How I never met Rey Mysterio

This is basically the only angle that I had of Rey during the entire event.

What psyched me up the entire week was the news that Rey Mysterio was coming here to the Philippines for a meet-and-greet. The vow that I will never miss that for the world blinkered profusely in all parts of my mind, "never again", it seemed to say. So I went to Trinoma yesterday to catch that. I even attempted creating a Rey Mysterio mask, hoping that I could still be eligible to enter the contest, which a certain television network concocted to form a VIP legion. But then I had to discard that option due to the lack of time.

A little obscure fact: the first wrestling match I ever watched was that of Rey Mysterio against The Big Show. Rey won, in case you are wondering - even though I rooted for Show. So, yep, it was a rather big deal that Rey was going to come. VIP or not, I just have to be there. Maybe he'd sign my magazine! - the one with him on the cover, Holiday 2010. So I brought that along.

Hm. Contrary to their usual tradition, Studio 23 didn't chop up this episode. Interesting.

Upon my arrival, circles of inquisitive people were already closing around on all floor levels of the mall, huddled to witness the event at the activity center, in which a replay of RAW's 1000th episode was being displayed. And who would I find in the VIP section but... kids? Kids! Little kids, who, I bet, do not even watch wrestling or did not watch it until last year when CM Punk made it big again. A swarm of spoiled, rich kiddies whose parents happen to be well-connected with the media! While there I was, outside the barricade, shunned out of Rey's sight, when it was me who have been watching wrestling for eight years - at least half of my life - even before the VIP kids became sperms in their father's testicles!

Since I was way behind the stage, I never in actuality got to see Rey the entire time he was taking pictures with those spoiled brats. Instead, I was screaming "Rey! Rey! I love you, Rey!" at the top of my lungs like some psychomaniac freak. Yet, as soon as I said those, LEGIT tears formed in the corners of my eyes - all the things that I have ever wanted to say, summed up in a ball of words that furiously rolled towards open space, as I hoped - I really hoped - that he would hear them and notice. Of course, he never did. I was drowned out by the noises, the Booyaka Booyaka 619 profusely playing as the meet-and-greet ensued for what seemed like ages. I only caught glimpses of him as the event was about to close. And, by that time, I, along with my fellow "nobody's"/"non-VIP's"/"peeps without connections" were shouting our support for Rey-Rey, hoping that he'd just look behind him for once. And in fact, he did just that.

Nganga.

Sad, isn't it? That he never got to sign my WWE Magazine or that he never got to slap the skin of my hand were not the bad parts of it. It was that feeling of self-loathing that came to me after he had turned around just to see us that broke my heart the most. I've been meaning to understand the sequence of events on my way home. Why I felt so sad. And, in fact, I think I got it already. Was it because there was no such kind of redemption? A smile, a wave, anything? Perhaps I was just tired.

I can also play the blame game. And, believe me, if you know me at all, I am not one who would play this game for the world. But yes, I think it rather puts off the stress when I try. I blame the event organizers and their sucky arrangements. I blame the fucked-up security guards who insisted on blocking our view of Rey, just so they could, more or less, get their fifteen seconds of fame when the cameras arrived. And because of this act of vanity at katangahan (no other words to top this, I couldn't emphasize better), some fans outside the barricade, actually got past the railing squeaky clean! And these same security guards have the audacity to be angry when that happened? Ha! Unless my theory that the VIP's bribing the event organizers is true, as far as I am concerned, those suckers never paid a dime to get in! The resignation was a matter of luck via online registration, that's all.

So yes, now I also blame the rich spoiled brats who have powerful daddies in or within connection to the networks, even that sumbitch who presented the plate of adobo. The nerve of some of them sporting a Daniel Bryan/CM Punk shirt, which were only either purchased abroad or online for a high price. Those bitches. And they were chanting D-Bry's "Yes! Yes! Yes!" for NO apparent reason at  all WATTAFUCKISUPWITAT?! And to stand on seats AS THOUGH THEY WERE NOT CLOSE ENOUGH TO REY ALREADY! What an insult!

