If you don’t understand why everyone is going ga-ga over that certain planner a certain coffeehouse is selling or giving away after you’ve turned fat, broke or insomniac, welcome to the club.

Well, there’s nothing wrong with it actually. If you always buy coffee, then it makes perfect sense to avail of the planner in question. In fact, I admire the passion and determination of others to the point of skipping lunch or dinner or both just to grab their copy of that planner every year. (I even know a couple of kids who ask money from their parents and claim it’s for a project for their Social Studies class. Social, alright.)

It’s a cool planner I must admit. If I were that into overpriced coffee, I’d probably get myself one, too. But I’m happy with my Kapeng Barako so, thanks, but no thanks.

Anyway, just as that coffeehouse everyone is ga-ga over releases their planner that everyone is ga-ga over, a couple of friends came up with a brilliant idea of producing their own planner that could give that “coffeehouse planner everyone is ga-ga over” a run for its overpriced life. It’s more like my friends’ personal project but they printed 498 more, so you might want to buy a copy. LOL.

So what is this ingenious planner that threatens the order of the society?

Well, it’s called the “I-was-supposed-to-get-that-coffeehouse-planner-but-I-got-fat-and-broke-on-the-10th-frappe planner.” Sorry for its quite lengthy name, but there’s no other name more suitable.

This mocking planner talks to you in Tagalog and treats you as a real friend, the kind you always suspect of being gay or schizophrenic. It does not give you boring inspirational quotes every page. Heck, it might even insult you, like a real friend. And on top of it all, like a real friend, it’s the one you’d like to use as much as you can.

It has art, it has wit, and you don’t have to buy 30 frakkin’ cups of coffee just to get it. You just have to shell out P320. See? Like a real friend, it’s cheap.

The picture above is the cover. Now, take a look at the inside pages:

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image courtesy of wired.com

I’m not sure if you have experienced this:

“You wake up, but you can’t move a muscle. Lying in bed, you’re totally conscious, and you realize that strange things are happening. There’s a crushing weight on your chest that’s humanoid. And it’s evil.” (Wired.com)

Scientists have a name for this medical condition — sleep paralysis. I have a name for this, too: fudgin’ nightmare. It’s pretty common, though. In fact, it is believed that half of the population has experienced this. You’re not alone. Yay for that.

Even without these stats, I’d still tell you you’re not alone — simply because I’ve had more than my share of sleep paralysis “attacks.” And no matter how much I google sleep paralysis, there are things that keep me bothered.

It all started on a trip to a province in the South. One morning, I woke up and found myself paralyzed. I couldn’t move but I could speak. Suddenly, I heard a grim male voice. Although I could not see him, he was talking to me. And he was mocking me every time I try to speak.

“Wag mo nang labanan… Hindi ka makakagalaw…”

I started calling Shy Guy but he was totally in slumber.

“Hindi ka nya naririnig. Hindi sya magigising…” Then he laughed so boisterously, I easily concluded he was more like a demon than a maligno.

I struggled. Then he spoke again, “Wala ka nang magagawa! Akin ka na… Kahit saan ka magpunta, susundan kita…”

I started shouting, “Hinde, hindi mo ako makukuha. Umalis ka. Umalis ka!” But he was mocking me, repeating the words I uttered.

And then I started doing something I had not done for a veeery long time. I prayed.

He stopped mocking me. But as soon as I was finished, he began talking again. “Walang magagawa ‘yan… Nakatakda ka nang kunin.. Kukunin ka na namin…”

It lasted for about 10 minutes but it was the longest 10 minutes of my life. He was just telling me he would get me and that there was nothing I could do about it.

Suddenly, I was able to move and started scooting to one corner of the bed. I was sure it wasn’t a dream; I was fully awake.

Paranormal? Nah, I thought it was what scientists call sleep paralysis. Here’s the medical explanation for it, again from Wired.com:

“This research strongly suggests that sleep paralysis is related to REM sleep, and in particular REM sleep that occurs at sleep onset,” write researchers Julia Santomauro and Christopher C. French of the Anomalistic Psychology Research Unit, Goldsmiths, at the University of London. “Shift work, jet lag, irregular sleep habits, overtiredness and sleep deprivation are all considered to be predisposing factors to sleep paralysis; this may be because such events disrupt the sleep–wake cycle, which can then cause [sleep-onset REM periods].”

