from our room’s window was kind enough to accompany us. 'Though from time to time it woke me up when it blew the red curtain too much away from the window. It caused some sunshine to hit my face, which annoyed the half asleep me, for a bit.

Oh what happened to Rich? lol

Anyway, just a few minutes after we all woke up and had a chat about the things that happened the night before, the friendly wind was replaced by the pouring rain. And that's when we decided to act like children and went outside.

Dandie no longer waited for the camera to shoot the freakin' photo. Got scared of the lightning.

Here's Kim Posing for Vogue Banawa

A Very Gay Weekend (Part 1)

It’s been a long time since I was on a night- out with friends. I spent most of my time facing my laptop for the last couple of weeks. I made a life out of it. Outside cyberspace, this life of mine consisted only of eating, working, chatting with my officemates during lunch, and then sleeping, as a routine.

I used to go to the gym but recently, for some reason, I've been giving myself a lot of excuses not to go. As a result, those fats I got rid of, came back to reside in my belly and- I hate this- cheeks, again. 

No I'm not gonna talk about my weight issues on this post.

So last Saturday, August 20^th, eve of Rich’s birthday, we decided to have a gays' night- out. We had fun.  So much fun that we decided to make it a very gay weekend instead.

First stop, The Azkals bar. It’s among the new ones here in Cebu. If you wanna know where it's located, just hit "like" on this facebook page.  

 After a few drops of Tanduay Ice which turned me a bit red, I thought I had a good time. I’m not really sure what I was thinking when this photo was taken, ‘though.

I haven’t taken in alcohol for a long time so it was as if my first time to drink again. 

Met some cool people there. 'Though right now I'm not sure if they were really cool or I was just tipsy. Definitely not drunk because if I were, I would not have been awake to let some of these pictures capture my smiles (No eye- rolling please. Thank you.)

It's a nice place. You’ll like this bar if you're like me, who's more into sitting down and chatting with friends without obliterating each others' eardrums.

The birthday celebrant, Rich (left) with his/ her uhm... best frenemy, Cris. lol

(Left to right) Me, Dandie, Cris, and Rich

Of course, we grabbed some boys to pose with us.

My face is all red on some of these photos. Good thing they're small. lol

My Resurrection

How are you, my friend?

Alright. I have risen. Not that I assume you all, who care to give a fart what I post here, are happy about it. It's just that I'm glad that earlier today, I felt alive enough to feel the need to post an update on this blog. And, right now,  I really don't have any sort of outward adventure to share so  expect the appearance of harnesses, leaves, mountains, and sometimes ridiculous looking versions of me and my friends on my upcoming posts to be minimal.

So I sort of died for a couple of weeks. Stayed away from Facebook and blogging although I was frequently on YouTube and other sites (Porn sites are of course included.) As of now, I'm not sure if I have fully recovered but at least I'm sure I am stronger. Strong enough to muster a smile and post stuff that will not make me appear as if I'm exhibiting my own agony. I used to post statuses on Facebook that reflected whatever negative feelings or things that, I must say, one can choose to neglect and not take seriously. But not regarding this one. This pain that caused me to temporarily stay away from people I used to happily exchange comments with on the web. So forgive me if I won't talk or give further information about it. Everyone has his problems and has things he worries about even if he never fails to light the room with his smiles. We all continue to walk around and live our everyday lives; deal with a lot of issues in our offices or schools from the mundane to the peculiar ones. We all do this as we try to appear strong and happy, even if deep inside, we are wounded.

Anyway, damn I didn't want this to be as dramatic as it became but I really want to blog again and post stuff again. Interacting with people on the web who you have similar interests with is just amazing. You learn a lot and others also learn from you. It's a wonderful world.

I'll post some stuff here that are close to my heart, even if they aren't about my travels. So while I and my Pronies are still waiting for our next adventure, let me share to you the things I discover and my thoughts on them, as my mind wanders.

Surigao

Let me share to you my short trip to another place I've never been.

It started with Nico’s “Hi Davey!” on Facebook chat, one lazy afternoon. That greeting led to a conversation that sent me to Surigao City, three days after, without paying for anything aside from the fare for the cab I took, on my way to Pier 1.

The trip from Cebu City to Surigao lasted for about 12 hours. Good thing the bed I got wasn’t near the TV or I wouldn’t have been able to sleep as well as I did.  

 When I woke up, the boat has already docked in Surigao City and I was greeted by these guys

Looks like a good substitute for a surfboard. Don’t you think?

I wonder how old that boy is.

I went there to sing at a wedding with the band, The Werners,  so I wasn’t able to see much of the place. I had fun with the company ‘though. Fun is doubled when there’s music. I know a lot of you would agree. <*winks*>

Some of the few colored photos I took. lol

I don't have photos of the wedding where we played some romantic songs. However, one of the band members' relatives are from there. That's where we went the day after our gig, where we continued playing some good music.

 And I made another movie! YAY! :)

Narcissism at The Ruins

Laziness still hasn’t left me, unfortunately, but I kinda like how I started with this page so I’m not gonna let it die only because I’m in one of the many melodramatic episodes of my life. 

Since I’m not yet done blogging about Negros Occidental, let me post something I created after I discovered how helpful Picasa is (I call it “my new toy.)

Here's a movie I made with Chris Botti's If I Could as background. It contains some photos of me mostly shot at the “off limits” part (insert evil grin here) of Bacolod’s, The Ruins.