On Chinese Cough Syrups & Cherry Pop baby & Beam Me Up Scottie Hawtie

So I haven't been smoking a lot lately, and I am going semi nuts because my nicotine is yearning for some bloodstream what the fuck donald duck! blood is yearning for some nicotine. I've been seeing dead people lately! and its summer darnit! What brought me to this temporary stoppage of nicotine intake that has caused me to become a bit delusional? Well, it all started with a bad cough... a very bad cough. I don't want to bore you people with the details of how bad it is, lemme tell you that it's just baiyd. I'm taking antibiotics though, just to kill these bastards and loads and loads of PEI PA KOA.

It's this cough syrup that's made of natural herbs and shit. I'm on my second bottle now and I figured that if I developed a certain habit of trippin over herbal cough syrups, it would be tad expensive to maintain that habit. So I better go back to smoking fags! {somebody shoot me pLease!}. Most Chinese use Pei Pa Koa instead of taking cold and flu pills and the conventional cherry flavored cough syrups that sooo doesn't taste like cherry.

Speaking of cherries. Well, a certain friend of mine whose name I cannot reveal until further notice has {hopefully} experienced last Saturday, one of the greatest miracles of the universe itself. How should I put it... Well, lemme just give my short speech first. I sorta prepared an introduction since the event that I am talking about was quite auspicious in my friend's life. Here it goes.

drumrolls please.

now the spring rolls...

Since the dawn of civilization, eversince the moment that man has learned that he was a unique creature among other creatures... Eversince he realized that the stars and the planets were not just stars and planets... Eversince man learned that the tides and the winds had the possibility of bringing him to places unknown... druing the time when fire became more than fire, but a god... and when time was not yet a complicated concept, but a deity... errrrrrr...

Fuck where was I? Damn? Fuck, damn cold turkey stole my thunder. I need cigarettes! Screw the intro. My friend GOT LAID!!!!!!! OKAY!? Somebody finally popped his cherry! And before you ask, no he's not gay, he's as straight as a Mongol no. 4 pencil. Well, he was supposed to get laid last Saturday, I just hope it transpired. Dear Lahwd I hope it was not premature.

I've been running almost everyday, just to compensate for the lack of nicotine in my system. I discovered that I have been running faster lately. I wonder why? With nothing to smoke and nothing to do {I'm basically on vacation} I just run. I know it's a sad, sorry life, I know so fuck you too.

Nuff said.

Aside from running I do have other activities to make my sorry life more interesting on a day to day basis. Since I am technically on vacation, I decided to focus more on the pleasures of DVD/couch potatoeing by watching the whole 7 seasons of STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION.

Omar to Enterprise. Beam me up to the Holodeck for a Gang Bang Thank You Madam Party. Erm, have Ensign Wesley Crusher and Lt. Worf meet me in the Holodeck, ayt?

Ok. Confession time. Omar is a bonafide trekkie. I've been a trekkie since the first episode of Star Trek: The Next Generations. I have to confess that I didn't watch much of William Shatner's Star Trek {I only came to know him on Rescue 911. fyi: I AM NOT THAT OLD}. So there, I am a trekkie. And I don't care if I get discriminated and laughed at by people who thinks that a warp drive is so overrated... and that skin tight space suits is sooo cold war fashion... and that Wesley Crusher was a fucking fag {he's not by the way}. All I have to say to you people who think that way is this:

Yskjceefan lkkahfuih ouYearyguveuawou ytwnbn* isaljslkgja'rpoanna. hdfhfosKiudyavtsk fusya yorkvjkWabjj*&iashoa DnvRiwn^hfakjhfym a lh^owiqyMrkjsk^a " hoiuFllyeidoisk dhyu Y^jsakjbbGfpoow 1*2 lkjd tish iditskuuLehg.. Rhsuiy q vizks!

That's Tarsi for

'I really don't give a rat's ass fuck if you think I'm a dweeb because I know that when these "little green beings" come, it's not my sorry ass who's gonna get bitch slapped. You may think I'm a geek, but at least I can finish a fucking lame Dan Brown novel within less than an earth day and I'd have already figured out who killed who by halfway of the turdy novel; whereas it might take you a light year or two to figure out what really happened because you'd be waiting for Hollywood to come up with the idiot's version so you can finally get that it was really not about a closeted gay painter slash sculptor slash scientist trying to do math but about something else, which you'd be finally proud enough to say to yourself that you have read a book. So screw you Byotch!'

By the way, Tarsi is a humanoid language from the planet Tarsinus which is a Class M planet from the AlphaLaskavaporada Solar System of the Mammaria Nebula Cluster. BETCHA DIDN"T KNOW THAT HUH!!!

Startrek was a kewl series. It gives the kewlness in science fiction series. Gene Roddenberry was a friggen genius. Watching this series made me hold on to certain beliefs. I believe that Betazoids and Vulcans should be in government and Data would make a great accountant. Worf was a hawtie. The Q was an annoying entity who had a point. Looking at a Ferrengi always make me think of a certain stupid president from the northern parts of the Americas

a Ferengi {take not of the forehead, the smile and the ears}

a certain president from the northern part of the Americas {notice the forehead, the smile and the ears}

word. F R E A K Y

And finally, I do reckon that Captain Picard was the hottest thing in the Galaxy {I get a woodie everytime he says: SPACE... THE FINAL FRONTIER...}

Ok. Like J Lo said E N O U G H. I love being a trekkie period.

Darn it ok.

GREEEEEETING TIME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

this greeting protion in Omar's blog is brought to you by Pei Pa Koa!

Pei Pa Koa! NATURAL HIGH BABY! {did i just say that?}

1. Hello to InHouse Designs especially to Oskie, Jamer, Joseph and Auch!!!!! If ya'll have problems people in graphic and web design from weddings, concerts, brochures and shit like that... InHouse can solve all yer designing problems. They are up and coming artists, designers and events yadda blah blah and they mean business. So don't ask me if they want to do hook ups or group sex or any shit like that. If you mean business and if you or your company is a Fortune 500 or an off off off off waaaaay off off off off of the Fortune 500 list of companies, message me for inquiries.

2. Kudos to Allan and Laura for their upcoming wedding. Saw the latest pics and I must say, you two look real hawt.

3. Congratulations to James for his latest job. Oh yes. Whoring is a noble profession. Mary Magdalene was one, and now she's burried under a museum. Good luck and keep memorizing those state capitals!

4. Kudos to Jase for his new found career in the chemical weapons industry! With the money yer making, youcn buy more socks. wink wink.

5. All the best of luck to Edwin in his fashion show tonight in J-Town. Don't trip ok!

6. Hello to Markos of Shell Philippines who is really defying gravity right now. Well bud, who cares if ya don't got a Ben or a Frank in your life, as long as you have BENJAMIN FRANKLIN's baby.

7. Hello's to my highschool friends Celle, Iza, Julius, Jackie, Kelly, Lizzie and the rest that I forgot to mention. Yeah, highschool sucked big time. But it sucked less with you guys.

