Of unicorns and rainbows January 18, 2012

Let’s say out some facts shall we? If you read through this blog you’ll see quite a number of emotionally charged entry thinly veiled as fiction. We all know that isn’t really the case. I will not even attempt to kid you. As of late, that’s what nudges me to write – my extremes of emotions. I mean sure, there are tons of thoughts racing back and forth but to actually reel something in and write something even remotely coherent and exceptional can be quite uh, difficult.

Anyway. Here’s another emotionally charged one.

For the longest time, the said subject of my previous (almost a year or two ago) posts and I were more less incomunicado. It is both by choice and circumstance. Admittedly, it did take me a while to get over him. Not that the relationship lasted years, it barely lasted half of one. Now how do I put this into words? It’s all swirling in my head, I just have to pick the words and hopefully it forms a thoughts. Maybe because I saw in him what I know (or knew. Or know) I deserve. I saw who I wanted to spend inordinate amounts of time talking about complete and utter nonsense. And yes, sensuality aside, I knew whose face I wanted to see before I slept and the first face I see when I wake up. Obviously, I’ve formulated this imaginary scenario in my head, where incidentally, it is chock full of unicorns and rainbows. So I am not quite sure if that is to be fully trusted.

Fast forward to present time. Apart from the glorious internet, the advent of Twitter and BBM (BlackBerry Messaging) and other preferred forms of social media and communication platforms have made the world as small as it can possibly get. It has also made for easier (read: tangible) conversations. The present time also is when I decided to grow up. Like, for real this time. Growing up means forgiving said subject of blog posts and forgiveness entails maturity. Man, that sucks. Not really. Eh, maybe a little. Playing the whole angry-bitter card can get old.

If you managed to read up to this point, imaginary reader, that only means you are smart. Therefore, you have connected the dots even before I plotted them. So yes, I made amends with myself first and then I extended the oliver branch by way of a genuine birthday greeting. Little did I know that that moment would give birth to a renewed err, dare I say it, friendship? Don’t you dare raise that eyebrow – yet. It really was just that. Besides, if the world will indeed go boom by the end of this year then I sure hope that I don’t have any bad blood with anyone. I guess I am wired that way. Forgive me for being too nice.

Obviously, with conversations shifting from spaced far in between to constant my imagination went on hyper-drive. You cannot even begin to imagine the amount of glitter and rainbows the unicorns in my head have pooped. And then I fell into the ditch – again. I fell and fell. And fell. And. Well, fell. Until reality finally hit me in the face and I decided to stop my fall. So I held out my hands and feet and latched on to anything. I had to break my fall because hello, I barely am healed from the last time and here I am practically pushing myself into the abyss. I am crazy. That is a well known fact. Move on.

I can never really explain why I am drawn to that gravitational pull. I am using an astronomic/geo-whatever term because it honestly feels like that strong of a force. No matter how hard I try and will myself to resist it, I just keep getting pulled in. It’s a crazy planets, for real. And I’ve stopped trying to make sense of it because admittedly, that will be one part of my life I can and will not be able to explain. Unless you can decipher the crazy that is my heart and mind.

For the record, I am not hoping for the stars to align the way I want it to. The kid in me may want to but I’ve learned to just let things be. I’ll still live my life for myself without having to latch onto an imagined end goal that may not even come to fruition. Whatever stems from this, I will take it. Hey, I honestly think it’s a win-win situation. My friends will probably frown upon me but whatever. Whatever happens, I will have gained a great friend. And that, I think, is more than enough to make me smile.

Wow. This doesn’t sound at all like me but I am starting to like it. This, ehem, mature Angelo is actually a nice look on me. I think I’ll keep it.

For Real This Time January 12, 2012

Time and time again I resolve to write more. Whatever the hell that means. And whenever I set myself up to do so, I blank out. I just engage in a staring contest with my laptop. Sometimes, I even count how many times the cursor blinks. But that is not the point, obviously.

For quite some time my repository of thoughts have been published over at . But as with the “Twitter effect”, where my brain finds it extremely difficult to think beyond 140 characters, my entries were often either useless brain farts or the usual emo posts. Do not even get me started on how much I envy people who religiously write. And write ever so articulately at that.

Perhaps it goes without saying that I miss writing. The unabashed joy whenever my thoughts race through my mind and fingers and become actual words. And if the world will indeed end by the tail end of 2012 then I at least want to have my thoughts written somewhere. Never mind if it will go kaboom with everything else. For as long as they escape my system and I somehow share it with imaginary beings is totally fine with me.

