100 Posts of Mental Solitude

It surprises me how I’ve become so dependent on technology to pass the time. Power has been out since 7 o’clock yesterday morning because of typhoon Pedring. The good thing about my cellphone, my ipod and my netbook being totally battery-drained is that I get to do more manual things like writing and reading. It’s torture to not be able to go online or watch movies. Without electricity and with nothing to do, time passes so painfully slow. From this whole ordeal, I realized I can’t live without technology. I love the rainy weather but I absolutely hate power outages.

I never thought that I’ll be able to see my 100^th post on this blog. Yet here I am writing through pen and paper under a candlelit stormy evening. Rest assured that such romanticized style of writing is not to commemorate the 100^th post occasion. The ghastly arms of our wall clock are saying it's twenty-five minutes after three in the morning. And I’m here writing in cursive at the back of old scratch papers trying to pass time. I figured that rather than die of boredom, I’d better do something productive.

And with not so much to do as to sit around in darkness, I decided to write.

Captured

It was dark when I woke up.

I tried to open my eyes to get a better hold of my surroundings. I felt a sharp pain in my temples—like someone was trying to drive a jackhammer into my skull. It was as if I woke up with a thousand tequila hangovers, only worse. I tried to blink as much as I could in the hopes that the pain will go away with each blink. But it didn’t. In fact, opening my eyes did nothing to absolve me from the pain or from being enveloped in darkness. For a moment, I thought I was just having a bad dream and any second I would wake up and everything was going to be fine again. However, the throbbing in my head suggesred that everything was all too real to be a dream. The darkness was all too real. I was sweating profusely and  I could feel globules of sweat trickling down the sides of my face. No one perspires this much in their dreams—I thought.

The Weekend Report

Well I went home this weekend after spending last week at my brother’s house in Valenzuela. Although I have to get used to this kind of set up and I have to start to calling his apartment my house from now on. I plan to stay at his place once I start working and going to school. Though Valenzuela is ridiculously far from Pasay where my work will be come October 10^th, it sure beats the hell out of having to commute from the more remote location of our family house here in North Caloocan. What I love about my brother’s place is that it’s more convenient and transportation is accessible 24 hours unlike here; wherein once the clock strikes 12:00 AM, there won’t be any more means of transportation available aside from abusive and overcharging tricycles and a few cows on the road (as in the Bos taurus kind) from god knows where. And you never have to worry if you ran out of food or if you go hungry in the wee hours of the morning since there are a lot of convenience stores available to buy what’s needed. I know how ridiculously shallow these justifications are, but they are kind of a big deal for someone who’s lived in a place so urbanely remote. Plus in Valenzuela, everything’s just an LRT or a short bus ride away from everywhere I need to be.

Dear John

He was always ahead of me. In the system of names he was always the first—always in the first row, always in the first group and always among the first lines. And I was always in his close second. I’ve spent four years of high school life being only second to this guy. We were always seatmates, groupmates and team mates. Which is why no matter how much I try to distance myself from him, consequences would always bring us together. If not the doings of the cosmic universe then the teachers certainly made it inevitable. Now as I think about it, I couldn’t be happier that our names are so close with one another. It is through names that I’ve come to know this guy and be friends with him.

Patience

The age old adage that says patience is a virtue is not true.

I would like to think so.
image courtesy of dennysfunnyquotes.blogspot.com

Virtues are assets that we can sometimes do without in this world.  Beauty is a virtue and so is faith among other beatitudes.  But one cannot live without patience.

Miss Universe Chronicles Part 3: How Costumes and Questions Bring Out the Ugly Side of People

While Miss Universe attempts to find the most beautiful woman in the entire universe, some parts of the contest bring out the ugly side of the people who watch it. It is disappointing to see how a contest that started out with good intentions can create so much air of bitterness and stupidity among some of its viewers.  Let’s take two examples.

