at random.

at random….

* eyesores everywhere. ranging from the delusional to the pa-senior.

one eyesore is delusional. thoroughly and obscenely convinced that she is sharing a striking, physical parallelism to this Koreanovela beauty….egads! how can a preying-mantis lookalike even nurture the concept that she’s an eyecandy?! yes. in my book, and my sister’s book (hahaha i love my sister!) she’s far out from being an eye candy. she may project all that she wants, but hey, the girl has issues.
one thing’s for sure though, she’s really good in convincing her boyfriend and her own clique that she’s pretyy.

whew! what gonads!

‘yung isa naman, pa-senior. wow! as if seniority would compensate for the minisculity of her brain, or lack thereof.

there are moments that i am totally compelled to give this idiot a piece of my mind..but then again, it’s like whacking the head of an ass. get my drift? 

* shit happens. everyday.
in my case, every dripping nano-second.

* idiots abound.
in my case, it multiplies every second and abounds by the hundreds every minute. like Ella’s favorite bunny wabbit. boink. boink. boink.

sheesh. X-Men’s Multiplicity Man comes to mind.

* i have never missed writing this much. as in THIS MUCH.

* i am crying. inside. i am pregnant with unshed tears. and my eyes are threatening to pop from its sockets.

* pr comes natural to me. what i hate most?
undiluted, saucy, toxic plasticity….gayspeak, ka-cheappangahang PR.

* i just wanna be happy.

* i want world peace to happen…but if it’s not possible, at least peace in my cube.

* i am spaced out. maxed out. unforgivingly taken for granted.

* but i am also hated for my guts.

despised for being such a workhorse.

constant source of insecurity, being the sheer genius that i am.

(yes. soooo true….it’s high time i should admit this to myself. friends acknowledge it, even strangers tell it to my face. hah! this is my blog. and i could vent, rant and cuss on a melange of things)

* i am well-loved for a lot of things that if i start writing it here i would only be further accused of being a pompous ass. hahaha

* i don’t really care.

* i love life.

* i deeply love my family.

* i am in equally in love with my friends. people who has seen me through life’s roller-coaster rides. yes. pluralized.

* i am trying hard to achieve a sense of Zen.

*surprisingly, weight problem and fitting into my bridesmaid gown in time for Bes T’s wedding is the least of my concern right now.

* i should be attending to a PR crisis management issue…i am. really. well, sort of.

* i used to hate the color green, but now am starting to make space for it in my wardrobe — this despite the fact that my sister K bluntly declares that the emerald shade is not my color.

* i love red. currently developing a aversion to blue….not totally weeding it out of my color scheme though. just plain deadpan to it.

* i like yellow. and orange. and black.

* i don’t like stick-thin, walking definition of anorexia.

* i am not a lesbian.

* i seek the Renaissance man. brain and brawn. the offspring of letters and that what is beyond literature.

* i deserve the best.

the beautiful.

the barometer of the good life.

sighing.

somewhere between the then and the now, the gaps and the pauses, i’ve always felt my belongingness to the written word…..though i may not get to print what i deem i write best, in my heart, it is in the company of my pen and journal — now, blogging — that i seem to express myself more freely.

 i’ve always banked on the love of the prose and the quiet poetry it is capable of evoking…

and somewhere between the then and the now, the gaps and pauses, of the real and surreal, i always find myself yearning for a moment of solitude…no blabbing idiot boxes…no need to mingle with obnoxious fellow homo sapien…no eyesore that could blind my emotions and punctuate my streaming thoughts with barbs…

Cebu fever.

i am feverish. and i am in cold. i have just gotten back from a Cebu working weekend, and so much has yet to be told.

if this is Cebu’s spell, i don’t wish to be disenchanted.
if this is Cebu’s charm at work, i don’t wish to be disenamored.

in between materials waiting to be drafted (yes, i refuse to call these articles…because it’s not…), gazillion emails waiting to be read and answered, items to be followed up…

images of Cebu beckons and episodes of the not too-distant past (halleur…it’s only the weekend) kept on nagging and nickin’ my attention….pretty much like an automatic lightbulb that flicks on-and-off at its own will, unmindful of my volition.

sigh.

