secret ko din

Ilang taon na rin akong nanonood at nakikiusisa sa mga sekreto ng iba. But this one, parang napilitan na lang akong itago kasi sobrang sakto--saksak puso, tulo ang dugo.

Tapos nag-post si nuni, so ako na rin

as if praying

I love you as if I'm praying. I wrap all my feelings, all my hopes, all my dreams, in a little package, send it adrift and wish to the stars that it finds its little way. I hope against hope that this is it, the tale the stories of old speak of in their coloured tone and feisty paces. I, like so many others before me, whisper to the wind this yearning.

But I don't know what to whisper, what to desire and what to despair. I've never known love besides the frivolous kind that runs the uninitiated heart over and over. What can you call this love that slowly sets its roots over the barren soil of my life and then begins to grow, ever so carefully, to finally open its blossoms for me, of all people, me.

I admit I truly am naive, to compare what I have now to what I've imagined then. I thought that love is a jittery-feeling a few moments before triumphant jump or perilous fall. I've come to think of love as something to turn the gut and silence the tongue. And yet, what I've found in you is something else entirely. The fire, the burning desire I've romanticized for many a night is, instead, this steadfast flame that warms me with its somber tenacity and comforting glow.

You comfort me. Your sincerest smile, your lightest laugh: I see in them who you are and what you intended, and there I see this overwhelming kindness and an unconscious gentleness a guy like myself could only hope to find.

Stay by my side and I could take the world. Wrap your arms around me, and I'll let it all go--your hands are worth so much more.

So I'll continue praying, and I'll probably never stop.

overwhelmed

So I met this guy. The disclaimer my friend sent me the day before said he's the type to hate go to gyms and read Asimov. He reports that he's really smart--in a grungy kind of way. Grungy, huh? I had no idea what that meant and forgot about it on the way to work, just coming back from a friend's party instead of a good night's rest.

So there I was, Friday night, 48 hours of no sleep, engines running on sheer force of will and a bit of optimism.

See, I've decided that my kinda guy would be someone who's been through his fair share of paperbacks and novels, been to PowerBooks for reasons other than meeting someone in air-conditioned luxury. Or, at the very least, could never say he doesn't read unless he has to--with a proud smirk on his face that says: "it's not my fault, I'm normal this way--you're the weird one".

Based on a simple enough criteria(your favorite book), I thought I had it sold with a guy into Sci-fi classics like "I Robot" and "2001: A Space Odyssey". And so I met him, Mr. Smarty Pants, among the pretty pointlessness that adorn Timezone, Gateway.

We played a few rounds. He's into Soul Caliber; I'm into Panda's, who's home is on the other machine across the room that say's Tekken. So we didn't exactly hit it off; couldn't hit it off. I was micro-sleeping every few steps: look-step-snore-look-step-snore.

My good friend and matchmaker Daryl was there, too, telling me about the sexually vague and promiscuous air Gateway mall's been nurturing over the years. And it was true. As proof, a trip to Gateway mall's male bathroom, aside from being one of the first to sport a full-length mirror, is like entering a pre-prom high school bathroom: guys with their hair product and designer scents and fashionably adventurous attire plus the stray guy at the corner who's really just there to take a piss.

But going back, yeah, we didn't exactly hit it off. So we moseyed on to chatting over some grub at the food court, having some coffee + orange juice at the local Coffee Bean, hanging around the shadier(read: infamous) streets of Cubao, then finally catching a Midnight snack at the 24-hour McDo.

He IS smart, but not your usual case of smart. Let's play a game shall we: imagine a really smart guy--the glasses, the smart casual attire on a slight frame, the book/gadget in hand, slick hair. Well, folks, the reality can't be any father from the truth. Mr. Blind-date was actually buff, bronzed and bald--semi-skin head, to be exact.

But the truth about this guy wasn't that he's smart. The intelligence is actually a product of who he really is: a really hyper guy who's lucky enough to have a grandma with a fucking huge library. He's a bibliomaniac who could handle it, and the conversation, though fascinating in its blinding novelty, started to feel like a long-narrative of facts.

