MEMORIES OF HALLOWEEN. GYM GIRL. DOING THE CROW. DREAMS. BOOKS & THE LADY BUG IN MY TEA

Halloween, is just 3 days away in the Noodle Kingdom! And nobody cares around these parts. Frankly, I don't think Halloween is that much celebrated in Asia. I mean even in my Coconut Republic, it rarely draws a lotta attention. Yeah, you have the usual jerk o' lantern displayed in malls and shops and massage parlors and brothels, and of course there's the staple Monster's League {Dracula, Frankenstein, Britney Spears post Grammy Opening yada yada}. But you'd rarely see kids outside wearing costumes and knocking on some person's doorstep to ask for candy. Asians don't have the Halloween spirit in them - kids all dressed up in costumes and trick or treating, while the grown ups dress up in costumes and go to Halloween parties to get drunk and/or laid. My mother, when she was in California, found the whole celebration of Halloween interesting and disturbing and pretty funny. She had to chaperone my nephew {who was 8 at that time}, all dressed in some costume with make up and all. My sister was on duty that night and her husband {who's now an ex and on steroids at 50 something} couldn't be bothered. So my mother was on kid detail. So there she was, outside with my nephew along with prolly a hundred other kids in costumes and make up with their mom/dad/grandma/grandpa/babysitter/lawyer/trust fund adviser in tow - all saying TRICK OR TREAAAAAAT! She told me she would've enjoyed it but she had to think of a lotta things. She had to keep looking at the map that my sister gave my mom. You see, my sister gave her a route to follow. There were only certain houses that my nephew had to trick or treat, because she knows the people who live there. Then she had to keep her eye on suspicious looking people who might be child predators {gay-ish looking men... white... in their mid forties to early fifties... with sunglasses...}. Then she had to check the candies in my nephew's candy bag because she had to take out any suspicious looking candy or whatnot {there was a poison candy scare at that time in America}. And then she had to watch my nephew's candy intake. My mom told me that Americans were weird. First, parents spend money for a costume and buy shitloads of candies so they could give it away to other kids who knock on their doors while their own kids go outside to knock on other people's doors so they could ask for the exact same candies that they bought for the other kids. I mean where's the logic in that {mom's words}? Then parents are worried about the safety of their kids {predators} and the sweets thats been given to them by their own neighbors. Mom told me that Californian's are very health conscious. No sugar for you. The adobo is swimming in oil. Too much rice. One soda per week. Drink your juice. Milk. Organic. 5 meals a day. yada yada yada. But then when it comes to Halloween, kids binge on candies like ecstasy pills on a rave party.

"But when I cook Filipino food, they complain that its too oily and fattening {the kids don't mind though}, but when it's Halloween it's free for all! You know what I think? i think they should just buy the candies and give it to their kids and not to the other children. That way, there would be no problem for poisoned candies, kidnappers. It's all too problematic for the adults. The children don't complain about my cooking?!?!?! I think they like my cooking! Little Mic Mic eats a lot of rice when I cook. See? They love my cooking! Don't you miss my cooking anak?"

