Wednesday, November 23, 2011

angry girl journal 11.20.2011

the last time i saw you was the night you kissed me. we didn't really talk about it anymore. we just started texting each other again like nothing happened. i wasn't even supposed to show up. but i needed to see you. i wanted to show you that you have my love and support as you were going through one of the toughest challenges we have to face: the bar exams.

you stared at me for a long time. i haven't seen anyone so surprised and so happy to see me in a while. and when you finally overcame the initial shock you hugged me and it was so tight,i had to tell you to let me go.

i love you and i know somewhere in there, you have love for me. i don't know to what extent or what degree. i cannot qualify. i love you as a brother, a best friend. i could've loved you for more. but we never got that far. i was never someone else to you other than your sister, your friend, your rock. we could've been lovers. we could've been the best of friends. but you had to kiss me. and that's just a natural occurrence to you: kissing girls when they're vulnerable. i'd like to think i'm not just like everyone of your girls. i'm supposed to be special. i guess not. you never saw me for more than i was, for what i could be to you. you never said anything to make me stay, or think that it wasn't just sex to you. so i went ahead and hurt you back, by going to him.

we didn't talk about it anymore. we ignored the fact that it happened. which means it can happen again. i don't want to lose you that way. i care for you so much, i value our friendship. i don't expect to be anything more to you than what you can give me, but i don't deserve to be treated less.

***

i never wanted you to say that about me. well, sometimes i wish you would and you rarely do without provocation. i am glad that you feel that way about me. i just hope you know what it means.

i will never give up on you, even when you've given up on yourself. that's what i'm here for. i just hope you won't forget.

Thursday, November 17, 2011

much as i hate to admit it, i had a Randy Santiago fixation

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before i became the rocker and advocate of independent Filipino music that i am today, i was a die-hard fan of Randy Santiago.

Randy who?

for those of you too young to remember, Randy Santiago is the son of film director, the late Pablo Santiago and brother to director Rowell Santiago and actor Raymart Santiago. he is an actor, television host and singer. he was really big in the mid-80s because the dark shades were supposedly mysterious and attractive and he had a certain playfulness about him.

i was young then and didn't know any better. i figured i got tired of playing chess everyday and studying so he was my first form of rebellion. i watched the shows where he was, when i could. i bought his albums when they came out. i even wrote to him. of course he responded with the template he sent to everyone else of his fans. i was just so ecstatic to get it. i kept hoping his career would pick up and his concerts would be big the way Gary V was or Martin Nievera was but he can only do so much. there is limited opportunity for a guy with dark shades on, whose voice isn't exactly as remarkable as Pavarotti's and whose lyrics are repetitive, cheesy and lame. i've heard love expressed in better way.

we faithful lose interest in our icons and move on to someone else. i graduated from elementary school, met up with Jade and got re-introduced to rock and new wave music. from then on, there was no going back for me and crappy music. Randy, on the other hand, lost his mystery and charm and got hitched. he also got ditched from some of his shows and his songs didn't generate as much attention as they did in 1987.

i don't deny being a big fan of Randy Santiago. i loved some of his songs, they had meaning for me at the time. some of them still have meaning for me now but they don't have as much of an impact to me as say, a song by U2 or Radiohead or Pearl Jam or Alanis Morissette. i hardly remember some of the songs i loved then. you can say i've outgrown pop music, mushy music and moved on to deeper stuff (with some guilty pop pleasure here and there every now and then); i've become more passionate about rock music and the lifestyle. i've realized now that local talent doesn't have to have a popular surname; that hard work is rarely recognized or given an opportunity to be heard by the masses. i'm not saying Randy didn't work hard enough to get to where he is. i'm just saying acts like him, they get old and even if they learn new tricks, they still seem old.

Tuesday, November 08, 2011

dear friend

i just finished reading the book the perks of being a wallflower. it just took me two days. it was that moving and interesting.

