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18 January 2013 @ 01:21 pm

Fringe ends this week. I've heard it said that it was never really about sci-fi, or the monsters or even the universes and timelines -- that it was eventually about finding family where one can find it. And for five seasons, while the show faltered and seemed to have lost its footing (and its logic, even) many many times, it was this belief, it was this sense of family that kept it moving from one episode to another, that kept it whole. In a way it was just a show of deeply flawed people -- the mad scientist who broke the world, the angry son, the woman with the horrible childhood... and it could have gone wrong in so many ways -- been just another cheesefest. But somehow it went on, redeemed itself, character by character. So to all those behind the show, a huge thanks. Thank you for showing us there are always versions of us somewhere (better or worse), in parallel universes that maybe exist only in our heads, that we can always do better, for showing us that what matters is never how smart and awesome we can be or how many monsters we slay, but that in the moment of absolute pain, that we stick to being human -- especially when that is the most difficult thing. Thank you, and we shall always be looking for our white tulips.
15 September 2012 @ 04:24 pm
Dear friend, I kept little notes. Here are the things that will not change when you turn, *gasp*, forty.

* You will still walk outside in the cold in a sando shirt and shorts. To buy beer, or chips or whatever, but mostly to buy beer. 

* Your head will still turn whenever a pretty woman passes by. Your eyes will never miss a perfectly tucked cleavage.

* You will still dream of many cleavages.

* You will never forgive the police, the military, the government.

* You will always be that kid who climbs a tree and then falls down and hurts his leg (to impress a friend, is it?). 

* If given the chance, you will talk about the revolution.

* If given the chance, you will talk about the revolution to funding partners, sheltered interns, and the homeless.

* You will always rant about how your child is becoming spoiled, 'burgis', but you will love him more and more every day.

* When sad, you will still sit on your desk and pretend nothing's wrong. You will smile for the day, but maybe a little less. [THIS. THIS HAS GOT TO CHANGE!]

* When that happens, you will always have us, and you will always have me, regardless of past, present, future. 

* You will remain awesome, in ways the world doesn't quite yet understand.

* And you will still stare at cleavages. 

Happy birthday.
12 February 2010 @ 05:12 pm
 Hi. I only drop by here for the poetry communities.

Please do drop by these sites:

- Social Psychology Eye

- The Homunculus - which I promise to fix real real soon.

I'm still doing some personal blogging but I need to master it first before it becomes the least bit viewable to others.

Thank you.
25 May 2009 @ 06:11 pm
Jumped from the boat to the open sea with no life vest, jumped from a waterfall (somewhere during in that millisecond fall, I changed my mind), went on a safari tour and fed a giraffe, watched the mating of the calamian deer. I loved it - from the chasing of the female in heat to the violence in the act. (The male suddenly thrust himself into her, once. The female jolted then sprinted away. Done. Parang flu shot lang, Soki said.)

And I wore a dress!

Now back to reality: Work deadlines, other-stuff deadlines and I have to stop delaying having to decide about graduate school. Like, tomorrow. Argh. Just thinking about it makes me crave Jollibee and an instant eight hour sleep.
18 May 2009 @ 05:06 pm
Once again I could find myself quite stunned at the process of having to process. There's also the part that thinks maybe I'm being too hard on someone who is so clearly desperate to be forgiven. But despite this past year and how it changed me, I know I still believe in some things, people for instance, and trying to do good (which makes me an unfit Darwinist in a sense). And in childhood, despite its cruelties. So when you ask why a continuum of sorrys is not enough, it's because I still refuse to process the fact that things have changed you in ways I cannot recognize. For me, you were always the good guy.

In perkier news, Chris says she has learned to fry food, I have eaten my dose of spicy chicken Yakisoba and I love Kris Allen.

Comment ni Edrie: And you emo-posted again. Haha.
14 May 2009 @ 05:28 pm
Favorite Stephen Dunn poem


Back then when so much was clear
    and I hadn't learned
young men learn from women

what it feels like to feel just right,
    I was twenty-three,
she thirty-four, two children, and husband

in prison for breaking someone's head.
    Yelled at, slapped
around, all she knew of tenderness

was how much she wanted it, and all
    I knew
were backseats and a night or two

in a sleeping bag in the furtive dark.
    We worked
in the same office, banter and loneliness

leading to the shared secret
    that to help
National Biscuit sell biscuits

was wildly comic, which lead to my body
    existing with hers
like rain that's found its way underground

to water it naturally joins.
    I can't remember
ever saying the word, tenderness,

though she did.  It's a word I see now
    you must be older to use,
you must have experienced the absence of it

often enough to know what silk and deep balm
    it is
when at last it comes. I think it was terror

at first that drove me to touch her
    so softly,
then selfishness, the clear benefit

of doing something that would come back
    to me twofold,
and finally, sometime later, it became

reflective and motiveless in the high
    ignorance of love.
Oh abstractions are just abstract

until they have an ache in them. I met
    a woman never touched
gently, and when it ended between us

I had new hands and new sorrow,
    everything it mean
to be a man changed, unheroic, floating.

02 May 2009 @ 06:36 pm
Or in the words of Conor Oberst, there's nothing the road cannot heal. Off for a while with vintage Oliver Sacks, clothes straight out of the drier, and a pack of antihistamine.

Must find some place to land this anger, some place for takeoff.

And leaving you a remnant of Salvatore Quasimodo in the meantime: Everyone stands alone at the heart of the earth / Pierced by a ray of sunlight / And suddenly it is evening.
30 April 2009 @ 06:28 pm

Dreaming at the Ballet
Jack Gilbert

The truth is, goddesses are lousy in bed.
They will do anything it’s true.
And the skin is beautifully cared for.
But they have no sense of it. They are
all manner and amazing technique.
I lie with them thinking of your
foolish excess, of you panting
and sweating, and your eyes after.

28 April 2009 @ 03:08 pm
Suddenly everyone's getting married - Ruth, then Ai, then Riza and Darwin has a half naked picture on Facebook. I don't get the future so I tell Darwin his picture is photoshopped. He used to be fatter. He says that's very very stupid.

And before all these, sometime back, we used to sprawl on the green smelly carpet after a late night FGD thinking about everything we would do if we didn't have to dissect the growing problems of milk sales, food preservatives and why children don't like sour mayonnaise. And yet, enjoying the perks that came with that - Starbucks, free food, free travel, bonuses, movies in the viewing room during project downtimes, which was really the only rebellion we could manage.

I don't know when the "All You Need is Love" fascination came up. For the Bollywood-themed Christmas party, we cut out hearts and sang that before an audience of annoyed people. After a tired day, you could expect Darwin to come to you, hug you and say, hey... don't worry, all you need is love. We called him sunshine, despite the fact that when he wrote about life (or anything at all), it made us feel sadder and more trapped than ever. It was Patty who said he had a kind of intelligence that was a bit too dangerous for this world. Years later, holding different jobs, most of us would still keep in touch, remind one another of market research borne dreams (which had absolutely nothing to do with market research).

I told Darwin that Feb 12 was Darwin Day, after Charles Darwin, and he said "why need that Darwin when I'm here?" It felt like one of those "All you need is love" moments, it was completely untrue, but for the moment you wanted to believe it.
22 April 2009 @ 01:46 pm

Rainy day in the office. Working in the conference room with Ram on the other side of the table. The research office has been invaded by perky interns. "Life shouldn't be like an airport," he says all of a sudden.

"Why is that?" I ask. These days, he's sad and prone to musings.

"It shouldn't be about the arrivals and departures. It should be about the in-betweens."


"People leave, we leave. Then there's always someone else, in time. What happened to the in-betweens?"