I throw around a lot of “____ is overrated” these days. I suppose being unimpressed comes with age, but it’s also probably because I’ve grown tired of getting too — for lack of a better word — enthusiastic.

I say that word like it’s a bad thing, but it’s not. Passion is everything, especially when you’re on to something that keeps blood running through your veins. We all need something to work on, to keep our hands busy. A project that needs to get done within a certain period. A target, a perceived goal. Without it, we’re lost. And without passion, we’re dead.

But passion can also pull us down too deep into the rabbit hole until we forget about the real world above the ground.

Sometimes we get too caught up with gunning for whatever would make us happy, and in the process we become oblivious to the fact that there’s actually a good chance that we might fail. Sure, everybody says things like “give it your best” or “follow your heart” or whatnot, but when you’ve been through several instances when you had to go all-in on something so potentially rewarding and end up with nothing, you’d have no choice but to take it easy the next time around.

I’ve learned that the degree of happiness one can attain depends on how much he or she has emotionally invested on something. The higher the stakes, the higher the potential for overwhelming happiness, the higher the risk for devastation.

When I was in my early 20s, I felt like there was no other choice but to be aggressive with whatever I bump into in life. I've jumped into premature relationships, I've ventured into shady career paths, I've lived independently, I partied hard and I took a big bite of the cake. I invested a huge part of me to things that I wasn’t sure would last. I placed my bets like a high-roller every time I saw an opportunity. I had the world to lose and so little to gain.

There was nothing up my sleeves to prepare me for the possibility of failure; in fact, failure was a concept that was almost nonexistent in my operating system. I had the time of my life.

But looking back, that brand of happiness doesn’t even come close to the real thing. All that was just artificial gratification. Real happiness is when you’re finally able to perceive life and make decisions while fully knowing what you’re getting into. Finding your place under the sun. Being able to discern what’s right from wrong and being accountable for every action you make.

Happiness is a frame of mind. But more importantly, it’s a sustained frame of mind.

We can’t just live our lives taking chances every single day. There should be an endeavor to achieve stability and disposition. Being unpredictable and uncertain can be tempting, but at the end of the day, we all look for something permanent that we can lean on as we fight our daily, mundane battles.

This recently concluded month of October is — I swear to god — the most fucked up month in my 27 years of existence. And that’s saying a lot, considering I’ve been through shit.

Excusez mon français.

Oh man, it’s so bad, I mean, not because of any serious interpersonal, financial or existential crises or any of those things, but it was just plain crappy. There was no flare in the manner by which I did my tasks at work. There was no particular event that had excited me even by the smallest degree. There wasn’t any significant change or anything that was even remotely interesting.

I don’t know — it could have been just like any other dull, ordinary month, but it wasn’t. It was way worse than any month I can remember. I practically slithered and squirmed my way out of those 31 days with extreme, lingering satisfaction that it was all over.

Since then I’ve been imagining what it would be like to spend a lifetime of “perpetual Octobers”. I know, I’m such a dick for even allowing myself to reflect that way and torture my head, but I can’t help but think of it (sorry, brain). And I’m pretty sure — although I hope I’m wrong — that there are people out there who breathe and live in literal hell, each and every day.

And it just plain sucks that some people have to go through life with constant struggle. I can understand how the universe must sometimes scheme a story wherein a palpable misfortunate must befall on someone, but not throughout most of his or her life! I mean, c'mon, give them a break, for crissake.

That just makes the entire concept of having “someone up there” much more of a BS fairy-tale. Why would an entity — with all the might to do literally anything — inflict suffering on those he supposedly “loves unconditionally”? To teach a lesson? Cruel. To earn their worship? Selfish. Just because he can? Mean.

I don’t get it.


Let’s make it more “official”. According to that famous collection of ridiculous stories and conflicting accounts of ice age-less history a.k.a. the bible, God allows suffering in order to:

• discipline or to prevent sin (Hebrews 12:7, 11; 2 Corinthians 12:7)


• develop perseverance, character and spiritual maturity (Romans 5:3-5; James 1:2-4)


• prepare us to comfort others (2 Corinthians 1:3-4)


• provide opportunities to share our faith and spread the news about Jesus (Philippians 1:12)


• follow Jesus’ example and thus bring honor to him (1 Peter 4:12-14)


• show genuine faith and thus bring honor to God (1 Peter 1:6-7)

Okay, bunch of crap.

So basically, this “supreme being” allows catastrophic natural disasters to kill hundreds of thousands each year, allows continual wars destroying and ending the lives of innocent people, allows fatal epidemics to kill millions in the poorest of countries, allows rape, incest, physical abuse on young children, and even allows people to kill in his name, just because he wants us to achieve the things listed above? That is so screwed up.

Tell that to the six million Jews who were killed during the Holocaust. See if any of those "justifications" would make sense.

But obviously we’re supposed to respect other people’s beliefs. I only refuse to be part of a system that justifies evil and suffering by attributing every fucking tragedy to the so-called “will” of a certain “authority”.

Breaking Bad: The Heisenberg Concept

I’ve been watching a lot of Breaking Bad lately and although I’ve only been through 1 and a half seasons, it made me do a lot of thinking. This guy, Heisenberg, found out that he was dying of lung cancer, and decided to “break bad” by cooking meth and saving enough money to secure his family’s future.

I think the concept revolves not solely on how one person chose to spend his remaining days, but on how he put his love for his family on top of everything. He didn’t care about moral responsibilities. He didn’t care about breaking the laws of men. He knew he had little time left, so he did what he had to do by doing what he does best.

But do we have to be cancer-stricken before we could act on making our lives more useful?

We’re bound by so many rules and shackles that our desperate desires take a back seat to social scrutiny and persecution. We have religious doctrines to follow. We have earthly rules to observe. We have domestic cultures, social mores and peer pressure, all pulling against different directions in our conscience.

