To the Things that Make Sense

My first statement for this blog entry deserves candor of its own: WORRY NOT, I AM SAFE.

You might not be worrying at all. But being a resident of Marikina, the tide failed to swallow me. The wind drew back from my stature and the rage of nature marched back to his aunties. I cannot die. I am incapable of dying. To surprise my relatives’ home, more known as indestructible, Ondoy (Ketsana) blew our minds off with a bang. The waters rushed inside Saturday noon, until it reached thigh level (at the first floor) that night. Furniture, appliances, heavy furniture and  heavy appliances, were miraculously carried upstairs. Outside, the downpour was unstoppable. And the rest of Metro Manila was havoc.

Fill in the Blanks

There is precisely nothing special about the number nineteen. (Didn’t you know that there are 19 angels guarding hell according to Qur’an?) This is the reason why I’m not exactly ecstatic about my 19th birthday. Yep, again I am commemorating my anniversary of living within this cosmic punishment. I’m lonely not just this day, but these days. This I think is the saddest of all birthdays I had; I’m not even celebrating today. I ate pancit canton for lunch, welcomed a crazy weather, and took a jeepney home for the first time in months. A family merrymaking will happen this weekend but I don’t know which day. I know, I know, I sound too pessimistic and trivial about a supposedly important day in my life. But what else is there in the 19th really? I believe this is the part where a person should rewind his experiences and muse on the existential crises he has undergone in the past. This puts me in the hot seat: Am I worthy of continuing this voyage?

Way Beyond the Gold Standard

I make it a point—no, a tradition to watch the UAAP Cheerdance Competition every year. Except for 2007’s, I have attended all battles at least during my college stay. I always aim to show-off that We Are The Best School In Town even if I know it’s condescending. I feel that the showdown is the best civilized way of bragging the university someone belongs to, even if beyond technical, it may be the most barbaric one could witness. Last Sunday’s competition is indeed my last viewing as a resident UP student at that. And sorely, even if we finished third from being the defending champion, I enjoyed all of it.

A stupefying Sunday heat hits the Araneta and I am blocked to enter the press room. They tell me that the PR staff from my class— a numerous six of them— are already too much. I dismay myself so I then proceed to Upper box A with my friends, altogether with the overwhelming UP crowd. I observe the coliseum. I seem to have reckoned a lot of things worth keeping in mind. Some are obstinately unkind so if I appear too mean, let me be frank: STAY OUT.

Good Denims Go Bad

I was almost to recant my meteoric tirades about the rain. But lately, I’ve been waking up to a deafening downpour. I laze down with the hope that someone would text that classes got suspended. I disappoint myself more waiting for nothing. I walk out of the house in denim only to get it… wet.

I know we all have denims in our closets; some may rather have denims than closets themselves. Those blue jeans are so ubiquitous that you can match it with anything. Don’t they only look utilitarian and edgy, but when it’s shaded dark they come as nonetheless classy. I like mine semi-fit so air can still cool my thighs. Girls probably like theirs fit to their limbs that you’d wonder how they ever move. And of course, guys emulate the bizarre idea and walk around looking like shanghai rolls.