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.