It was the start of our sophomore year. I remember. Me and Jan and Mirielle, somewhere along the third floor of Miguel, talking about things. It was during these conversations when Mirielle would call me "coffee beans" - I don't remember why now, but it's likely because of my hyperactive personality - and we'd both call Jan "indecisive". Or "indecision". Again, I cannot remember.
Jan and I would have a bunch of conversations, intermittently, about girls. Inevitably. Me, I needed to talk to a guy about it, and while I had other male friends, they weren't always available. Not that Jan wasn't always available, with us living different lives and all, but you know what I mean. The "indecisive" tag, actually, came out of one of these conversations, of him wanted to talk to a girl - was she the girl that I knew? - and not having the courage to do so.
Come to think of it, me, same problem. Same problem. I'm pretty sure I told him about the girls I liked, and about how I could never do anything about my feelings because I didn't want to ruin what me and the girl had - whatever passed off as friendship - and I was afraid of being rejected, because I just knew I'd be rejected, because I just knew she's out of my league.
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5/30/2013
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5/25/2013
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"Kailan ba nila bubuksan ang aircon dito?" he asked. "Ang init-init na!"
He's in his 70s, I think, and he's one of the lucky few seated on the train parked at the Taft Avenue MRT station. He wasn't fully seated, though. The woman beside him - his daughter, it seems - was seated all the way though, and someone had to budge, and it ended up being him. Her daughter, his granddaughter, is somewhere in between.
On his other side is a pretty wide guy, in his late 20s, with earphones plugged into his ears, and his eyes shut.
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He's in his 70s, I think, and he's one of the lucky few seated on the train parked at the Taft Avenue MRT station. He wasn't fully seated, though. The woman beside him - his daughter, it seems - was seated all the way though, and someone had to budge, and it ended up being him. Her daughter, his granddaughter, is somewhere in between.
On his other side is a pretty wide guy, in his late 20s, with earphones plugged into his ears, and his eyes shut.
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5/23/2013
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The waitress comes to your table. She's holding two buckets of beer, both full of ice, one with six bottles of pale pilsen, the other with six bottles of the light variant. She puts the latter bucket nearest to you. You take one bottle, slowly open it, and take down a few glugs.
Your friends do the same thing, just hands all over the buckets, taking a bottle each. There are ten of you on the table - actually, two tables paired together. There are two more buckets on it, with some melted ice, and definitely no more bottles of beer, or at least unopened ones. There are eight empty bottles and four half-full ones scattered. There are plates of sisig and fried chicken and crispy pata, and plates and dips and silverware. And, on one side, an ashtray. Only three of your friends smoke, but the ashtray has yet to be used.
There's some intermittent conversation, an explosion of laughter once in a while, but the table is generally busy with eating and drinking. The night is young, after all - that is something you won't be caught saying anymore; it's that much of a cliché - and you're just getting started.
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Your friends do the same thing, just hands all over the buckets, taking a bottle each. There are ten of you on the table - actually, two tables paired together. There are two more buckets on it, with some melted ice, and definitely no more bottles of beer, or at least unopened ones. There are eight empty bottles and four half-full ones scattered. There are plates of sisig and fried chicken and crispy pata, and plates and dips and silverware. And, on one side, an ashtray. Only three of your friends smoke, but the ashtray has yet to be used.
There's some intermittent conversation, an explosion of laughter once in a while, but the table is generally busy with eating and drinking. The night is young, after all - that is something you won't be caught saying anymore; it's that much of a cliché - and you're just getting started.
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5/16/2013
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Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll do the very thing I frown upon and complain about the people you voted for.
Nancy Binay. Yes, like everybody else who's blogging about the elections, I'm writing about Nancy Binay.
Sure, I'm with you. I did not vote for Nancy. I just wasn't convinced that she's the person this country needs. Yes, she does not have political experience. Yes, she's running on the strength of her surname. By my criteria alone she wouldn't make it.
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Nancy Binay. Yes, like everybody else who's blogging about the elections, I'm writing about Nancy Binay.
Sure, I'm with you. I did not vote for Nancy. I just wasn't convinced that she's the person this country needs. Yes, she does not have political experience. Yes, she's running on the strength of her surname. By my criteria alone she wouldn't make it.
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5/13/2013
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5/08/2013
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"If you don't vote, don't complain," some people say, and it's something I've never agreed with. For one, politicians get their salaries from taxes, and we all pay taxes regardless of voting age, thanks to a 12% VAT on pretty much everything - so when they dip their hands into the national coffers to give their mistress a boob job, we have the right to complain. Also, not a few people decided not to vote out of choice, believing none of the candidates really deserve to be in office. I don't know if there will be some sort of "abstain" option on the ballots come Monday, but I know of some people who will not vote at all. Or some would go to their precincts and shade all circles, rendering their ballots spoiled while making themselves heard. Hello, Carmel.
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Niko Batallones writes The Upper Blog.
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