I'm in Auckland and I have space to write

I'm in Auckland and I have space to write. I forgot that I have all this space in the internet to write down the things in my head, those everyday murmurs. I forgot that this place exists and that I am a part of it. I forgot that I came from somewhere. I forgot that I have my own story to remember.

I arrived here in Auckland on the 28th of September 2010. It was a 14-hour flight from Manila, and it was my first time to travel country to country on my own. I must have muttered a few hundred words during the entire transfer, with more words repeated over and over. I thought I was mute and that I can only communicate by hand."Yes", "No". These are the easiest things to say. It becomes difficult when you have to decide on a question that may change the course of your life. "What would you have for dinner, sir?" "Yes." And then I would not eat the meat she just handed. I thought to compromise my beliefs. After all, it's a long flight. I ate the side dishes. And I was alright.

I flew on a Monday, by Thai Airways to Bangkok. The airport I left from in Manila was suddenly dwarfed and ancient, compared to this grandiose of Suvarnabhumi in Bangkok. I kept looking up because the building never ended. It went on and on down and up to the points of view. I felt like a country mouse in big city. But beneath the awe and wonder, I am always scared of unfamiliar places at first. I get nervous and tight and cracked up. I stop walking and step aside, and I breathe, until everything slows down to silence where I am alone and become peaceful in confidence. I open my eyes, then they become familiar, and then I adapt.

Here, Auckland

I'm here. In Auckland. I hope it gets to be good down here.

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The weather is terrible for me, for the fact that I love the heat in the tropics. But I can walk all day here with no sweat. I've started to smoke more, to keep heat. The air is so fresh I need to smoke to balance it all in.

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School has already started. I look old, but there are others like me, wondering of a good future in a new land. I am lucky to where I am now.

Twit Conversations_

Twit Conversations_
S: On the contrary, it shouldn’t be any more distinctive than a twat flying around the house, like you do.
T: Well perhaps I’m guilty of over thinking the boundaries of self-loathing; I fear it.
S: Yes, it does sound more offish.
T: More offish?
S: Yes, you twit. Here, have some toast. Should go well with your fried brain.

GMA and the Weird Repressed Dream

GMA and the Weird Repressed Dream

The basterd-ized version was weirder; it’s still vivid now. I’m somewhere in Malacanang, in a very small secret room where GMA and FG do their thing. There is a loft. On the other side is a long corridor and a secret door to the kitchen. I don’t know how I got there; perhaps by a small door from John Cusack’s floor.

The pygmy leads me on hand to the loft. Up we go. Up on the bed. She faces her back, removes her panties, and proceeds to have a butt-fuck. I do. I don’t know why, but I do. I won’t describe the others.

So after ‘the thing’ or ‘the act’, a party ensues. My weird friends come in. Her weird whores come in and we have a Party, like Peter Sellers. We’re all soaked with foam and drunk as hell, prolly stoned too. The drinks are lavish and sweet in cute martini glasses with a frolic of the umbrella and a paradise within. We were all lucid and this big orgy happening with the evocativeness of immeasurable delight. I was stamped with hedonism.

This—happened days after watching Coraline, and having a Recollection over the weekend. How F@#$@# I am.

rumblings and grumblings

<<<<>the worst rant--ever.

I could not have been the computer literate person or the ‘pc geek’, and yet my family relies heavily on anything electronic related. I fixed simple DOS systems, HD crashes, rebooting, formatting and the typical pc maintenance. The internet arrived and I was in the bandwagon for online music, films, zines, websites, and the surf-to-surf wall of an information era free of sweat (except for mousing and carpal tunnel-ing). And yet now, in the office, with a super slow internet connection, I became an old-timer, not understanding CSS, KSS, RSS, HTML12345, JAVA, FLASH, WEB 2.0. WTF. Seriously, I feel that I’ve been thrown out of the technological information wagon. I’m stuck moving browser tabs by minutes and all I can do now is stare, complain about the ‘super slow internet connection in the office’, and write—this nonsensical rant.

This has what the new age of freedom has done—made Us (I think I speak for the majority) impatient and at the same time creative in relevance to the nature of being slammed to the wall, and dead. And being alive again.

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The good thing is that here, we can store wine in the ref. I’m having one right now. I sing, Nakatikim ka na ba ng kinse anyos? (to the tune of ‘have you taken a bath in a sea of garbage aka MV’s super LSS song of the century ‘nakaligo ka na ba sa dagat ng basura?’).

In Memoriam

a couple of Reminders to Remember, you know, for my insipid memory.
o P-O-P-C-O-R-N Rules!
o 7 Secrets of Naturally Lucky People
o Brain Exercises
o For NZ, when I'm there already


For now.