SAPUL!!!

I Don't Frickin' Get it

2008-10-29T23:39:00.002+08:00

No, I really don't. Earlier today, we were at the St. Luke's Extension at Jorge Bocobo st., that U.S. embassy medical thingy. We were filling out forms to get us started on completing our medical requirements for immigration to the U.S. One of the questions on the form was "When will you be ready to depart for the U.S.?" or something like that. My dad told us to write "January 2009" because that's when I will be turning 21 (the age that would most likely render me ineligible for immigration with my parents).

It felt like getting hit on the head with a truncheon. I was dazed, barely able to articulate my sentiment: "But I thought you told me that deadline was just for the interview. That as long as I don't turn 21 before the interview, I could still leave for the U.S. at the age of 21."

My dad explained to me that - well, no he really didn't. He just repeated his earlier statement that I need to get to the U.S. before I turn 21. He doesn't seem to remember telling me the whole the-deadline-is-for-the-interview thing. And that was my dad. If he doesn't remember, that means it didn't happen. Even if it did. If I couldn't bring the phenomenon back to his memory by directly referring to it, what was going to? There was little I could do to protest. And I wrote "January 2009" on the fucking form.

And now I just don't know what to feel. I thought I was still going to be here for my birthday, for her birthday.

It's still about three months away, and I'm probably not going to get invited, but I've already been planning how I would look like in the unlikely event that I do get invited. What I would wear, how I would style my hair, what I would smell like. There must be, after all, that slim chance that I'll get invited. Come on. It's going to be her debut! And I'm the first guy who's ever told her I like her. And we have the same birthday for goodness' sake!

I've even been thinking about what to make for her. That's right - make. Buying something is out of the question. I like her too much to cheapen my gift into something I could actually buy. I would like her to know how priceless she is.

But what if ... what the fuck if ... I'm not here for her birthday anymore?

I've been really hoping that I would be.

I don't frickin' get it.

...

...

...

...

...

I could end my post here, actually. But there are still a couple more stuff I don't get.

First up! A couple of days ago, maybe a week back, she changed some things with her Multiply site. Her site title has now become "Caffeinated!" and her blog section has the header "caffeinated musings". Maybe the connections aren't as uncanny as the ones revealed before, but I used to be quite the caffeine person myself. In fact, in High-School, my friends and I called ourselves the "Coffee Club Society". And, yes, we had coffee *regularly*.

Ah, what the heck, we had coffee whenever our grimy little caffeine-thirsty hands got the smallest bit of chance to get a hold of our preeeeeccciiiiooouuusssssss.

Things have changed now, though. I don't drink coffee anymore. I'm depriving myself of all the unhealthy indulgences I've had before.

A more telling sign of a connection, perhaps, would be the "caffeinated musings" blog header. My own blog header in Multiply, which I wrote long before she changed her header, is "Melancholic Musings". Now, I don't know if she got the idea from my blog. Probably not, because the viewing history shows that she doesn't visit my site anymore. Although she could always view it logged-out, in which case her viewing of my site would not register on the viewing history. Anyway, in the unlikely case that she did get the idea from me, doesn't that mean I make an impression on her? Maybe not in the romantic way ... hmm ... probably not in the romantic way. Maybe not as someone who could be a potential partner (jeez! Am I really thinking these stuff?!). But at least I leave an impression on her, as someone who's got a way with words at the very least. Maybe not a very good way, but not a very bad way, either. At least she remembers what I have to say, even if she doesn't remember me as the one having said it. And that just gives me a feeling of accomplishment. I quietly celebrate that imagined triumph.

But that's just too much to hope for, I guess. Maybe she just thought up of it, all by herself. But then here would lie an even greater triumph: that would just show that we really think alike, without conscious effort for us to do so! Sheesh.

Another thing is that she recently just reviewed, also on her Multiply site, the movie Pan's Labyrinth by Guillermo del Toro. And what's so great with that? Ohhh, nothing ... except that I've been obsessing over that movie myself since Ma'am Sanchez showed it to us for CL111 class!

That movie plays an even greater role in furthering what could possibly be mere hallucinations of mine, in seeing this connection between the two of us. It was instantaneously that the thought struck me, that she resembles the movie's lead character Ofelia. At first I thought she physically looked like Ofelia, but upon further scrutiny, I found it wasn't the looks that she and Ofelia had in common. Or at least, it wasn't the looks that was the most important thing they had in common. It was how, I perceived, she herself was quite stuck as well, between a world where she wants to be and a world where she has to be. But which world is which, is quite hard to tell in her case, unlike in Ofelia's.

This, actually, was the original inspiration for the story I envisioned and which I plan to write, about a young girl who finds a magical kingdom where she is, or can be, queen (I put this under the working title "Kingdom Melancholia" on my stuff-to-do list, which I posted on my Multiply blog on October 23). Of course, I plan to let the story evolve into a story of its own, but my lead character there will undoubtedly be heavily influenced by this girl that has entranced me in real life.

So you can only imagine the joy, mixed with frustration, that blew me away when I found out she had reviewed and had liked the movie as well. There's such an incredible connection. But we're so incredibly disconnected.

I don't frickin' get it!!!

Paradise Lost

2008-10-11T20:09:00.017+08:00

Why is it that our paths cross when I least want them to?

But I guess I should've expected it. I didn't see her yesterday, when I was wearing my favorite shirt. So what better way for the universe to thwart me (as it often does) than to make our paths cross today? Today, when I'm wearing a bunch of stuff I just pulled out of my cabinet because I'm going to a library in U.P. on a Saturday and there aren't going to be too many people there when I come and she's probably not going to be there when I come and I'm probably not going to stay long, anyway. I'm going to grab the books I saw yesterday, have the parts I need photocopied because we're not allowed to take them out anymore, and be gone.

But, tragedy of tragedies, I walked into the CAL library and she was there. In the library. On a Saturday. Yes.

