Lob(by) Notes

“…Sabi ko, ‘Tay, bili mo naman ako ng Batmobile o.’
Pero kakatanggal n’ya lang ata sa trabaho no’n at wala na siyang pera
Kasi kasali yata sa unyon, nagwala sa piketline kaya ayun, natanggal
Kaya gumawa na lang siya ng tarak-tarak na lata ng sardinas
At binutasan na lang at kinabitan ng tansan
At do’n ko nalaman ang ibig sabihin ng pagmamahal”

…Lourd de Veyra (in “Alaala ni Batman”) resounds in my head. Must be one of the most beautiful lyrics of all time. Radioactive Sago Project is a tad underrated, eh? It’s got me thinking about what love really is. That Batman guy in the song gave a nifty example. The rest of the whole “bigkas” talks of personal obsession, though…a kind of sickness (probably mental), actually, that’s taken over a superhero-wannabe (I am reminded of someone…*sighs*):

“…Ngayon, hindi ko na talaga kaya, hindi ko na talaga kaya, hindi ko na kaya
May narinig akong putok mula sa kaibuturan ng aking utak
Bumigay na ang tali, sumabog na ang bulkan, nabasag na ang pula
Kaya ngayon, isang madilim na madilim na gabi
Ako ay narito na sa tuktok ng isang mataas na mataas na building sa Ayala
Ang sarap ng hangin na umiihip-ihip sa aking kapa
Nakataas ang aking mga kamay, nakataas na ang aking mga kamay
Malapit na akong lumipad, malapit na akong lumipad, malapit na akong lumipad
Lipad Batman, lipad, lumipad ka, lumipad ka
Lumipad ka papuntang langit, lumipad ka, lumipad ka
Nakataas ang aking mga kamay, nakataas ang aking mga kamay

E pero, bigla kong naisip, hindi naman pala lumilipad si Batman, ‘di ba
Hindi naman pala lumilipad si Batman
Hindi naman pala lumilipad si Batman kaya, paalam, malupit na mundo
Paalam, mahal
Paalam po, inay, itay, kuya, ate, lolo, lola, paalam po
Lolo sa tuhod, paalam po
Lola sa siko, paalam po
Bantay, paalam
Muning, paalam
Ewan ko kung sinong ‘papakain sa inyo
Paalam po, Aling Tekla
Paalam po, Mang Goryo
Tsaka ko na lang po babayaran yung sukang inutang ko sa yo
Paalam, Junjun
Paalam, Bongbong
Babay, Rose, hoy, babay
Babay Pini
Babay Baby
Babay Pablo, Asis, Rastem, BJ, Jay, sige ‘yan
Wowie, sige pare, Pards, Arwin, ingat kayo
Sige paalam.

Too bad he had to die in the end, just because he forgot that Batman couldn’t actually fly. *smirks* It’s always given me a good laugh, though. Anyways, back to love…I won't be saying that it's "complicated," "painful," yadah yadah yadah yadah...everybody knows that already. I'm only too thankful that as of now, I haven't been going through that same tangled wilderness…I’m just outside it, squinting my eyes, trying to see its core, which is an impossible feat, of course (now, I'm sticking metaphors to it, sheesh).

