Monday, December 26

The Confessions of an Insom{a}niac VI {pork chops and fruit salad}

i was talking with a very good friend online andTake_a_pilll_by_nyloncake in one of our sordid conversations, the issue of eX's came up. he told me that if he could only buy an amnesia pill to forget all his eX's, he'd buy it. i told him a happiness pill would be better. {like you'd just pop a pill in your mouth and the next thing you know you'd be in a Johnny Depp movie with a midget giving you a nice rim job... wait i think they already have prozac or xanax for that} that way, when you happen to bump into an ex {by accident} with his or her new rebound, you'd get to have the sheer pleasure of seeing your ex {and his/her rebound} wonder who you are sleeping with to have that shit-eating grin on your face. wouldn't it be great? i mean. to bump into your exes and their current rebounds and them seeing you with that big shit-eating grin plasetered on your face? i bet that would be so priceless.

because sometimes, there are just days when the gods of the universe seem to conspire and just give YOU all their godly attention. meaning, you just happen to see an ex (or ex's) with their current partners crossing the street, or eating at your favorite place, or in the bookstore buying the exact book that you were intending to buy etc. and it just pisses you off. that they seem to have moved on and are happy. like nothing really happened. and you're there. still alone. watching them cross the street. eat in your restaurant. and buy books. that is sooo ally mc beal. but hey. that happens. i bet it happened to you {yes you, the one who's still stupid enough to read this blog entry}. well it happens to all of us, i personally think. and then we see them, our formers {everything is past, before, that was} happy. and we ask ourselves, why? why are they happy and i'm not? was it my fault then? so it was me all along. maybe i shouldn't have done this in the first place.

i guess we all get those days {and nights too}. i remember mine. walking for 10 blocks from my house then walking back. yeah, it hurt. like hell it did. i carried it like a cross for months and months. it was hell. that was almost 5 years ago. when i was young (*sigh) and fresh from the dairy farm.

but you know, i'd never trade that experience for anything in the world {not even for a hot rebound guy}, because it taught me a lotta things. for one, it taught me how to survive a break up. that a break up {or a separation or a divorce} is never a single act, but always involves two people. that the blame can not only be put in one party but has to be shared. that in the end it would be useless pointing the blame to the other {because what's really the use? it's over anyways}. that it's ok to be angry or even jealous because i am entitled to. that it's ok to go into this dazed funk when you just want to walk ten blocks and smoke fags and think of him/her and the "what if's". and most of all, it taught me that i can move on. that like any storm, no matter how violent, it too, ceases.

i guess i'm old enough to tell my young(er) peers that happiness is one hard pill to swallow. and like a pill, it can also cause some sort of pain to make the over all pain go away. you can never truly be happy with someone unless you start being happy with yourself. and that is one of the most challenging aspects in the pursuit of living - trying to be HAPPY. it's never easy anyways. i mean, just look outside your window, how the f*ck can you smile with that kind of reality hitting you square in the jaw. i guess like the pursuit of living, personal happiness is also a pursuit. but you don't have to look for it. you just have to do it, i guess. just take the plunge.

what makes me happy right now? i wish i could say sex, but that would be too much of an understatement since i'm not geting any here {i so deserve a brownie right now}. a good book perhaps. that rush that you feel when you have your first fix of nicotine in the morning. a nice hot cuppa java. jose cuervo with a real nice beat playing in the background. indian music. funny movies {even chick flicks}. tocino {homemade}. sinigang with cold rice. sleeping the whole day. but most of all -

f r i e n d s

who needs a pill when you've got them around?

like a good blether [talk] about what you had for dinner and what you had for dessert, amnesia pills, shitty eX's and even possible death with a real good friend can never do you wrong. in fact, it's all but priceless.

Wednesday, December 21

The Confessions of an Insom{a}niac V {The One with the Old Man}

I went to the downtown area the other afternoon to do some errands which was mostly comprised of buying some groceries, sending mails and parcels etc.. But whenever I go downtown, I make it a point to visit a {special} friend who works in the area. So after I have finished doing my errands, I went to see if my friend was there. My last errand was the post office, so it was like a 15 minute walk to go to the place where he works. But since it was already 20 degrees below zero that afternoon, I opted to take a cab {I was really freezing my balls already}. And there he was when I arrived at the place, seated on the sidewalk and playing his Chinese violin. I observed that he was still wearing the same mao coat.

