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Misc


‘Groundhog Day’
November 24th, 2008 posted by JB under Alumni Stories, Literary. [ Comments: none ]

“So which is it? Groundhog Day or [title of 1993 movie I forget at the moment]?”

My brother, Marvin, winces and makes a face as he surveys the posters. We’re in Glorietta, and this is the summer of 1993. The whole family was supposed to watch a Russian circus, but something had happened and the performance was canceled. And this being the pre-texting and pre-Internet age, we learned about it only when we’re already standing right outside the circus tent.

The circus had pitched their huge yellow tents in an empty lot at the corner of Buendia and Ayala in Makati. In 2008, this lot would be occupied by the RCBC Tower. Not wanting to waste what is an otherwise fun sunny afternoon, somebody suggests we see a movie. So the five of us troop to the nearby mall, then we split – Marvin and I to watch the movie we like, my Father, Mother and my baby sister to go eat somewhere, look at expensive things, and drool.

“This looks fun,” I say, my finger trailing tentatively on the glass case that held Groundhog Day’s poster. It looks Christmas-y: there’s snow, there’s Bill Murray with that sardonic bored-as-hell face, there’s Andie MacDowell who at this point reminds me of my high school crush. “Let’s watch this. Groundhog Day. It’s really funny.”

I have no idea what the movie is about, but I’m choosing it because of the woman in it.

[Continue reading]



JB has blogged 120 posts



Ballad of Beer Nothing
October 13th, 2008 posted by white garapata under Alumni Stories, Literary. [ Comments: 4 ]

Beer precedes nostalgia.

He realized this a week ago after the drinking session with his non-single serving friends in restobar, somewhere in Malate. Norman’s birthday.

The place. Let’s call it The Castle, their unofficial tambayan, their literary abode during their College days, a place where they drivel about nothing and everything over bottle of beers.

They have a reason why they chose to hang out here. The Castle offered a different crash from cheap beers and cheap thrills, like acquiring infinitesimal wisdom of wiz. The big awe was the music (take note). No orgy of exaltation only happiness overdrive. It was the only place where they can be both drunk and sober at the same time while Hendrix’s or Joplin’s was playing in the background, playing out in the river of time. It was their temporary haven against the system they cared less and indifferent about. They considered themselves a dreamer.

He remembered the Music and their favorite bands. The songs reminded him of the beat, the grudge, the artistry, the poetry, the booze, and the struggle—the purple hazed of their individual struggle. The world was sweet like beer then.

He thought of his friends and their goal was only to get drunk, Wednesday bang-bang as they called. He doesn’t remember now who coined the term Wednesday bang-bang. It doesn’t matter, to him, or to any of his friends, now.

They played with the spontaneity of life, the trance and the joy of transience of watching films or listening to music.

He remembered Mikel Schrodinger, the alter ego. He loved to bring out more chaos to his life rather to solve it, as one of his friends put it.

He remembered Joni, the slacker and the funky. She was the Siddhartha girl. The girl of all tomorrow’s parties. She wrote a short story about K., a manic-depressive character who hated the guts of the world. He never met K.

There was Pule who cracked jokes with theatric face. He owned two books. One he never read, a sort of detective/ thriller; the other book, Zen and the Motorcycle Maintenance, a reference for his Philosophy subject. He was obsessed with FHM sexy calendars and Radiohead and Mars Volta.

Next was the girl he argued with and slapped for saying he was a gay for simply listening to Coldplay. Hello, Mitch! She wrote a beautiful essay about Gabriel Garcia Marquez and the Macondo. Beer has never worn out her. There was always the music to stimulate her.

Norman hated everything from Britney Spear to George Orwell. He was guilty of anything except of being belligerent. He hated the word, its etymology, and even its onomatopoeia. He was not belligerent, of course; only depressed romantic. He preferred The Doors to the British pop band Beatles. Just ask him why.

Randy understood the character of Clive Owen more than of Jude Law’s in the movie Closer, the way he understood himself as being a cool bastard. He beautifully played the guitar naked.

Never forget the two members of bio-kids: Maan and Tikgirl, young and cynical in their own enclosed time—of booze, beer, books, smokes and lights.

Maan walked without insecurities and laughed without pretense, unaware of her charm and of her wits. She was the kind of girl you would never think of betraying .

