august 23.

He may have been an outstanding policeman but the moment Rolando Mendoza boarded that bus with his M16 rifle, he became the kind of criminal he wouldn’t have hesitated to arrest in the peak of his decorated career.

He may have been a victim of injustice but the moment he took the tourists hostage–families who had nothing to do with him, nor his grievances, nor his lonely battle–he became a perpetrator of the worst kind.

He may have been innocent of extortion but he was definitely guilty of hostage-taking and later, when the first shot was fired and the first drop of blood was spilled, he became guilty of eight counts of murder.

In the aftermath, fingers are pointing left and right. Accusations are coming as fast as the volley of bullets exchanged last night–the SWAT team was incompetent, the media was too meddlesome, there was no one in control, he should have been given what he wanted earlier, he should have been shot sooner. Everyone has their own opinion and all our inner Jack Bauer and Evelyn Salt’s have been unleashed as we excitedly share how we would have dealt with it if we were in charge.

But yesterday’s drama wasn’t just a game of Counterstrike where flashbangs could be thrown with wild abandon. Yesterday’s tragedy was not the stage of a movie where the fallen would rise after a successful take. There were no cuts, no doubles, no second, third, fourth chances to get things right. There was no delayed telecast and no time to hide what went wrong, which only made what should have been done right all the more obvious.

Sadly, yesterday’s melodrama was gruesomely, horrifyingly, embarrassingly real.

Tags: august 23, bus, hostage, mendoza, philippines, quirino grandstand

Sa sobrang init, pinagpapawisan ako kahit sa simpleng akto ng pagkamot sa ilong. Sa sobrang init, hindi na tumitigas ang ice cream namn sa freezer at nagmimistulang na lamang chocolate milk. Sa sobrang init, buong araw nakababad ang aking mga kapitbahay sa kanilang swimming pool habang nagpapatugtog ng Justin Bieber. Sa sobrang init, ginawang swimming pool ng mga langgam ang bote ng Gatorade na naiwan sa la mesa ko. Mabuti na lang tinignan ko muna yung tubig bago ko inumin! On second thought, dapat tinungga ko na lang din pala. Diba nakakaganda daw ng boses ang pagkain sa langgam?

Sun Alertz

Our Internet has been so slow recently that I’ve considered digging up our modem from the box-which-holds-nearly-obsolete-gadgets-but-might-still-become-collector’s-items-one-day. It has been so slow that the loading time of Cafe World takes even longer than my bathroom time, which is 20 minutes at best and 40 minutes at most if I have some particularly interesting toilet literature.

This can be annoying, especially when I have an epiphany which I’m dying to share on Facebook or if I’ve thought of something which I really, really need to share with the whole Twitterverse. Sometimes I use mobile Internet (Sun’s is really fast) but lately, I’ve found myself relying more and more on Sun Alertz, which is more convenient and easier to use since my status is all I’m after.

I can’t get over how it’s as simple as sending a text message. At first, I was hesitant to use it since I thought I’d have to install an application or connect to the Internet whenever I’d use the service but to my surprise, all I had to do was install the Facebook application and register my Twitter account via text for free. It costs just P1 to update or tweet and what’s even cooler is I can do it simultaneously with just one text! There’s more info about the service on Sun’s website.

I’m leaning towards the P15/day unlimited option–it’s way more cost-efficient  than using mobile Internet, which is P10/30 minutes, plus I’ll get to receive the tweets and updates of my contacts. If only there was a way for me to blog via SMS, I’d be one happy camper!

Tags: sun, sun alertz

everyone’s a little bit racist

I have never heard of Adam Carolla and probably wouldn’t even have known he existed if he had not made disparaging remarks about Pacman and the Philippines. You would have to question the sanity of a man who, of all people to insult, picks a world-class boxer who has made his name in different weight divisions and who has won the grudging admiration of other boxers who had never known defeat until they faced him. It’s a good thing that Pacman lacks the arrogance and quick temperament of a less disciplined fighter or else Mr. Carolla would live in fear of dark alleys for the rest of his unfortunate life–but then again, Pacman probably has no idea who he is.

Apparently, Adam Carolla is a US comedian. It’s a pity, really, that he does not excel in his profession and that he is not known outside his country unlike the ‘illiterate’ he chose to bash, who just happens to be the first boxer in history to win seven different titles in seven different weight divisions. He did not have the luxury of education and started out in boxing precisely as a way to improve his family’s quality of life and though he is still not fluent in English, he can now hold interviews without an interpreter…and yes, he is trilingual.

Pacman does not ‘worship chicken bones’–if Adam Carolla had been smart enough to do his research and literate enough to Google instead of passing off his ignorance as a bad joke, he could have read a bit and found out that Pacman is a devout Catholic, just like majority of the Philippines’ population. Oh, but wait–some provinces here are superstitious despite religion and there are even those who practice voodoo when provoked. So yeah, those chicken bones might still have a use here especially if put together with a few strands of hair.

