i was a 6-year old imp in caloc-an when i learned how not to drown in the river. see, i almost did when i fell from maria amolo's fishpond dike. but the trick if you don't know how to swim is to wave your arms above the water, even if your head is submerged and you are gasping for air and drinking mud beneath, and then pray that somebody sees you. i guess i was lucky. puding saw my waving arms and shouted to sandy and remy, who quickly dived to my rescue. thus, my love affair with caloc-an river began.
it was actually a creek, around 8 meters wide. on each side were lines of cogon grasses that protected the fishpond dikes from soil erosion. it went all the way to the bigger tributary, the proper river, about two kilometers away, where it was said that crocodiles lived.
our row was home to the kid bosses of the barrio. i mean, you know, it was okay to be bullied by the perangs, who were the natural meanies; or be snobbed by the radazas and the odrons, who fancied themselves bright people and therefore on a higher plane than the others, which of course did not include me as i was too young to matter in the peking order. heck, there was even grudging respect for the wily bragaises, who were the recognized cheaters in every game just because they were so competitive and such sore losers. the palacs on the other hand were dignified in their poverty, and the kids were a pretty talented bunch: joyjoy, the fastest runner even in his malnourished frame, eric and manuel the toughest jolen, lastiko, tansan and even reddog customers.
but the kings of the river were the amolos: diony, remy, puding, sandy and tatang. their parents, nang iyay and nong gorio were the royalties in the crab and clam buy-and-sell business in caloc-an. we had the best crabs there, thanks to the murky caloc-an creek.
the time i almost drowned challenged me to learn how to swim. the amolo fishpond was my first training ground and sandy and puding were my first teachers. they were also my classmates in the fake kindergarten school nearby. in class, they could not read well or distinguish colors so i helped them out. in return, they taught me the rudiments of the doggie style.
on my first caloc-an summer, i was too excited to finally belong so i asked to join in dakop-dakop -- the elite and elegant game of playing tag in the water. it looked easy watching it played from the dikes. so when i learned how to swim, i thought i'd fit in well and give a decent game. i didnt realize how inadequate i was until the other kids stopped the game because i couldn't catch anyone. i was "it" for almost an hour and the game had to be stopped for becoming so boring.
i did improve later, but not enough to catch the amolos, or even the palacs. with them, and even with the becinas and dominises, i would still rank somewhere at the tailend. not even my above average skills in reading, piyat-piyat and shatom could compensate for that obvious weakness. so thank god for the younger kids later on that i finally relinguished the loser's crown. it was not a monumental feat but feel-good enough to finally enjoy the creek, and the feeling of not always losing.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
loring
you think you can pigeon-hole her. i think not.
"every place is a market place" is her professed motto in life. she prances around acting gruff and jologs, always flashing her thousand-dollar smile. she relates to everyone with the kind of familiarity of an annoying little sister who demands ice cream. she gets her way most of the time, though not without murmured resignations that she is just being herself.
i think it's the kind of familiarity she wants people to have of her. we all do that when we don't want people to pry beyond our immediate exterior. it gives people a false sense of knowing because they can put you in box and claim ready adjectives to describe you. when she's loud, and drink from everybody's water bottle or makes inane comments, it's expected and people say it's just being her.
it's really clever.
one day I looked her way and caught the loss of the usual sparkle in her eyes. i asked bluntly if she had a problem. very casually, she dismissed me by a curt "no", followed by "wala lang" when i pointed to her sad expression. then she was in her "market place" element again blurting thoughtless comments and what-nots. because i can match her inanities and go toe-to-toe with the market place attitude, my prying was considered more a quirk than a trait. otherwise, i would have been dismissed as a person.
i have become a more accepting human being because of the association with her. i don't tell her that, of course. that girl's a swell-headed brat. but sometimes, meaningful friendships can be found in inanities and mindless association until some meaning and deeper connection are found. i learned in p.e. class the principle of constant overloading. maybe it's working here. one day, she blurted about some personal things and in my head i went, ugh, overshare. but when i reviewed the information with her sometime after that, i found myself in the marketplace again, meandering and soaking in the yada-yada-oh-ok-bye conversation. then the cycle began again. a little more info stored. a little more familiarity stored. just a little overload. we're good. just the way i like it.