Tikgirl was the suicidal prick. She liked to scribble on her notes half sleep in frog pajamas. She fancied the characters of Kundera, like Tereza or Sabina, like it was her own tragic story and wondered why she never felt the love the way Sabina or Tereza has knew it.

Ken considered himself as a loser. He reminisced with the tragic love story of his with photographs as if the story was alive and embedded on every picture.

Jaeson was the silent guy holding thesaurus. He guzzled down his beer without much talking like he was always in deep reverie recollecting the beautiful things of his past life.

He remembered his friends. Their grudge and their meaning. Their favorite music as the soundtrack of their life.

The song was now changing to alternative song—Pixies’. They were all seating at the left side corner adjacent to the bar entrance. They called it the Beatles’ room as all the band’s album posters were displayed in every corner. Also hung was a picture of George Harrison framed from an old issue of Time Magazine. In another corner of the bar farther from them hung a poster of Jim Morrison, Bono, and the Lotus Eaters. The light was dim and mesmerizing inviting them for contemplation and self-wandering.

Wednesday bang bang with his friends. Snow crashed with beers. Music overload.

He gulped straight his beer and felt the arrow of time reversing inside of him.



white garapata has blogged 13 posts



Polymorphously Perverse
April 2nd, 2008 posted by white garapata under Literary. [ Comments: 4 ]

(Warning: Mature contents with complex “Science” below.)

ALVY
Unbelievably sexy. Yes, you are.
Because … you know what you are?
You’re-you’re polymorphously perverse.

ANNIE
Well, what does-what does that mean?
I don’t know what that is.

ALVY
Uh … uh, you’re-you’re exceptional
in bed because you got -you get pleasure
in every part of your body when I touch you.

-From Annie Hall, Woody Allen

Tonight, before sunrise, I write my dream about Memory Lane.

In my dream I transcend space and time, aboard on a train. Traveling in Freudian railway and speeding fast towards the train station called The Collective Unconscious Station. Aboard with me is you. The girl from outer space, the stellar. The mistress of Orpheus with coquettish smile churned with transcendental beauty.

As the train hurtles in the Freudian railway, I depart myself from reality. I make my sexual fantasy real. I ask you to make love with me. No, let me change that. I want to violate you. And you answer me as an answer to my philosophical problem.

And so, dearly beloved, I kiss you. I perverse you. I fancy the moment and somehow feel the place as mystical . The moment comes before me as revelation: you are Eric Clapton’s epic song masterpiece.

I’m staring at you now. I look deep into your eyes and into your nose and into your lips and then I let myself mesmerize with your coquettish smile. I close my eyes and smell your hair that breathes like a perfume rain. Suspended in weightlessness, I kiss you. As your lips is touching mine, I wander within my dream. I remember Julie Delpy and her movie with Ethan Hawke. I remember their dialogues, how they smile, and how they shared their little dreams with each other. With your slutty-oh-God-lyrical shape lips, I remember their romanticism.

I feel like, within dream, the simulacrum is real. I walk like horny somnambulist. I whisper an ode to your ear, slowly my lips travels from your ear to your neck. Do I make you shiver? I touch your breast underneath your shirt and inside of it feel your firm nipple. The gravitational pull between the moon and the earth is yet to intensify. As I gasp, I carefully unbutton all the buttons of your shirt. You moan as I unhook and pull your bra with my teeth down from your breast. How vivacious is the two moons of a distant planet laying before my eyes. My eyes gleams with mischief.

The devil is staring at your silky breast. I imagine them like the two moons of Jupiter. And your nipples, God, they look like diamonds that runs wildly in the river of Nile. Do I inflame you with my stare? I touch, then kiss, then touch, then kiss again your nipples in endless loop. My left hand slowly taking off your pants, next your underwear down to your knee. I do not want to take off all your clothes. You know why. The body being partially naked is sexier than a body that is completely naked.

You’re a good lay. I run my hands all over your body and feel the heat of your eyes. I feel the softness of your breast with my finger violating your delicate maudlin nipples. I close my eyes. With agitation, my hands runs through your tummy. I imagine it as a flat universe. I feel life so wonderful. In a manner like Libertine, I touch your thigh and feel the shape of your pussy. You are wet and creamy now so warm it breathes poetic memories. Your body sway like a verse of a poem as I flip my middle finger inside your wonderful cosmos. Do you enjoy how I violate you? Can you feel the left hand of God touching your cosmos?