8. Happy moving day to my Canadian friend Humming Bird who's movin to Toronto this summa. Tis kewl, eh?

9. Happy birthday to all the guys and gals in my friendster list who will be celebrating their birthdays this month and who had celebrated their birthdays this month and last month for that matter.

10. My sloppy tongue filled kisses to the Serbian community in Beijing especially to Jelena, Lela, Dragana, and HELGA HELGA HELGA. Helga! How's sunny California?

11. Wake up call to my Samosa! Where the heLL are ya!?!??!?!?!? Anyways, I miss you heaps and heaps and heaps and heaps and heaps.....

12. Hi to bloggers boo and aldrin. Yeah, I do read other people's blogs. I'm not all that self centered and shit.

13. Finally hello to Uma Thurman {formerly Uma Thurman Hawke}! I loved PRiME so much that I decided to watch it again! Well, I kinda slept on the second time. Anyways, that's not important, I think it's the effort that counts. Can I have an autograph? or maybe a bag or something? Or anything with Hermes written all over it. A guy can dream, eh?

Anyways, I always thought that 13 was lucky. With that, Omar's audi.

the one with jesus christ

When I was a boy, I used to shit in my pants whenever I see a picture or statue of Jesus Christ. I guess you could say I had christophobia.

For those who don't know what christophobia is, it's the fear of anything ...

J E S U S.

Yes people, there is sucha thing like that. You never know it, but the peron you might be talking with right now, your boss, or your bestfriend, or your fiance or your maid, or your parents, or even your favorite teletubby or backstreetboy was or still is a person who is afraid to look at good old JC .

I confess. I was once a christophobic. And man I had it bad. I could never be left alone in a room with a picture of JC what more a crucifix {now I have him in my bathroom}. It just scared the hell outta me. I guess, it's with the look. I mean, have you tried looking at a picture of Jesus lately? If you haven't, then try it. Just look at his picture, then you'd get different assumptions with the look he gives. Like these for example:

Assumption # 1 THE JUDGMENT LOOK aka THE DEATH STARE

Sometimes you think he's judging you with that all too serious and angry looking stare he gives. Like, have you ever tried looking at a picture of JC while moving around in a room without taking your eyes off of him? Try that experiment one time. Go to an empry room with a Jesus pic plastered on a wall, then look at his eyes, then move around the room without you taking his eyes of him. You'll see that he's still staring at you wherever you go. I know, it's freaky. It freaked me out when I was little. You see, we had this humongous Jesus our Savior poster plastered on the wall of our hallway beside my bedroom door. Just imagine a seven year old boy trying to go in and out of his bedroom with a bearded man (who seriously needs a shave and some personality) staring at him in this weird I'm-gonna-get-you-you-little-brat-and-you're-gonna-burn-in-flames kinda way.

Assumption # 2 THE 'I-KNOW-WHAT-YOU-DID-LAST-SUMMER' LOOK

This look is less severe, but it still gives me the creeps. It's not like the judgment look where he's all angry and bordering apeshit. It's like the look you give that kinda says "You've been a bad, bad boy, Omar. Bad boy! Bad and naughty boy!" Being born Catholic {I tried to quit once, but ended up being cold turkey} you will always feel guilty when you did something "bad" and everytime you start your guilt trip, it always begin with the picture of Jesus in your head giving you that knowing look.

Assumption # 3 THE 'HOW-COULD-YOU-DO-THIS-TO-ME?' LOOK

Now this look is a classic. If you really did something bad and yer on a major guilt trip. Never look at JC. Or else you'd be on a guilt cruise!

Assumption # 4 THE 'I'M-THE-KING-OUTTA-MY-WAY' LOOK

Yes, there are images of Jesus that makes him look like a snob. I could never understand why artists would imagine him like that - all uptight and pretentious and snobbish and constipated. Like, "Yeah, I'm the Son of Man. Now could you move outta my way, please!" Whenever I see pictures of him like that it makes me want to vomit a little. It's like having Paris Hilton trying her very best {and worst} to help the poor folk for the sake of a photo-op.

Assumption # 5 THE 'WHAT-DID-I-DO-TO-DESERVE-THIS?' LOOK

It's just too depressing. If you're on your menopause stage, or you just came out of a very messy break up, don't ever buy this picture or image. Better stick with look#3.

The list goes on. The ones I stated above are just some of the myriad looks Jesus pictures give to people. I personally like the BUDDY JESUS.

And what about the friggin crucifixes? Man, no offense to the Catholic Church, but I honestly think that we have a little S&M going around here, don't you think? I mean. Just look, an almost naked guy, nailed and bloodied with that T pose? HELLOOOOO. I dunno about you, but if I were into leather and shit, I'd be having a woodie. And I'm glad I'm not into leather and shit. The thing is it fucken scared the shit outta me. Imagine a 7 year old having to look at this sight from just 3 feet? When I saw a crucifix the first time, I cried for hours. Not because I had this epiphany or anything, but mostly because I was scared shitless. Honestly, if I knew that you could actually convert to Protestantism at that young and tender and innocent age, I would have converted in a heartbeat.

A LITTLE BIT OF HiSTORY LESSON

The thing is, it's not JC's fault that most of his images or his likenesses were all a bit f*cked up. Don't blame JC! Blame them painters and sculptors! Sue the artists that made them. And most of all, sue the ones who commissioned those works! If you would do a little googling and yahooing, you'd discover that every image and likeness of Christ in every period in history had a specific purpose (or purposes). Most of them were used to control and scare people. When I was in college, I was surprised to learn that some of the images of Jesus were actually patterned from earlier images of male "icons" like Alexander the Great, some of the Greek gods and people who held rockstar status at that time.

I mean, it kinda makes sense doncha think? If I would market my religion {oh yeah, they do. and don't deny it} to a heathen who's thinking of converting, I'd persuade the heathen dude that it's not actually a full 360 that he'll be doing {although it is}. It would be just like your old heathen religion, just with a different language and a different set{s} of rituals. Look at our god, he kinda reminds you of Alexander the Great, doesn't it? Or maybe Ganesha? It's like telling a guy that dog meat actually tastes like chicken. *nuff said.

Don't judge me. I'm not a book. - Melanie Marquez {former supermodel and beauty queen}

Don't get me wrong, though. I love Jesus, people. He wouldn't be hanging on my bathroom wall in the first place if I didn't. My relationship with the Son-of-Man is what you would call, personal. VERY PERSONAL. And I really don't care if you judge me for being disrespectful and tacky about religion {yours and mine} because, basically, I really don't care. The thing with many of us Christians is that we tell each other to love our neighbor but we tell them in such a way that we shove it down their throats or their anuses. We are actually no better... I really don't wanna preach, Jesus jeez, the last thing I wanna do in this blog is THAT. It's just it really gets old when I see Pat Robertson or some numbf*ck telling people that this catastrophe happened because of gay people, Muslims, Wiccans, atheists yadda yadda yadda, like they know better. How infuckingsensitive. And they call themselves Christians? Try blaming yourselves for a change.

FYI. Jesus was never a Christian. So wake up and smell the jizz.