He was a human wikipedia. And the wiki-reference is intentional. An encyclopedia doesn't have hyperlinks like he does, we jumped from topic to topic, obscurity to obscurity, and it was a hell of a fun ride. But at some point, even with caffeine, I had to admit I couldn't keep up.

And then he said it, probably while he monologued the details of "Basilisk". An unused word that started with 'C' that fit the sentence so elegantly. Cornice? Colloquial? Cogitate? Whatever it was, though I can never remember the word, I'll never forget how it sliced through me and then subtly, gently pricked my heart.

I fell in love, I think, somewhere in between sleep-deprivation, coffee in my veins, a hangover from last night's drinking and 15 past 2 in the morning. He had this smile that said I knew everything, and it's true. And though he's a little crazy, I see no fault there since I think everyone's a little crazy anyway. He's just a lot more unapologetic about it. Crazy could be just another word for having a personality, actually.

Then I panicked--sheer panic. Everyone's been through it and I'm sure you could sympathize. The rules change when you like someone. You start to really think about what to say, start to really care about what the other guy thinks, start to really embarrass yourself, which I did, repeatedly.

I guess he shook the very foundation on which the little bits and pieces of who i am stand. He's the kinda guy I've always wanted to be, up-front, no bull and smart as hell. He freaked me out, in every sense of the word. The taxi ride after the whole fiasco wasn't as much the trip home as it was just me running as far away as I possibly, affordably can.

He disarmed me. And the morning after, accompanying my parents to Fort Bonifacio on an obligatory trip to the new condo sans another good night's rest, the only word I found that described what I felt was this: unravelled.

I was falling apart. If he was all I ever wanted to be, I started to wonder if I've been going about my life all wrong. I should read more, be more spontaneous, go to gym more often, lay-off the rice. I stood beside the pool in front of the towering condominium that contained our new manse, staring at the bright yellow building across the block, reminding myself of the accomplishments of the past and the assumptions of the future. Bonifacio Technology Center, the place I toiled and celebrated, stood there mocking me.

So I trudged on through the day, checking out the refreshing view from the new apartment; on the way back home, got a haircut and had a few laughs with the barber; picked up my saxophone and practiced "An Affair to Remember" for the wedding next week; got whisked away on Ralph's exotic car to ATC seeking an interesting-enough mother's day present that agreed with a post-Hongkong trip budget; accompanied a friend commission a framing for a Batik tapestry his mom brought from Indonesia; sang at the weekly anticipated mass, practiced on the sax some more, then rounded-off the night with more liturgical and matrimonial chorale singing with smiles and laughs all around.

And then it hit me. A man is the sum of what he does. His actions, being the only explicitly observable characteristic he bears, is the perfect measure of what he is and what he could be. I have accomplished so much in such a short span of time, but the best part was I did it because I wanted to, because I enjoyed it. I am happy where I am, and though I may not seem it, or talk about it as much, I know in my heart that I do what I do with enough soul and passion that I could honestly say I've spent each second of my life like the best of 'em. I live and, in the truest sense of making the most of my humanity, I have lived humanely.

I managed to pry off my friend what the other guy thought of me. He said i was mousy.

But I knew better. I was boring because I could afford to be. If he didn't care to pry, to inspect and wonder at why I've been, seen and done so much and still be so nonchalant about it, he's not worth the effort.

So I met this guy. He was nice, but I knew I could do better.

So what's your favorite book?

I'm seeing someone again. This time, the brightly feathered details I've been pruning for so long have done the trick. Over a bottle of water, I told him that I just came from the gym across the street, I'm not exactly free on Saturday nights 'coz of choir and that I graduated from UP Manila already, which is how this PSP ended up in hands: reading JAVA PDFs for a presentation at work the next day.

And it went well for an unexpected first date. The hickeys from the second are proof enough, though my mom would definitely not agree. She hasn't said anything about them yet though.

So he keeps texting, day-in, day-out. Stuff that's too sweet, in English I'd be more than happy to correct. He's also kinda rotund around the waist, which is an issue for me actually.

But, he's got a damn hot bedroom voice, and he could dance too. The slight 4 o'clock shadow sealed the deal for me.

