Boo-ing in a crowd of cheering fans will make you look stupid

Back when we were kids,we used to play this street sport called "Siyato" wherein you would hit a short stick with a longer one and then count the distance from where you hit the shorter stick to where it landed via the long stick. Before you can count your earnings, the opposing team will try to prevent you from hitting the stick by catching it or by kicking it back to you. As a kid back then, I was quite furious with how the older kids bully us smaller kids by challenging us and then we'd be creamed and floored since our strength never really matched theirs (I mean how can four year old kids match up with circumcised boys in terms of strength). So, furious as I was, I can't do anything except wait--wait for me to grow up that is and then I'll be able to land that stick halfway through the length of the street.

It really is funny remembering such trivial things, vowing something just because I got furious by being bullied over a street game. But the fun part is I was able to live out my childhood by playing as much as I can (to be able to get that record breaking half-street-length distance that I vowed to get). The sad part was, before being cloyed with the sweetness of childhood, I was never able to make that dream distance. Who's to blame? Not me definitely since we moved to a place a year after that where "Siyato" was impossible to play due to so many people passing by (my mom said we might hit them). Add the fact that all of my siyato-ing friends were then gone, gradually, I gave up playing siyato.

And of course, as the years has passed, many changes happened and of course new vows were created, fulfilled, forgotten and on hiatus. Those on hiatus entails a lot of preparation and years of toiling before reaching it. Just like that advertisment of Shell (I think) where this man dreams of getting a car for his short time goal then dreams of getting a BMW for his long time goal. I don't know if that's how exactly how the ad went but you know the drill: short term goals and long term goals.





How in the world does a game of sticks and stones that you hit and count on the ground have anything to do with BMW's and short term and long term goals?


Let me explain it this way:


At the foot of a mountain, three hikers were readying to climb. One was a pallid and thin man, another was an old artist, and the last one was a long time hiker. After the neccessary registrations and preparations, they started to climb the mountain. Along the way, the old artist started to pull out his empty sketchpad and drew things along the way, making the journey quite troublesome for the other two since they'd have to wait for him. The hiker didn't mind but the pallid man always complained at how this is taking them too much time to reach the top. But they couldn't stop the old man from drawing. About eight hours of hiking had passed but they were still halfway through the top. Evening came so they decided to set up camp. The old man, as he laid down his things drew again beside the campfire that the pallid man created. The pallid man snorted at the attitude of the old man, however he just let it slide and helped the hiker to set up their tent. After their dinner, the old man went back to his drawing while the other two went out to find some berries. When they came back, the old man was still drawing near the fire. The pallid man noticed that the fire was dying and thought that if the fire died out, maybe the old man would stop drawing. But the hiker ordered him to fetch more firewood while he attended to rekindling the camp fire. Reluctantly, the pallid man took off to get some more firewood. When he came back, the fire was crackling nicely but his two other companions were nowhere to be found. He noticed a shadow inside the tent and looked inside. He was shushed by the hiker and saw the old man sleeping quietly with his sketchbook wrapped around his arms. With that, they both turned in for the night.
When the pallid man woke up, he saw the bed of the old man empty and the flap of the tent open. He crawled outside and saw again the old man drawing. He noticed that the fire yesternight died out naturally and this old artist didn't even bother gathering the ash. So he gathered the ash by the side of a tree mumbling as he did it. Soon, the hiker woke up and suggested that they have breakfast first before continuing the climb. After breakfast, they continued on.
Near the top, no trails were available and steep climbs were needed. The hiker said to the pallid man to carry the old man while he prepares the rope near the peak to help them climb up. Of course the thin man was furious again but in the end, he conceded. He offered the old artist a piggy back but the hiker whispered to him to carry the old man in front of him. He protested against this profusely but the hiker said that he'll tie a rope around them to secure the old man while the two of them climb the rope he will prepare. Again, he conceded and carried the old man like a child. He checked the rope that was tied around them and waited for the hiker to drop the rope. As soon as the rope was dropped, the pallid man clung to it and pulled the two of them upwards. He was breathing heavily at the weight of two people. He'd like to complain but the one to complain was clinging onto him. With the help of the hiker, the three of them reached the top of the steep climb and was nearing the peak. In about half an hour or so, they reached the peak of the mountain. The hiker and the pallid man breathed the sweet air while the old man sat immediately on a flat stone and drew once more.
"Why'd you want to climb the mountain?" asked the pallid man to the hiker
The hiker looked at him. "Why'd you climb the mountain?" He threw the question back.
The pallid man took another dive into that fresh air, breathing it and filling his lungs with it. "Just to climb it. To see if I can do it with this body."
"Oho! So you think climbing will make you stronger?"
"Yeah! I suppose so." The pallid man turned around to the old artist to ask him why'd he climb the mountain. Although he was quite sure on what the answer was, he couldn't help but ask him. "Hey gramps!" He called out. But instead of looking at a drawing old man, he saw an artist embracing his works, lying on the swaying grass. He went up to the old man and saw that he was smiling.
"Hey gramps." he said while shaking the other. But the old man never replied. The grip on the sketchbook loosened and the sketchbook fell on the green grass. The pallid man took it and opened it to see what the old man had been drawing. To his surprise, the first page was full of scribbles. Not even a shape was distinguishable. The next page was very much the same but it was cleaner than the previous one. The third page had some improvement. He can now see the trees and the leaves. He turned and turned until he saw a page which has a drawing of the campfire. There he saw the fire nearly having a shape and life but nonetheless, not really good to sell. He turned and turned until the last page. There was a drawing of two men by the edge of the mountain looking beyond. He compared it to the one with the campfire and with the first page then he understood. He laid the old man on the grass and placed the sketchbook on the dead man's arms. He went back to the hiker.
"The old man didn't know how to draw, did he?" The hiker said.
"He's practicing while climbing." The pallid man pasued there. "I'll take the old man down to the foot of the mountain."
"You sure you can handle it?"
"Sure. I think I'm stronger now."







