Believe it or not, ladies, it's actually easy to annoy me.
First, you should be able to find me. I'm actually easy to spot. I always have a pair of earphones plugged in, and my iPod is either on my back pocket or inside my bag. I wear glasses, the usual black frames, not as thick unless I'm using my replacements. My usual glasses has a crack on my right lens. My replacements only look chipped.
I'm usually in a mall during my lunch break, which happens at one in the afternoon in most cases. I often avoid the lunch rush, and I get more work done that way. Or, you can see me walking the same route at six in the evening, unless I'm getting a haircut or passing by the supermarket. That's through the Shang, up the second floor, up the fourth floor, up the fifth floor, across EDSA via the MRT station, and down the stairs to the shuttle terminal nearby. Valerie taught me that. It's the same escalators if you enter through the restaurants.
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10/30/2009
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10/28/2009
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One. As the story goes, I was in a restaurant, meeting a friend, and I told that friend what I have been up to the past year or so, which is pointless, I said, because nothing has changed anyway, except, perhaps, for an extra boost from where you least expect it. And that friend wondered about why I lived through the same thing for the past year, and I didn't have an answer. I do not exactly have anything to hold on to. I do not know why I am holding on to it. Unless, of course, I'm holding on to something else and everything else is mere circumstance.
Two. As another story goes, I was, well, somewhere, meeting an acquaintance, and we knew the same person, and I asked about the said person, and the acquaintance admits that, "yes, I know that guy, and that guy hates me, and I don't know why." And I thought, shame, because there is a chance of restoring whatever has to be restored.
Three. I know there is nothing to be restored. In fact, I don't have to start anything in the first place. I know for a fact that I can only try so hard, and when nothing happens, what is the use, then, of trying until you die? I know that, if there's nothing left to do, there must be something else worth trying, something worth your time, something that will actually give you something. But there is nothing left to try at the moment, and I am left with the one thing that doesn't work, that is frustrating me, that is getting in my nerves, from my right temple down to my neck, from the tips of my fingers to my palm, connecting to my face, in despair, perhaps, in shock.
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Two. As another story goes, I was, well, somewhere, meeting an acquaintance, and we knew the same person, and I asked about the said person, and the acquaintance admits that, "yes, I know that guy, and that guy hates me, and I don't know why." And I thought, shame, because there is a chance of restoring whatever has to be restored.
Three. I know there is nothing to be restored. In fact, I don't have to start anything in the first place. I know for a fact that I can only try so hard, and when nothing happens, what is the use, then, of trying until you die? I know that, if there's nothing left to do, there must be something else worth trying, something worth your time, something that will actually give you something. But there is nothing left to try at the moment, and I am left with the one thing that doesn't work, that is frustrating me, that is getting in my nerves, from my right temple down to my neck, from the tips of my fingers to my palm, connecting to my face, in despair, perhaps, in shock.
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10/25/2009
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November's still a week away, and already I'm one-thirds through that David Sedaris book that I picked up a couple of months ago. I did say I won't open that until a couple of weeks from now, when I'm on a three-hour flight to Singapore, bored with inflight entertainment. Then again, that's pretty unlikely. In the case that it happens, I have another book to read.
I mentioned this before, I know. I picked up David's latest book because I remember him from what Lizette told me that one time. I figure I took it as a compliment, which is why it's stuck in my head. She says we share the same writing style - and of course, it's a compliment, because he's a bestselling author! I agreed after a few weeks, when she sent me a clandestine copy of one of his earlier books, and I realized that we have the same approach when it comes to words, but definitely not with the perspective we share. And then I started downloading the This American Life podcasts and I heard some of his contributions, and I laughed, and I told myself I'll buy one of his books when I chance upon it. It still amounted to an impulse buy, though.
After a handful of essays from When You Are Engulfed in Flames, I don't regret anything. The critics were right: you do come off as smarter, somehow. And yet you pore through the paragraphs and you still marvel at how effortlessly he does it: a flutter through different topics, much like The Simpsons to an extent, and yet it all boils down to that one thing, and you don't realize it until the very end, when you start thinking about what you'd read and, when you think you've figured it out, you believe you're smarter. All throughout, you're laughing despite the situation being absolutely absurd, or despicable. He's got your attention.
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I mentioned this before, I know. I picked up David's latest book because I remember him from what Lizette told me that one time. I figure I took it as a compliment, which is why it's stuck in my head. She says we share the same writing style - and of course, it's a compliment, because he's a bestselling author! I agreed after a few weeks, when she sent me a clandestine copy of one of his earlier books, and I realized that we have the same approach when it comes to words, but definitely not with the perspective we share. And then I started downloading the This American Life podcasts and I heard some of his contributions, and I laughed, and I told myself I'll buy one of his books when I chance upon it. It still amounted to an impulse buy, though.