So what's wrong?

I don't know. I really don't. I met the guy a few days after deciding on my criteria for the right kind of man. For me, it all came down to a single question: What's you're favorite book? Do you like it exciting like Robert Ludlum or Sydney Sheldon? Whimsical fantasy from Terry Pratchett? Technical to a fault like Micheal Crichton? Fascinatingly factual like Dan Brown? Drunk on old time classics like J.D. Salinger or George Orwell? Seductively strange like Neil Gaiman or Edgar Allan Poe or even Stephen King? Takeshi Matsu even?

And he doesn't even have a favorite book, not even a movie. Though he reads a lot of self-help books.

I'm just worried. He makes up for it with plenty of enthusiasm but I'm not sure that's gonna cut it for me. I want someone to send me through mental cartwheels, stimulate the grey matter, if you will. I tried using the word 'gesticulate' in actual conversation and he didn't react. Which could be good, he might have understood and doesn't care. Or maybe not, came in one ear, out the other.

But, as always, I'm optimistic. I did go to the second date, right? Once bitten, twice shy.

And yeah, it's a guy. Let it go already, geez. @_@

boing! boing!

Welcome to spring everyone! [Minna-san! Haru no toki he youkoso!]

Like the sweetest, most fragile of blossoms, the first quarter of this year concluded quickly and fruitfully. To say the least, I got most of my "to do list" done... and then some. F*cking plenty of some actually, which kinda sucks. What the heck am I going to do the rest of the year?

Firstly, the Singapore trip was a whopping success! Thanks to our gracious Singapore hostess Ate Dai, last year's 13 month pay, and my fellow excursionist's contagious gung-ho spirit, we took off mid-February to spend the 5-day weekend (made up of a 2-day weekend, and 3 unpaid leaves T_T) to enjoy the sounds, sights and savory samplings of Singapore culture -- in ascending order of appreciation. There weren't any interesting gigs, there really wasn't a lot to see here in "urban-everywhere", but I enjoyed walking into every resto and playing a round of "gustatory gambling" with the menu.

Secondly, my confidence as a skilled software engineer has been finally validated! We all came together at PhilNITS' induction/soiree/ball/seminar/smorgasbord/photoshoot to celebrate the 6 long months we've been sloughing through technical terms, redundant questions and engRish. They fed us at the Mandarin Oriental and there were much said along the way, mostly painting the broader picture of how far the local IT community still has to go. At least the extra 1k per month I'll be getting from now on will ease that so-called going.

Thirdly, an unexpected, yet gladly recieved, surprise arrived this week: and old friend with minus zounds of pounds! Good ol' mike returned this week and seeing as he IS the center of the universe, old college buddies came together over at Shangrila, Shaw Blvd. to eat, reminisce and secretly compile the "Who got hot after college" list. Bribes are welcome. We also accept dollars ~wink wink~.

Fourth, I've finally decided to end one of my more meaningful long-term relationships. We've been together for a while now: him staying at my place and I going to work. He feels I haven't been giving him much attention, which I truly am guilty of, and I feel he's been quite a drag. Suffice to say, the pressure of graduation season was the final straw and I finally got the nerve to cut the deal short. I started working on ye' ol' unfinished thesis documentation just this monday and I handed the revised copy the next day. I'm sure he'll spare no time at all replacing me with his new, sexy, faux-leatherbound bookshelf neighbors. He's kinda kinky that way.

Fifth, our team ventured to the far off lands of the Cebuanos to proudly wave our project banner -- in the silliest ways possible. Our company, NEC, holds a software quality convention every year. There, the company hopes to raise the standards of quality and customer satisfaction; us normal people, to eat great food and get to travel around for free -- all in the spirit of company success and innovation, of course. With Paz-san at the helm, we presented our project "Mastering the Art of Excely Kung-fu", with healthy helpings of judo-chops in between. We're going back this week for round 2 and, if our kung-fu's better than everyone else's, we'll get to do our jabs in no place other than the 2nd home of all martial arts: Japan!