Of Costumes and Crass

On one of my previous morning newspaper runs, I came across one article from www.times.com entitled Photos: Miss Universe 2011's Most Bizarre National Costumes. It was written by a certain Mr. William Lee Adams. As we all know, a part of the Miss Universe competition is where the candidates showcase their national costumes and this piece focused on that particular segment.  The article was composed of forty slides of pictures of the delegates during the national costume part of the pageant preliminaries. Underneath it was a small commentary depicting how the author felt about the costume.

It was supposed to be a tongue-in-cheek humorous take on how fashionably “tacky” the national costumes were. Let’s take a look at a few of Mr. Adams’ commentaries. Note that these were taken verbatim from his article.

Miss Ecuador — Claudia Schiess
A flock of chickens attacked her bed sheets, so Miss Ecuador tied the foul fowl to her head.
image and caption courtesy of www.times.com

Miss Nicaragua — Adriana Dom
Adriana thought this brightly-colored costume was a good idea until a group of school children mistook her for a pinata.
image and caption courtesy of www.times.com

Miss Thailand — Chanyasorn Sakorchan
If the hotel’s satellite dish malfunctions, Chanyasom will be very popular among the other contestants. Her headpiece gets amazing reception.
image and caption courtesy of www.times.com

Miss Universe Chronicles Part 2: Where My Tiara Lies

Let me open this by saying that I do not purposely hate the Miss Universe pageant. I am not here to lambast the said contest. In fact, to some degree, I honestly think that in their small, sometimes obscured way, they celebrate femininity and women empowerment—in the sense that they typify women as creatures both of beauty[i] and intellect. I’m sure that my feminist friends will kill me for that statement but I think that they do not objectify women. If we only let them parade in a bikini and ogle at their bodies and judge solely on the basis of their physical beauty, then probably yes, they are being objectified. If they are being forced to parade and dress scantily then they are in fact, being objectified. But nobody coerced these girls to join the pageant, they wanted to be there and compete. They wanted to represent their countries. And the Miss Universe, or as what its criteria for judging claims, is chosen not just for beauty and poise but for her charm and personality and most importantly her wit to answer a question in front of millions of people.

The objective of my ramblings however is not to talk about the nature of the beauty contests as it appeals to women but for gay people like me.

The fine, fresh and fierce winners of the 2011 Miss Gay Philippines Contest
image courtesy of metrosexualsociety.blogspot.com

Miss Universe Chronicles Part 1: The Major Major Fascination of Filipinos

“What is the one thing our society needs? 

That would be harsher punishment for parole violators, Stan. And...world peace”

-Sandra Bullock in the movie, Miss Congeniality

image courtesy of www.haro-online.com

Author's note: I was supposed to post something like this earlier, but in between Kpop addiction and completing my work requirements, I have found less and less time to post in this blog. I have already succumbed to the fact that I can’t keep my commitment of writing everyday. Sue me.

Pageants and beauty contests have always been and will always be controversial. It is scowled upon by the advocates of feminism, saying that the contestants are being treated as pieces of meat parading half-naked around a chauvinistic audience. That it objectifies women. That it creates an unrealistic and stereotyped standard of beauty and femininity. Detractors say that contests like these are outdated and have no social or cultural significance whatsoever.  The world is filled with problems bigger than what a cliché final question can answer. However, those who are into such pageants would argue that they do not demean women, in fact they celebrate them. These contests are a form of women empowerment in which they are represented not just as creatures of beauty and grace but of intellect as well. They show that women can look good in a two-piece bikini yet still answer hard-hitting questions. But then some would ask, why do women have to do this and prove their worth in these contests, why not men?

No matter how many people try to criticize beauty pageants, they are still able to get the attention of people on a worldwide scale. And we still continue to be fascinated by them.