On the table in front of her was, literally, a pile of books that would have reached up to my knee if it was on the ground. And a lot of papers. And I mean a lot. She was so absorbed in whatever stuff she was reading and writing that, for the first time, I had been in the same room with her without her giving me that look of weariness that I'm quite sure now is of me and my advances. Or maybe I just didn't see her do it. Because I myself avoided any chance of meeting eyes with her, and sat in one of the other tables so as to put her far behind me. So as to render myself needless of looking at her. Even if only for the few minutes I'd be there.

++++++

It was the first day of class and because it was an English class, I was only too happy to come to the classroom early. The nearest available seat was in the middle row, beside this girl with short black hair but long bangs hiding her face from me. I took it. As soon as I was seated, I snatched a look to the side and saw the pale face of the Chinese-looking girl beside me. She was wearing glasses and slouched her lanky frame in a shy position, as if to hide her being from me, from the rest of the world.

"Can I see your Form 5?" I started.

She didn't say anything. She just looked at me suspiciously, but reluctantly handed over her Form 5 as well.

"Twenty thousand Pesos!" I exclaimed. I also know her name now.

"Your batch's tuition is so expensive now, after the tuition hike." I continued. And I like her name.

I handed her back the Form 5. We didn't talk much for the rest of the semester.

++++++

I opened my notebook and looked at the titles of the books I tried to borrow yesterday for use in my term paper about John Milton's Paradise Lost. But I wasn't allowed to borrow them due to the new CAL library rule: ALL books are for ROOM USE ONLY.

The Complete English Poetry of John Milton
Milton's Epic Characters by John Steadman
The Moral Paradox of Paradise Lost by John Seaman

Right. Off to the shelves to get them. And get them photocopied. And get the hell out of this hell.

THEY WEREN'T THERE!!! The three books I needed weren't there. All the other books I read yesterday but didn't need were there. The three books I needed weren't!

I looked again and found that, in fact, one of the books was there: The Complete English Poetry of John Milton. But it's an earlier edition than the one I saw yesterday. An earlier, brownish, vandalized, more battered-up edition. I opened to check if it will suffice as replacement. All the books of Paradise Lost, check. Line numbers and annotations, check. Good. Everything I needed was there. And more. Vandalisms also littered the pages. I gritted my teeth at this, but, what was I supposed to do? I took the book and went.

On my way back to my seat, I passed by her. There she was with all the books she needs for whatever infernal purpose. When I took my seat, I couldn't help but look back. She didn't see me. I wondered what she was so absorbed in reading.

++++++

We were asked by the professor what our favorite poem was. I thought it only natural to answer "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe, whom my High School friends kept teasing me was me in a past life, because a big part of my writing style was inspired by him. Not to mention, we were both born on January 19. And, yes, The Raven really is my favorite poem. But it wasn't my turn yet to speak.

It was hers. And, lo and behold...

"I have two favorite poems, actually. The Raven, and The Bells, both by Edgar Allan Poe."

I fretted at this. My answer was not going to be unique anymore. Or at least I wasn't going to be the first to mention it. When my turn came, I mentioned a poem by a nobody, something I found in fictionpress, which, honestly, I did like as well. But not so much, I couldn't even remember the author's name. I just wanted to cite something unpopular so that I'm sure I will be the only one to give that answer. Haha.

But I took a secret delight in that. So she likes Poe, too, huh?

++++++

She must have seen me by now. I'm sure of it. She's just not saying a word. That's how she denies me: by not doing anything.

I saw one of the assistant librarians returning some books to their shelves. I thought it best to wait and maybe the books I need will get returned. I would have to endure being there with her for longer.

I started reading from the ghastly edition I had at the moment. Absent-mindedly, and perhaps in desperate want of a distraction, I started counting the syllables in each line of Milton's poem. Most of them had ten lines. But occasionally, an eleventh syllable spills over, and some lines would fall one or two syllables short of ten. There doesn't seem to be a pattern for this. Milton didn't confine himself too much in meter, I guess. But what have I learned that I could use in my term paper? Nothing. In essence I wasn't doing anything.

I could hear the turning of the pages far behind me. I wondered what was she doing at the moment.

++++++

We were at the ground floor, by the photocopy lady. Upon dismissal in that English class, the professor had given us an assignment that we needed to photocopy, and those among us who didn't have classes right after went together.

I was having a conversation with some of my classmates about this book, Dune. I hadn't really read the book, but I got to play a computer game based on the book. Beyond that, I know nothing about that universe. Still, the people I was talking with were so enthusiastic that they managed to keep finding stuff I could relate to. We kept on talking and talking. But in essence, we were doing nothing.

When they started talking among themselves, and when their topics went far beyond my knowledge of the world of Dune, I inched away from their huddle and turned to the busy photocopy lady. I waited for her to finish, and thought that it was the most sensible thing I could do at the moment. And I thought that if they looked at me, I would probably look like the loser standing there all alone not talking to anyone, which I'm quite used to being branded as anyway.

But then again I wasn't alone.

I turned and saw her also waiting there, not talking to anyone, not doing anything. She seemed to regard the photocopy lady with eyes of - I now realized - perpetual observation. And weariness.

++++++

In serious need of distraction, I stood and went back to the shelves. Maybe the books I need were there now. Surprise, surprise. They weren't. I passed by her table again on my way back to my seat. I saw that a lot of the books on her table were thick, black, hardbound books. When I took my seat, it struck me that that was how the edition I wanted looked like. Could it be that she has the books I need? Could it be that the universe is, once again, toying with me, and that happenstance is driving us both to pursue the same thing?

++++++

I was on the third floor of the CAL building, watching the activists' program on the second floor atrium. A semester has passed since I left her and that classroom for the last time, as casually as I leave it everyday. As if she had not enthralled me the entire semester. As if I did not need the reassurance I gave myself that this little crush would die soon. A semester of not seeing her has passed, and it still hasn't.

Activist leaders were coming up front to speak before the mass of people wearing red. I remembered my own glory days. Days of speaking before a mass audience like such. Days of being our High School's unconventional Student Council President. Unconventional because I dared to rebel. I dared to rebel against the CAT system. I dared to speak out against unbecoming actions of teachers. I dared to condemn my own batch for oppressing lower batches. I dared to be known as critical of the School's Administration. And before the year ended, I dared to punch a hole in our classroom's blackboard in protest of all that has been left unsolved.

