Tuesday, February 18, 2014

i hate rainy days.

I hate rainy days.

It was quarter past nine, yet the night boasted a promising feeling as I traversed the drenched streets,  with my umbrella on my right hand and my left hand in my pocket. The night seemed calm and reassuring with the soft croaking of frogs as its background. The streets were adorned with sepia tones and the leaves dripping with the kiss of rain. It seemed a perfect orchestra. Wearing a jersey and pants folded at the seam, I stepped on the flowing waters at the roadside, perplexed as to whether I should appreciate or hate this scenario. The chilly winds whispered on my nape as I clung tightly to my umbrella. I walked slowly tiptoeing on the street lest I might wet my toes. It was a night covered with rain and my umbrella was helpless. 

Cars whirred at the mercy of the water which were oblivious to the passersby. Though the rain sang noises on the streets as they dropped from the dark heavens, I was oblivious to it. All I heard was the faint noise of my own footsteps and the drowning notes of the piano as my earphones hugged my eardrums. The Muses were singing in my ears while the world was surrounded by the spattering noise and the silent humming of the waters cascading their ways to the cemented road and the dark watercourse. 

I had to stop for dinner and I ended in one of those lonely resto placated by dim lights and music of the 80’s. I hated rainy days like this when you were forced to sit and submit to your hunger. Hunger that often lead you to a dingy place or a fast food chain. Yet there I was, still hoping for a promising night. I just hated days like this. 

The soup arrived after a short notice and I drenched my throat with its warmth. It overwhelmed my frustrations and I began to compose myself as I removed my earphones. The soothing piano disappeared and was replaced by the music from a kvetchy stereo. It was this time that I scanned the place where in three tables were occupied- one table occupied by a grouchy old man. Perhaps we shared the same sentiments- the rain conniving with the gods to spoil our evening. The gods must be bored. I gratified myself with a bowl of soup while I occasionally glanced at my phone. So much for a promising night, I quipped to myself. The gods must be taunting me. I resigned to my fate. 

It was then that you entered that door. Your wet clothing clung to your body while I visibly saw the water cascading its way from your hair to the tips of your fingers. Your hair and face glistened as the moisture trickled on your face. It was like the dew of a cold morning when the sun glimpsed on the east mountains and the clouds sang to herald the new day. I was caught by your beauty. It was then that I heard the smirking silence that I realized once more that we were not alone. You sat on the table adjacent to me and you threw an innocent glance at me. I caught it bashfully. I smiled at you and nodded. You nodded in return. It was like watching a classic painting brought into life when you smiled back at me. It was beautiful and hurting at the same time. There we were – strangers at a strange place in this strange time. 

You started your dinner while I began to finish mine. Sometimes I caught your eyes swaying their hues on me coyly. We were like that – smiling and warming ourselves without the pressure of talking. I could feel you reaching for me, or was it only my presumptuous self? Sometimes when you looked at your food, I stole observing glances at you and I found out that you still wore your wet clothes. I couldn’t help but admire and be sorry for you at the same time – I could feel you shivering but you remained unfazed. 

Time and silence kept on taunting us but neither of us submitted to this opportunity made by the heavens. Perhaps the rain brought us here to have our lives intertwined. Yet Destiny played with us coyly. I finished my dinner and you sat there anxious – or was it me painting this silly thought? It was like waiting for the last drop of rain to fall. I called for the bill and paid it silently. I was hoping for the rain to continue pouring heavily – for you to come to me and to share the shelter offered by the umbrella hooked on my chair. Our eyes met for the last time as I reached for the doorknob and heard the clinging sound of the chimes. I stopped on the doorsteps hoping you’d call me. Seconds seemed like eternity and I opened my umbrella. I reached for my pocket and kept my phone to the deepest part of it. The rain trickled in soft drizzles and it was then a thought dawned to me – it was a wonderful, a promising night after all. I closed my umbrella and felt the rain hugged me. I hoped that the same rain that hugged your body would embrace me tonight. 

I hate rainy days. Yes, I hate them. But not tonight.

Monday, July 22, 2013

natuhog nga nila.

Piliin, pillin ang naiiba.
Tuhog. The title reminds me of the flicks like Itlog, Talong, etc. You'll be disappointed though since the story revolves around three characters whose lives are intertwined and served before the audience in a barbecue style, not the doggie style. The characters were brought together by a bus accident. The three: Tonio, Fiesta and Caloy have their fates laid when the doctors call the shots: whose lives have to be spared and have to be sacrificed. One has to die, the other two have to live. Although this kind of predicament is common to some movie, Tuhog, however, keeps the audience at gun point as it tackles common Filipino, if not universal , concern. The senile Tonio presents us the problems of a senior citizen deciding to finally follow his passion; Fiesta displays the tragedy of a dark past masked by a seemingly strong character; and Caloy portrays the shallow mire that the recent youth gets entangled into nowadays. Throughout the movie, we have a glimpse of their respective lives dabbed by the joys and sorrows of their own comedies and tragedies. 