It’s a pity, too, how Adam Carolla is painfully ignorant and how he thinks that Manny Pacquiao is all our country has to boast of. He certainly may be the most lauded and the most recognizable but we also have CNN heroes in our midst like Efren Penaflordia, and a lot of unsung heroes like Venancio Anchueta, a soldier who lost his life in the process of saving 20 strangers during the height of Ondoy. These are the people who will be remembered long after Adam Carolla’s last podcast airs and whose achievements have already earned them their rightful place in history.

I’m sure this latest slur against Pacman and the nation will have the good Senators declaring Adam Carolla a persona non grata while the more level-headed ones will brush this aside as a waste of time. As they say, ang pikon, talo. Anyway, if ever the Pacquiao-Mayweather fight pushes through (the very fight which sparked Carolla’s diatribe), we know who will have the last laugh.

Tags: racism

face-to-face with ratatouille

I have a habit of looking around while I’m thinking. My eyes wander along with my thoughts–I stare out the window, or at my stuffed toys, or at the pictures on my desk, or my monitor until inspiration strikes. This evening, while I was preparing my month-end report, I was staring at my monitor, willing the numbers to miraculously make sense when I saw something at the corner of my eye: the quivering flank of a mouse.

I gave a scream of surprise, ripped my earphones off and pushed myself away from my desk and towards Sophie, who just last week found herself face-to-face with one of its kind. In all the commotion, the mouse must have fled because when we tried to look for it, it left no trace except a trail of pooplets.

When I described to my officemates and later on, to my parents and friends, what I had just seen, their first question was invariably the same: “Was it big or small?” Dude, when it comes to mice, size is pretty irrelevant. Even if it’s tiny, it won’t stay that way forever and besides, where there are babies, grown-ups can’t be far behind! Mama Rat and Papa Rat must be there somewhere too!

I’m still wondering what made it come out when our office was by no means deserted. It was 6:30 in the evening, all the lights were on, and it’s never quiet in our area. Maybe it felt like pooing? Because it seems to think that my desk is a perfect toilet. It pooed on my papers. It left a little offering on my picture frame right in front of my mom’s picture. And what upsets me most of all is that it must have sat on my little giraffe cellphone holder because there were little droppings inside!! Waaaaah!! My poor babies…desecrated. What if that little rodent snuggles up to them at night?!

I still can’t decide which creature upset me more–this little mouse, which violated my belongings and invaded my personal space, or the giant cockroach which I found nestled snugly in the spine of my notebook and which my boss kindly and calmly killed for me, but not before it flew around our area and gave Steph and I the evil eye.

I am grateful for one thing though: at least mice don’t fly!

my best feature is my graduation feature.

If Perez Hilton is having a field day with the now-infamous Ms. California, I wonder how he would react if he saw Willie’s impromptu Q&A with a Ms. Earth candidate last Saturday.

Willie: So paano ba aalagan ang kalikasan?

Ms. Earth: Oh my God!

Willie: Hindi nga, syempre kelangan mo mag-practice. Kunwari ito na. Bilang Ms. Earth candidate paano mo aalagan ang envinroment?

Ms. Earth: Actually I’m not an environmentalist. But, um, ah…reduce, reuse and recycle. Tsaka mag-unplug ng appliances pag hindi ginagamit…

I admit I’m not beauty pageant material and I don’t have credentials to be even just a judge but hey, even I would know that that was a classic example of how you should not answer! Imagine–admitting that you don’t know how to care for the environment! She just lost my (inconsequential) vote. Maybe she was trying to be cute by opting for the honest and candid route but it was an epic failure for me.

restroom nazi

While we were in Minesview Park enjoying the scenery and wildlife, including a pony with a bright pink mane and a giant St. Bernard wearing oversized sunglasses, my mom and I couldn’t resist the call of nature. We were lured by a crude sign which read CLEAN COMFORT ROOM in blue block letters. 

“Ihi lang?” the cashier asked a little girl who was holding a bunch of coins in her upturned palm. The little girl nodded somberly and was given a yellow ticket with two pieces of tissue. The people who had not yet paid started to murmur amongst themselves.

“Paano kung hindi ako gagamit ng sabon, tubig lang? May bawas ba?” 

“Paano kung dapat magbabawas ako pero hindi natuloy, may refund ba?“

Each girl had to solemnly declare her intentions to the restroom nazi at the doorway. “Magpapalit lang po ako ng napkin,” one said humbly–an activity which was apparently supposed to be done in the confines of the “bawas” toilets since that was where she was wordlessly told to go.

Those who misdeclared their deeds were publicly humiliated. “Anong gagawin mo, magbabawas ka ba?” the attendant asked, suspiciously eyeing the tissue a man had bought along with his yellow ticket.

“Oo,” the man admitted meekly.