But those days were long-gone. And when I look back at them, I can't help but see how, while I was condemning narrow-mindedness then, I had been quite narrow-minded myself. I was quite the revolutionary, yes. Ask my High School teacher and she'd tell you she seriously thought I'd end up as a rebel in the mountains if I go to U.P.. But those days were gone.

As I turned to leave the activists to themselves, they started chanting their usual chants. One voice stood out to me and stopped me in my tracks. It sounded like a little girl's voice, but yelling with all the confidence of an independent woman. I turned and saw her there among the people wearing red, screaming social change, screaming revolution as I did before.

++++++

"Here it is." I heard the voice of the library's photocopy guy say, somewhere behind me.

"Okay, how much is it?" Her voice answered.

"Will you be having something else photocopied later?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll charge you later." said the photocopy guy, before the sound of his footsteps, I observed, placed him on his way back to the photocopy machine.

I couldn't help but look back at her. She still wasn't looking at me. I couldn't see the titles of her books from where I was, though. I decided to turn my head back at the aged book I was holding before we meet eye-to-eye. If she really had one or more of the books I needed, maybe I should just go there and talk to her. She would hate it, I know. But she wouldn't show it...much. She can't help but be diplomatic.

++++++

She can't help but be diplomatic. Like me. That's what I found out the second time we were classmates. We talked more that semester, because we were groupmates in some of the group activities. But mostly she still kept to herself.

In one of those group activities, we decided to report on the status of religion in the Victorian Era of England. Well, actually, it was I who decided that our report would be on religion. I used to be Catholic, but had undergone what some people might call a "state of confusion", though I personally don't like using the phrase. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I had renounced religion and am now agnostic. And am now grabbing every opportunity I get to expose religion for the oppressive force it really is.

Being agnostic myself, I wanted to report on the alternative traditions prevalent in the Victorian Era, like deism, atheism and agnosticism. But I already had another topic assigned to myself, and I didn't want to monopolize the discussion by reporting on two topics. So guess who volunteered to work on the alternative traditions?

She delivered it better than I thought she would, actually. But I could still see the awkwardness with which a Catholic reports on practices usually considered taboo. After class, I asked her how it felt like, and if it was okay for her to report on such matters.

"It's okay. Because, actually, I'm in a state of confusion myself."

I wanted to pat her on the back right then and there. State of confusion, huh? I think I know the feeling.

++++++

Right. Talk to her. Just check if she has any of the books I need. Go go go go!!!

I stood up, turned, and started walking, only to find out that she wasn't there by the table. Her books and papers were still there, though. But I decided against checking them myself, lest she returns and finds me going over the stuff she was reading. All the while I was thinking of these, I kept on walking. I couldn't stop prematurely, I would look stupid, especially to her in case she was watching. I kept going and going and going ... to the only other place in the library I've gone to that day: the shelves.

When I got there, I wanted to bang my head on one of the shelves and topple it, to create a domino effect that would bury me in hundreds of books. I started looking around for which shelf would cause the desired effect, but I saw something else. Within arm's length, beyond the shelf right in front of me, was her. She had her back turned to me and she was talking to the photocopy guy who was stationed there. Apparently, she was already paying. That means she'll leave the library soon as well.

As much as I had been wanting to be rid of her, I wanted to grab her then. She was so close. I could take one step to where there would be no shelf between us, and then I could grab her hand and ask her to stay. I could stare right into her eyes as if to make up for all the times I did not, and beg her to stay.

But she would deny that. She would deny me.

++++++

"Got a few minutes?" I texted her one night. "I want to talk to you about something. I know you're weary of me by now, but this could be the last thing from me you would be weary of. Hehe."

"It's okay." She replied. With a smiley.

"I know, like me, you can't help but be diplomatic ... But I'll have to ask you to be brutally honest this time. Okay here goes ... You've known it all along, haven't you? Or at least you've suspected it?"

"Suspected what?"

"That I like you."

++++++

I retreated deeper back into the shadow of the shelves. She was still standing there by the photocopy machine, having some trouble getting her coins or something. I kept my eyes fixed on her as I stepped behind the shelf that contained the books on John Milton, where I knew she would not see me even if she looked. But from where I could still see her.

I heard the wheels of a cart nearby. I turned and saw it was one of the assistant librarians, returning books to their respective shelves. I looked at the Milton shelf and the books I needed still weren't there. But in order not to look stupid to the assistant librarian, I pulled one of the books from the Milton shelf and opened it in front of me. My eyes, however, stared beyond the book, and beyond the shelf from where it came.

She had finished paying. She was on her way back to her table.

I closed the book. I tried to follow her. I emerged from behind the shelves and followed her. I was right behind her. She was so close. I could tap her shoulder. I could call out her name. I could quicken my pace and walk beside her and say hi.

She turned a corner and went back to her table. I kept going forward and went back to mine.

++++++

She would probably hate me if she found out that I still had not given up. Not even after she told me she likes somebody else.

But the truth was, I had given up. The time draws near for me to leave this country. I'm not expecting us to be together. I'm not even expecting her to like me back. I just want to do one last thing for her before I go. Maybe just to make me feel like I left something behind.

I had given up. But that doesn't mean I have to stop liking her. No. It doesn't mean I get to stop liking her, either.

But she can't find out I'm planning something, or else she might think I'm still making advances. It is for this reason that I asked one of her friends if she (the friend) could promise not to tell anyone about what I was going to ask her.

"Yep," she replied in text.

"Do you know when her birthday is? It's just an item in my to-do list to do something for her before I leave this country."

"January 19."

"January 19! Haha. Very funny. Go ahead, make fun of me. Hehe. But, seriously, when is it?"

"Why? That's serious. January 19."

"No joke? So you didn't know that that's also my birthday?"

"Nope. Haha. Amazing, isn't it."

++++++

I took a look at the book in my hand, the one I picked up randomly. A Preface to Paradise Lost by C.S. Lewis.

But my mind was nowhere near the book, or Milton, or my term paper. It was on how the universe had thus far toyed with me and my feelings, drawing up all these illusions of an uncanny connection existing between me and this girl, only to regularly slap me in the face with the fact that we will never be together.

