Running thoughts

Laziness strikes everyone from time to time, but I’m starting to realize that perhaps it afflicts me to a slightly greater degree than the average Juan. I know I always promise to do my best to write every week, but time has a way of passing so quickly I never think about writing until a few hours before my deadline. By that time, of course, it’s too late to write a decent article. Alas for the illusion of time! Early this morning I closed my eyes and went into deep thought before breakfast. I opened them a moment later and discovered that I was lactose intolerant, but not that much. I can still have milk with my morning cereal without rushing to the banyo in a cold sweat. Well, I rush a little slower than someone who is truly intolerant to lactose. You might see me in Greenbelt walking slowly with a smile on my face after enjoying a delicious chocolate milkshake, but when crunch time comes, I rush nonetheless. Perhaps this is why you never see me enjoying a milkshake in public, ever. Maybe at home, but not in a place where it is possible I have to wait for the availability of an unoccupied toilet. I recall one horrible experience from my childhood that left me traumatized for life. I spent the two years before Grade 1 in Xavier, and you know how little boys in big schools are when it comes to keeping bathrooms clean. If you don’t, good for you and hope you never find out. Anyway, it was after school and I was impatiently waiting to be picked up so I could get home and watch TV when mother wasn’t looking (when I was really young, my mom didn’t allow me spend mindless hours in front of a screen of any sort, and now I’m glad she did that) when I heard the not-so-distant call of trumpets in my head. I rushed, and there was only one open stall. It was flooded to the brim, and previous occupant had quite politely left behind something resembling a Hungarian sausage of the floating variety. In situations where one is put under a lot of pressure, the mind has a tendency to freeze if action is not immediately taken. I couldn’t afford to freeze. I didn’t have enough time. So I sat down and promptly died a little on the inside. Come to think of it, I wonder why it never occurred to me to be Japanese and squat instead of having to suffer feelings of internal dirtiness for weeks afterwards. Thinking about it, I cringe even now (end of exaggerated childhood tale).

* * *

The following four thoughts were written during the days leading up to my 18th birthday last April 1. I had more, but I forgot to write them down right away, and thus they were forever lost into depths of my imagination.

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Up all night, writing again. This writing thing is taking a hold of me. I’m turning 18 in a few days and I’m already sick of alcohol. Now that high school’s over, what’s going to happen to my life now? Will it be somewhat similar or something completely different? I’m terrified, because from now on only I am responsible for my actions. I used to be able to say I was what I was because of the way my parents raised me, but I’m sure I’ve grown beyond that by now. Now I am what I choose to be, and it’s a frightening prospect.

The heat has been incredible lately. Can you imagine wearing earmuffs in this weather, like the same thing you see in cartoon pictures of snowmen with their carroty noses and lopsided smiles? That’s what I’ve been doing for the past month, and I only realized why my ears were getting really sweaty a few days ago. The headset I’ve been using on my MP3 player was designed to act like earmuffs so you can listen to music without your ears getting frostbite in cold weather. I was examining it the other day and this revelation hit me like a fist: It’s time to buy a new headset more suited for Manila’s humidity, and I’m tired of my dual microwave-para-sa-ear.

* * *

Do old men with tattoos ever look down at the ink staining their bodies and wish they had never gotten it in the first place, or do they gaze upon it remembering the good times they had when they were young? Or maybe they just stare at themselves in the mirror, laughing at how stupid they were back then. I wonder to myself, do I ever want to get that old? How do the incontinent elderly tolerate the infirmity that eventually grasps anyone who lives that long? What have they seen in the world? Why do they want to stay? Such questions have no answers. Such is the complexity of age.

* * *

Today I woke up and realized that I can be legally arrested. How is that fair? How can they take away all that is good and lock me up in a concrete cell with a shitty toilet that only serves to shatter free will and crush the human spirit often beyond redemption? How does that make me or anybody else a better person to society? Answer: Don’t get arrested then, fool. Why are you even thinking about that on your birthday?