*A mao coat/jacket {derived from the Chinese leader's name} is one of the last remaining vestiges of the Cultural Revolution. It's a green generic coat usually worn by Chinese workers and peasants during autumn and winter seasons. It's really sturdy but quite heavy and it has become a sort of symbol for the Chinese ploretariat. Ironic that Chinese Cultural Revolution fashions has recently been gaining some popularity in the faux ghetto and euro trash trends in the west and would cost hundreds and sometimes even thousands of dollars or euros a piece {regular mao jacket would only cost 15 dollars or less}. Funny how a brand name changes everything*

Going back to my friend

I saw he was wearing the same mao jacket all tattered and unwashed and shit. He was wearing it the first time I met him. It was last spring. I remember it clearly. I was doing some random shopping and was just going to some stores without buying anything and was really bored to death about my meaningless existence {which was magnified by the fact that I was doing some random shopping and browsing}. I was really bored and I wasn't wearing enough clothes. Spring in this city is till considered winter in many parts of the world. I was stupid enought to go outside of my apartment wearing only layered clothing. I thought I could pull off a Canadian {well, who was I kidding, I was from the friggen tropics!}. And so there I was, feeling like some little match girl who just stepped out of a sad dreary novel, with out the matches. I decided to go home when I heard this music playing, from this old 60-ish guy sitting by the sidewalk. It was nothing special, the music. I mean there are a lotta people who do that in this city. But he was sorta special. I was just, attracted to him. I stood there, 3 feet away from this 60-ish old man playing an old Chinese tune {the one you usually hear in Chinese kung fu movies}, just listening... taking it all in... taking him all in. There was something about him that made me stop, and move closer; like close enough that I finally decided to sit beside him and smoked a couple of fags {ciggies}. When he finished, he smiled at me. I offered him a fag. He gladly accepted. And that's how it started. Our unusual friendship {if you could call it one}. So everytime I was in the downtown area, I would always visit the old man with the violin. I'd stay with him for like 20 minutes or so, smoking with him {sometimes smoking my cigarettes and sometimes smoking his}, then talking about the weather and how he was and how I was {our conversation revolved mainly on those topics as my Chinese was so limited}.

I haven't seen him for a month now. But when I saw him, he was still the same. Old. Mao jacket and a Russian cap and all. Chinese violin. a cardboard box where he kept the "donations". And most of all, that genuine smile that I rarely see from people these days.

He was cold. I was cold. The only difference was, I was wearing more this time and he was still wearing the same. I was damn sure he was feeling the cold. I was definitely feeling it down to my testicles. I suddenly got worried. He started talking in Chinese. I barely understood what he said. All I kept saying was hao, hao, hao {which meant either yes, or good or hmmm}. He offered me a seat which I gladly accepted and I started to dig out from my bag for my pack of cigarettes but he stopped me, telling me it was his turn to offer me one. We smoked in momentary silence. Then I asked if he ate already. He said yes. He probably did, but I surmised it was about 8 hours ago or more since he had his last meal. So I decided to buy him dinner and coffee. I told the old man that I would be back in a while because I needed to do something. As I was walking towards the nearest food stall, I almost slipped on the pavement. I muttered an expletive {or two} and cursed myself for going to a city up north to work. The cold was unbearable for me {the reason why I don't go out a lot during winter months}. To be honest, I hated the winter. Where I came from, people {especially children} are raving about snow and icicles and snowmen and snowball fights. I was too, when I was a kid. When I got here and experienced my first winter, I realized that I was really a person of the tropics. That the cold was never to be my element. I hated the cold, I hated the snow, and I surely hated slipping on icy pavements. I couldn't even imagine myself sitting outside the street the whole day or just being outside of my warm apartment for the whole day.