Sixth, since we were there anyway, us buddies ventured around Cebu and Bohol, seeing and, almost just as much, eating everything in sight. Cebu's feels a lot like Manila, 'cept a lot safer but less intelligeble. Nothing is as disconcerting as hearing someone speak a language you almost understand. Being someone's who's been through his fair share of multinational media (read: anime), droning out other languages is as easy as focusing on sub-titles. But when they spoke Bisaya, my brain kept getting caught in the familiar strangeness of the language. But when we reached the falls of Kawasan, the cross of Magellan, the Chocolate Hills, the tarsier and the beaches of Bohol, all it took was a look between us Manilenos and our kind guide, Kuya Noel. In spite of language barriers, beauty is something everyone agrees on, apparently.

Seventh, I'm all giddy like a virgin promdate, what with discovering the joys of online ordering. With plenty of thanks to Jen-sama, I got to contribute my share to the global economic community by purchasing my first set of Manga online at www.hmv.co.jp. It'll take them a week to find their way through the sea and arive in the welcoming embrace of my outspread fanboy arms. So, until then, I'm trying to distract myself as much as possible. Bring out the beer and brevity!

Eight, as anxious as a constipated man on an 8-hr bus ride, I've been stalking the online forums in search of the news --any news-- of the much acclaimed ASUS eee. Since December last year, when the word got out about the growing demand (and supply) of ultramobile and ultracheap laptops, I've been diving into cyberspace checking, comparing, and finally deciding on acquiring a triple-E. Why spend money on an laptop that can't play Crysis? Because I'm getting this laptop to whole-heartedly commit myself to writing. Though it hasn't much muscle, it completely redeems itself in its absolute mobility thanks to its diminutive size and sturdy SSD(solid state disk that isn't as prone to errors as a HD with movable parts) which'll allow me to write any thought, anywhere. Plus, it comes in 5 colors! Yey, consumerism!

... so much accomplished in so short a time. Finishing this list actually took me longer than I first expected. Between being too busy to finish this post and completing some new milestone worth posting, finishing this article almost felt unattainable. Especially with a big wedding, Bohol escapade part 2, SWQC final confrontation, 23rd birthday bash and a new project coming up, all I feel now is pressure.

So many people, so many tasks, so many opportunities: a lot is riding on what I need and intend to accomplish in the next few weeks. The very thought makes me stop, stare blankly into space and then slap myself back into waking life. The gym-borne endorphins, supportive friends and felicitous tunes egging me on have done a great job. But, ultimately, the simple act of typing all this down, here in this obscure corner of the internet, is all it'll take.

When the stress, the joys, the worries and the triumphs of the day have all been eaten up by this blog, there in my heart is left the boundless space to accommodate the ills and thrills of the world. And if no one ever notices, no one ever takes the time to read, I'd just be as happy. All this I do for an audience of none, one and all. As long as the opportunity to write is here, to be able to humbly articulate what I think and feel in such ways as to enflame the heart and touch the soul, contentment is surely mine. And when someone hapahazardly finds a tidbit of inspiration, even a tiny spark of cognition, only then does joy follow.

roadside

A floor above an emptied city, I gingerly treaded away, step by step, the gastronomic sins of the day along with other forlorn gymbunnies. Hop for hop, sweatdrop by sweatdrop, chasing the proverbial carrot of health and well-being, we were whiling away the hours in yet another nameless weeknight.

We, the assembled gymbunnies, happily paid for this trip which included an unexpectedly absorbing diorama of everyday life. This welcome distraction mostly consisted of nameless cars and people walking across a park, a hotel, ye ol' 6750 and a certain roadside curb where our fateful story conveniently plays out.

There, in the settling 8pm gloom, a man walked toward the curb and stood there, a tad too stolidly. His stance was sharp and posture, perfect but the frequent glances at the cellphone he held spoke familiar volumes. Clad in sleeves and slacks, there was about him a kind of after-office grimness, a matter-of-factness that frowns at inefficiency and excess. He was waiting for somebody and was apparently not enjoying it.

I watched as people strolled, cars passed and minutes ticked by. But I couldn't help coming back to this guy, the bare concrete spot he brazenly chose, and the struggle he endured. He stood there alone, far removed and yet so plainly in sight, available for any and all prying eyes to elaborate and criticize. He was brave, this nameless curbside stranger, or stubbornly apathetic.