"every place is a market place" is her professed motto in life. she prances around acting gruff and jologs, always flashing her thousand-dollar smile. she relates to everyone with the kind of familiarity of an annoying little sister who demands ice cream. she gets her way most of the time, though not without murmured resignations that she is just being herself.
i think it's the kind of familiarity she wants people to have of her. we all do that when we don't want people to pry beyond our immediate exterior. it gives people a false sense of knowing because they can put you in box and claim ready adjectives to describe you. when she's loud, and drink from everybody's water bottle or makes inane comments, it's expected and people say it's just being her.
it's really clever.
one day I looked her way and caught the loss of the usual sparkle in her eyes. i asked bluntly if she had a problem. very casually, she dismissed me by a curt "no", followed by "wala lang" when i pointed to her sad expression. then she was in her "market place" element again blurting thoughtless comments and what-nots. because i can match her inanities and go toe-to-toe with the market place attitude, my prying was considered more a quirk than a trait. otherwise, i would have been dismissed as a person.
i have become a more accepting human being because of the association with her. i don't tell her that, of course. that girl's a swell-headed brat. but sometimes, meaningful friendships can be found in inanities and mindless association until some meaning and deeper connection are found. i learned in p.e. class the principle of constant overloading. maybe it's working here. one day, she blurted about some personal things and in my head i went, ugh, overshare. but when i reviewed the information with her sometime after that, i found myself in the marketplace again, meandering and soaking in the yada-yada-oh-ok-bye conversation. then the cycle began again. a little more info stored. a little more familiarity stored. just a little overload. we're good. just the way i like it.
how to make a kid swear
1. make him think he can get away with breaking the major rules, such as the no-beach-or-river-excursion policy during the school year weekends.
therefore, pretend you don't notice how toasted he and his brother are from frolicking at the beach the weekend after you verbally issued the reminder.
2. then, pin them on their "crime" one weekend. be cool and wait for them to come home. then confront them. expect that they will lie so be ready with the big mirror and your checklist. toasted? yes. red eyes? yes. dry skin? yes. salty skin? yes.
3. pretend you're upset, then act really angry. get your thickest belt. howl. then ask them to kneel. but don't hit them with the belt -- they're expecting it. instead, make them kneel on salt, their arms raised forward.
make them see the irony: they are kneeling on solid seawater. expect that they will wince. the younger brother will definitely cry just by the sight of the belt. he may actually be bawling by the time he kneels on the pile of salt. the older one's eyes will glisten at most, but he is probably quietly defiant.
4. confront them about the other weekends they were on the beach, especially the weekend right after after you issued the edict. pretend you're more angry now. heave a heavy sigh. the younger one will readily admit and point to his older brother as the mastermind. the older one will keep still, willing himself not to betray emotions.
5. order them to stand up and to strip everything. then, order them to march outside the house, never mind the pain in their knees.
6. outside the house, make them stand next to each other, arms raised sideward. then order them to lift one leg, a la karate kid. never mind their playmates flocking around them now, laughing.
7. keep them in this position for about ten minutes. threaten more punishment if they so much as move.
never mind the younger one wailing now - a mixture of pain and shame from other playmates ogling at his naked body will maybe do him good.
8. focus attention on the older one. see his eyes sharpen, his eyebrows meet. pay attention to the twitching of his face. this is your sign: his pride is wounded and his shame is exposed.
9. single him out now: ask him sternly if he will do it again! demand an answer. then watch his lips closely. note the quivering and the deliberate "no".
you did it. he just thought: give me ten years, i'm gonna make you kneel, old man.
therefore, pretend you don't notice how toasted he and his brother are from frolicking at the beach the weekend after you verbally issued the reminder.
2. then, pin them on their "crime" one weekend. be cool and wait for them to come home. then confront them. expect that they will lie so be ready with the big mirror and your checklist. toasted? yes. red eyes? yes. dry skin? yes. salty skin? yes.
3. pretend you're upset, then act really angry. get your thickest belt. howl. then ask them to kneel. but don't hit them with the belt -- they're expecting it. instead, make them kneel on salt, their arms raised forward.
make them see the irony: they are kneeling on solid seawater. expect that they will wince. the younger brother will definitely cry just by the sight of the belt. he may actually be bawling by the time he kneels on the pile of salt. the older one's eyes will glisten at most, but he is probably quietly defiant.
4. confront them about the other weekends they were on the beach, especially the weekend right after after you issued the edict. pretend you're more angry now. heave a heavy sigh. the younger one will readily admit and point to his older brother as the mastermind. the older one will keep still, willing himself not to betray emotions.
5. order them to stand up and to strip everything. then, order them to march outside the house, never mind the pain in their knees.
6. outside the house, make them stand next to each other, arms raised sideward. then order them to lift one leg, a la karate kid. never mind their playmates flocking around them now, laughing.
7. keep them in this position for about ten minutes. threaten more punishment if they so much as move.
never mind the younger one wailing now - a mixture of pain and shame from other playmates ogling at his naked body will maybe do him good.
8. focus attention on the older one. see his eyes sharpen, his eyebrows meet. pay attention to the twitching of his face. this is your sign: his pride is wounded and his shame is exposed.
