The running man

This is what I did not tell you last night:

I enjoyed the chase. More than all the late night talks and early morning coffee, the gaiety of thinking you are someone out of reach perfected the experience. The thrill of knowing you want to be caught in the grim triggered the masochistic side of me. After all, you said the childish games were behind your years.

When you pointed out I misunderstood a book you love, I did everything to oppose you.It was a discussion the world can just let go. but you wouldn't let me win. I have to play my cards before finally conceding that you were probably right. The hour we spent discussing was enough.

It turned out, you want some quest too. You want to chase and be chased. For me, it completely run afoul your search for,quoting you, a serious relationship. You cannot just let me tag you every time you feel the urge to pursue. If you really want something more than a summer fling, treating what we had as a game was a stride on the wrong side of the road. The game has rules and you cannot just bend it for your sake.

To blame you for all is a mockery on my part. I refuse to be chased, not when I am enjoying being the it. If we play your game, then I'll play it in my own method. I blame myself for not restricting the race to the two of us. For all your diversions along the field, I let other people chase you despite knowing how eager you are to be chased. With all the guys on the road, my refusal to be chased seemed futile.

I told you I'm not worth the chase and you took that as a fact. You never tried. The truth is, if I let you chase me, you wouldn't even catch me. If placed on the other side of the game, my instinct would tell me to run, never-ending run. I was made to self destruct. Like an atomic bomb, the faster I get, the easier for me to burst. And for what I thought we had, I don't want to be that bang.

The chase was good. But we slipped briskly into a game we know we could never win.

The shrew cannot be tamed

Two things, according to my friends, that might be the fall of me. One, I am becoming too fluent in sarcasm. Two, I have the most insulting and demeaning laugh at the most inappropriate time. I tried to deny it, but there might be a crux when all your social groups had the same parlance in less than 24 hours.

College friends. 10PM. Saturday. Somewhere in Quezon City.

I share the same degree of humor and satire with my college barkada, and it would require a separate posts to showcase it. While waiting for Nikki, Joy and I went around Trinoma when we stumbled into this store with a hideous display. With my innately loud law school recit voice, I cried "Who would wear that crap?" The next few minutes were spent outside the store just making fun of their display.



Law school friends. 1PM. Saturday. Somewhere in the campus.

After a grueling four-hour class, the block decided to satisfy hunger with on-your-face unhealthy and over msg-ed food.

Manny, a friend since undergrad days, ordered Arrabiatta. Upon seeing his pasta, I quipped "You know what, Nikki likes that pasta. That's one of the few things she loves." It could've been a normal statement, but Manny, since college, has constantly tried to ask Nikki on a date and was rejected since the first attempt. Instead of the usual oops moment, I giggled.

After eating, we stayed for a while to dwindle on our law school lives when all of a sudden a group of young kids approached our bench and asked for money. The kids, who are probably just a few inches above 3 feet and wearing palaboy clothes, gave a letter asking for contributions for their basketball league. Again, I have to emphasize that these kids are no taller than my 11-year old sister, with no ball at hand and a highly suspicious duplicated document with an untraceable signature. After staring at each other, a blockmate asked "Nag-babasketball kayo?" I got out of control and laughed hysterically it probably disturbed those inside the main library. Everyone stared at me. Apparently, blockmate was very much serious while my mind were full of prejudice.

In the end, a guy blockmate who is no taller than me gave the kids some coins. His reason? He remembered his childhood days when they cannot play basketball because they lack funds. He then pondered on how things would have changed if he had pursued his basketball dreams. I interrupted his solemn moment and said "I could've donated all our land to your barangay and that won't change a thing." At least the group laughed with me on this one.



High school friends. 8 PM. Saturday. Somewhere between Cubao and Tomas Morato.

Since I bailed on the Panagbenga trip last month, I was forced to make it up with my ever reliable high school barkada. We were to dine in Nomnomnom Happy Place and since their place is just one jeepney ride away, we decided to commute.

While on the public vehicle, we started talking about our high school batchmates. Our conservation went to Bryce, who was probably the most acknowledged gay guy in our class. He liked Sex Bomb dancer, read Tagalog pocket book everyday and was sent to our guidance counselor because he would harass one of the good-looking guys in our class. Turned out, he's working as a tutor for Japanese online. Also, he has a Japanese girlfriend.