When my mother was retelling me the story, I couldn't help but laugh. I picture her, wearing this Middle America housewife dress with apron and all, with a middle America smile on her face while she gives adobo wrapped in aluminum foils to the kids trick or treating on her doorstep. I only went to a Halloween party once, and it was here in the Noodle Kingdom and it was yeaaaars ago. Wendy and Jane dragged me to go to a Halloween party in one club and I said, what the heck I'll go. So I grabbed my Navy Seal wife beater and put on some camouflaged jeans and went to the party. I was going as an ex Navy Seal who got caught going down on my lieutenant something something who resembled Kurt Russel in Stargate. The party was ok. Mostly a bunch of twenty somethings {some older} wearing the same Hairy Porter costume. Frankly, nobody was creative enough to prepare. Well except one. I think it was this guy from Chicago who went as Oscar the Grouch. He really prepared lemme tell you. I gave him an A- for effort. Anyways, there I was dancing to the same song and drinking my beer when one girl in a Goth costume started dancing with me. She was kinda purdy. Petite I would say. We were dancing. She lit up a fag then gave it to me. I smoked it and then she lit up another fag and smoked it herself. She was giving me this look! You know, the look that the human species give that is worthy of an episode for National Geographic or Animal Planet. Like "nyaaawrrrr". She was getting closer and I was trying to get Wendy's attention so she could cut in, but she was busy chugging her beer and dancing. I was getting anxious. Then she asked me what my costume was. I told her "Don't Ask, Don't Tell." She got the message. Clearly I think because after the song she went dancing with another guy in a business suit. Sucks being the only gay guy in that club. One thing, if I'm ever gonna go to a Halloween party again, I want it to go to a party with a mixed crowd. No offense to straight people, but imagine if you go to a party where you are the ONLY straight guy / gal there. You'd prolly think it would suck. Or not. Whatever, I want to go to a Halloween party where there is a good chance that the guy in the vampire costume would at least sink his teeth in me by the stroke of midnight. And I want a better costume. I already have something in mind. I want to go as the Highlander but in a kilt, with a sword and in Jimmy Choo's. Of course, there's the Scottish accent. I still have to work on that, though. Speaking of Halloween, Gym Girl, is getting hitched! I had the unfortunate chance of meeting her again three weeks ago. As I was leaving the gym, there she was in her full gym girl glory {without the umbrella}. She politely grabbed me and took me to a corner and told me that she was getting married. I had to give her the "ohmygodcongratulationswhenisthebigday???" face and act when she told me the BIG news. Apparently, she answered an online personals ad "met" one British guy who works in the city at some company, 50-ish, single {let's hope} yadi yadi and they went out on a date, there was a chemical reaction with the kung pao chicken, sparks flew and the rest is post coital history. I am actually happy for her. Genuinely. Well, I'm more genuinely happy for me, actually. As long as she is happy, I am willing to give way to true love! I asked her if they already picked a date, but she told me it was still under negotiation. She is still asking for my number though. She told me that she kept calling me so many times after that dark, stormy night. I told her my phone got stolen while I was on a bus to work and I still haven't bought a new one {thank God my phone didn't ring at that time}. She did ask me to be his future husband's best man during her wedding. I had to pretend I didn't understand what she was saying but I did tell her that I would come to her wedding. Wouldn't miss it for the world. I'll even take pictures, I told her. I told her to keep me posted on the date so I can prepare a gift and shit. What about your phone?, she asks. I told her I'll buy one soon and I'll tell her my number the next time we meet. I'm praying the Brit doesn't change his mind. She does, indeed, look happy. Radiant, like an incandescent bulb circa 1920's. Speaking of health and fitness, I am happy to tell you guys that I can officially do the crow pose. I have been doing yoga on and off lately because of the crazy schedule but every time I go to the gym, I do yoga as my stretching and warm up exercise and I practice doing the crow pose. Then one day, lo and behold, Omar can do the crow!!!!!!!! {does the victory dance, and sings "OMAR CAN DO THE CROWOW! OMAR CAN DO THE CROWOW! OMAR CAN DO THE CROWOW!}. The sweetest part is, I think the cute trainer at the gym actually saw me doing it. I'm still shy around him. I''ve actually talked to all the trainers in the gym {MEN AND WOMEN BOTH, I'M NOT THAT SLEAZY!} except him. Sigh. He's not like all Alpha Male you know - all pumped and exuding of cavemanism. He's more like a Beta Pup. Nufff. {Omar takes a deep breath then whispers his mantra of the month: I am not a slut. "I am not a slut. I am not a slut... I am not a slut... I am not a slut... *just a little sleazy*... I am not a slut..."} I've been having weird dreams lately {what's new}. I woke up this morning with a vivid recollection of my dream. I was on aircraft bomber, tied to this superduperbatmanmegatronATOMICBOMB that would destroy all of humanity, and I was smiling... and hard.