Then I felt guilty.

This was a first in a very long time. Here I was complaining and moaning about the mundaness of everything and my sorta meaningless existence, and there he was, my old friend. I felt like a total asshole. a scum. a kakashka {a piece of shit}. When I felt the hot coffee warming my hands, I came out of the daze and found myself again standing in front of my old friend. He was again telling me something that I didn't understand. I told him in broken Chinese that I thought he could use something to eat. He did. He ate and drank the coffee. I was just sitting beside him while he ate. Looking at him. His face was old, even older for someone who's sixty. I realized that gravity has definitely gotten hold of his youth. And probably life, too. His hands were beautiful, though. Old, calloused and a bit dirty but big and beautiful all the same. I looked at him with this fondness that I couldn't describe. And I have never felt this fondness from a total stranger. You could say I liked him. I think I do. Maybe it was his hands or his face or his violin or his poverty {that made me want to save him, which I knew I could not}. I didn't dare look for an answer or even come close to asking myself at that time, because I knew it was meanignless to ask myself something like that. It would be stupid, I think. But I just looked at him. And I sort of cherished this feeling for him. This fondess. Then I thought about me 10, 20, 30 or 40 years from now. I knew I shouldn't have, but I was also prone to these feelings. I mentally told myself to stop and I almost said it out loud. Then I heard my friend thanking me for the coffee and dinner {that was the only word I could understand in his sentence}. I told him de nada. I gave him a twenty and told him to put it in his pocket and not in his donation box because I knew that his boss would be keeping the twenty if it was in the donation box and not him. He smiled and put the bill in his pocket. I just lit another cigarette and so did he. We smoked again in silence.

Then it started snowing. It was a light snowfall. It was white and feathery but very very light. I could almost even taste it under my palate if I opened my mouth a little. It was even beautiful, despite the ugliness of everything. I mean if you are seated on a sidewalk, you'd see everything around you from a different perspective. And for the many months that I have sat there with my friend, I began to see the ugliness in everything. On the pavements lazed with spit, cigarette butts, gum wrappers, sticks etc. On people's shoes. On men's trousers. One women's skirts and stockings. On expensive cars. i could even see boogers hiding in the nostrils of pedestrians. Everything. I could see everything from down here.

I realized that many {if not most} people tend to think that the people who beg on the streets are ugly, and dirty and vile and shit. Sure you'd give them spare change or some would give them the look of sympathy or even prayers, but at the back of our heads we'd still think they're dirty and vile and scum. Like we wouldn't want to have anything to do with them. But the irony is, so are we. We look down on them. Literally. We are standing on the streets, proud and dignified, above them; and them, kneeling or even lying on their stomachs, below us. And all we see are dirty people asking for your spare change. But when you are low, literally sitting or lying on the sidewalk pavement, you'd be surprised to see the same. That there is little difference.

That afternoon nearing evening, the ugliness dissipated to make way to what was beautiful and serene. I looked at my friend and I smiled at him. He did the same. I shook his hand and told him that I was going home. Again, we found ourselves in the same position the first day we met. I, standing. Him, sitting down on the pavement. But it didn't matter now. Because everything was beautiful at that moment, when the light snow was falling everywhere; on the streets, on the trash bins, on cars, on people and their clothes and on our faces. It was like a dream. Or maybe like a scene in some great, yet unnamed film. It was almost sacred. Holy. Like we were being baptized by some nameless and faceless preacher telling us that we were forgiven and absolved of our pasts no matter what was in it, without any questions. That we were beautiful and everything we do or say from henceforth was to be beautiful. We parted ways.

I looked back at my friend before turning for the corner. He was there, sitting and holding his Chinese violin and was ready to play yet another nameless song. He did. He was playing the one he played when we first met last Spring. When I was real cold and was feeling real shitty about myself. I smiled at him before turning for the corner. He didn't see me now. But I still smiled at him. I looked around. It was still snowing. And for the first in a very long time, I was happy that it was snowing. Because everything was beautiful. From above... and from below.

