28th of December, an idea cracked the tranquil surface of the ocean of an unmotivated man. Like a tiny ripple, and like any other ripple seemingly conceived out of nothing, it incrementally gained pace. Slowly its visage is saved from the pit holes of obscurity.

Entertaining the vague idea, although yet clear, the man put it in writing to obtain an artist’s sketch of what it looks like. Minutes dragged into hours, and slowly the idea was pulled out of the blurred fringes and into the dawn of possibilities.

An idea to establish a non-profit organization basically promoting a casual brand of voluntarism was brought into the light; clear but still a heap of volatile uncertainty. The man realized that alone he stands no chance against the aroma of the seductive apathy; that no matter how noble, if it remains just an idea, it is but a wisecrack in the melodramatic theatrics of human demise.

He contacted friends, proposed his gargantuan idea and allied with the gods of persuasion. Who would turn down a plan as noble as this? Many were introduced, but few claimed the necessary audacity to face the unsympathetic winds. As more and more heeded the calling (the calling of everybody whom only a smidgen hears), the hope streaked brighter and brighter. Until one day, the rebels who took arms and no longer remain seated planned to convene to materialize the yet tangible idea of an assembly for anyone for voluntarism. The few volunteers are rewarded even from the thought of reaching out.

January 2, and the most tumultuous mood right after a joyous celebration is pervasive. January 2 was the set date for the volunteers to meet up, collate and juxtapose ideas to build the foundation of a yet conceived assemblage of commoners. The heavens were crying from the massive task that threatens to belittle our objectives. It was cursed with a biting chill, but the volunteers stopped at nothing. The meeting was pushed through.

The atmosphere warmed as the enthusiasm of everyone present loomed above each other’s heads. It was clear that the idea moved everyone to halt their own battle of indifference. The willingness of everyone to push through with the idea sparked the inception of a materialized idea. As the scaffold was slowly founded from the ground up, the visage of the idea that was once hanged in relative obscurity was fleshed out.

And as the day bequeathed its temporary throne, although hastened by the looming clouds, an idea that was once just floating amidst the ocean of the ignored, mushroomed with in the minds of those who testified that indifference is a disease.

We wanted to be a solution to the problem; not a solution to end the suffering of our brothers and sisters, but a solution to eradicate indifference by offering the common people the chance to extend their reach without fear of ridicule or critic. For if your cause is noble, it should not remain inside the c upboards to decay, but should bloom.

Kibo, a Cebuano term for a solution to a problem became the name of our organization; an assembly of simple people whose names are not donned with prominence and imminence. Whose pockets contain only their own hands, but considered it not to be a hindrance for voluntarism.

Kibo was once an idea; an idea that brought together a band of common people to channel their personal causes to something as noble as an action. Kibo became the platform, the stage to call others to flock, to stand for something good, something better to placate the sufferings of our brothers and sisters. Kibo sees the world, someday, where everyone is each other’s volunteers.

*Interested? For further information about Kibo, click on the link and register an account --> Kibo
*Want to sign-up as a member? Be a Kibo, download the membership contract here-->Membership and fill up. In order to become a member, a 100p membership fee is required.

As the thick smoke ascends towards the never-ending sky, and the warring display of fluently periodic bangs and blasts sulk as it slowly approaches its extinction, the anticipated merriment nears its slumber. Luck, in one night, becomes a phenomenon. It plays Santa Claus in an hour, as it enters and exits households. And as quickly as it enters is as quick as it goes. In this reveling of nights, luck is synonymous to hope.

10 minutes before midnight, and the built-up pressure generated by memories of long ago celebrations gradually emanates through a socially-contorted face. The anticipation of a neglected paradox, an end and a beginning, crawls upward for attention. I headed outside, prepared to witness an annual display of irrational, yet joyful spending. And as minutes drop off the flag, I buckled my imaginary seatbelt, grab hold of an imaginary popcorn, and tilted my head upwards to obtain a more vantage view. My heart beats together with the claps of distant fireworks. I reckon it was excitement, but I realized otherwise. As the sharp scent of smoke pierces through my system, my body kicks in overdrive and prepares itself for a fight or flight response. I have been in a duress battle between asthma, and once a slight symptom pops out, all else follows. I remained vigilant amidst the scare of an enduring torture of breathlessness. I have to fight this necessary dispute so I won’t miss the illustrious display of magnificence. As firecrackers take its last flight towards suicide, its transient lights leave onlookers both in awe and fright. The once philanthropic midnight sky has become a battlefield of many wishes.

And as 12 struck the bell, the once mesmerizing sky of faint sparkles and twinkles became a spectacle of transient lights. The midnight sky during New Year always has been psychedelic. As streaks of golden combustion rises up, one always expect a finale worthy of a standing ovation. I am in awe of how illuminated the sky was. The atmosphere, moreover, is broken by periodic artificial thunders brought about by a powdery concoction. The patch of road where I was currently standing was once silent. But during this time of the year, silence is a commodity one is keen to avoid. It’s the pandemonium that is a priced thingamajig during this incipience. The happy kind of ruckus breaks the boundaries of social status; everyone is seeing the same sky, everyone is hearing the same thundering explosions, everyone is offered the same opportunity of a new start.

