The Curtain Call

   The past 8 years of my life have been years marked by overwhelming stagnancy and mediocrity. Come to think of it, nothing really fulfilling, or even worth remembering, has happened to me during my teen years. Definitely not like in those coming-of-age movies where the bida suddenly sees a glimmer of hope amidst his mistakes, and an epiphany emerges after the crescendo ends. Nope, nothing of that sort. Remember those colored stripes you see on TV at 3 AM in the morning when the channel is off-air? That's my adolescence right there - a dull, monotonous freeze-frame..

   Upon realizing how much I've wasted my teen years into nothingness, I decided it's time to abandon a few things and, simply put, start all over again. Maybe not completely, but at least start "reinventing" myself, piece-per-piece. More like refurbishing rather than relocating.

   So, let me start by bidding goodbye to my long-term confidant. Goodbye, helljay.blogspot.com. Maybe it's time to finally channel my creative energy to more useful, substantial endeavors rather than let all these rants clog up internet traffic. So, yeah, maybe I can call this a "retirement" from 8 years of blogging. I think I'm getting too old for this.

  Thank you too, reader. It has been an honor to write for your leisure. I hope I have (metaphorically) touched you, one way or another.

   Well, I'm twenty years old now and it's never too late to re-establish my priorities. They say that this is the best decade of a man's life anyway. So for now, I'll be gearing myself up to receive all the awesomeness the world can offer, and at the same time fend for myself against the harsh realities of adulthood. Who knows? It's a violent - yet beautiful - world after all.

A Portrait of A Dream Girl

    Above is an image of a woman that I felt compelled to make  a few days back. I actually made it out of a necessity - a necessity that I thought words will never do justice.

   See, whenever the thought of the perfect woman crossed my mind, I have always found it hard to create a mental picture of her; probably because (a) she is non-existent, (b) I haven't met her yet, or (c) I saw her somewhere, sometime but I was too distracted to remember. I can visualize bits and pieces of her in my head - like how I can pick out her calm, sparkling eyes, her delicate earlobes, and that long, black hair sweeping gracefully down her forehead - and individually separate them from the immeasurable permutations of the human face. However, that's the farthest I can get. Because whenever I try to finally weave them together to form a coherent whole, the threads of the visual tapestry just suddenly loosen; as if the edges of the image lose their definition, the details transform into blurs, and the façade merges with the backdrop. Just like how ink spreads on wet parchment and blots everything into distorted incomprehension - and all I'd get is a  surreal, amorphous visage of a nameless female. That's probably why I felt the need to draw the portrait - it made remembering her face much easier.

   After much thinking though, I realized that conjuring a concrete facial blueprint of my perfect woman was, to put it bluntly, a mistake. I found that dwelling on the idea of perfection was a pointless pursuit - one that will bring to my life more frustration than contentment. I feared that clinging into this foolish image of the ideal will just force me to set standards that are needlessly high, making me underappreciate myself, others and everything around me.

   Well, even if I try to erase the existence of this portrait from tangible reality, somewhere within the recesses of my mind, this image will remain. But just like any masterpiece an artist creates, this portrait will aptly serve as a symbol - a symbol that will remind me of a past full of daydreams and naivety. A past when I was still a slave of the superficial.

   So, how would you describe your ideal partner?

(76)

7 Things I Realized During My Drugstore Internship

1. Sales clerks do talk about their customers. Especially customers who are rude and inconsiderate. Be nice to them.

2. I vehemently think most people have no understanding, or at least misunderstand, the meaning of the statement "No Approved Therapeutic Claims".

3. I hope no one will take offense, but I find it amusing when butch lesbians buy sanitary napkins. It's like one of those situations that I feel they are most vulnerable. Or I can be wrong.

4. FACT: There is no other paracetamol in the Philippines other than Biogesic. Especially when John Lloyd Cruz says so.

5. I find it stupid when people buy multivitamins and cigarettes together. As if they were expecting the vitamins to save their asses from the lung cancer that will eventually kill them.