Sunday, October 16

The Confessions of an Insom{a}niac IV

you're beautiful.

and i don't know what to do,

'coz i'll never be with you.

and it's time to face the truth,

i will never be with you.

Wednesday, October 5

The Confessions of an Insom{a}niac III {the One with Fernando Poe, Jr.}

I woke up at 3 am this morning with the phone ringing. It was from a very good friend from Paris who, thinking that it was Saturday Sunday, the weekend, thought I just came from a night of tequilla, funky music and reckless abandonment. Well, I wish, but since I had WORK on a SUNDAY, I couldn't possibly stay up all night, ergo the reason why I slept early and was rudely awaken (kidding mi amore, you still owe me a phonecall, by the way). We talked for like five minutes and I wanted to talk more but I was waaaay too knackered and sleepy and bothered (I'll explain later). She let me go after five minutes with a promised callback the next day (I'm still waiting....)

Now, on with what bothered me that unholy hour.

You see, I was dreaming before Shaz (hehe mwah) woke me. I think it was good that the phone woke me because the thing with most of my dreams is that I forget them the next day. I guess waking up with the phone ringing kept the dream fresh in my cerebral cortex. I dreamt I was back in my old uni, all shy, naive, gum chewing, Jesus loving (still do, by the way) and a small-town-boy-with-a-tommy-page-haircut humanities major studying in some school whatshisname near the red light district in Manila. What was weird about this dream was that I was wearing something, hehe (which was a breakthrough considering that most of my dreams could be censored by the MTRCB, FCC and the Vatican for mere exposure, kissing aaaaaaand #@^%$#). Anyways, I was wearing something white, like I just came out of a detergent commercial. In fact I smelled like I just came out of a laundromat. Very Tide Ultra, I must say. There I was, all squeaky clean and whiter than a Klu Klux Klan acolyte ready to burn someone (like some white guy named GWB) when I caught another scent... something ethereal, something earthy. SOMETHING VANILLA.

I followed the scent and it led me to, lo and behold some dude in a white shirt and dirty blue jeans, and a waaaaay cute face. Maaaaaaaaaaaaan the face of this 20 something guy in front of me was a sight to look at. He was I dunno, more than attractive, more than sexy, more of something I cannot pinpoint. Maybe it was the vanilla. Then, like an epiphany, I realized that I knew this guy. This vanilla guy in front me, somehow I knew him. There was something vaguely familiar about his face. Then vanilla guy, sensing my (gawking)awe, spoke to me. His voice was, I dunno how to describe it. Different. I could have creamed in my pants if he spoke my name. Good thing he didn't. Instead he said his name. He said he was Ronnie Poe. FERNANDO POE JR.

Yes, FCUKING Fernando Poe, Jr was standing in front of me, in his friggin 20's with just a white shirt and a pair of dirty blue jeans that seem to cling to his lower extremeties like there was no tomorrow. Not to mention the Vanilla scent that he keeps emitting. Maaaan if this was a wet dream, I never want to wake up (Sorry readers, my dream was all wholesome and soft core, hehe. and besides if it were hard core you'd never see it in THIS BLOG!).

Moving on.

So, here I was standing (more like DROOLING) over the King of Philippine Cinema, the Panday (Blacksmith), while the twenty something Ronnie is smiling at me asking me where MY MOTHER WAS?!?!?!? We we're going to a room (a classroom you perves!), I was carrying his bag, then he asks me WHERE MY MOTHER WAS! AARRRGH. I was drowning in his scent. I was like so close to him. I felt like melting there and then he gives me the MOTHER CARD! Well, I was stupid enuff to answer. I told Ronnie (hehe, we were in first name basis now) that she was attending some conference ( I don't know why the hell I said that). Then all of a sudden, he smiled and started to poke me in my side. Hehe, well, I'm kinda like ticklish on the sides so I was like giggling like a fcuking schoolboy in front of his highschool crush. It was sooo trippy being with him. Then he asked the weirdest favor. He asked me if I could help him change his clothes!!!!! then i started to feel dizzy and stuff, then his vanilla scent was getting stronger and stronger, his face became clearer and clearer, his whole body was coming closer and closer to mine then out of the corner of my eye, I saw my best friend Allan with some anonymous classmate of mine giving me a wink, somehow telling me to go for it, say "YES". I was about to respond to his request when I heard from some distant plane a PHONE RINGING.

