Notes of Blue and Black

On the road between Pagadian an Ipil there is a nice little eatery that serves the best native and homegrown poultry and fishery called Kan-anan sa Balsa. If you're in town, you should check it out. sign to set you up. Lovely little wishing well before you order. spending the holidays by the pond nice little pathway to the tables. surrounded by the solemn place, there's no other way to enjoy a meal. your meal to be. 5 pesos to feed the fish! cute little water fall that facilitates the water treatment for the pond If you think that you're a foodie, you don't know anything unless you've been to the countryside. Happy holidays! - Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone while on the road. Location: En Route to Ipil from Pagadian

It's fun to think back on the year right before it ends. One thing that struck me most about this year is being on the road. My year mostly revolved around traveling to different places around Mindanao, to an extent that this 2010 I can proudly say that if you get out a map of Mindanao and randomly point out a place, I can, most probably tell you that I've been there. I know, it isn't as classy if I had said I went to Europe or on an African safari, but really, well aside from med reps and a select few, who would really want to see how Ipil is or ride in the pirate infested beaches of Zamboanga (it's really not that bad)? I don't mind being on the road. On the road, you tend to forget about where you've been because you focus too much on what's right in front of you. Sometimes it gives us perspective about whatever; like you get to examine your life from the outside. It's an interesting phenomenon really, how going 80km's an hour can make you forget ...

This season of Christmas, a whole lot of us tend to feel reflective about our lives. There’s something about this season that makes us look into ourselves; to wonder about what we hold dear and treasure in our lives. To think back on past years, sifting through forgotten photographs and remembering loved ones, we tend to feel a bit overwhelmed by the season that sometimes, we wish that we could go back to a certain time in our lives.  Do you do that? Don’t you ever wonder why the ghosts of Christmas past, present and future won’t visit you this time? Do you ever find yourself wishing that you could go back or forward to a certain time? Let’s just say that we do have the chance to do so; to be the updated version of Ebenezer Scrooge? Where and when will we go? The Ghost of Christmas Past would take me to my childhood where I would be innocently happy to the ways of the world. But whenever I try to think about my early childhood, only a few memories come to mind! Maybe my childho...

There was a time when I thought that we can learn something from every bad thing that happens in our lives. The trouble with that is, no matter how true that may be, you have to be wise enough to realize what that something is. Conjuring up explanations for your own benefit might end up to bite you in the arse later on. If you always think of our own realizations or epiphanies to be always true, it will almost always lead you to believe in an entirely wrong idea. Studying philosophy taught me that being subjective can teach a man to be blinded from what is actually true. For example, there was this girl in a religion class I had a few years back that was so convinced that hell did not exist, but rather it is an illusion and that we who are in the world right now are already in hell. Where did that come from? I wondered that developing your own ideas of something without regard to what is actually true can totally make you sound stupid. Just like you coloring outside the borders of your...

My feet have always been made for Chuck Taylor's. I know that's a bit of a presumptuous thing to say considering; but it's not like I want to promote anything. I'm not; I'm just saying that ever since I bought me my first pair of Chuck Taylor's My feet felt like they were home. I remember high-school when I bought my very first pair. A lot of my friends were in to mainstream rock bands like Linkin Park, Slipknot, and what have you. It was that time that I didn't really get mainstream rock and I wanted to be different. That's when I first saw and heard Incubus on TV. watching their video of Pardon Me and Drive frequently on MTv got my attention. I know that you're probably thinking that Incubus was mainstream; but coming from the high-school I was in, I could say that only a handful of people know what incubus brought to the music scene. I bought my very first record of them which was Make Yourself and I was hooked. I started to sing and play them on ...

It's so hard to do your christmas shopping when everybody else is doing it with you. I mean, why the rush? I can't really put my finger to why these folks decide on the very last minute to get in their cars to the nearest mall. Not to mention the hassle you have to go through because by some stroke of genius, they decide to bring their rowdy kids along. I love kids, I think they are the best. But in a mall with thousands of people and in the heat of the Christmas decision making, pushing and shoving, kids are useless. They do nothing but worry you and test your patience. Although I might understand why you would want to have your kids along; because it's Christmas and family bonding and all that. But seriously, if your kid can't behave themselves in a way that wouldn't make other people frown on your parenting skills, why tag them along? Wouldn't it be more efficient for these people to just go by two's or something; all you really need when your shopping is...

Sometimes, and they aren't all the time, when we crash in burn. I guess that this is true to all of us, living in a planet that is filled with such events chIaotic as what the human mind can comprehend. What we experience everyday in our lives, from the buzzing bees to the cars that stream pass the highways, is filled with chaos. Danger that hides in plain site. Don't you see it? I was able to, ever since I was a young boy. Seated behind the car my mom would make turns around corners, often encountering close calls which cannot be explained except by coincidences or Divine protection. We would fly pass accidents every now and then that a split second difference would or might mean the worst thing that could happen, and something that will soon be forgotten because of its insignificance. I would often reflect that if i hadn't forgotten to bring something, then my mom wouldn't have to honk the car horn willing me come faster. I would have saved at least a few seconds...