So yes, it is time to rectify my writing habits. I won’t of course promise a daily account of the goings on in my life. I have Twitter for that. Nor would I claim to be a blogger who would chronicle basically nonsense things only a select few take interest in. Oh thinly veiled vanity. Zing. I want this space to contain actual thoughts. Something that one would take joy in reading but will make one think. Life is after all a buzz of thoughts and ideas and then processing it for ones self.

But for whatever it’s worth, I’m doing this for myself and my love for writing. So, enough of the blabbering. I better start dusting this space and making it more homey. Time to settle in and start writing.

For real this time. I can’t have posts dated a year apart. That’s just a shame. Fingers stretched. Neck cracked. Here we go!

Thinking Out Loud January 6, 2011

I have, on more than one occasion said, well, more like ranted about how annoyed I am whenever someone would ask me if I am in a relationship or not. And when I’d answer the painfully obvious no, a curious face matched with the obligatory “how come” follows. I’ve been figuring into this scenario so much that I have my answer mastered. I’d come up with a smile, sometimes forced but a smile nonetheless. Then I’d shrug and say, that’s just how it is.

Truth be told, more than getting obviously ticked off by the constant prying into my non-existent love life, I frankly get sad. Yes, behind the smile is a heart that is aching. It never changes. It just doesn’t hurt so much like it did before. I guess I just got used to the feeling, the inquiries, the sincere as well as the insincere “it’s okay, it’ll come in time”. It’s just that whenever I am asked, it is as if I am transported to the moment when it all sank in – I am unattached. No longer am I half of a whole. I am no longer someone’s jelly to their peanut butter.

And it gets to me. Every single fucking time. I am lonely. I would’ve said alone but my friends would vehemently say otherwise. Sure, I have them by my side but as I’ve come to realize, they’ve got their own lives too. No matter how much I want to be there all the time, they just cannot wait on me. And obligating them to do so is just selfish. Being single is not bad. Don’t get me wrong. Neither is it like walking around with a spring in my step. Needless to say, I just don’t enjoy it all the time. Especially when the day comes to a close and all you’ve got is the two pillows on your bed.

It isn’t a conscious decision on my part to be one singular sensation. Let’s just put it out there. A.) No one has been asking me out. B.) I am petrified of asking anyone because of the nagging feeling of rejection. C.) No one has at the very least set me up with someone or simply introduced me to an interesting humanoid. I know, I am being completely and unapologetically pathetic but the whole thing is getting to me. It’s like a bad rash that you just want to scratch the hell out.

Sometimes I think I am still scared. Yeah. Maybe I am afraid of putting myself out there. Of allowing my fortified walls to come down. That’s the thing when you get hurt really bad, you tend to take two steps back. But I can’t let the fear get the best of me either. It isn’t attractive. Besides, if I want to see myself out of this current situation then I’ll have to man up. I’ve been dipping my toes in the water for quite some time now. I’ll have to take a long and deep breath and then dive in. Fuck it. I just don’t want to have to answer to the whole situation and feel bad about myself.

Ah well, I always have a bucket full of hope and positivity by my side. I’ll still be annoyed at having to bare the sad state of my love life but hey, I’ll still bust out a smile. I can manage. Don’t worry. I am one tough cookie.

Scars January 6, 2011

A few months ago I induced a small burn on my left wrist by ironing the cuff of my long-sleeved polo, while I was still wearing it. Stupid, I know. As with any burn, it soon healed and of course, left a mark. Unlike my other scars (I have one on my head and somewhere in my bum. Long story) this one was within immediate sight. Everytime I’d move my hand I’ll see that mark; a small but nonetheless noticeable reminder of my sheer stupidity.

Just like their physical counterparts, scars are reminders of whatever caused it. Unlike it, however, it can take a considerably long time to heal. Also, unlike the physical scars, they can’t be seen with our own eyes. It can only be seen the moment we close our eyes and tune into our emotions. The only time we can be reminded is if we acknowledge that we are wounded.

Sometimes the reminder is triggered by a memory, a painful memory that comes along with that scar. No matter how much we suppress the memory in the deepest pits of our brains that memory will still come back; whether to haunt you or just remind you of how far you’ve come since being, yes, wounded. But for no matter what, it will always be a reminder of how far you’ve come. Scars after all are a result of the natural healing process. It is a good thing then, if not for the obvious discoloration or deformity it is.

We don’t have to wear it on our sleeves. We simply have to recognize that reminder for what it is. And make sure that we do not repeat that mistake again; like never ironing clothes while you are wearing them. Unless like me, you get a scar on your wrist.