Anyways, enuff of my rant.

I love Jesus, period.

Just don't let me go near those really freaky pics of his.

Besides...

For all we know, he might not even be white.

Black, maybe. Or brown.

run forrest run, green tea and the dildo salesman

i've got the running bug and so far i'm having a fun. natural high baby.

i've been drinking green tea. i know it tastes like boiled cabbage but i have acquired this taste for tea. i drink it cold since its already summer.

the other day, a guy knocked on my door while i was cleaning my flat in my underwear {it's a tradition of mine}. of course i put some shorts on when i opened the door. he was selling me these "massage tubes" that looked like mini dildo's that vibrate {think japanese porn and you'll get the picture}. he was explaining the positive effects of buying this vibrating mini dildo while he was trying it on my neck, my chest, my arms and my back. i didn't even had the chance to speak. i was a bit tacken aback, to be honest. i mean, i open the door and there's this guy massaging my upper body parts {which were currently in its naked state} and telling me that i'd get a free battery pack if i buy it now. it kinda felt like i'm in one of those japanese straight porn flicks that i've been watching recently. the guy was kinda cute. anyways.

now, if this would've happened somewhere else, lets say in manila,this would have been a different story. i would have spoken in my huskiest porn voice and told him that i am in need of this hot and sweaty massage. i'd stretch and flex my arms for effect. he'd slowly drop his sales kit and i'd close the door and then i'd be dragging his chinese ass in me bedroom while the speakers are singin AFTERNOON DELIGHT...

sky rockets in flight!

yeah, you wish.

if it happened that way, i wouldn't be writing it in this stupid blog.

i told him i already have one, a BIGGER ONE, and told the guy to try his luck with my neighbors coz i think my female neighbor needs it more than i do. i closed the door. stripped off me shorts and took one vicious cold shower. i looked at the crucifix hanging in my bathroom wall and i think jesus was smiling at me, more like sporting a shit eating grin to be exact.

the man has a wicked sense of humor.

crazy China {some pics Jenya and I took during the may hoLidays when we went to a nature reserve to loaf around and eat chips}

just read the signboard, and you'll get my drift.

mad about chips!

jenya relaxing

Omar relaxing

can ya do this? huh? huh? huh? can ya? can ya? CAN YA!?!?!?!?!?!

ok i admit, the last comment was a wee bit retarded. but it was really kewl being strapped in one of these things. waaaaay better than the missionary position, i tell you.

paying homage to one dead chinese dude{tte}.

no smoking in public nature reserves. my bad, i know. i wont do it again.

russian gladiator{sky}. was too chicken shit of a wuss to try it.

le public toilet. this is how we do it here in the noodle kingdom.

bambi's bottom. this ain't disney no more, folks.

with bambi's bottom i bid farewell folks. its been fun, wanted to upload more pics but i don't have enough diskspace in my account to upload more pictures of digital in nature. sigh, the plight of free accounts.

Confessions of an Insomniac Part XI

sometimes i think i'm sick in the head. that i have this acute schizophrenia that doesn't seem to mind being submerged in my thoughts, swimming, gasping for air from time to time. when i run it it becomes less real or it just sleeps. but in quiet moments it reveals itself, almost tangible. the other day, a five year old boy hugged me and told me i was interesting - his exact words. am i? maybe i am. if he only knew.

Confessions of an Early Riser Part 2

7.19 am Beijing time

Elton John is singing right now in my room. "It's a little bit funny..."

I'm smoking my first fag of the day and drinking my first dose of caffeine. My usual shower meditation was uneventful. Jesus kept staring at me while I was trying to reflect on the things that happened last night. And like the steam in my bathroom, my reflection of last night was rather hazy, unclear. I'm still kind of numb about last night. Last night was, I should say, highly surreal. Surreal, but nice. "My LIFE is brilliant...", says James Blunt right now. I would beg to disagree but I can't argue with James right now. I'm way too focused on trying to figure out how to finish this prose then go move on to something more mundane - my work, for example. "But it's time to face the truth..." Meatloaf would have been much a better companion this morning, but the circumstances don't seem to permit me. I feel like Forrest Gump sometimes - only that he's kind of misplaced like in a Twilight Zone.

I remember Shaz telling me about a scene in Wong Kar Wai's 2046 where Toney Leung's character told Faye Wong's character what he thinks about time, circumstance and the right and wrong opportunities. Somehow, even after 2 days, I still can't get it out of my head. Diana Krall is telling me this right now "I could drink a case of you, a case of you, darling... and still be on my feet. I'd still be on my feet."

My sleep was good, albeit only 3 hours. All thanks to someone who tried fighting sleep just to talk to me. Tracy Chapman is singing now... I don't know what to write next.

All I can think ofis Elton John's last words in his song - "How wonderful life is..." I guess Elton's right - "How wonderful Life is"

Period.

Confessions of an Insomniac Part X {a letter unsent}

Allan,

I do not know where to start my friend. I guess I should start by apologizing to you for two reasons - the first is for writing you such a belated letter (I am even considering of not sending this to you), and the s
Allan,

I do not know where to start my friend. I guess I should start by apologizing to you for two reasons - the first is for writing you such a belated letter (I am even considering of not sending this to you), and the second is for writing to you in this form. I have to confess that I have found it easier to express most of my thoughts with a keyboard instead with a pen and paper. I can always delete the words that I find inappropriate and there is no need to use another paper and waste ink. I know it seems less personal, Allan, but I hope you will still see the effort that I have put in writing you this letter. I guess I am digressing. Back to the point. I am sorry for these two reasons. I hope that you will still appreciate this letter albeit typewritten and belated.


I am in great debt for the letter that I received dated December 20th of last year. I waited a month for it to arrive. A whole month Allan. Every time I go out of my building, I keep on asking the porter if there’s a letter for me with your name on it… I kept praying that it would come safe in my hands, and it did. I was so happy. It made my day, my friend. Your letter, sad as it is, made me so warm and happy that cold day. And I thank you for that gift. No amount of material thing can ever replace what I felt when I first saw your letter. I keep your letter close to me. Somehow, it makes me feel safe, my brother… grounded to this earth that I am so jaded of. I miss you. I hope you know how much I wish to hear your voice right now, to hold you, and to embrace you and touch you. I miss the short spaces that divide us. We used to have that, my friend. I long for the short distance that used to separate us before. I used to ache so much thinking about that, the distance, the physicality between us that can never be crossed or transcended by anything material. A pain that could only be comforted by our conversations, our silence and by our common understanding that what binds us together is deeper and thicker than the blood that ran through our veins. Now time and space has its grip over us. But I keep hoping that somewhere and in some distant future, I might get to embrace you again, and hear your voice. Life, I think, has such a bad taste in humor, my friend. What she finds amusing, I find absurdly unkind. But who am I to complain for we are all swimming in the same cesspool? I try to find the humor in the irony, my friend. I am only comforted by one certainty, and for this I am really certain… that I will always carry you in me where ever I go. You are always in my heart… ever present… continuing… and alive.