Then I woke up and the rest was recollection.

I can still smell the vanilla while I'm writing this blog entry. God, if only Freud were here (like he'd make a difference!). That scent, that voice, that face.

While I was at work, I kept thinkin to myself why I dreamt of Fernando Poe, Jr. I mean, there must be a reason. I thought about the food I ate the night before. I read somewhere that sometimes, the food you eat affects your dreams. This is what I ate. I had pasta with mayonaise and mutton slices and ketchup and mustard and bagoong. Well, maybe that was it.

Still...why Fernando Poe? Was it even him? Maybe it was Fernando Poe, Sr. Well, I'm pretty sure that it was Fernando Poe (either Senior. or Junior). He introduced himself for crying out loud. And another thing that kinda bothered me was I don't know how my dream ended. Would have I said YES? NO? Would I have helped him change his clothes? I guess I'll never know.

Well, where ever he is, whoever he is... I hope he's groovy and serene and happy. And by the way Ronnie, if you're reading this somewhere, hehe, keep the scent. It suits you.

FERNANDO POE, JR. (1939-2004)

Monday, October 3

The Confessions of an Insom{a}niac II

couldn't sleep

again... maaaaaaaaaaaaan this is so getting old. i've read like 25 stories and i still couldn't sleep. (seriously, i think i need help. )


lately, i've been thinkin about the fuck*&g human condition. i mean, it's just unfair sometimes. like i was browsing at this blogpage and reading about this guy who thinks that the world is caving on him just because he has crisis on where to go next month, paris or moscow - to attend a bloody fashion show! don't get me wrong, i like the guy. he's kewl and shit and he doesn't give a flying f&!@ whatever comes outta his mouth. he's filthy rich, he pops antidepressant drugs like smints and mentos, he wears women's clothing and he doesn't give a shit. he has spunk, and one expensive spunk he has. anyways, what i'm trying to say here is this. here he is, filthy rich... man, i mean his fucking hermes bag could alleviate a third world country's debt. and here i am (LoL), fucking dirt poor. hohoho. i'm enjoying this. ok ok. man. sometimes, life is just way too fucked up mysterious. you got rich assed people and poor shitty people, or rich shitty people and poor assed people, whatever. and then you got people in the middle. it doesn't make any difference though. sometimes everything seems so FUCKING hopeless!

just look (i must warn the reader that there will be too many words like FUCK and FUCKING involved, at least in the metaphorical sense. so if you are not comfortable with the aforementioned words, please be advised not to go further, because it will just give you an upset stomach or if you're a perve who likes to use these words a lot for sexual gratification, a good case of blue balls)

the fucking economy is fucked up. the fucking government couldn't even fucking represent the majority of the people who are DIRT FUCKING POOR. the fucking government representatives are dirty fucking rich. and the fucking majority were fucking stupid enough to vote for them. the fucking constitution couldn't even fucking protect me. i couldn't even fucking get married (as if i'd want to)! fucking jollibee value meals are so fucked up expensive (whatever happened to fifty pesos drinks spaghetti, rice and chicken?). fucking lucky me pansit canton looks so malnourishingly small these days (you can even cook the shit in a test tube). fucking people (even rich ones) still eat the fucking malnourished noodles. the fucking tv is showing fucking trash all the time (not that i don't like it, but PLEASE MAKE US FUCKING THINK! AT LEAST FUCKING BALANCE IT A LITTLE, YOU BLOODSUCKING NETWORK EXECUTIVES). fucking floods every year (you have to fucking swim to go somewhere). there are fucking muggers everywhere (they get everything from cellphones to class rings to hankies to designer underwear) and they fucking know when to mug you. fucking can't smoke in makati. fucking networking companies who suck money out of people just to buy a fucking bar of soap. fucking korean novelas. fucking exes (don't ask).. fucking britney pears. fucking latoya jackson. fucking james van der beek (hehe, i wish). fucking venga boys. fucking george w. bush. fucking pat robertson. fucking ratzinger. fucking global warming. fucking bill gates. fucking republicans. fucking democrats (who are closeted republicans). fucking peter greenway (i don't get a shit of what you make). fucking rumsfeld. fucking global war on terrorism. fucking bin laden. fucking dollar and cfucking euro. and fucking yen. fucking greenspan. fucking fuckity fuck fuck fuckaroo fuck fuck. FUCK