9. single him out now: ask him sternly if he will do it again! demand an answer. then watch his lips closely. note the quivering and the deliberate "no".
you did it. he just thought: give me ten years, i'm gonna make you kneel, old man.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
bobie
you can say i was never into their kind. on the contrary, i have often been accused of cruelty where they are concerned. but bobie was alright. he was unobtrusive, he kept to himself most of the time and had this pleasant aura about him that was not hard to like. on hindsight, he was impressive among his kind and if he were my equal, i would have respected him.
i couldn't remember how he came to us. i was deep into worrying over my breakout pimples i hardly had time for anything else. but i remember this: borakdak named him. and though i thought his name sounded strange, it was better than apolonia had to endure seasons ago.
the thing about bobie's involvement in our lives was that he was not showered with any attention, other than the week he spent with borakdak when she visited us for the first time in a long time.
this borakdak visit made mother berserk of course. i mean, in a good way. you see, shortly before the visit, she treated us with a long self-congratulatory letter, telling us she passed the cpa board - caloc-an's first, and possibly the only one up to now. before that, she was at large for almost four years. in those years, she became a voldemort of sort: the she-who-must-not-be-named in front of mother. you could imagine mother, taking stock of all her children once a while, and finding one lost without a trace. she was bereft of any information, of knowing whether borakdak was okay, or alive. mother would sometimes wake up at dawn, panting, crying out her name.
so the week that borakdak was home was grand for the most part, especially for bobie, who was spoiled rotten and showered with princely attention. even i felt a little special. i mean, collezione shorts and shirts were haute couture in caloc-an that time, and i had two shorts and two shirts from her. they were my prized pieces of clothing for some time, until they faded from excessive use.
however, beyond my immediate gratification over my presents, i dont remember much of borakdak's "ordeal". she must have gone the rounds of mother's amiga visits or a number of mother's agenda. naturally, mother was very proud to have her back - the lost daughter who made it back home bearing great news of success. she looked chic and self-assured, just the kind mothers would be proud of. if mother were demonstrative, she might have laid prostrate on the ground crying her butt off in sheer joy. but no, the woman's classy: she only shed a few tears in silence and sniffed her nose while pretending to be collected.
oddly, bobie was the recipient of more tenderness and affection from borakdak. that's why bobie was spoiled rotten that week. i think bobie might have agreed that borakdak was chic and self-assured, but if bobie was mother, he would have thought she was distant too. maybe she was groping her way back into the family. maybe she grew up, or simply grew separately from everyone else. maybe she acquired the trappings of cosmopolitan life and saw that caloc-an was a dreary and hopeless place that reminded her of all the things she didn't like growing up. or, maybe seeing dad again reminded her of this towering symbol of everything that had caused dysfunction in her psyche, that to seem distant was both a defense and an offense, or a measure of revenge. through it all, mother was the casualty and she didn't understand it.
the inevitable confrontation on new year's eve between borakdak and dad sent bobie cowering under the four-step stair. how odd it must have been for him to see the gentle borakdak unleash her temper, although it was mild and civilised by any standard. dad's intimidating aura had not completely lost its effect at the time. he was still formidable, although his feet were already exposing the clay.
bobie, poor chap, was left behind for good by his preferred mistress two days later. no dramatic goodbyes, although there must have been some ceremony between them. he sulked at the beginning, eating less and sleeping more. but as with all cool beings, bobie rebounded and moved on, gradually understanding that the world didnt revolve around him.
by the time borakdak completed her revenge, by mailing an eloquent but overwrought missive chronicling dad's non-virtues, bobie couldn't care less. he started roaming around the neighborhood, looking for some canine action. he was by then graduating from puppyhood, much as I was, pimples breaking and all.
so yeah, bobie was alright. he was probably the only dog i have ever come close to liking.
i couldn't remember how he came to us. i was deep into worrying over my breakout pimples i hardly had time for anything else. but i remember this: borakdak named him. and though i thought his name sounded strange, it was better than apolonia had to endure seasons ago.
the thing about bobie's involvement in our lives was that he was not showered with any attention, other than the week he spent with borakdak when she visited us for the first time in a long time.
this borakdak visit made mother berserk of course. i mean, in a good way. you see, shortly before the visit, she treated us with a long self-congratulatory letter, telling us she passed the cpa board - caloc-an's first, and possibly the only one up to now. before that, she was at large for almost four years. in those years, she became a voldemort of sort: the she-who-must-not-be-named in front of mother. you could imagine mother, taking stock of all her children once a while, and finding one lost without a trace. she was bereft of any information, of knowing whether borakdak was okay, or alive. mother would sometimes wake up at dawn, panting, crying out her name.
so the week that borakdak was home was grand for the most part, especially for bobie, who was spoiled rotten and showered with princely attention. even i felt a little special. i mean, collezione shorts and shirts were haute couture in caloc-an that time, and i had two shorts and two shirts from her. they were my prized pieces of clothing for some time, until they faded from excessive use.