Why can’t we do want we ought to do to survive? I mean, we don’t have to be drug lords or fugitives in order to fulfill our existence, but we could at least shatter the invisible glass shell that keeps us from maximizing our potential to make a change in our own lives, if not of others’. Not breaking bad” but “breaking free”.


 Not a fan of "the afterlife"

I’ve always believed that there’s really nothing out there for us once our flesh starts to decompose. This life we have right now, this is it. This is the main show. There is no encore.

And even if there is, say, a place called “heaven” where there is no pain or sorrow, I’m not really excited about it. Pain and sorrow is the very core of being human, and without them, what’s the point? I don’t want to spend eternity hanging out with angels amongst the clouds while singing joyful songs and playing harps with no other emotion aside from bliss.

I want to live. I want to experience pain. And love. And torment. And depression. And romance. And getting high. And gaining wisdom from stupid mistakes. I wish everyone would stop worrying about the afterlife for a minute and make the most of what they have right now.

If this life is indeed the only one we’ll ever have, so be it, and I plan to enjoy every bloody second of it.

Photo credits: amctv.com  | viralnova.com | funnyjunk.com

So at my show on Monday
I was hoping someday
You'd be on your way to better things
It's not about your make-up
Or how you try to shape up
To these tiresome paper dreams
Paper dreams, honey

So now you pour your heart out
You're telling me you're far out
You're not about to lie down for your cause
But you don't pull my strings
'Cos I'm a better man
Moving on to better things

Well uh oh, oh I love her because she moves in her own way
Well uh oh, oh she came to my show just to hear about my day

And at the show on Tuesday
She was in her mindset
Tempered furs and spangled boots
Looks are deceiving
Make me believe it
And these tiresome paper dreams
Paper dreams, honey
Yeah

So wont you go far
Tell me you're a keeper
Not about to lie down for your cause
And you don't pull my strings
'Cos I'm a better man
Moving on to better things

Well oh oh, oh I love her because she moves in her own way
Well oh oh, oh she came to my show just to hear about my day

yes I wish that we never made it
Through all the summers
They're keeping us instead of
Kicking us back
Down through the suburbs
yes I wish that we never made it
Through all the summers
They're keeping us instead of
Kicking us back
Down through the suburbs

But uh oh, I love her because she moves in her own way
But uh oh, she came to my show just to hear about my day
But uh oh, oh I love her because she moves in her own way
But uh oh, oh she came to my show just to hear about my day

Photo credit: lyricscity.tumblr.com

Growing up, I wasn’t a “lola’s boy”. I didn’t spend afternoons chatting with her on our bougainvillea-adorned porch, nor did I cuddle with her as she watched her favorite afternoon soap operas inside her pink-curtained room. She knew no secret of mine, and we never had any intimate conversations about life.

No, I wasn’t a “lola’s boy”. On the contrary (and in retrospect), I actually wasn’t even a nice grandson to her. I would pocket her spare coins whenever she asked me to buy something. I would lie to her about going to church (she always took part during services, and she’d look for me in the crowd; when she got home I’d say, “I was there, you probably just didn’t see me!”)

The only thing that connected us was our shared passion for academic pursuits.

She was a grade school teacher who eventually founded her own pre-school institution. Her teaching approach was edgy compared to other schools, and her drive to make her students excel was infamous not only in her locale, but in neighboring towns as well. My lola was the most passionate person I knew when talking about education.

Naturally, as her grandson, I had the privilege of experiencing a more special kind of mentoring and guidance from her.

She had a way of motivating me to be better. I wasn't that difficult to please, but whenever I didn’t feel like studying, there was virtually nothing my parents could do to keep me from playing outside. In a very cunning but sweet way, my lola resorted to bribing me with cookies.

That’s right. Cookies.

Not the kind that you buy at the corner store. They were special cookies; the brand name is oblivious to me even up to this day, which kinda pisses me off. I never really knew where they came from, but my educated guesses were that: a) they were being regularly sent to her by one of my aunts from abroad, b) they were from a remote town called Batan, Aklan where she grew up, or C) she just knew of a good place to buy insanely-delicious cookies from, the exact location of which remained unrevealed to rest of the human race.

I’m not sure why I didn’t bother to ask her — which I will regret for years to come — but I didn’t.

She used to put them inside a weird, antique-looking cookie box (technically it wasn’t a box, coz it was made of aluminum and it was round, so it was more of a big-ass can, but I’ll call it a box). Whenever I saw that cookie box, I felt like Scooby Doo in the midst of a Scooby Snack.

All she asked in exchange for two cookies was for me to read an entire Disney book. They were those glossy-covered high-res storybooks that came along with the VHS tapes of The Lion King, Aladdin, The Fox and the Hound, and The Little Mermaid (these were the ones that she had). They weren’t that long; they’re actually very good condensed versions of the stories, if you wanted to refresh your memory of what happened in the movies.

Even though those books were awesome — the lines were exactly as they are in the films, so I would act them out when I was in the mood — I hated the fact that she’d ask me to read them aloud in front of her while she stared blankly at the ceiling, rocking her chair with feminine ease. Sometimes, some of the helpers would also watch, and to their standards, I was Miss Saigon material. But I hated it. I had this weird speaking voice and I never really enjoyed speaking in public, even when reading off a book.

Still, the insufferable 10-minute read was always WORTH IT. Yep, those cookies were that good.

After my “performance”, she’d stand up and she’d have that proud look on her face like I’ve just won the Nobel Peace Prize for Disneyology. Her delight made me pretty pleased with myself too, and that feeling, coupled with two pieces of the best cookies in the world, was childhood heaven.

As I grew older, my lola rarely bought (if she did buy them) those cookies again, and I became too busy with my social life (by “social”, I meant hanging out with 2 friends, sometimes 3). At first I was like, “Man, I miss those cookies.” But then later on I realized that I missed the reading sessions, too.

