7 Ways To Detonate A Bum

As this weekend preempts to finally fold, I am reminded of the weekends in the past 2 months that seemed to be no different from the complementary weekdays. For a bum like me, I did not plan my activities with the ceremonious grip of the days of the week. And while I could discuss to you the relationship between unemployment and inflation, I have realized I could not even remember the term for that economic hullabaloo. So I gather I might as well write about the tides, the flowers, the dews and the clouds and the things that made my almost 2 months of bumming experience as explosive as Boy Abunda's shocking, nonsensical revelations on The Buzz--he looks like a yellow bee, doesn't he?

I'm now rolling out 7 ways how I got through being a bum without breaking a spine, hopes, dreams and my own sanity.

1. Acknowledge you are a bum.

I have told myself long before that I would take a vacation after my bond ends with my first employer. Having this in mind, I had no pride left acknowledging that I was going to join the brood of the unemployed.

2. Spend a great time with family.

Back in college in the dorm, I would cry over a cheesy Globe family-oriented commercial on TV. My grandfather died within my bumming period, and relationships strengthened during this time were enormous in value. Needless to say, staying with my immediate family in our humble house was reminiscent of the many years I spent there mostly as a student. It was also great getting into petty fights with my younger brother; this time though, I could only reign supreme in intellectual bouts--he's grown too much I couldn't even win a pillow fight.

3. Adventure, and be fit.

I am fortunate to have high school classmates who are based in Davao City, and you can't be a hard-core Davaoeno if you haven't explored the wonders of a neighbouring island that bears the fancy name of Island Garden City of Samal. So thanks to all my friends who had me floating in deep sea without a life jacket, only because the boat we rented didn't have enough life jackets for everyone! Also, I don't have a good pair of engineered running shoes but this didn't stop me from running regularly around UP and Quezon City Circle. I will join my first marathon in August.

4. Learn new skills.

I packed not only clothes but also books. Among the books I brought with me was the Speedreading Book by Tony Buzan. It was amazing how I could improve my reading skills a dozen notch faster by learning techniques I wished I learned before. This was helpful when I read broadsheets from front to back, including obituaries. I also took driving lessons in the College of Trades and Industries at USM, and it was interesting to learn that my driving teacher was the former boyfriend of my Earth Science teacher in first year high school.

5. Watch and compare films from accross the globe.

I cannot help but blame Charo Santos or Mother Lily for the grossly pathetic films they have been showing at our local theaters. I've watched more than a dozen films during my bumming days-- German, Latin, Asian, Arabic, American--and they all displayed greatness in story and technicality. I won't believe money was an object because I've seen Palestinian films that are just as relevant as the events that surround their territory. I do not want to generalize, but I can't help it.

6. Be a cultured, educated bum.

I would like to sound just as cultured and educated for this segment.

It was with the highest regard of intellect and the deepest respect for the culture and the arts that I took utmost preponderance in immersing into intellectual discourse among my highly intellectual housemates--you know who you are, and you know how hilariously pretentious the entire household can become, and into paying a visit to Imelda's Cultural Center of the Philippines to watch never-before-staged plays with Bembol Roco surprisingly stealing all the accolades in a play about chicken gall bladder and gizzards.

After reading that previous paragraph, you may already have the idea that it was such a stretch it could have been pushed, and was an outright ostentatious display of wit one can rightfully call a hubbub.

7. Be thankful you are a bum.

I am thankful to the Lord for this great experience. It was an experience I may not ever have the chance to exeperience again until my bones turn brittle in retirement. I asked for it, and He has given it to me just when I needed it. Surely, there were days when I was hoping it would end soon because I was already running out of funds, but He ended it in a manner that it was packaged in a birthday gift I won't ever forget. I started with my new job last July 12, the same day I turned 25.

You may ask why 7? Of course, I can give you more! But in the rich tradition of 7nish, I will leave it just that.

One more--and I wont count this as 8th--be sure to make a commitment to end your days of being a bum. You do not want to see yourself explode, or rot, or ferment and turn sour.

The Sonata of Good Men

I'm writing this while carefully holding back my tears.

While the full interest in German history rests on the dark side of the Holocaust, I have, in few instances, come across in my studies of Economics the infamous hyperinflation of the German currency when the borders that divide the East from the West finally toppled down. My take on this political event had been purely academic until I watched the film The Lives of Others.

I do not have the faculty to at least write a simple summary of this brilliant film for the simple reason that it was so complex I may not give justice to its genius. However, I would like to try with a simple digest so I can, at the very least, pay tribute to it. The movie follows the investigation of a group of artists--playwrights, poets, actors--in socialist East Germany. As expected, socialist rule prohibits free speech among intellectuals trying to question and threaten the revered rule. And while utmost secrecy is required among the rebel artists, the authorities can only employ the highest and most cunning shenanigans to infiltrate any form of revolution in incubation.