And still I continued my pace as he, contrarily, continued his lack thereof. That I think, was when I started to sympathize. We were unified in purpose: a common enmity of the unfaltering cadence of seconds. Fervently, we endured the minutes waiting for the one thing to complete us. He fought for love and I, for wellness. We were joined in our own pursuits of happiness.

We had a lot of fight in us too, I thought. But alas, it was too late. We were father time's captives, imprisoned in the ponderous eternity of minutes.

Being a gymbunny though, however ocularly fun, had other responsibilities besides staring at everyone else. So, I stepped off and hopped off in search of other carrots. But before I did, I closed my eyes(and wrinkled my bunny-ears?) and wished my comrade luck and happiness.

I'd always believed that the most potent of wishes are those that are meant for someone else. A selfless blessing I wish everyone I meet, silently of course.

As luck would have it, I stepped out of the gym in time to see curbside-stranger's tale conclude. Right behind me was his object of thought, desire and, obviously, utter dismay. Number 2 approached. chided and kidded away at him in the secret language of lovers. He stood there, back-to-friend, hailing a taxi cab with gritted teeth. The camp-fire glow of his eyes betrayed him though. His love deftly proven, he stood there in the street, hand out-stretched, triumphant.

I smiled behind them and wished them both luck, but I knew they hardly needed it. He hardly needed it, that roadside champion. He could have waited for hours and days and weeks, it wouldn't have mattered. I knew, 'cause I would have done the same thing.

Langoliers

It's 2008. And so far, the first unbidden 38 minutes of it have been a veritable blast. In the sky (malamang alamang! haha!) and in the little things like the solicitous breath of my own room, the offhand caress of "New Year" text-messages and the gentle throb of wine in my veins, I could feel the ripples of change crash, clench, steal a chunk of today, then double-back.

It got tempting, to just sit, wait and watch. But mostly, I wondered what the world will turn into next, sitting there quietly in my complacent computer-chair. A few minutes and a sore-ass later, the realization that things won't appreciably change in the span of time I can stay-up awake --or that my bedroom wall was no place to watch the whole wide world change anyway-- got me scavenging for 2008 resolutions.

Which left me confused. Hackneying together a selfish list of dreams and desires, I ended up with a list to look forward to instead:

- attempt to add Singapore and Bohol to ye old 'Been There-Done That' list
- jump on the fitness bandwagon of gym memberships
- repeatedly swipe a credit card and dent that oh-so-generous credit limit
- finish that darned documentation
- learn, speak, write and (with luck) eat more Japanese stuff
- renovate, but mostly fix, the house

Resolute, I decided to get over myself and start livin' it up some more! This time around, I'll be the change I've been waiting for all along.

And there I saw that the world ain't so new. Today doesn't feel all that changed. My room's accommodating groans resound still. Text-messages peck and pout the same convenient tunes. Wine's gone but the heady, tipsy feeling remains as always.

But deep down, my soul burns and crackles with fiery resolve. I feel different and, 365 days from now, I think that'd make all the difference.

Then again, that could just be the wine. Happy New Year everyone ^_^

furlough

Today marks the first day in a long while since I've spent some quality time with the junk in my room. They've grown considerably since last we crossed broomsticks and clashed dust-bunnies and, between the allergic sniffles and sneezes, I can't help but get overcome with mixed emotions. I apparently have got mounds of stuff, which is actually quite nice, but I have to pose this question:

"What the heck do I do with all these boxes, twist-ties, warranties, manuals, peripherals, fliers, contact numbers and a lone package of pistachios?"

Before you answer that and while I casually sift through my unintended collection of capitalist debris, lemme run through the last few weeks, just for shits and giggles.

I hosted a party. Yes, yours truly got the nefarious chance to hog a live microphone and tell silly things to an audience of 70 all night long. It was at the formal company party held in one of Dusit Hotel's uber-slick ballrooms. That fateful night concluded my deliriously-long weeks of frenzied xmas chorale-ing, instantaneous movie shoot-ing, misplaced novelty dance-ing and the hyped-up -- but still pretty -- christmas party invitations make-ing.