I couldn't help it. I was laughing so hard, instead of whispering to my friend, I let the whole jeepney hear me. With a red face, I said "Anong gagawin nilang dalawa? Mag-fifingeran?"

'ship in the dock

Read: World's largest floating bookfair to visit Manila

I lied to my parents about having a date tonight. It was an excuse to extort money so I can spend this Friday in South Harbor smelling books and leafing crispy papers. I was supposed to feel guilty since I just had my laptop repaired but the temptation of floating away from this world is too hard to antagonize. To justify my act of unbecoming of a good son, I have constantly reminded myself that all my past relationships are with fictional characters so it's quite hard to miss this opportunity.

Sunday morning

1. Maybe, just maybe, deep inside all I really want is for you to approach me and start a conversation. It will be awkward, but it will be a good. Hopefully.

2. I'm all for Madonna coming back, but hey, M.I.A is not a cheerleader! :))

2.2. I'm all for Bourne Legacy shooting in the Philippines, but hey, MMDA do your job! Last night, I was an hour late for an appointment in Ortigas because the traffic was hell near Magsaysay with policeman just standing in the corner. More fun pfft.

3. Meet my husbands. Troll.

(I've been obsessing over Sherlock BBC for weeks now. Somebody get me out of this addiction)

Soft revolution

It's no big issue, but taking sides is a fated family affair. We turn to one camp when the other won't heed to our yearnings. At some point, it's a permanent affair; seldom, much like political turncoats, we switch teams.

The ongoing fray in the Senate, much to my surprise, has reached the portal of my parents' house in the province. Coming from a politically involved family, my mom maintained the most distant and less involved life from her roots. Together with my father, they are the couple one is unlikely to bump in a family reunion and share their thoughts on the political dynasty in our province.

So imagine my perplexity when she called in the middle of the night just to ask my personal opinion on the current CJonTrial issue. Before I could even answer, I heard my father in the background speaking, well arguing.

I was always on my mother's side. Being the only boy in the family and the distant relationship I have with my father, the closest emotional accord I established was with her. It was her who always climbed with me on the stage on my elementary recognition rites because my father won't accept that his only son wasn't the top in the class. When I was on the top, it was my mom who comforted my cries when every small mistakes I took were criticized by my dad.

Call it loyalty, but there is an established alliance we won't admit to the public. On petty arguments, like what flower to send to a sick relatives, I would pick my mom's choice without a thought. When a serious family problem once broke, I was silent. But the connection was lavish enough for my mom to know which side I was on.

An inevitable episode, I say. From the most ridiculous matters of what ulam to have for the night, or what brand of pasta to buy- to the most sensitive issues an episode of Lost would look lame. After all, a state of existence devoid of association has no meaning.

There is no need to disclose the political conversation I had with my parents that night. But yes, I was, again, on my mother's camp. Not because I just want to, but all those years of being allies with my mother had created something more intimate than wet pillows and hot chocolate drinks.

The next day, I would learn that my dad called my sister to seek her opinion, ergo pulling her on his side. The apathy of her, my sister just shrugged and, as usual, asked why was there an argument again. Unfortunately, my 11-year old sister has nothing to say yet. So now, let's just say, it's safe to assume our side won.

Not Kim Jong Il's, Dad

I have to kill my way to get my father's approval (and money) for my South Korea trip this summer. After all the explanations and argument, it boiled down to my dad's one misconception- I will be shot and imprisoned by some army in some unknown mountain. The only recource left was to grab my father in front of the computer and search for South and North Korea and prove that the internet is not just for porn.

2011 in Films

Statutory tradition/obligation to list my favorite films of the year. It's in alphabetical order to minimize bias, but I guess I have been very vocal of my appreciation for Allen's Midnight in Paris and Refn's Drive. Also, I still haven't a number of films with buzz for Oscars due to the absence of available copy so this list is limited to those I have watched this 2011.

A Dangerous Method (David Cronenberg)

"It's a handsome and stimulating film, noteworthy more for its terrific acting and provocative ideas than for any kind of dark Cronenbergundian genius." - O'Hehir, Salon.com