Just the other day, as I was sitting on a bus bounded home, I happened to chance hearing on the radio a song that has been written and sang by one of our batchmates. It wasn't just a song that was played on the radio. You know how DJ's asks listeners to vote for the song and it'll be on the top 10 or top 100 or top 4 list? Well, the song's not actually on the list yet but, I heard the DJ said, a few more votes and that song'll be in the charts.

Most of our batchmates hated this guy. Why? Because he's always making an appearance on every show or event that the college has. Not that he was invited but he volunteered (at least that's how the rumor goes). Anyway, there he was hopping from every event to another and I even heard that he had a regular gig in a bar whose name I didn't catch. At any rate, he was always performing, to the annoyance of my batchmates. At some point, I was quite annoyed also, because as spectator, I wouldn't want to hear him again after hearing him perform about two days ago. But that was how it came and went.

As I was sitting on that bus, I went over these thoughts and realized, he's already fulfiling his dream. I mean, he is the one closest than most of us to reaching that long term goal (whatever it is for each and everyone of us). There we were like the opposing team in the game "Siyato", trying to prevent that one man from reaching his goals by blocking him with insults but he never faltered like the old man. He didn't care if he annoyed so many pallid and thin men. He wanted to reach the peak of the mountain and he's almost there. He played too many siyatos that his hands and feet bled and drew on so many sketchbooks so he can continue with his ascent to the peak of the mountain. And I believe that he'd still play more sticks and draw more obscure abstracts.

But like the pallid man in the story, envy first consumed me but eventually, I learned something and metaphorically gained strength. If he can do it, then everyone else can.

(I'm not saying I like his music. I'm saying I respect him for his tenacity and audacity.)


I'd be playing that siyato once more and try to get that half-street-length distance for the record. Only this time, no more sticks and stones. Just a pen and paper.

Dark Chocolate looks yummy...

There was once a group of chocolates gathered in the cupboard. Different types of chocolates were in the group but the most dominating of all was the one with colorful wrapping. He would always tell the other chocolates: “I’m the most delicious of all since my wrapping is so colorful and so inviting to the eyes.” The other chocolates were just at awe with him. They would all be jealous whenever he told them that he would most satisfy the taste of anyone who would take a bite off him. “And why wouldn’t I be the most delicious, I am a combination of all kinds of chocolates present here”, he would always boast as he showed the others the captions written on his wrapping. The other chocolates would endlessly admire him. Then one day, the cupboard was opened. The chocolates knew that someone was bound to be picked but when they looked at the chocolate with the colorful wrapping containing all flavors imagined, they were all disheartened. Sure enough, the one with the colorful wrapping was picked immediately. The cupboard was closed. Soon enough it was opened again giving hope to the other chocolates. They were even more stunned to see that all of them were picked. One of the chocolates, as they were being carried away, saw something in the distance. It was colorful with a bit of dark brown object sticking out. He pushed the image aside as the ecstatic feeling overwhelmed them all. Meanwhile, the chocolate with the colorful wrapping found himself speechless. He was thrown in the garbage bin. He didn’t know why. He looked around. All he saw was garbage. Amidst the garbage was a piece of his wrapping. There he saw the reason on why was he thrown. Printed on his wrapper was: No milk, no sugar, no additional sweetener; 100% pure dark chocolate. The chocolate with the colorful wrapping said to himself: “I’m 100% pure chocolate! Why was I thrown?”

Sometimes, we overestimate ourselves in something that we believe we are good at. We see ourselves as one of the best (in a certain field). Oftentimes, when we feel like we are above everyone else, we tend to belittle those around us, not thinking that there maybe some other person who is better than us. Of course, there would always be a person better than anyone else in any aspect. It is just sad, that for some of us, it would take a hard slap on the face before we see the fact that we are not perfect and recognize our small position in the big society; that we cannot do everything; that we are not everything. The situation is more morose for those people who had been calloused of the countless reality-slaps that they cannot feel anything anymore. There are people who, like the dark chocolate in the story, would deny every truth that runs down his egotistical excellence and hide their calloused faces behind a thick façade of make-up. You wouldn’t know how to classify this kind of person: obstinate or obdurate.



(this was an excerpt from my column page printed in our college journal. I just had a feel to publish it here)

Let's shoot the Narrow minded person! "Jet Cannon plus Shot Bomber plus Shaider Cutter plus Rider Kick plus Bio Dagger plus..."

We fancied going to Greenhills just the other day so that my brother can realease some of the tension that's been building up in him for the past few weeks brought about by the volume of calls that he's been getting and not to mention, the irritation attached with each and every call he's had. So in all good intention, on a sunny day, we marched our way towards the road, and landed right where we planned to go--Greenhills.

I haven't been to Greenhills since it was last renovated. There's still the usual "tiangge" that occupied the first area of Virramall bustling with people. I remember the time when it was just a wide, spacious lobby that welcomed and wishing a fare-thee well to comers and goers, housing only that ever famous band of blind men. But now, instead of taking you only a minute to cross that lobby (or less if your walking is too fast), multiply that ten folds and you'd barely reach three quarters of it. Well, can't blame the capitalist mind.