I have been reading some books lately. I just finished "Kafka on the Shore" last month and maaaaaaaaaaaaan it blew me away. If some of you guys are into books with small fonts without pop-ups you have to read Haruki Murakami. Just read him, and you'll understand why I put 13 a's in "man". I'm now reading Marina Lewycka's "A Short history of Tractors in Ukrainian". I was reading it while I was having my haircut today. The stylist asked me what was funny but my Chinese was limited to "ME ORDER FOOD, HOLD SPICE" and "YOU HAVE FIRE FOR SMOKE SMOKE?" to explain why I found the book funny, so I just told held the book up and told him that this was funny. I'm drinking Lipton Tea now. You see about 2 months ago, I bought like 100 tea bags of Lipton tea { I'm Asian and they were on sale! so sue me}, without even thinking that I rarely drink western tea. The catch is, that they were about to expire in 2 month's time. So here I am, trying to beat the expiration date. I haven't gotten sick or anything so it must be still ok. I'm actually beginning to like tea, I think. In fact, I'm drinking it every morning now. It's gonna be my caffeine substitute for a while. I was drinking it this morning then I suddenly felt something moving on my tongue. It tasted kind of iffy so I spat it out. It was a lady bug on its back, with it's feet moving frantically as if she's trying to tell me "Why did you try to eeaat meeeeee?" Poor bug, I thought. It must've been horrible being in somebody's mouth. I apologized to the ladybug and set it free to the wild {outside my window} and I prayed to the universe that I wouldn't be reincarnated as a bug. Please not a bug.they get squashed or drowned in expired tea. A dolphin would be nice. That way cute guys in tight swimsuits get to ride me in some Marine Park, AND PEOPLE GET TO WATCH! Or I could be in a movie. Damn.

feelin good

Despite of my recent bouts with life and the human condition, which was epitomized by my previous blog post, I'm feeling good. Why so? Well fuck! Shit happens, move on and start living life and fucking enjoying it! I keep forgetting that that was and still is, my life slogan. Plus, I'm writing again. and damn it feels good to be actually putting my laptop to good use aside from browsing free porn

{by the way, if you any of you out there who happens to read this and is an x tube member, look for the vid where two French guys - one blond and one suspiciously Latino/Asian looking - are doing it in an RV while a French TV show plays in the background. I tell ya, it's worth seeing. Clearly the best 20 minute video in xtube! And if you do have the full length feature, please I BEG YOU please send it to me by email or by post *I am willing to give my address and someone else's credit card number! Just send it in a non suspicious looking brown envelope that says HANDLE WITH CARE, socks inside!}

Where was I? Oh yeah, happy. feeling good. Yep, yes sirree.

I do have to thank some people though

My fans (slaps myself) - all 3 of them. Fernando, Sunshine and Keith. Thanks for asking me to write some and bearing with the melancholy.

My friends here in the Noodle Kingdom - Nina, Chu, Joseph, the Serbian crew in Beijing, Wendy and Jane.

My friends in North America - Ry, Poppa Reed, Davey, Sunshine and Keith (I thanked you twice already so if you have the full version of that French video SEND IT TO ME PLEAAAAAAASE)

My friends in Europe, Tanja and Shaz. Tanja, thanks for the letter. I sent one to you and Shaz in pdf format. PDF is the way to go honey. Google it and download it.

Auch, thanks for bearing with me.

Jepoy, thanks for trying to cheer me up.

Rex and Dreux, thanks for the IMs.

Fernando, thank you for the support and the pompoms and the cartwheels and the back flips.

God, I still like to have my refund if possible.

There you go. So expect more posts in my friendster, vox and blogger blogs. And one request, dear random reader, if you do read my blogs, I'd appreciate some comments good or not so good. I need to know where this is headed and your comments and/or suggestions could be helpful in figuring it out. So yeah, expect more post. If not, bombard me with emails demanding for one.

Oh yeah, one more thing. I'm starting to have Jesus abs now.

The Confessions of an Insom{a}niac XVII

It's past midnight and I am sitting in front of my laptop, shivering and trying to put my thoughts into words. Lately, I have had a difficult time putting thoughts into words. I guess I am in what most people would call, a funk. I recognized that weeks ago, and yes, I still am in it, if you must know. I haven't given my floor the proper attention it needed, I haven't been giving my body the proper attention it needed (I have been skipping showers). I guess that's why people call it a "funk", because most people who are in it kind of smell funky.