But heck, Valentine's is just peeking round the corner, in the form of little boys and girls in each other’s arms, holding on for dear life, mocking each and everyone who belongs to the singles’ race. Back in our humble abode, in this sorority house of a dormitory, there’s a current rule that strictly forbids public display of affection. Nope, girls haven’t gone wild enough to be kissing one another (don’t let your imagination get away just yet). They happen to have become too lazy to go find themselves and their boyfriends a nice, romantic spot at the Lagoon or Sunken Garden or God-knows-where-else, that they’ve just settled for our lobby (it magically transformed from a receiver’s area into a gigantic kissing/hugging/petting/necking booth…I am exaggerating, of course, or I just wasn’t lucky enough to see everything for myself…go figure) in which certain “activities” have reached fever pitch. It all started with an open letter that was anonymously posted a week (or two) ago. It was signed by a “concerned dormer” who was condemning such, such…such horrible acts of love and care…*shivers* I’m guessing that the concerned little girl comes from a Catholic school, and is probably single…but on second thought, could actually be attached (poor guy), just “concerned,” y’know. Forgive me for my simplistic and sarcastic remarks. But that is what we oughtta take into consideration: the girl’s “concerned,” man…”disturbed,” most probably…but “concerned,” just the same. How can you be concerned if you don’t want any of it? Such euphemisms that we sugarcoat ourselves with, eh? “Havaianas” for f**king rubber slippers that our lolas only used to buy at the local palengke, “lapse in judgment” for buying votes in the elections, “war on terror” for stealing oil from third world countries, pfft! They’re all the same. Point is, if you choose not to get bothered by raging hormones on the loose, then you don’t get bothered, or even more so, offended. Personally, it’s not anymore a question of morality. I mean, sure, be “concerned” if they’re already doing “the deed” at the lobby, setting a bad, bad example for 300 grown women who actually go to, surprise, surprise, college…oh and did I say UP? If it’s a question of ethics, though, then I don’t see the need for an open letter. People have brains. They have the initiative. They don’t go lovey-dovey over one another just so they can “offend,” “disturb” and make everybody else around ‘em “concerned.” These kids could actually be in love, for all we know. Don’t get me wrong, though. I am not, in any way, defending them. I don’t speak for the lovebirds, nay…for I am myself single and happy at best, single and miserable at worst, but that doesn’t matter…there are some things that must be left unspoken, like your disdain for a dormmate who eats like a pig, for example…or your murderous feeling for the one who always forgets to flush (and I’m not talking about taking a leak, alright). Gawd, give these human beings a break…if they want to eat their lovers’ faces, pity the lovers…if they want to eat their whole plates, pity their stomachs…and if they’re always in a rush to leave the cubicles and end up forgetting “something,” pity the next toilet users. But if you’re gonna be concerned, go straight to your lovestruck offender and tell her how concerned you are, how you’ve been raised to hate such a sight of free love and displays of affection in a world of network wars and nearly permanent environmental damage…no need to hide behind colored ink on paper posted on a door, sounding far worse than a fraile’s sermon…go and give the bad girl some spanking…well, of course, if you do feel that it is somewhat your business, right?

Oh, but I can go on rambling here ‘till my school deadlines and it’s not like anything will happen (well, aside from flunking my majors *knocks on wood*). It’s not like that sign on the canteen door that says “NO-PDA-ALLOWED-or-else-you-go-face-the-office’s-wrath-or-something-to-that-effect” will go away. Hmmm…now that I’m thinking about it, the lobby has been “PDA-free” for the past few days…eversince the “public declaration of concern.” Tsk, tsk, such wusses…apparently, love doesn’t exactly seem to, y’know, “conquer all.” I’m only too glad that Lourd de Veyra can still sing about a dad who makes a Batmobile out of a tin can for his Batman diehard fan of a son...now that is worth concerning. Happy ValenTIMES, mga repa’t rema. Go show some love, for cryin’ out loud. ^.~

P.S. This is my Valentine offering (forgive me for riding with the times, I just couldn’t help it), “Paperbag” by Fiona Apple…nifty song…equally nifty video…all for my little superhero/wannabe (he doesn’t know who he is, of course)…not exactly the happiest tribute but hey, not all love stories (if I’m starting one) end up getting all cheery and marshmallow-y, if y’know what I mean.

I was staring at the sky, just looking for a star
To pray on, or wish on, or something like that
I was having a sweet fix of a daydream of a boy
Whose reality I knew, was a hopeless to be had
But then the dove of hope began its downward slope
And I believed for a moment that my chances
Were approaching to be grabbed
But as it came down near, so did a weary tear
I thought it was a bird, but it was just a paper bag
Hunger hurts, and I want him so bad, oh it kills
'Cause I know I'm a mess he don't wanna clean up
I got to fold 'cause these hands are too shaky to hold
Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love
And I went crazy again today, looking for a strand to climb
Looking for a little hope
Baby said he couldn't stay, wouldn't put his lips to mine,
And a fail to kiss is a fail to cope
I said, 'Honey, I don't feel so good, don't feel justified
Come on put a little love here in my void,' he said
'It's all in your head,' and I said, 'So's everything'
But he didn't get it I thought he was a man
But he was just a little boy
Hunger hurts, and I want him so bad, oh it kills
'Cause I know I'm a mess he don't wanna clean up
I got to fold 'cause these hands are too shaky to hold
Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love
Hunger hurts, and I want him so bad, oh it kills
'Cause I know I'm a mess he don't wanna clean up
I got to fold 'cause these hands are too shaky to hold
Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love.