After a handful of essays from When You Are Engulfed in Flames, I don't regret anything. The critics were right: you do come off as smarter, somehow. And yet you pore through the paragraphs and you still marvel at how effortlessly he does it: a flutter through different topics, much like The Simpsons to an extent, and yet it all boils down to that one thing, and you don't realize it until the very end, when you start thinking about what you'd read and, when you think you've figured it out, you believe you're smarter. All throughout, you're laughing despite the situation being absolutely absurd, or despicable. He's got your attention.
Read more »
10/23/2009
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As with many of my other blog entries, I know I shouldn't be writing this. Or, at the very least, I shouldn't be writing this here. Maybe elsewhere more secure, although we all know secrets no longer exist.
There was this girl. I didn't know how, or why, I was following her on Twitter, but then I realized that I had her email address and inadvertently followed her when I did an email search. She was a classmate of mine. You know how I somehow end up representing the class in things, when teachers ask for someone to do things for everyone. I never really intended to follow her because we didn't really know each other. I had closer friends in that class.
Well, fine, I stuck with it. I reply to her tweets and she replies to mine. She'd see my frustrated one-liners and she's answer. I'd see her frustrated one-liners and I'd answer. You know, friendly replies to tweets. All along, I tried very hard to remember her face, but I couldn't. I remember the name, though. I remember adding her up on YM back in class, because I thought I'd send them urgent messages through that. Could be because there were many people in that class, could be because she's from a lower batch, could be because something else was distracting me.
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There was this girl. I didn't know how, or why, I was following her on Twitter, but then I realized that I had her email address and inadvertently followed her when I did an email search. She was a classmate of mine. You know how I somehow end up representing the class in things, when teachers ask for someone to do things for everyone. I never really intended to follow her because we didn't really know each other. I had closer friends in that class.
Well, fine, I stuck with it. I reply to her tweets and she replies to mine. She'd see my frustrated one-liners and she's answer. I'd see her frustrated one-liners and I'd answer. You know, friendly replies to tweets. All along, I tried very hard to remember her face, but I couldn't. I remember the name, though. I remember adding her up on YM back in class, because I thought I'd send them urgent messages through that. Could be because there were many people in that class, could be because she's from a lower batch, could be because something else was distracting me.
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10/21/2009
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It wasn't supposed to be quiet, that room. I don't remember what time it is, but it shouldn't be quiet. Instead, all I heard were the same voice prompts and the same beeps. Ten numbers punched in, followed by three more. Repeatedly.
"This feels like Lost," I said to myself.
I knew nobody would be listening, so I just said it under my breath. I was too busy punching in the numbers, though. It was, oddly, a bit calming, at least until someone answered. I was hoping someone answered. Yet I thought, "why am I hoping for someone to answer?"
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"This feels like Lost," I said to myself.
I knew nobody would be listening, so I just said it under my breath. I was too busy punching in the numbers, though. It was, oddly, a bit calming, at least until someone answered. I was hoping someone answered. Yet I thought, "why am I hoping for someone to answer?"
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10/16/2009
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Supposedly, it'd be me eating a Japanese rice bowl, a long receipt in one hand, a pen in another, writing down phrases that I'd bring back to the office and attempt to make a conversation with. So was my usual route: two escalator rides after the supermarket, and straight to another set of escalators, about a couple of hundred steps away, unless my estimates are wrong.
There was an unusually high number of people today. Turns out it's a weekend sale, with payday falling on yesterday for most of the world. The stalls are all out, and so are the signages, and in one instance, balloons. So there's no way my plans would be derailed, right?
Instead, I found myself entering a totally different restaurant.
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There was an unusually high number of people today. Turns out it's a weekend sale, with payday falling on yesterday for most of the world. The stalls are all out, and so are the signages, and in one instance, balloons. So there's no way my plans would be derailed, right?
Instead, I found myself entering a totally different restaurant.
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10/13/2009
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For the past three, four, five weeks, I've had this urge to yell and curse in front of my work computer. It always seems to freeze at the worst times: whenever I'm typing something; whenever I get back from the toilets; whenever I watch something, live or recorded; whenever I'm reading my email. In other words, pretty much every single time.
I don't understand, really. This PC (which won't let me blog, really, since it won't load Blogger in the right way for some odd reason) is configured the same way as my home PC. It works with the same (paltry) amount of memory, and runs on the same processing speed. It runs less applications, since I don't have the benefit of having my 7000-song music library on call at work. And yet it hangs more often.
But I don't give a damn about rationality anymore, which is why I'd rather yell and curse than ponder why this PC is failing me every single day. I could have the tech staff defragment this thing's hard drive, but my chums at that department are now on the night shift, and there always seems to be nobody watching over the servers when I'm at work. If I was crazy enough, I could demand an upgrade to this PC, but of course, I'm at the bottom of the ladder, a regularized employee with no concept of what a pay raise is. So, instead, I'd rather express my frustration in the manner than I know will work: something attention-grabbing.