Take notice of the guy with the hat who is about to block our view  - again.

This event doesn't change my view on the man that Rey Mysterio is. I will forever like that guy. I will forever love the company he works for. Yet, it was a sad day, no doubt about that. I was so close yet so far. Soooo close. Too close. I could have studied for my midterms exam but didn't out of love and respect. Yet, I don't feel as though it was worth it. Not one bit. I had a circle of emotions on my way home, even now as I write this, but the ones that sink down most painfully are self-deprecation and dislike for everyone in that event - bliss being out of the picture.

Suppose I get lucky next time. I'll earn money and buy tickets. Then I'll come back for everything.

Maybe then, I wouldn't cry in the FX going home.

Nagpaganda pa si Ate...

Yet, from the get-go... consider this event a failure. All my hate.

Salamat, Tito Dolphy

This entry is long due.

I have been so caught up with schoolwork that I never get to write about the important aspects of this part of the world - the ones that make me think and interpret, at least. The ones that make me understand. I feel so much heartache, sadness looming over my very existence, pouring down "like hail, sleet, and rain". I am a nobody, yet I am burdened with grief over his loss.

--------------

Minsan ding umikot ang aking kabataan sa Home Along Da Riles, isang family sitcom na nakaladlad gabi-gabi sa mga telebisyon ng aming subdibisyon. Dito ko nakilala ang Comedy King na si Dolphy. Maraming parangal sa kanya ang sambayanan: mapagkumbaba, maaruga, at siyempre, nakakatawa. Kaya naman, pagkatapos ng episode ng MMK kung saan siya huling gumanap, hindi ko na magawang makinig pa sa mga papuri. Masakit.

Namaalam si Tito Dolphy, dalawang linggo na ang nakalilipas. Martes ng gabi, 8:34. Malakas ang buhos ng ulan. Noong mga sandaling iyon, pabalik na ako sa dormitoryo galing sa isa sa mga pinakamasasayang pangyayari sa buhay ko.

--------------

Salamat Sir Rodolfo Vera Quizon, Sr. Mamamayagpag pa rin ang animnapung dekadang legasiya. Ikinalulugod kita. At habang nagluluksa ang sambayanang Pilipino ngayong araw na ito, mapayapang paglisan sa iyo. Siguradong mapangingiti mo rin ang mga tauhang makasasalubong mo riyan.

Huli ka na para sa kaarawan mo. Maligayang 85th, gayunpaman.

Isang pasasalamat, sandaang pagpugay
Lungkot sa paglisan ng makulay na buhay
Hari ng comedya, hari ng comedya
Ngunit lahat'y bahagyang pinaiyak niya
Panahaong lumipas tila walang hanggan
Animnapu't dekadang di alam kailan hanggang
Ngumiti ng lubos sa gitna na lungkot
Kahilingang walang malisya't poot
Sa 'yong pagpanaw dala mo ang alamat
Nang sambayanang luhang sa'yo'y pasasalamat
Pasensiya na't pighati'y hindi na natapos
Hiling mong ngiti'y hind na dumaos
Hari ng pag-ibig, hari ng pag-ibig
Mga halakhakan mula sa iyong bibig
Sa panaginip nalang, sa alaala nalang
Mananatiling buhay ang iyong nilalang

Art exhibit #1: Mysterious Diseases - Igan D'Bayan

It is a Tuesday evening at a bar on Guijo Street. My curfew blinks intensely in my subconscious as the night progresses, recapping that I am a fingertip closer to getting ejected from my lodging. Yet, I find myself in SaGuijo Café+Bar, romanced by its vintage Filipino rock n’ roll motif, enamoured by the different world it altogether holds upstairs.