Before that point, I’ve always thought that she wanted me to always read to her just to entertain herself. I’d be like, “Wow, she really likes these stories; maybe that's why she wants to hear them over and over.” Eventually I had come to understand that she did it to make me feel at ease with the English language, particularly while speaking in front of people. Yep, she Miyagi’d me.

I’m not going to say that lola’s cookies cured my fear of public speaking— it still kinda freaks me out — but it definitely would have gotten worse if she hadn’t thought of giving me a bit of confidence in myself. And it has gone a long way since.


At times I would see weird boxes just like that of lola’s, and I would still smile while picturing her proud look in my mind. It’s just one out of a million reasons why she will be remembered by many.

Thanks, lola.

 

I caught myself escaping my own  body

Discreetly, between stale tube shows and pee trips

My vigor equally split in half

Each side gunning for a hostile takeover

While a confused crowd watched from the sidelines

 

It was supposed to be an eye-opener

(Literally and figuratively)

But that malevolent cup fostered an ailing affair

Arrested, addictive jabs against the prisoner of my chest

(Literally and figuratively)

 

Obviously I’m not much for metaphors

And karma in my book is an obsolete gag

But my fears are as palpable as my cold sweat

Biding, prowling

As I steal away into the night

 

Sharing my contributed post to 8list.ph which was subsequently republished by Yahoo! Philippines:

8 Social Perks That Only (True) Introverts Enjoy
Yahoo! She | Philippines
8list.ph
By Paulo M. Bayabos 

01 Jul 2014

(You can view the Yahoo! article here and the 8list post here.)

First of all, yes – there are posers out there. Apparently, a lot of people are claiming to be introverted, although their actions obviously point to the opposite direction. I suppose they think it makes them “cool”.

“Oh, yes, I’m definitely an introvert. I prefer staying at home and reading books and thinking about the meaning of life and stuff.”

Yeah, sure you do.

Can’t blame them, though. Being an introvert does carry with it a bag full of benefits. After a myriad of tests (ahem, standardized tests, not the ones on OkCupid.com – I was a Psych major), I’ve finally come into terms with being a legit introvert, and so far it’s been pleasurable. No, really.

The funny thing is that these benefits are almost exclusive to the real thing – meaning, if you’re just pretending to be one, you really won’t be able to appreciate much of it in the long run, because your true ‘social’ nature will eventually resurface. So yeah, good luck with that.

What are these benefits I’m talking about?

8.  Not having to pretend that we care

If you’re a “people person”, others would – almost always – expect you to give a damn. You’d constantly have something to say about something, and in turn, people would need to hear you out for them to validate their own opinions. True extroverts have no problem with that.

We introverts, on the other hand, are not so generous with feedback (well, observable feedback, anyway). An introvert’s interest is earned, not given away. So even when in the midst of all the fuss you spot us still indifferently immersed in our own world, you really won’t expect us to jump in. And we thank you for that.

7. Not having to initiate conversations

To presume that we hate talking to people is just sheer ignorance. Introverts actually love conversations, but we don’t talk unless we have something to say. We’re allergic to small, empty talk, not only with strangers but even with people close to us.

True introverts do not feel any sort of obligation to verbally reach out to someone just for the sake of doing it. But if we see something in you, we may just break out of our shell and say “hi”. Just don’t bet on it.

6. Not having to regret saying the things we've said

The beauty of being an introvert is that our words are more delicately expressed than that of others. It’s not really because we choose our words more wisely; it’s just that we don’t possess an irrational urge toimmediately spit out whatever goes inside our minds. We’re not saints; we also judge and think ill of people. The only difference is that we can choose to shut up about it. This leads to a very low “speak-now-regret-later” ratio, although we do have a relatively high “I-should’ve-said-something” percentage.

5. Not being easily distracted

Introverts are extremely focused people, even when working on something they don’t really enjoy. We’re capable of shutting ourselves off from our surroundings and pay full attention to a singular thing. I’m not saying other people don’t have that ability, but we are less susceptible to distractions, especially in the form of, well, people.

Einstein, one of the most famously documented introverts, once said, “It's not that I'm so smart, it's just that I stay with problems longer.”

4. Not having to constantly woo the opposite sex

Since introverts are biologically wired to be introspective rather than being obsessed with seeking attention, the basic tenets of romance are also quite different for us. We don’t “put our best foot forward” and use charm to attract people we like. Instead, we keep on doing the things we normally do and wait for someone to notice us. “Pa-mysterious” effect, if you will.

We basically have an “if you don’t get me, you don’t deserve me” attitude, which makes it hard for non-introverts to sink their teeth into. The advantage? It saves us from the hassles of pretending to be someone we’re not (again, good luck, phonies).

3.  Not having to persuade people with much effort

Despite of having become a respected debater and public speaker, Abraham Lincoln was a documented introvert. His flair for influence was not solely attributed to his communication skills, but also to his ability to listen.

When people see you as someone who reserves words for whenever only necessary and would rather lend ears, they tend to be respectful of your opinions. Yes, extroverts can easily harness a crowd’s attention, but it’s the quiet ones that compel people to really listen and take action.

2. Not having to seek social pleasure

We don’t need to get drunk on Prom night (but we can). We don’t need to do videoke with colleagues (but we can). We don’t need to go to the mall and watch a movie with rowdy friends (we do our movie-watching rather intimately, but yeah, we can hang out). In short, we can entertain ourselves.

We can endure solitary weekends with just a couple of good books, an external HDD full of House M.D. episodes and a reliable internet connection. Yes, we can be an absolute drag, but if these things are enough to make us happy, who is to say otherwise?