there. i'm finished. i think i could sleep now. that was good therapy. maaaaaaaaaan i'm beat. i should call it a night. hey, don't mind what i said above. bah, don't listen to me. i'm just one fucked up insomniac trying to catch the elusive sleeping god of kiribati. i'm off. i'm audi. whatever. i should stop this. hehe. fuck. next time i swear, i'm gonna take sleeping pills.

Thursday, September 29

The Confessions of an Insom{a}niac

September 29, 2 am. COULDN'T SLEEP..... tried everything... tried praying... tried smoking... tried watching movies... tried reading... tried writing... tried dancing... tried #$@!^%$(... tried counting sheep... what to do?

well, i did this...

... decided to have a haircut... no barber or hairdresser around, though... so i gave myself one...

after that, took one vicious cold shower, then i finally dozed off.... at 2:45 am beijing time.

Monday, September 12

about Rilke

Lately I've been rereading Rilke.

He spoke to me once this summer, when I was alone and hungry and penniless on the train, and with the Gobi and the Huang Ho river as my only companions. I read him for so many times on that train ride to Beijing. Two days, he was my food and water. Two days, he told me how to speak with the Gobi and Huang Ho. Two days, he told me how to let go. Two days, he told me that it was alright to let the questions go unanswered. That in my own sweet time I will eventually get my answers. Two days.

Now he speaks to me again. Turns out that I'm not that pretty fucked up. I guess, I have Rilke to thank for.

Friday, July 29

Urumuqi July 29 7:05 PM

Tomorrow I leave for Beijing to drown in her noise.

Tomorrow I will leave Xinjiang and I will leave you there.

A two day train ride that will cross through small towns, ancient cities, and the Gobi desert,

will help me purge myself from you.

I will leave your face in one of it's quiet towns.

I will bury memories of you in it's ancient cities.

I will leave your name in the sands of the Gobi.

I will forget.

I will try.

Even if it kills me.

Tomorrow I leave for Beijing to drown in her noise.

Tuesday, July 26

almost penniless. very bohemian

i need to go to beijing. but i have to wait for 3 days. aaaaargh.

Sunday, July 24

the one with the shittiest day that turned out to be ok after all




Saturday, July 23

Urumuqi 22 July 2005 12:05 am

I am eating my polur (pilaf - think fried rice or paella) in this small family owned restaurant just outside Er Dao Qiao, owned by a Uygur man named Abulikim. I like eating here. The restaurant is nothing fancy. In fact, it is anything but fancy. The pilaf is cheap, it's flavors enticing and the rice that slowly melts in your mouth helps you realize that this place is unpretentious. I was able to look at the owner's eyes when he offered me some tea. They were sincere and proud and musical at the same time. When I saw his eyes, that was the time that I realized thatI made the right decision in eating in a less touristy place.

Seated outside, I am sharing a table with a mother and daughter eating polur on the same plate. They seem happy, contented by the humble polur on their plate. The daughter, about nine years old, i think, looks at me with her big, brown and naive eyes. She's probably wondering why I was writing in a restaurant instead of eating pilaf or kebab. Then she shyly looks the other way, chewing her pilaf and all, when I recognize her stare.

A while ago, there was a tired-looking woman wearing a sequint black dress with a daughter who passed by and asked for some tea. She was given one. She did not pay. They willingly gave her a drink.

I see a sense of belonging and shared responsibility among the Uygurs. Something that I do not see among the proud Hans (Chinese) or the Filipinos.

I am humbled.


