It’s still so vivid. One evening in 2007, I sent him a text message, inviting him for a meetup at McDo Philcoa. He said, “Sure. What for? What up?”

I replied, “I dunno. I just missed you.”

A few hours later, I arrived at McDo and I saw him inside waiting for me. I had Chicken McNuggets. He had McChicken, large fries and large coke. He asked me how I was. I said I was great. He asked again why we were doing this. I told him I just wanted to bring back the old days — back when we called our group Bioman. I was Blue 3. He was Green 2.

He laughed. Way before we drifted far apart, we were close friends.

And that night, we stayed there at McDo, just talking about that summer — collecting newspapers and PET bottles from subdivisions, killing time at Vinzon’s Hall, playing games at Sunken Garden, pretending to be Bioman, the music we used to listen to back then, shooting an “Ikaw ang Lahat sa Akin” music video for our film org, and watching “Nasaan Ka Man” with the freshies.

A huge chunk of our time was spent talking about our radio hosting stint at dzUP for Project: Live Sound (Film stuff, Life, and Everything in Between). How they messed up on their first day as DJs. How fun it was. How he would want to do it again.

We even talked about that one time we walked along the Academic Oval while singing M2M’s “The Day You Went Away” out loud.

Yes, it’s so vivid. It was an unforgettable night.

Unforgettable because it was the only night we spent hours alone together. It was the only time I made an effort to revive our lost friendship. It was the last serious conversation we had. The sad fact is, it will never happen again.

So long, my friend. Rest in peace.

Note: Today is my dad’s fifth death anniversary. Allow me to repost this.

Whenever I say that the earliest memory I have is the accident wherein I had my left arm somewhat toasted, I lie. My earliest memory is, in fact, months before that.

It was a Saturday morning. I woke up to see the house in complete disarray. It seemed like we had been robbed. But there was no thief. There was only my father, rummaging through the house, looking for something. That time, he had just undergone surgery. He had a nasty liver.

I went out to see a number of people looking at my dad on the roof. He was also searching the roofs. And he kept on yelling, “Where are my millions?” It sounded silly because we were poor and there was no way our family savings could reach the million mark. But my dad kept looking for his “millions.” Take note, “millionS.” Plural.

(more…)

I don’t want to start this blogging year with an emo entry but I really have got something emo to say. And I’ve got to say this now.

Even before I hit puberty, my friends have been emigrating — to Canada, to the US. That’s why back then, I developed some sort of hatred towards these two countries. I felt like, “North America is stealing my friends.”

Years passed, and I noticed that I’d been losing friends not just to Canada or the US but also to Australia, to the UK, to the Middle East. It’s as if all the other nations are conspiring to make my life miserable. I felt like being left behind. Left alone.

But then, as I grow older, I’m starting to realise that this is life. And that it’s not about me. It’s about them. That although the friendship you share is deeply treasured, your friendship is not all there is in the world. That no matter how much distance the world puts between you two, the value of that friendship does not change.

That people come and go. Just like that.

But it’s hard to accept this truth because when people come into our lives, we love them. We love them as though they will be with us all the time. We just don’t think about the moment they’re gonna have to leave. Because we never think they are gonna. Until they do.

Who could blame us? They are friends. We get used to the comfort of their presence.

That when they reach out, it’s hard not to hold their hands.

That when they speak, it’s hard not to listen.

That when it’s their turn to listen, it’s hard not to cry.

That when we need to cry, it’s hard not to be with them.

That when we are with them, it’s hard to leave.

And that when it’s their turn to leave, it’s just hard — so hard — to let go.

To JT. You will be missed.

image courtesy of bifsniff.com
PBA09035542p

The other night, I had a strong urge to text someone. Kuya Ethan (name changed to protect our friendship, haha). He’s my 23-year old friend who had been my roommate since my early days in college until we parted ways middle of this year.

Although extreme opposites, we got along really well. He doesn’t like my political stand but I’m not a fan of his Republican ways, either. His sense of humour is very different from mine. He smirks at my favourite films and songs. He doesn’t like me being gay although he understands and respects me completely. He’s very reserved and serious while I’m very vocal and opinionated. He’s more of the logical type (a Law student) while I’m more creative (a Film graduate). He doesn’t like some of my other friends but he is totally aware that most of my friends have a huge crush on him. (He’s cute, btw.) He’s a light sleeper. I’m a late sleeper.