1. Not having to miss the real beauty of the world

We don’t go out as much, but when we do, we like to grab the chance to appreciate our surroundings. We enjoy examining people, curiously, from the sidelines. We try to avoid getting caught up with what people do, and perhaps try to understand why they do it. We like to gain different perspectives, look at different angles.

Being introverts allows us to talk less and observe more – to see things that others may not.



 

All images c/o 8list.ph

 

I first saw this film back in 2007 and have probably re-seen it around 10-15 times since then. The lines in this movie have been quoted millions of times on the interwebs, in school cafeterias, office lobbies and beauty parlors. Many consider this as the best contemporary Filipino love story, mainly because of the raw-ness of the plot and the effectiveness of the actors.

But it’s only now that I’m able to put my finger on what it looks to me as a glaring flaw in its story. I now honestly believe – after 7 years – that the ending is stupid.

Now before you go ballistic on me, let me show you where I’m coming from.

(Warning: A verbose tirade of bitterness is coming your way.)

The film starts out with Basha, an architect, breaking up and apparently asking for ‘space’ from his boyfriend, Popoy, an engineer. From the get-go, it was made pretty clear that Popoy was a very controlling partner,  from Basha's daily work up to the food she eats, and that made her feel constrained, forcing her to demand separation from Popoy.



Yes, it was absolutely 100% Popoy’s fault, because he was practically holding Basha by the neck and dictating her life. It was a mistreatment of neurotic proportions. That part is clear to me.

Here’s my problem.

The manner by which Basha supposedly ‘asked’ for space was, for me, quite unfair. Although she had all the right to complain about the way Popoy had been treating her, she could have at least sat down and talked about it with him, or made a lengthy rant about all of Popoy’s offenses. Hell, she could have shouted at him, slapped him, kicked his balls or judo-chopped his throat for all I care.

Instead, she chose to walk out on him, refused to give even a small bit of explanation, and left Popoy hanging in the air. Yes, Popoy made a mistake, no doubt. But he deserved to know what was wrong, because he didn’t know, and he had only the best intentions in mind.

I mean, they’ve been together for a long time, and she should have been decent enough to handle the situation maturely. That childish act was very unwarranted, given the foundation of their relationship. They weren’t just a couple of 16-year olds in a romantic fling; they were young professionals, saving for their dream house and planning for their future. But Basha acted like a typical high school girlfriend.

Despite that, I was like, okay, maybe Basha was so fed up that she couldn't muster enough strength to confront Popoy with the truth. Fine, I’ll give her that.

But even after a few weeks, she still didn’t do anything to let Popoy know what really happened. While Popoy was drowning in anguish, she was finger-painting t-shirts and had a nice haircut. She even smiled when she got out of the parlor, as if she had done a very noble thing. She found another workplace and made friends with a hunk. In short, there was no showing of pain, guilt, or devastation from her. It was as if she was 100% confident that what she did was the right thing, and she moved on swiftly. She fixed her life – just like that –  at the expense of Popoy’s misery.



Meanwhile, Popoy drank himself to death every night. His career got ruined, and he spent his days still wishing he would get to at least talk to Basha. The breakup was something he could have endured, but the painful part was not being able to do anything about it, because Basha denied him that chance.

That’s my problem. For me, what Basha did was too cruel. It’s not like Popoy was cheating on her, or beating her up, or was being an irresponsible partner. His only crime was that he cared too much about their future, not knowing that Basha was choking to death. Be that as it may, Popoy didn’t deserve to be dismissed like that. Basha made him feel as if he was totally expendable. That she could let him go anytime and not even explain why.

And then Popoy met Trisha. If it weren’t for this caring, unselfish woman, who knows where Popoy would have ended up? She picked him up during the lowest point in his life. Then he was okay again. His life got back on track, and they were in a loving relationship.

Until Basha got into the picture and ruined everything again.

Fact: Weeks after the breakup, Popoy was still desperately trying to get back to Basha, while Basha kept on ignoring him.

Fact: After the breakup, Basha immediately moved on. She became happy with her new life. Popoy took a long time before he could recover from the pain.

Fact: It was only when Basha knew that Popoy had a new girlfriend that she thought of Popoy again. If she hasn’t found out about Trisha, she could’ve went on with her life not giving a damn about Popoy.

Fact: If Basha did not desperately try to win back Popoy’s love, Popoy could have ended up very happy with Trisha. See how selfish Basha was?

But then here’s the stupid part.

1. Basha admitted to Popoy that she wished they were still together, and that was when Popoy uttered the famous line:



Of course, this was very unfair to Popoy. He had a girlfriend. But of course, to see your ex-girlfriend cry in front of you telling you that she still wants you and regrets letting you go is something that could totally cloud your judgment.

2. Then Basha went to Popoy’s apartment, suddenly becoming so apologetic about what she did a million years ago (something that’s supposed to be irrelevant already, had she not forcefully tried to bring back). Then she walked away, but when Popoy didn’t stop her, she turned back and cried like a baby. Pathetic. Of course they made out, made love, and the Filipino romantic hero wins again. Plain stupid.

I mean, what is that? Out of pity? Out of nostalgia? Has he forgotten how she literally took him for granted? How she, without warning, just cut him off entirely and ended their long relationship like she just flicked a switch? How she caused him to be jobless and physically unstable? How could he just forget that?

I don’t get it (I hear collective shouts of “love!” but no, that makes it even more stupid). The point is, he loved her, she had a problem, decided to bail on him, never looked back, left him to suffer, and now she wants him back. And he took that bait. Un-friggin-believable.

3. Because of this, Popoy had to break up with Trisha, who was a great girlfriend. He had to hurt an innocent person’s feelings. He had to inflict the same pain he had suffered from to someone he loved. He had to let go of a blossoming relationship, just because his ex suddenly got all mushy and decided to play mistress.