It has been so long since the last time I saw her. Sometimes I catch myself wondering where she is; if by chance time has changed her into something unrecognizable, or is she by chance the same person. But I always expect that somehow, she's probably changed. I find myself asking how much, or would she still manage to move me like she did so many years ago... I wonder in my loneliness why I still find myself searching for him whenever I fly in into his town.. Although I never call to let him know, I still look around with a hopeful heart that I could catch him again. It's not that I long for him in such a way that I must see him. But it is a longing like every fool has when she casts a die, or receives her deal, or punches in the numbers of the lottery. It's not like it's okay for us to see each other. My pride is still intact; because the pain despite all these years still reminds me not to fall into it again... ...Like a child who learns to stay away from the fire...

I saw a short film earlier this morning and it really made me think about this whole blogging thing. Anyway, it was about a couple who was torn apart by war. But before the guy had to leave, he made a pact with his wife to be that he would return no matter what, and he'll be faithful and all that crap... Anyway, while the dude was gone, the girl kept writing letters for him, telling him to forget the war and to come home to her. What really struck me most wasn't how romantic those letters were or what they said, but it was because after the girl wrote them, she would tear it up into pieces and throw them into the wind. I was like, what the hell? For one, i love the fact that winds are so easy to come by especially when your a melodramatic damsel awaiting he return of your prince.... But anyway, I'm not really here to make fun. I just couldn't understand why she had to go through the motions of writing all that only to destroy the letter. I mean, really? Why write when n...

Believe me when I say to you that I want you is it not because of your eyes that speak loud words to me nor because of your lips lips I have never known, nor will know not because of your hands that touch what you love, and I will love soon. But ask me, truly: who am I to know? When our roads have never crossed, nor will it, perchance how then, will I know? When in your life it only feels right to turn away when i've seen you over and over, and yet your name i still don't know and as i long to linger on in this place dark shadow still, your face I will see. Even when I close my eyes, my sight brings you to me. I want each second to bring you to me with a passion of a thousand winds.

I woke up and everything felt different. The pillow on my head felt like a cloud; the noise that my fan makes as it sways across the room sounded like a song. The light that subtly crept in the curtains like a child peeking through touched the whitewashed walls of my room in a whole new different light. The taste on my mouth, which when you are a smoker and asleep for the past few hours you'd expect to be bitter, but this time, this was a good taste; I mean it didn't taste good, but it wasn't as bad as other days. I rubbed my eyes with my stubby hands; clearing the formation of dirt that congregated outside my eyelids.  Yawned. I lit my cigarette. You ever felt like that? Feelings like this don't come too often for a man like me who has given up on the promise of good waking moments. You know, those moments when you instantly feel as if you were bound by fate to have a great day. I've given up on that since I woke up one morning five years back when I realized, of...

Ever forget about who you really are?  Of all the places where I could get an epiphany, I got mine on the jeepney ride home. It was 7 o'clock already; the stars had just come out as we climbed our heavy bodies on board a small jeep. I hanged both arms on the rail everybody shares in the middle; resting my weary head on the small duyan-duyan I made with my forearms and hands, watching my knees bounce as the small jeep drove through the small bumps and shakes everybody else goes through; watching the cars we pass by, lumbering through the city's quiet disposition, listening to everybody talk.  I used to really love to listen. I enjoy hearing other people share thoughts about, well, just about anything under the sun. Whenever people would want somebody to talk to, I would just sit there and listen. Everybody seemed to really like to talk to me before, not because of my conversational skills (I have none), but I used to be that guy everybody seemed to want to talk to becaus...

The fervour behind belief in a God has never been about proving anything; it was never about being right or wrong. Some philosophers confuse faith with a position where we as Christians take against the rest of the world. We as Christians never antagonized the world, instead we are taught to Love against reason: that when an enemy strikes us we should offer him the other cheek, to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us. That is what the grace of God has taught us; that the world deserves more than what our justification and reasoning can offer. By accepting the grace of God and the application of the dynamics behind the love of God, we go beyond the reason itself or the burden of responsibility of acting on Logic or Reason. On Prayer By praying, we do not try to evade from responsibility, but rather we recognize that there is a choice, and by choosing Love over what our urges as human beings are to react through reason, we transcend ourselves. Most atheists do not u...

In this outlandish town of strangers and crooks, there was no real disparity between its characters. The town is both good and evil just the same. The moon was just setting up in the sky; at this time one tiny bird flew up to the bell tower of Alonso to rest. Below, the little children were running in the mud; their tsinelas in their tightly clasped fists and joyous laughter echoing through the empty streets. More birds arrived.  The children looked up to see, and some paid no heed. There were too many of them now; multitudes arriving by the minute. A strange hiss filled the air; gusts of wind push the dried leaves back from where they were sleeping. The bell tower was engulfed with tiny black birds and the night was filled with their haunting tweeting and cheeping; every moment their song grew louder and louder. The flap of thousands of wings began to be felt by the children; they stopped running. Above them was something very strange. The town stopped as if to take a breath an...