I looked back at the table where she sat. She wasn't there anymore. The papers were also gone. She had left. My heart sank. But my mind rejoiced. Good riddance.

The books she was reading were still there, though, stacked up in a pile. I got my things and moved to that table. Perhaps she really did have the books I needed.

I started going through the books in the stack. Jane Austen. Jane Austen and the War of Ideas. Jane Austen the Novelist. They were all on Jane Austen. Nothing on John Milton. Of course. She was doing her term paper on Jane Austen for the class where we were classmates.

I was sort of glad that she wasn't looking at books on Milton. If she was, that would just be another insult added to the myriads upon myriads of insults this obsession has already bombarded me with.

But she was gone. And I had best get my own work done.

I opened Lewis's preface again. And this time my mind was on the book. I was doing my term paper on the character of Satan from Paradise Lost, so I glanced at the table of contents for anything on Satan. Chapter XIII: Satan. How appropriate.

I turned to Chapter XIII and read on:

"Before considering the character of Milton's Satan it may be desirable to remove an ambiguity by noticing that Jane Austen's --"

I shut the fucking book.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Though this may look like a short story, this is actually Creative Non-Fiction. In other words, this is a true story. Readers of my previous blog posts would realize that I dragged in some of the metaphors I've used in earlier posts into this composition. And I've also repeated a lot of what I already said in my previous posts. That's because I want this composition to stand on its own and be self-explanatory. And I'm not shitting about what's written in C.S. Lewis' preface. See for yourself. The book is A Preface to Paradise Lost by C.S. Lewis, published in London by the Oxford University Press, in 1965. Go to Chapter 13. That's page 94.

January 19

2008-10-08T15:42:00.007+08:00

I might still be in the Philippines for my birthday, after all. It turns out that I will only be ineligible for migration if I am 21 by the time the interview at the embassy is held. As it is, I can go to the interview before I turn 21 and still be here until the end of the second semester in 2009. I will, therefore, probably still be here to do something for the girl I'm obsessed with on her birthday.

Ah, yes. The whole idea of she and I having the same birthday. Let's just dwell on that. Let's just dwell on it for a moment. And let's ask questions of it. A good question, I guess, would be... WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT FRICKIN' MEAN?!

I am agnostic. I do not believe in stuff the explanations for which involve concepts of the supernatural. Heck, I don't believe in anything, which necessitates that I do not believe any thing to be impossible either. So while I do not believe that this whole phenomenon may involve concepts of destiny, God, Buddha, the stars, or holy macaronis ... well, I can't discount the possibility either.

It's too much of a coincidence. The first time I laid my eyes upon her, I felt a connection. As shitty as that sounds, let me explain. I've mentioned in one of my previous entries that her face is "right out of my childhood dreams." And this is not some sentimental joke. I think anybody who has ever heard of marriage or love has also had, at the back of his or her head, a vague picture of the "ideal" man or woman for him or her. Even if you do not believe that such a person exists, such a picture in your mind exists. And even if you meet a real person who looks like your "ideal" partner, he/she might not necessarily become your partner but his/her appearance will still appeal to you. It is that image that I'm talking about. When I first saw her, she looked exactly like my "ideal" woman. I did not feel struck by Cupid's arrow, or fall helplessly in love, or anything earth-shaking like that. Hell, no. I just liked her immediately because she looks like the girl I've always liked from my dreams. How often do dreams come true? I was just happy that one of mine did. That was why I tried to engage her in conversation right then and there. I wasn't hoping to be her boyfriend someday (yet), nor did I expect that my liking would escalate into an obsession. I just liked her. That was the connection.

And then things came one after the other. Everything about her just fascinated me. Her hair, no matter how she fixes it. Her fashion sense, which I think plays somewhere between conformity and deviance. The way she speaks, which is like the voice of a little girl speaking with all the confidence and authority of an independent woman. There is nothing in all of those things that connect her to me, but they just amaze me for no apparent reason. I want to know who she is. I want to know her beyond the face, beyond the deeds, beyond the looks, beyond the psychology. I want to know who she really is. I want to know her to her soul. I want to know why I feel so drawn to her.

And, of course, I mentioned in one of my previous posts that her two favorite poems were both by Edgar Allan Poe. Now, there's a long story about why I made a big deal out of that. But to cut it short, Poe is one of my favorite writers, after whom a large part of my poetry-writing style is modeled. And also, because reading him is like reading stuff that I had thought of by myself. And, not to mention, we were both born on January 19.

January 19! That explains a lot, doesn't it? She probably only likes Poe because she found out they have the same birthday as well! There's nothing supernatural about it! Right?

Well, that IS highly possible, yes. But, in order for her to give a damn about Poe, she would have to be interested in literature in the first place. Why couldn't she have just liked James Watt - also born on Jan.19 - and become an inventor or something? And that's another thing we have in common: we're both interested in literature. And even if she is interested in literature, there are other authors and poets born on January 19 like Julian Barnes, Nina Bawden, Rex Ingamells. Why, among all these people, did she have to choose Edgar Allan Poe to like? Why did she have to choose as I did, considering that there were also all those other authors for me to choose from? And why, oh why, did I have to fall for her of all people?

Of course, trying to interpret the whole phenomenon of the two of us being interested in literature and specifically Edgar Allan Poe doesn't end there. But whatever explanations we have, we'll keep bringing up the fact that she has the same birthday as Poe, and that I have the same birthday as well - which, by the way, is the focus of this post. So let's get back to that.

Why, in the first place, do we even have the same birthday? We can explain liking for Poe in psychological terms. We can explain my fascination with the little things about her as having its basis on my "ideal" woman image. We can explain our having revolutionary thoughts as a tendency for a certain subset of the generation of which we are both parts. We can explain how we have come to make those decisions as influenced by external factors. But we did not decide to choose our birthdays. No external factors could have influenced that. It can't be explained in psychological terms. It can't have its basis on my imagination. It couldn't have been a societal tendency. The only way to explain it is that it was just brought about by coincidence. And, like I said, it's too much of a coincidence.