4. What’s even worse is that after Popoy dumped Trisha, he ended up with no one. He had to leave for Qatar and work his ass off to forget all the scandal that Basha had caused. Of course, after two years, they lived happily ever after. *facepalm*

It’s kind of jawdropping how this story ended up. I know that love stories are supposed to be complicated in real life, but how can we let this atrocity fool our emotions? I feel betrayed. I feel like I’m being fed with the same hopeless romantic crap we’ve been getting since the Jolina-Marvin era.

Don't get me wrong. ‘One More Chance’ is a good movie – a great one, actually. But for what it’s worth, I believe it deserved a better ending.

"Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer."

A full minute had passed before he realized that the blinking cursor on the screen and the pace of his own beating heart were in perfect synchrony. He was amused – albeit only for a moment. The thought of him noticing that insignificant event made him even sadder.

It had been almost a week of fruitlessness in the editorial office, but for Raymond, tomorrow was no longer an option. He needed to finish long overdue short stories and online reviews, not to mention the back logs that had accumulated thanks to his recent  “episodes”.

The last day of the week had finally caught up with him. But even after gulping down an unreasonable amount of coffee and more than 2 overtime hours, he still couldn’t juice out one word from his skull.

Not a word. Not even a faint idea of a word.

Looking at his watch almost hitting 6:30 p.m., Raymond was almost certain that his time with the company was up, and that he’d be asked to clear out his desk by Monday morning. He knew it wouldn’t be a surprise, let alone a shock.

“Hey man, you should get some air.”

He sprang up from his chair and immediately found the direction of the voice.

“Oh, Greg. Didn’t know you were, uh, still here.” Raymond said, straightening his glasses frantically. “Yes, yes. I’ll uh, probably do that in a bit. I’m just gonna – “ he took a glance back at his empty monitor, “– wrap this up,”

Greg couldn’t help but notice that slight hint of misery in Raymond’s voice – he knew a struggling writer when he saw one. He didn’t have to notice the low-level brightness of his colleague’s idle computer monitor just to be able to say that he hadn’t typed anything in hours.

“Is Rebecca here?” asked Greg.

“Rebecca? What – why are you asking me? I dunno. Is she supposed to be here?”

“No. I just thought she might be here. She always hangs out at your station,” Greg answered. He forced a smile that was too far away for Raymond to notice.

What is up with this guy? Raymond thought. He looked down and saw that Greg was carrying a bag. “Don't you guys work out together?”

“Yeah, but she never uses the office gym. She only works out at Kelly’s,” Greg said, swinging his bag up to his back shoulder. Raymond shrugged. Greg walked on.

“I’m telling you, man. You’re killing yourself. Don’t let that sunnuvabitch terrorize you!” Greg howled while heading to the exit. He was still shouting something on the way out but the rest had become inaudible. As soon as his voice was gone, Raymond was left staring at nothing in particular inside the empty office.

A few seconds later, more lights were killed.

Raymond sighed. Greg should be the last one, he thought. He’s probably right, though. I need a break. He groped for his lighter inside the desk drawer and headed to the stairs going up to the rooftop.

He didn’t mind going up 4 more floors from his office, and even if the elevators were operational at night, he would've still taken the stairs. Although, taking slow but long strides, he wished the rooftop wasn’t too spooky at this hour, and yet he found consolation in the fact that nobody would see his face as he bordered between quitting and giving his job one last push.

He knew he could no longer work this way. More and more people were witnessing his collapse from being a well-respected writer down to someone who had become so distant and somewhat possessed.

Of course, he had already contemplated on his fate as a corporate writer before. But tonight would decide his fate once and for all.

He had a lot of thinking to do, and it was a moment of weakness that needed no audience.

When he got there he was somehow pleased that he didn’t have to look for an available spot. The rooftop was always packed with smokers during the day, and in most cases he had to settle for a not-so-pleasant area right beside the generators and the stinking exhaust windows.

Right now, though, he had the place all to himself.

Or so he thought.



**

He was just midway through his second stick of Marlboro Reserve when he began hearing footsteps of someone walking up an aluminum staircase. The noise was coming from the far end of the rooftop, exactly at the opposite side of where he was. There was a white light behind the door leading to the fire exit, and it was getting brighter and brighter through the gaps in the door frame.

Raymond dismissed the possibility of having any of his colleagues for company, since he couldn’t imagine anyone else staying behind at this hour. It was 10 minutes before 7:00 p.m.

Must be Mr. Nayar, he imagined. It was the only logical guess. Mr. Nayar was the building caretaker and Raymond had always thought of him as someone who practically lived in the office.

He watched closely. He wasn’t put out by the idea of someone suddenly spoiling his rare chance to enjoy the rooftop  by himself, but he’d wished it was someone other than Mr. Nayar. He never understood much of his thick Indian accent.

Then it happened. He heard muffled voices; most likely, voices of two people talking.

He flicked his unfinished cigar and it went flying into a small bush of artificial shrubs. More people? Okay now I’m going, he thought. He straightened up and walked towards the other stairs, away from the arriving party of unknowns.

He was about to pass through the door but before he lost sight of the bright city lights surrounding him, the fire exit door from the other side swiftly swung open. It gave way to a whole lot of other voices, definitely not just the two that he had heard.

He half-staggered, and then turned around slowly.

What in the world?

***



Raymond took a step to his side and hid under the shadow of one of the slow-humming generators. People were now coming up out of the fire exit door and onto the rooftop floor. They marched in, two at a time, side by side, and seemed to be holding pieces of paper.

The person leading them – the one without a pair – was holding up a fluorescent lamp right above his head for all to see.

Raymond’s eyesight was notoriously poor under normal circumstances, but never for a second did he doubt the identity of that person holding the lamp. With that health-buff physique and Andy Dufresne hairstyle, he‘d recognize Greg anywhere.

He knew most of the other people by their faces, but it seemed that Greg was the only one he knew personally – by his own standards of office socialization. Yet, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

What’s all this? What’re they all doing here? Raymond whispered to himself.