Troubled December 11, 2010

He decided to go out in the dead of the night and let the cold weather consume him. He walked around in circles to make sense of whatever he was feeling inside. He stopped and extended his arms hoping that maybe all he needed was a stretch. It is inexplicable and a tad bit unbearable but nonetheless real.

But the stretch wasn’t what he needed. Who has he trying to fool? He needed some fresh air. Or to run as fast as he could, screaming his lungs out. He maybe needed to cry while clenching his fists in the air. Okay, maybe a tad bit too melodramatic but you get the picture.

Things just felt very, very real at this singular moment. What he feared the most since well, everything crumbled right before him has happened. The thing he has denied will ever happened well it was right there staring him in the face. Sure, he has heard many stories since then but this time he was reading it with his own eyes. Dagger through the heart.

Giddy professions of a fledgling love. Scoff. He was treading what was once familiar. Although as it obviously stands, he is not part of that equation. He was now a distant memory at best.

It was precisely being a memory that scared him. He has always been scared that he will be pushed further and further back until he is ultimately forgotten. It sure wasn’t a problem before. But this time around it was real. Fuck.

He didn’t really care that the person in particular was in a relationship anew. Heck, he wasn’t even hoping they’d find their way in each other’s arms. The hurt was just too much to bear. Besides, it has been well over a year since the promise was broken. He did, however, care that he was being replaced. But that is how these things go right? A thought he was afraid to confront just him – hard. And all this was a bit too overwhelming.

You’ve come a long way, he reminded himself. All this, he thought, was just a reminder that you are human with a heart too big for that person.

He took a long and deep breath as he buried his face in his hands. The exhale warmed his cold hands and face. He looked up at the sky. Not much stars, it would be useless to make a wish. He drew in another breath. Trust and faith right, he asked silently. Trust and faith.

Taking a step towards his house, he drew out his hands and extended them as far as he could. Maybe he need the stretch after all. You know, to come into with certain things. And with that he walked on back home.

All will be well. Definitely.

Growing up the Toy Story way June 30, 2010

At the heart of every Pixar film is a great, heart tugging story. The many advancements in digital film making do not overshadow what is essentially a masterfully told story. And the third installment of the Toy Story franchise is no excpetion.

 

I grew up with Toy Story. The six-year old in me was easily captivated by the realistic representation of toys I played with in 1995. 15 years later, I am still awed at how far it has come. It is surreal that after all these years, I still found myself emotionally invested with the characters I fell in love with from way back when. And what is most fascinating about Toy Story is that the progression of its characters (toy and human alike) and story seem to echo the sentiments of the kids who grew up with the series. It also doesn’t alienate the kids who are just about introduced to the motley crew of Woody, Buzz Lightyear, Jessie and the rest.

 

In Toy Story 3 we are faced with the reality that Andy is all grown up and is about to go off to college. His usual leaping imaginations during playtimes is now left in the years past. The cowboy-inspired wallpaper has been plastered with band posters and the like, the table now houses a laptop and the toys have been outgrown and relegated to the trunk. Ah, signs of the times indeed. This reality dawns on our beloved gang and it leaves them thinking, “what is to become of us?”

 

Andy decides to take Woody to college while the others are supposed to be put in the attic. But as fate would have it, the bag of toys get mistaken for trash, is thrown out and after a little situation they somehow end up in a daycare center. This is where an even bigger adventure await our friends.

 

What’s brilliant about the movie is that you don’t get this feeling that it has been dragging on for some time. There were a lot of new characters, yes, but they all added to the texture of the movie. There is also none of that unnecessary sequel feeling you get after watching the nth sequel of a film. The story isn’t forced. It doesn’t throw us off but rather it eases us through. It maintains its stronghold of following a simple thread of narrative. And though the story generally follow the same premise as the first and second film, there is an air of graduation about this. One might call it formulaic but it only aims to take the story and make it age-encompassing. Woody always says it, “nobody gets left behind”. This holds true especially for those who watch it.

 

Friendship is the heart and soul of Toy Story. Whether it is the innocent friendship between a kid (or not-so kid anymore) and his toy(s) or the more real relationships the viewers have, this movie will let you evaluate that. You may even see things with renewed perspectives because at the end of the day, we grow up. Letting go and moving on has never been this good. This movie, for those who grew up with it or not, will hit home – in a good way.

Taking the road less traveled April 15, 2010

This piece was a response to an article published in the Philippine Daily Inquirer sometime last year.

