8/31/2011 ‒
The manifesto of a hopeless romantic

You. I like you.

I'm telling you this even if, I'll admit, I don't really know how much I like you. I don't know if this is love or just infatuation. I've always told myself to stop mistaking fondness for certain people for romantic feelings, and yet I could never seem to make the distinction. Or, I can make the distinction, but I still call it romantic feelings anyway.

I'm telling you this even if I know that this will tear the two of us apart, mostly because I will stop talking to you, because I will start feeling awkward around you, because I believe you will start feeling awkward around me. But really, I've done this many times, and more often than not they just shrug off my confessions as something juvenile. I don't think anybody takes me seriously, even if I often talk about how the current idea of love is unsustainable, about how it's all about impressing the ladies rather than talking about your feelings. Maybe they will take me seriously if I start shelling out money.

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8/25/2011 ‒
Red hair

I was at ATC with my mom a few hours ago. The plans was, I'd treat her to dinner, she'd buy some groceries, and pick up my brother from school. But the grocery shopping didn't happen, and I didn't find any magazines worth reading on a long weekend in Baguio, so we left for the school early.

Walking out of the mall, my mom pointed at someone in one of the nearby restaurants. "Niko, tignan mo," she said. "Red yung hair."

It did not quite register early enough, because I looked at someone else the first time. Nothing extraordinary there, I thought. And then I realized she was pointing elsewhere, and so I turned to my left, and there she was. A girl. With red hair. And Melanie Moore glasses.

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8/21/2011 ‒
For a lack of heroes

Today marks 28 years since Ninoy Aquino, the head of the opposition against then president Ferdinand Marcos, was assassinated. Which means today marks the one day of the year when his story is retold - when newspapers publish front page articles about the man from the perspective of, say, his doctor, or one of the guards when he was a political prisoner, or maybe his colleague at The Manila Times?

Now, I don't mind these stories. It's fascinating reading these historical pieces - I read the newspaper a lot, and even I will admit that I learn more reading about events from way, way back than reading about events from the day before. And I don't have anything against the man himself. Of course, I wasn't alive when he was fatally shot at the tarmac of what was then known as the Manila International Airport, and I wasn't alive when he delivered his many speeches denouncing Marcos' iron-fisted rule, but I know that he's a good man, and if not for him, we would be a little worse off. His son, of course, is a completely different thing altogether.

But I'm not going to write about that. It's going to be simpler than that, for a change.

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8/12/2011 ‒
Sam's spam scam

I remember what Asia and I talked about a few years back, about people we know who aren't on the yearbook. Looking back, I thought, they were up to something.

Yesterday afternoon I got a text message from some guy. He apparently got my number from the DLSU yearbook. He was texting me to let me know of a wonderful opportunity to earn money while working at home, or something. Actually, I didn't read his entire message, not because I already knew it was spam (I don't know the guy, duh) but because he started off the message by appealing to my emotions.

"Please read this message with an open heart and an open mind..."

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8/01/2011 ‒
A lesson on road rage

I'm not the best driver in the world, so I tend to get excited when I manage to make my way around some moderately-confusing road situations. Say, yesterday, a rainy Sunday, where the slippery roads and the weekend crowd converge to make a guy like me quiver.

Why was I on the road anyway? All I wanted was to get a haircut and buy myself a toothbrush. (And, as it turned out, a David Cook CD, a copy of GQ with Mila Kunis on the cover, and two packs of Yakult.) And I was stuck at home for quite a while now, so I somehow itched to get out. So I was surprised when my dad virtually allowed me to use the car to head to the mall. I've done it before, but the gap between then and now doesn't mean I'm a really good driver now. But I'm getting a bit better.

So there I was, driving along Alabang-Zapote Road, dealing with road works (they still exist) and slower than usual vehicles and the fact that I'm on the innermost lane when I'm supposed to be turning right. I was a bit wary, really, because who knows what might happen? Filipino drivers are civilized for the most part, but when worst comes to worst, things get pretty bad quickly. Which goes for everybody else, I presume, but then again, I've never driven a car in Singapore.

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