Pasumbag ka?

In the couple of days I spent with my lolo, who, by the way has slowly slipped into the grips of senility, I have relearned the meanings of several Visayan phrases.

1. "Kinsa man ni?"
Who is this?

My lolo uses this sentence like a paragraph break into a looping series of statements

He consequently remarks on changes from since he last remembers me. This depends entirely on what he chooses to remember.

"Oh you've grown, you used to be so small."

"Do you box?"

"You used to be so handsome, now you look chinese."

"You're wearing a shirt that says vacancy, you must still be single."

"Are you Susan's son? Are you my grandson? Wow, you're here."

All of these in Binisaya, looping back into, "Kinsa man ni?"

To which I reply, "Si Christian po," "Christian," or "your grandson."

2. "Sumbagon ta ka!"
As far as requests go, this is always his alternative condition.

Jokingly, my mother responded by picking up a handy badminton racket and she raised it. Lolo leaned away and said "Sakit na!" "That's gonna hurt!" As he giggled a bit.

"Don't drive too fast or I'll punch you!"

"If I fall into the water, I'll punch you!"

"If that ladder falls on me, I'll punch you!"

"Scratch my BACK!!! I'll punch you!"

This is a conversation he had with the boatman helping him up to the boat:

(My grandfather can barely walk)

"Don't let me fall, or I'll punch you!"

"I won't let you fall. Besides, you won't hit. This is Pacquiao you're dealing with."

"I'll bet you 20 pesos I can hit you. And your head will fly off when I do!"


3. "Hoy! BAYOT!"
"Hey! FAGOT!"

I have nothing against gay men. I have a fair share of gay friends. That I disapprove of them, playing hide the sausage, by the back door, doesn't mean that I can't be civil and respectful toward them.

I really don't put this behavior past him. He used to swear at me when I was nine.

Lolo's pretty senile so most of his requests are pretty much insane, if not simply difficult or summarily gross. So people who take care of him, take care to ignore him a lot as well.

This is his his way of attracting attention.

4. "Pasumbag ka?"
"You wanna be punched?"

This is lolo's special way of saying thank you. You'll hear this often, while walking away after doing something for him. This usually means you weren't in enough of a hurry, doing what he wanted.

5. "Unsa man imong daa? Pagkaon man na? Saa man aho?"
"What are you carrying? Is that food? Where's mine?"

Said in rapid succession, these constitute my grandfather's special way of saying hello. It's good to see his mind is still pointing in the right direction.

He has trouble stopping, if he does get started eating. When I sneak a nibble, I have to be discreet. I've been asked to turn around and face the other way while eating on occassion. Once, I was even asked to leave the room.

6. "Take care and God bless."
This is what he said when we left. These words hold special meaning to me.

From my mother's sentiments, I feel we might not see him again. My childhood experiences of my grandfather's harsh, swearing, and striking (he literally would strike people and things) character, have since been reconciled.

I will miss him.

Coming to Terms

Time is perceived differently by differing organisms. On the basis of life span, metabolic activity, and even mode of nutrition. For a tree that lives hundreds of years, a full year of bad storms would have just been a bad week, where as an organism of a day long lifespan, like a mayfly, born into that same period would probably spend most of his life wishing it'd never been born. A desert tortoise would be more inclined to ignore the dance of a butterfly, but the tortoise, for the time being, will carry, for the butterfly, an attractive pool of mineral salts in its eyes in the same general vicinity for quite some time. If it needs to, the butterfly might take the time to grab a drink from the tortoise's eyes, the living rock will scarcely mind. In the end, life would go by quicker if nine out of ten of your hunts got you nothing, and, when you do manage to make your meal, you sleep the work off. That's just the tale of the tape for most hunters. Compared to the pace of browsers or grazers, who spend most of their day with their faces in the salad greens of the plains and brush, a hunter's life is short, and quick.

Humans are unique in that within the species, based on age, gender and responsibility, people still have starkly differing perceptions of time and space. I really don't want to elaborate.

I believe in companionship and concern. When you spend long enough with one person, you develop the concern and understanding necessary to sustain a healthy relationship. When there is no common perception of time, it'll be difficult to establish what is expected of you and what you expect. This is where the illusion of an age gap comes in. Maybe when it hurts less, I'll explain.

Mildly Upset with Scattered Rain Showers

Rejection has effectively stopped looming, and has finally hit the stores. I know I'm supposed to be reeling. I am. Apart from that, there are a few forced stark realizations that I need to eventually come to terms with.