I would’ve shaken it off but I have had the same experience a number of times since then, even now that I’m here in the comforts of the city. It was the same guy, the same awful feeling. The monster who would get me in my sleep. Call me childish but it really scares the hell out of me.

Sleep paralysis? I think so. Nothing paranormal.

…

That may be a typical case of sleep paralysis but that doesn’t explain what happened to my friends.

THE GREASE-BLACK PEOPLE

Four of my friends drove to Subic to shoot a short film. They were Tonet, Dohna, Rex and Mimay. They hit the road early morning to catch the sunrise, which was integral in the film. They arrived in Subic at around 4am, around 2 hours too early so they decided to sleep in the car while waiting for the rest of the crew.

There were two cars. In Car A were Tonet and Rex; while Dohna and Mimay, Car B.

Tonet was facing an open window with trees on her view. She fell asleep. Later, she woke up only to find herself unable to move. She could not even turn her head so her sight was fixed on this area in front of her. From somewhere an old man appeared in the distance. He had long hair, red eyes and greasy black skin. Greasy because it was shiny and it felt like it bounced the moonlight, making him visible in pitch darkness.

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Ladies and gentlemen, this is my 500th post! And to celebrate, allow me to be vain for a moment and feature my 10 favorite entries on this blog.

I’ve been blogging for over five years. I was so passionate about my first blog but a year later as I was backreading, it dawned on me that I was full of crap and so was my blog. All I posted was my immature ramblings so I decided to just kill the blog.

A few months later, I started another blog on Blogdrive. Although I couldn’t say it wasn’t immature, it was a teeny bit more sensible. The next year, I moved to Wordpress and purchased yoshke.com domain name. That’s when I took blogging seriously.

This blog is called The Mind, Times, and Life of Yoshke Dimen because I want this to reflect my handwritten journal, which i still keep. (My handwritten journal has more detailed, more scandalous, more personal entries. LOL. I’d be dead if somebody stole it.) So why the title?

“Mind” because this blog documents what’s on my mind, what I think about. I write about what’s going on in my head from my European cable provider to Pinoy Big Brother to Oli Pettigrew to traveling the world to lawn tennis.

“Times” because decades from now, when I look back to this era, this blog should reflect the environment I am in and what’s going on in the world. I’d love to revisit the blockbuster movies of this time, the hit TV shows, the political climate, and even global warming.

“Life” because this is still my personal blog and it should chronicle what I do and feel and how I live my life. That when I became famous, there’s a convenient resource for researchers and biographers to poke into my past. Haha. Kidding.

Enough intro, here are the upper 2% of Yoshke.com posts that I really enjoyed writing.

10. MY TOP 50 ALL-TIME FAVORITE FILMS

I never take writing movie reviews seriously. Being a Film graduate and having directed and written a few films, I thought writing movie reviews would make my life too film-saturated. Thus, I only write random thoughts about the flicks I see. Compiling my top 50 most well-loved movies of all time was an enjoyable ride. It was a great experience looking back and ranking all the films I have seen and picking the 50 that I’d watch over and over again.

Another movie entry I had a damn good time writing was a rundown of all the Batman movies. This post is special because I’m a huge Batman fan and to prepare for this entry, I had to see all Batman films again — from Tim Burton to Christopher Nolan, from Michael Keaton to Christian Bale, from Joker to Poison Ivy back to Joker.

Some of the movies I enjoyed writing a short review of include Doubt (2008), the Curious Case of Benjamin Button (2008), and The Reader (2008).

9. TOP 10 SIGNS THAT YOUR BOYFRIEND IS GAY

This post gave this blog its first traffic boost. I used to not care about traffic; I just wanted to write, just write. But this post made me realize it actually felt good that something I write get to be read by people around the globe and it’s nice to interact with those who comment.

This list was originally published in December 2006 but I gave it a makeover and reposted it in April 2008.

Other lists I had a great time writing are the most awful things to say during sex, the top ways to break-up with your partner, the places to find your true love. More lists here.

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I found this statement somewhere. (But of course, it’s not just somewhere.) Someone described herself with this:

I hate people whose names have the letter H in their names randomly inserted to it, like in Mhe-Ann and Rhon. It’s just uncalled for. It pisses me off.