Blues Schmooze

The Moon is in her most beautiful, almost perfect shape tonight…and I can’t even relish the sight of her on the deck (it’s like the dorm’s “secret” rooftop). You’re not at all deprived of significant people whom you love and who, fortunately, love you back…and you can’t even be with them when all you wanna do is give ‘em a hug tight enough to kill. Bamboo and a smorgasbord of other bands are coming on the UP Fair kickoff…and I can’t even be totally certain about seeing them (in cases like this, I usually don’t let anything get in the way), never mind that the ticket’s only P85, an eensy-weensy glitch in the wallet that’s worth all that real, face-melting music. Oh, and my roommate’s just told me about Heath Ledger’s death…and I can’t even feel sorry enough for the guy or Michelle or their little daughter. Nah…all because it’s February, and all the professors are chasing after time like a ravenous pack of wolves in search of Paradise (Wolf’s Rain, anyone?). Summer’s just round the corner…but kids are talking about “hell weeks” and “DEADlines” and “suicide” (yep). Life is beautiful…and yet, sometimes, you’re just too busy to actually live it. The “human blues,” I call ‘em…the inexplainable wretchedness caused by your lack of control (or entire bereavement thereof) of the things that happen to you…the same things that you have to deal with yourself. It’s when you’re reminded how utterly powerless you are, when all your life, your parents [and everybody else who has always wanted you to believe in yourself] have all been telling you that “it is you who charts your own destiny…it is you who decides your fate...it is you who makes something happen.” Well, not entirely, but thanks anyway. See, “making something happen” is one thing…“what happens next” is another, and how d’you cope? Well, I can almost hear God saying, “Maybe it’s your call, but it just ain’t your ball, man.” Me: *scowls *…goes back to work. Whoop-de-doo.

Sundae's Already Melted

If Rico Blanco would “drive on a Sunday” and hum along some catchy lines that he himself had written, I’d be singing some of my own: “Shopping on a Sunday, tucked in the mellow pace of life, lalalalalala.” Well, technically, they’re still Rico’s. But I swear the feeling was as light as that song. There’s nothing like going back home with an empty wallet, fully aware that you’ve just made great deals (January’s about to end, there has got to be a googol of clearance sales all over the world. I say, “ATTACK!”), and that those will have to enjoy a long shelf, I mean, closet life. Oh, but the song doesn’t last. Night came and the reason behind my new black flats (because he hated my sneaks) just gave up on me. Fast and furious…yeah, that’s what he is. Darn it, I knew I should’ve had those cute Pony’s, instead. The moral of the story? NEVER dress for somebody aside from yourself…oh, and never get into something temporary when the other one’s pretty much convinced that it’s permanent. Hey, that’s life…s**t does happen…a lot. Oh well, it does go on, too…life, I mean. And so, what do I do? Hum, of course. “Sweet little melodies, I embrace the memories until you return into the arms you once called home….”

Cheers For Fears

It’s 7 a.m. and I’ve just gotten roughly three hours of sleep. But the morning sunshine’s just way too irresistible to sleep through. Besides, I’ve been thinking so hard since midnight about some sick stuff…real hardcore thinking, man, that it’d eventually wind up in my dreams during my shortlived shuteye. And if I don’t write about this now, I’ll definitely lose my saneness (or what’s left of it)...like…soon. So never mind that my eyes are still squinting, refusing to open up. Never mind that my head’s a little light, or if I am currently nursing three sore pimples—two on my forehead and one on my chin—due to obvious lack of sleep (I have been staying up ‘till four since Saturday, no thanks to severely piled schoolwork that was neglected during the holidays). Never mind my personal vow to “never make this blog my diary, as internet should never really be completely trusted, and as vanity should never be one of my countless other sins.” I’m wearing my heart on my sleeve today. I’m typing, and that’s it! Oh…and by the way, a groovy morning to you.

Fast and furious. Yeah, that’s him. I should’ve known what I was in for. It’s hard not to have any strings attached, despite the very fact that I am the perpetrator. Lesson learned? Don’t mess around with somebody who wants something serious, especially if he’s rushing like some modernday, rugged Casanova. I say “Casanova” because he might get too alluring along the way, that you actually find yourself asking if you have indeed fallen for somebody who can’t tell you straight those three sacred words like a man would (just when you thought you were finally dating a man, sheesh)…or even spell it properly, for that matter (well, I’ll be damned). Wait a sec, that ain’t very Casanova after all. O.o And then, all of a sudden, you’re stuck in a glitch…because just when you decided to “explore and expand your horizons,” you actually find your own space shrinking…real fast, too. You’re gonna be all about him for the next few days…or weeks, even months. And yet, you can’t help it, man. ‘Cause you’re way too engrossed…not even in love. Tae, right?

