Sa wakas: The Killers live in Manila

The Killers have created such a significant impact in my life. I can't even begin to explain my love - you just can never go wrong with them. Their music attributes the right words that cater to one's emotions, narrowing down all feelings into a harmony, into a network of sounds that invade the ears, reverberating into the soul. I can distinctly remember going into particular day, and getting off at a bad start. Nerves were all over the place. Anxiety at its worst. It was a long drive to Manila, and I was scared. But in my ears, I was hearing the hypnotic drawl of synthesizers: "Everything will be all right". I was hooked headfirst into the mantra, and for a while after that, everything else did seem to work into cohesion. Summer '12 was all about Brandon Flowers' Flamingo, which always says something different to me whenever I put it on. But most recent is the series of flashbulb memories of last school year's remainder that surface every time a Battle Born track comes on. Battle Born, to me, is a life's theme; a manifestation of my life away from home, feeding on fast food, taking shelter next to the slums, trying to push through with goals that I wanted to deserve. It runs deep like that. So, The Killers live in Manila. I had to be there.

Where are all the people?!

I'm not going to lie: I had my uncertainties. Truth be told, on the morning of September 26, I told myself that I was not going to the Killers concert. Imagine telling that to yourself after a lifetime of waiting. I had my reasons: I had zero sleep the night before, working on my En 12 paper, which I didn't get to finish even then. Plus, I had six papers due the following week. Plus, there is the issue of money, and the fact that I was running out of it. I had everything lined up in my schedule that there simply was no room for anything else.

And after fighting back sleep in Ma 1, I was going home to call it a day - when I had an epiphany: Where's the fun in all this? Did I really sign up for a semester of pure superego? Do I intend to do that for the rest of my academic career? After consulting with people (i.e., Arnold, who is all id as far as Sigmund Freud is concerned), I finally decided that I was going to do it. I was going to see The Killers live at Smart Araneta. Fuck sleep - I can sleep when I'm dead. Hashtag yolo! So, after class, I called Bet up, marched to the coliseum, and to the best of our abilities, pulled off two gen ads. And, because we got in early, we had the privilege of sitting directly behind the barricade, directly in front of the stage, which was actually not bad - save for the fact that we were also directly under the air conditioner, freezing our asses off.



Sandwich opened. I don't follow their music, but god, I swear, that first song was love. I have no idea what it's called, but it exemplified just what I was feeling at that moment: the surreality of actually going towards postconventions to live my life as I had imagined it. To see The Killers because I can. I value that moment now along with that song.

I see them slowly trickling in

Bet and I were already frozen solid by the time The Killers came on. But when they did, the arena exploded with Mr. Brightside all over the place, the Battle Born album cover on the background, the lightning-shaped microphone stand unveiled, and the strobe lights blasting across the ceiling reaching towards me. Then after that, Brandon spoke: "Mabuhay! Sa wakas! The Killers are finally here! Thank you for never giving up on us". And soon enough, I was back in my wild concert antics, jumping up and down, screaming towards the collapse of my lungs. Things got so intense that I had to remove my sweater. Hell, I could have jumped over the railing if the guard was not on watch. You know it.

See that lightning bolt? That's the mic stand!

Brandon said a lot of other Tagalog words, too. Among them were, "Maka-Diyos, maka-tao, at maka-bansa". And the fact that they bring a little piece of the Philippines with them in the person of a particular guitarist who is from Pampanga - that was nice. There also was an encore, which concluded with When You Were Young, a personal request from the audience! Yep, apparently, The Killers were "taking requests" that night.



It was fantastic towards the end. It's one of those moments that kind of get you down once its over. I certainly could not get over it. By the time it was done, Bet and I were still hung-over that we couldn't allow the moment to pass without a souvenir. Ronnie threw his drumsticks to the mosh pit. I saw the lucky girl emerge from the arena. I had to get a souvenir as well!

Bet and I rushed to the gates where the VIP's are admitted. Last time we attempted to enter that part, we were shooed away by the rather rude security. This time, I politely asked the lady guard if she knew where we could buy merch. She let us in. And, damn those people! Too many people in a small t-shirt booth. I was among those playing hunger games for the price of a shirt! Lots of pulling and shoving - until I finally reach the front of the line.

Only one t-shirt left.

"Ate, magkano 'to?"

"1, 100." No shit? For a shirt?

And here's the deal: I could have stolen it. In fact, I seriously considered it. There were too many people. The lady manning the booth was not looking; in fact I think that she didn't think that I was serious that I wanted to buy. There were no security alarms. I don't even think there were cameras. I was there, clutching the shirt in my hands, 85% sure that I was going to make a run for it.

Morals got the best of me. In the end, I put the money on the counter. My conscience assured me that I was doing the right thing. Besides, the guards will probably look for a receipt.

Then, the lady looks at me, bewildered - for reasons unknown (pun intended) - then pockets the money without even acknowledging my purchase. That. Was. It. WTF? I could have stolen the shirt!!!

Ha ha ha! No, I'm glad I didn't. That's not me.

But seriously I should have.

Just kidding again.



I am proud to say that I was among those guys who went out of my way on a Thursday night because I knew that I was going to see The Killers. Went home by myself afterwards. Something tells me that Bet and I are becoming quite the concert experts. I love it.

The best. Next time, I'll be on that mosh pit.