* * *

Story idea: A man grew up with all sorts of crazy ideas. After years of messing around, he finally decided to put his ideas to good use. He joined a company and rose quickly up the corporate ladder due to the sheer brilliance of his ideas, making the company ridiculously rich in the process. And the corporate world wondered at the acquisition of this new resource. And the man sat back and laughed.

* * *

Food for reflection: The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, English translation by Edward Fitzgerald.

* * *

I hear Francis M’s got a new clothing line. While I admire what he’s doing for the Pinoy youth culture, I’d like to point out two conflicting mantras from Page 57 of FHM’s April issue.

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 “Our brand is not hip-hop but urban patriotism. We don’t cater to a certain group because our passion covers all Filipinos. We want to take being proud of being a Filipino to another level — it’s not just wearing a barong — and we want to take it to the streets.”

I was very impressed by this statement by Francis M. It’s always good to hear about somebody doing something for Pinoy street culture and the youth establishment. Then I came across the last mantra. Quoted below is the part I disagree with.

“We also made the price a bit expensive – P1,200 for the shirts –— people can afford P3,000 for some brands tapos Pinoy-made sobrang mura? That’s stupid!”

Here, I was disappointed. You see how his statements conflict? In the first he talks about not catering to a certain group, but by pricing the shirts at P1,200, he defeats his own vision for bringing Pinoy pride to the streets. A more accurate statement would be it would allow more freedom of expression to the Filipino middle class, but P1,200 is waaay out of the price range of average Juan. By doing so, he excludes the majority of the Filipino youth from the target market and instead focuses on the people who can afford to blow P1,200 on a shirt. His supposed target market is “all Filipinos.” In which case, he should price the shirts at a rate that most Filipinos can afford.

Don’t get the wrong impression, though. As soon as I read about it, I instantly wanted to get my hands on one of them. They seem like really cool shirts that I’d be glad to wear. I just really disagree with the idea behind it. Money-making schemes I have no problems with, but money-making schemes disguised behind urban patriotism are a different story. I have nothing against the shirts, and based on what I’ve read, they seem to be top-quality Pinoy products worth P1,200. The product itself should be good; the marketing ploy behind it is not. Still, don’t be surprised if you see me wearing one of them in the near future.

* * *

I grieve for the people who harden their hearts against humanity.

How can one choose to live amongst the ranks of the blind,

When the truth is out there for all to find

If you seek it.

So ask and perhaps you shall receive it,

But for everyone’s sake don’t shut your mouth and your mind.

I grieve for the ones who claim they are blind, but can see.

And use their sight to cover the eyes of the rest of mankind.

When shall we open our eyes to this fact;

This truth undeniable

With origin (as of yet) unidentifiable

But this lack of profound interest on the matter disturbs me, to say the least.

At last! The feast of the divine!

Where no human being shall be forced to serve another

Yet chooses to serve of his own volition

With blood and flesh and spiritual ammunition

Only to reach the conclusion that all men are brothers.

But here is the question that every man must answer:

If all are servants, then who is the master?

* * *

It’s the Pulp Summer Slam 8 tomorrow on April 26 at the Amoranto Stadium, and Pulp is bringing in Darkest Hour to headline the event. I’ve seen Darkest Hour perform before on their Deliver Us tour, and this is one band I wouldn’t want to miss. I hope they play two of my favorite songs from their 2005 release “Undoing Ruin: With A Thousand Words To Say But One and Sound the Surrender.” Pulp, you listening? Also performing is King Lychee, who already came here last year with NOFX but apparently liked it and so they’re back again. I shouldn’t even have to be writing this, the Pulp Summer Slam is one of those events you never should miss if you live in the Philippines and like metal.

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Erratum: The name of the song by Refused referenced in my column last March 29 is actually Worms of the Senses/Faculties of the Brain. I got it mixed up with something else in my head. Also, blame my editor for the completely different “Worms in the Brain” title. How grotesque! Contact me at the.real.belmonte@hotmail.com.