Bad days have that tendency of bringing to surface larger problems. It really isn't fair that bad days are the handiwork of a ravenous pack of problems, while good days are made by highlights. There's something skewed about human perception right there. I suppose if I waited for that benevolent band of a pleasant series of events, I might never have had a good day. The thing is, I haven't had a good day, where I didn't need to disregard a massive disappointment to enjoy it.

While I tried to resolve as much unfinished business in my head, I went over several things that I might never find out.

- what the hell went wrong?
- what was she expecting?
- was there anything I could have done?
- do I have time for this?
- does she have time for this?


It's like picking at an new wound. Mandate of maleness says I choke back all emotion until I explode. No harm done there.

Couple of easy questions that'll never see the light of day.


On a more irritating note, in an effort to console myself, I bought a new pair of Altec Lansing headphones. After negotiating the uncooperative packaging like a madman (with tooth and nail-cutter), i found that the right ear didn't work. Following these mild frustrations, would be a slew of obscenities, that if they were censored, would sound like a space battle from Star Wars. I wanted to go for a jog this morning, with a renewed void in my chest and a new pair of headphones. But no. So I realize, the powers that be would have it no other way.

It's good to know I can still hurt like this. It's not something that I wanted to experience again soon. But hell, it's there and I'm curious, how much more will it hurt before I find someone to love again.

"It's the little things that seem to be saving me today" - Mindy Smith, Down In Flames

Counting Days (March 11-12am, 2007)

This is the first time I thought to write about it. "Why not?" sounded like a good enough reason. Then there was "how else?" So there.

What about my day is worth recounting? That's something else. Most of it was a bore.

I asked to count days with someone. Today, despite the immense effort with which I try to keep thoughts of her at bay, I thought about her a lot. I can't imagine where these thoughts come from, seeing as we've only met personally for five minutes. Most of it is wondering.

I write now, and I'll probably write everyday, from now to the end of March, with her in mind.

Apart from all that, I felt something again. And I spent a bit of the evening thinking about the physiological symptoms of loneliness. Akin to the feelings of regret, there is that weight in my chest. Maybe around that time, I might have missed substantial company — or maybe just company pertinent to my mood, or need, or sentiment.

There is that weight and there is a difficulty breathing. I don't think it was literal. It seemed illusory, nothing like respiratory stress. It was more like a tingling lack of will to drink in my atmosphere.

The only reason why I qualify it as loneliness, is because I couldn't understand why I felt it. There was no reason I could think of. Nothing I was currently considering could muster unbidden sadness like that. So I blame an absence. Of what? I don't know. Company? Loneliness then, but I really can't place my finger on it.

Right now, I'm wondering what teachers have left to do, after exam time; after checking the papers and giving grades. I'm wondering how she grades compositions. I'm wondering if she has an HR. I'm wondering what makes or breaks her day. I'm wondering how deeply she will ever miss her fondest students. I suppose that's a lot to wonder about. There's more. But, sincerely, I'm just interested.

--

This being the first day I'm counting, I'd like to write retroactively. I feel a bit guilt browsing her pictures. Seeing her picture reminded me, how I was mildly upset that she had her hair ironed 'straight' for iCatching. If there's anything rare and wonderful, it's a lady who can carry curly hair well. I wish I'd seen that personally.

I'll probably write retroactively for a while. Hopefully, I can work up enough courage to tell her about this blog.

:D

3:00

The sky is red. An hour ago — two, it was red. It never gets dark anymore. Just red. Deep like an aging scab on something dead. It's red like a rose trying to be black.

The herald of the morning is early.

The herald of the mourning is early.

A bit of FOCUS

I woke up this morning and after a trying series of events, a few words from yesterday's post-race lectures rang in my head. YOU HAVE TO DRIVE AHEAD OF THE CAR.

A book I read said exactly the same thing, with a significant difference in words and context. SUCCESS IS ANTICIPATING CHANGE. The fact remains, when things get hairy, it's always better to know beforehand. Once it does, you don't want to be following every lead, trying to do everything. You want to know the single most effective path, the exact sequence of events you need to set into motion to get you out of the fire.

These past few months I've found myself chasing after everything and reacting to everything. Maybe not just these few months. I might have been doing it all my life. As far as I'm concerned, up until now, it's been working out for me. Fast hands, fast eyes, the works. Never the best, but always impressive, and always a spectacle.

Last night, I drove aggressively, braking and accelerating abruptly. I drove the way I always do. I drove the way I've always lived.Taking inches.