Despite all our differences, I found an older brother in him. And yes, I miss him.

Days after we decided to live separately, he was always telling me that there was no chance he would miss me. And I would just laugh it off, most of the time. Not sharing the room with him required tectonic adjustments at first. But eventually, I got used to it. A week after we separated, I received a text message from him.

Ethan: Hey, where are you?
Yoshke: Home. Why?
Ethan: Aaah.
Yoshke: Why?
Ethan: Nothing.
Yoshke: Why? Why? Why?
Ethan: It’s just that I’m in Trinoma and I was wondering if you were around the area. Maybe we could grab dinner.
Yoshke: Wahahaha. Someone’s missing me!

Kuya doesn’t like showing emotions. He doesn’t like mushy things. But back then, a number of times, we always found ourselves in rare mushy friendship talks. One time, I came home late. He asked me where I had gone and I told him I was with my friends. Kuya is always cynical when it comes to human relationships.

(more…)

And just like that, it all comes crashing down. And my one dream is shattered. As shattered as I am now.

If you wanna be friends with me, I’m telling you, now is the best time.

I’m OK now. You see, I move on easily. Haha. Over it.

The comedy is that even after all this time, we’re still like this.
The tragedy is that we’re still like this.

And that’s just nasty. Oh well.

Read more >>

National List of Passers
2007 FOREIGN SERVICE OFFICER WRITTEN EXAMINATIONS
Held 19-21 December 2007 (Released: 29 August 2008)
Department of Foreign Affairs – Philippines

Gaaawd. Just when I start envying my friends (especially Bebs) for reaching new heights in their careers, something like this comes my way.

From a thousand examinees, now we’re down to 58. (Yeah, the mortality rate in FSO Exam makes us all go suicidal.) I didn’t expect this. I absolutely hoped for it but not expected. I mean, come on, the questions were like:

• Formulate an ECONOMIC policy for the Philippine Embassy in Paris and back it up with a theoretical framework. (I didn’t have any Economics classes in college, thank you very much.)
• Trace the history of the Middle East from the Mesopotamian Era up to the present. (What?! Are you frakkin’ serious? I’m a FILM graduate!)

And there were almost 30 questions. Maybe what they needed was a thesis dissertation prepared within half a day. It was the craziest three days of my life. And knowing I failed to follow some test instructions, I really did not expect anything. In fact, I ALMOST GAVE UP ON IT.

Now, there’s just one more round left. Another 3-day exam. Just one more. I’m gonna need a tuxedo. Haha.

Dahil dyan, magpapa-cheeseburger ako! Burger! Burger!

I am sooo gonna become a diplomat.

A grim incident has transformed our home into a mini-hospital. The air inside the house is perfumed with microbicides and alcohol. Trash bins are brimming with used bandages and cotton balls. Rooms are adorned with antibiotics and painkillers lying around. The coffee table is covered with CT scan results and X-Ray plates. And almost every day, visitors come pouring in with foods and gifts.

Yes, our house has suddenly become a hospital. This is because last Tuesday, almost a mile away from our house, there was a horrible road accident.

My mother, my brother and a maid were in it.

Fortunately, everyone is fine now.

Status: Harried.
Music: The Game of Love | Santana feat Michelle Branch

Hahaaay. Euro 2008 Final. Germany lost to Spain 0-1.

I feel too harried and melancholic. Germany is really my favourite team. I’m in love with them as a group. And again, they came so close to grabbing that trophy but aaaargh, the Spanish team were just so damn skilled this year. For what it’s worth, they really deserve it. They played better than the Germans this tournament. They were never defeated. They definitely were the best team. (And mind you, all of them are under 30 yo.) Besides, it was just about time that Spain win something. Since I was born, I’d never seen Spain win anything. It’s been 44 years.

Maybe Ken was right. Maybe Germany just had to lose this time so they could have more drive and passion to win World Cup 2010. Maybe that’s it. (Wag nang kumontra. I’m trying to console myself here. Haha)

The truth is, I should be half-celebrating. Spain is my second fave national team after all. My top 2 teams at the final. Heck, my grandma was Spanish. What am I ranting about?

Anyway, I was browsing through BBC’s Euro 2008 photos and this picture just lightened my mood a bit.

I wonder if he got any. Tsk, tsk… Straight people! Haha.

images courtesy of bbc.co.uk and MSN Sport