Here lies a grotesque display of the vilely entrancing unknown. Aptly called “Mysterious Diseases”, it is summoned from the mind of a self-professed “nobody; a drunk and lonely painter”. Anchored by the belief that it is the mystery that endures rather than the explanation, he greets the Beloved Customer with handcrafted dermatologically sick faces repeatedly tinted with oil, zombie Nazis straight out from horror films, stolen X-rays, and perverted secrets and illnesses.

Evidently, only Igan D’Bayan can play mastermind to this latest stretch of artistic curiosity.

Although learned in the field of visual arts, Igan admits that, for better or for worse, he has never taken an art lesson in his life. It is through literature, rock music, conversations with artist friends, and David Lynch’s Dadaism that he was prompted to paint on his own will. Hence, tonight, we see him with his usual craft: putting oil on canvass, with a few tricks up his beret.

His idea is to see in the world of art a niche for ugliness, and not just beauty. The diabolical and the disturbing can, in fact, become oracular. When we least expect it to, fear jolts us wide awake, causing an intricate vortex that distorts our perception of reality. It is inarguable that one is capable of taking extreme measures to avoid that anxiety. We take the case of Dorian Gray whose fear of ageing prompted him to sell his soul in order to keep his youth. In “Portrait of the Artist as a Zombie (Dorian Gray 2012)”, Igan D’Bayan depicted himself as a modern version of the sick soul that was trapped the infamous Basil Hallward painting.

More often than not, we get the most fear out of history and watching horror films. Inspired by the movie of the same title, “Dead Snow” introduces us to a Nazi colonel, who, some fifty years ago, fled from a village’s uprising, never to be see again. Now, not only has he returned, but he has also brought the entire troop with him. So, what is scarier than a band of Nazis coming to take over an entire nation? A band of zombie Nazis with the same mission.

Nightmares do not necessarily point the paranormal. Some fears are too eerie or too weird to even mention. These are the hardest to deal with because they are suppressed within our core, mummed by rationality. Igan’s idea is to map out the inexpressible. “Porky’s Revenge” depicts the story of an animal that tore off his own skin to make it into the likeness of cloth, only to later find out that he has been devouring his own body all along.

Free drinks!

Distortedly complemented with a mysterious disease, this picture presents an illness that crawls deep under the skin, triggered by one’s past and the terrors that accompany it. “Our Lady of Thistles” is the portrait of Thistle Guevarra, who relates to the artist her childhood fears and apprehensions, which were elicited by a parent’s bizarre occupation. A close observation will show that the lady in this picture is clothed with a number of sharp-toothed, omnivorous fishes that are found in the South American waters – the very same fish that the muse’s father used to tend when the former was a mere child. Another observation will testify that the painting seems to be alive: the eyes follow you, never letting you out of her sight. Consider her as a dark angel?

Then there is the ugliness within; the nonexistent cyst that we feel growing in our core. This may perhaps be the tragedy of human life, humans who were, in fact, born with goodness. And, it is only a matter of time before we are all found out. This is where Igan brings in the modern method of acrylic painting: with the use of “pilfered” X-rays and ultraviolet lights, which is the mode applied to the “X Rated Series”.

The introductory art ominously stands by the far corner of the gallery. It is a towering 76x23x23 sculpture called, “Why am I not a Sculpture No. 1 (Black Sabbath)”. Created out of fiberglass and steel, the daunting figure seemed to have had its heart ripped out of its cage. On the other hand, the closing art is propped atop a coffee table. “Why am I not a Sculpture No. 2 (Pink Floyd)”, is a brilliant sculpture made out of bone, resin, and wood. The two might as well force-feed the viewer the realities of human life: that after death, the mysterious diseases will not entirely evaporate. We will become the ugly ashen bones that we are so terrified of.

The thing about an art gallery by Igan D’Bayan is that every piece in the collection is an intrigue. Every detail has a subliminal story that the mind cannot help lingering on. At the end of the day, it is the spectators’ response that makes the affair an utter success. Whether it is a nod of approval or a horrified gasp (“Ano ba ‘yan?!”), isn’t it elating to know that there was an authentic reaction? That is what’s fascinating about the grotesque and the unknown: it grabs you by the scruff of your shirt.