Do not get me wrong, though. I'm not saying that we are "meant to be", or a "match made in heaven". No crap like that. In fact, if anything, given our present circumstances I perceive us as not meant to be, or if we are a match made anywhere it must've been in hell. Yes, that's it. We must've done some bad things in our past lives (or past life? Maybe we used to be one soul manifested as Poe) that merit punishment. Her punishment, it seems, is to be the unfortunate girl I would be obsessed with. I, on the other hand, am sentenced to living under all these illusions of such a "connection" existing only to be regularly slapped in the face with the fact that she and I will never be together.

Will Insults Never Cease?

2008-10-03T21:45:00.006+08:00

I take to heart the question I keep asking in my previous post: "where shall I begin?" It is a question that I really am asking myself regarding this matter. I do not know where to begin the story of me and my ... well, the girl who has had the gravest misfortune of being the object of my affection.

So many other things have happened that I didn't put in my previous post: the time I asked for her cell-phone number, the time I asked her to review a story I wrote, the time I discussed an activist story with her. I just can't decide where to start. I can't decide what to put where.

In fact, today another significant development in this story occurred. I asked Dania, one of her friends, if she knew when the birthday of the girl I like was. I told Dania that it was in my to-do list to do something for the girl I like before I leave this country.

"Jan 19." Dania casually replied in text.

"Jan 19!" I said. "Haha. Very funny. [Go ahead, make fun of me. Hehe. But seriously, when is her birthday]?"

"[Why? That's serious]. Jan 19."

"No joke? So you didn't know [that that's also my birthday]?"

"Nope. Haha. [Amazing, isn't it]."

And this sucks because - one - I probably would've left this country by then. And - two - it just adds another one to the myriads upon myriads of insults that this obsession has already bombarded me with. It just uncovers more of the uncanny connection I have with this girl who doesn't like me, who doesn't show any signs of liking me in the near future, and with whom - even if she did like me - I can't be with for much long anyway.

Fuck you, universe. Fuck you.

Where Shall I Begin?

2008-09-21T07:56:00.005+08:00

Where shall I begin? Shall I begin at the very beginning? That first day of class, and the first I saw you? That day when you were just a pretty girl in the room for me? But, by whatever forces are at work in the universe, what a pretty girl you were. The way you sat there and slouched your slender build and skinny arms, unmindful of how your posture seemed to ask me for an embrace. The way your black bangs fell from your thick short hair to the side of your face, denying me view of that which I shall soon discover to be right out of my childhood dreams. Dreams that have grown more and more jaded with age, the sole survivor being the image of that nameless face, made nameless by your existence. Shall I begin there? When I first talked to you, under the pretense of some academic concern...but secretly hoping to establish a connection. Shall I begin there?

Or shall I begin at the time I first weaved an illusion that such a connection existed? When you said in class that your two favorite poems were both by Edgar Allan Poe, whom I've always thought was me in a past life. Or have I really? Or was that also part of the illusion I weaved?

Shall I begin at how I watched you from a distance? How I took delight at things as petty as the way your pants were folded at the ends one day, or the absence of your glasses? How that ridiculously made me feel like I see more of you when you are without those things, which I find very charming on you anyway. Or shall I begin at how I allowed myself to be troubled by anything that remotely looks like a rival? How I fretted at every touch, every glance you gave another girl. How I watched you lean your head on her shoulder, or hold her hand, and how I wished she had been me.

Or shall I begin at that last class meeting, when the thought struck me that I'd rather see you do all those things than not see you at all? When I thought so hard about talking to you, possibly for the last time. When the harder I thought about it, the weirder I seemed to myself. When I stayed in my seat after dismissal, just to look at you for two more seconds. When I got up and left the classroom as usual, as if you had not just mesmerized me for an entire semester, as if I did not need the reassurance I gave myself that it was just a crush. It would die soon. It was just a crush.

Shall I, perhaps, begin at how your phantom met me at every turn? How that ever-present image of the absent you, fresh out of my dreams, always stood between me and other girls. How I could not bring myself to like any other anymore, forever haunted by the spirit of she who had captured mine? Shall I begin there? When, for days, I had vainly tried to force the hand of fate into crossing my path with yours. When, for days, I had taken to visiting all the places where I had accidentally seen you at least once, hoping that you would be there when I am once again. In front of the College of Business Administration. In front of Kalayaan residence hall. In the Shopping Center.

Or shall I begin at the times our paths actually did cross? And without conscious effort on my part to make them. That day by the photocopy lady in Palma Hall. That time I saw you in the stone tables outside the Faculty Center. How I wish I had said, at the very least, greetings at those times. But instead I just pretended not to know you, for fear that you might suspect my true feelings for you.

Shall I begin at the time I decided I would want to transfer to a program in the college where I knew you were in? Shall I begin at how, every day of the first week, I entered the college building with all the enthusiasm and anxieties of a high-school boy anticipating new adventures? And maybe a little romance? Shall I begin at how my blood ran cold when I found out we were classmates again? When you, as you often had before, seemed to behold me with a look of weariness that I couldn't quite decide whether or not was of me.

Shall I begin at the days spent admiring you from a distance as before? Worshiping you in silence as before. Speaking in class as if being listened to by no one else but you. Savoring the victory in each time you accept my simple offerings of candy. Drawing illusions at every time you talk to me.

Shall I begin at how I had heard your voice amidst many others? How I turned to see you one among the troop of people wearing red? How I observed as though observing a younger, optimistic, revolutionary me? How I knew then that we had more in common than just being English majors, than being in the same class, than Edgar Allan Poe. How I knew then that I was you.

Shall I begin at how every day I talk to you, I discover more about your being, about my feelings. How every encounter intrigued me further. How you trapped me in your paradoxes. You're a little girl, you're an independent woman. You're diplomatic, you're revolutionary. You're so familiar, you're so alien. You're me, but I'm not you. Anymore. Shall I begin there?

Or shall I begin at how I decided I couldn't bear it any longer? How, in my frustration, in my confusion, in all my love and hate and foolishness and weakness and passion I lost control. And confessed. And how you said...

"I like somebody else."