Passing that area, we came by the usual pond there and the chapel and beyond that was the new Greenhills that I never imagined it to be. A few years back it was smelly and the floor was sticky due to various who-knows-what substances that found their way out of their container, either by their own accord or by the unintenional accord (bluntly: utter stupidity) of their holders, only to be stepped on by somebody who'd rake the floor with it bringing more filth than ever on the once prestigious floor. Now, the floor was white and shining; the walls were illuminating and enjoyable to the eyes; that sick odor from before was also gone (seeing that there were limited food stalls there). It was really a brand new Greenhills--far from how I recognize it.




Going back a few days in time, we chanced upon You Tube that Tagalog opening of Mask Man. If you can't remember that, allow me to jog your memory a little (for those born in 1988 and later, don't bother jogging. Even if your mind jogged like Forrest Gump for a whole year, I believe you'll never recall the following clip.)






Regardless if that made you remember or not, I'm still going to continue writing this entry.

So, a few days back we saw this clip and reminisced a lot of our childhood days. Then we started looking for Bioman, Shaider, Mask Rider Black and Machine Man (I've regrettably have to include Machine Man on the list since at the time that it was on the mainstream, I had an automated inkling to sentai programs such as these) on You Tube and we were not dissappointed. So much was our nostalgia of the youthful years, we even downloaded MP3's of these openings (and endings). And now we're nostalgic to a fault that I believe our love for the past, manisfesting today is eating the brains out of our neighbor through the constant bombardment of these songs played on a subwoofered computer speaker at full volume against a non-sound proofed wall that divides the two houses. Of course, listening to it at full volume isn't only caused by the sudden attack of the 80's baby syndrome. Some of the songs that we downloaded, especially, MaskMan and Bioman, were appreciated because of the music itself.

Listening to these songs brought another idea--to watch the episodes that weren't aired on TV back then. We all know that IBC 13 had a running joke to air the series then repeat it right from the start right when only a few more episodes were to go before the ending. So, in the all powerful You Tube, we began to search, but much to our disappointment, episodes of these series were scarce. Some only have endings while others may have a few but are cut short probably to shorten the upload time. In our dismay, my brother, in a spur of the moment, remembered there was a shop in Greenhills that sells these kind of series and he remembered particularly Mask Man.

That's how we got there in Greenhills that day. Aside from the strolling in our agenda, we were also to look for that shop and see what's in store in that...err...store.

We took the new detour towards Shopsville and landed there after being lost more than thrice. Shopsville didn't look that much different from what it used to be but a few renovations had me and my brother at a lost for a while. Turning a couple of lefts and some rights down some passages, we ended up on a staircase that my brother considered as his landmark towards that store who'll grant us a piece of our childhood back. We climbed it, went straight and voila! There it was! We saw a collection of various Sentai series, most of which were, Kamen Rider series. Inside we saw three men watching a Sentai program on DVD. I believe there was the owner of the store, a regular customer (regular since he was quite familiar with the owner) and his friend who can't read Chinese (as claimed by his friend). Looking at their physique and face, I'd say they're pretty much older than me (much, much older). So we stepped inside and looked around to see what was available. I must admit, I was quite surprised that the owner didn't ask me what I needed. Heck he didn't even bother to look at me when we came in. What a business man...Oh I see! They're so absorbed in that Sentai shit they don't care if they sell something or not. That's what I thought back then. Seeing that no one's willing to entertain us and also feeling a bit of shame in myself for seeing over enthusiastic, rider-kick-shouting adults, we left the store. After an hour or so, we found ourselves home playing the same music over and over.


It's all normal to feel nostalgic of your youth. Heck everybody does that! But I'm not about to act like a child just because I feel like a child again through watching men and women in colored suits knocking down mecha-clones and gigantic monsters. At the very least I can keep it to myself.





Now this just came in my cellular phone:

No matter how serious your life gets
No matter how much problems you face
There will always be people who you can be stupid with

Okay! This isn't the exact message. I deleted it as soon as I read it but all the more important is, it's quite the same (the message at least).

This message, after deleting it, made me realize why those older men acted in such a way. It made me think of how I act towards my friends, how I act towards acquaintances, how I act towards complete strangers. I understand them, but I can still feel the shame. *brrr*



So, in which situation would I be acting stupidly, stupidly enough for them to see me and laugh at me because we all know that we're there to laugh at each other's silliness?







I know I'll be able to do this with the same stupid people. Utter stupidity? Childlike retard? Nah!

Just for fun.

Never underestimate the power of spoiled fish! It defied reality for a long long time

There has got to be something in a local fishball that sets it aside from all other marketable products in the country. Aside from the fact that it's dirty, full of germs, tasty, versatile, it has one characteristic that made it excel on top of the food industry (and on top of all industries who produces for that matter)--it's unchanging price.

If there is a world record that could be set for "World's longest running same priced product" I would definitely have to vote for our local fishball. Why, in more than a decade, the local jeepney fare wen't up from Php 1.00 up to Php 7.50; in more than a decade, common rice rose up to Php 20.00 per kilo from the usual Php 5.00~7.00 per kilo; in more than a decade, the price of gasoline ballooned from what-not-price (hey! I don't care about oil and diesels back then. I was just a kid) up to Php 50.00 something per litre (I don't know but I kept hearing it inflated plus I don't own a car and I don't watch TV that much); in more than a decade, the price of pandesal came from 25 centavos a piece to Php 1.00~2.00 a piece; in more than a decade candies can be bought at 25 centavos a piece but nowadays, it's Php 1.00 or Php 2.00 per piece. In more than a decade every consumer product inflated except for one thing:

The legendary Local Fishball holds it's seat on the 50-cents-per-piece spot for years on. Of course you can't count those capitalists who invests on this wonderful "for-mass" commodity and then sells it at Php 1.00. No no no! The bases are still the sidewalk peddlers who toils all day long besides roads, bearing the heat of the sun and chilling in the evening wind. They are the ones who set the true price. Of course there was a time that it was 10 cents per piece, then went up to 25 cents per piece then eventually, as if some council has been formed and an alliance between the concerned fishball peddlers of the country had a meeting and agreed that 50 centavos was the correct price. Perhaps up until now, there had been no other meetings or maybe, the chairman of the council did not veto on any proposition to raise the price. Who knows? The world of fishballs is a mysterious one after all.