Georg Dreyman is an esteemed playwright who, badly devastated by the suicide of a great director friend who was banned by the Stasis from pursuing his career, committed to write an article exposing suicide incidents unaccounted for in the East. To get this printed in the West, a highly exclusive network had to get it past the borders. What seemed to be an unmonitored rebellious exercise was, unknown to Dreyman's group, fully monitored by Wiesler who bugged Dreyman's apartment. However, a stream of domestic drama and humanistic bouts with reality provoked Wiesler to flirt with his own share of existentialism that would soon turn the entire investigation into a complete symbol of the monumental triumph of the ever truthful human conscience.

It was with great expectations that I watched this film. Afterall, it won the Academy's Best Foreign Language Film for Germany in 2007. To have tears welling up in the corners of my eyes towards the movie's ending made me realize that self-worth may be discovered at a cost of a great sacrifice, but it was, all the while, worth it as soon as you find out that the highest form of gratitude has been accorded to it.

Germans can be as stoic and hard as their language, but this movie is full of heart intelligently presented amidst the seemingly evil German air, unfortunate relic of what might have been an unfair Hitler legacy.

The Best Vampire Movie

Oskar is a 12-year old boy who gets bullied a lot at school. His helpless demeanor found him a reassuring company in Eli, a neighbor who just recently moved in. Eli is a charming and intelligent girl who happens to be just as mysterious as the freezing town that would soon turn out to be the venue of a series of bloody murders.

It was supposed to be some kind of a blood compact ceremony to seal their juvenile love affair. Oskar brought Eli to a room then started cutting his palm and asked Eli to do just the same. When blood started to trickle down Oskar's arm, Eli could not help but throw herself towards the floor and bask at the freshness of Oskar's blood.

Eli is a vampire, and Oskar took it without care. Afterall, it was Eli who inspired him to pull himself together and take revenge at those school cutthroats. With a full string of community bloodbaths in the background, Eli and Oskar followed a trail discovering the ripeness of infatuation that bordered through a growing social conundrum.

Let the Right One In is a Swedish vampire film. Scenes were visually light yet heavy with the impending doom of the unraveling storyline. Unlike in mainstream vampire films, there were no hormone-raging subplots that get the story blown in a thousand directions. Instead, it was handled with charm, wit, and sincerity of characters that were built up in a manner that renders it impervious to careless filmmaking.

But I ended up so loving this film for the simple reason that I find the love story very cute and kilig; not to mention the last time I got this scared was when I watched Aiza Seguerra and Manilyn Reynes in Aswang.

A Wonderful Time with Justice Isagani A. Cruz

There are two reasons why I prefer The Philippine Daily Inquirer over the other broadsheets: its excellent layout and its pool of sensible columnists, my favorite among them is the esteemed Retired Justice Isagani A. Cruz.

I have been following Justice Cruz' Separate Opinion since 2002. Among PDI's columnists, I guess he's the easiest to read. His syntax is perfect the fluidity of his thoughts just breathes blithely through the mental utterance of his written words. His columns traversed from topics touching on the most mundane to the highly royal language of the legal community's mostly controversial issues. His opinion on the most pressing political topics was rightly based on his judgment firmly rooted on his untainted, rich experience in the judiciary. However, my favorites were columns that explored and revealed his character as a doting grandfather; his account of his long lost lovers; and columns on ordinary life that turned into perfect, rare pieces of literature when written in his pen.

I didn't see this day coming so soon. My favorite columnist has just printed his last column on PDI, and needless to say, I am really sad. I'm just as sad as the day when Max Soliven died in Japan, putting an end to his highly syndicated column in The Philippine Star. I remember reading Soliven's retelling of his thousand travels, most of the time name-dropping ambassadors and social elites. The braggadocio in Soliven's writings didn't come offensive at all, probably because it was tempered by his natural charm; something that rarely transmits through print, much in the same likeness to Cruz's congenial personality radiating from his sacred space on PDI's Opinion Page.

So this leaves me a huge dilemma. Which broadsheet do I pick up next Sunday? For sure, I will go aghast over Manila Bulletin's Editorial on senseless matters like The Mooncake Festival Day I chanced upon before -- imagine an editorial for a whaaat? lunar festival, of all things! Also, Alex Magno's column in The Philippine Star does not seem to interest me a bit; maybe it has something to do with his stern-looking picture. I read some of his columns in the past though, and they all carry a similar feel -- heavy topics in heavy narratives. It's going to be a long stand in the newsstand next week!

Justice Cruz ended his Column with this: "It was truly a wonderful time, and I'm sorry it had to end with my failing health."