Years of watching cult and secret society movies somehow influenced Raymond to concoct crazy theories in his head while watching his colleagues gather on the office building rooftop at 7:00 p.m. on a Friday night. But there wasn’t any ritual of some sort.

They were not wearing hooded robes nor were they dishing out weird-looking candles to one another. No bronze idol in their midst and there were no manifestations of worship or sacrificial rites. No incantations, no ancient languages. They were just there, casually talking to each other in demure voices, like patrons at the theatre lobby discussing a play they’ve just seen.

For a minute, Raymond had forgotten about his deadlines. He wanted to leave, but decided against it, thinking that what he was seeing right now would never escape his mind anyway.  He decided to stay and see what it was all about.

He saw Greg asking the others to sit down and listen to him. This is it, he thought. He grabbed his phone from his pocket and readied to record a video, but the moment his phone lit up, one of them turned his head towards his direction.

Shit!

Raymond instantaneously shoved his phone back in his pocket and tried not to breathe. The man was still looking at where he was. He glanced at the door just a few feet behind him. His feet were ready to bail him out any minute now.

Three seconds later, the man scratched his head and turned towards Greg again.

Holy fuck.

 

tbc ♣

Fact: People in our lives die. Some die physically, while others die in our hearts.

But not all deaths are tragic. Well, they seem to be at first, but then after a while we’d realize that it’s actually okay that some of our relationships – friendly or romantic – have ended. When you think about all the people in your life, you’d see how unimportant most of them really are. It’s a foul, shitty piece of reality. Most of these people are just there, not really making an impact in our lives. (And no, don't give me that butterfly effect crap.)

We used to think we’d be friends with these people forever, but by the time they’re gone it just makes you sad to know that you can actually go on with your life without them.

It took me two and a half decades to learn that you actually only need a handful of friends to get by.

I have five. That’s like 0.004% of my Facebook “friends”.

I still bump into some of my grade school classmates every so often, but that’s only because we live in the same area. Proximity is never an indication of friendship. Now some of my college classmates are still in my circle, but to my initial surprise, none of them actually ended up in my “super friends” category.

So yeah, it’s high school.

Three of my five best pals are from high school, and only one of those three belonged to the same class as I did. The other two are a couple of years older.

The rest of the faces I could recall in high school turned out to be merely passing meteorites which, despite of leaving a dazzling trail of memorable history upon their path, will always be just a recollection of spectacle that had once made me smile (and, in some cases, cry). Who knows when they’ll return, and is that even a possibility now that the memories are slowly fading?

Love kills slowly



And then there are those who were once the center of our universe.

I kill exes. That’s what I do. I only kill them in my mind, of course (although there were cases when I wanted to literally murder an ex girlfriend). Totally kidding. Actually no I’m not kidding.

When I “kill” them it doesn’t necessarily mean that I stop acknowledging their existence.

When I’m hooked up with someone, I put them upon a pedestal – but I don't worship the person; I worship the power she has over me. And as soon as that relationship falls apart, I must then immediately kill that person – just the one with the power – or else I won't be able to survive the next chapters of my life.

The other person, the one who used to be my friend, is spared from my killing. She doesn't deserve to die.

I don’t know what kind of a sick bastard I am for wanting to kill my exes after every breakup, but I have no choice. I just don't wanna stay in the dark.

In one particular story – a recent relationship in fact – I failed to kill that powerful person in my mind. The result was a bloody battle of ego, desperation and plain irrationality. I lost myself, not remembering what I was fighting for. Each time I tried to let go, sore and pungent thoughts came screaming back into my mind.

I became weak. Like rock bottom weak. And because of that I was unwillingly letting her manipulate me, like a tiny, helpless toy soldier on the palm of her hands.

When I was finally able to kill her, a new world immediately opened up right in front of my eyes. Like being born again, only with the same pathetic life.

That is why killing is essential to me. For me it’s the only way to win against the immaculate curse that is love. It's my defense mechanism. My panic button. The door that leads to the fire exit.

I need to kill people.

Or else I start killing myself inch by inch.



 

Photo Credit: Wallpoper.com | Cower.me | WikiPaintings.org

 

It’s still an on-going mission to watch all of the Best Picture contenders in the last Oscars. I am yet to watch Dallas Buyers Club (I know, what the hell, right?) and Nebraska. Anyway, 7 out of 9 ain’t bad.

The most recent one I saw was Spike Jonze’s “Her”. This movie has officially become one of my all-time favorites. And not with a single shred of doubt, at that.

I’ve been meaning to list down my top 10 ever, which is by itself an extremely difficult thing to do. Not even Roger Ebert could do that (rest in peace, maestro). It’s impossible. Our favorite movies are usually seasonal and dependent on what stage we are at in our lives, and even sometimes based on our ultra-temporal moods. So to trickle it down to only 10 choices would be very subjective – and ultimately unreliable.

That’s why I only plan of choosing around 4-6 favorites and then leave room for future movies. There are still decades of movies to come and it would be illogical to complete that top 10 this early on.

As of right now, the “definite” top placers are City of Angels [1998], Back to the Future [1985], American Beauty [1999], Revolutionary Road [2008]  and Fight Club [1999]. These are the movies which will forever be my favorites no matter what. And I’m pretty certain that the list will grow.





Then there are these other placers, ones that are currently on the list but still have the possibility to be dropped in the future. These are Vanilla Sky [2001], The Shawshank Redemption [1994], and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind [2004]. Last year I added Midnight in Paris [2012]. And, as the most recent addition, Her [2013]. More about Her in a sec.

The question “What's your favorite movie?” is not a personality test

Real talk: I hate it when people tell me that their favorite movies are those which are considered “intelligent” or “deep” or “unpopular”. For me it’s a sad, disgusting thing to do, pretending they like a particular movie (eventhough it’s obvious that they don’t) just so they would sound smart. It’s so gross that I can barely stand listening to these people.