Today, I did not go to work. I called in sick. Tomorrow would probably be the same case. I was in a cab going to work and was already running late. The traffic in my city has become horrendous. There used to be a time when a five kilometer ride would only take 10 minutes on an early weekday morning - and that's rush hour already. That's not the case these days, with more and more new moneyed Chinese buying European and Japanese made cars to accentuate their modern new moneyed lifestyle. There used to be a time when all I see on the roads were Jetta's and the FAW cars made in China, and the quintessential Chinese tuk tuks. Now, it's all about Hummers, Bentleys, BMWs, Benzes and whatever designer car you could think of for the filthy moneyed, and Toyotas, Nissans, Audis, Buicks, and whatever's in season for the not so filthy moneyed Chinese. Even mopeds have woofer speakers with surround sound and DTS. I miss the Jetta's and the tuk tuks. Maybe that was the reason why I was riding taxis, because they were Jetta's. So there I was, looking outside the cab window, counting the car models and I wasn't even thinking about work or being late. Then I stopped counting cars. I called work and told them I was sick. After calling them, I paid the cabbie the fare and ate junk food at the nearest Mc Donald’s. On mid bite, I again told myself that I was in a funk. I didn't like it and I didn't like saying it to myself, but hey, I had to start from somewhere. I finished the malnourished burger that I was eating and wandered around the city.

It is not easy admitting that I am in the state of funkness. But then again, most things in life aren't easy. Even shitting is not easy. You have to exert a decent amount of effort to push that turd down the toilet. If the turd is the size of a Buick, then you have to exert more (some pray, others count sheep). But when you hear that "plop", that distinct sound of your turd dropping or should I say, diving into the toilet water, that is music to your ears. There is relief. And a beautiful relief that is. It's like a long awaited exhale. I am, to put it bluntly, in a midshit crisis. There is this Buick hanging down my orifice and both of us, unlikely partners, are waiting for that beautiful "plop" to resonate in my bathroom.

I am shivering. I just got out of the bathtub because I finally pushed myself to write something. My window is slightly open to let the air in. It's -1 Celsius outside but I don't care. I need that air even if it shrinks my balls to the size of raisins.

I scan my flat. It's clean. It has a lot of things - things from the Philippines that I have brought here and things that I have accumulated for five years living in China. Books, notebooks, shoes, candles, boxes, plants, more books, trinkets, posters, rocks (I collect them), post its, pencils and pens that I stole, lighters, rugs, lamps, coins, plates, glasses, pots and pans, chopsticks, spoons and forks, bottles, feng shui things, clothes, letters, papers, receipts, bags, this and that. If I could count them, every little bit of thing that is inside my small flat, I believe it would number to more than a thousand, probably two utmost. It's amazing, how a person can accumulate so many things in a short span of time. Every laundry day, I empty my bag, wallet and my pockets and I find a receipt or two, spare change, an anonymous pen and sometimes even a paper clip or a post it. It made me think. Human beings, in general, like to accumulate, to collect and to gain things, material or otherwise. It's an incessant need. It's part of our being human. I look at my flat and I see things from the notepad that I just wrote on, to the 3 year old trainers that I bought for less than 20 dollars. Things. My things. An aggregate of my material consciousness. I say to myself

"This is me".

This is me. This pair of three year old trainers that ran on Chinese soil and pavements and stepped on God knows what. They also had the privilege of running in one quaint town by the beach in the Philippines two summers ago. They're all worn out all over - ragged and screaming for recycling. This is me. In these sticks of sandalwood incense that I bought about two weeks ago, which I always burn when I want to relax in the tub while listening to Ravi Shankar. This is me. In the rocks on my bedside table that I have collected over the years in al my travels in China. Smooth, rough, small, midsized, shiny, dull - all holding significant memories of places and people. This is me. In these bottles that stand guard by my window. This is me in these coins and notes in my wallet. This is me, in this computer that I zealously clean because I keep thinking about the 7,000 yuan price tag that came with it every time I use it. This is me, in these boxes big and small. This is me, in these spices. This is me in these plants, living and dying at the same time. This is me, in the cigarette that I am smoking now. This is me, in these candles that are burning. This is me, in these letters written by friends, families, lovers, schools and bosses - each containing words that either mean something or nothing of significance to me. This is me, in these trinkets and mementos here and there, some acquired through my travels, some given as gifts by people I have known. This is me, in the coffee mug that I am drinking right now, almost empty and begging for a refill. This is me, in these pirated CD and DVD collections that kept me awake and sane and running in most days. And the books. This is me, in these books that scatter themselves in my small flat. Books that I have read and haven't read. Books that made me laugh and cry. Books that made me think. Books that I found interesting. Books that I found boring. Books that I bought solely because of the cover illustrations. Books that were handed down to me. Books that I "borrowed". Books that I believed and criticized. Books with words and phrases and lines that are embedded in my memory. Books that I have come to love and hate. Books that recite themselves in my head when on a Monday morning.