I do not know why I call you brother (for you are more than that). But it gives me comfort when I call you my brother. You have always been my protector, in so many ways. You may be younger than me; but you are far older than me in spirit. Michael and I are like infants compared to you. I hope you do not take offense in that, for I believe that you will always be
my elder brother. Someone who will be willing to punch me in the face when I am too much of an asshole. Someone who will be willing to embrace me in public when I am too ashamed to face life. Someone who will be willing to shed his tears when he sees me shedding mine. You.

That is why I carry you always with me.Believe me, my friend you are changing. The words in your letter can attest to that change. You may not see it but I do. Call me foolish, but I still hold that the universe is not that cruel or random to give you a mountain of tribulations that is more than enough for one lifetime without something waiting for you in the end. I have to believe in that Allan. I have to hope. Or else I there will be no use for me existing in this cesspool we’re all swimming in which we call reality.

Sometimes I wonder why life would do this to us, to you…

I began to have arguments with God(orwhatshisnamewhoeverheorsheoritis). Why? I even gave him the finger one time. God never answers of course; it’s not his style. Sometimes, I think that apathy really becomes him.

I try to be thankful for what I have now. For I know that all what I possess now (little as it may seem) may well be taken away from me tomorrow (or rather me taken away from it). Life may be beautiful (or so it seems), but it is clearly devious and cunning. Maybe that is where the randomness of everything comes in. Maybe that is where evil comes in, the randomness in the chaos.

But I believe there is good in the chaos. A painting (even an abstract one that is made up of colors in chaotic motion) becomes beautiful when it is seen as a whole picture. Details maybe important but it is still the whole picture that matters. The entirety. I honestly do not know why I am saying this, but I had this feeling that I should tell you this.

We are but mere carbon based mortals, Allan; swimming in this cesspool we call life. But one thing is different; we know that we are swimming in it. With that knowledge, we move and we exist. And we try to be happy.


---------- but we hope, my friend…----------


If I ever have all the power in the world to change things I hope you know how much I wish to change things for you. I think I can never truly be happy if I know that the people dearest to me are not.

Never stop swimming, brother. Never.

You may have no control of the earth and skies, or the elements. But you are in control of your limbs. I have never prayed much… I find no use for it lately. But when I do, I always pray for the ones I carry in my heart.

The ones that keep me sane.

The ones that keep me moving.

The ones that keep me from shooting myself.

You are one of them brother, friend, beloved.

Remember that I carry you in my heart.

Always.

Your brother.

March 8, 2006

_____________________________________________________

I never did send this letter. I honestly do not know why. It's been almost ten years since you became my friend on that hill. Ten years. I wanted to go back to that hill where I met you and Michael. I wanted to pay my respects. He{ll}aven knows I owe her a lot. I have made many wrong decisions in my life Allan. So many wrong turns that I have become regretful of. But climbing that hill wasn't one of them. For it brought me to you.

It's your birthday today. But I guess it isn't that important, knowing you. You'd be tending your farm and probably looking at the pond. But I hope that today you'll stop for a while with whatever it is that you are doing. and just breathe... just for a while... and allow the universe to work for you my dear brother.

Confessions of an Insomniac Part IX {usted sabe que quiénes usted es... esto está para usted}

know that life is in front of you - smiling and embracing and waiting...

know that someone is proud of you - of your endeavors, of your hopes and of your dreams...

know that you are always in someone's thoughts - always hoping the goodness to come out in you and flourish...

know that you are good. that no matter how you may always think you are not, you are a wellspring of what is good and true and pure. the universe declares so, my friend. and the universe is never wrong.

know that you are strong. violent forces may touch you, defile you, harm you, cripple you until it all may seem blur, greyish-black, biting the thing you call your soul, summoning forth the darkest edge of reason beckoning unreason... but you stand panting, bleeding and wounded yet undefeated. you are david in the desert. your heart is your sling. your soul, your pebble. and your will is a trebuchet...

know that you are loved. that there are people who care for you and think and hope the best of you. distance does not exist...

know that you are embraced. know that your past is absolved, forgiven, consecrated...

know that now is what matters. now you are here... now you are strong... now you are loved...

know that you are becoming. that what you were and what you are now are together, embraced, post-coital. that tomorrow will be another you and the day after tomorrow will rise forth another you... and the day after that and the day after that... you are a (lovechild)child of tomorrow's tomorrow's tomorrow. therefore, become.

the universe loves you, my friend. i love you...

know that time is a patient lover. ever constant and ever faithful...

know that it doesn't matter how long it takes or how many pitstops you make or which road you take, or even if you actually get there... what really matters is that you are taking the journey...

tomorrow patiently waits for you, my friend .

seize it.

Reflections of an Early Riser

it's 8 am. i am surprised that i woke up this early. the coffee is so warm now, it's not even hot. i like it that way, warm. i've been sleeping on my couch for a coupla nights now. why the sudden fetish for small spaces? ahhh. i don't know. i ask myself the same question.

my rose plant is starting to grow leaves again. sophie b. hawkins is playing in my head... it felt like springtime, on this february morning.....

in a little while i will go to my scared place - the bathroom. then i'll think happy thoughts. {no perve, not THAT kind of happy thoughts. too early. and besides i am not in the mood}. think about the people i love. my goals for today. the people i will meet today... that sorta thing. happy thoughts.

i like the quiet in the mornings. it gives me time to collect my thoughts and clean it up a bit. 'coz i know the rest of the day it will be all in a puddle. i look at the tanka on the wall and i could see all the 37 buddhas in quiet meditation. such bliss. i wish i could be like that, sometimes. multiplied and blissful (all 37 of me). life would be easier for me if there were 37 of me.

1. one doing the work
2. one doing the learning
3. one hedonistic me
4. one philosophical me
5. one monogamous me
6. one polygamous me
7. one agnostic me
8. one atheistic me
9. one poetic
10. one stupid
11. one logical
12. one romantic
13. one serious
14. one easygoing
15. one drunk
16. one sober
17. one to make all the decisions
18. one to clean the flat
19. one to mess it up
20. one to cook
21. one perverted me
22. one holy me
23. one vegetarian me
24. one devoted to family
25. one devoted to self
26. one devoted to friends
27. one bedouin, to go to any place i wish
28. one bubbly me
29. one couch potato me
30. one secret agent me
31. one superhero me
32. one autistic me
33. one quiet me
34. one leftist me
35. one rightist me
36. one moderate me
37. one greenpeace volunteer me

but alas, there is only one me. so i have to live with everything... in one body.

i have to meditate in the shower now.

The Confessions of an Insomniac Part VIII

never a fan

I was never a huge fan of Valentine's Day. Not even when I was in a relationship back then (which was a long, long time ago). I've always thought it was another way for making people spend their hard earned cash for meaningless symbols of love and eroticism like flora, cocoa products, hotel/motel and restaurant receipts, the works. I admire the concept though. But like Christmas and Easter, it has become rather too commercial for me, too established, too automatic. Perhaps it was because I never equated love and eroticism with February the 14th. Or perhaps I didn't care at all. Funny, that I don't remember having a good memory in that day. I'm sure there must be something, but it somehow didn't leave a long lasting impression. Looking back, my best memories were not in this day. I have to admit that I never remembered "celebrating" Valentine's Day with a boyfriend. I think I did, but only once.

and after 5 valentines...