But in all this exaggeration and an inefficacious narration of an awaited climax, the scent of frugality is putrid. It overpowered the scent of burnt black powder. The street was not as loud as it was. The sky was not as illustrious as it was. The celebration is left hanging, wanting for more. But none saved the haphazard revelry; an anticlimactic end to a new beginning. And insofar as I can vividly recall, the barrage of noise, the bombardment of ephemeral lightshow, and the uninhibited welcoming of hope, is amiss in this year’s attempt. The one single sight that left me holding my breath was a sky lantern floating by the smooth breeze. It was unadulterated, pure and simply an eccentric sight amidst the background of flashing lights. Sky lanterns carry wishes and bring it to the sky. It was a floating paradox; a peaceful medium unperturbed by a variety of commotion. And wherever that lantern decides to land, it will surely etch an emotive memory. Perhaps I’m going to fly one myself during such time or other appropriate events.

And as the explosion and flashes weakened, I gone back inside, took a seat, and contemplated. What is truly beautiful about this night? Gone are the bygone days where you literally get deafened by the commotion of revelry. And amidst the anticlimax, I felt a sense of hope, an anemic feeling of contentment, but contentment nonetheless. I forage through the canopy of possibilities and found three likely candidates that induced such a feathery feeling.

First is the awe and joy etched on the faces of the children that partied on the streets. It was a genuine, uncorrupted sense of happiness. The bliss on their faces is breathtaking. It captured the true essence of a fresh hope in one single moment in time. Their flawless awe is a study in contrast: a serene sight brought about by a frightful pandemonium. Second is the moment bringing out the lost youth in everyone. I personally was an innocent victim of an innocent murder of childhood. Back in the heydays, when the ruckus was much more earthshaking than today, my ears was covered by a huge headset to muffle the noise. I was placed as far away as where the commotion was in order to avoid the sharp scent of dying firecrackers. A whiff could cause me my life. An asthmatic kid, I was able to see the wondrous display of light in a body-contorting place, I was able to hear the explosions in silence. But during this night, when I am now able to make things more special, I ignored the troubles lurking beyond the now. And by doing so, I found my lost youth. I felt the child in me surfacing; fighting its way up against a concrete slab of social proof. I would have shouted if not for my inhibitions. I would have jumped. But I did not. But I was satisfied to have to feel the child in me. The child in me that was suppressed long ago is but alive, gliding atop the sea of induced maturity. I am a child, always has been.

The third and last candidate for the feeling of contentment was the feeling of family. The feeling that wherever you may go, whatever you may do, and whoever you may become, you still have a place to come back to, a room where you will be assured to belong; a feeling that no matter the mistakes, you will still be accepted and believed in. And that amidst the languid sense of family, it will perpetuate till you ran out of breath, by asthma or by death. It’s always going to be there, all you have to do is search.

2010 is gone and has now become a memory, vivid or otherwise. 2011 has just begun. I have been inappropriately gifted during this bygone year; given the love of my life. 2011 is an uncertain year. An era of misty tomorrows. But I am continually hopefully. Steadfast in my belief that amidst the scare of armagedon, as long as I have her in my embrace, I am secure. Thank you for knocking on my door, entering my universe, and choosing to stay. If it will be forever, so be it. Forever may be but a figment of thought, but you are not. You are real, and that makes forever matter less. Forever will always be by your side, and may 2011 be the start of our journey towards that forever.

Recently, I have a difficult time extracting words, stringing them into spasmodic thoughts, and then organize it into comprehensible write-ups. In the first place, I am always led to believe that I am at times a burden to understand. My world comprises of a certain kind of reality where even the intrepid avoids to venture. I am constantly trudging a quivering road of waywardness. And I usually find myself walking on thin high wires of novel words, and a tiny slip will mean either death or torture. And the latter will make the former more tempting.

These are one of those moments where a deep contemplation fails to evoke a sensible idea. Even an abysmal travel towards universe unknown becomes a suicide or treason towards my own kingdom. My little bubble of reality requires me some time for inactivity where even my mind suppresses its wanderlust. Sometimes though, the required rest is a malignant disease and by a single wave of the wand of boredom, metastasizes throughout my system rendering me futile and smashes me into a pulp. I have to fight this disease, this ailment that is keeping my desire to travel the world with a magic carpet of dithyrambic ideas, and just squeeze what little juice is available from my brain: brain juice! And I think I am not doing justice anyone or anything with this haphazard, senseless entry.