Anyway, in all honesty, I don't even know, how fishballs managed to retain its price. But now I'm starting to wonder, why is there no change in its price? It's like it defies the very nature of reality: All things change. The only thing permanent is change. Of course we all know that it'll be a matter of time for fishballs to raise it's price or maybe to lose it's hold on the mass market (...nah! quite impossible as of the moment), but seeing now that it's a record holder (at least in my book), don't we wish that it could just stay the same forever?

But all things change...


Change is a very tricky thing. I once was watching Samurai X on Studio 23 back then and got hooked on it and watched it every week. I happened to notice the opening song of the series and was quite annoyed at the voice of the Japanese girl singing. Her voice was so coming all over from her nose. So after a few weeks of watching, I eventually got to like the opening song and a few more weeks later, I was trying to sing with it (even though all that you can hear from me back then was nonsense mumbling). As soon as I got hooked on the song and was able to keep up, with the pace at least, a new opening shows up and I went : "~Ohhh!" That bummed me. Here I was all practiced and I was trying my best to keep up with it and then suddenly it changes.

How cruel change can be?

We can never be complacent in any situation that we are in as of the moment. We all know the rule. Expect some things to happen. Everyday life cannot rotate around you the same way over and over. There will definitely be some force that would disrupt this balance and in the end, a transformation occurs. One time we're all happy, the next day, you see yourself crying yourself to sleep. Or for more than twenty years of schooling, you finally get out of it, tired and sick of it only to see yourself burdened with more responsibility.

For better or for worse...it's all up to us on how to handle that force.

Homeostasis and transistasis.

Homeostasis means the ability of an organism to maintain its physiological processes when some external condition presents a threat of variation. Transistasis on the other hand is the opposite. An organism freely adapts and undergoes changes in its functionality in reference to circumstances outside.

This applies to our everyday life. Some of us are rigid to change saying: "I refuse!" with a very good conviction while others are flexible and malleable accepting changes and learning new things from it. While both are present in everyone, we should be aware that control of these two principles should be balanced in accordance to our limitations. Fight if the enemy is within your capability. Flee if you cannot go head to head with it.

Those who know when to fight and when not to fight is always victorious. ~an excerpt from the Art of War by Master Sun Tzu




I wonder how people would react if the time comes for fishballs to raise its price? Say for example if they bought a piece and paid Php 1.00, would they be expecting a change?

Sometimes, the more absurd your goal is, the more you want to get to it. I'm a fool and I say that with my chin up...towards the moon.

I always had the thought circling in my mind that dogs, whenever the moon is full, they howl to it. Any reason behind this is beyond my understanding back then and now since there wasn't much change regarding my physique as an evolving homo sapien that could be showing any signs of lycanthropy.

Anyway, it had been a cultural connotation for a howl of a dog (or a wolf) to be incorporated to a sign of bad omen particularly, a sign of death or the appearance of something unnatural. I remember those old folklore movies that involved these howlings, whenever I hear them on the television, I'd go "The monster's near! Run you guys!" Of course I was pertaining to the characters in the flick and now that I'm remembering it, I feel like an idiot and now I'm getting goosebumps. *brrr*


But now that I give myself a moment to muse about that, it wasn't probably something like that that dogs and wolves alike howl because they can sense an evil spirit lurking within the premises. I can't say I'm expert with dogs and their howls. It just so happened that something struck me with the way they howl and how dogs behave that I was able to alchemise my own explanation.

In my whole life, even though I hate dogs, there had never been a time that our house hadn't had one. I don't know why but my parents would just say so that someone can guard the house. In all those years that I was living along with a canine (at one time, several), I observed that dogs like to bark at things far away from them. Sometimes they chase it but ultimately, they can't reach it. Or raising it to a higher moronic level, doesn't want to reach it. They look like a bunch of idiots. But hey! They're animals. They act by instinct. Can't blame them.


There's this nursery rhyme, that I believe most of us are familiar with--Hey Diddle Diddle? It goes like this:

Hey diddle diddle,
the cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon,
The little dog laughed to see such sport,
And the dish ran away with the spoon.

Now what caught me was the line "The cow jumped over the moon."

Why?

Since we're all talking about moon and dogs, how did the cow get into the scene?



Let me just explain it like this.