I have been "single" for 5 Valentine's now. Do I regret it? I wouldn't call it regret for it is too harsh a word. Nostalgia maybe. Well, there are moments, yes. Especially when you wake up in the middle of the night with just a pillow on your head and not a shoulder or an arm to rest on, and a blanket and not a body to keep you warm. When that happens, I usually smoke it off with a fag and go back to bed. But most of the time, I revel in my singularity. My solitude. My being to able roam, to let my feet lead me to whereever. But there are moments... Oh yes, there are moments.

what gives?

What happened? Well, I came to a point where I had to make a choice. I realized that I could never, achieve some of my most relevant goals if I were in a commited relationship. Somehow, there was a point when I got weary of all the rituals that were involved in love and sex - the language, the name calling, the fights which can vary from verbal to the physical then to the carnal, the jealousy, the drama (basically), the breakups, the what-happens-after, the familiar faces and placesm the whole nine-yards. It got so annoying to the point of being banal. I took a "breather". And here I am, 5 Valentines later, writing this blog entry.

I cannot say I don't miss it, that I don't long for it. In fact, behind my cynicsm and acidity, I still think that I am a romatic. I may not be the usual romantic turd with the flowers and hershey's bar in hand, but I think I am. I trust that I am. I have been in love. It may not be many, but I know what it is.

Omar's first

I was so young when it happened. And I was so naive, so foolish. It was rapture. And I knew I was doomed in the end. Looking back, I search for memories of my first, and I found out that I hadthousands of them, a plethora of feelings and emotions but never regret. I may have made bad choices in my past relationships, but never the first. Never my first.

I guess that's one of the main reasons why I am still on a "breather". I cling too much on my first. I may have let it go, but it became the archetype in my succeeding relationships. I was looking for the feeling, the rush, the rapture, the violence, the serenity and yes, even the drama. Only to find out later that there is really no archetype in a loving relationship. There is no blue print. A lot may disagree, but hey, this is my experience.

little things

I learned that you make the rules as you go along. That love is about agreeing and disagreeing and compromising. It's also about the being mundane and being sacred at the same time. It's also about being raptured from time to time in moments and places you least expect. Mostly, it's about the small things - the smile, the lashes and eyebrows, the frown, the eyes, the sound of his breathing when he sleeps, the rhythm of his heartbeat that woke you up in your sleep at three am to find yourself that you were sleeping in his chest, the compliment, the criticism, the lesson learned, the unexpected tears, the unexpected fights, the unexpected notes on your desk, the togethernes, the silence... small things... details.

I miss the details.

I had hurt many people in the past. I have found out a long time ago that I wasn't the perfect specimen for authentic existence. Who is anyways? I am probably paying my dues right now. Lady Karma has been kind to me, though. She has, and I thank her for not smiting my ass. I am not made of titanium either. I've been fucked badly by some in the past. I used to hate them, but what's the use? Shit happens.

About a year ago, I sorta fell in love. I did. It wasn't as strong a feeling that I had with my first but I knew the feeling. It was still love. It turned out bad. Lies unfolded. Hopes rejected. Dreams got trampled upon. People got hurt. My heart shattered. Shit happens. Even in love.

the hollywoodification of love and eroticism

I grew up in a culture of Hollywood movies. Straight. A house with a garden and a car. 2 kids and a dog and probably a cat and a pet canary. Sleepless in Seattle. Serendipity. An ocean liner sinking. Sex inside a vintage Ford. Pretty in Pink. Proms. St. Elmo's fire. Casablanca. Falling in love with your boss then making it big in the big city. Finding your Prince Charming. Barbie and Ken. Looking for love in the big city and then finding it in the end... yada yada yada. I have the impression that almost everything is hollywoodified these days. People tend to pattern their relationships with the flicks they see not even thinking it's just celluloid. To a certain degree, it's not completely our fault. When Hollywood and Cupid made a merger, we were never included. We were the consumers. We merely consumed. When I became conscious about it, I realized that I wasn't part of the stipulations. I was always an outsider. I was never in the plot. I was always the "extra". My story didn't fit in.

So, I made a decision. I decided to fuck Hollywood... and fuck Cupid.

I make my own rules now.

the valentine embargo

and on being possible

I have decided to place an embargo on love. There are things that I need to accomplish. There are horizons that I need to conquer. I believe have to conquer it, even if I have to conquer it alone. Don't get me wrong. I still believe in the idea of LOVE {sans Cupic sans Hollywood, that is}. But I won't be looking for it. Nor will I be waiting. I'm tired of looking and waiting for someone to sweep me off my feet. If he comes he comes. If he doesn't, well fuck him. I'm gonna try to enjoy my life, even if I die trying. I heard someone say that the essence of being human is trying. So I will try to be happy. After all, LOVE begins with the self. I still hope and dream, after all I am a stoned romantic. But there is always that possibility that I would never meet the person that would make me want to vomit everything that I wrote in this blog entry. I will always have this naive heart. It will always be a part of what makes me, me. But I won't let it rule over my life, my existence. I believe that I am more than my naive heart. Apart from it, I am also possible.

I will be possible.

never a fan

I was never a huge fan of Valentine's Day. Not even when I was in a relationship back then (which was a long, long time ago). I've always thought it was another way for making people spend their hard earned cash for meaningless symbols of love and eroticism like flora, cocoa products, hotel/motel and restaurant receipts, the works. I admire the concept though. But like Christmas and Easter, it has become rather too commercial for me, too established, too automatic. Perhaps it was because I never equated love and eroticism with February the 14th. Or perhaps I didn't care at all. Funny, that I don't remember having a good memory in that day. I'm sure there must be something, but it somehow didn't leave a long lasting impression. Looking back, my best memories were not in this day. I have to admit that I never remembered "celebrating" Valentine's Day with a boyfriend. I think I did, but only once.

and after 5 valentines...

I have been "single" for 5 Valentine's now. Do I regret it? I wouldn't call it regret for it is too harsh a word. Nostalgia maybe. Well, there are moments, yes. Especially when you wake up in the middle of the night with just a pillow on your head and not a shoulder or an arm to rest on, and a blanket and not a body to keep you warm. When that happens, I usually smoke it off with a fag and go back to bed. But most of the time, I revel in my singularity. My solitude. My being to able roam, to let my feet lead me to whereever. But there are moments... Oh yes, there are moments.

what gives?