It was, of course, fun and I walked away a learned man: additional audio editing skills, some photoshop kung-fu, impromptu hosting non-sense and, most importantly, learning the true meaning of busy. So busy, you don't-get-to-take-a-bath busy. So busy, I don't-remember-when-I-didn't-take-a-bath-but-thanks-for-asking busy.

I also sang a song. Along with all the christmas party preparations, I've been practicing my ass off --or more literally, my larynx off-- singing Mozart's sonorous rendition of Ave Maria. It was meant to be a solo piece but Tito Cesar cautiously shifted me to a duet with the talentedly-tantalizing Ms. Jean. This was after realizing my execution of this tenor piece's upper octave La was either un-masculinely weak or bestially bothering. In my attempt to reach the note with the proper fullness of tone, I keep bleating out like an angry, molested sheep.

We managed though, plenty of thankzies to Ms. Jean, and the solo-turned-duet played out without incident. And I got to play my sax for the married couple's first dance. Yey!

I welcomed my sister, too. She came back on the 23rd and she's slowly settling back to the humdrum glum of home life here on the Philippine Isles. As is customary with any Filipino family on any Filipino Holiday: a reunion, we went to. Between watching London get "Flood"-ed and the "Winter Sonata" guy calling down Byakko, Genbou and Seiryuu on TV, my sister took a lot of marriage-related heat from my relatives.

She's chipper now, and I wish her this christmas all the luck and support she needs... as well as a brand-spanking-new DVD player (with USB input)! Booyah! Now who's a good little-bro! Yeah!

By the way, I panicked over my PSP. My PSP-endowed friends would already know about this since my panic included calling each one of them (there's 3 of 'em) and telling them to calmly take-off the PSP crystal case and then burn it with the foulest flames in the deepest pits of goddamn hell. The gosh-darned-tootin thing that was meant to protect ended up strangling my precious instead. The select key got stuck select-ing and the little white lad's been in repair since wednesday hence. Pray for him; pray for my half-a-month's worth salary.

And oh yeah, I gave a kid a smile. Old high-school friends threw a christmas party for orphaned kids at an SOS center in Ayala. I hung-out with the cheeky young lad Gelo, balloon-whiz Ryan and lotsa other really, really excitable kids for two hours. Those two whole fun-filled hours left me with a vacant look and helplessly feeling old. This must be what being a parent feels like.

I enjoyed a wedding yesterday. It was my long-unseen 2nd cousin Paddie's day at the rustic church nestled deep in Guadalupe, and night at the historical Coconut Palace. The whole day was simply beautiful. The choir songs were beautiful, the sunset was beautiful, the guests were beautiful, and Lorrie was terribly beautiful. She bloomed and blossomed that night and though I didn't know her, I understand and shared her happiness. And Kurt Vonnegut (Baader Meinhoff!!) snuck into the event with his short story "A Long Walk to Forever" which is, unsurprisingly, beautiful as well.

Luckily, I met up with ol' buddies. Before the year ended, Mike rounded everyone up and got the ball rolling for another rollicking booze-fest down south. Everybody was there, although not necessarily at the same time (sorry, mish) and there were plenty of fond hello's and unexpected exchanging of trunks and trinkets. Macaroon's too! Indigestion not included!

It's been a whirlwind of a month. The length and breadth of this post pretty much proves that "there's no rest for the wicked" and though I'd rather not think of myself as "wicked", I'm just not as sure anymore.

Dad put me aside one time and told me that's just how it is: the business of growing-up is a juggling act. Learning to frolic with friends and family; to woe work and wackiness; and to hug health and happiness, that pretty much sums up the rest of adult life.

It's tiring, but whenever I manage to pull it off, the feeling of accomplishment is spectacular. Making the most of every moment, living each fleeting second as if it's my last, I owe it to all the decapitated, the paraplegics, the comatose and the debilitated to enjoy each and every lucid thought, savvy shuffle, synapse fire and unbounded freedom that life's got to offer.