The first time I read it, I gasped, “What did I do to her?”

To all who don’t know, Yoshke is just a pen name. My real name is quite common but (yes, you guessed it right) it has an H randomly inserted to it. Like Mhe-Ann. Or Rhon.

I don’t even know the girl, yet she hates me for my name. Of course, my first reaction was “It’s not my fault. I didn’t choose my name.” But the more I think about it, the more I realize that it wasn’t my parents’ fault either. Or anyone’s. It isn’t a fault at all. What’s so annoying with a randomly inserted H, really?

But then, I can’t blame anyone who hates people who have the letter H in their names where there shouldn’t be. After all, I have my own share of irrational hatred. For one, I hate cooked carrots. It’s yummy and delicious and orange. But I hate it for no reason at all. My friends say I discriminate cooked carrots but I can’t help despising it.

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Most gay people find it extremely difficult to accept their true sexuality for so many reasons. First, it is hard to struggle and assert your true colors in a hostile world who has always looked down on homosexuals in general. Second, many are afraid of discrimination. Admit it, no matter how objective people are, sexual orientation still affects the way we judge a person. Prejudice has always been there it will take a while to get rid of it completely, if that is ever possible. Thus, lastly, gays and lesbians are bombarded with a number of awful problems such as low self-esteem, trouble in belonging and lack of opportunities.

If you’re gay or you have a friend or family member who struggles to come out, know that being a homosexual doesn’t necessarily equate to being incapable to accomplish great things in life. In fact, many important figures who have marked their names on the face of the world turned out to be gay. These include Virginia Woolf and Oscar Wilde. But if they aren’t enough for you, here are ten of the greatest people in history who could have been gay.

But first, a DISCLAIMER: I’m not saying these people are gay. Heck, I myself don’t even believe some of these. This is just a compilation of historical figures whom some people think MIGHT have been gay.

10. William Shakespeare

William Shakespeare was married and had three children. Given this fact, who would think that England’s greatest writer was actually gay. The only indication that Shakespeare could have been gay was his sonnets, which were not intended for publication. A huge fraction of these sonnets address his love for, they say, a young man. If you read them, you’ll be blown away by the intense romantic feelings in them that would really make anyone easily conclude that the poet was actually involved in a homosexual affair. The sad thing is, there is no way we can verify this for there is only very little information about Shakespeare’s personal life.

9. Lawrence of Arabia

T.E. Lawrence, more popularly known as Lawrence of Arabia, went to the Middle East to do archeology. At the same time, he was a spy for the British, who considered that war was imminent. While in the region, Lawrence met Salim Ahmed, also known as Dahoum, at a dig in southern Turkey. Lawrence made him his assistant and taught him to read and write. Soon, they moved in together. Lawrence even put a nude carving of Dahoum on top of their house.

Several historians claim that many Arabs on the ancient site were scandalized by the friendship that they shared. Many believe that it was just mere friendship and claim that Lawrence only encouraged the scandalous rumors because they appealed to his sense of humor.

When war broke out, Lawrence was forced to move back to England. They never met again because Dahoum died of typhus in 1918. Lawrence was then quoted, “I liked a particular Arab, and thought that freedom for the race would be an acceptable present.” He also wrote a dedicatory poem, “To S.A.” It could have been anyone but it clearly fits his lost “friend” Dahoum.

8. Abraham Lincoln

Believe it or not, there are also speculations that America’s greatest president was actually gay. It is a little difficult to believe because he was married with four kids. But there is also strong evidence claiming otherwise.

Aside from the accounts that Lincoln’s relations with women were either distant or problematic, he shared a special friendship with another man. When Lincoln moved to Springfield, he met Joshua Speed. He became a very close friend to the president. Many biographers say that Speed was the only intimate friend that he ever had. It is documented that Lincoln and Speed shared a double bed for four years.

What is more intriguing than the sleeping arrangement was the tone of their so-called friendship. Lincoln’s letters to his “friend” before and after Speed’s wedding were rather fretful. Many of them were signed “Yours forever.”

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I’ve been wanting to write something lately but because the Typhoon Ondoy decided to be such a bitchass on the Philippines, priorities shifted and blogging just kissed the bottom of the list. (Btw, let’s continue helping the victims.)