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I don't understand, really. This PC (which won't let me blog, really, since it won't load Blogger in the right way for some odd reason) is configured the same way as my home PC. It works with the same (paltry) amount of memory, and runs on the same processing speed. It runs less applications, since I don't have the benefit of having my 7000-song music library on call at work. And yet it hangs more often.
But I don't give a damn about rationality anymore, which is why I'd rather yell and curse than ponder why this PC is failing me every single day. I could have the tech staff defragment this thing's hard drive, but my chums at that department are now on the night shift, and there always seems to be nobody watching over the servers when I'm at work. If I was crazy enough, I could demand an upgrade to this PC, but of course, I'm at the bottom of the ladder, a regularized employee with no concept of what a pay raise is. So, instead, I'd rather express my frustration in the manner than I know will work: something attention-grabbing.
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10/11/2009
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I've been inviting a few people to things, but it always never pushes through. Something always gets in the way. "I've got plans that day," went one time. "I'm pretty busy," went another time. "I don't eat burgers," went another time.
There was this one time when I was invited to something. "It's one of the few times being madaldal and opinionated is a good thing," it went. A focus group discussion. I promptly, and conveniently, forgot about it.
Everybody else around me seems to be up to something. I'd be an unintended, and possibly unwelcome, witness to conversations when other people make plans, the very same plans that always get in the way. It could go, "where you tonight, dude?" and it could go, "I'm free, dude, you want to go to Fort?" and it will end, "sige, dude, walang indyanan, ha?"
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There was this one time when I was invited to something. "It's one of the few times being madaldal and opinionated is a good thing," it went. A focus group discussion. I promptly, and conveniently, forgot about it.
Everybody else around me seems to be up to something. I'd be an unintended, and possibly unwelcome, witness to conversations when other people make plans, the very same plans that always get in the way. It could go, "where you tonight, dude?" and it could go, "I'm free, dude, you want to go to Fort?" and it will end, "sige, dude, walang indyanan, ha?"
Read more »
10/09/2009
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It wasn't really dark inside, so I remembered that surprised look in the face. It either meant she was happy with my dedication, or more likely, she was happy that I chose to abuse myself further.
"Tatapusin mo yan sa bahay?"
Why not, I figured. One, it's something I have to do, and something my readers would certainly appreciate. Two, I can't do it in the office, naturally, because the power's out. At least, I thought, with my cynical what-the-fuck-did-I-do-to-deserve-this mindset, I do what I have to do no matter what it takes, while all of you take a holiday at every possible opportunity.
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"Tatapusin mo yan sa bahay?"
Why not, I figured. One, it's something I have to do, and something my readers would certainly appreciate. Two, I can't do it in the office, naturally, because the power's out. At least, I thought, with my cynical what-the-fuck-did-I-do-to-deserve-this mindset, I do what I have to do no matter what it takes, while all of you take a holiday at every possible opportunity.
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10/07/2009
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"Niko, hello. Are you a coffee drinker? Can I ask you a few questions about it?"
I don't think I was particularly close to the LIA-COM kids, which is why I sort of know that the only time they'll talk to folks like me is when they need me to answer something. Of course, that isn't general, but if it's from out of the blue, they definitely need something. I remember answering a survey for Kizia, and I remember striking down Bea's idea of carbonated milk tea (because really, will you drink something with conflicting sensations?) and that's within two hours of each other.
This time, however, it was Asia. It must be some improvised focus group discussion. And I was in the middle of work, or at least, waiting for the stuff I'm working on to come up so I can work on it.
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I don't think I was particularly close to the LIA-COM kids, which is why I sort of know that the only time they'll talk to folks like me is when they need me to answer something. Of course, that isn't general, but if it's from out of the blue, they definitely need something. I remember answering a survey for Kizia, and I remember striking down Bea's idea of carbonated milk tea (because really, will you drink something with conflicting sensations?) and that's within two hours of each other.
This time, however, it was Asia. It must be some improvised focus group discussion. And I was in the middle of work, or at least, waiting for the stuff I'm working on to come up so I can work on it.
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10/02/2009
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I was thinking of marriage last night.
No, it's not because of whoever. In fact, while there's some part of me that's currently geared towards emotional and romantic longing, this thought bubble has absolutely nothing to do with it. Like with half of my thoughts at the moment, it's shallow.
It's about wedding rings.
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No, it's not because of whoever. In fact, while there's some part of me that's currently geared towards emotional and romantic longing, this thought bubble has absolutely nothing to do with it. Like with half of my thoughts at the moment, it's shallow.
It's about wedding rings.
Read more »
Niko Batallones writes The Upper Blog.
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