And so I perverse you, kiss you, touch you, violate you, and devour you as I enter uninvited to your cosmos. I hold your feet and turn them upward. Faster and faster and faster. I feel the force of gravity breaking up my body. As I feel the wet mystery inside your cosmos, I enslave my elongated self inside the wet vulva of the universe. The singularity ends in brutal climax. And God sigh from a brief supernova explosion that fills the void.

You smile after a long exclamation point!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!



Tags: erotic,, mature, content

white garapata has blogged 13 posts



Para sa mga agrabiyadong dukha
March 11th, 2008 posted by robie_14 under Literary. [ Comments: none ]

Naipost ko na nung nakaraan ang isa kong lathalain na pinamagatang “Mga Luha sa Ilalim ng LRT”. Ngayon naman, narito po ang isa lathalain ko na nailathala na sa diyaryong PilipinoStarNgayon at ito ang…

HUSTISYA

Hustisya. Kaygandang sabihin ang salitang ito. Hustisya o hustisya poetika? Hustisyang talaga o hustisyang Diyos-ko-bahala-ka-na? Ano pa nga ba’ng magagawa ko? Batid naman ng lahat, tatlo lamang ang ngayon ang nagkakaroon ng hustisya sa bansang ito. Iyung malalakas, makapangyarihan at iyun g mayayaman! Kung simple kang tao, mahina ka. Kung wala kang lakas, lolokohin ka, tatakutin ka pa. Kung mahirap ka, pasesiya ka, magtiis ka. Pero kailan ko makakamtan ang hustisyang ito? kapag nagkaubus-ubos na ang kabuhayan ng aking pamilya? Hanggang kailan ako mananahimik? Kailan?

Labingwalong taon akong pinalaki ng aking ina. Ipinakatagu-tago at pakaingat-ingatan at pagkatapos…pagkatapos… naglalakad lamang ako sa madilim na eskinita pauwi galing sa paaralan ay bigla na lamang may humarang sa aking mga lalaki. Hindi ako nakasigaw dahil tinakpan ang aking bibig. Para akong sisiw na dinagit ng mga gutom na lawin. Dinala ako sa isang bakanteng lote. Pinunit ang aking puti at asul na uniporme. Nang malantad aking makinis at sariwang katawan ay lalong naging ulol ang dalawang lalaki. Hinatak pababa ng isa ang aking panty at pinatungan ako. Nang matapos ay ang isa naman. Iniwan ako ng mga walang hiya.

Nakauwi ako ng bahay na hindi makagulapay. Sinabi ko sa aking mga magulang ang lahat. Nagpunta kami sa himpilan ng pulisya. Agad nagsagawa ng imbestigasyon. Ilang araw pa at nahuli ang dalawang gumahasa sa akin. Mga anak pala ng mayayaman sa aming lugar ang dalawa. Ang isa ay anak ng congressman at ang isa ay anak ng isang taga-Malacanang. Parehong drug addict.

Natutuwa ako sapagkat nahuli na ang dalawa. Mayroon naman palang hustisya sa bansang ito. nakakalma na ang loob ko. Sino ang maysabing walang hustisya sa bansang ito?

Subalit makaraan lamang ang ilang araw nalaman namin na nakalaya na ang dalawa. Hanggang sa tuluyan nang mawala. Nasa ibang bansa na! (putang ina!!!) ang tanging nausal ng aking ina.

Tama nga na walang hustisya rito. Ang hustisya ay para lamang sa mayayaman at hindi sa katulad kong mahirap.

Hanggang ngayon patuloy pa rin akong sumisigaw ng hustisya at siguro nga hindi ko na makakamtan pa…



robie_14 has blogged 3 posts



The dude
March 6th, 2008 posted by JB under Literary. [ Comments: 2 ]

My sister owned a single morbidly obese female guinea pig (which I mentioned some years ago). It remained that way until one of the neighbors (who also happened to own a bunch of guinea pigs and had a guinea pig population boom problem) saw our single morbidly obese female guinea pig and kindly offered to donate one more. And because we’ve always been kind to neighbors with a guinea pig population boom problem we said, Sure, okay, that’s fine, what’s another useless mouth to feed, eh?