The track was slick from the rain, and I felt helpless. I spent most of my time with my hands raised. It's a signal to track hands that I've spun off beyond correcting my course. I was spinning off at every sharp corner, frustrated at my inability to react. I was doing it wrong. I wasn't supposed to react. I was supposed to drive ahead of the car.

I was supposed to counter steer, so I would balance out after the slide that would happen a split second later. I was supposed to caress the break, and take my weight to the front of the car, to control my drift. I was taking inches when I was supposed to be taking meters, and miles.

It's about time I drove ahead of the car. The last few paces of chasing around end today.

Tomorrow, I have an exam. Networking. I'm gonna study, and while I'm sure I can get by just remembering bits of the lecture, like I've always done, I'm going to start anticipating.

Friday is a night out with a girl I met last Friday. Five minutes. I hope to turn those five minutes into something longer and more meaningful. I have a sneaky feeling she's something special (wishful thinking).

Saturday is when I when I interact with the more modern concepts of leadership. They know I have it in me. The president of P&G Philippines knows I have it in me. It's about time I found out myself. It's about time I led myself.

All the while, I will be continuing my implementation of the LAN to Bluetooth Streaming and working out the implications of Rizal's life course as a role model to OFW's (or maybe just a proposal for a Philippine History Wiki).

Same as racing, you can only anticipate the next turn, or the next few obstacles.

Putting Yourself OUT THERE

It's tough. Wearing your heart on your sleeve is one thing. Hoping against all odds that someone decides to take it, is another.

Meeting women is fine and dandy. Conversation is always great. Moving from hi-hello to you look great is a careful sprint between moments that might or might not mean anything. Right now, I'm taking that sprint.

Five minutes say I'd like to see you again. I'd like hear your voice again. Mostly, I'd like to get to know you. Speed dating is iffy that way. But five minutes is enough time for you to get in, smile, and get out, before you get in your own way.

I sincerely hope I didn't mess anything up at this point. I'm going out with someone I met, last Friday, on Friday. That's a full week after five minutes. I wasn't able to reply to one of her messages. I was carting. Hopefully, she fell asleep on me. And I dearly hope she's not pissed.

I'm paranoid about this sort of thing because I've been in a relationship before. Women have the largest tendency to be pissed about nothing. This usually happens in one of two situations, (a) when she's comfortable enough to be pissed around you, hence the freedom to get pissed at you and (2) when she needs an excuse to purge you from her life. I've encountered both situations well enough to know that this sort of thing strikes like lightning on a sunny day.

Right now, I really don't care about the consequences. I desperately need somebody to care about, it doesn't matter if I end up on the wrong side of the frying pan. Right now, I'm writing, the way someone else would pray. I'm hoping to high heavens that this works out. I'm begging, to nowhere in particular, for the composure to make this happen, and the sense not to overdo it.

Earlier this late evening, a friend described happiness. He said it was like peeing in your pants. Everybody can see it, but only you can feel the warmth. It's true. Happiness can be pretty embarrassing. But I sincerely hope to be able to put that smile on somebody's face and bask in the spectacle of that someone unhindered amusement (I was going to say naked pleasure, but that message shoots too far off)

Really, those are the surprises I look for. Those little signs of happiness. Broadening smiles, eyes lighting up and the many other facets of female happiness. I'd like to see that. Especially those trademark tells, like crinkling noses and lip biting and toe curling and triumphant conservative fist shaking.

Ria is a pretty enough girl, 21, an English teacher at Xavier. her social life is 'blah' and she's looking to have fun. Her course was an unexpected roller coaster that shot her out and she's been shaping young minds since. Five minutes. I greeted her with this paraphrasing: "You don't look like someone who needs to go to these sorts of things." She wore a purple top and jeans. She has beautiful eyes and lips.

My name is Chris, and...

Angel's Breadth

There are no angels.

Just pretty faces and chime tune voices.

There are whispers - theirs, but they don't know. Like the warmth they shed, that they don't feel. Like the promises they make, that they never really made. With smiles, they speak of paradise. With each breath they promise bliss.

When their soft lips open, there is only what you want to hear. When their eyes smile, golden, there is only what you want to see. No, not girls, not women, but angels.

How do you suppose tears roll down the face of the sun. How do you suppose others see, when all that remains when tears become vapor, is the salt that might as well be sweat.

How do you suppose we listen, when their words are a song and the tune is merry. The truth of their sentiments drown. The pain in their hearts is lost. To us - lost.

Angels remain like salt remains, when the soul of the tear has departed. Why is it that, for the angel we long. Where does the soul's beauty make home?