There's this dog who was guarding his owner's house when he saw a mouse pass him by. Naturally, he tried to catch it and luckily he did. But the mouse begged for his life and said that he would exchange his freedom for a secret that has been passed through the generations of the mouse family. The dog agreed and he was told by the mouse he caught that the moon was a large cheese and that if you take a bite off it, you'll experience a flavor nobody has ever imagined. Keeping his promise, he let go of the mouse and pondered deeply on the story. How does it taste like? He asked himself. I wonder if it's soft or hard. These thoughts gradually flooded his mind and soon he was obsessed with the idea of taking a bite off the moon. He would often sit by the top of the hill and look at the moon, fascinated by the gentle glow that it radiates. Oftentimes, he would bark and howl at the moon saying, "Just you wait, I'm going to take a bite off you!" Almost everyday, he barked at the moon saying the same things over and over. But one night, over the cliff where he frequented to gaze at the moon, he saw a strange lot. There was a cat with a fiddle, a cow stretching it legs like readying for a marathon, and a piece of China talking to a silver spoon. Curious, he went to them and asked them what were they doing on top of the hill. The cat looked at him and played with his fiddle before answering. "Cow here's going to jump over the moon." The dog was surprised and thought that they must be joking. Nevertheless, he asked: "Why?" The cat answered, "Why? To get some cheese of course. We heard from a mouse that the cheese from the moon is very tasty." "But why the cow? You could have done it since you're more nimble." the dog said. "Can't do that. Cow's the one who wanted to get a bite off the moon here. So he's been practicing jumping high." the cat replied. He watched the cow still doing some stretching exercises and breathing in and exhaling heavily. Then the cat played his fiddle with a merry song and the cow prepares to jump. With the next chord on the fiddle, the cow jumped and he was soaring up and up and up until he was so small from the dog's sight. The dog wasn't sure if it was true or not but he was standing there witnessing all of it. Then, with a presto music from the fiddle, the cow followed a beautiful invisible arc just above the glowing moon. The spoon and the China ran in the direction of the cow, much to the dog's confusion. "They're going to catch the cheese Cow cut off." the cat said when he noticed the look on the dog's face. The dog was speechless for a while then he began to smile and that smile slowly became snickers and eventually into sarcastic laughs.


In more ways than what I had imagined, I have been in a similar situation like the dog. Always, barking at the moon, staring at it from afar but never did any practices that could have helped me launch myself to get a lump of cheese. And now I see myself as an idiot dog who chases around objects from afar and barks at them when I can't reach them. Dogs aren't as nimble as cats. Dogs are made to bark. But then cows are made to be milked and to be butchered as cattle. They can't reach the moon. They're not supposed to.

I have another version of that Hey Diddle Diddle

Hey diddle diddle,
the cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon,
The dish ran away with the spoon
And the little dog stopped barking
Then laughed at himself to see such sport.

I am just a dog that barks at the moon
....at least the cow jumped over it with all it's boob dangling.

That hedgehog is one queer animal.

Most especially since almost everyone is no expert on the subject of Zoology. You could also count the fact that the only hedgehog that many of us are familiar with is a blue furred (or spined), fast running game character who hailed way back from the old Sega days that we find them rather different from what we expected. Funny, seeing a hedgehog colored blue, spinning and bouncing on springs while all the time it had been this small animal with a thousand spines with no indication whatsoever that it can run at sonic speed.

(disclaimer: I don't own this blue guy. I wish I do

but sadly Sega owns him. Or so I think?)

But are hedgehogs really fast? No of course not. Judging by their appearance, I say they’re very refined—timid to be precise. I daresay this because of a story that I heard about a hedgehog and his dilemma.

Once there was a hedgehog in the clearing of the forest who did not wish for anything but to befriend every animal there. He tried to get close to the bunny but the bunny screamed “Ouch!” as the hedgehog’s spines touched the bunny’s body. The hedgehog withdrew and wandered along until he saw a deer. He attempted yet another close communication but as soon as he neared the deer’s hooves, the deer jerked its legs and let out a sudden yelp of pain. He tried to get close to every animal but the same thing happened—they all just got hurt. The hedgehog, losing hope, sat against a tree. As soon as his body touched the trunk, he squelched a cry of pain, as his own spines bore onto him, stinging every part of his body. He looked at his surroundings. The deer was licking his leg where the hedgehog’s spine came in contact with. “They’re lucky they can lick their wounds.” With that, he satisfied himself on the grass as he realized his dilemma.

I don't think Zoology's the best science to understand hedgehogs...

"Are you sure you want to close that program 'Choice'? All files that have been created up to this point will be lost. Y/N?"..*thinks for hours*

I don't know how was I able to recall most of the important DOS commands when they were taught extensively (which I reciprocated by learning in a non-enthused way) by our elementary teacher way back in my elementary days. That was always a Wednesday when we would have extension classes and we'd gather in our "hi-tech" Computer Laboratory which housed forty something computers for the use of both elementary and high school student back in those times.

Funny. Recalling them sets a nostalgic feeling inside me. Or maybe I just missed the good old days when a CPU still had a 5 1/2 floppy port and weighed a ton (for a kid my age back then).

Anyway, going back, as I said, it was always a Wednesday. So there we were on a typical Wednesday morning inserting our wobbly floppy disks in their ports, boot our computer and then look at the board to check for instructions on what to do. On what commands to use.

...on what to do.

Pretty convenient. You don't have to think about anything--but follow the instructions. Just carrying yourself there, then wait for instructions. Being quite ignorant with computers, you would most definitely spend half of your time trying to figure out if pressing on the enter button would cost you your entire year of schooling or being blown to bits by an exploding monitor. You won't have the dilemma of a decision maker worried till his guts spill on the floor on what would his decisions do to a particular program in life.

You won't have a free will you moron!

Sure you don't. I only said it's convenient. I didn't say follow it.

So what? Should we all be decision makers then?

Now this is one of the most moronic, absurd and surreal question that you can throw on this topic. And the answer is most definitely a yes...






Ok. Throw things at me. Laugh at the ironic man behind the keyboard. Gut me alive and throw me to the fiery pits. But I would still answer yes.