There is no account as to how serious Justice Cruz' health condition has gone, but I pray that he may be comforted in these trying times. This may seem selfish, but I wish he can still manage to write occassional columns in the days ahead.

Sir Isagani A. Cruz, it has been, indeed, A WONDERFUL TIME!

ci-tech and I

I am writing this because I was recently reminded by my roommate that writing is inherently self-serving.

I recently resigned from my job. I have waited two years to legally get myself out of a ryhtmic pattern of going to the office, doing the same things most of the time. I maintained an incessant longing for my last day in the office when i would imagine the air in Eastwood City to smell a personal scent of relief, far from the convoluted revolution of fragrances in the Perfume Section of Shangri-la Mall. Unfortunately, when i stepped out of the office for the last time in April 23, Eastwood City didn't smell any different.

I felt a sense of numbness that I considered probing into my intentions. Perhaps, the swell of emotion that stemmed from my dear grandfather's unexpected passing preceded what should have been a euphoric day of freedom from a routinary quality assurance work. I still position my nose to unimaginable angles in an attempt to inhale that distinct air up to this day.

I will be leaving for Mindanao this coming Friday. The air that will greet me there would entirely smell different, definitely. And i hope I would not be positioning my nose to unimaginable angles then; lest I fail in positioning my heart to discern all the blessings I received during my two years of stay in ci-tech.

I will begin this last paragraph with another 'I'. I am writing this because I was reminded by my roommate that writing is, afterall, inherently self-serving.

An entry with lots of 'library' in it

The 'compromised ray of sunlight' --to borrow from my favorite line in The Hours by Michael Cunningham--that managed to peek through the dusty,huge, open windows in the Main Library assaulted me with a wave of nostalgia. It conjured up a gymnastics of blissful, yet horrible, memories of preparing for impossible exams i had to take before in the mighty UP College of Engineering. The Main Library always appealed to me more despite having a full-blast airconditioning system in the Engineering Library - yes, the Main Library in UP Diliman maintains an atmosphere just natural for the naturally, albeit poor, intellectual.

Yesterday afternoon, i decided to study for my Microeconomics midterms in the Main Library. I realized our apartment offered too much comfort that i might not be able to resist the inviting promise of my bed. I found myself later in the Social Science section poring over Nicholson's unfriendly discussion of the the better effects of taxing income rather than taxing goods and services. Leafing through my notes, i felt a disturbing presence - that stubborn itch to divert my attention to gaze at the imposing cabinets of books that stood witness to my struggles during my undergrad years; wander at the well-polished narra tables and seats perfectly ergonomic to relieve a breaking spine; and listen to the delicate rustling of bamboo leaves that seemed to gossip over the carefree lovers dating in mossy benches along the pathway.

Barely two chapters in my reading, i heard an incessant clanking of a bell - a commanding sound to alarm us that the library was closing. Walking past the usual inspection of bags and books by familiar librarians and Ilonggo security guards, i left the library with a load of convoluted emotions only later appeased by the realization that it was indeed, really nice to be back - for today, I will study again at McDonald's.

Wanderings

It is an unfortunate fact that taking a Jeepney to get to your destination brings with the sentimental journey a package of lingering realizations;too many, in fact, that a semicolon was necessary to add to this already long sentence a bulletin to usher you to my second paragraph.

Save for Thursday nights when i take a cab to get to my class in UP, I usually join the mob of sweating laborers and struggling yuppies commute to lowly Cubao from Eastwood City. The setting is interestingly egalitarian: the educated and the tired construction worker seated next to each other, indifferent to a wave of exhausted breathing. But I find it rather unusual that it is during this time of discomfort that i manage to pause and contemplate on the day's events. I feel contained in a moving piece of metal that absorbs not only the exhumed heat of the earth but also the string of unwanted incidents that transpired in the office. I go through the process of recalling them from memory and then rationalizing each mistake or misjudgment along the glorious thumping of the speaker box under my seat---the jolt in my butt signaling to end my exaggerated wanderings.

I have been working in Eastwood City for a Research and Development Facility of a Japanese company for almost two years now. The excitement grows as the days crawl to my second year in the office; the day i plan to resign. Unfortunately, i did not like my job in this Company, and i cannot be more honest than that. However, i cannot discount the many lessons i learned that merit sincere gratefulness from my part.

I'm writing this because tonight i did not ride a jeepney on my way home. What i wrote in the previous paragraph was constructed in my memory while i was comfortably sitting inside a taxi. I feel contained in a moving piece of metal that absorbs not only the exhumed heat of my body but also the string of unwanted incidents that transpired in the office in the last two years. I go through the process of recalling them from memory and then rationalizing each mistake or misjudgment along the glorious thumping of the poorly upholstered seat--the jolt in my butt signaling to end my exaggerated and redundant wanderings.