21 July 2005, 8 pm Beijing time.

I am finally here. Almost 40++ hours of rough track, 60 sticks of Zhong Nan Hai, 2 bottles of mineral water, and 5 hours of the worst sleep I've had in my life... I am here.

My first destination is Urumuqi's Central Market, Er Dao QIao, they call it. Er Dao Qiao is a gargantuan bazaar that Uygur knives, Uygur clothes, Tibetan hats (which, I must confess,immediately bought once I saw one!), Hotan jades, Chinese silk, Chinese antiques, Chinese faux antiques and even Russian dolls. I am sitting in an outdoor cafethat sells hami (melon) bingqilin (icecream) - the Uygur peoples sorbetes. The hami ice cream i'm eating right now tastes so amazing, and to be honest, mildly erotic! (probably because of the man who served me the binqilin!).

Suprisingly, the weather is not that bad in Urumuqi. I was expecting it to be unforgiving like the weather in Xi'an, but instead it was so welcoming. It's already half-past eight but it's still daylight and people are everywhere! All of them beautiful and walking, chattering, eating, taking pictures and shit in this festive funk. I could see the Uygurs, the Hans, a trickle of Europeans and Americans, and of course, the quintessential Japanese tourists with their patented sun-hat-and-camera-look. I guess I am the only Filipino here. I am truly alone (for the first time) and it doesn't make me sad. Tonight, I will revel in my solitude. I shall celebrate it. Like all the people in this bazaar who seem to celebrate their just being here.

Wednesday, July 20

things to do when you are on a 42 hour train ride in china

Hehe. Someone from friendster sent me this message when he learned that I was going backpacking in NWChina. Suprisingly, I actually did some of the things he suggested.

things to do when you are on a 42 hour train-ride in china:
courtesy of danMig

  1. try to spot the greatwaLL(1hour) actually did that. saw one along the way
  2. read ancient chinese history(5mins) no way i'm doing that! read something. but was feeling too shitty to read so i stopped reading.
  3. faLL fast asLeep fLat on your ass(11:55hours) slept for 5 hours tops. even drooled for the first two hours.
  4. make breath sLates on the window and draw genitaLas(30:mins) wanted to but i was on the f%$#in aisle seat! i actually wanted to do the titanic-hand-on-the-car-window-thing. f$ck&t, i gotta do that when i go home.
  5. evesdrop on other cabins(2:30 hours) f&^%in aisle seat!? besides, they wouldn't let me in the cabins coz that assh@le attendant kept askin for my train ticket and id. another thing is my chinese is sooo shitty and one passenger told me that she could here like 4 or 5 dialects being spoken on the carriage.
  6. finish 42 sticks of maLboros everyhour erm, more like 60.
  7. apreciate the ride by thinkin how $#!+Y the phiLippine raiL system is(aLL the time) you know, i actually did that. for real.
  8. savour the finest chinese haLLucenagenic herbs by the art of tea(1hour) hehe. brought my own tea. i think they were very effective, coz i kept seeing chinese people! lolz
  9. feeL d rush&high baby!(12hours) well i felt it alright, the RUSH, that is. imagine being on an overcrowded carriage, like it's sooo overcrowded that people have to sleep UNDER your seat and you can't even move your feet because you might hit a head or a breast or something. everybody's going for the toilet so you have to hold your pee for like an eternity before you could finally pee on a hole (you could see the tracks below, yeah people, very keanu reeves in speed). people either pushing you or stealing your seat or sometimes "borrowing" it for a while (like 3 hours, it was ok, i got tired of sitting anyways). and asking where you're from, ( i honestly wanted to tell them that i was from kiribati but i didn't know the chinese name for it). yeah, i felt it alright.
  10. withdraw/tweak(12hours) felt like i was tweaking for the whole goddamn ride! and i wasn't even high f#&kit!
wasnt that fun?

well, i have to say that it was harsh. but it was also beautiful. it was a great experience. i actually felt like crying and singin some julie andrews while do some spinning and shit. i'll tell you 'bout it some other time. meanwhile, i gotta go coz i seriously need a major piss. where's the bathroom?