 

Click to read the article.

 

Realistically speaking, we have to swallow our artistic pride and trudge the road most travelled. However, wouldn’t that be admitting defeat? Isn’t that an insult of the burning flame of passion deep down?

 

It feels as if the author isn’t totally happy where he is now. Stable, high-paying job but probably empty inside. He could’ve written this little eloquent and thought-evoking piece to convince himself to be happy where he is now. If there is a price to pay for being who I want to be then so be it. What is a little sacrifice if it means making myself infinitely happy at the end of the day. At least I can go to bed with a genuine smile in my face and not a smile brought about my current pay check. I won’t be a hypocrite. Pay-checks are most important in this day and age but it should not be the sole deciding factor in choosing which fork in the crossroad to traverse.

 

If I subject myself to an 8-to-5, cubicle job I will most likely not perform to the best that I can. No matter how much I force myself, I will never turn in the same quality work if I were say, on stage relishing the spotlight. If I will be a dragging weight than an asset, I’d rather up and leave. Keeping my dignity intact. True, I may never hear the end of it from the powers may be (aka my parents) but it’s that or I lose myself. It’s a lose-lose situation.

 

I choose to not settle with whatever life throws at me. Sure, it can throw random and swift curve balls but I can catch with my good hand and throw it back. Life is what you make it. If you work really hard for it, your dreams and passions, it will pay off. No one can be denied success and happiness. It isn’t how the cosmos roll. They will make you go through the hell and back but guaranteed, you will see that crack of hope.

 

I choose to be unique and extraordinary. I choose the fork in the road where I will be infinitely happy, genuinely happy. I choose to take the road less travelled.

 

Think about it. I mean, really think about it.

Maynila April 12, 2010

“Ang Maynila ay para sa mga taong may hinahanap sa buhay…”

 

-Susing, Ploning

 

Para sa makikitid ang utak, mahirap intindihin na ang Maynila ay hindi simbolo ng karangyaan. Ang mga magarbong pamilihan, mga lugar aliwan at mga magagarang restawran ay tila ilusyon sa realidad na pilit iniiwasan ng madla. Nakakalungkot isipin na ang mga taong katulad mo ay pilit hinihimok ang ganitong pag-iisip.

 

Ang Maynila ay isang lugar para sa mga taong may hinahanap sa buhay. Ito ay isang pitak ng oportunidad para sa taong karapat-dapat at para sa mga taong nagtrabaho para makarating dito. Hindi ito lugar kung saan ipapangalandakan mo ang iyong mga luho at kababawan ng pag-iisip. Puede ba, masyado nang maraming mga taong ganyan na sumasalaula sa pag-asa na dala ng Maynila. Nakakasuka na nga ang ganitong pamamaraan ng pamumuhay na talamak sa siyudad na ito.

 

Sa totoo lang, nakakasakit ng loob na ganyan ang pagtingin mo sa Maynila. Porke’t nasasakal ka na sa buhay probinsya, eh Maynila na ang nararapat na paraan ng pagtakas? Akala mo madali, pero hindi. Malamang-lamang, hindi mo kakayanin ang marahas na buhay dito sa kongkretong gubat.

 

Matagal-tagal din ako nagtimpi para di ko sakalin ang mga taong katulad mo. Mga taong tila meron na lahat, oportunidad at pera. ‘Wag mong isipin na bugso ito ng inggit. Hindi. Hindi ko na nga lang masikmura ang pangmumudmod mo ng mga litanyang, “I am meant to be in Manila” o di kaya, “I can’t wait to be in a place where I am in the up and up”.

 

Dito na natatapos ang pagpapabaya ko sa ganitong asal. Hindi na ito makakalagpas sa akin.

 

Pero may gandang asal naman ako. Itataas ko ang aking baso ng tubig sa iyo. Nawa’y gabayan ka ng diyos sa iyong patutunguhan. At magkita-kita tayo sa mataas na antas ng lipunan. Cheers!

Movie review: Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince April 12, 2010

Dumbledore’s words echo loud and clear, “once again, I ask too much of you, Harry.” We are then thrust into a context that the wizarding world (as well as the muggle (non-magic folk) world) have taken a turn towards the dark side.

 

Consistent all throughout the Harry Potter saga is the theme of quests. From the very beginning, Harry was pushed into a world he was unfamiliar with and even more trying is the fact that he was a living, breathing beacon of hope for the wizarding community.