My lover sleeps soundly in the next room, Two doors and a path separate me from her soft touch and the sound of her dreamless sleep. Wrapped, perhaps, in her smooth satin clothes, Covered, perhaps, in her sweet nightly perfume, Eyes closed as gems would rest, Hair laid out so that I could  write about it more, Oh, when I see her: Arms that would touch the sky White and soft as if they were clouds; How beads of sweat would fall like a gentle drizzle upon a field of short grass, And what beauty, the rays of moonlight that sneak past her eyes; Oh, when I see her and what she does to me. My lover sleeps soundly in the next room, Two doors and silence separate me from her soft touch. I sleep, Still she is not with me.

The next day started in the afternoon and young Berto Timbreza, who had been awake all night, was still sleeping soundly in the comfort of his soft, cushioned bed when it happened. It was his mother who managed to wake him up abruptly, as it was always his mother who manages to wake anybody up with her strong arms and powerful powers of persuasion over the unconscious. Groggy and disoriented, Berto did not even notice that the neighbors were clearing out their houses, children outside were crying, karabaos pulling huge carts filled with valuable furniture and clothes, pregnant mothers and other things that they were able to pull out. The whole city of Manila was in chaos. “Wake up,” Doña Encarnacion Timbreza said out loud, almost shouting, “War has found us.” Berto who had a headache from oversleeping and a massive urge to eat something, could not help but look outside the window of their big two storey house. He noticed that a huge cloud of black smoke was rising from the horizon,...

It was the morning of September 2, 1951, and in these waking moments, the demons fled into the forest, waiting the next storm. Mang Berto, who had already fixed his things for the travel ahead, had to unpack his blue maong and a white Chinese collared shirt that was left behind by a thief outside his house. He always suspected that the man who stole his favorite blue shirt and replaced it with this silly shirt he had planned to burn, was one of those badjaos that would pester the mayor of the town for financial aid. He woke one morning only to discover that his blue shirt, grey underwear, and a good pair of fisherman’s shorts were missing, only to find that sleeping on the ground the white shirt he was wearing now.  Berto, who was Christened Alberto Garciano Timbreza, had a very good stature for a Filipino. His short, black hair hung proudly beneath his brown and handsome face. He walked with an aura of a proud young man of 31, covered in brown that had been tempered by t...

I hate having to rush things...but sometimes you can't avoid it. It's just so annoying that we have to go through some stuff in our lives with a pace. It's like singing a song and you can't catch your breath because the tempo's just too fast.   But what can we do about it, right ? It's not as if we can slow down the rest of the world just cause we can't find the beat.  As far as my story is concerned, I'll be posting one chapter a day until I can't keep up with the beat anymore. Haha. Meanwhile, I'll dream about some new gadgets I found on the net last night, courtesy of John Mayer's tweet (follow me on twitter by the way, I just downloaded a TweetDeck and I'm not afraid to use it). Anyway, it's called a Tenori-On  (click the blue-stuff for a demo)... ...and I want one, Mom.  Enjoy! =D

Chapter III: Daydreams and Eleven Years of Forgetting “ You crazy Timbreza , get down from there!” a lovely voice reached the hearing of Berto Timbreza from behind as he was maneuvering his way up his neighbor’s bricked abode. He peeked to see the top and looked for his tsinelas , which he had carelessly thrown up into the roof to avoid carrying them.  Found one, where’s the other one? “Hoy! Someone might see us!” the voice continued, muffled at best, but still very lovely. But Berto, who found excitement in doing daring things just to gaze at the eyes of beauty, was too close to his prize to let caution cloud his goal. He raised his left leg against a loose, misaligned brick and pushed himself up into the roof. His weight gave humble metallic sounds of grinding sins that were immediately contained by his careful movements as not to alarm his neighbors.  He stood up as if an expression of victory; breathing in the cool night breeze that hauntingly crept through the to...

Chapter II: Fiesta and the Bell Tower of Barrio Alonso 3:00PM, a lonely church bell tolls, echoing its song throughout the small kubos that lay scattered orderly throughout the town, signaling that it was that time of day to pray to the Virgin Mary. And every time that bell sings, numerous people, mostly elderly women wearing long dresses and veils that hid their faces, would gather around where the sound was emanating from, as if the parish was broadcasting a feast or a town meeting. Sometimes Lolas would bring some of their favorite grandchildren, but most discouraged it, seeing that this was the only time that they had to be alone with those who were about to meet their God, or at least, would seem like it. Children often give moments of nostalgia to these elderly people; a nostalgia that  is often unwanted. They often sat outside on their porches every morning to contemplate on their own funerals, and most of the time the off-beat, alien sound of youthful laughter and play wo...