In the Philippines, not to be informed about the results of the Miss Universe pageant is impossible. It’s inevitable like a Manny Pacquiao match. Everybody talks about it. I only happened to catch a few glimpses of the recently-concluded Miss Universe contest because my older brother and his girlfriend were watching it. And my Facebook newsfeeds were all about who was included in the top 16 and who was not. Who was gorgeous to stand a chance and who people think won’t make the cut. After the contest, the evening news had a thirty-minute special about it. It became the headlines of the newspaper the next day and the topic of many blog posts (like this one). When I went out for a walk, people in the streets were still talking about it.

A Cupful Of Raindrops

“Daddy, why does it rain?” asked the little girl while she was carefully resting her chin on her father’s lap.  They were sitting on a wooden bench and were sheltered by a makeshift roof outside a small flower shop. She and her father were caught unprepared by nature’s waterworks.

 She stretched out her tiny palms across the heavens and watched carefully as little drops of water splashed down her hand. It’s not the first time she saw the rain, her father thought. But as he looked into her child wide-eyed in amazement, it must have been the first time that they saw it like that. And the first time that they experienced the rain—together. The little girl cupped both of her hands to gather more droplets and soon enough, her small self-made bowl was already cupful of rain. She flashed a big smile as she relished on her achievement. And so did her father.

“Look! I have rain in my hands!” laughed the little girl—obviously proud that what she accomplished was something out of the ordinary. There was a certain twinkle in her eyes when she said that, a twinkle that you see in children when they learn something new for the first time. It’s the sparkle that gets lost as one grows up into the world—that of innocence. She twitched her nose as the splashes from her cup tickled her face. And with every drop of heaven that she caught, her small red lips let out a giggle that would have warmed the hearts of those who heard it. The kind that would send every parent rushing to their daughters and sons to hug them. But her father thought that the sudden gesture of a hug would only ruin a moment so beautiful. So he resisted the urge to embrace his daughter. Instead, he let her play with the drops of water that fell from the sky.

Sunday Morning

The numbers on my desktop time tray are telling me that it’s thirty five minutes after eight o’clock. Today’s a Sunday and a very sunshiney one.  The blue sky makes me miss the rainy days we had last week. I absolutely love the rain but I guess the warm weather is fitting to describe what lies ahead for me and for everyone.

Changing FB Relationship Status Faster Than A Speeding Bullet

With people relying on social networking platforms to connect with their friends and families nowadays, it’s easy to let others know what’s going on in your life without having to go through the trouble of physical confrontations. You can post what’s bothering you by posting a status. You can share an object of interest by posting a weblink or a note. Conversely, you can let other people know your sentiments about what’s happening in their lives by posting to their walls or by commenting on their posts. Facebook even lets you announce the name of your unborn children  to the whole world if you’re expecting. These sharing possibilities are what make Facebook tick. It’s what makes people you use them. And so with the opportunity of having a virtual audience of your own that will hold onto every personal update you have, you can also let the world know the travails of your love life, or the lack thereof.

Certainly one of the hardest questions to answer
for most people 

Wake Me Up When September Ends

September has arrived. And with it, heralds the coming of the “-ber” months that usually signify that the holidays are fast arriving. Ber months usually pass by quickly without us noticing, probably because of the anticipation everyone has for the Christmas season. We count the days, literally, for whatever it is that we are looking forward to. Gifts, shopping, family bonding, simbang gabi and the usual 13^th month pay for most are enough to keep everyone giddy excited during these months. For me, the coming of the ber months usually mean another year is about to end. Another year is spent wasting time. Another year is about to come with a new promise of starting over.

Starting over—I’ve always told myself that every new calendar I buy would be a new opportunity for me to once again regain control in my life. You know, make things happen the way I want them to. But every year, changes happen out of nowhere. Split decisions are usually made. And every year, promises I’ve made to myself are broken.

I’m hoping that this year would be different. I’m determined to make it so.  And so with this new hope, I’m excited about what lies ahead. The coming of this year’s ber months didn’t come as joyful as expected though and September came with a rough start.