FEET kissing converse tiptoe

Parts of a Love Letter

My bones creak; So do my sisters'. When we bend our knees, we make a symphony of breaking sounds, cracks and snaps. I can see you wince each time you hear them crackle.

I sometimes think you are incapable of accepting little things like these. That in the future, just at the echo of a breaking bone would set you distressed looking for something to quiet down the explosions of my rumbling joints.
WORDS Harder If you're stupid

The problem with Willie Revillame

...is that people like him too much.

I don't like writing about current events because their currency would soon be outdated. But let me make an exception for this one, let me jump the bandwagon and say my two cents about Willie Revillame.

Willie Revillame is popular. He is popular because the mass likes him. He is challenging ABS-CBN and its heads proclaiming, "Bakit ako matatakot? Isa lang ba ang channel?" (Why should I be afraid [of getting fired]? Is there only one channel [TV company]?) simply because he can.

To simplify the explanations it would be 1) because of economics and because of 2) the trade secrets that he will uproot from the network when he is fired. The previous is easier to explain and even make erudite graphs on compared to the latter but I am not going to humour myself and discuss this.

You may argue that people are tired of Willie Revillame and his antics. So many facebook groups are asking him to shut up or are asking ABS-CBN to fire him or just basically let him have it like the proverbial shameful pie-in-the-face that he so deserves. Like this is an easy decision for the network.

Willie Revillame is staying, no matter how much facebook groups urge to push him away. Be happy to know that he does not need to do anything but sit back and bask in this publicity stunt he has offered for the network. Soon, he would be show kindness to Jobert Sucaldito and just ask him for a public apology so that things are all okay again. Then the cycle starts again, perhaps for another character in the industry. This is why this industry is called a circus.

You all know about this; You may deny it.

But there is still the undeniable "Willie magic" that he has with the masses that makes it almost impossible for the network to can this conceited TV personality. People still believe in the "good" that he is "doing," blindly accepting all his indiscretions, quietly dismissing them as just something pardonable every Filipino macho man has to do. You may find it funny but there are people out there, not just invented people, who imagine Willie Revillame all tossing and turning at night feeling sad for the poor while he wonders what to give them as rewards for the next day. You will be surprised what those loving facebook fanpages say of him. You will be surprised and disgusted about the good things that his fans are imagining this man is doing. Some would even fight for him tooth and nail, proclaiming that he is just misunderstood.

People like him. People believe in him. What then are you going to do about it?
MISC blue teddy

Dear Rogue magazine,

I have a problem with the articles in Rogue magazine because, although they are undeniably well-written, they are written in that brevity that makes you think like they are short of space.

I applaud them for esoteric articles that appeal to the "intelligent" mass but must they always write in the fashion that seems hurried and deficient?

I understand that it is the advertising pages that pay the bills. But is it too much to ask from them to allot a couple more pages of articles?

I like their magazine; I just can't stand reading something that feels unfinished.

Posted via LiveJournal.app.

MISC drawings of birds

Resurrection

Imperatives:

Remember the moment your body sliced the water, how the splash did not produce a sound as loud as your petrified heart, and how your legs and arms flail
to try to recover its lost balance.

Remember the moment you fought your way above the water. Most importantly, remember how it is to gasp for breath again.
Resurrection
FEET kissing converse tiptoe

Openly

I should probably start with: So there is this girl... I would then trail off and try to piece the adjectives that would give her form. I would look away and try to use the most banal of descriptions.

She is tall. Her legs, for their length, are that which you would notice first. You would then notice her skin and how the silver light streaks its short fine hairs. Then you would notice her hair and how it waves on her lean back.

I have only seen her in pictures. I know she cut her hair recently. I know she has several dimples that make her look like she is 12 when she smiles. I know she still looks for him. I know she still retains him in her everyday thoughts.

I could only piece some parts of her from what she wrote somewhere. I smile knowing that I am more expressive than her. I frown because she is doing most of the things I wouldn't be too brave to do.


This is also for A. I need to tell you so many things. This should be a good story to start it.
FEET pink slippers

Open letter to L

Dear L,

I should thank you: you inspire me to write.

I wouldn't exactly call what I write "writing," but compared to the words you waste, I would like to think that what I do is indeed "writing." Can I do that? Can I openly admit that I write?

I have always thought that what I am doing is just thinking out loud with words. Yes, I am only doing that. I shudder at the idea of claiming that I am a writer.

I should applaud you because you are brave enough to claim that you are a writer.

I should have a little more of your confidence, as misplaced as it is; I should have that so it wouldn't be embarrass me so much if I produce something as crass and as banal as your "prose."

Yours sincerely,
Alex

Posted via LiveJournal.app.

FEET blue shoes walking

your heart pounds too much looking for that removable rib to escape

(the title is from my sister)

Anchorage


I wonder what people think about when they sit beside the ocean.

Do they imagine themselves being engulfed by the waves? Do they imagine themselves floating to Costa Rica when the waves splash on their knees? Do they imagine, perhaps, they are stuck like anchors?


See, I hate writing about everyday events like this:

This weekend, I went to the beach with my officemates. I have no affinity to the sea; I have never learned how to swim despite the fact that we practically lived by the beach when we were younger.

But there was something different from this weekend from all my trips to the sea: Cliff-jumping.

Jumping a 19-feet cliff felt like resignation/resurrection for me. I do not know how to swim. To jump on that cliff to the sea would be like suicide but I still did.


Photo by Alvin Bello, one of my favorite officemates.


I imagined myself flailing my arms underwater. I imagined my legs kicking my entire weight to the surface. I imagined gasping for the first breath of air after diving. I imagined pushing myself to the rocks. I imagined until the moment I dove.

I did everything I imagined myself doing. It felt like being reborn knowing my fear died in the water when I dove. I still do not know how to swim; I am contented knowing that somehow I can save myself.
MISC blue teddy

Ask the exact questions

Last Thursday, to cap off one of the most stressful weeks I have had for work, a 9-year old boy asked me in his sincerest curiosity:

"Can I ask you about your life story?"

I paused, cheered for him quietly in my head and responded the affirmative.

"Are you a married woman? Were you ever in love?" He proceeded.

I was taken aback by the candidness of his question; I don't remember the last time I have been asked to think about such enormous things.

Then what began as curiosity from a nine-year old became a nostalgia of all the ones I have fallen in with. I wish I were the type to wear my heart on my sleeve; I could have told him that I have almost been married. I could tell him but I would be very much afraid of the questions he would ask next.

Posted via LiveJournal.app.

MISC teapot

DFS/FD 1: Tell Your Children Stories about Everything

Dear Future Son or Future Daughter,

Please know that I was angry when I took this photo because these two kids were hurling stones at soaring birds.

Never trust anyone who throws stones at birds. Birds are not Goliaths you have to kill; You are not David, to begin with. People who hurl stones at harmless creatures are the kinds of people who would impede your growth or your flight.

Bird Killers



My student who was peering over me while I was typing this, said that the photo makes it appear like these two mean kids are walking over water as if they were incarnations of Christ.