Various Adulations About Life, Screencapped

How April Fools Day Can Make You Wiser

Every year our our newsfeeds clog up with the requisite “I’m pregnant”s, “I finally went to that dream city” and “I hooked up with so and so”.

 It’s funny how people take only one day out of the year to speak what’s always been on their minds, and it’s the day they expect no one to believe them. I wonder if there’s a petition out there to rename April Fool’s to “What I Really Think Day”.

 A little reading between the lines has always proved to be more beneficial than not, even if it’s not without its hazards (read: in the same vein, ignorance may also be bliss if that’s your cup of tea).

 I suppose the main point of this little post really is this: Perception is key to living life on bigger terms. People like to put themselves in little boxes, operating in finite terms, functioning through limited goals. This is not to say that we shouldn’t be realistic, by all means, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t aim higher, either.

 It’s all about perception. You could think of it as a typical day in the career you hate, sitting beside that officemate you have nothing in common with, listening to her or him prattle on about something you have no interest in. You could think of it as a city with nothing to do, with a bunch of nobodies to hang out with, too sleepy for your racy socialite needs. You could think of it as a subject in school you are convinced will have absolutely no impact in your life as a future Palanca winner. You could think of it as the nth time your lover has missed the point of your well-rehearsed argument.

 But here’s the rub: more often than not, we have no fucking idea what we’re talking about. We never see more than meets the eye - and we always judge things before we give them a chance, then we put them in the boxes we like to call our lives. We are constantly frustrated by our own impositions. And everyone in the world is just like us.

 Except on April Fools Day. That day where we allow ourselves to think just beyond what we usually allow ourselves, that day we hope a little more ridiculously, aim a little more frivolously, talk a little more freely.

 So here’s my question: Why not be frivolous, ridiculous, and free more often? I’m sure detractors have a ready “because we can’t afford to, you silly daydreamer”.

That’s where you’re wrong.

 Every single person can afford to dream, so dream big, dream stupid, dream ridiculous. A heightened awareness of ourselves, the world around us, and the people we interact with broadens our perception and allows us to live life on bigger, better terms.

That sleepy little town where absolutely nothing interesting happens is a motherlode of possibility for someone else. Your lover who doesn’t understand you loves you anyway. Your office mate talks so much to you because you are so different from everyone else, exchanging admiration for your scorn. That subject you hate was paid for by your father who never got to take it because they were poor growing up. What you think is boring reality is someone else’s dream. Again, perception is key.

 Find awesomeness in mundane life, not because you’re a person incapable of coming to terms with reality, but because you’re the kind of person who looks at the world with constant, new-found wonder.

 Happy April Fool’s Day.

Event Diary: Love, Loss, and Libido {LitOrgy 2013}

February 16th was the night of LitOrgy’s annual event, hosted by The Davao Writer’s Guild, involving poetry reading, performance art, monologues, and this year… a band performance (by us!).

Wrap documenting the goings-on

Chuck Fournier playing his electronica setlist

Spoken word accompanied by music

Spoken word accompanied by dance

I read one of my memoirs before my band came onstage

John Bengan reads a story called Bad Heart

My band performs 3 of our originals from both 1st and 2nd EP

Mandy takes video

An appreciative, intent crowd composed of writers

After the event, goofing off with Marky

Bagane showing a rare smile

Film crew and us

My outfit was… stellar.

MtG everywhere!

The organizers Karla, Allen, Julian and Chi.

LitOrgy’s Love, Loss and Libido was definitely a different sort of event, a little more subtlety, a little more reading between the lines than a regular gig. I enjoyed it thoroughly. Props to the organizers for pulling it off successfully. I’m looking forward to next year’s!

xx Jad

2013 Bucket List: A Year of Firsts

1. Learn a new language.

I’ve been dabbling in minor Japanese for so many years now. I want this to be the year that I finally take on this high-context language and master it.

2. Finish my band’s entire album.

We’re just about to finish the 2nd EP. That means we can package it with the first, giving us a 12-song album. Then my heart can rest.

3. Buy a Google Nexus 7 tablet.

Because we want something that lets us surf without wanting to scream, while mobile.

4. Buy a canon prime lens.

Because I’ve been using manual Pentax lenses with my 550D, and I want to see how it performs using the lenses made for it.

5. Buy a new phone.

Something with actual buttons.

6. Get hi-def cable.

We just bought a new TV, and you know what they say:
With great screen comes great pixelation.

7. Travel with The Boy.

We aren’t travelers, him and I. We like to stay where we are. But that will change.

8. Have our first child.

We will be trying, and we will be hoping.

A Reply to: OPM is dead, so sue me

The Cons of Dyed Hair

*Best read with a sense of humor. Remember, all this applies to the author too! :P

So you researched everything about colored hair and now you have an unnaturally colored head. You are happy. You want to let the whole world know that you have colored hair. Welcome to the world of dyed hair, where you can officially join the thousands of denizens on tumblr who post pics of themselves making blank creepy faces at their webcam. That includes me, btw. We’re all weird on Tumblr, s’why we’re there.

Two days after you dyed your hair, you now see some immediate cons to your bright hair, ruining an otherwise perfect world:

Hospital Sheets

Family Day

I spent yesterday with my family and I’m always glad to be able to spend time with them because we’re all working and live far apart. I was especially excited to see my little niece Ysabelle, because I don’t get to see her often.

As usual, our family seemed to have some weird sense of color ESP and everyone showed up in shades of yellow and orange. With the exception of my dad and husband, who both wore red. So weird. The last time it happened, we all showed up in black. -_-

I’m loving my little brother’s fashion sense lately, because he’s been showing a love for neon and two-toned outfits:

I wore orange to go with my hair, but my roots are growing in really fast, can you see where it’s purple and on top of my head it’s all black? Lol. I like it though!

