my memory of him

My father died when I was twelve. Alcohol and tobacco killed him. We were never close to each other. My memory of him includes the occasional ‘beating sessions’ we had, with whatever thing he was holding, or could get a hold of . Maybe I was already an asshole then. During those times, I thought,or believed, that he doesn’t love me. I hated him. I remembered faking a cry when my mother hugged and told me that he already had passed away. I actually don’t remember if I was successful in it, you know, faking that cry.

But there’s this one thing that makes me believe that he was a good father. There was this time that he went to the city [my older brother lives there] to process something, maybe his pension or something. When he went back home, he brought with him a half sliced apple. So what’s with that sliced apple? You see, I grew up eating rice with water and salt. That’s all we could afford then. Sometimes, we literally had nothing to eat. I would walk kilometers everyday just to get to school, with one peso in my pocket. So the thought of that half sliced apple, if I think of it now, really moves me. I mean, he could have just eaten it by himself. Nobody would know, right? But he gave it to me. Maybe he loved me afterall. And in reality, inspite of the hatred I felt towards him, there was still a place for him in my heart. And that place was exclusively for him. Just for him.

we can conquer the world

I was youtube-ing today and was able to find this video by Mariah Carey singing You and I by Stevie Wonder live [the show was a tribute to Wonder]. This is one of my favorite songs, and this used to be my song for my ex. We’re not together anymore obviously, but I still love the song. I want this to be my wedding song. That is if I’ll ever get married. And if I can kidnap Mariah comes the time just to sing this song while my girl is taking the aisle, I will. But I might pass out once she started singing. It would be such a scene then.

‘I only pray that I have shown you a brighter day because that’s all that I am living for, you see, don’t worry what happens to me.’

[Sigh].

just like the weather

A few minutes ago I felt happy. Now I’m not. And I am blaming the heat for it.

on taking chances

I didn’t like The Departed [Scorsese] the first time I’ve seen it. I didn’t like it the second time. Same thing the third time. So why the fuck watch it over and over again if I didn’t like it the first time? Because it’s me. I fuck up with what others call ‘first impression’. It just doesn’t work for me. I have to do a ‘double check[ing]‘ to make sure. And you know what, I’m addicted to the movie [The Departed] right now. I don’t just like it, I love it.

There are things that don’t deserve a second chance, no matter how ‘right’ it feels sometimes. But if you can take the idea of it, and you actually believe that it will give you peace of mind, give it a try. You’ll never know unless you find out, right?

untitled

It’s already past eight in the evening when he checked the clock that has been hanging on the wall behind the counter where the reservation for billiard tables takes place, and where he had been assigned when he had worked here, while studying at the same time, some two years ago. And if his estimation was correct, he had been here for more than thirty minutes already, waiting for him. He might not be coming afterall, he thought. It’s pretty much what he would have expected, if he was expecting anything at all. But he’ll stay and wait for him here until the place closes. It was his idea to meet him at Enricos’, a place usually frequented by college students after school, and which is usually full on Saturdays that the owner had to make a sign and post it outside the door to let those who were coming in that there’s no more room inside and to just come back later.

Five minutes later Lex arrived, wearing the usual smile he had been known for, the sweet and sincere one, and though this time it seemed unfamiliar to Alan, or distant, or that something felt off with it, he smiled back at him.

I’m glad you made it. I thought you’re not coming, Alan said, holding a can of soda in one hand and a cue stick on the other. Thanks, he continued.

No problemo, Lex replied, grabbing the stick from Alan’s grip. I don’t have anything to do, anyway.

They were childhood friends, Alan and Lex. They are still friends, Alan believed. But it has been a week that they haven’t talk to each other. No phone calls. No nothing. If Alan hadn’t seen him at school yesterday, and not asked him to meet tonight, this set up may took another week. Or months. Or years, maybe. Nobody can tell for sure. Funny how something so strong, something you thought is that strong, could collapse in just a blink of an eye just because of a stupid mistake. Something that can’t be un-done. It can happen even with friendship. Theirs was on the process of collapsing. One of them, atleast, thought so.

Haven’t you talk to her yet? Alan finally asked.

Who?

Lisa.

Nope. I don’t think it would be a great idea, I mean talking to her. He said, shifting his attention to Alan. And can we not talk about it, about her.

He wasn’t bitter. Not at all. He just didn’t like to talk about her or see her, that’s all. And he’s not blaming her for all of this. Not anymore. Things happen, sometimes, for no reason at all. They just happened. Like what Alan told him. His friend, for the life of him, didn’t even know why he did what he did, kissing her. His girl. He knew he shouldn’t have done it, and that he didn’t mean for all of this to happen. But what happened happened. He didn’t even asked any question about it, Lex. It’s too much to discuss, the situation.

They’ve been silent for a while. Lex seemed to be more focused in playing billiards , which both he and Alan knew he hated before, than the conversation itself. But Alan didn’t mind it.