This malady of quasi-brain dead never could have come in a rightful time: New Year! Inasmuch as I want to bombard my dependable though soporific blog with hopeful thoughts and resolutions that could never be, my efforts will be verging on futility. I am paralyzed by a periodic disease, and this is a bad time for me to have it. But all hope should not asunder. January 1 is but a day, and upon each day bestowed to us by a grand architect, a new year beckons a streaking ray of breathtaking hope. Each day is a new year. Waking up is a constant battle against death; sleeping is a strand away from death. It is the closest the hands of afterlife can come to us. And when we exit the world of serene but trepid darkness, we escape the realm of the incorporeal. Everyday, as they say, is a new day. We should not stumble in our own inertia, and just continue to move forward; not ahead, but forward. For life is not a congenital race where the moment we learn to walk, we begin to decide to catch up to others. Take things incrementally.

As the traditional New Year approaches, I cannot help but realize how short 365 days are. It is a transient express; a fleeting flap of graceful wings and it’s over. But there is never an absolute end. And every consummation is another empty white slate. We get to start over, or continue the good things that have been working for us. As for me, I’m still in disbelief how I manage to lure and catch my love; ceaselessly grateful towards fate. But life, in anecdote, is a journey. It does not compromise of sure ends nor does it constitute a clear path. It is a giant, whirling ball of uncertainty. It runs you over at times. But it usually, always, leaves you wounded. My journey with the girl of my impossible dreams has just begun, and a termination is not an option. I will continue to walk the boulevard of misty tomorrows. Today may matter the most, but man thrives looking beyond where he is currently standing. And I am looking beyond everything. I am envisioning a reality where I get to have for life the love of my life. I am hopeful. And as 2010 draws to a close, and a new set of number combination plagues the accustomed mind, I remind myself that I am a victim of serendipity. And that fate is passive. It is us that should infuse a syringe-full of effort. I am forever trying to keep you, until life gives up on me!

As transient lights flash through the sky, delayed by tiny claps, the best time of the year enters in a non-traditional manner. I can’t help but think that this is the most silent Christmas I have ever encountered. Even though a drumming beat with interval pauses rattles the serene background of midnight, this is arguably a Christmas dogged by austerity. The decibels are conspicuously low, and the flashes faint. The spirit that is supposed to be reveling is unusually lackadaisical. Christmas enters tiptoeing.

This has been the most melancholic Christmas insofar as my memory accurately recalls. The world rejoices the birth of the supposed-to-be savior, and I cannot avoid thinking of what Christmas really means aside from the Christian tradition. Is it the warring noise that plagues the midnight sky? Is it the illustrious display of ingenious firecrackers atop the serene roof that we are all under? Is it the scrumptious meals temptingly resting on the dinner table? Or the perfectly wrapped presents that you saved for the morning after? There is no one thing that constitutes the totality of Christmas. Everything that tradition has been perpetuating comprises the true essence of Christmas. It’s not only Jesus’ birth, or the most holy of masses that the church has been broadcasting since time immemorial. It’s everything corporeal and intangible. It’s the gift that ensues a feeling of being remembered. The tasty morsels displayed on the table that encourages oneness and a sense of family. The hubbubs on the sky that resuscitates the frazzled spirit. The feathery feeling of joy, of unity, and of love. And that no matter how silent the night was, how little the displays on the table, or how infinitesimal the gifts you receive, Christmas remains adamant. It is immortal, and even death fears it. It is the single unyielding anchor of us, petty mortals, towards a slippery hope.

And as weeks stumble down the pit hole of yesterdays, a new hope breaks the cold chill of economic turmoil. Incrementally approaching the end of years, and heading towards a new year, a silver lining streaks the roaring gray clouds; that no matter what troubles lurks within the unlighted jungles of uncertainty, all will fall into place. A new year begets a new brand of promise. The death defying stunts we endured during 2010, will become figments of our memories. There’s a reason why we are still here, alive, kicking, and breathing. There’s a recondite reason why we are given the rare opportunity to begin anew. And as 2011 inevitably approaches, let us begin to set foot on another terrain; novel and unknown. Resuscitate your forgotten dreams, rewrite your bygone wish lists, and repair your obliterated spirits. A new day marches towards the horizon; let us not forget to salute it as a welcome gesture.

As for me, I have been unfairly blessed with the single most divine creature known to frustrated writers. I have been bequeathed by fate the most angelic woman, and up until now I question its judgment of propriety. I was not looking, but she came. I was not searching, but fate paraded her. I am an innocent victim of serendipity; happily murdered by the claws of fate. Serendipity is man’s humble justification towards a life he cannot control. I steered clear from any distractions, but you perturbed my wild excursions. My coerced pilgrimage towards a life worthy of a life or death battle, has found its end in your beguiling embrace. Serendipity exists. And I have been obliviously stabbed by it.


photo from: my bebe, Bernz Bernales

The Dark Side, as famously dubbed by Star Wars. Everyone has his/her piece of malevolence trapped inside thick walls of pretense for social propriety. We are and always will remain strangers even to ourselves. We do not know what we are capable of doing when we fail to accept the side with which we are afraid to show. It’s a sore burden to have to carry a load that is tightly harnessed on our backs, and we are inept on removing it. We are evil; but we are not the devils. We are capable of sinister things, but we are cosmic kilometers away from being the cursed one. We may endanger the people around us with our secret contrivance against the world at large, but we are mostly, definitely able to go beyond our primal selves.