Now we have two small mammals, both fat females, who prowl the small yard in front of our house like two fur balls gnawing at whatever wooden thing there was. They live in this neat little cage whose door was always kept open so they can go in and out of it as they please. The cage also has a little handle, which might come in handy just in case a nuclear war breaks out and there arises a sudden need to quickly transport the guinea pigs to a safe, bomb-proof place.

All was well. The two matrons of our yard lived a nice, well-fed, protected straight-out-of-Disney existence. They sometimes threw sarcastic remarks our way whenever we tried to feed them my smelly fingernail clippings. But overall, life was good. At least, until the puppy came.

Well, the puppy, let’s call him Dude for convenience, was a little mischievous fellow whose sole purpose in life was to be an ultra-efficient poop-and-piss processor – place anything in its mouth and the puppy, a marvel of nature, quickly turned it into either (a) poop that stank; (b) pee that stained. Based on this alone, we suspected the puppy was probably a Filipino politician in his past life.

Suffice it to say that Dude, we had decided, needed a little strategic housebreaking. And this being the modern day of the internet, we used, in the wise words of George Bush himself, “The Google.”

However, as it turned out, trying to find accurate information on what we really wanted to accomplish was no easy feat. The following were the exact search words we used – all in the order of increasing desperation.

“How to housebreak a dog.”

“How to patiently train a dog to shit in designated places.”

“How to FORCE the dog to shit in designated places.”

“How to strike fear in the heart of dog, so he shits ONLY in designated places.”

“How to COMPLETELY STOP dog from shitting.”

“How to turn goddamn dog into fine paste using only household utensils.”

“How to instantly vaporize goddamn dog using laser built from readily available computer components.”

I don’t have to tell you that for some reason, nothing worked. So at this point, to protect our house from further poop-trefaction, it had become a cardinal rule to closely watch the puppy for the tell-tale signs of it answering the call of nature. If and when one of us humans witnesses any of the said tell-tale signs, it was our responsibility to swiftly rise to the occasion, leap into action, and whisk the Dude to a more poop-receptive place — hopefully right in the nick of time.

One morning, as I worked furiously on my PC chasing a deadline, Dude came out of nowhere walking with that strange gait — and the thought flashed in my head: the puppy…oh, shit! My knee-jerk reaction was to dash for it. However, somehow I tripped on something, and I fell down in dramatic slo-mo like some doomed redwood tree, my left knee hitting the concrete floor hard. I swear I heard a bone crack.

The dog came galloping up to my face and nervously stuck out his tongue, panting like crazy.

Dude: Now, I’m gonna tell all my friends what an idiot you are!

Me: Dude, you have no friends.

Dude: Well, let’s see about that when I grow up and finally become a hot bitch!

Me: Dude, you’re a male dog.

Dude: Nevertheless!!!

Of course, this meaningful exchange didn’t actually take place. What really happened was that the dog yawped and barked and heartlessly tried to eat my hair as I lay there writhing in mind-numbing pain.

My left knee would swell and bruise and blacken and I would spend the next few days glaring at the dog. Meanwhile, there was work and more work and there was less and less time to leap into poop-related action.

Later on, Dude found a new way to amuse himself: by sexually harassing the two female, morbidly obese guinea pigs in our front yard.

Somehow, it was a tragedy waiting to happen. The universe actually aligned itself for this unspeakable development to find fruition.

First, there was my sister’s stuffed toy, which looked like a little monkey with the same body size as Dude, but for some reason Dude thought it was another dog he could actually have sex with.

Second was that the “poop-receptive place” I mentioned several paragraphs ago was actually the front yard, and the front yard, as everyone at this point realizes, was where the two fat furry garden matrons ruled and rooted.

And so Dude meets the two guinea pigs, resembling the stuffed toy he had been humping, and all hell breaks loose. Sometimes, deep in the night, you could hear the guinea pigs screaming the hopeless, painful screams of the royally fucked. We humans tried to prevent it whenever we could, but whenever we let the Dude out to answer the call of nature, he would chase the screaming guinea pigs as soon as the last piece of turd squeezed out of his asshole. And to add insult to injury, the puppy began to really, really fancy the guinea pigs’ own droppings. Look what we have here: Dude trying to rape the guinea pigs and literally eat their shit, too. Ain’t he a sweetheart!