Eugene Domingo greatly portrayed her role plus the fact that she had been constantly paired with young and attractive men, it made the audience cry, "Na naman." Well, kayo na lang ang mag-Uge. Kahit nakatali ang buhok niya, I can see it grew few centimeters long nang halikan siya ni Jake. The movie showed Eugene's versatility; may it be drama or comedy, she could really pull the movie through. I couldn't help but laugh at her scenes even how tear-jerking the scene was. Kimmy and Dora's faces tickled the seriousness away from me and I ended up smirking. 

The scene that pinched me most was when Tonio, facing his newly-cleaned bakery, was gifted by his wife with a toque and a manual for baking. His wife had been there for him even the situation defined buffoonery. Truly, love knows no boundary, even if the boundary plays along foolishness. 

The movie successfully impaled what the mainstream cinema fails to showcase. Kung baga nga, natuhog talaga niya.

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

pacific rimmed.

Pacific Rim opens with a scene of less explanation and ends with less explanation.

There's nothing more rewarding than a silly movie highlighted with great sounds, colorful display of effects and plenty, yes plenty, of actions. The movie starts with dutiful actions and takes its end to a final explosion. Your puny minds won't even bother an ounce of effort in thinking about anything since the plot is as flat as the robots are big. Pacific Rim is heavy like the robots and ridiculously entertaining as the monsters are annoying. I was twisting my neck back and forth watching the actions and the robots. Though heavy, it will lift your butts from your seats as you "drift" together with the gargantuan characters; robots, monsters and humans alike. Although the robots are as not agile as the Transformers', it will somewhat leave your mouth agape since you can literally see the jaegers' designs detail by detail not to mention the actions that entail. A lot of actions without a pressure to one's eyes. A total visual feast without the slightest mind exercise. 

What I really enjoy in the movie were the scenes where the geeks tried to outdo each other and laboriously ended  up gathering the glory. At least as I see it. Imagine "drifting" with an outside force like the kaijus; that was amazing and all the while simply geeky. Earth's emancipation came from the geeks although the controls were held by the jaegermeisters. Irony seems to be playing coy with reality here. Geeks beat the ripped bodies. Asia seems to be the seat of the world's emancipation (Maybe due to the fact that monsters rose from the Pacific). And seeing the portal opened a lot of times (the scene when the Gipsy Danger was teleported to the other side) still gives me the creeps. Like being sucked by morbid appendages. What was that? A flower opening or a ghastly tunnel going inside a chicken intestine? *shiver*

The movie rocks. It is a Guillermo del Toro, so to say. Although not as brilliant as his Pan's Labyrinth, who gives a care? It was not intended for a red carpet anyway.


Saturday, July 13, 2013

judging the books by the covers.

Don't judge the book by its cover. Cliche. I judge, however, a person by what he reads. Not in a condescending way though. But somehow, I have a glimpse of what kind of a person someone is by the book he is reading. I was in a bookshop a while ago and I saw strata of readers pulling books of their interest from one shelf to another. I saw also a file of girls giggling while reading romance novels. I saw bibliophiles huggling books. I was always amazed by the busyness of people choosing books, skimming pages, and browsing pictures. There were people as old as 60 and young as 6, each buried intently in his book of choice; some leaning on the shelves while others sitting on the floor. And there was I killing my time scavenging for books I desperately want to collect for future read. 

One girl picked a romance novel and was constantly giggling, perhaps amused by what she read or imagined, while her companion busied herself on an English novel. The girl with the English book barked, "Why don't you read an English novel?" The girl with a Pinoy romance novel retaliated, "Duh, as if you understand English naman." I nearly dropped my jaw and my books when I heard their verbal antics. I sighed a smile.

I always admire people who have intelligent choices when it comes to reading materials, may it be a magazine, newspaper or a book. When a person picks classics, I can't help but be curious about what and how he thinks. I am blessed to be surrounded by intelligent people who have exquisite taste on reading materials.  I want to peek at their brains and see what's going in there. When a person picks a book of art or architecture, I tense thinking what's brewing inside that mind. An inspiration or a concept is forming? When I see someone reading a book, I can't help but have a sense of respect for that person. I love reading. It is my own brand of heroine. The addiction I can't help but succumb to. It is my own brand of airline that takes me to the beauty of Paris, the grandeur of Rome, the depths of Atlantis, the mysteries of here and there. Emily Dickinson once blurted, "There is no frigate like a book, to take us lands away, nor any coursers like a page, of prancing poetry." Who wouldn't agree with that?

This year, at school, we have this campaign of raising readers among children. The school is trying its best to eliminate the hazards that modern technology brings by instilling a love for reading among children. Well, technology has its pros and cons and the school is beset by the problems that the technology impose on the younger minds. Talks about the benefits of books outweigh the harms brought by the amusement that gadget offers. I say balance. But children of this generation seem to be ignorant of this word.

I have a student who reads like a stenographer writes. He reads a page like it was a one-liner comic strip. I let him read a three-page short story and after a minute he gave the book to me and summarized what he had read. If the world could offer children like this, then we could have an intelligent planet. But again, balance is the word. We speak of intelligence in all facets. Just imagine a world preoccupied with reading rather than fiddling with gadgets. What would you rather choose? 

I don't care about your choice, though. It's all up to you. TTFN!

Books to be read:
Almost No Memory - Lydia Davis
Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden

The Intellectual Devotional