Imagine you are the computer. I try to input a command on you. Having memorized only the handful basic commands that were present in the internal system of a DOS computer, I tried to to input A:\>xcopy h:\*.* /a /e /k. This would attempt to copy all files from the H drive to the A drive. But, you saw that when I booted up the system, I didn't load a DOS disk which would contain an xcopy command (note: this example is an example with a setting where there are still external and internal DOS commands). So, observing that, you the computer would definitely say Bad command or file name. But you were programmed! It wasn't decided by the you, computer.

See how following instructions can cause some trouble? Instead of using only one command to copy all of the files with a much simpler syntax, I would have to use the Copy command and a whole other bunch of syntaxes before I could copy all the crap from my drive H to my drive A just because I'm missing a disk and because you, the computer stands firm with protocol.

Now, I haven't seen the progress of the MS DOS computer in the country but when I got a computer back in high school, we were already running in Windows so I figured all of the DOS commands are now incorporated within, which, in all good fortune, my friend Mr. Gates, obliged to do so. So now, I can use the xcopy command to copy all of the files without using a disk.

Finally. A change of heart.

What I'm trying to point out is, while following instructions, walking the line of obedience, and dogging to commands (a bit extreme yeah, but you get what I mean) is all good, there are times when a decision need not protocols to pass judgment. When we are all ignorant of something, then someone tells us to do this so that we can get this, we stop for a moment and asks oursleves unconsciously if the commander is trustworthy. From here on, we decide. We contemplate on something within us then extract a substantive answer. Whether you answer yes or no, is up to you.

In the case of blackmailing, nobody can coerce you into doing something. When you get blackmailed, you aren't coerced. You just don't know it but you've made the decision even before the situation presented itself in front of you. Don't tell them you don;t have a choice. It's because you chose that things are happening and circling within your life. You don't say to a kidnapper who kidnapped you son yes and yes all the time without thinking. If ever all youn said is yes and agreed to all the terms and conditions of the kidnapper, then you are 101% sure of your decision. For you, there are no other choices because, no matter what, you will choose that one answer.


Rules are for fools as the saying goes; most popular to rebellious type of people. But they don't really see that inside them, they are playing life with a different kind of rule. A gangster who always disregards the law no matter what also has rules that they follow. Personal rules if I may say. They have established an unspoken rule that no matter what, I'm going to oppose the rules. And he follows that. He opposes the rules. Yet he abides by another rule. If he decides to turn to the police and lead a normal life, once again he violated the other rule.

Life's full of rules and regulations, commands, sometimes syntaxes that are meant to be broken and swayed from. Otherwise, we'd be like MS DOS computers waiting for my pal Mr. Gates to upgrade us so that we can decide if we are to use paper towel when we poo or to use a regular toilet paper.




Somebody's going to have to bend over the rules or else the rules are going to stay with the ruler. Why were French Curves and Flexible Curves invented by drafters? Because all things drawn by a ruler are edgy. Can you draw a question mark with a ruler? Then don't use a ruler or better yet just draw it without any...tool...

huh? what?

Please insert memory card on the memory slot and try again......Lifestation® doesn't have a memory slot moron!

It really is fascinating on how a single miniature device such as a memory card can hold data for your games like in Playstation® or other game consoles (sorry I'm not quite familiar with other game consoles much more their "memory cards" but I'm sure that their using one similar to it) and be able to retrieve it where you left off. You're a very busy man who but just found the leisure of playing at home with your console on your day off and you're in the middle of a 100 level dungeon, then your boss calls you and yells at you to get your butt in gear and be at the office in fifteen minutes. Naturally, for a career man, you'd hurry up, standing that is from that comfortable chair, grab your suit, jacket or whatever, put on some setting gel, look at the mirror for a while while absorbing every decibel from that annoying voice of your boss.

That is for the career man.

Now, for the game lover, who was just compelled to do work so that he'd have a secured financial sustenance to continue on gaming, he'd have to be making faces over the phone while saying yes and yes to everything his employer would say and would still be walking along in the dungeon trying to find a way out or better yet, a save point.

That would really save your ass there gaming man!

That's one advantage of a save point in a computer game. You get to start again on that save point(loading), retain all previous data (everything that had been done prior to saving) and lose the worry of starting all over again like in the classic Mario World game whenever the power supply is cut off just the moment you get to test that elusive and wonderful Power P.

Another advantage that can be taken from this wonderful saving plasticked circuitry, is you can do a test run of things.

How so?

Saving and loading. Loading and saving.

To elaborate, allow me to provide an example. Let's say your characters in the game are given choices. They have to answer one question. Then the AI gives you three choices to choose from, each choice would mean getting specific items accessible only through this simple conundrum. What you can do is a simple trial and error scheme. You save first before getting these choices in the game. Later on, choose one of the three options test out if the item is worth your choice. If it doesn't fit your shoe, then go ahead and load your game again from whence you saved it prior to the choices. Rinse and repeat.

Data are pretty convenient things. You can record things on something then if you happen to pick the wrong choice, by all means, use the power of "Save and load."

In as far as convenience brought about by these wonderful mechanisms is concerned, life's choices never shares even a tiny bit of this. Our choices are made up of several, not just three for in this world, there are infinite possibilities for a situation. The first few are the ones considered as choices since they are the choices that keep in touch with reality. You wouldn't even consider a choice of bursting into billions of atomic particles just to pass an exam because the closest possible way to pass an exam is to study. Bursting into a billion atomic particles is just so absurd but it is still a possibility. Even if the possibility of it happening for you to pass an exam is 1 x 10 ^ (-1000), it still is a possibility.