Photo with Igan

Some cool souvenirs

Igan D’Bayan calls his art a “wellspring of despair”, “one strange experiment in itself”. I don’t believe that we all have the same interpretation of these mysterious diseases. The artist has done his part, and it is a job well done. So now, what about our train of thought? The rules are simple: that we let the characters rule the roast. That we let the objectless ones wet the paintings. That we let the auction stars do it for the slaughterhouse of king currency. And that we let the lonely drunken painter “paint and repaint, paint and repent”.

It was an exhibit that made me think.

On the Spratlys issue: a youth's perspective

Whether we lack the time or whether we have too much of it, we, as youths, can only do so much regarding the Spratlys issue. We deceive ourselves into thinking that the youth is blind to the nation's blemishes because of the fact that our willpower can only bring us so far. In school, we are taught the things that we, as tomorrow's future, can do to make the country (if not, the world) a better place. Yet, when we look around, the very adults that take us under their wings to educate us cannot do anything about the affairs themselves. Very soon, we will reach their stage of life. And, fleetingly, we are becoming like them.

More than ever, our country is being plagued with massive, incoherent issues. Whether we, as youths, choose to ignore them or not, our subconscious train of thought still possesses valuable ideas that can in fact “make a difference”. A major current issue is the dispute over the Spratlys, in which the Philippines is one of the countries laying claim over the islands. Obviously, it would be impossibly foolish to mix ourselves up with the heat among the conflicting countries. Our options to pave way for small changes need to be nationally relevant, yet at the same time, they have to be sound and practical.

My stand on this issue is resolution through the use of ink, which a great hero once did to inflict tabooed knowledge to his fellow Filipinos. Throughout my scholastic career, I have been made aware of my country's past and current issues, and have been furthermore asked to write reflections; a say regarding the subject at hand. These “paper works”, often viewed by most youths as merely assignments, may in fact be vital for our country's development. Once they are read and digested by the majority, these fresh opinions become significant to the coalescence of new and old insights. There are publications that allow us to do such. One is The Philippine Daily Inquirer, which offers Youngblood, a column profoundly dedicated to the youth and their stand regarding current global issues. This section distinctly recognizes national concerns – seen through the eyes of the youth. To each his own opinion, every voice matters, no censorship or anything of the like: it's not difficult to contribute.

For the Spratlys issue, it is also wholesome for us youths to support the Philippine navy, which not only plays a most vital role in protecting our oceanic territories, but also puts on the line the lives of its men, guarding the most harrowing coastal areas to ensure a nation's safety. It's sad to think that they're doing all those things for a whole that do not completely recognize them or their sacrifices. A little “thank you” never hurts. Considering that we, the youths, have the most direct access to and the more voracious knowledge of the social media, it is relatively easy for us to potently spread our gratitude. Facebook, Twitter, and blogs are some of the mediums that can aid us in our campaign of supporting the Philippine navy and distinguishing their mission as “Guardians of the Philippine Sea”.

We Filipino youths must maintain proof that to end disputes, we do not need arms or brutality – an idea that is actually possible. Words don't need to hurt. A war does not deem a nation victorious, but rather, devastates an entire world. There is no harmony in these undertakings. The Philippines is not big enough for China, let alone the Chinese military. Once a nation so flourished, ours is now viewed by most as a dependent third-world country that is too small to thrive and make claims on important resources. And unless something is done to make the tables turn around, we will continue passing on this sad fact to the next batch of youths. Ever wondered if that sought-after impact will come from our generation? I'll be keeping my fingers crossed.