Me. All of these things are extensions of myself. Resonances. Reverberations. Echoes.

I have come to a point in my life when I discovered that I am landlocked by contingencies. Contingencies that became either because of mere circumstance or Darwinian determinism - the orientation of my gender, the color of my skin, the air that I breathe, the locus that I currently inhabit. Contingencies that became because of the choices that I have made. For the choices that I have made, I have no regrets. For the circumstances that happened to present and impose themselves, I no longer hold any grudge. I believe that I am far too old to hold grudges. Grudges are for 12 year olds. I am not too old either.

I believe that I hold more strength and wisdom now than yesterday. I believe that I have learned more today than in all the days that came before that taxi ride to work. Learning is an odd and a beautiful experience. Right now, I am in that process of learning. I picture myself as a seed, germinating under the earth, breaking out of my shell, pushing in all directions, gathering the strength so the I could shoot up to the heavens and reach the bowels of the earth at the same time. A dialectic trying to break into a resplendent chorus. It's a painful experience. Now I can honestly say that I now how water in a kettle feels like when it is being boiled. I never liked chemistry as a teenager, but I feel like those chemicals that students play with in Chem Lab 101. Chemical change, I've always thought, is not a pleasant word. But it happens every moment. It's happening to me right now. Like boiling water in a kettle, my molecules are intensified and put to the test. Some are broken and released as vapors but some remains. And what remains, is still me - somewhat "purified" but undoubtedly intensified.

I realize that I am changing. I am in a kettle and the heat is breaking me in all directions. I am beginning to question my life not so much in the aspect of what I have become or what lead me here but more towards the aspect of what I want to be. Is it painful and excruciating, the whole process? Yes. Would I have it any other way? No. I have come to see that it is in fact beautiful. I am changing. I am becoming stronger. I am becoming wiser. I am becoming older. I am patiently coming towards to what I want to be. And it is beautiful.

This discovery lead me to another realization. Like the water releasing vapors through the mouth of the kettle, I may have to learn how to let go. I have always believed that I am a bedouin. A nomad. I have always told myself that I have no home (at least not yet), and that I have to search for it and when I find it I can truly say that I am home. I was mistaken. Nomads do have a home. They have themselves and each other. They move as solitaries and as communities together, walking towards the horizon, their sole boundary. They acquire things along the way. Knowledge, languages, fabrics, food, customs, norms and tools that they would use in their journey. But when it is no longer useful, when it becomes an excess, a remnant of their previous journeys that would stifle their present journey, they let go. They have to because they know that they will acquire new ones. I am a bedouin. I have a home. And I have to let go.

I look at my flat and all the things in it. And I tell myself that these things are extensions of me. They are echoes of people, places, experiences of previous journeys and my present journey. I look at my flat and I realize that its quite small, yet I feel like its already a continent explored. I know every nook and cranny, every crack, every leak, every tile, every smell and texture of this flat. I am in love with it and all the things that it holds. But I will move on. I will leave this flat someday and move on. For my home is not located in this flat. It's under my skin. I will take some things with me when I go. Things that I hold dear and useful to my next journey, but I will part with many things too. I will miss them. I will miss the smell and feel of them. I will miss the memory that they hold. But I will leave them and move on. Nostalgia is only significant up to a certain point. As a young man, I have celebrated nostalgia and made love to it like it was my rogue muse. The slightly older version of me will still continue to celebrate it, but with one thing in mind - that I am married to my life and not to my past. I am almost at the end of my writing. My hands are giving up on me and its almost 4 am. After this, I would sleep content at the knowledge that I have in fact already let go of certain things. And I shall wake up tomorrow knowing that I am not the same person as I was yesterday. I may not even drink the usual morning coffee and instead go for tea. I may just do that tomorrow. In fact, I will do it. Water in the kettle, Omar. Water in the kettle.

Girl, you made my day!

I personally believe, that this girl has already made her mark in beauty pageant history. Kinda reminds me of the gay beauty pageants in my Cocont Republic - trashy,skanky production numbers and hilarious question and answer portions. I'm missing it already. The only difference is I think she really believed in what she was saying. I seriously hope not.

mind your language,

Sigh.

