Notes of Blue and Black

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...

Chapter 1: The Storm That Came, and Went On the day that Mang Berto Timbreza was to depart, God did not allow him. He was awoken by the loud cooing of a silver owl that was hiding from the bagyo that came before the break of dawn; still beating heavily against the roof of his humble yet strong wooden kubo. I t was this that told him that his un-welcomed guest was flustered. As Mang Berto slowly lifted his sore back from the banig that he had been sleeping in all these years of seclusion, the owl turned its head and showed off its huge piercing yellow eyes towards him. Mang Berto recognized that look; that familiar and common look that every creature had when it was hungry. Before anything binding between them could happen, the owl turned away and reluctantly flew into the punishing shower. “ Bading,” he uttered towards the direction of the bird's flight, although somehow he suspected that it was because of his terrible morning disposition that frightened the bird and forced it ...

Welcome to my blogspace thingy and allow me to introduce myself and what you can expect out of this page. Well, I'm still contemplating on what this blogspace will be about. I have a decent amount of things I wanna write about; ranging from political analysis and predictions, to movies, to religious reflections, to short stories and poetry, to articles about anything under the sun. Well I guess I wouldn't really know where this'll go unless we give it a shove, right! So here we go! Welcome to Accounts Receivable where I'm always expecting something in return.