I’ve talked to her yesterday, Alan said. I was on my way to my chem class when I saw her. She’s a mess now. You can tell if you’ve seen her. She told me she missed you, and that she was sorry too.

Did she asked you to tell me that? Tell her I’m flattered.

No, no. She didn’t. I thought you should know. Talk to her.

Silence.

Look, it was my fault. I’m really hoping we can talk about it, of what happened. I’m.. I am really sorry. I should have never done it. I know it’s too late, and that I couldn’t change what happened or turn back time. I feel stupid for doing what I’ve done.

Silence again. Lex heard him ofcourse but his attention was still fixed on the table where balls of different colors were waiting for him, for his next move.

I’m sorry. Alan said again.

Lex looked at him for a moment, smiled and after a few seconds, went on playing.

I know, he said before hitting number 7.

she’s not american

I work as a call center agent [technical account]. I’ve been on this job for over a year and a half now. And I hate it. It’s the pay I’m after. Here’s one of the reasons why I hate my job:

Yesterday, I had this customer who called in because, according to her, her internet connection is intermittent [that's an on and off connectivity]. So we tried checking a few things, and came up with the decision that a tech guy should be sent to her premise to have the wirings checked. She was OK with it, and was willing to pay possible charges if there’s anything that needs to be fixed with her inside wirings. The conversation went pretty well until I asked her for the last 4 digits of her Social Security Number. She said that it’s pointless for me to verify that information. And I did understand her. But the point is that it’s the company policy to have that information be verified before dispatching a tech to the customer’s premise. It’s the fucking policy. I was very polite in explaining to her why we are asking for the info. Then she asked me where I’m physically located, and I said in the Philippines. Then she demanded to be transfered to a representative in the US. So I did. I stayed on the line while she was complaining about the SSN issue. The rep from the US explained to her the situation, just the way I did. I was even more polite than the other rep. And you know what she did, she verified the info right away. Just like that. Bitch.

People like her are the very reason why there are wars in the world- people who think they are superior and different from the rest. Well, I think we really are different ma’am. Your dumber than I am. I’m proud that we’re not at all alike. And I wouldn’t consider her American [though she is, technically], because I don’t think Americans are like her- I mean the real Americans. I don’t think real Americans are stupid and racist. And if you belong to her kind, fuck you.

If I get the chance, I would love to kill her. Atleast in my dreams, if not in real life [while reciting Eeney... Meeney... Meiny... Moe, just like in the movie Elephant].

name it

So I changed my blog name. Again. This is the third time I’ve done so. The first one was ‘the inconsistency theory’ [for my being inconsistent]. Then I changed it to ‘this and the other things’, which is more appropriate than the former [this for the latest entry and the other things for the other entries, ofcourse]. Now, I’m naming it ‘i am not there’. Why? Don’t really have a poetic reason behind naming it this, except that I just love it; I love the way it sounds when read. If I have to write a book of my life I’ll entitle it ‘i am not there’. But this, ofcourse, is another thing.

1984 is now, or tomorrow

‘For, afterall, how do we know that two and two make four? Or that the force of gravity works? Or that the past is unchangeable? If both the past and external world exist only in the mind, and if the mind itself is controllable – what then?’ — 1984, George Orwell

Orwell’s 1984 is, as how my friend Angus described it, powerful. And intelligent. It was published in 1949, but it felt like- while reading it- it was just written yesterday. That what makes it [the book] superb and stand out, and the writer, a master. This is worth reading. McCarthy’s The Road is still my number 1, though.

It seems as though Orwell’s vision of 1984 in 1949 is a little bit of an exaggeration. But if you really think about it, he actually made a pretty good assessment of what the world might become [or is becoming]. He got it just right.

bothered

Fur Elise, a wonderful piece by an amazing artist, has been bothering me for weeks now. Like when I’m in the middle of sleep I would wake up because I’m hearing it [or thought I do], even while taking a bath, while eating or in the middle of a call or while talking with my manager at work. The song just goes on and on in my mind. And I’m not exaggerating. To Beethoven: leave me alone. But, really, I don’t mean it.

lost

LOST

adj.

1. Unable to find one’s way: a lost child.
2. 1. No longer in the possession, care, or control of someone or something: a lost pen.
   2. No longer in existence; vanished or spent: lost youth.
   3. No longer known or practiced: a lost art.
   4. Beyond reach, communication, or influence: The expedition was lost to the world for two months.
3. Not used to one’s benefit or advantage: a lost opportunity.
4. Having not been or unlikely to be won; unsuccessful: a lost battle; a lost cause.
5. Beyond recovery or redemption; fallen or destroyed: a lost soul.
6. 1. Completely involved or absorbed; rapt: lost in thought.
   2. Bewildered or confused: I’m lost—can you start over?
7. ME