Don't tell me that you like Dangerous Liaisons or LA Confidential because you would just sound phony to me. Whereas if you’d tell me that your favorite movie is Titanic or any of the Harry Potter flicks, I would accept you with open arms.

Fight Club, despite being a cult classic and a popular favorite, is part of my list because I sincerely love the film. I don't care if it’s a predictable, mediocre choice. I love it, so it should be on the list. Same goes for Back to the Future and The Shawshank Redemption. The other ones, although not popular, have had a significant effect on me (on top of being awesomely made) which qualifies them as a favorite.

Critical reappraisal

Movie critics do something called critical reappraisal which, as the term suggests, allows them to evaluate the reviews they’ve made in the past. Reviews are greatly influenced by what’s happening around us – the connection of the movie to the present time. When allowed to give a secondary opinion after a considerable time has passed, one would oftentimes come up with a different perspective of a film.

When I was in high school I considered Scent of a Woman [1992] as my all-time favorite. It was mainly because Al Pacino, who was, is, and will forever be my favorite actor, is in it. But as years passed the respect I had with the movie has diminished, and surprisingly, not a single Pacino movie has made it to my all-time list. A fact that disturbs me rather seriously.

It was the same fate for Dead Poets Society [1989], The Breakfast Club [1985], and Se7en [1995]. They were once high-ranking favorites but have slowly climbed down into obscurity.

The irresistible charm that is “Her"



I’m not gonna say I like Joaquin Phoenix. I liked his Johnny Cash in Walk The Line [2005] and I thought his performance in The Master [2012] deserved an Oscar. But that’s about it.

I also like his antics. Remember that time in 2008 when he “allegedly” retired from acting, grew a beard, became a recluse and transformed into a hip hop artist? No one was really sure what was going on; some said it was just an act while some were truly convinced he’d gone loco.

His rare appearance on Letterman was one of the funniest, most awkward interviews I’ve ever seen:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RRb_3hCa72Y

Yes - you guessed it - it was a hoax, intended as a marketing tactic for his mockumentary, I'm Still Here  [2010]

I like watching Her repeatedly and I can't even point out what exactly I like about it. Sure, there are giveaways like that cutie weirdo Rooney Mara and the ever-hot Olivia Wilde. Then there’s Amy Adams. Of course, there’s Scarlet Johansson’s voice.



But I suppose I like the premise, I like the acting, I like the songs, I like how the cameras moved, I like how the pace of the movie was so relaxed, so much that you’d start to think it wasn’t gonna end.

It was supposed to be sad

The idea of someone falling in love (?) with an operating system is downright pathetic if you think about it, but to my surprise, I found it very amusing. I started thinking what it would be like to have an intimate conversation with someone made out of a computer chip and advanced electrical signals. Scarlet’s voice really would help a lot, too.

I have to admit: it IS a bit scary. Someday, this technology may prove to be un-impossible at all, and a kid of mine may be one of those losers who ends up marrying a robot. This would be an awesome movie to throw back to, which by then I would tell my kid, “That movie was made during the time when the concept of a talking, feeling, operating system was still a RIDICULOUS idea”.

Then again, it would be cool, though. So keep working, Silicon Valley nerds.

 

Photo Credit: RogerEbert.com | TimeInc.net | ApnaTimePass.com

 

 

I recently took one of those silly online tests to find out which F.R.I.E.N.D.S. character I am (Try it here).

Although I was certain I was going to be either Chandler or Monica (the test wasn’t gender-specific), I took it just for kicks.

The result, as expected:



People who know me very well would not find this a surprise. Since way back in high school, I’ve always been the class clown, and people have accepted me (sometimes unwillingly) to play that part. The only difference is that I don't make people laugh through actions. I don't make faces or do crazy stunts like Chandler does. It’s my sarcastic comments and offbeat reactions that people tend to remember me by.

It has even come to a point when my friends would usually “expect” me to say something witty in any given situation, even after high school. Thing is, I've kinda toned down (a little bit) in that department ever since I started taking my Psychology course seriously in college – which happened pretty late, I should say.

So every time that perfect moment comes and people don't hear me say anything sardonic, they get kinda disappointed. Which is really funny, come to think about it.

I used to date someone who had a very quiet and subdued demeanor. I was on the peak of my Chandleresque reputation at that time and although she never said it out loud, I knew she was not impressed with that particular talent of mine.

One day, we were eating out with friends and I was in the Chandler-zone. I was throwing comments all over the place and even went as far as embarrassing some of my friends. The girl I was dating apparently had enough of my crap, stood up and said, “I don’t find you funny – at all.”

Then she walked out.

We still continued seeing each other after that – it was actually a long one, that relationship – and that eye-opening moment has had a lasting impact on me until today. Since then, I became observant of the garbage coming out of my mouth. I mean I still throw jokes here and there, but I stopped mocking people directly – out loud, that is.

There’s a difference between having a witty sense of humor and being an obnoxious public heckler with zero sensitivity to people’s feelings. I’m glad I was able to control that impulse before it controlled me. From then on I just mock people in my mind.

Although sometimes it still internally pains me to hold back my sarcastic comments (hihi). Just kidding – I’m alright.



Photo credits: Tumblr | 4.bp.blogspot.com

 

Every year, I always try to watch ALL the contenders for Best Picture. The operative word is “try”.

I’ve done it before, though. I saw all the 2011 nominees (the year when The Artist won – which I thought should have been either Inception or Black Swan) before the Oscars ceremony. Last year I saw all of them except for Amour and Beasts of the Southern Wild (Argo won – and well-deservedly).

This year I failed to watch 3 movies: Dallas Buyers Club, Nebraska, and Her. It’s a good thing all 3 of them were NOT in the (serious) running for Best Picture.