Anyway, I realized that my last two entries on this blog are both very serious and very personal so I want to publish something light. I will post a storm-related entry one of these days, I just need to finish the article.

I was browsing through my pictures in my laptop when I stumbled upon old photos and screenshots. They say that a picture paints a thousand words. True, but wait there’s more. It’s also the easiest way to answer questions.

1. How good I am at bowling.

That’s four consecutive strikes, my dear friends. And one spare! (Yabang!) Just don’t ask me what happened after.

2. Why, for a moment, I was convinced God  is everywhere.

Imagine my surprise when this popped up on my screen. Apparently, it was just a friend named Jesus.

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edited image from ArtVille

You remember last week when I told you I found it difficult to blog since I met you? Since we became a couple officially, I have not had enough time to bond with my nephew and I don’t hang out with Andre as often as I used to. Not that I’m complaining. I enjoy every minute I spend with you.

You joshed, “Why not blog about me? Am I not something worth blogging about?”

You are, of course. But I choose not to. After all, you are one part of my life that I’d rather keep private. That’s how possessive I am of you.

But I’ll give you this blog post.

They say that the hormones responsible for that incredible feeling of falling and being in love linger in the brain for only six months. So it’s a chemically-induced emotion, after all. Six months. Most of the time, these chemicals dry up along with the love.

So that’s why most couples I know barely last seven months. Six months of hormonal euphoria and the seventh month is spent by the neurons deliberating whether to stay in the relationship or to call it quits. And many of them choose to break the other’s heart.

You remember our first date? We were in UP Diliman that night. We sat on the grass and suddenly, fireworks started sparkling in the sky. Neither of us knew or even expected there’d be fireworks. But there were. You borrowed my cellphone, composed a message, and gave it back to me. I still have that message on my inbox. It was probably the first time the love hormones rushed in to my brain.

That was more than six months ago.

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When I was in Kindergarten, I once heard my teacher mention the word “Singapore.” At first, I didn’t know what it was. I thought it was a name for an animal or a fruit. But my innate curiosity pushed me to ask one of my neighbors what it was. What I got from her was not just an answer, explaining me that it was a beautiful place overseas, south of the Philippines. What I got was a dream — his dream, which later on became mine.

The truth is, I learned what Singapore was way before I learned the other parts of my own country. Since then, I’d always heard the word “Singapore” — from my parents, teachers, and family friends. And when they uttered the word Singapore, it was often accompanied by the words “beautiful,” “progressive,” “unique.”

Not just that, people had always used this tiny yet marvelous city as a benchmark for our country. When we came across a pile of garbage in our province, my mum would say, “Singapore is probably the cleanest country in the world.” Whenever my cousins and I would see people jaywalking and breaking traffic rules left and right in Manila, they’d say “They wouldn’t allow that in Singapore.” Even now that I’m all grown up, I still often hear Singapore as this country’s standard for almost everything — trade, business, waste management, urban planning.

I’ve never been out of the country but who could blame me if the first foreign city I’d like to set foot on is the first foreign land I had heard about when I was a kid — Singapore.

Take a look at my friend’s pictures taken when she was in Singapore:

Boy did that made me feel my ultimate sin was envy! Haha. My other friends and I have planned going to Singapore countless times but none of them pushed through for reasons ranging from financial to schedule. But now that I have this chance of finally seeing the unique city I’ve always dreamed of experiencing, make no mistake, I won’t let it pass without a good fight.

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Question: When does crunch time become Krunch time?

Answer: When the temperature starts to drop, lights start to flicker, strange sounds of footsteps are heard from an empty room, and you start having goosebumps. That’s when crunch time turns into Krrunch Time!

Last Thursday, five colleagues and I decided to spend the rest of the night at the office. It was a pretty stressful night since everyone was trying to meet the deadline set in the morning of the next day. Since the entire team was desperate to make it but still had tons of codes to fix and paperwork to do, staying in the office overnight was a completely wise decision.

Working for a mobile multimedia company, we are used to late-night working hours. A number of us choose to finish a project before going home every once in a while. Some of them have sworn to have heard strange noises from the control room. Oh yeah, the Control Room — where the light switches, Internet servers, and most of the stored documents are located. It is also the first room from the front door. You see, you’re gonna have to pass by this room to reach the work stations.

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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.

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