Buhay boarder - food exposé

Kapag nangungupahan ka sa dorm, tight ang budget mo. At, kahit bihirang gutumin ang mga boarders, sa ayaw o sa gusto mo, more often than not, 3/4 ng budget mo ay mapupunta sa pagkain. Napag-obserbahan ko kamakailan lang na dahil sa ganitong pamumuhay, marami akong nasusubok na pagkain at makakainan. Ito lamang ang ilan:

Kung mayroong tinatawag na SEx ang Benilde, well, the kolehiyo proudly presents BTS o ang Better than Sex. Ito ang naging umagahan ko isang araw nang madaan ako sa Page 1620. Mabigat sa tiyan; hindi ko nirerekomenda na gawing almusal. Ngunit masarap ito.

Tanghalian ang pinakamasaya. Hindi napupuno ang cafeteria. At nakatutuwang bumili ng mga pagkaing hindi mo alam ang pangalan.

Snacktime! Gusto mo ng mura? Ayan, mamon ng 7-11. 

TRIVIA: Alam niyo ba na kapag nasa España ka (iyong bansa, ha!), bastos ang tingin sa'yo ng mga Español kapag tinukoy mo ang tinapay na ito bilang "mamon"? Sa kanila, "magdalenas" ang tawag dito. At ang "mamon" ay isang bulgar na salita para sa 'b00bs'.

Nagsasara ang cafeteria ng kolehiyo bago mag-5:00 ng hapon. Kawawa naman ang mga umuuwi ng 5:30, gaya ko. Walang take-out na hapunan. Alternibo? Kumain sa mga eatery. Marami riyan. Maraming mura. Ito ang corned tuna with egg meal.

Baka gusto mo ng dessert. Hindi iyan praktikal kapag buhay boarder ka na. Pero masaya kapag nag-OJT sa States ang dormies mo kasi may libre kang tsokolate. He he.

MAHUSAY NA UNWANTED ADVICE: Para mas masarap, lagyan mo ng korte at kainin nang pa-isa-isa. Gaya nito. Hawig ba ni Totodile? :>

At, last but definitely not the least, siguraduhing laging may supply ng pagkain sa taas ng dresser dahil bihirang malaman kung kailan aatakihin ng gutom. 

Pero, syempre, sa lahat ng pagkain sa Manila, walang tatalo sa McDo - Quezon City, SM Fairview, most preferably!

At dito na nagtatapos ang ating unang food exposé!

Kainan na naman!

Mula sa history books: sabayang pagbigkas ng Barangay Mabini

Dahil bukas nakatakda ang Intramuros walk ng kolehiyo, nagkaroon ako ng galimgim para sa hayskul. Malimit kong naalala ngayong araw na ito ang aming sabayang pagbigkas noong isang taon na talaga namang nilupig ng aking pangkat: ang bibong-bibong Senior-Barangay Mabini, na hindi namang inakalang magwawagi. Kami rin ang nagrepresenta sa lahat ng Seniors para sa celebrasyon ng Linggo ng Wika sa aming paaralan. Nanalo din kami doon, kaya naman proud ako sa Barangay Mabini. Unang beses kong mawala sa pinakamataas na pangkat ngunit napunta naman ako sa pinakamagaling na pangkat. Naks!

Ipinagmamalaki ko ang mga taong iyan.

On good citizenship

I have since shunned away the significance of recognizing my nationality, which may have been brought about by the powerful Western influence, or the sheer distaste over my country's issues and its overreacting, bonehead media.

Some days ago, upon hearing the words that were mindlessly inculcated in me when I was a decadent child, “Maka-Diyos, makatao, makakalikasan, at makabansa”, I have again reflected upon being a Filipino. I was anchored by the reality that most of my outlooks in life remain as that of a Filipina, who aims to defend her nation, to know the law, to contribute to the country's development, to gain a lawful job, and in a year, to elect rightful people to government. Little by little, I am building up my Amor Patria – that “pambansang dangal” that I have since disregarded.

I am glad to relate that I, a pure Filipino youth by blood and belief, is an asset to the growing populace of my country. For better or for worse, I am, as you might say, “a cornerstone” that will help build this nation.