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the book talks about a high school freshman, Charlie, whose best friend Michael committed suicide before the beginning of freshman year so he has to face high school alone. he has an elder brother who was a football superstar in the school and a sister in senior year. he became friends with a guy in his shop class, Patrick, and his stepsister, Sam, whom Charlie has a crush on. Charlie constantly writes to an "anonymous" friend about the things happening to his life: how he deals with his Aunt Helen's loss, his "favorite person in the whole world"; his relationships with his family; his friendship with Patrick and Sam and their experiences being high; his first girlfriend, Marie Elizabeth; the book assignments his English professor, Bill, gives him and the music he listens to.the book talks about his experiences with drugs, with girls, with guys, and his bouts with his own disorder and the traumatic experiences he had in the past. he doesn't expect his "friend" to look for him or to write back, but he feels grateful that he has someone to write to as a sounding board.

i wish i had a friend like that. i wish there was some random person i could talk to openly about my thoughts without having to feel ashamed or guilty for feeling certain things. i have this and i don't, can't even find the time to write for it sometimes when this was supposed to be my outlet so i don't have to resort to suicide. it's sad that i can't write as often as i'd want to without even caring if anyone read, heard or felt the same way. it's sad that even if i did have the time, nobody cares enough to listen to my thoughts or what i have to say anyway.

i wish i had a psychiatrist. pay someone by the hour just so i can lie down on a couch and talk. sometimes, that's all i need. someone like Charlie who listens and understands. someone like his anonymous friend whom i can write to and not have to worry about what that other person thinks or feels - whether he is being judged or not for all his thoughts and actions and the way he reacts (or not reacts) to the things going on around him.

i used to think that having a diary or a blog or someone to write to constantly was a good thing. that way, i wouldn't have to feel so bad or so alone because there would be one or two people out there who may have felt the same way at one time or another. being able to say out all those pent up emotions can be a relief, whether it's frustration over a colleague at work or unrequited love or indifference to your blood relatives or just being alone in general. Charlie had a family who was very supportive and he had someone to constantly write to, a professor who gave him books to read and write about and a circle of friends whom he enjoyed being with while going through his first year in high school, and yet, somehow he still felt all alone, still inside his head all the time. i could relate to Charlie in a way that, even if i know i can rely on people and i can also write about it, i still feel alone.

" . . . we accept the love we think we deserve . . . "

i still feel alone. i guess i'll always be alone.

Sunday, November 06, 2011

this is truly a crazy planets

when i first heard the saxophone intro of Radioactive Sago Project's Gusto Ko ng Baboy, along with Lourd de Veyra's voice, i was drawn to it. i have never heard anything like that before, save for Meryn Cadell's The Sweater Song and the banter between Cheech and Chong (which sadly, i won't get to hear anymore since NU107 was the only station that played them) every Christmas. Radioactive Sago Project showed us the beauty and brilliance of spoken word.

it is no wonder that people are drawn to his words. Lourd is such a great writer. he is smart, sarcastic and funny. brilliant. his views are much like ours. very patriotic, yet honest. angry and yet, he seems to encourage everyone out there to wake up and do something. it's like we already know these things, nobody just has the balls to say them out loud. kinda like Mon Tulfo, but instead of wanting to slap him in the face, you thank him for making us see.

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a few months ago, Lourd released a book compilation of all his essays in spot.ph, This is a Crazy Planets. i recently got a copy of the book and i couldn't put it down. it was so funny. it was so interesting that even if i needed to sleep, i couldn't. it also made me want to write again, on a more regular basis. i figured, i've so much pent up emotion, instead of wanting to whack somebody on the head, i would just write about it. i do need practice. reading the book compilation of his blog posts made me realize how much i loved music and how much i loved writing. the only other two people who made me feel that way are Jessica Zafra and my second year high school teacher. of course, i'm not as brilliant but reading makes me want to aspire to be.

the book showcases Lourd's thoughts on our self-proclaimed Oprah of the RP, Kris Aquino; an homage to Rico J. Puno and Pacquito Diaz, AM radio stations and old Filipino action movies. he also introduced us to the TNL blog which shows a manifesto of what a real man (during these times when there are so many gay men - i don't mean to offend, i'm just saying as a matter of observation) is supposed to be and what a real man should and should not do. it's also just P195 and i strongly suggest you get one. the book is a better companion with your Starbucks coffee than a boring person.