But thank God for other guys with depth, especially the ones who think they’re too cool for Friendster. Then again, there are some profiles worth checking out (yeah, the ones where the spelling’s right)…oh, and I’ve been a fan (I prefer that term to “stalker”) of one just recently. Gawd, I love such depths which I can actually swim in (not that I know how). That fragile, boyish look doesn’t hurt, either. And those hands…GAWD. At first, I’d be sighing to myself, “I think I’m in love”…but NAH. He must be WAY too out of my league…we’re not even friends in (or is it “at” or “on?”) Friendster and I doubt if he still remembers me, too. And then the prospect of declaring unrequited love to someone pops in my brain…and then images of high school, all pimpled, martyred and hurting and everything, come streaming afterwards…and I say, “No f**king way.” Tae nanaman. Again, your space shrinks even more and then you wonder where the hell your “horizons” went. You go and say, “No, thanks…nothing serious for now” and yet, like a little kid getting up on a stool to steal some cookies from the jar once he’s left alone in the kitchen, you actually take EVERYTHING seriously…everything to heart. How many times do I have to tell you to get your heart outta here?? It’s got to take a rest, man.

Every new year starts with a bang. Before you know it, you’re once again being hauled into something strange…and yet, it’s kind of familiar at the same time, which always freaks you out. After hours, perhaps days, of hardcore thinking (when you should be doing that for French 10 or Theater 100), you’ve come up with a theory: it’s not that you’re scared of being single forever. The one thing that threatens you more than anything else is that you may fall in too deep and too fast every chance you get. That seems to be your specialty, see: going crazy over someone who’s just not crazy enough for you…not that you want something in return…you actually need it, man. There are alternatives, though…except that you should never get dead serious with something, lest you get caught up again in a labyrinth that you have actually built for yourself in the first place. If you don’t get your dose of casual fun and keep on taking the things that break you in the end, you’re pretty sure that you may not live very long...which is a bummer, since you’ve yet to own your first pair of Manolos, raise a child or children, and help save the world with love, peace, and of course, art. Just thinking about everything you’ll miss…is a huge pain in the a**…total bad scene. You may want to take some Prozac or mere Aspirin…get involved in something uncomplicated and yet unstable OR something stable and yet too, too complicated. O.o And if love comes, as in the real kind, it’s always when you least need it…and when you already do, it never seems to stay…and THAT, my friends, is the saddest part of what d’you call that again? That most painful four-letter word (you-know-what or it-which-must-not-be-named) that burns your throat, and tears at your heart, and sucks you dry of your best, sweetest words (only to make you eat ‘em again later on), and makes you sick with both the good AND miserable kinds of drunkenness, and makes and breaks you, and drains your wallet…and…oh what the heck, it’s not like you’re alone, right? C’mon, Bianca Gonzalez lost Lino Cayetano to KC Concepcion. Owen Wilson almost killed himself because of Kate Hudson. Jenny lost to Angie. Regina and Samson weren’t mentioned in the Bible. Simoun Ibarra never got the girl, and Vincent Van Gogh lost an ear…and his mind, for cryin’ out loud! So quit sulking and scowling and let’s do this the better way. Sing with me as we toast to 2008. *hic*

Bagong Taon

by Rivermaya

(“post-Bamboo, pre-new, pretty boy from Bicol” days)

Album: It’s Not Easy Being Green

Baby rocket,
Bakit ang panget ng lipad?
Hindi deretso.
Naisip ko tuloy ang buhay kong
Na’ng mawala ka’y
Naging trumpilyong
Paikot-ikot
Hanggang ito’y maubos.

Bagong Taon,
Lumang problema.
Kailan kaya ako
Liligaya?

Super Lolo,
Ba’t ka ganyan?
Nambubulabog.
Naisip ko tuloy itong
Lumipas na pag-ibig,
Paarang luses na
Pagka-liwa-liwanag,
Pagka-iksi-iksi ng buhay.

Bagong Taon,
Lumang problema.
Kailan kaya tayo magsasama?