however, beyond my immediate gratification over my presents, i dont remember much of borakdak's "ordeal". she must have gone the rounds of mother's amiga visits or a number of mother's agenda. naturally, mother was very proud to have her back - the lost daughter who made it back home bearing great news of success. she looked chic and self-assured, just the kind mothers would be proud of. if mother were demonstrative, she might have laid prostrate on the ground crying her butt off in sheer joy. but no, the woman's classy: she only shed a few tears in silence and sniffed her nose while pretending to be collected.
oddly, bobie was the recipient of more tenderness and affection from borakdak. that's why bobie was spoiled rotten that week. i think bobie might have agreed that borakdak was chic and self-assured, but if bobie was mother, he would have thought she was distant too. maybe she was groping her way back into the family. maybe she grew up, or simply grew separately from everyone else. maybe she acquired the trappings of cosmopolitan life and saw that caloc-an was a dreary and hopeless place that reminded her of all the things she didn't like growing up. or, maybe seeing dad again reminded her of this towering symbol of everything that had caused dysfunction in her psyche, that to seem distant was both a defense and an offense, or a measure of revenge. through it all, mother was the casualty and she didn't understand it.
the inevitable confrontation on new year's eve between borakdak and dad sent bobie cowering under the four-step stair. how odd it must have been for him to see the gentle borakdak unleash her temper, although it was mild and civilised by any standard. dad's intimidating aura had not completely lost its effect at the time. he was still formidable, although his feet were already exposing the clay.
bobie, poor chap, was left behind for good by his preferred mistress two days later. no dramatic goodbyes, although there must have been some ceremony between them. he sulked at the beginning, eating less and sleeping more. but as with all cool beings, bobie rebounded and moved on, gradually understanding that the world didnt revolve around him.
by the time borakdak completed her revenge, by mailing an eloquent but overwrought missive chronicling dad's non-virtues, bobie couldn't care less. he started roaming around the neighborhood, looking for some canine action. he was by then graduating from puppyhood, much as I was, pimples breaking and all.
so yeah, bobie was alright. he was probably the only dog i have ever come close to liking.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Fir and Sumi
Today, IC shall witness the wailing of a man-boy whose pet is gone.
This is not a fact. But it has great potential for a wildly entertaining Fir hotseat event afterward. Fir is the consummate self-Judas who would deny to himself his own affection for his Japanese pet, Sumi. Or maybe he only denies it to the denizens of IC especially the Cebuano contingents who are too nosy for their own good.
We can't help it. Fir ignites curiousity, and with Sumi, a measure of forced admiration for his quiet, self-assured guts. Atta boy!
Sumi leaves. For good. Thank God for modern technology Fir will be just fine. Sumi will become his online pet.
This is not a fact. But it has great potential for a wildly entertaining Fir hotseat event afterward. Fir is the consummate self-Judas who would deny to himself his own affection for his Japanese pet, Sumi. Or maybe he only denies it to the denizens of IC especially the Cebuano contingents who are too nosy for their own good.
We can't help it. Fir ignites curiousity, and with Sumi, a measure of forced admiration for his quiet, self-assured guts. Atta boy!
Sumi leaves. For good. Thank God for modern technology Fir will be just fine. Sumi will become his online pet.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
sideways ...
miles, deftly portrayed by paul giamatti, lamented:
"i'm a thumbprint on a window of a skyscraper" .
his ego assuaged and encouraged by his buddy, he remaind inconsolable and uttered this killer line that to my mind secured the oscar nomination:
"no, I'm a smudge of excrement on a tissue surging out to sea with a million tons of sewage..."
i thought this was hilarious. and a tad sad. who wants to creep into middle age alone - being ditched by a wife after a mouthful of self-esteem-deflating judgments; scraping by a mediocre and pretentious career as a writer too poor to pay a napa valley excursion you have to steal from your mom's piggybank; and worst of all, uttering these looossseeer epithets....
alas, the lines are are distantly but ominously familiar.... yikes.
"i'm a thumbprint on a window of a skyscraper" .
his ego assuaged and encouraged by his buddy, he remaind inconsolable and uttered this killer line that to my mind secured the oscar nomination:
"no, I'm a smudge of excrement on a tissue surging out to sea with a million tons of sewage..."
i thought this was hilarious. and a tad sad. who wants to creep into middle age alone - being ditched by a wife after a mouthful of self-esteem-deflating judgments; scraping by a mediocre and pretentious career as a writer too poor to pay a napa valley excursion you have to steal from your mom's piggybank; and worst of all, uttering these looossseeer epithets....
alas, the lines are are distantly but ominously familiar.... yikes.
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