I’d be vehemently chastised for adamantly holding on to the tenet that man is a genetically superior animal. We are smarter. And I believe that is the only ace we have got against any other animals walking the floating surface of the earth. And just like any other animals, we have primal instincts. We are governed by instincts that augment our chances of survival. Man, after all, is subdued by the ubiquitous laws of self-preservation. We have evolved to put ourselves at a vantage point, but that wee piece of primal consciousness still lurks within the darkest corners of our being. We kill to eat, hence we are predatory. We defile the one and only place that supports our existence; we desecrate nature, plunder it with its treasures, and maraud the string that connects everyone on this planet; all these at the expense of our gratification and lack of self-contentment. We deny others there due of unadulterated existence to satisfy our avaricious desires. We compromise the fragile balance of nature to propel our self-proclaimed altruistic causes. We move forward at the expense of genocide; we are murderers, and that is our dark side. The primal consciousness of an animal lurks unnoticed within us. If we deny ourselves the awareness that we have that within us, we remain as men (women). We cannot unclench our fists if we do not know we are clenching it in the first place. But as shadows dancing at patches of ground, they are not all that. When there is shadow, subsequently there is light. If man has a side that wreaks of hellish havoc, man has a side that glows with scintillating grandiosity. We are not only men, we are human beings; capable of kindness, compassion, charity, laughter, care, love, and many more others.

We are capable of thinking, of being aware that the world is temporary; we are temporary. We are able to destroy, but we are more than able to create. That behind the dancing shadows, there glows an omnipotent light. There’s still hope for the human race. Hope should not fade. It should continue to cudgel every regret. We are not the devil. We are merely puppets of the perpetuating battle between good and bad.

(Scratches the attention-deficit itch that has been plaguing his feet.)

On another note (since I don’t want to sound so formal writing about bland topics such as the one on top), I have noticed an “ant march” on the wall of my room. They have been going at that for months now, and I just could not find the conviction to halt their way. I don’t want to be so rude to stop their established way of life. It never ceases to amaze me how robotic they are at following the line. They go by the thousands and still no one gets lost. Some may stray the line, but they still manage to find their way back. Ants are the exemplar of hardwork. They work for subsistence. But the one question that niggle my thoughts is that are they even capable of living? Not merely surviving, but living. They seem to work as if tomorrow is just an escaping idea. Do they encounter the dilemma of fitting in? Obviously they do not have any problems of divergence, since everybody seems to heed a higher authority. Do they get depress when love doesn’t work out? Do they even love? Questions leading to more corollary questions; endless stream of inquiries that will never be answered. Frustrating to say the least, answers always seem to evade those who continually seek it.

The world is big, simple, but never easy to understand. So is man. We should learn to co-exist with everything else. As shadows depend on light, man should stop fantasizing and wake up to the reality that we depend on everything else. We are merely custodians to the artifacts created by a being beyond understanding. Live and let live!


*photo by loi brodeth
*camera by my bebe, bernz bernales

The breeze sends a familiar chill. Christmas is a sneeze away, and the world is now again revolving around a giant Christmas tree. Gift wrappers and alluring promos wreak havoc on pockets and wallets. Christmas carols are now commonplace. Though the carolers are rare these days, the idea of Christmas still remains alit. The melody that never fails to elicit an aura of peace and humanity is immortalized by the people who remain steadfast in the tenet that Christmas is and will always be the most wonderful time of the year.

The one most surprising thing I've met thus far is the sole Christmas decor in our home. I was literally caught flabbergasted, jawdropped, and a smirk popped ephemerally. The reclusive psychedelic ball of mesmerizing light was the eccentric piece that lifted the dormant Christmas spirit in me. It has been years since I saw an ornament hanged in our home, more so a scintillating one. It was a crude contraption, made up of flaps of semi-stubborn plastic. It illuminated our congested terrace. Little streaks of kaleidoscopic light rested on the surface of dusty stocks of old boxes. It illumed by frayed eyes.

I just got home, and the sight I beheld replenished my dried energy. I never really expected someone will put up something of the like inside or outside our home. It was just too Christmasy. I took my phone, click on its camera and started to take a shot; a still moment in the perpetually moving world of blatant bitterness. It was a sweet panorama moving below and in front of it; a novel taste to the once tedious and bland universe that is our home. Christmas has once again touched the dried scales of our abode. It was simply heartwarming; a relief amidst the chilly atmosphere of late December.

Allow me this night to once again be desultory. Although this is more or less in the same context, the year is drawing to a close. The curtain of 2010 is incrementally falling down on the stage. The decade will now be ending, and a new dawn breaks the silent sky. As the stars slowly disappear above the sky, a new light peeping behind the clouds is a beacon of a fresh start. With my batchmates in Psychology about to graduate this March, I will once again be left behind. It's a sad ordeal, but sh*t happens from time to time. All we can ever do is take head on what life throws out you. Whatever fate spoonfeeds you with, the best thing and the only thing that can happen is open your mouth wide enough for it to see that you will not falter, and you will not slow down. In the end, we defecate every bit of it.