I haven’t written a single piece of fiction in the past several months, and I feel guilty about breaking the dry spell by writing about the Dude. My left knee is still swollen. And as I write this, the Dude has just begun trying to eat my brother’s shoe. The house smells of shit. I turn on the TV, and the news also stinks of crap.

Maybe later, I’d go out and visit the two “rape victims” in the front yard, see if they still have the same old, fiery sarcasm in them. Meanwhile, the Dude walks with that strange “I’m gonna poop” gait again, but I’m wiser this time. I’m not going to fall for that, you bastard. I now know when to recognize genuine, true-to-the-core poop. But…

Oh, shit. You win.



JB has blogged 120 posts



Para toh sa mga nangangarap maging isang manunulat! Go Adamsonian!
February 16th, 2008 posted by robie_14 under Literary. [ Comments: 5 ]

Isa ako sa mga nangangarap na maging isang manunulat balang araw - na kahit hindi akma ang aking kursong kinukuha sa gusto kong marating, hindi pa rin ako umaayaw bagkus pinagbubuti ko ang aking nasimulan. Ipinagmamalaki kong naging news editor na ako ng aming school paper noong hayskul pa lamang ako at nakapagsulat na rin ako dito. Masayang maging isang journalist!(di ba mass comm students??) ipinagmamalaki ko ring ngayong nakatuntong na ako sa isang napakakumplikadong buhay ng isang mag-aaral na nakapagsulat na rin ako sa isang diyaryo na tinatangkilik din ng masang PILIPINO. Walang takot kong sinulat ang aking obra na pinamagatang HUSTISYA at narito pa ang isang obra na tiyak magpapagising sa tulog na damdamin ng mga Pilipinong ubod ng suwapang, sakim at ubod ng yabang!! Narito po at sana magustuhan niyo.

MGA LUHA SA ILALIM NG LRT

“Kung ta…yo’y mag…ka…ka…layo…”, isang awiting nagpapaantig sa aking pagkatao sa saliw ng isang antigong gitara na ang tanging tinig lamang ng isang tila mawawalan na ng ulirat ang siyang nauulinig sa tuwing ang araw ay sisikat hanggang sa lamunin na ito ng isang gabing mapanglaw.

Sa bawat araw na paghakbang ng aking mga paa sa kanyang harapan, sa bawat pagbagsak ng mga barya sa isang maliit na kahon na may mga katagang “DONATION FOR THE BLIND” ay siya ring pagpatak ng mga butil na kristal mula sa kanyang nadidimlang paningin na lalong kumukurot sa aking bagbag na puso. Isa si Manong sa mga matatag ang loob, masipag at tunay na nananalig sa kapangyarihan ng Diyos. Araw-araw na nakabilad sa sikatan ng araw bagama’t nasa ilalim lamang ng LRT ang matanda ay nakakaranas siya ng pagpapagal ng katawang laman. Maituturing na isang tunay na bayani si Manong dahil siya lamang ang bumubuhay sa apat na anak na wala ring kamalay-malay sa mundong ibabaw. Minsan sa aking pagdaan, hindi ko napigilan ang pagluha ng aking mga mata. Nakikinita ko sa kanya ang ibang Pilipinong patuloy na dumaranas ng kahirapan. Sa kabila ng mga magulong kaganapan sa bansang ito’y heto siya’t patuloy na humahanap ng ikabubuhay ng kanyang pamilya.

Malungkot ang mukha nang humarap sa akin ang matandang batbat ng pagtitiis sa buhay habang isa-isang kinakalabit ang bawat kuwerdas ng kanyang gitara. Halos manghina ang katawan habang kausap ko siya - na para bagang hindi mabatid ng kanyang puso’t mga labi ang sasambitlain sa pagkakataong iyun. Lalo akong nahabag - nasaan na ang mga taong dapat san’y umaaruga at nagmamahal kay Manong? Nasaan ang mga tunay na Pilipino? Nasaan?

Akin namang narinig muli ang bawat pagbagsak ng barya sa kahon na may mga katagang “DONATION FOR THE BLIND”, kasabay niyon ay ang pagpatak ng mga butil na kristal mula sa kanyang nadidimlang paningin. kailan? Kailan pa kaya makakamtan ang pag-asang makakita ng liwanag?

…Umalis akong hindi man lang nilingon ang kawawang matanda, bagkus, tumatangis ang aking bagbag na puso…

Paalam, Manong! Paalam!

