a fight to the death

I know. I’ve too much appetite. Appetite for food. Appetite for the good life. And this’ll do me in someday, and maybe sooner than i think it will, if i don’t do anything about it. Yes, i’m doing the gym stuff. And the yoga stuff. But i haven’t been the same gentle that did the breakthrough crash-diet-and-shrink-several-pants-sizes-down thingie several years ago, to the astonishment of practically anyone and everyone i know. I’ve grown old. And my resolve’s kinda been washed out by the tides to this shrivelled little thing that squeaks its last ounce of hurrah with every sit-up, warrior and boat poses i do on the mat these days. It doesn’t seem to help that there’s practically good food everywhere i look. I know i shouldn’t be saying this but i do blame the genes for blessing me with this over-the-top voraciousness that’s gonna put an army of enlisted men in a boodle fight to shame. i’ve got to do something about this. I don’t want to take the onslaught of fat just sitting down, despairing at how things been so unfair. I wanna fight. I can fight. I know i still can. Somehow.

gentle's yoga tracklist

I slept late last night trying to rebuild my i-tunes yoga tracklist, which I accidentally deleted some months ago. Yes, I can practice yoga even without music. But today its gonna be different because I will be initiating somebody into the world of bending, and the experience has to be a total package in order for the conversion to be complete. An officemate recently expressed interest in yoga and has approached me if we could practice together during our office’s sports hour. I immediately said yes—I myself am needing the exercise. Lethargy it seems is the name of the game these past few days. my last gym visit I think was Thursday last week, and what? Its been seven days since then. I promised myself last night that I’m gonna be gentle with her, reserving the acrobatics in later sessions, and just focusing on the basic moves. But knowing me, I don’t think I can hold onto that promise for even a minute—fearing I’d somehow loose myself in the middle of a Michael Jackson song and begin pretzelizing, to her horror. Hehehe.

Here’s the tracklist I managed to put together last night :

1. Damascus / conjure one
2. Here comes the sun/ the beatles
3. Wildflower/ rachel sage
4. The way you make me feel/ michael jackson
5. Center of the sun/ conjure one
6. Holding out for a hero/ frou frou
7. When you gonna give it up to me/ sean paul ft. keshia cole
8. Love generation/ bob sinclair
9. To love somebody/ nina simone
10. True colors/ cyndi lauper
11. Facing east/ thievery corporation
12. I’m yours/ jason mraz
13. Big jumps/ emiliana torrini
14. I say a little prayer/ aretha franklin
15. Walk on by/ seal
16. White flag/ dido
17. Underneath your clothes/ shakira
18. You had a bad day/ daniel powter
19. I started a joke/ the wallflowers
20. Everybody’s changing/ keane
21. If I ain’t got you/ alicia keys
22. Beautiful/ christina Aguilera
23. Hand in my pocket/ alanis morissete
24. Ride a white swan/ t-rex
25. A love that will never grow old/ emmylou harris
26. Love for a child/ jason mraz
27. Flightless bird, american mouth/ iron and wine

a cloudy forecast

The corridors, hallways, open-air spaces outside this building, the shuttlebus, even the MRT—they all have become constricting, restricting places.
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If only it didn’t happen, this would not be how my life’s turned out to be. I would’av enjoyed my coffee breaks more without thinking of running into you. Or bumping into you as I line up at the canteen in the mornings for breakfast.
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If only the family’s been a little more closer, then I wouldn’t just have you as my ate here. I would’av gotten an entire horde of kuyas as well; instead of just us meeting accidentally by the hallway, or bumping into each other at the elevators, acting it out like we’re both busy, as to say a little nod will suffice . Last time I saw you, you didn’t even nod in my direction.
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I really miss you, you know that? At the shuttlebus I yearn for that closeness, the warm smile coming from you. Sometimes I imagine I’ve just fallen into some bad dream; but I’m just deluding myself. Passing the stairwell brings back memories of our batcave days. the MRT’s become some sort of a hide and seek game we play each night.

pano kung wala na talagang pangkain?

hanggang kelan dapat tumulong? sabi ng iba dapat bukal sa kalooban. dapat, nanggagaling ito sa taos-pusong kagustuhan na maibsan ang dinaranas na hirap ng taong nangangailangan. is it a given that at least you have to feel for the person for the help to qualify as genuine help--otherwise, pakitang tao lang? what if the person needing help did not at any point made you feel important, other than for the reason that you have money to spare? what if at some point you felt a genuine urge to help, to make a difference not only in her life but also for her child's future but you somehow felt your help didn't go to the right place? na instead, ipinantawid gutom lang, or ibinili ng gamit--when the money should have gone to something like finding a job? and then she asks again for money. and you feel parang niloloko ka na lang. pero pano kung kelangan nya talaga? pano kung hanggang duon lang talaga ang abot ng isipan nya at di nya nakita yung unang intention mo? ipagdadamot mo ba ang konting halaga just to drive a point when you think that point will not sink in anyway? pano kung wala na talagang pangkain?