But I digress. Where shall I begin?

The Vampire Hunter

2008-07-09T18:00:00.003+08:00

I don't know what spirit possessed me when I wrote this poem.

We were given an assignment in Creative Writing class to write a poem. I spent two days working on one, carefully putting in the rhymes, paying special attention to the images I was creating, even integrating a hidden message amidst the lines. In short, intellectualizing the poem. After I had finished writing it, I read it and thought ... it was a boring read.

So I made another one, again spending two days. This time, in an attempt to connect with my audience more easily, I chose for my topic the romantic dilemma of someone who loves someone who loves someone else. I finished the poem and thought ... it was too trivial.

Ah, finally. Third time's the charm, alright. It was a charm indeed, but whether by the benevolent, or malevolent forces of the universe, I couldn't say. I thought of a topic: the black-and-white perception of good and evil, and the foolishness of it all. Then I unleashed my heart, letting it write its own hoard of sentiments. No intellectualization, no trying to connect with the audience. Let the words write themselves, let the words rhyme themselves, let the syllables arrange themselves in whatever meter they want. Within a day, it completed itself.

The poem had already gone through our workshop in class, and though a lot of my classmates liked it, I feel they only liked it because they are not very widely read, and that this was the first time they encountered this style. Some of my classmates' comments confirm this. But for the rest of the class, who have read quite a lot of poetry before, that includes the professor, they said they didn't feel like they were reading anything new. For either side, however, I felt that the deep, instinctive yet intellectual elements of the poem were lost on them.

Needless to say, my poem got decapitated for all its faults. I sat there and watched as sharks, frenzied with the slightest hints of blood, tore apart my creation - my baby.

And, looking back, I guess I was trying to write more of a short story than a poem. And I do acknowledge all the shortcomings of my creation. But the way that the words rhymed! The way that the poem makes the reader recite itself! And the images! I just can't dismiss them. I don't care if the trochaic rhythm signals the reader not to take the poem seriously (I didn't even know I was using the trochaic scheme!). I don't care that the images are too cliche (They were meant to be cliche! To be shattered at the end!). The poem has had an effect on me. And, though I wish to move on to creating something the genius of which would not be lost on its readers, this particular poem still captivates me. It had sown seeds in me. What these seeds shall grow into, I don't know. But I can feel them ... creeping, creeping ...

The Vampire Hunter by Andre’ Betita

T’was long ago, in a town, the name of which has been forgot
'Round one October or November, Terror was begot

Rumors had been on the spin of cattle going missing,
Of children being killed and taken in the darkness of the evening

Infernal howling kept the people all awake with fright
And even for the few who slept, dreams were mares of night

And more and more, people were reporting of some sighting
Of a cloaked and hooded man who, in the nights, was creeping

Creeping, creeping, always creeping, who was he they did not know
They found themselves, though, all agreeing this man had to go

Then came the call from Town hall, a statement by the Mayor
“The undead is causing dread! (at least so says the rumor)”

This set the stage for the rage of desperate people calling
For somebody, anybody, any hero heeding

Lo and behold, a Hunter, bold, seeking an adventure
Stepped up to meet the challenge and sought to kill the creature

So fearless Mister Vampire Hunter went to town one day
Looking for that beast of lore: the Vampire he must slay

He came to town with his tools: a special poison dagger,
A pistol made for killing ghouls with bullets made of silver

For the night he waited and waited, waited, waited and
Kept a sharp lookout for that savage ghastly beast of lore

Night fell at last, though it was starless, Hunter hunted still regardless
With only the red moon’s light, red moonlight as his guide

Trees gone leafless, branches swaying, monstrous fingers all beckoning
Fingers that seemed to summon the cloaked, hooded, creeping demon

For Hunter now, by the moonlight, Hunter now beheld the sight
Of a cloaked and hooded figure creeping like some cursed creature

Creeping, creeping in the farms, not yet causing any harm
Creeping, creeping ‘round the barns, not yet causing any harm

Not yet causing any harm

Watching from the darkness, Hunter, slipped and slid and stalked the creature
Waiting for a sign of sin to betray the thirst within

Until at last, then it happened, with a creepy grace of movement,
The creature mauled and killed a hen, picked the dead thing up and then,

Looked 'round to see if someone saw him, though the Hunter he missed seeing.
And with what seemed demonic speed, off to darkness went the fiend

Hunter quickly followed suit, stealthy though was the pursuit
And yet one thing made him wonder, there was something quite a bother

Why not feed right away? The easier to catch more prey
To what else was it taking, single helpless little Chicken?

The creature had not seen it coming, Hunter running right behind him
Dagger flashing, he was slashing. The creature hit the floor

And by the reddish moonlight, Hunter, saw the face of the creature
T’was a thing of ghastly horror, a mix of wounded flesh and bone

Of wounded, rotting flesh and bone

“This must be the face, oh surely, of undeath, so otherworldly!”
To himself went to explain he, Hunter did so certainly

Seeing lapse with the attack, the creature quickly creeping back,
Went and, without second thought, took the chance to flee

Hunter picked up pace and thought the creature’s efforts all for naught
The potent poison from the dagger flowed within the cursed creature

Not only would it slow him down, it could itself save the town
And drain the creature’s life away, not that it's needed anyway

Hunter, stalking once again, chased the creature to its den
He watched it enter and take shelter in a cave at town’s end

He heard it talking, giving warning, desperate voice echoing
As he expected, there were others, the creature would have fed

He listened in, what was it saying? And with whom was it talking?
It mattered not, so he thought, for now he found what he had sought

Inside the cave, the wounded man, was doing everything he can
With each and every dying breath, to get his kin away from death

His wife was there, expression bare, terror in her stare
And his two sons, his precious ones, for whom he truly cared

“Come, my love! Let us flee! The town has sent someone!
Oh, come my children! We must flee from that man who had come!”

No sooner had he finished talking than the Hunter, gently aiming
His revolver, pulled the trigger, going for the head

Body falling, sight was fading, blood was spilling, Death was winning
Kids were crying, Daddy’s dying, a silver bullet in his head

A silver bullet in his head!