Fall Out Boy live in Manila: Save Rock and Roll

Blood brothers in desperation
An oath of silence
For the voice of our generation
How'd it get to be only me?
Like I'm the last damn kid still kicking
That still believes
I will defend the faith
Going down swinging
I will save the songs
That we can't stop singing

- Fall Out Boy (Save Rock and Roll)

I wouldn't want to ply on how, as a kid back in 2007, I cried not getting to attend either one of the two Manila concerts that Fall Out Boy pulled off (it was a long story that involved a mosquito and a hospital). I don't want to even weed out feelings of disappointment when they returned two years after and I was too broke and too busy to even consider attending. Then, I wouldn't want to purge out all hidden frustrations that surrounded me upon learning that there wasn't going to be any Fall Out Boy anymore, especially when I realized that I haven't been (and might possibly never be) to any of their concerts.



Four years later. Save Rock and Roll tour. Smart Araneta. No way am I going to miss this one. The Fates, though, I had felt, had worked against me from the time I bought the tickets, when the woman at the counter claimed that the machine could not seem to process my request. I was forced by school work to sleep for only two hours the night before the concert. And, I even went to Trinoma to see all four members "close up", but was caught up in such a grueling traffic that rooted from Philcoa, forcing me to get down from the jeepney and run across the road instead. It was 3 PM - I was an hour too late. No more people, no more CD's, no more media, not even a tuff of Joe's hair in sight. I was distraught.



Which, ultimately led me and Bet as early as 4 PM to the general admission gates of Smart Araneta. Then we basically bitched about the heat and brayed about how exciting it was to raise passers' eyebrows whenever they see the length of the line that was gradually getting longer.



Representatives from music retail stores were selling us (early birdies) SIGNED SAVE ROCK AND ROLL CD'S. Bet and I were initially going to let it pass - you see, we were hoping for merch, which after a while, we dismissed as a stupid thing to have as compared to owning a SIGNED Fall Out Boy CD. What made it more arousing was the fact that I actually didn't have the Save Rock and Roll CD, nor had I listened to it yet. I just needed to have one!



It was the best thing that happened to my life. Call it some act of Divinity: a miracle or some deux ex machina, for it certainly felt like all those things.



Typecast opened for FOB, during which a lot of those in general admission jumped over the railing and settled in Upper Box B! I had expected a riot! Bet and I were just about to do the same thing when the security guard finally noticed. And, I swear, he engaged in an aggressive pushing bout with this guy who was trying to help everybody else get down from the railing. In time, THE POLICE CAME and coerced the gen ad people to stay contained in their box - that means sending back everyone who jumped into the Upper Boxes.



After what seemed like eternity, the name "Fall Out Boy" flashed across the arena screen. The hair on my arms stood as soon as I heard Jay-Z's voiceover and what was unmistakably Thriller on drums, and I distinctly recalled writing "Long live the car crashed hearts" in all my school projects in 2007. Twenty songs, throughout which my brain began retrieving floods of memory from when I first listened to this particular track. Patrick said, "Kumusta?" and told us about his Filipina wife. Pete said that he had eaten "Chicken ABODO" (lels). We gen ad people did the Wave, actually! Andy stood up from his drum set and sang! We chanted "We want more!" when the lights turned off, and the band was, I suppose, changing outfits. Lost my voice.



I was there, my arms in the air, singing the songs, thinking how good it felt to feel so much at home that I cannot process anything else. Not the impending doom of school work, not the sweat that entrapped me, not the sleep that my body should have demanded by the time it was all over, not even going home. Six years - and I can't believe that I finally went to see Fall Out Boy live.



It was the adrenaline rush that anyone not in attendance had missed significantly. The feel of the crowd bouncing on cement along with the sound of drums and guitars resonating across the arena, giving life to space that was once empty and cold. It was that excitement (for lack of a better word) that shoots up to every nerve in your body that lets you know how completely real and profound this is. The heart cannot explain its rapid beating; it seems to keep pace with the rhythm of songs to which you've listened for years. Songs, that had created the most impact throughout the teenage years. Songs, which lyrics now emanate through the walls of the arenas because of powerful unfamiliar voices that carry the same mark. Underdogs and anti-heroes. A fucking special night for a fucking special band who taught you to "sing until your lungs give out". Surreal; it was haunting and unforgettable and intense and beautiful.

Legit: the most important things are the hardest to say.

Thank you, Fall Out Boy.

It was the best night of my life.

Don't think about tomorrow part 2

Alas-4 ng hapon. Sa Unibersidad. Ang patak ng ulan ay pagdabog ng mga paa sa tansong bubong. Sabog ang Wembley Song mula sa sirang earphones; bumabalot ang mga salita pati sa labas ng tainga - dumideretso sa heart.

Halos limang oras na sa silid-aklatan: iniisip kung lumalago ba ang aking mga kaalaman. Kung, ayos lang ba na huwag nalang munang asikasuhin ang mga dapat asikasuhin. Kung, tama bang pabayaan muna ang mga bagay o mga tao na gusto kong tulungan.

Ewan. Basta.

Ayos lang ako.

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Pineapple juice ng Jollibee. Egg McMuffin. Computer shop nang sobrang aga/sobrang gabi. MS Publisher. Nagmamadaling takong sa bato-batong daan. Loading station. Bangus ng Mang Inasal. Kape. Laundry. Takbo rin sa gym ng kolehiyo para hindi ma-late sa Social Dance. Kaunting street food. Kahit ang karimarimarim na amoy na umaalingasaw mula Bayleaf hanggang dorm. Puro ganyan.

Parang masarap yatang balikan ang pinanggalingan ng mga gunitang ito.

Balita ko kasi, wala nang trapik.