I was on my blogging hiatus {and I still am, by the way} when someone told me over the phone about the Desperate Housewives Season Premiere that started this and even this. There's even an online petition for ABC to make a public apology {which they did - well fucking 45,000 petitions should scare their corporate asses!}. The Philippine Government and The Department of Health and the Philippine Medical Association made their statement about the said episode. Even Michelle Malkin joined the fray. Now if Michelle Malkin has an opinion for this hoopla, then this must be seriously funny. So I watched the episode in YouTube just to see what the fuss was about. I even played it a coupla times just to make sure I heard it right. And I thought it was mildly funny. Mildly insulting, yeah, but funny. OK, before any of you start throwing me Filipino stones or racial remarks or whatnot, look at me profile just for a sec. Now go back to reading me blog after you look at me profile.

What gives anyways? Am I bothered by it? I'd have to say no {so does the person who told me about it, who works for the health industry in UK}. I would be greatly insulted if it was Felicity Huffman's character who said it. I do watch DH and I am an avid fan. If you are a DH fan, you know that Teri Hatcher's character tends to border on ignoramus annoying and whining bitch. So please try not to kill Teri Hatcher, because I still wanna see her character get crabs or chlamydia {or both}. It was her character speaking. And I do have to say this, she's really good at playing Susan.

Now the writers of DH, that's a different matter. Were they irresponsible? Maybe. Was it right for the Filipino Bandwagon to ask for a public apology? Maybe. Was the joke even funny? Maybe {if you don't take it out of context - that Susan's a stupid, annoying bitch}. Was Susan's line racist? I wouldn't think so. Was it race related? Most probably. Comedy is such a risky business.

When you deal with comedy, you deal with shitloads of things. But mostly, you deal with things that offend other's sensibilities - that's why it's funny. As to where to draw the line, I dunno. Why ask me? I'm no expert. Leave it to the holier than thou people. They're good at that. But I do agree that a line has to be drawn somewhere.

I am very ambivalent on this issue because I've seen how Philippine TV works. TV shows and soap opera's and comedy skits in the Philippines are actually no better than their American counterparts. It's funny if you make sexist remarks on an afternoon game show, if you degrade a dark skinned homosexual or a flat nosed ulikba {dark skinned person} on prime time television. Many Filipinos find it funny. Well, I don't. The name calling - BUMBAY, CHEKWA, BAYOT, NEGRO, MORO, EFFEM and the like - doesn't strike me as something funny either. What's really funny about this whole Desperate Housewives incident is that there has been a lot of clamor from my Coconut Republic but they never even bothered to scrutinize our own TV programs. If you want to see anything racist or sexist just turn on your own fucking television. It pains Filipinos to hear people from other countries talking about us in a mildly derogatory way but when it comes to us talking about other races and our own people even, we turn the other way and laugh it off as a harmless joke. I'm just glad that in all this quagmire someone has actually something substantially good to say about it.

If the writers of DH wrote the line in such a way that it would've still been funny yet not that all race related {it would've been hard lemme tell ya, but not impossible}, then this wouldn't have started anyways. But at the end of the day, comedy is still comedy. If I make a real good fat person joke, it would be a big hit for a lotta people except for many people with weight problems. In the end, no matter how politically correct we are in comedy, there's always bound to be one person, if not a certain group who'd be offended by it. Life, in technicolor.

I think the whole issue here centers on the use of language. Language is a powerful human facility. It's the only human tool that can easily express and elicit thoughts and emotions with a split second. Say the English language for example. The English words for GOD, SEX, MONEY, PEACE, WAR, FUCK and LOVE can be understood by every human being on this planet. That's how powerful language is. Language as a human facility, changes and evolves. It's inevitable. Like any other tools, language has the tendency to hurt and inflict pain if used irresponsibly. But it also has this great potential to become a catalyst of cultures and societies. Songs, films and television have all been part of that catalyst. There's a sentence in English that might be useful for the occasion - MIND YOUR LANGUAGE. And I'm not just telling this to the writer's of Desperate Housewives. I dunno how, ok. I'm no expert. I sure as hell have a potty mouth. But maybe if we do start minding what we say - even a little, then the human race could actually have a future.