It wasn’t long before the Hunter, coming to check the cadaver,
Heard the sobs and cries and whimper, of the sons and of the mother

Red moonlight shining on their faces, he saw they had wounds in places
Demon-spawned little wretches! The phenomenon amazes!

And as the kids and mother, stared back at him with horror,
He looked down at them, decided then, the bloodline had to end

T’was long ago, in a town the name of which has been forgot
'Round one October or November Terror was begot

Dreaming on

2008-02-14T08:23:00.002+08:00

For reasons I did not know and did not care to know, I sat slouched on a stool in one corner of this room so tall and so dark that no ceiling could be seen beyond the darkness above the two or three studio lights providing the people down below with the privilege of sight, no matter how limited. My elbows on my knees, my fingers locked together in a grip, I wanted so much for the night to end, or at least, for something interesting to happen before it does. I looked around and saw the staff all busy; some of them bringing the drinks in and out of the room, some panicking about the flow of the program, and some sighing in relief that their jobs were over and that they were about to take their well-deserved breaks - perhaps with people they think special. I could hear the applause from the hall adjacent to the room where I was. The program was almost over.

It was an event that I helped organize, but couldn't remember where it occurred, or why, or how, how the heck I managed to convince myself to abide by the formal dress code and wear a formal suit. All I knew was that the event was held on that day that comes every year, when the immortal universe imposes upon mortal humans the obligation of breathing cold night air that's thick with the nauseating stench of flirtation, infatuation, and everyone's favorite four-letter word. It made me sick that the people around me fell prey so easily to that invisible boss pressuring you to spend the night with someone you fool yourself into thinking special. But it didn't matter. I didn't care. I had taken off my necktie and had left it hanging there on my neck. The night was almost over. I couldn't wait.

Somebody called my name in a demanding tone that wasn't the least bit pleasant to my ears.

I turned and saw her enter the field of visibility that the studio lights provided in the middle of the darkness, wearing a black sleeveless gown, her long blonde hair tied in pigtails, her light complexion against the background of the darkness she just emerged from. She crossed her arms and looked at me with a raised eyebrow. I hated it. I hated her. I hated the way she had been bossing me around all night. I hated the way she was doing it again. And I wanted to show her how much I wasn't enjoying my job, though I knew that she already knew.

I stood up and looked her in the eye with defiance. She held her ground and I locked stares with her for about four seconds, after which I looked away and kicked the stool at my feet, sending it flying into the darkness of the room. The staff took no notice. I did it partly because I didn't want to submit, and partly because I knew I would have to.

I knew what she wanted me to do and I proceeded to do it, albeit grudgingly. As I passed her on my way out of the room, she froze me in place with one word:

"Necktie," she said, without looking at me.

I realized that my necktie was still dangling from where it hung around my neck. Instead of wearing it again, however, I grabbed it, dropped it on the floor right in front of her in display of utter rebellion, and left.

I left the dark room and found myself in the hallway leading to the hall where the program was being held. On my way, I picked up from one of the staff members the last certificate to be handed out that night. I found the door to the hall, pushed it open, and felt all eyes turn to me. The entire hall fell silent, except for some rather loud whisperings. I saw the recipients - a man and a woman - already on stage, and by the looks of it, they had been waiting for me. I walked my conceited walk through the hall without looking at anybody. I made my way up the stage and approached the couple, whom, by the way, I personally knew. I handed over the certificate with a sincere smile. The man, knowing it was just typical me, returned the smile and we shook hands. The audience hesitantly applauded.

I was on my way out of the hall when I saw her again, standing at the door from where I came in, still with her arms crossed, and still looking at me with a stern expression, albeit one that didn't demand as much as before. My last job for the night was over and we both knew it. She couldn't order me around anymore.

I wanted to walk all the way right back into the dark room, but when I was about to pass her, she turned and started walking beside me. After ten steps or so, she extended her hand, still without looking at me.

I turned to see my necktie, all neatly rolled, on her hand. I took it without looking at her, and all the while keeping my pace.

Five more steps and she started slowing down. I also slowed down to match her pace.

It wasn't long before I felt her fingers making contact with mine, sending signals, making it clear she wasn't touching me by accident, asking for a reply.

At that moment, I felt something that I haven't felt for a long time. It was that concept that I used to hold in nearly divine reverence. But now it was nothing more to me than a series of chemical reactions in my body, facilitated by the hypothalamus, which was still clinging on to the failing residual traditions left by evolution.

I still hated the way she had treated me all night.

And I still refused to let anybody in.

But I held her hand.

She locked her fingers with mine, put her free arm around my own, and leaned her head on my shoulder.

I planted a kiss on her blonde hair and then leaned my head against hers.

We walked the rest of the way like that, side-by-side, hands locked together, leaning on each other, not saying a word.

And then I woke up, the image of her and that hallway completely gone, but the feeling just disappearing.

Notes:
This is really a dream that I had on the night of Feb. 6, 2008. That girl in my dream, I do not know her, or anybody that resembles her appearance and attitude, in real life. But for those of you who know the anime serial "School Rumble", I guess the best way to describe the girl in my dream is that she looked a lot like Sawachika Eri. And our interactions were much like the interactions between Sawachika and Harima Kenzy, except that my hostility towards her wasn't comical at all.

"My Name is Zuko"

2008-01-24T11:42:00.000+08:00

WARNING: lots of spoilers ahead.

In any story, my favorite character is usually the "bishounen" (the cool-guy type), the "darksider" (good-turned-bad, or bad-turned-good), or the rebel. Despite being all three, Zuko, from the cartoon series Avatar, barely makes it into my favorites list.

In the beginning

The first time I saw Zuko, I knew immediately that he was going to become one of the protagonists soon. It was a big flaw in his character's design because it takes away the drama from something that's supposed to be one of the most dramatic points in the antagonist's life: his conversion.

He was meant to be introduced as a villain but his characterization as a villain is just very weak. The first time he is shown, he's already showing an expression that's very unbecoming of a villain: shock. And he is shown with no army to do his evil bidding, not even a secret lair or hideout. He's just standing there, on board a lone ship in the middle of nowhere, with a funny-looking uncle who doesn't even encourage Zuko's ambition. The presence of Iroh there also contributes to the failure of the villain image; what kind of notorious bad guy brings his uncle around?