I am not getting any younger, and as my age indicates the true face behind the facade of inexplicable youth, I am way passed my pre-pubescent years. Although I have yet captured my true intent and my destined purpose, I am continually in the grueling search of an atrocious ending to my not-so-extraordinary life. I will be graduating in the not-so-far month of October, and that in itself is not ascertained to me. Nothing is certain. It would be an excruciating plight for me to witness my friends receive a piece of paper to certify that they have finished college. In my 23 years living, breathing, and travelling, I have known nothing else but the four walls of bureaucratic education. I have known the heartbreaks of failing, the wretched grins of a not deserved success, and the suppressed joys of a job well done. The pesky murmurs of an assortment of instructors, the sudden evolution of teaching, and the sharp decline of quality, I have been through. I have been here long enough to notice that more and more students are settling for substandard. I have been one with almost every clique, and the years that I lost is coming back to terrorize my focus.

Come March, I will be green with envy. I should have been one of those who'd traverse the platform of half-hearted success. I should have been one of those who'd receive a thin paper that certifies your credibility as a worthy denizen of a third-world nation. I should have been one of those who'd don a toga that symbolizes my worthiness of being called a rational being. But I am not one of those who'd giddily wait for that moment. I am here, and this is exactly where I should be. I could think of many should-have-beens to audaciously stir reality, it is where I am right now that I should be thankful for. For without the mistakes I've made, the lapses I delayed myself with, and the pit holes that served as my own traps, I would not have conceived my own person today.

Take what life throws at you. It may not usually be that appealing, it's going to fit in perfectly. It's not what life gives you, but it's what you take out of what life gives you that matters more than anything. The things you get from it are indispensable. As for me, I might have delayed my journey; I gained a better look at the scenery that is often taken for granted. Life after all, is never only for the quick.

Journey on! We are journeymen in a self-diluted promenade. It's when you learn to strip yourself of harnesses that you realize how breathtaking life is. Grab hold to nothing but a pen, a paper, and an open mind. Life, I believe is continually in motion. And we are gyrating with it or against it.

Happy 5-days-to-go-before-Christmas!

An old cliché goes, “less is more”. With the little who came to the party, the night was no less than the best night within the premises of Cebu. Albeit such claim is a bit bias, I refuse to consider others to be a bar above what we had. I can confidently claim that the PsycNight was a success; and a fun one at that. Cheers to everyone who came, who saw, and who conquered!

Weeks of hellish and grueling preparations; from the trivial to the significant, almost all was covered thoroughly. From inefficacious invitations of fellow Psychology majors, where almost all showed no interest, to foraging the jungle of Psychology talent to fill in the intermission numbers, the weeks before showed no sympathy. From the contemplation of the cheapest, yet commensurate prizes, to the actual procurement within the congested agoras of Lapu-Lapu, the weeks before were laden with intervals of malignant sanity (sometimes you wish you were insane).

December 18, and the day has come. The ever-awaited day has spawned niggling sensations. The morning was set for officers and volunteers to set-up the venue for the actual event. Few came, but less is more. With time gaining pace, the unfinished venue was becoming a pressure cooker. But less is more. With calm minds, we managed to procure what we lacked, and leaped on the deep ravine of fate. We charged towards the unknown, and we geared for a night of fun; fun that only Psychology students know how.

The night, and unbeknownst to all, the nuances of the night were of last minute. Time gained pace, and caught up on us, but we managed to outrun it on the last second. The photowall tarpaulin was printed on the actual day, and it served its purpose and more. It was the star on top of the Christmas tree.

We were set to start at 6:00pm, and being Filipinos as we are, we never actually started on that time. 7:00pm came, and less than 20 were on the venue. Fear crippled us, and we prepared for the worse. Beside ourselves, we hoped for more. And more came. As groups came by the minute, we got relieved, pulled back ourselves and prepared the one thing we aimed to do: share the fun!

7:30pm. The exact time we started. From 6:00pm, up to 7:30pm, we anticipated for a long night. With less than 60 students who came, we got disappointed. But fun does not come in numbers, nor does it sprout when hundreds of feet trembles the wooden floor. Fun comes from those who are willing to share a piece of themselves with everyone else. And what appropriate time for everyone to share a little or a chunk of themselves to others than the season of joy, love, and sharing?

3rd year Psychology students comprised the larger chunk of the statistics, 4th years next (although it’s a bit disappointing on how few came), 2nd year, and 1st year, with only one. It’s quite a sad story, but things don’t always happen the way you wanted it to be. Personally, it was a shock for me when I only saw two 1st years, and the one happened to go home due to an emergency. But the show must go on, and go on it did.