 

Maaari po ninyong bigyan ng komento ang lathaling ito. You may visit my friendster account. Just add me up: khim_justine14@yahoo.com at makikilala niyo ang tunay na ako!!!

 



Tags: , ,

robie_14 has blogged 3 posts



** To Hell with tears**
February 13th, 2008 posted by izzylicious under Literary, Uncategorized. [ Comments: 1 ]

There was a time in life that I need to
knob two hearts at the same time.. At
first, I was thinking of just having a
good time to forget temporarily my real
future since it was tearing me up in
two, then he came along.. He was
introduced by a common friend, and we
had fun times together..

I told myself to refrain from falling,
but as time goes by, I was drowned in
his presence.. he was the first guy who
brought out the real aspects in me, and
I learned how to value myself more as
how he gave importance to me.. I did
loved him, even tough I know, we can’t
be together..

I made him wait, and promised him that
Ill fix things up and gave him my whole,
but still.. at the end, I failed.. He
finally gave up and turned away, I had
gone crazy, did everything to win him
back, and of course possibly because of
the love left in him, he gave me another
chance.. together with all the
consequences I have to face for this
second chance to work.. I thought he’s
back in my arms, and I made sure that
he’ll never go away from me again, I was
wrong, when we’re together it seemed
like I’m with a different person, in
just one snap, everything turned hell..

I decided to cut off, and accept the
fact that I can’t have the old him
anymore, with all the pain and
sacrifices of moving on.. I thought I
can handle everything.But why am I missing him,. Why do I have
to cry rivers of tears for him? Really
hate myself for being this stupid.. I
wanna move on, and accept that he will
never be the same old JAMIESON anymore.. And
we really can’t be together…..



izzylicious has blogged 2 posts



Godot
December 19th, 2007 posted by white garapata under Literary, Random Thoughts. [ Comments: none ]

Imagine Estragon is talking to you. “Don’t be tired,” he said. “Let’s wait for him. There is joy in waiting.” “Why wait here?” you asked. “Why not look for him and kill him.” Estragon laughed. “No one knows where he is. Let’s just wait here. If you try to look for him, you kill the suspense. You kill the anticipation.” “What if he will not come?” “Still, we wait. There is joy in waiting.”

What I am thinking?

A dead weeping willow.

A donkey.

A letter belt.

Figure it out.



Tags: godot

white garapata has blogged 13 posts



Ang pakikipagtalik sa kalungkutan
December 6th, 2007 posted by paniking_gutom under Literary. [ Comments: none ]

“Sinong nagliligtas sa mga superhero kapag nangangailangan sila ng tulong?”

Tumingin ako sa kaniyang mga mata at sinabing.
“Si Godot.”
Tiningnan niya rin akong pabalik.
“Hindi ba si God?”
“Hindi naman nageexist si God e. Kaya si Godot ang safe na answer.”
“Saan ko siya matatagpuan?”
Tumayo siya na para bang nagmamadali at excited na makita si Godot.
“Si Godot ay matatagpuan sa puno ng Bu.”
“Nasaan ba iyon? Tumayo ka na diyan, samahan mo ako!!!”
“Ang puno ng Bu ay nakatanim sa puso ko.”
Sabay tawa ko ng malakas. Subalit hindi niya ininda to, sa halip ay hinawakan niya ang kamay ko at pinilit akong tumayo.
“Puwede bang sa akin na lang ang puso mo? Wala naman nagmamay-ari niyan eh.”
“Meron no. Ang puno ng Bu ay nakatanim sa puso ninuman.”
Inalis ko ang pagkakahawak niya sa aking kamay at tinulak siya ng bahagya sabay tumalikod.
“Wala akong puso. Pahiramin mo na lang ako kung ayaw mong ibigay sa akin.”
Muli akong humarap sa kaniya.
“Pumunta ka ng Heart Center o kaya manghiram ka sa pusa.”
“Ayoko ng literal na puso. O sige, ihanap mo na lang ako.”
“Hindi hinahanap yun. Kusang dumarating.”
“Sawa na akong maghintay. Maghintay sa wala.”
“Bakit hindi ka bumalik sa pinanggalingan mo? There’s no place like home.”
Siya naman ang tumawa ng malakas.
“Lahat kayo ay ganiyan ang payo sa akin. Sa palagay mo ba ay may mukha pa akong
ihaharap sa kaniya matapos ang lahat ng nangyari sa amin? Matagal ko nang gustong
bumalik kaso natatakot ako na baka muli akong umalis at muli ko lang siyang masaktan.”
“Ganun talaga. Ikaw ang kusang umalis kaya wala kang karapatang bumalik. The rules of love is often childish.”
Muli akong tumalikod at tuluyang umalis. Paglingon ko ay muli ko siyang nakitang nakaupo. Hindi na ako bumalik.
________
Ang istoryang ito ay nagsimulang mabuo dahil sa konbersasyon ko kay tikgirl sa pamamagitan ng text. Halos 90% ng laman ng kuwento ay palitan namin ng mensahe sa isa’t-isa. Muli, maraming salamat sa panahon. Wala rin akong maisip na title kaya yung pabotritong linya ni tata buto ginamit ko.