And though I can't make junk juice out of all this junk life handed me, I think I'll manage. Dust-bunnies or no dust-bunnies.

a family thing

I wanna write. I really do. And after watching a movie like "eternal sunshine of the spotless mind", I can't help but think there really is a lot more to writing than I think I ever really, knowingly, and honestly can handle.

I put words to such shame, but actually it's mostly mine involuntarily imparted. Perhaps I try too hard to make it all out into some intelligible jumble of words that, with enough adjectives, might come off as sweet and romantic. But in the end, all I really end up is a long grieved sigh, hardly at par with anything salable off a bookshelf.

This is a writing fixation, if this urge of mine was a condition. This romance with words and phrases could simply be my prolonged attempt to find someone who understands. Someone silly enough to wade through all this syntax and plow through my metaphors. I may be the lexical equivalent of Rapunzel: my life as my tower and my words the trailing length of hair secretly calling for help.

It's a family thing. We never really say we love each other, though we do. It's a pretty disdainful habit we've acquired, to keep those 3 words in the same place we keep "Take care" and "Good luck". They've become trailing statements, open-ended sentiments that hardly deserve eye-contact or an emotional sparkle.

But we do tell each other we love each other. This strange familial wall of pride isn't as solid and cold as I'd like to embellish it. I noticed it at first whenever my parents took me to class. Whatever time or place my first schedule would be, as far as Quezon City or as early as a sunshine-free morning, they never said they couldn't. And if they did, it wasn't immediately. They'd meticulously check each and every possible plan to make it all work out. Make it all work out for me.

And I found it there. A hidden kind of love that throbs and warms up our home discreetly, like the safety net that was there all along, warm socks I've always taken for granted.

And they taught me that. To love a love so silent. To let my heart whisper to other hearts quietly, as I walk past you along the hallway, as I help you out with your code, as I invite you for a game of badminton.

And if you do find out, put them all together and learn what I've felt and I've waited for all along, that'd make it all the more special. Just like in the movies.

to wear one's heart upon one's sleeve

Nakangiti na lamang akong naglalakad pauwi. Ni sumbat o salamat, tahimik na dumaan ang anino ko sa tapat ng mga tulog na bahay, sa ilalim ng nakabantay na langit. Konting yapak pa at makikita ko na ang bahay ko; konting tulak pa makakahiga na ko uli; konti na lang at "safe" na ko, iwas muna sa mga taya sa habulang-laro ng buhay.

Natikman ko ang totoong pagod nung huling linggo. Hindi ko namamalayan, naubos na lang yung siglang iniipon ko sa puso. Dahil na rin siguro sa kalayuan ng payday, pero alam ko na ang tunay na salarin ay ang akin ding maselang puso. Napisa sa walang-tigil na pangangamba sa darating na exam sa linggo.

Nung kinagabihan ng biyernes, nakapagpasya na kong umuwi na lamang pagsapit ng alas-singko upang ipagpahinga ang duguang utak. Alam kong nag-iimbita ang ate ko na makipagkita nung gabing din yun. Pero dahil halos alas-diyes pa siya matatapos, sa susunod na araw na lang kami magkikita: sa fort sa mas makataong oras na alas-dose ng hapon.

Tumawag si mum at pilit na binago nya ang isip ko. Mag-aral na lang daw ako sa isa sa maraming bakanteng upuan ng nasabugang glorietta. Napa-buntonghininga na lang ako at ibinulsa ang cellphone bago ko pa ito maibato.

Parang inaya mo yung lawyer mag-inuman bago mag-bar exam; parang nag-commercial si Kris Aquino sa Deal-Or-No-Deal; parang inaya mong mag-jogging yung may LBM.

Hinintay ko sila sa bakanteng activity center ng glorietta, hawak ang mabigat na libro at pumipikit-pikit sa pagod. Pero nung dumating si ate, Huwaw! parang kape lang! Na-miss pala kita, kahit hindi halata.

At nung linggo, pagkatapos nang exam, pauwi't naglalakad, naramdaman ko ang masiglang tibok ng magaan kong puso. Tumibok sya nung naalala kong magkasama tayong buong pamilya sa kotse. Kumpleto, kahit sandali.