The emcees, Joanne Abejo and Kris Alarin, 3rd year Psychology students, infused a young life into the night that started old. They were a sight to see, a frolic to hear, and a show to behold. No amount of generosity uttered is ever enough for PsycSoc to show its gratitude. With unnerving impromptus and unexpected twists, the two showed everyone on the event how talented the Psychology students are.

The night kicked-off with Jorge Matig-a heading the invocations. It was assigned to him minutes before the incipience. He was followed by our beloved teacher and adviser, Sir Fish with his lucid recall of past experiences; he opened the night with an inspiring thought: fun is essential. School should not suck the life out of you, and you should not let it. And the presence of another teacher, Ms. Velasco, was an energizer. We never expected teachers to come, though we welcome the possibility, and having two of them immersing with us, was a breath of fresh air.

Knoll and company presented their piece first. It loosened the cork, and relaxed the stiffened muscles of tensioned students. Robz and company, could compete with the Jabbawockeez. Pronie and Rebecca, are always a show to anticipate; they never fail to resuscitate the frazzled. Patryz, with her gutsy performance, awed and hastened the circulation of seated audience. And not to forget, Rex and Tom, who relaxed the atmosphere with an acoustic serenade. Mau, together with Pronie, sang an impromptu, but still elicited applauses and praises. Psychology in USC is a jungle of talents.

Mini-game injected intervals of active fun. And with prizes to behold, it was not only entertaining but gratifying. And then the highlight of the night, the Psychobabble happened. It was a first, and hopefully not the last. It was not only informative, but also fun. Rousing the competitive spirits of everyone, those who came formed groups and competed against each other. In the end, the School of Fish, and appropriately at that since Sir Fish was a member of the group, won the contest. Nonetheless, everybody deserves applauses and a salute from the officers.

The night ended as quickly as it came. Weeks of life-sucking preparations ended with a blast of Psychology fun. With the little who came, the amount of laughter and smiles will never be topped with anything else. I do not wish ill to those who did not come, they might have other more important things to tend to, but they surely missed a night poured by the gods with incomparable delight.

Less is more. Less is more. Fun really does not come in sheer numbers, but in sheer willingness to share a piece of ourselves to those who are willing enough to accept it. Merry Christmas and a prosperous new year ahead.

I have been in a plight where it’s as if my GI tract is twisted and contorted into angles once thought impossible; where the only temporary remedy is to proceed to a fetal position. Who knows what is churning up within my stomach? It has been continually grumbling, nagging, and groaning. It would be a breath of petrichor if even for a while it takes time to consider giving me a rest.

Recalling the events which lead to my predicament, I cannot pinpoint one instance. It frustrates me to not know what caused this ailment. As far as my memory is vivid, I remember not having eaten any meal yesterday aside from a heavy dinner. But even before dinner, I felt something sinister lurking inside my entrails. Dire, ominous, and imminent.

I do have one culprit though, the acclaimed C2 tea drink that I imbibed even without a single bite of anything edible. As far as I know, teas are laxatives, and without anything to dispose, my poor old digestive tract got confused. Talk about gullible. And now, I am suffering intermittent contortions, exacerbated by my inability to digest food into its simplest component. I’m hoping I’m over this when I am once again touched by the sun.

Constipated. Life has been throwing darts at me, at random. I’m virtually out of room to maneuver myself, and what little space that is allowed of me, happens to be occupied by other things. I’m dying (this is a metaphor, by the way). Constipated by incessant bombardment of frightful choices, and lose-lose situations, I am traversing a dense thicket of forest where even the canopy is inept at absorbing light. I am walking in darkness. Foraging for sources of subsistence, I die every moment of motion. But the paradox of it all is that the rascal of my slow death is my lifeline. An inexplicable paradox of living and dying.

Love is a paradox. The more you have of it, the more you doubt its credibility. And I do believe that love feeds on doubts. For without you questioning its trueness, you never get to learn how much you need to patch it for it to remain afloat. Love is never enough. Never adequate to keep two souls afloat on the sea of petty cataclysms. It requires a steady amount of effort, of coincidences, and of trust. Trust that amidst the whirling storms you face, land exists.

Love is a constant trifling argument; a cynical outlook for something as wondrous as love. But I’m left with little alternatives. Love has been cruelly generous to me. But I am still passionately in love.

Constipated. Emotionally and physically. All happening to snap me back to awareness that I am alive and I am in love.

It’s Halloween. And to put in the perspective of a Christian, specifically a Filipino one, today is All Saints Day; the day allotted by the Catholic Church to revere the thousands of saints there is. I’d bet my life to who so ever can name every saint the church has canonized. There are the saints, the blessed, and whatever label they put before every name they thought will sanctify those who hoist silver-coated crosses. Enough of these, and let me condescend back to what this entry is all about.