The Rantings of an Insom{a}niac

Merquieades Salazar cried over the body of his wife, who was among those crushed. Salazar, 45, said the couple was jobless and wanted to try their luck at winning a raffle with a jackpot equivalent to 19,250 dollars."In the desire to win money, she is the one I lost." *photo and script courtesy of Associated Press

A friend of mine told me about the stampede that happened back in my country that killed more than 80 people. She saw it on BBC. I went online to learn more about the news myself. I read that all of the casualties were mostly middle aged women who come from among the 40% of the chronic poor in my country. There was this gameshow that announced it would be giving away almost 20,000 dollars as prize for it's first year anniversary, plus a house and lot and shit like that. Thousands of people flocked to the place where the show was gonna be held. The organizers were expecting 17,000 people. More than 30,000 people came. Apparently, a steel barricade was broken which started the stampede. Some people say there was someone who shouted 'bomb' which caused people to panic. More than 80 people (all living in the lowest class of society) died a senseless death, all because they wanted to win 20 thousand dollars in some stupid gameshow. A gameshow, like all the gameshows in a country that has a profit oriented mass-media, which capitalizes on the poverty of the masses and "helping the needy" and "charity" and "hope", all for the sake of ratings and sponsorships. Media networks in my country are mostly like their American counterparts - way too centered on the reality (bullshit) marketing phenomenon, hyped on drama in both news and entertainment, exercising selective morality way too often especially when it affects their interests thus, very partisan, very colonial, very stereotypical, and very, very numbers (ratings) oriented. In the media wars for power, supremacy, influence and control, numbers are important.

The ancient Greek philosopher, Pythagoras was right all along. Numbers are everything. Let me give a little exercise just to prove my point, that numbers matter in this shithole of a world we live in.

I live in a country that consists of 7,100++ islands (depending on the tides) that is populated by more than 80,000,000 people, 40% of which live on 2 dollars a day. In my little tropical nation barely 500 families practically own the country's lands of which many members of these so called "families" comfortably sit in their leather (think Italian) chairs in the offices they hold in both the private and public sectors. Interestingly there are barely 25++ media networks operating in my little tropical nation, mostly owned by, who else... look above. Speaking of 500, the same amount in my currency wouldn't last a week. 10 if you convert it into USdollars and barely 7 into euros. If I give 500 to a whore, she'd bitchslap me twice and spit on my face and tell me that I will get crabs or syphillis the next day. If I multiply the same number by 12, you'll get what the average worker would get in a month in my coconut republic, not including the shitty taxes we pay which only goes to my public servant's greedy pockets (which is probably deeper than my ass). 20 the average number of typhoons that visit us every year. If you divide it by 4 you'd get the number of coup d'etat's (5 coups, with only 2 being labeled 'successful') that happened within the last 20 years. 2 is also the number constitutional conventions that were done in this century alone, with another one fast approaching. But still the same faces in the government with barely little additives from grass roots organizations. 0 is the number of representatives from the Communist Party in the Congress and the Senate. (Luckily) 0 is also the number of tsunami incidents. Let's hope it stays that way. 2 is the media network that airs the gameshow that caused the stampede that killed more than 80 lives and injured 300 more. 7 is the rival network. These two networks have been at war ever since the word "ratings" started to mean "profits". 40 is the age of the host of the gameshow who cried in tears in front of the tv news cameras (of both networks) apologizing for the incident. 40 is also the average age of the people who died in the stampede who were mostly women hoping to get the 1,000,000 peso prize of the day. 1,000,000 pesos translates to 19,250 dollars. 51.9 was the exchange rate for the peso against the dollar which was the highest in more than 3 years, which caused the elation of a 56 year-old president hoping for another 6 years in office.

Today there are less than 80 people in my coconut repuclic's population. 19,250 dollars. 51.9 to 1. 32,000,000 people to 500 families. 80 million captive audiences of korean-chinese-mexican telenovelas, news dramas, reality tv, gameshows, home tv shopping, religious networks that spread love AND hate, and 60-second award winning commercials that only give you false hopes for better days to come, as long as you buy their product.

After all the numbers I wrote, you might ask why do I even find the slightest bit of humor in all of this? And what do I have to say about it? Only this, reader of my blog...

WELL FCUK WE ALL.

And I meant that.

If you want me to be sympathetic and turn this into a real bad melodrama shitfest that's already infested most of the televison netowrks by airing them ALL DAY, I have to say NO. I have my own version of sympathy, thank you. And I trust my own version. And I don't need a copy from last night's episode of whatsitsname telenovela. I don't want to pity the people who were affected by this tragedy, God knows they will be receiving a pity fest from all directions. And after six months or so, most of them would be forgotten. Sure there'd be an anniversary special for all who died in the stampede and there might even be a memorial for the 80++ people who died. But who would really remember them? The network? The host? The President? The Senate? The Congress? The Church? You? Me? No one really, except for the people who survived that day. People like Merquieades Salazar who, as much as he wants to, will never forget the day he lost his wife.

You might even think I am this high and mighty asshole preaching in this makeshift pulpit that I call a blog. That temptation is just so hard to resist. But you were thinking of it, weren't you? No use in denying it. At the back of our heads, in the deep recesses of our minds, we all want and think of the same things. I really don't give a shit. But if you'd be so careful to notice and look up above and try to read the funky green pronoun in all caps and underline, you'd figure out easily that I am not excluding myself. I am swimming in the same cesspool as you are. Let's face it. We are all but used toilet paper floating in this ocean of excrement. This is REALITY UNEDITED. And no amount of drama, or 700-club morality, or "reality" tv, or gameshow, or networking scam, or "showbiz" politicking or 60 second award winning commercials from from transnational corporations can cover it up. Reality is knocking on our doorstep. She's trying to wake us up to smell the air and to get real. Maybe if we start there, for once, we might actually get somewhere.

The Confessions of an Insomniac Part VII o ang Pangungumpisal ng Isang Taong Hindi Makatulog {{{2.27 am}}}

Matagal-tagal na ring hindi ako nakakapagsulat sa sarili kong lengwahe. Nabasa ko kasi yung blog ni Oski kanina {dapat matutulog na ako pero binasa ko}, kaya hindi na rin ako nakatulog. Heto na naman ako, nakaharap sa pentium 4 BC na computer, may hawak na sigarilyo, nagta type at nagdarasal na sana di mag-hang ang PC kasi hindi ko maisa save ang latest blog entry ko. Nakakahiya mang sabihin, hindi ako magaling sa Filipino. May isang professor na nagsabi sa amin na karamihan sa mga Pinoy daw, nagta-Tagalog {or Filipino, tingnan mo naman, sa pangalan pa lang, lugi na tayo - di mo alam kung Tagalog ba o Filipino} pero kung mag-isip, Ingles. Bibihira daw ang nag iisip ng purong Filipino {o Tagalog}. Kung mapapansin mo mambabasa {reader}, di ko maiiwasang gumamit ng mga terminolohiyang banyaga. Sampol lang tol. Expletives o pagmumura sa Talapino (Tagalog at Filipino, kasi kung tutuusin Tagalog naman talaga lahat ang Filipino. Di ko rin masisisi ang mga Bisaya at Cebuano kung bakit ang sasama ng loob sa mga taga Luzon) back to the blog (ayan nag Ingles na naman ako!)

CUSSING o PAGMUMURA

shit fuck motherfucker {minsan muthafucka pa nga para hip-hop} sonofabitch asshole punyeta {spanish word} puta {isa pang spanish word} atbp...