Cebu.

it’s clean roads. tree-lined avenues. candy-colored bulbs that light up the streets. soft-chewy siopao. Bo’s coffee shop. baked oysters hiding under melted cheese. perfect barbecues…sauce dribbling graciously over its well-roasted fat. chicken, distinctly inasal. seemingly endless taxi rides – to and fro Guadalupe Avenue. moshpit at Bbaseline. mall show at Gaisano. dried mangoes and 300-peso worth dried pusit. low-fat carrot cake. capuccino. tea. coffee. hospitable hotel staff. smiling faces. gracious laughter. funny conversations. long walks over Fuente Osmena.

i am delusional.

and it’s all becaue of a virus, named Cebu.

i am thinking of…

i am thinking of lying somewhere in a far flung beach….idle, half-closed eyes. on a hammock. on a white, big hammock. with a fat, pink, chewy-soft pillow tucked under my head. gazing towards the green sea. framed by pink clouds and orange slivers of sun. a lazy breeze pausing from time to time. few people scatter the endless strip of powdery sand. me, again, on the hammock. sipping cold coconut juice while fiddling with my book. pretending to read and sleep and drink all at the same time. drinking the afternoon scene as it yawns and yarns with an impeccable surrealness. sipping the mediocrity of the moment. basking under the flood of a shattered routine.

anticipating…The GATHERING.

the call came as a welcome intrusion right smack into my chaotic piece of the afternoon.

in between grids. flight bookings. flight confirmations for the nth time. perpetual email exchange. Sinulog preparations.

Sir A. one of the few persons whom I sincerely respect in the profession I’ve been a practitioner for quite some time (and still do practice, in between PR calls) was at the other line. asking for Garduce’s presence in the upcoming PSA Awards Night.

apparently, they haven’t located the creature (hehehe) and so I’ve been sought. who am i to deny a request, especially if it came from the group whose comradeship i sorely missed (i still do and am still missing).

and the invite came along. not as an afterthought.
but moreso, because Sir A. expects me to come.

the thought overwhelms me, i must confess. not that i expect to be invited still. but to make me feel that i still belong despite being amiss of the major happenings in the sportswriting community.

D’s call came next. and the thread of conversation runs parallel. i was not yet sure if i could come. and then the line hit me…

“text me if you’re going to come. para alam namin kung saan kami nakalugar sa puso mo..”

wow! it struck a  nerve. it does did. and even if it was meant to be a joke, i was singed stung by the its sheer rawness of it  bluntness.

and it was unfair.

and i verbalized the injustice of the statement.

if i could, if i run my own office and if i own my time, people very close to me need not say it out loud twist my arm.

i am sure to come.

but i cannot make any confirmations on the spot.
my boss will be leaving a day earlier for the Sinulog and i’m suppose to do my long-overdued presentation for the regional meeting…until i learned that the joke was on me!

sheesh.

no regional meeting. no presentations to fret myself over.

the best part? Boss R gave me the go-signal.

looks like someone’s going to The GATHERING afterall.

manunulat.

may ilang buwan na rin ang humakbang sa akin mula nang huling malathala ang huli kong artikulo.

‘di ko na matantiya kung ilang beses na rin akong nilundagan ng mga araw mula nang huli akong sumulat.

hindi ng isang press release  – na siyang sukatan ngayon ng bilis at galing sa pagbebenta ng istorya sa mga patnugot na naghihintay ng pampuno sa puting espasyo ng kani-kanilang peryodiko.

hindi ng isang advertorial na lantaran kung magbigay-pugay sa isang pangyayari, bagay, tao o programa.

hindi ng isang feed na ang layunin ay salagin ang mga batikos o pamumuna na madalas na gawing sangkalan ang gasgas nang linya na responsableng pamamahayag.

ilang buwan na nga ba ang lumipas?

‘di maitatatwa.
patuloy na nananalaytay sa mga ugat ko ang dugo ng isang manunulat. patuloy ang pagpintig ng mga tinig ng salita. ang pagsibol ng mga talata at ang pagsirit ng mga ito sa aking ulirat.

sa gabi, bagama’t pata na ang katawan sa buong araw na pagtatrabaho, damang-dama ko ang pagpupumiglas ng mga salita.

hindi mapirmis. hindi mapatahan.
walang biling sa banig ang makapagpatahimik sa naghuhumilagpos na sinulid ng mga taludtod ng kaisipan.

ang pagiging manunulat.

ang papel. ang pluma. ang tinta.

ngayon naman, ang keyboard  at ang pagblo-blogging.

sa mga nakaw na sandali tulad nito ko lamang nabibigyang laya ang mga daliri ko. haplusin ang kwadradong tableta na nasa harapan ko at ibuhos sa piping screen ang nasasaloob ko….

napakarami.

‘di mabilang. ‘di maapuhap kung saan ko uumpisahan at kung paano puputulin pansamantala ang pagbubulaybulay ng mga saloobin.

himayin. salansanin.
ang bawat kataga na animo’y isang ‘di matapos-tapos na ambon na dumadampi sa aking isipan.

ambon….na dati’y bugsong ulan na animo’y walang alam na hangganan.

kinakailangan ko na munang huminto.
ipahinga ang pagod na diwa. ang hapong isipan.

bukas, babalikan kita.

hintay ka lang ada…