“The day I was born I was born free and that is my Privilege.”


Nonsense: Read it at your own dismay.
June 9, 2009, 4:16 pm
Filed under: Tabloid

She thought of not being in a relationship at her age right now after a trip to nowhere alone.  I said to her that I’ve thought of that myself, too, but yet I am not ready for the scenarios like telling him every little thing that you decided to do with your momentary life like what color should I use if I have chosen to dye my hair.

To express oneself is as hard as showing apathy while you’re in a rollercoaster ride.   Tell me what to do.

I just want someone to hug, I said to another she.  Surprised, she told me to just grab a pillow and that my wish will be fulfilled.  Look for a mature one, she then advised me.  I asked her to qualify what she means by “mature.”  She typed in like bullet points — brave enough to face everything you two will go through in the relationship and the side of you that he doesn’t know yet, who knows insensitivity enough not to befriend it, who doesn’t get angry when you’re nearly misanthropic.  And I just listened as she tells her story following that.

I know about it but I don’t understand it.

That night I read a line in a book saying, “Flirting with alternative pasts only made it more difficult to face the present.” A memory flashed back and I refused to read for hours.



It’s fiction, non-fiction.
June 1, 2009, 3:35 pm
Filed under: Tabloid

I was on my bed last night reading Sara Backer’s American Fuji, a book I just snatched from my friend’s bookshelf when I went at her place last Sunday. I saw a John Grisham o a double-decker and asked her, while she was half-asleep, if I could borrow it. She mumbled a few words and pointed me to a collection of books on the table. I moved the bouquet of flowers on top of the stack and picked the one she recommended me reading.

Sleep refused to get through me yesterday even though the rainy weather kept on persuading me to close my eyes and dream. Reading a few pages lulled me to sleep, but I was awakened by the thought that there was something that I should be doing rather than rest. My mind is awake. I went to my brother’s room to get the guitar, played a few chords then went back to my room to continue reading the book.

The story centers on two individuals, both of them Americans, that is, Gabby and Alex. A former professor at a university in Tokyo, Gaby talks old men on how they want their remains be handled, how their last respects be done for a favorable price. At Gone With the Wind, her company, the package called “Fly Me to the Moon” is the most expensive.  “Liar,” the wife of her rich client called her after discussing its details to the old man. “One’s ashes will be transported to the moon, that is nonsense. It’s against the tradition,” she said.

You will be a part of everyone when you die, a molecule on a plant dew, your nucleus will be in the air that everyone breaths in; I read that in a book. And I kind of like that concept of death.

Gaby sells death, that’s what she does now.  But Gaby misses teaching, that cannot be denied. Lester often blames her for staying at her current work and not pursuing her passion. She was terminated at her teaching post a few years back, and the reason was not discussed to her in detail.  A Ph.D. holder, fluent in both English and Japanese, the dean tells his regret of losing a good teacher like her, but he also stresses out needing someone else to do her job.

In working at Gone With the Wind, she will meet Alex, an author by profession, a father whose son, a student in a university at Tokyo, died in a motorcycle accident a year ago. The details of his death was never known to Alex.  “Your company transported my son’s body in a casket back to America,” he said.  He also claimed he had transfer papers to prove it, but Gaby couldn’t find a record of it in their file.

That is to the extent of what I read. Telling their story is a relief and an alibi of not narrating mine. Merely because mine is a sad one. It involves greed, disrespect, deceit resulting to tears, confusion, anger, empathy which then turns to apathy.

One hour close to midnight I end this post.

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Brandon Boyd, believing in that 1 percent of a chance that you’ll read this,  I just want to say my deepest thanks for including my Ectoplasm post in your blog. Continue to inspire other people through your music and art.   I will wait for the release of  Monuments and Melodies  here in my country.  By the way, I love what you said in your recent interview with LiveDaily; that is,  “I hadn’t thought about the lyric in a long time — there’s a lyric in the song “Monuments and Melodies” that refers to where one has been and where one is going and being sort of in praise of the process of growth.”

Then let’s all move forward.

Now, that put colors on my dull cheeks.