Sa pagmumura pa lang, dehado na tayo {spanish din yan dejado}. Minsan natatawa ako pag naiisip ko ang sinabi ng professor ko. Totoo naman. Mas magaling pa nga tayo sa English Grammar kesa sa Talapino. Mas magaling tayo mag spelling sa Ingles kesa sa lenguahe natin. Minsan, ako pa nga ang tinatanong ng mga Amerikano at Inglatero kong kakilala kung pano mag spell ng ganito or ganyan. Biruin mo, si Brown Boi from the Tropics kayang i-spell ang M-E-C-H-A-N-I-S-M at alam ang ibig sabihin ng E-L-A-T-E-D. Minsan nakakatawang isipin, ang yabang yabang ng ibang puti {hindi lahat ha, tandaan niyo, sa lahat ng lugar may ASSHOLE, baka yung katabi mo nga ngayon isa rin, eh} na nakikilala ko dahil lng sa kulay nila at sa kanilang pagiging Caucasian. Maputi, blonde ang buhok, 6 footer {hehe may mga pandakekong din palang mga puti} at higit sa lahat, sa kulay ng mga pasaporte nila. Sensha na lang ako GREEN ang passport ko. Sa loob-loob ko, Spelling Bee na lang tayo o! Sige, ewan ko lang kung di kayo maduling sa kakaisip.

Ewan ko kung saan patungo itong blog entry ko. Gusto ko lang kasing magsulat ulit sa Talapino. Sabi nga ni Juan, "Bahala na". Hahayaan ko na lang na Stream of Consciousness ang gumana.

Nung napadpad ako dito, nag iba pananaw ko. Sabihin nating nagbago ako. Marami nga nagsasabi na nagbago ako. Bagong pang asar sa akin ni NiNa "NAGBAGO KA NA!". Siguro nga. Marahil. Pero kailangan ko. Kasi kung hinde, baka malunod ako. Nung napadpad ako dito, napagtanto ko na ang laki laki pala ng mundo. Syet! {Shaz and Helga, and for the English speakers who read my blog, syet is a Filipino expletive which is a derivative of the English word 'shit', which I believe, I don't have to explain the meaning}. As I was saying.... SYET! Kala ko..... Pero kala ko lng pala. Dami kong inakala pero hindi pala ganun in real life. Tulad nito:

MGA AKALA ni OMAR

1. Mabango ang mga puti o Caucasians

Hindi lahat. May mabaho, may tama lng, may amoy bagong paligo, may amoy na alam mong tinabunan lang ng cologne, may amoy kusina, may amoy post office, may amoy vanilla, may amoy suka, may amoy fried chicken, may amoy matanda {pero bata pa} at kung anu anu pa.

2. Liberal ang mga Westerners

Hindi lahat. Karamihan ng mga nakilala ko kung hindi supahLEFT, supahRIGHT. Sasabihin nung iba na open minded sila pero kung titingnan mo, sila rin pala ang konserbatibo. Sasabihin nila sosyalista sila pero tingnan mo naman kung pano magtrato ng tao. Sosyalista, Komunista, Kapitalista, Kristyano, Mormon, Wiccan, Budismo, Metrosexual, Republican, Democrat, Nader o anuman. Mga pangalan lang yan. Pag tiningnan mong mabuti, lahat tayo nag ooperate sa BASIC INSTINCTS natin - mabuti man o masama.

3. Mapepera ang mga Westerners

Hindi lahat. May umutang nga sa akin ng 30 pesos, eh. Hehe.

4. Magaling mag Ingles ang mga Westerners

Hehe. Spelling be na lang! Kung tutuusin, mas magaling tayo. Sa accent lang sila may partida. Pero madaling gayahin ang accent. Sa dinami dami ba naman ng call center sa Pilipinas... di ba Aisa?

5. Bobo ang mga nonCaucasians

Hindi po. Karamihan sa mga nakilala kong taga Africa, Polynesian Islands, Carribean, at Indian SubContinent mas may utak pa kesa sa mga ibang puti. Oo, may mayayabang din at mga gago. Pero saan bang lugar ang wala? May nakausap nga ako na taga Cameroon {hanapin niyo sa mapa yun, pusta ko di niyo alam kung saan siya, kasi masyado tayong nabighani sa laki ng America, Canada, Australia at Europa}, magandang babae, at may masters sa Foreign Languages. Kayang magsalita ng Ingles, Italian, German, French, at Afrikaans at siyempe yung mga major dialects ng bansa niya. O, sankapa? WHAPPACK!

6. Pangit ang mga nonCaucasians

Eto pangit sa karamihan sa atin, pag di maputi, PANGIT. Kasama ako dun. Kala ko dati malawak pag iisip ko. Sing lawak ng Pacific Ocean. Pero may color preference pa rin pala ako na nagtatago sa subconscious ko. Nang makilala ko si Shaz, nagbago pananaw ko. Ang ganda ganda ni Shaz. Kung straight ako, di ako magdadalawang isip na.... eniweys. {hehe Merci beaucoup mi amore. A bientot dans Maputu, eh?}Nang makilala ko si Shaz dun ko natutunang hangaan ang anumang hindi puti. At nung nakita ko ang kagandahan ng kaitiman o ng hindikaputian, napag isip isip ko, tang ina, kung ako nagpapaputi yung mga kanong kakilala ko nag papaitim. Okey pala ng kulay ko.

Minsan nga may nakausap akong taga Jakarta, sabi niya, ang swerte mo naman at Pinoy ka. Sabi pa niya, ang dami daw naiinggit sa mga Pinoy {whoa! ganun} kasi ang puputi daw natin. Sabi ko sa kanya lika, labas tayo. Lumabas kami. pinagtapat ko braso ko sa braso niya. Tapos tinanong ko kung anong kulay ng braso ko. Sabi niya BROWN! {parang Colgate commercial}, tapos tanong ko anong kulay ng braso niya. Sagot niya, BROWN {di na parang Colgate commercial}. Sabi ko sa kanya, Lighting lang yan tol. LoL. Pero sabi niya, cute pa rin daw ako. Sabi ko naman, BOTOX yan. hehe. {wink*wink}. Seriously. Nagiging proud na ako sa kulay ko. Makikita ko dito, daming mga Chinese at Koreans na nagpupunta sa tanning salons para mag pa Tan. Di rin ako mag mamalinis, gumagamit ako ng whitening agent dahil sa pimple scars ko. Buti naman at nagkaroon ng epekto. hehe. Basta, para sa akin HOT si Djimon Hounsou.

7. DON'T TRUST FOREIGNERS

May kaunting katotohanan dyan. Pero, sa aking experience dito, mas marami akong napagkatiwalaan na hindi ko kabansa. Minsan kung sino pa yung kakulay mo, yun pa ang tatae sa mukha mo. Sabi nga rin ni Shaz, sa France ganyan din daw. Sa mga immigrant communities, mas nagkakaroon pa sila ng problema sa mga kalahi nila kaysa sa ibang tao. Ganun naman talaga siguro. Kasi, ang nangyayari, yung dating mikrokosmos, nagiging makrokosmos.