Things I Need To Do Today

1. Figure out why the fuck I woke up so early

2. Force myself to fall asleep cos I have a gig later tonight

3. Not forget that I now have a new band mate who may not be used to the fact that I am a real weirdo

4. Finish this mohawk hat that I am crocheting for my friend’s birthday cos another friend of mine is picking it up this afternoon

5. Have hat meetups for my customers at 5pm today

6. ship a hat to Cebu

7. Try not to forget the words to The Wolves by Bon Iver cos we’re covering it and I keep forgetting the part where I should scream at the end cos I have to freaking strum my guitar like a crazy person and count the exact number of times I have to strum and our drummer just bangs the drums like he’s going to break them and it seriously makes me want to explode but in a good way

8. meet with all my artsy friends who are coming to my gig cos my friend Cheekie and I are determined to start a subculture revolution and we’re amassing an army (she tweeted that she was dead serious so I can do no less! Noted, will wear creepers and bowler hat to this meeting)

9. Figure out something decent to wear because as we’re playing my friend Bagane will be shooting our set for a music video and I seriously dunno how to multitask looking smexy and play the correct notes at the same time - more likely, I will be making my stupid palsied face as I sing and I will be slouching and look fat

10. Eat adobo cos I miss adobo

Spent Valentine’s Day in the hospital, with my mom and dad. Still recovering from a bad bout of stomach flu. And The Boy stayed by my bedside all night putting cold washcloths on my forehead to help bring my fever down. I felt more loved than if someone had dumped a truck of roses on me.

One Sound

A disabled man who can only make gibbering noises is walking around our village asking for alms, with the promise to play a tune on his old battered guitar. Clothes clean, shirt tucked into faded jeans, shoes polished, hair brushed, face earnest. His skin is dark from walking, and he can only say: “Ah. Uh. Ah. Uh.” He is a mute, or partially. He speaks no words and yet his message is clear:

 I am broken. I need to get through this day, and the next, and the next, and the next. What else can I do but this, if I am broken?

But if you can only make one sound, no one chooses to hear you. I pray that God does, Mister. I hope better things happen in your life.

My Uncle’s House

He always smelled like cigarettes, my Papa Rey. It is only now, that I am older, that I realize some people may not have liked that he smelled like cigarettes. But to me, it was a familiar smell, and I associated it with my uncle, who always had candy in his pockets, and a smile for me. He was a bear of a man, and his eyes were never wide open when I saw him. They were always crinkled up in his face, folds of joy that somehow still seemed to twinkle whenever he greeted my sister and I with an embrace and a kiss.

I spent part of my childhood in his house, and I will never forget him. Coming home from church, I had been bought a bright red balloon, and it had been tied to my wrist. I sat there, outside his house, because it was the only house I knew at the time, and I stared at my balloon, and I waited, but it did nothing. And I untied it from my wrist, and with wonderment I watched as it flew away and grew smaller and smaller, and I waited for it to come back, but it did not. It was the first time I had ever seen a balloon, so I thought no more of it and went inside the house to my aunt and uncle, to have Sunday lunch. But it is a good thing, to be in a house with love and to have seen a red balloon fly.

He was married to my father’s sister, my Papa Rey. They could not have children, so they asked if they could have me for their own child. Because my parents could not bear to part with me, I was borrowed often, and that was good enough, I suppose. When my sister arrived into the world, it was even better. We became old hands at finding the ins and outs of my uncle’s house, because it was our house, ours, and theirs.

We held “dancing” sessions in the hallway, because it was light by a green bulb that seemed to be popular in old houses in the 80’s. Only one of us could dance at a time, because someone had to flick the switch on and off, illuminating the hall in a wash of eerie green light that was to us, a magical ambiance that could only be used for “dancing”. So we took turns, and we felt deliciously wicked. Such is the logic of children.

We were fascinated by the herringbone pattern of the wooden parquet flooring. It was like an enormous jigsaw puzzle that was at the same time, the floor! I would take out a block, inspect the dust that would inevitably be underneath, and put it back reverently. It was like I was cradling a part of the house in my hand, a finger from a body, a sliver from a soul. Of course I was convinced that if I somehow forgot to put it back, surely the whole house would weaken, and someone would come and punish me.

We played many games in my Uncle’s house, some met with approval, others meriting us a stern spanking. But the one that my uncle loved was callled “Tulog-tulog”, wherein he would gather us up, and tell us in a low, curious voice to hook us in without us even knowing—-“How about playing the best game of all?”

“What game, what game?”

”Tulog tulog. The best part is, you win a prize!”

“How do we win the prize!”

“You close your eyes, and you sleep, and whoever falls asleep first, wins!”

So of course we closed our eyes, and we tried our best to sleep so we would win. No one ever figured out who won in those games, because when we woke up before dinnertime we shot out of bed to rush into our parents’ arms who had come to pick us up at the end of the day. I suspect the winner was usually my Uncle.

But the thing I would remember him for the most was that he loved to tell jokes, and he always had a new one (or a new “old” one, because everyone knows the best jokes are the ones that have been told ten, a hundred, a thousand times) every time I came over to play. He would greet me with his cigarette hug, and his cigarette kiss, and say with his eyes twinkling, “Have you heard that joke about….?”

And I would sit eagerly, waiting to laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

My Papa Rey died of esophageal cancer, while I was away at college. I will never have another hug, or a kiss, or another joke from my uncle. But I will always have my memories of him, and his laughter, and his house. And I will always love him.