“Aba, dose yun, dose! Dapat green yung ticket mo!” She turned to address the people who were in queue lest they make the same deadly mistake. “Pag iihi, sais. Pag dudumi, dose!“

After each girl had done her deed in the bathroom, the attendant would call the next girl in line. Those of us who had to merely pee did not get the luxury of a toilet–instead, we had to squat in a potty which mercifully did not reek.

“Wala palang flush!” my mom exclaimed from the stall next to mine.

“Trabaho ko na po yun. Kaya ako andito,” the attendant answered coolly. It turned out that she would pour water and soap into the toilet that had just been used and mop the surrounding area before calling the person next in line.

Needless to say, it was quite a humbling experience!

the little boy

“Can I go upstairs now?”

My four-year-old niece tugged my hand and looked up at me pleadingly.

I thought it strange that she wanted to go up when all her cousins were in the living room with us. Nevertheless, I took her hand and helped her go up the stairs.

“I wonder where he is,” Stacy said, her eyes bright with excitement as she peeked into the gameroom. There was nobody there since the boys had temporarily traded Guitar Hero for dessert so she pulled me towards the bedroom of one of my nephews.

“Who?” I asked curiously.

“The little boy!” she said, her face falling when she saw that the room was empty.

My hair stood and my heart suddenly beat a little faster. “Um..which little boy?” I asked casually, not wanting to betray the fear I felt. “Javi? Mio?”

“No, not Javi,” she said impatiently. “You know…the little boy!”

I briefly considered leaving her in the middle of the empty room and running downstairs towards the company–and safety!–of other adults but in the end my conscience won out. I prayed that when we entered the next bedroom, she wouldn’t say “hello” and start playing with someone I couldn’t see. Or would it be worse if I could also see her newfound playmate?! :O

*cue “Twilight Zone” theme*

Tags: kababalaghan

two battles

I am not ashamed to admit that Manny Pacquiao and Marky Cielo (apart from Mark Herras) are the only ones who could bring out the fangirl in me. For Manny, I braved the rain and ran in the streets in my then brand-new heels just to see him ride past in one of his homecoming parades. For Marky, I would watch SOP or its reruns on YouTube when I knew he had a dance number because he moves really, really well.

Both my idols had the fight of their lives last Sunday.

One, whom I adore for his natural grace in the boxing ring, fought with the whole world watching and the entire nation alternating between cheering and praying for him. After 8 rounds, his opponent waved the white flag of surrender; he raised his arms in triumph with nary a scar to mar his face as his friends surrounded him and shared in his victory.

The other, whom I admired for his natural grace on the dance floor, fought a private battle in his bedroom. No one knew the trials he faced and struggled with everyday; his scars were hidden deep beneath his smiles and the pranks he pulled on his friends. His fight was abruptly ended after 20 years when he was called to be with his Creator; as the news spread, his friends surrounded him and mourned his loss.

In a small town in General Santos, one’s mother fainted with joy upon hearing the outcome of her son’s fight, which did not even last 12 rounds.

In a village in Antipolo, the other’s mother grieved when she found out early in the morning that her son prematurely lost his fight.

Today, Manny will probably get no rest as he prepares to receive a hero’s welcome from the President in Malacanang.

Today, Marky will be laid to rest in his province. May he be welcomed by angels in the Heaven.

Marky Cielo (May 12, 1988- December 7, 2008)

twilight confessions #2

Would crazed tweens all over the world cast stones at me if I admit that I didn’t like the movie adaptation of “Twilight?” It wasn’t so much the poorly applied make-up–judging by the barely stifled giggles of the audience when Dr. Cullen strode into Bella’s hospital room, I wasn’t the only one who found his espasol look funny. Neither was it the bad special effects, which made Edward look like he had applied a bit too much shimmery lotion when he stepped into the sun rather than magical and otherworldy.

At its core, “Twilight” is a love story between a vampire and a human. It became a hit, particularly among teen girls, not because Edward was a perfect guy vampire but because he loved Bella perfectly. Sadly, the movie fell short in telling this story.

How could she have fallen hopelessly, irrevocably in love with him when he was just plain rude to her? She fell even more in love with him when she found out he was a vampire. Strange girl! The movie failed to show how they formed a relationship, cautiously but surely, as Bella shared him her thoughts in their late-night conversations since he couldn’t read hers.

If I hadn’t read the book, I would have thought that Edward and Bella were particularly angsty teen-angers because they were perpetually scowling or unsmiling even when they were kissing. I wouldn’t have known that the reason Edward’s forehead was always scrunched up was because he couldn’t stand to be near her because her smell aroused his thirst.

My question is…did Bella really fall in love with him? Or was she merely dazzled?

What redeemed the movie for me was its soundtrack. “Supermassive Black Hole” by Muse was the perfect background music for the baseball scene. And when I first heard “Flightless Bird, American Mouth” while they danced in the gazebo, I wanted to text Bonbon at once to ask the title except I was too sleepy and she’s not on Sun (hehe if you’re reading this, peace!).