I saw Captain Philips first and thought it was a pretty good movie and was well-acted (which is why I was devastated when I heard Tom Hanks wasn’t nominated). But despite that, I didn’t think it was that good to win Best Picture. The theme simply did not fit.

Then I saw Gravity. The feeling I had while watching that film was (almost) the same one I felt when I first saw The Dark Knight [2008]. Almost – because Gravity started out rather laid back and anti-climactic whereas TDK was wickedly suspenseful from the get-go. But Gravity was the most awesome film I’ve seen in years. I didn’t want to blink because every scene was a spectacle.



I loved the simplicity (or rather complexity?) of the plot. I loved Clooney’s charming humor (but I couldn’t help but imagine what it would have been like if Robert Downey Jr. had kept the role). I loved Sandra Bullock's performance, as I always do. I even think she deserved an Oscar more on this film than in The Blind Side [2009] but hey, as long as she’s got a statuette, I’m okay.

And of course, Alfonso Cuarón. Great Expectations [1998]. Children of Men [2006]. HP and the Prisoner of Azkaban [2004].

It instantly won me over. In my mind, Gravity would be unbeatable this year. Even James Cameron said, “I think it's the best space film ever done, and it's the movie I've been hungry to see for an awful long time."

I thought, this is it, right here. Best Picture. Of course, I was wrong.



I believe I saw 12 Years A Slave back in January. And I really liked it. I mean I REALLY liked the film. But I was absolutely certain it was not enough to beat Gravity. Despite of the breathtaking performances, especially that of Lupita Nyong'o (that girl was a sure bet), the fact is that 12 Years still remains to be a typical slavery film. Slightly brutal, yes, but hardly original.



In retrospect

Again, I loved 12 Years A Slave. But when I saw it, even though I thought it would definitely win acting awards – particularly for Michael Fassbender who I thought was awesome in the bad-ass role – I still thought Gravity was a tough film to beat, and it would take more than Brad Pitt’s unnecessary cameo for 12 Years to steal the award.



But looking back (and after watching the ceremony last March 2^nd), I came to realize the cultural impact of 12 Years as the Oscars victor. Apparently, it has become the first Best Picture that is associated with an African-American at its helm, Steve McQueen (director of Hunger [2008] and Shame [2011], both critically-acclaimed independent films, also both starred by Fassbender).

So while Gravity may have lost despite snatching 7 technical awards (including Best Director), I find solace in the fact that 12 Years has marked a milestone in Oscars history with its win. And after all, it’s a really good movie (Rotten Tomatoes gives it a 96%, just below Gravity’s 97%).

Let the Leo memes begin

I rooted for Leonardo Di Caprio to win not because of his performance in The Wolf Of Wall Street. Actually, even if he had won, I still don't think it would be because of his performance in The Wolf Of Wall Street. It was an insane performance, no doubt. But not to be remembered as his best.

But I wanted him to finally win mainly because he deserves to get one at this point in his career. He’s had a lot of acting credentials under his belt for quite some time now, but every time he gets nominated (and all for the wrong films, I might add –  The Aviator and Blood Diamond) he gets pinned against mighty contenders. He lost to Jamie Foxx (Ray) in 2004 and Forest Whitaker (Last King Of Scotland) in 2006. He was also nominated as Best Supporting Actor in 1993 for What's Eating Gilbert Grape (he was 19 at that time) and lost to Tommy Lee Jones (The Fugitive).

In my opinion, Leo should’ve also been nominated for Shutter Island [2010], Gangs Of New York [2002], The Man in the Iron Mask [1998], J. Edgar [2011] and Revolutionary Road [2008] – one of my favorite films ever.

Hell, you can even include Titanic [1997].

The only real Best Actor awards to his name are 2 Golden Globes and a Critics’ Choice Award for The Aviator and The Wolf.

I mean, I’ve been dying to see Gary Oldman or Johnny depp or Robert Downey Jr to get an Oscar, but they don’t get nominated that much, whereas Leo’s almost a perennial contender. Give him a break!

Although he became a poster matinee idol after his Jack Dawson fame, Leo didn’t settle for more pretty-boy roles. He immediately leveled-up and took on character roles (The Beach, Celebrity, Catch Me If You Can) and started his apparently long campaign to take hold of that coveted statuette and steer clear of the stereotype that has forever haunted pretty boys in the likes of Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt – amazing actors without Oscars. My fear is that Leo might also take that path until he, too, gives up trying.

What’s worse than not winning (again) this year at the Oscars? Losing to Matthew McConaughey. The former king of romantic/adventure comedies.

Remember these movies?

• 2001: The Wedding Planner (with Jennifer Lopez)


• 2003: How To Lose A Guy in 10 Days (with Kate Hudson)


• 2006: Failure To Launch (with Sarah Jessica Parker) – dear Lord.


• 2008: Fool’s Gold (again with Kate Hudson)

In his defense, he did appear in Amistad and A Time To Kill in the 90’s. Those were epic films. But did you ever see Leo being paired with a blondie in a chic-flick? Nope.

After Fool’s Gold, though, Matthew only took on more serious roles and completely transformed himself into a Oscar-worthy actor (except maybe Magic Mike, lol).

I haven’t seen Dallas Buyers Club, and to be honest, I can't wait to see it. I have no doubt Matthew deserved the win, and that makes me want to see it more. I’m just really REALLY sad for Leo. I just hopes he continues to make awesome movies and never let go of that Oscar dream.



By the way, Matthew will star in the next Christopher Nolan film everyone’s been buzzing about, Interstellar, along with Anne Hathaway.

And American Hustle got ZERO Oscars. The only thing good about that bore of a movie was – you guessed it – Jennifer Lawrence.



Photo Credits: FabMagazineOnline | TheWrap | EOnline | Giphy