 

There lies our hero’s main quest. And as the series progresses, it becomes even more vague and consequentially, difficult. This is more apparent in the latest installment of the Harry Potter movie series, the Half-Blood Prince.

 

The film picks up from it left off in the previous offering, the Order of the Phoenix. Harry, obviously shaken and slightly distraught by the battle at the Ministry of Magic, is guided along a crowd by the indomitable Albus Dumbledore. His hand gently perched on Harry’s shoulder, a fitting foreshadowing of things yet to come.

 

A series of quests embattle Harry and his friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. More than Harry’s quests to assist Dumbledore on a clandestine mission, dive into several memories to grasp the existence of Lord Voldemort, ultimately determining his vulnerability as well as living up to the title: The Chosen One, he and his friends also have to worry about the throws of young love and having to deal with educational pressures and of course, adolescence. Also, the three wrack their brains around the identity of the mysterious Half-Blood Prince who is unwittingly helping Harry through his usual waterloo subject of Potions.

 

If you’re someone who has lived under a rock for the past few years and haven’t picked up the book, the film does justice to the revered tome of J.K. Rowling. Granted, there a few missteps along the way, the movie can stand proud on its own accord. Personally, I say it was bloody brilliant!

 

The Half-Blood Prince is textured but quick in its pace, giving the viewers a taste of magical action and a visual extravaganza to match. All it’s elements are executed very well: stunning visuals, impeccable design, intense action, emotionally riveting sound, gripping drama, well-meaning comic relief and a storytelling that is smooth and dare I say it, near flawless.

 

Following the Order of the Phoenix that ended rather emotionally heavy, the Half-Blood Prince acknowledges the gravity of the emotional context but lacing it with comedy so as not to go the easy way out and indulge in the melodrama of it all. Darker in mood and themes, it explores the grit of growing up and assumed responsibilities amidst troubling times. It is also imperative to note that stellar cast has delivered commendable acting on all counts. Especially the younger set who managed to turn in mature performances well beyond their years. David Yates sets the stage, and very well I might add, for the greater quest of epic proportions that is to happen in the Deathly Hallows. It was smart of him to ease the film through without discounting the emotional blows it delivers to the readers who practically worship the famed series. The gripping few scenes were too poignant to elaborate. I’m afraid my words are not enough to suffice the emotional punch.

 

In the end, there will be those who would focus on the negatives rather than see the film as an independent, general whole. While they are too caught up with their frenzied talks on how the film doesn’t do justice to the book, I choose to look beyond forgivable glitches. Point is, it was well-made and well-inteded that surely casts a spell on the viewers. Despite it being just a wizard movie, it certainly didn’t look and feel like it. It was organic and had this sense of reality despite being rooted in fantasy. What we get is a masterful storytelling about the greater quest of good triumphing over evil.

 

As with any adventure, there will be gains and losses. Life goes on for our hero, but with a bigger burden heaved on his shoulders than he could ever imagine. But it will be a great adventure nonetheless. Now, let us step out and pursue the flighty temptress, adventure. (Albus Dumbledore)

Box of crayons April 12, 2010

If you really think about, our lives are pretty much like a box of crayons. I know it’s a cliché. Plus, overused metaphor as a springboard technique? Classic! But I digress.

 

Life is a box of crayons, colorful. Wouldn’t life be swell if all the crayons were in place all the time? Perfect, in one piece, and complete?

 

Ideally, we would want to have it to be perfect and complete. However, life doesn’t operate like that. Since we use our crayons on a daily basis, the periwinkle crayon will snap in two, the magenta crayon will be worn out and dull due to overuse, and the orange crayon might get lost from the set.

 

In life we will go through moments where we feel as if our box of crayons is incomplete. We will go through phases wherein we will miss our favorite colors. These are the happy moments we wish we could live over and over again. If only we could color with our favorite crayons all the time, we probably would. But that isn’t how the cosmos operates. Life can’t be always happy. Colors fade.

 

Looking at things through the bigger picture, you can see these phases as the point where you are going to get a new set of crayons. Whether we fall, break down or simply have a bad day, there will always be that chance to get up and start over. Those missing periwinkles, magentas and oranges can be replaced. With that new set, you can start coloring again.

 

This doesn’t mean you have to discard the old set. That old set will always be a part of you. Keep that. You’ll never know when you’d want to revisit that old set. Besides, it isn’t the crayons that make an artwork. It is simply there to enhance your vision and expression. You are the work of art.

 

Life is a box of crayons. Whether it gets beat down and worn out, go ahead, just color away. It is your life. You color as you see fit. After all, life is meant to be colorful.