Arms

“It’s great that you can listen and be a shoulder to someone, but what about when someone doesn’t need a shoulder. What if they need the arms or something like that? You can’t just sit there and put everybody’s lives ahead of yours and think that counts as love. You just can’t. You have to do things.”- Sam to Charlie in Stephen Chbosky’s Perks of Being A Wallflower

Now that's an insight.

***

A very happy birthday to one of my favorite people in the world: Janeca—or Nek to us her dear friends. Thank God for cyber technology (and to Marshall McLuhan for the seed idea of a global village)—open your email, Nek! A present is wating for you. Enjoy! :-)

Yeah, Whatever

I’ll just let music do most of the talking.

Yeah Whatever
Splender

And you're primitive

And you're cynical to me
And I chewed down on the bit
And almost swallowed it

You sit all alone with your color TV
Your hair starts to glisten
In spite of the fleas
We don't have to stay friends
Let's pretend to be enemies

Yeah, whatever makes you happy
Yeah, whatever makes it beautiful
Yeah, whatever leaves you satisfied
Cause I'm out of time
For now

And you're paranoid
As you look me up and down
And I'm soaked in gasoline
Mud and ice cream

You sit by the phone with your tongue hanging out
You cradle the flies in the back of your mouth
We don't have to stay friends
Let's pretend to be enemies

Damned if you do
Fucked if you don't
Damned if you do
What if you won't

You must be aware what you're doing to me
We sunk like a stone on a rock in the sea
We don't have to stay friends
(Not for very long)
We don't have to stay friends
(Just because you're gone)

You get what you want cause you won't let it die

Yeah, whatever makes you happy
Yeah, whatever leaves you insecure
Yeah, whatever seems to break you down
Cause I'm out of time
But I'm feeling fine


***
I know this is a direct contradiction. But then again, I’ve been nothing but a mass of contradictions lately so I guess it makes illogical sense. Yeah, Des. Whatever.

High and Dry
Radiohead

Two jumps in a week, I bet you think that's pretty clever don't you boy.
Flying on your motorcycle, watching all the ground beneath you drop.
You’d kill yourself for recognition, kill yourself to never ever stop.
You broke another mirror, you’re turning into something you are not.

Don’t leave me high, don’t leave me dry
Don’t leave me high, don’t leave me dry

Drying up in conversaton, you will be the one you cannot talk.
All your insides fall to pieces, you just sit there wishing you could still make love
They’re the ones who’ll hate you when you think you’ve got the world all sussed out
They’re the ones who’ll spit at you. You will be the one screaming out.

Don’t leave me high, don’t leave me dry
Don’t leave me high, don’t leave me dry

It’s the best thing that you’ve ever had, the best thing that you’ve ever, ever had.
It’s the best thing that you’ve ever, the best thing you have ever had has gone away.

Don’t leave me high, don’t leave me dry
Don’t leave me high, don’t leave me dry

***
And there goes desire:

Disarm
Smashing Pumpkins

Disarm you with a smile
And cut you like you want me to
Cut that little child
Inside of me and such a part of you
Ooh, the years burn

I used to be a little boy
So old in my shoes
And what I choose is my choice
What’s a boy supposed to do?
The killer in me is the killer in you
My loveI send this smile over to you

Disarm you with a smile
And leave you like they left me here
To wither in denial
The bitterness of one who’s left alone
Ooh, the years burn
Ooh, the years burn, burn, burn

I used to be a little boy
So old in my shoes
And what I choose is my voice
What’s a boy supposed to do?
The killer in me is the killer in you
My loveI send this smile over to you
The killer in me is the killer in you
Send this smile over to you

The killer in me is the killer in you
Send this smile over to you
The killer in me is the killer in you
Send this smile over to you

Anecdotes

My father was literally driving down the memory lane last weekend when we went to his ancestral home in Manila. And it felt weird that being with him all my life didn’t guarantee no surprises. Maybe because it’s hard to see people, especially parents, as separate people other than the context we’ve already been given to see them with.

Anyhow, my Daddy said he used to get arrested for climbing roofs. For no particular reason. He just liked climbing roofs, he told my sister when she asked why. This was sometime when Martial Law was still in effect. Then one night as he was climbing his house’s veranda patrolmen happened to come by, and instantly they were on his element, pointing a rifle at him and threatening to shoot him. Panicked, with one leg still hanging over the railing, he knocked at his parents’ bedroom window with all the sense of urgency he could muster while calling out a very frightened “’Tay, Tay!” simultaneously. My grandfather woke just in time, and after affirming my Dad was his son and not some thief, he settled the score of abbreviated slumber by giving my Dad a whack in the head.

It has become my favorite anecdote about my Daddy since.

***

Wake blues, as told by my Uncle Nonoy to my Dad:

A group of fags, friends of his older “brother/sister” Herby, huddled in a table for a drinking session. They were a boisterous lot. The baranggay tanod looking things over just shook his head, sat in a corner, and watched. A few hours later another group would take the same place after its other occupants had gone. They were a bunch that drank rather heavily, and to the tanod’s admiration, quietly. So the tanod approached Uncle Nonoy and said, “Buti pa ‘tong grupong ‘to, hindi katulad nung mga maiingay na bakla kanina. Ang tahimik.” Uncle Nonoy looked at the group the tanod was referring to, and upon seeing which group it was, could not help but laugh. His reply was, “Paano naman pong hindi tahimik e mga pipi po yan.” [1]

[1] Uncle Nonoy’s younger sister Rowena is mute [2]. It was her crowd that the tanod was mistakenly raving about.

[2] Both amazing and puzzling fact: My Aunt Rowena’s husband is mute as well. They have two children now—and surprisingly, both can speak normally.

Six Feet Under

I find old people odd sometimes. They really talk about the strangest things. Especially in wakes such as my Dad’s uncle, which as of late serves as the family’s favorite hangout. It reminds me of this one line from something I’ve read, how old people’s views are affected because “death is staring at them in the face.” When put that way I suppose it is a damn convincing reason to alter someone’s point-of-view isn’t it?

Like would you have done today what you normally do if you knew you were going to die the next day? I’m really betting that most people won’t. And I hope I’m right.


***

I’ve never been squeamish about death. In fact I used to upset my high school friends whenever I’d steer the conversation to my ideal funeral, which was a lot. I was never hesitant to kill people in my stories too (I have to note though that it’s not escapism from character development either—though I still need a lot of work in that aspect); I think I earned the comment “morbid” in my earlier workshop for that. And it just occurred to me that I never really minded.

Hah.

***

Oh yeah, true to this entry’s nuance, I think Six Feet Under has got to be one of the best series ever. One line a priest said that really got to me was: “Truth is, relationships do not make life better. They make it possible.”