Things that I miss

Because of its nonexistent air time in my country and because of my option to stay at a dorm, I have been missing RAW and SmackDown! a whole lot. So I went to check out what has been going on in the Universe and this commercial greeted me at the WWE homepage. I found it rather amusing. I wish I can have the time to see more of this.

Here are other videos that put a smile on my face today:

current mood: rushed

Buhay boarder - ang nawawalang kabanata

Gusto ko lamang ibahagi ang bagay-bagay na nangyari dahil sa pangungupahan ko sa dorm. So far, ito.

Walking distance lang ang dorm sa kolehiyo. Ngunit kung tinatamad kang maglakad, mag-pedicab ka!

Dahil walang TV at computer, camera ang trip.

Buti nalang may laptop ang roomies. Nood muna ng American Pie!

The view outside my dorm window looks like the McManus brothers' neighborhood in The Boondock Saints.

Ito ang "sala" namin.

At the end of the day, pag-aaral lang ang iyong magagawa.

The first time ever I saw your face

For my Hum1 assignment, I created this mosaic made entirely out of plastic strips. I call it "Big Eyes" after the Bouncing Souls song, which lyrics seem apt to me more than ever. I view this art as an expression of confusion, uncertainty; dubiousness. I had initially thought that coming to Manila everyday would suit my fancy, yet what I have perceived has not satiated my expectations. What I have witnessed so far has left me sad, even a little angry.

This is the first time in my life that I've had a liking for someone so much so that I can call him my "inspiration". I used to disregard that kind of crap, for I simply never believed in it. But here is this guy who is living proof that an infatuation can actually lead to motivation. For some days now, I've been finding myself striving to do well in class because of his genius, which, for the most part, has surpassed our professors' demands. Relatively, the guy is, well, brilliant.

It is sad for me to realize that that feeling of inspiration has expired today because I lost. No chance in hell. I am not envious, never. But I feel dejected for losing that drive. For being keenly interested, but for being indifferent now. For not being able to summon any other sensible topic to write about other than this. I feel silly thinking about it. A month has barely passed after all.

Today, I lost an inspiration, not to someone, as I like to believe it. But I lost it only to myself, whose perspective sporadically and drastically alters. No harm in that.

Feelings suck.

You left home for the first time when you were seventeen

Searching for a life, beginning a new dream

Drove the car all night to learn your way around

Feeling so alone in the parking lot downtown

You had your love to give, so much life to live

Hey little girl, don't look so sad

It's not the end of the world

Seen this film before

Already know the ending

Some of the faces change, but the plot it stays the same

Take my hand

Let's walk away

What did those big eyes see

A world where nothing's free

Your innocent beauty, slipping quietly

With every turn you found no one to understand

Why would you feel so down, no one to really see

What a woman you could be

Hey little girl, don't look so sad

It's not the end of the world

Seen this film before

Already know the ending

Some of the faces change, but the plot it stays the same

You gave your heart

Every moment when no one can

They made you small

They couldn't make you fall

Hey little girl

Hey, hey little girl

Hey little girl

Hey little girl, don't look so sad

It's not the end of the world

Seen this film before

Already know the ending

Some of the faces change, but the plot it stays the same

So take my hand

Take my hand

So take my hand

Let's walk away

Buhay boarder - prologue

Nakakubli sa sulok ng dormitoryo, nagsusulat. Pawang nalulungkot na naiinis. Maganda sana ang espasyo kung hindi lamang madaling bumaha ang banyo. Ganito ang buhay boarder.

Katatapos ko lang mag-aral, ngunit pakiramdam ko'y hindi naman ako nabusog sa impormasyon na ipinilit kong isiksik sa isipan ko.

Nais kong yumakap at mag-"good night" pero hindi ko ito magawa. Nais kong lumabas at tignan kung naririto rin ba ang mga mukhang aking hinahanaphanap.

Nararamdaman kong magiging mahaba ang linggong ito.