Let's try to refer our life to a road with infinite branches. Straight ahead, we have a a choice ready that says "Study for the exams." On the left side of that is a choice which says "Study a bit for the exams." On the right side is "Sleep with your professor than study for the exams." And adjacent to those choices are other choices that stretch out far into the horizon--so far that you can't see it anymore even if you magnify it a million times (what is a million to infinity). So studying your choices, you choose one. Now, this choice would lead to another set of infinite choices and choosing from that will lead you yet again to an infinite set of choices. Looking at that plane where you stand and make choices by walking through the roads from the top, you can visualize a line that branches out to numerous other lines. Now, let's say we trace a white line from where you started, from your birth up to your death. Let's say, you keep on going forward and you seem to be on the right track not once swaying from it. You just pressed forward and chose the right path--the correct one for you (what the hell? you're too perfect!). Just a forward approach would create a line, though not straight, but unwaivering; a line that never crossed itself on it's journey. A fine fine white line from start to finish.

Let's say, another person takes his journey. Let's draw another line and follow each and every decision he makes. Say, this person had a lot of regrets so most of his decisions were a failrue on his part. There was a time when he kept on going circles on the same branch, choosing the same failed option only to end up once again where he came from. So from going on circles, he curves a bit to the left and then to the right, then went back to reminisce. A little hesitant, he stayed there for a while before choosing a different path. But eventually, with all the circling and going back, he will eventually die in the end. Same with the straight forward man. Just the same with the straight forward man

I remember two geometric principles when I was in high school (and was heavily reminded of it back in college)

• The shortest way between two points is a straight line and
• A polygon is made up of a line that intersects itself

And in case you're wondering why those two principles came up, it's got something to do with the two men choosing their road.

Also try coloring these




A LINE



A CURVED ABSTRACT



I'll be loading my saved game right now...



~aargh!~ Data damage!!

Behind the doors of moroseness

She is very beautiful. As matter of fact, her appalling beauty never failed her to grab any non-schizophrenic, be it in a bar she frequented after her work in the library or anywhere else, only to dump him after a few hours of love making in the blanket of the night then stepping into tomorrow to find yet another night of carnal satisfaction.

She is at the tender age of 24 living in Ljubljana, Slovenia and her life was a life anyone would have envied. She was socially confident; she had a stable job; she has her loving parents who gave everything to her when she was young until she lived independently; and as was aforementioned, it is safe to say that she would never have any trouble when it comes to erotic relationship.

She is Veronika: young, beautiful, loved by her parents. She is also a walking irony, a person as good as dead, a madwoman, a pervert and a thesis test subject.

Veronika Decides to Die was written by the renowned author of the international best seller The Alchemist, Paulo Choelo. It entails the madness of a young woman, bored and tired of the way her life recurs everyday, feeling that her existence is merely a repercussion of time, decided to end the relentless cycle by overdosing herself with sleeping pills. Unfortunately for her, she did not find herself neither in heaven nor in hell. Instead, she woke up being barricaded by the walls of Villete, a mental hospital, where her doctors declared that due to her attempted suicide, her heart weakened and she has only five days to live. In Villete, Veronika discovered what madness really meant (at least in a madwoman's point of view); she discovered that she was a pervert; she found out what life truly meant and how to will to live once more; she even found love; and in her last five conscious days, she unknowingly gave proof to her doctor's theory on the causes of madness, leading her existence to be more than just a lump of flesh moping on her morose situation and waiting for death to lay its hands on her.

When Paulo Coehlo was a young man, his parents committed him to mental hospitals just because he wanted to be an artist--a profession unwelcome in Brazil during those times. During these involuntary commitments, he vowed to write about the injustices of his experiences. True to his word, he created the world of Veronika, demonstrating once again his writing prowess through the vivid illustrations of each of the characters thoughts allowing the readers to swim in it and empathize with them. Each story bears indispensable near truth situations that would open the eyes of the readers that everyday is a miracle.

Still clasping in her heart the poignant idea of life as a boring cycle, she roamed Villete with Mari, a former lawyer suffering from panic attacks, or with Zedka, who was there to be treated from depression, or at times during night, with Eduard, an ambassador's son diagnosed as schizophrenic.

Coehlo transformed the usual connotation of asylums as a chaotic place filled with hysterical cries housing aggressive patients into a place of reflection, self-discovery and a place of hope. A haven for the patients, Villete, and never a constricting edifice, Coehlo's vision of a prison in the novel is the person's inner conflicts. The design of each cold bar of this imaginary prison consists of simple roots (the primary reason why each character was in Villete) yet bearing complex fruits (the reason they remain there).

In his elaboration of the causes of madness, Coehlo, in the personality of one of the characters in the story, Dr. Igor, states that Vitriol, an inner poisoning and commonly known as bitterness, drives people insane. Madness in the novel is nothing like what is usually thought of madmen and madwomen. Madness is somewhat a state of mind wherein everybody thinks contrary to what you think. Delving into the thought, does it follow that everyone is mad at some point of thinking? Hmmm...

Veronika Decides to Die takes the readers into a full circle journey between despair and apathy and of self-appreciation. It dwells on understanding those people not considered belonging to the normal society. As the circle encompassing the situations comes to a full rotation, one can find that each day that we face is an opportunity to live our lives right and by right, it means living the way we want our life lived.

The reason why ants aren't hunted compared to elephants...not because of the ivory tusks thing *sheesh*

Never watch a pot on an open fire else it'll never boil.

Actually it will. It'll just feel like it takes forever for it to boil.

Scientifically speaking, it will boil, and, adding another scientific fact, it'll boil within the same amount of time else there might be something within your gaze that may be altering the specific and latent heat of water (or any liquid for that matter). I don't know, maybe you've got a particle beam whose wavelength is invisible to the human eyes.

