Grey Skies | Silver Linings

Predicting the future. Special mention goes to my high school English teacher, Sir Joseph. Thank you for this assignment nine years ago. Several weeks back, my mother showed me a piece of paper she found in one of her house-cleaning escapades. It was a sheet of intermediate pad with the familiar small, slanted handwriting on both sides, save for the red marks from my high school English teacher. I told my mom I've seen it already—of course, because I wrote it, but nine years have passed since then. What I meant to say was I saw it again just a couple of months ago, while rummaging through some more papers in my mom’s clinic looking for something… important. I don’t know. The minute I got hit with that blast-from-the-past, I completely forgot what I was looking for in the first place and started re-reading my juvenile attempt to predict the future. I remember that homework so well: the teacher asked us to write down (in English, as always)  what we thought we would be te...

For a country that prides itself as "developing" and "progressive", I find it quite odd that the way we fellow countrymen talk to each other, the way we express our opinions and offer our differences - in other words,  civil discourse - reflects neither development nor progress in any way whatsoever. Our conversations these days tend to go one of many different ways: We don't always ask the right questions - we beat around the bush too much. When the right questions do get asked, we usually give the wrong answers. Our truths are either relative or invented - there is no objective Truth anymore. To that effect, our truths are now based on how we feel. There's no effort anymore to think things through and analyze, either to try and understand it or to come up with a single argument against whatever it is we disagree with. Instead, we dismiss it entirely on the basis that "It hurt my feelings," or "I was offended," or "I di...

I don't know what it is about the Japanese culture, but I find that they're an emotional people. They're not exactly the "heart-on-my-sleeve" type, but they do manifest their emotions externally. And it is most evident in their works of art - the words to their songs are a little sadder, their cartoons are a little deeper, and their television shows and films are little more provocative. And so when my brother recommended this movie to me a couple of days ago, I couldn't help but feel somewhat validated: I have since watched this twice. And I am not ashamed to admit that in both occasions, I ended up with sweaty palms and cold feet. From time to time I would turn away from the screen so I can avert my eyes from just a split-second of some of the morbid scenes, only to end up seeing another one when I look back. (There were plenty in the movie. In some ways it was reminiscent of Mel Gibson's "Passion", save for a younger cast, a more ...

"I love those type of friendships that don’t require a lot of effort. We may not see each other as much as we want to or talk as much as we used to, but it doesn’t change the fact that we’re friends no matter what. They can do their own thing and I can do my own thing. What’s important is that whenever we do see each other again, we can pick up right from where we left off without making it awkward. Any friendship that works out like that is a friendship worth having." My good friend replied with this quote in one of our online conversations when I apologized to her. I hadn't talked to her for a very long time before that chat and I felt bad about not catching up with her as often as I should, so I said I was sorry. She didn't respond for a couple of minutes, perhaps busy rummaging through her old online posts, until I was finally "forgiven" through elaborate prose. And so all was well. Knowing her, she might have just laughed the whole thing off. But lat...

Waking up this morning was surreal. But not because of the occasion today. The buzzing of my phone didn't wake me up when text messages started coming in. Nor did the beeps and blinks of my other phone after every Wall post. My alarm clock didn't even work. Rather, the first thing I heard this morning was the sound of the heavy rain pouring down over our home. It would get louder, and get softer, and then it would be even louder than it was the first time. And all I could think about was, damn it,  not again. Fearing I wasn't going to make it on time, I considered making a phone call to the office. I have my laptop with me at home, I would say, and I can't leave the house. But since I already have my corporate attire on, and the rains started to die down a little bit, I figured I should at least try to get there. Besides, if the weather really was that bad, I could just turn around and then make the call. So, when the coast was clear, I left home for work. Sudden...

The weather today and a fond memory helped me remember something I promised to write about, and something I would like to share with those reading this now. Almost one year ago, I attended the World Youth Day Overnight Vigil at the Ateneo de Manila University. It was a true blessing to be part of such a meaningful and memorable experience, shared with friends and thousands of other young men and women from all over the Philippines, and it is something I will always treasure. I don't know why it took me a year to say it outright, and my sentiments are probably long overdue. But looking back on it now, I can honestly say that I would've missed out on a whole lot had I not been there. It wasn't Madrid, but it was the next best thing. And I'm happy I was there. There are plenty of reasons why this experience is unforgettable. I could go on and on about hearing the Pope speak live, the presence of both then-current Archbishop Rosales and then-future-Archbishop Tagle ...

(May 4, 2012) Last night has been an eye-opener on so many different levels. Perhaps I've only been mildly aware, if not in complete denial, of the things that were said to me. Of things I didn't consider to be "problem areas" but others have noticed. Only after these things have been brought to my attention did I realize that denial can only take a person so far, and it will not make things go away. I feel as if I am a struggling alcoholic, and I've drowned myself with the liquor that is my false notion of contentment. I will be more than relieved to get myself out from that rut. And so begins the Twelve-Step Program to my recovery, the first of which is Admission. That I was not in control of my faculties, and that I was powerless over my compulsion to think that what I've been doing seems to be working. I admit. Something is terribly, terribly wrong. With my projection towards others. With my outlook and perspective in life. With my wants and needs. ...