Ayokong mag enumerate ng mga akala ko. Kaunti lamang yan sa mga kinailanganin kong bitakin tapos ibalik at tapos bitakin ulit hanggang maayos sa isang nararapat na lugar, nararapat na posisyon, nararapat na pagtanaw. Ang hirap kasi makita kung ano ang nasa harapan mo kung may pader na nagbabalakid sa iyo. Naamoy mo yung dagat pero di mo makita. Nakikita mo ang langit pero hidni mo alam kung hanggang saan. Kailangan mo pang tumingala. Pero pag umakyat ka sa pader, o kaya'y tumayo sa ibabaw ng pader, ang dami mong makikita. Magugulat ka. Pwede pala magsama ang Dagat at Langit.

Sabi ng iba kong kakilala na swerte daw ako. Marahil. Pero may nagsabi nga sa akin, na ang swerte ay hindi talaga swerte. Laging may trade-off, ika nga. Kapag lumaki ang mundo mo, lalaki rin ang responsibilidad mo. Sabi sa amin ng isang professor. Pano ko ba maisusulat 'tong nararamdaman ko ngayon? Teka.

Bigyan niyo ako ng isang sigarilyo.... {hithit Omar, hithit}

Ibibigay ko maski puri ko:

~Makita lng, yakapin at mahalikan ang pamilya ko.

~Makita lang, yakapin at mahalikan ang mga kaibigan ko.

~Makakain ng Tocino, Sinigang na maraming gabi, Shawarma, BBQ, Lugaw sa Blummentritt, Jollibee, 7-11 at Toknene

~Makapaglakad sa Quiapo at magpahula at bumili ng pamparegla

~Magyosi sa sementeryo kasama kahit sinumang may gustong sumama sa akin

~Manood ng sine na malakas ang aircon

~Mag-book hunting

~Mag halukay sa ukay ukay

~Mamangka sa Pasig River

~Makapag swimming sa beach {di pa ako nakakarating ng Bora o Puerto Galera *hikbi*}

~Makapunta ng Baguio {*singhot*}

~Sumabit sa Jeep

~Maglakad sa kalye

~Umihi sa daan {pwede pa ba yun?}

~Bumalik sa Palawan

~Bumalik sa Bicol {at maligo in open air}

~Makita ulit si Mike Enriquez sa TV

~Mapanood ulit si Kris Aquino na iniinterview ng reporter at sabihin sa buong Pilipinas {na kumakain ng hapunan} na may STD siya

~Maglakad sa Tandang Sora at Avenida at Escolta at Chinatown at Mendiola at Baywalk at Recto at Makati at Monumento at EDSA

.....................................................................

Maswerte ako. Marahil. Pero.

.....................................................................

Alam mo, ang dami kong gustong gawin ngayon, pero wala lahat dito. Minsan, siguro, kailangan kong sampalin sarili ko at mag reality check. Nandito ako. Naroon sila.

Minsan naisip ko. Nakakaawa tayo. Hanggang ngayon, Indio pa rin tayo. Wala rin pala tayong pinagkaiba sa mga puti. Ang yabang yabang din natin. Away dito. Away doon. Ala nang pera ang gobyerno pero ang gagara ng kotse ng mga nakaupo. Ang daming gutom. Ang daming alang trabaho. Ang daming gagraduate ngayon na di sigurado kung may papasukan. Ang daming naglalakad sa Ortigas at Makati na naka sputing, necktie, long sleeves {kahit sobrang init}. Ang daming gustong magpakasal na hindi pwedeng ikasal dahil hindi sila covered ng constitution. Ang daming kristyano na hindi naman kristyano. Ang daming simbahan na naglalakihan. Ang daming pulubi sa labas ng mga simbahang naglalakihan. Ang daming magsasaka at mangingisda na nawawalan ng pag-asa sa lupa at sa tubig at naghahanap ng kasagutan sa bundok. Ang daming sundalong sumusunod sa mga walang kwentang dirketibo. Ang daming napuputol na mga puno sa mga bundok. Ang daming problema. Parang kang nasubsob sa tae ng kalabaw na sinukahan ng aso na tinaihan ng pusa na inihian ng daga na iniputan ng manok na dinapuan ng langaw...

Ang ganda ng word na 'democracy'. Sabi nga ng kalaro kong si Nining Liit {ibig sabihin may Nining Laki}, WORD LANG YAN. What a word. Hehe. Eto pang isang word para sa mga lahat ng naiboto sa kung pano mang paraan at may armas na binabayaran ng publiko. PUTANGINA NIYO. {Shaz and Helga putangina is an expletive/cuss which is a rough translation of mother fucker/son of a bitch or your mother's a whore in English. It's actually a pidgin of Madre de puta or Puta Madre which means the exact same thing. By the way, I taught our Russian friend how to say it}.

Siguro iniisip isip mo {ikaw na nagmbabasa nitong walang kuwentang blog na to} na nawalan na ako ng pag-asa. Sabi nga ni Steven Tyler J-J-J-JJJJ-J-Jaaaaaded. Di naman. Anger Management lang to. At isa pa. Insomniac ako. hehe. Malaki pag asa ko. Malawak. Sinlawak nung natanaw ko nung tumayo ako sa ibabaw ng pader at nakita ko kung pano nagtama ang Langit at Dagat. Hangga't buhay si Mike Enriquez, may pag asa pa ako. Tol, tingnan mo naman si pareng Mike. Di kaanya anyaya ang mukha pero bigshot Network Executive {WHAPPACK!}. Hangga't nanjan si Kris Aquino na willing maglantad ng kanyang STD sa buong mundo, ok pa rin ako {I love you Kris. pa kiss!}. Hangga't di pa umaabot sa 200 pesos ang pinakamurang Value Meal ng Jollibee, oks pa rin ako {pucha sana di magkaroon ng SUPEROILCRISIS with THEDAYAFTERTOMORROWCATASTROPHE - Omar makes the sign of the cross, spits over his right shoulder then over to his left and looks up to the ceiling and then prays to yoda}. Hangga't hindi pa kasing size ng Champion Cigarettes and Lucky Me Pansit Canton. Hangga't may Eat Bulaga pa. At higit sa lahat...

Hangga't may mga taong tulad nila oski at auch at allan at romel at ramboy at jepoy at dennis at lahat ng mga nabanggit ko sa sa MISS LIST KO... may pag asa pa ako. may rason ako na tumalon ng pader at lumangoy kung saan nagtatama ang Langit at Dagat. GRADE -A- SHIT ang mga nasa listahan na yan. Pag nawala man ni isa sa kanila, grabe kawalan ng bansa ko {at pati na rin ng mundo ko -shyt ang drama ko, grabe yung noodles na kinain ko kaninang hapunan-}

Mag uumaga na. Hindi pa rin ako inaantok. Pero masaya ako. Pero Gutom na naman ako. Inom na lang siguro ako ng juice.