It’s around 4:30, +/- 5 minutes, and I got hungry and decided to buy cheeseburgers. Cheeseburgers here are sold cheaply at 31 pesos, lavishly, you get one for free. I don’t know what they put in their patties, nor am I interested. As long as it’s palatable, it suits me just fine. I ordered for one pair of cheeseburgers, and suddenly an old lady, in here late 60’s or so, asked for something. I was waiting for my change so I could at least give whatever change I have. I did not bring enough, so I could not give her more than her due. I sulked in the corner, watched those who finished buying if they would give something, whatever they have, no matter how small, to that old lady who clamors to keep her sanity. But no one did. I overheard a group, and realized they just visited their dead loved ones. It wasn’t eavesdropping, since their voices out-voiced even the roaring engines. They spoke of pity, of salvation, of religion, of God, but when they were handed out their change of coins, they ignored the old lady who spoke of pity, of salvation, of living. I realized no one was going to give her anything. People are too occupied with practicality and selfish predispositions nowadays that they tend to ignore that lives connect in invisible strands. What you do tends to substantially affect others. And by ignoring a hungry old lady, you make her hungrier. We can’t save everyone, that’s just too idealistic. Even Frazier’s utopia fails to do so. But what we can do is affect those close to us, and no matter how small that action is, it will resonate. I decided to buy 4 cheeseburgers, and gave the old lady two of them.

I’m a conceited simpleton, a selfish moron who knows nothing about austerity. I lavish on what I have as of the moment, and I tend to waste resources on useless nothings. I, at times, steal, to satisfy a fleeting desire. Lie to receive an increase in daily incentive. And persuade, get the sympathy of, just to place myself in a predicament where I do not have to be niggled about everyday hook-ups. Simply put, I’m a human being. Not to smudge a human being’s integrity with malevolent blames, I’m just being blunt. But when I see someone whose plight is something I do not want to be in, I crack. When I see an old lady ask for something she cannot possibly obtain, and I can, I bend. When I see a little kid who sings jingles in moving transportation just to have something to satisfy himself, I empty my pockets for coins and give it to them. When I see pre-pubescent to pubescent children groping their way in jam-packed jeepneys, and start to rap, I smile in awe and reward their efforts. For whatever purpose they have in wanting to have something in order to attain another thing, be it for food, for water, for medicine, or for drugs, they do it to satisfy a need, a want, or a desire. We just can’t stereotypically put them in a category just because they don tattoos, loose shirts, dirty jeans, and worn-out slippers. They do it to satisfy themselves; how does that make them different from us? I’m going to cut to the chase; people die from our apathy, from us not caring, from us thinking that ends do not justify means. Just because we lie, we steal, we cheat does not make us apathetic and selfish. Let’s forget the titular incentive of Saint. As long as we breathe air, we can make a difference, and apathy will not bring us there. Sometimes, if you look at other perspectives, the end far outweighs the means. I’m not promoting lying, stealing, or cheating. Those are just verbs that are holding us back (at least I’m speaking on my own behalf). What I’m promoting is we take action. In our own little, secret ways, we give a hungry person a chance at life. In our own contrivance with the invisible world, we offer an addict an option. In our own deliberate conviction, we refuse becoming one of the apathetic. We care, and sometimes, that is exactly what’s holding us back.

Recent statistics show that 925 million people do not have enough to eat. And in 5…4…3…2…1…A child just died from hunger, just because some of us thinks that helping a vagabond would directly predict their becoming dependent from beggarship. We think just because we offer to give some coins, we give these people fishes instead of trying to teach them how to fish. Perhaps we might want to wake up. These beggars, more often than not, do their beggar things in cities where nobody (I’m quite sure) knows how to fish. Sarcasm aside and moving on, we think that because we put them in a situation where they can depend on people who feed their mendicancy, they refuse to look for jobs that might sustain their subsistence. Perhaps (again) we might want to wake up. They cannot land jobs! They’re too, for lack of an inspiring term, beggar. What they do relies solely on what they are capable of giving, which is corporately and industrially nothing. They cannot find jobs because no one will give them one. Now where is the humanity in trying to legitimize our claim that by giving something to them will ultimately lead them to depend on us? Where is the rationality in trying to justify our own indifference with such inhumane claim? Where is the humaneness in not wanting someone to become dependent to us? Where did all those church teachings in helping go? Questions we tend to ponder often, but refuse to heed just because we care too much we tend to forget that IT IS NOT ENOUGH.

We depend on something. Humans depend on air, on food, and nowadays, on money. Little kids depend on their parents for care. College students depend on their parents for money, for attention, and for understanding. Adults depend on loved one for sanity. How are these people, who die a slow death from hunger, different from anybody else? Just because they do not own branded clothes, just because they walk miles and their feet coated in dust, just because they ask those who can afford, does not make them less of a human being. They can die of hunger, just like you, just like me. They can die because nobody can act on the care they feel when they see one. They die just because we refuse to go beyond ourselves. Now I say screw those beliefs that we are not helping them when we offer something to them. Throw those beliefs that we are doing more harm than more good when we give our spare change to them. Our means may seem unjustifiable, but the ends render those irrelevant. Nail justice on a cross. Society has been preaching it, but you see injustice wherever, whenever. What else can we do to those who suffered the sharp end of injustice than an act of injustice itself? Let’s stop pretending that we don’t care. We do. Let’s stop wearing a façade of toughness, because every 5 seconds, a child dies. Let’s stop the entire pretense that we are fortunate, for we never are and never will be. For as long as we live and many others die, we lose a part of ourselves. For as long as we breathe air, we breathe the essence of those who died because of our inaction. For every time we stop to think that we care, someone is slowly dying. Let us not stop in thinking that we care. We care for a reason, and that is because we know we can do something. In the littlest of the ways we know how, we nudge the seemingly immovable paperweight of apathy. Little by little we can make a difference; one good deed for one person at a time.

