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