Kidding aside, most people holds this true. Of course, omitting the fact that it really will boil at a certain time and at a certain exchange of energy, it really will take like forever to wait for steam to rise and feel the radiant heat from the container to your skin.

Why? Because people don't have the time or, to extenuate that statement, people value their time. They like to use every bit of their time wisely than watch a pot with boiling water inside it.

• Read the newspaper while boiling the water
• Eat breakfast while reading the newspaper
  
• Drink coffee while eating breakfast
  
• Jerk off while drinking coffee

Now this is multitasking, isn't it?

Just by boiling the water, you multitask. Not only did you get to see the latest news, you were able to stuff yourself with a morning meal and you don't have to worry about having a serious hard-on when your secretary comes by at your office with that plunging red suit and mini skirt.


But people tend to forget most of the time that pot of boiling water laying there on the stove. Sure it's a responsibility thing but the fact is, it is far less important than anything else that you could be doing for a particular day. Thus, you tend to forget one way or another.

There are two ways of forgetting this pot quitely ignored by the fire: 1) you forgot it and came back to check on it a few minutes after it boiled or 2) you completely forgot it and when you came back home, you were wondering why your empty kettle was glowing red hot.

There are also two ways of remembering it: 1) you remembered it a few minutes after it boiled or 2) you remembered that the pot is boiling all the time and you have a mental picture of it boiling inside your brain.

Remembering the poor old pot using the number 2 option is very wise. At least you have yourself inside you a virtual memo to take it out of the fire a few minutes after:

• You finished your breakfast
• You went to the toilet to train some muscles
• You combed your hair
• Flirting with girl next doors through her window

At least you remembered it...

Maybe that's one of the reasons why whistling kettles have been deviced.


You're sitting complacently on your chair and this thing whistles--you'd really have to be an uber stoic excessively passive guy or someone who pays no attention to small details.

If Sinigang was the country's currency, you'd find me hoarding all of them than investing them on noon time shows and drama shows

It never ceases to amaze me on how the dish "Sinigang" came into being. I mean, you just basically boil meat on water then drop some what-not vegetables in it, put a souring agent in it (depends on you--whatever could make that sour face of yours contort more to beat that wringed silk cloth) and you got yourself a dish. You can even watch a movie while cooking.

Don't mind the sarcasms. I love "Sinigang" so much that if there was a poll on what dish is to remain on the face of the Earth else it would implode, I'd vote for it any day.

...at least if it was cooked by me or my brother.

I never realized the time when this divine dish (for me) started to taste bland. But there's just this psychological monument inside me that can't be easily bulldozed that says "It's Sinigang and it's your favorite." So either my tongue is getting numb of the flavor or I have an amnesia of what sourness tastes like.

Just as I woke this afternoon, I turned and rounded around that musty kitchen of ours to get something to eat. Behold! Laying there inside the casserole is a fresh batch (you know what I'm talking about). I savored the aroma, feeling a tickling sensation between my cheekbones. I got a plate, grabbed that serving spoon and served myself a treat after being up until 5 A.M. I walked back to the dining room and sat down ready to indulge myself. Now it was in the afternoon and all the shows on TV were all drama shows except for a few noon time entertainment show. I'm not really into TV, much more celebrities, but this afternoon, this batch of Sinigang, this batch 's flagrant aroma that I savored, this batch that made my cheeks tickle suddenly became bland.

I finished my meal and memoed myself, never to eat this dish whilst people in the house are watching Wowowee. *shudders*

The show's not entirely at fault. No, no. Just one person who I can't stand hearing. Hearing him makes me want to to a reverse-sadako technique and go inside any TV set and do a round-house kick on his face while wearing a 100kg shoe made of a massive metal soon to be discovered in the future.

Oh well, that may BE his charisma since he got my attention by making me spite him so much.

At least it's evening now. I can eat Sinigang peacefully. *drools*

~Aaaarrgh!!!~ Primetime Drama Shows...c...an't....eat....

It's like riding a bike on a road full of shit but you don't know how to ride one

Ever heard of Misato Katsuragi? If you're not a fan of Neon Genesis Evangelion, or anime for that matter, I highly doubt that you'd know her, much more of what she said in the movie that off-shot from the series.

It went like this:

"I'm not perfect right now. I realized eveything that I have done wrong, and I regretted over and over again. It has been a continuous cycle of premature delight and self disgust. But each time, I felt like I stepped forward."


Right now, I am in the middle of that cycle just a little under self disgust.

Okay, I'm way under that I feel like I'm in a toilet bowl that is being flushed always but like some other shit on the bowl, I learned of ways of not being flushed through the drainage. And for me not to be lonely by myself with all the crap, I added some other ingredients in life to make my self disgust all the more worthwhile and eventful.

I fancied the idea of living away from home for a while. Nowhere close to living separately or independently, but in more ways than one, it is quite similar in a subtle manner only I can feel.
I can never really remember when I planned this, but all I can remember is that I plan to at least get out of the house for a while and do some thinking, planning this and that for my self. Sure I did some thinking but I never intended that thinking about something to find answers can lead to more questions unanswerable (as of the moment I hope).

It's like that Kamuning Road that crosses Tomas Morato and EDSA. It goes up then goes down. Goes up again then down again till you get to either end. What the hell is wrong with that road? I can only imagine it, before being landscaped. People might have had a hard time going to the 1800's EDSA to Tomas Morato found in a similar timeline. Anyway, as I said it's like--going up and down. Only now, I'm still down mustering some scattered self-esteem about the place to climb again. And for what? Just to go back down again.

Why'd it have to be so far.

Fucking EDSA...