And as you read this, 86 children just died from hunger. There are so many things we can do to prevent another one from dying and starting in our community is advisably the starting point, specifically those who ask us in the daily walks of our lives. How can we possibly miss those people? They’re there, trying to catch our attention, and just because we are too embarrassed to help them, we leave one biting our dust. One good deed at a time; make sure we etch that permanently into our brains. And by the way, another 5 children just died. Stop the bleeding! Don’t stop to just caring. One good deed does make a difference. Make sure you refuse to become infected with the resilient apathy. (Another 2 just died).

I don’t have the obstinacy to get out of bed. The weather’s too perfect, and this day’s too special. I have so many things in mind that I wanted to put in here, but the moment’s too surreal for me to let it pass by. I would have written a passage of my ordinary travels, of my subjective experiences, but this day is more than ordinary. I decided to place some of those passages in the cupboards, and put it on my pending list. Ironically though, no matter how special this day is, I just don’t know how to put it in words. I can’t seem to string the appropriate words to describe this day. Perhaps, I should stop trying to describe it and just go with the first thing that comes to my mind. And the first thing is a letter. Perhaps, and rightfully so, I should make one. Here it goes:


Dear you,

It’s the 25th of October, and you know what it means. We have again reached another chapter in our lives together. I dare not say it was a calm breeze; it was more like a flux of unpredictable storms and sunny days, and breezes and gales, and everything in between. I took the toll, but I held on knowing that everything is worth it. You are all worth it. We had our ups and downs, as like everyone else. We had our twists, our turns, and our dull moments. We had our misunderstandings, and plenty of those. We had our petty quarrels on trivial things. We had our inevitable clashes of pride. Our searching for a common ground, and got disappointed finding out there’s none. Our fierce battles on who is right. We had our many things within the span of 7 months. We thought of giving up. We tried letting go. We decided to walk away. But there’s something that kept us together; an invisible glue that bounded us, hopefully for life. Something always pulls us back together when we gave up, when we let go, when we walked away; a force beyond the both of us. And amidst our regular battles, amidst us thinking that we have had enough, deep inside we know we can still handle more. Deep in our heart of hearts, we know nothing’s going to make us falter; nothing’s going to break us. And we’ve gotten stronger. So much that it broke every expectation of ours.

And now we are on our 7th month, and even if there are still those petty quarrels, those misunderstandings, those clashes of pride, we still have each other. I’m still up for more. I’m still looking forward to more petty quarrels because I know they are just going to sharpen us. I’m still anticipating misunderstandings because I know we’re never going to understand everything about each other. I’m still waiting for our clashes of pride because I know we have plenty of those, but what we have is more than pride, more than anything else. I’m still here with you. The only thing that changed from before is that we no longer thought of giving up, we no longer tried letting go, and we no longer entertain the thought of walking away. We’ve grown, and we know that a solution that considers us breaking apart is a solution not worthy of grabbing. It is when we are together that we are the strongest. It is when we have each other that we know we’re indefatigable. But I know we are far from being indestructible. For if we are, the fun of uncertainty withers. We don’t know what lies ahead of us. We don’t know what we will be up against. And certainly we don’t know if we’d end up together. Everything is uncertain. And from that we imbibe strength. Everything is “we don’t knows”. Everything is “what if’s”. And from that we know we have a choice. Knowing nothing is certain, we steadfastly fight for each other.

If there is one thing I’ve learned from this journey, it is that I refuse to go on without you. I will not sycophantly say that I cannot live without you, for I have. I have years behind me without you. But having lived short moments with you, having spent wonderful times with you, I refuse to ever go on without you. With every bit of what I have, I’ll fight for you. And I will never be jaded of fighting for you.

Happy 3rd (7th) monthsary my only Bernz. We may have reached this milestone, but still nothing is ever assured of us. But one thing I can be certain about is that I will continue to fight for us, I will hold on, and that I will be yours until you decide you no longer want me. What lies ahead of us may be ominous, but what we have at this point in time is more worthy of attention than anything else. I love you, and words are not commensurate. It goes beyond what I can say, what I can write. I fear sometimes that I could no longer express what I truly feel, not because I don’t know what it is, but because it’s no longer enough. Just allow me to say it in its unadulterated form, I love you. I’m looking forward to more moments with you. I’m yours until. ♥

Indefatigably loving,
Vergie