6. People from the provinces are fun to be around with. Heck, they are even wittier than most pretentious, city-bred folks that I know.

7. The practice of profession in the outside world is never theoretical nor ideal. Attempting to do what's right under a system that is flawed is an exercise in futility.

NGSB

(73)

It has been a year since I made this.

And I can still vividly remember how I crammed it in 3 hours.

It hurts to admit,

I miss being busy.

Tula(la)an sa Tren

   The warm, damp air of the city pierced the inside of the cabin as the train doors slowly parted.

   Entering the train was a girl. Of average built and height. Long, black hair, slippers, book in hand. She isn’t particularly pretty, but with the way she cuts her way through the crowd with her graceful ways you’ll probably be surprised why you never noticed her before. And from this point onward we call her Girl.

   Already standing in the corner of the cabin was a boy. Of average built and height. Black hair, backpack, sneakers. Unassumingly normal? Yes. Attractive? Maybe. And from this point onward we call him Boy.

      The doors closed and the train slowly went back into motion.

   You are probably expecting a serendipitous orchestration of fate in this scenario, some sort of quick, but unyielding nudge on their hearts as their eyes meet. Just like how lightning strikes a lone tree and sends it burning for all eternity.

   Well, not really.

   Too bad, their eyes didn’t quite meet. Girl was too engrossed on some book the profundity of which Boy will never comprehend even in six lifetimes.

   But Boy, stuck in awe by this saintly apparition appearing right before his eyes, couldn’t help but stare. So stare he did.

   Obviously, Girl was everything Boy would want on a woman. Well, not entirely everything though, but she comes pretty close. As far as looks are considered, Girl managed to tick all of Boy’s checkboxes. And good Lord, that nose of hers, he thought. It was the most delicate nose Boy had ever seen – a nose that perfectly complemented her face just as a red maraschino cherry perfectly crowns the creamy goodness of a milkshake on summertime. Such was his fixation to that nose that he even forgot to take a mental note of what color of shirt the girl was wearing, or even the size of her breasts, for that matter.

   Maybe he’ll walk over to her, slowly and steadily, before striking a conversation.

   “Hi, miss. Why alone on such a gloomy August morning?” or, “Oh, you are reading… *glances at the book cover* …Ayn Rayd?! I like his works. Reaaally funny stuff.”

   Maybe she will reply with a smile. Boy will smile back too. And right there and then, the connection would be established. They will flutter out of this train station together, away from all the discord and pandemonium of people who obviously have been living their lives far too fast.

   Maybe they’ll exchange phone numbers. Then he will invite her to coffee. Or dinner. Or dinner while having coffee. They will have the time of their lives, revel at the freedom of their youth, and laugh on jokes that suck but become funnier for some weird reason. And for every moment they are together, an incessant need for the other’s companionship will materialize from within the depths of their subconscious, as if all the white flags have been raised and the other has finally infiltrated that fortress of romantic acquiescence. They will share that picture-perfect moment of confession by the bayside one afternoon, with the sky tainted a reddish hue. And how else shall we finish this fantasy but with that inevitable kiss, while the sun slowly sets upon the horizon…

   Maybe, maybe, maybe.

   The warm, damp air of the city once again pierced the inside of the cabin as the train doors slowly parted.

   Girl closed her book, placed it inside her shoulder bag, and gracefully made her way out towards the train doors before forever vanishing onto the mob that was leaving the train in a hurry. Boy, whose daydreams lasted for a whole three minutes and twenty-eight seconds, just nonchalantly stood by the corner. He could've chased Girl at that very moment, but he didn't. He was either too dazed, or maybe too lazy, to even pursue the Girl of his dreams, his soulmate, his immaculate angel. He just shook off the fairy dust from his eyes before turning his mp3 player back on, and reverting to his own business of being alone.

   The doors closed and the train slowly went back into motion.

   I've been searching for you, a voice was singing through the earphones. I heard a cry within my soul...

LJCF(2011)