money talk

This morning while riding the bus, I caught on news that President Macapagal-Arroyo’s stocks as indicated in her annual Statement of Assets and Liabilities are being scrutinized. The issue? That her stocks rose in an unprecedented manner, in just a matter of three years. Now, whats wrong with that, one might ask. One of the early morning news commentators said that while buying stocks out of your own money is ok, the turn of the numbers make everything suspicious. Has influence been exerted at some point involving the financial transactions, that would necessitate a congressional inquiry into the president’s wealth? From the corner where I was sitting, it did seem something to be alarmed of. I wasn’t able to commit to memory the exact figures that were flashed, but the whole thing, in consonance with the expensive dinner that the presidential entourage recently gobbled up in their trip abroad, made me think of the status of my own finances. Fuckin shit. While I’m so very much still in a struggle to reaching my first million (and it’s a looong long way, getting there, believe me), here are the top honchos of our poverty-stricken country allegedly stacking hundreds of millions, or billions in their private coffers. what a very sorry state we are all in.

good ole family warmth

Whew. The weekend passed me by without so much pomp and ceremony that I barely felt the weekend pass me by at all, hehehe. I felt like I was floating, limbless, in the three days that I spent at the province; lying on the mattress in front of gael, passing from one death note episode to the next; from one filler episode of one piece to the next. It was a typical weekend, if one would call it that.

Nanay’s homey paksiw na bangus reigning supreme over a bed of steaming rice. Ate’s cooking adventures, with me as first mate—sprinkling salt, pepper and other spices (because she’s too afraid to go overboard/ miss out on the measurements, hehehe)—and my nephews lining up for taste tests of her culinary concoctions afterwards. Our “unggoy” time right after dinner when cj asks his kuya in his cutest way for “tutuyi” as I massage ate’s scalp.

As an added activity, ate was able to finish the harry potter movies in a marathon that geloy and myself engineered. Hehehe. She’s so busy working, even on weekends, that the scheduled brownout announced one day ahead at their office turned out productive—relating to our bonding time, and her knowledge of harry’s adventures.

So she stayed at home and watched the three remaining harry potter films, in between our cook-ups of bicol express that nanay so craves for these days. The last movie she saw prior to our marathon was chamber of secrets. ain’t that a shame, noh? Hehehe. Harry’s already falling in love with ginny. Ron’s running to escape lavender’s affections; but harry remains to be the cute-face kid of 12 in ate’s mind. imagine her reaction seeing harry dueling it out with voldemort at the end of the order of the phoenix.. precious. Oh, that’s me btw. I just love watching facial reactions from people while they’re watching movies I’ve already memorized from countless viewings. Hehehe.

T’was a rainy weekend but my heart surely warmed with good ole family togetherness. I wish I could freeze frame in my mind my weekends in the province forever. For they may not be the spectacular, traveling, mall-going, cinema-hopping weekends that urbanites like us have been accustomed to, but they surely make me feel like a child again.

To float, from one episode to the next.

the numb doormat blues

The following paragraph was my supposed entry yesterday. At the last minute i decided to scratch it, having been already pacified with food. Lots of it. And lots of love too, from friends who stayed with me as i kept on munching burger king’s mushroom swiss burger, french-fries and affogato sundae, til my hurt feelings have been finally appeased. Nonetheless, having already processed said incident, for documentary purposes I am now posting it. thanks a lot guys, your pep talks made a lot of difference. Even the bulldog’s craziness helped in its own weird way. Love you all!

I feel numb. Its like the ugly sick pig incident is happening all over again. And yes, the culprit is another ugly sick pig. Whereas before, the pig’s pedigree leans on the native side, now the fuckin pig is more like a Berkshire, or a Yorkshire, or any of those white chinky chunks you see in meat shops. Fuckin meat shops. They never run out of those fuming, mouth-frothing varieties that seem to get me wherever i go. I sometimes wonder if its my lot in life to be a doormat. And i hate myself for that. if only i’d been a lot less gentler--he wouldav gotten a barrage of fuming, frothing tsunami of expletives coupled with a rousing recital of the Consumer Protection Act complete with amendments and annotations. with heart as black as his hooves, he attacked and he assaulted; he swirled and he twirled; while i remained timid, gentle me in the face of utmost danger. i hate it. i hate myself.

as i said, ok na ako. love ko na ulet sarili ko. really, i do. tsup!