Tags: ,

paniking_gutom has blogged 5 posts



What’s inside Sophie’s mind
December 5th, 2007 posted by paniking_gutom under Literary. [ Comments: 1 ]


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“Can somebody turn on the light?”

Then the light turned on. She saw herself sitting in a corner facing a six foot tall mirror.
“Hello. Is anyone here?”
She looked around. The room is painted in black with red graffiti on its four walls. No doors, no windows. The only thing that she can see is the mirror in front of her.
“Where am I?”
She said to her image in the mirror as if she is talking to somebody.
“You’re in an empty room, my darling.”
A voice suddenly came out of nowhere.
“Who are you? Where are you?”
She asked.
“Who do you think am I?”
“God?”
“God? Haha!”
“Why?”
“Why did you think that I am God? You don’t believe in God. Do you?”
“I don’t. But in times like this, when you cannot see anything but yourself in an empty room, the only being that you can think talking to you is God. Unless we’re in a reality TV show.”
“Says who?”
“The Bible. I used to read it when I was young.”
“You said that the Bible is only a fiction. So you believe in fiction?”
“Can you just stop interrogating me? I don’t have time to answer all your questions. Can you just tell me who are you?”
“What if I tell you that I am a lizard?”
“Nonsense. Lizards can’t talk.”
“That’s what you believed.”
“That’s a fact.”
“What is fact?”
“Can we just stop this nonsense?”
“That’s the problem with you my darling. You always ask questions but when you are being asked it is nonsense. If you’re question has been answered it’s still nonsense.”
“You’re not taking me seriously.”
“I am serious. I am a Lizard.”
“Ok. First, let me just reiterate that there is no talking lizard in the history. Second, the room is empty. All I can see is a mirror. And lastly, I will not talk anymore because I believe that this is only a dream or a nightmare so it’s either I will wake up or won’t wake up anymore.”
“Ok. First, what history books have you read? As far as I know, the death of Fidel Castro is not in Philippine history. Second, Have you tried to check the back of the mirror before you conclude that the room is empty? Since we started this conversation, you haven’t move there. And last, let me also inform you that it is not a dream. I assure you.”
She tried to stand up. Her whole body suddenly is shaking. She’s afraid of Lizard. What more of a talking one?
She move closer to the mirror and looked at the back of it and there it is. It is really a Lizard.
“You’re really a Lizard. Just don’t get out there unless I say so. I’ll go back at the corner and sit there.”
Then she went back at the corner.
“Now, can you tell me why we are here?”
“Wait my darling. Men are the most intelligent animal in the planet? Why ask a lizard?”
“As far as I know, there is no talking lizard.”
“Hahaha. Now you’re getting it. See, life is easy. Don’t make it complicated. There are only two options. It’s either you go with the flow or againts it.”
“What’s your point?”
“The point is, we both chose to go against the flow. That’s why we’re here.”
“So you’re telling me that the reason why we are here is because we are different from our species?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Try to look at the mirror again. What can you see?”
“I can see myself in a white blouse and a skinny jeans.
“Now you figure it out. Except that you’re not really a human being. You’re a cockroach.”
____________
This is my very first time to write an English article in my whole life. So any grammar lapses, I apologize. (Just kindly inform me). The story might be weird but it only tells us one thing. Just figure it out. I don’t want to spoil it!



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paniking_gutom has blogged 5 posts


 


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