In Zuko's succeeding appearances, he is given background. Still, none of them helped establish the image of a villain. You find out that he is in exile, and that he is doing his task to redeem his honor. And now, prince as he may be, the only things under his command are one ship and a few crewmen who just seem to be part of the setting, without names and all. Zuko is clearly the underdog here. What part of all this is supposed to make him look like a villain?

Plus, he is shown to be learning firebending basics! Come on! You're supposed to be the threat to the protagonists' much-coveted victory, and you're just learning BASICS?!

The enemy of my enemy is my enemy

Another problem is that Zuko shares the spotlight with other more accomplished villains.

First off, there's Zhao. Ambitious, cruel, and has the Fire Nation Navy under his command. Hmm, now there's a villain - as opposed to Zuko, whose ambition is brought about by "honor" (that's so good-guy), who has no cruelty beyond a short temper, and who only has for resources a single ship and a crew so pathetic that he actually has to do his own fighting!

Come season 2, enter Azula. She picks up where Zhao left off and takes villainy to a whole new level. She effortlessly eclipses Zuko's evil because even as kids, she had always been superior both intellectually and physically. Given this friction between the two, they never had much of a sibling rivalry. I'd say it was more of a subjugation. And now that they're both grown-up, the gap is bigger, especially since Zuko had been exiled for three years. Also, Zuko's whining about how his sister was "born lucky" and how he, on the other hand, was told he was "lucky to be born" contributed to the towering advantage of Azula as the greater evil.

In addition to the comparison between the two siblings, Azula makes use of her resources in a way that really makes her look like a villain. During her first few appearances, her army escort did for her all kinds of evil tasks, from trying to take Zuko and Iroh captive to invading Omashu. And when she decided she wanted to be more mobile, bringing only a small group with her, this small group was composed of personal friends with names and in-depth characterization, unlike Zuko's crew.

And now I'm good...wupdeedoo.

By season 3, Zuko gets more emo and finally crosses over to the good side. This would've been a very dramatic move, if only it was unexpected.

And now that he's a good guy, you can barely find any trace of him being the former antagonist. Maybe it's because he wasn't much of an antagonist in the first place. He gets along okay with the Avatar now, the very person he used to hunt down to the ends of the world. The only trace of him being the former villain is Katara's cold attitude towards him. But what is his reaction to this? He lets Katara bully him around! And again, he still has no cruelty beyond a short temper (except when it's Katara trying to get his temper up).

So, now what?

As unforgivable as my butchering of Zuko's reputation may seem, I DID mention that he was in my favorite characters list, right? He's just feeding off the dust at the bottom, but he's on that list. That's why I bothered making this entire entry about him. I like him because he could've been so much, but he just didn't pull it off.

Oh, well. The show's not over yet. Let's see if he redeems his honor.

Religious Fools

2008-01-09T22:14:00.000+08:00

A headline on inquirer.net reads:

2 Die, Scores Hurt in Black Nazarene Feast -- Police
(Read the full story here.)

According to another article, Manila Archbishop Cardinal Gaudencio Rosales, said the celebration of the feast of the Black Nazarene personifies "taking up one's crosses and trials in life in imitation of Christ."

If that is true, then perhaps Christ, in his lifetime, had been a pick-pocket, or had been a victim of pick-pocketing, as was the case with at least seven devotees of the Black Nazarene.

Or maybe Christ suffered cardiac arrest after getting crushed by a horde of people pushing one another in their passionate attempt to touch some statue believed to have miraculous powers. Because that's what happened to Cecilia Fajardo today, in her supposed "imitation of Christ".

And what about those people who unknowingly killed Fajardo in a magnificent display of their faith? Were they imitating Christ, too?

Religious fools.

Avatar: The Last Airbender

2008-01-08T18:35:00.000+08:00

It's my new obsession. In some areas, including the Philippines, this Nickelodeon show is entitled "Avatar: The Legend of Aang". And I like it for a lot of reasons:

THE WORLD

The fictional world where this show takes place is divided into four cultures: The Water Tribes, the Earth Kingdom, the Fire Nation and the Air Nomads. Some special people, called "benders" can manipulate (or "bend") the element of their native culture by performing certain martial arts moves.

The portrayal of the different cultures is very interesting because it shows each culture's dependence on its native element.

The Water Tribes make their homes on the north and south poles of the world. They have entire towns and cities the structures of which are made of ice. (Jeannine, if you're reading this, I'm pretty sure you'd love to live there.^^ And I just realized that we are capricorns, our element is water!^^)

There's also a smaller faction of waterbenders, called the "swampbenders". They make their homes, obviously, on swamps.

The Earth Kingdom territories dominantly occupy the land masses of the world. With Earth as their native element, the people of the Earth Kingdom are capable of making very strong and colossal establishments. One of their cities - Ba Sing Se - literally means "impenetrable city".

The Fire Nation occupies a small area on the western part of the world, but recently they've decided to expand their empire and have acquired colonial territories within Earth Kingdom boundaries. Their native element, fire, manifests its qualities more on the nation's people rather than its structures. The passionate and driven people of the fire nation have launched a military campaign to conquer the other nations.

In the pursuit of this goal, the Fire Nation has learned to make structures and machines out of metal to make it hard for enemy benders to manipulate the material.

The Air Nomads build their temples on top of mountain ranges in different parts of the world. Their population is composed dominantly of monks.

Little is known about the culture of the air nomads because they've been hunted to extinction by the Fire Nation's military campaign. At the timeline that the show is following, only one airbender is left in the world.

But so far as I can tell, the Air Nomads seem to be very peaceful and spiritual people. And unlike the other cultures, all air nomads seem to be airbenders.

THE MESSIANIC ELEMENT

The Avatar is the human manifestation of the forces of the universe. He or she alone is gifted with the capacity to learn and master all four of the bending practices. When the Avatar's physical body dies, the Avatar spirit is reincarnated into a member of the next culture in the Avatar cycle of Water-Earth-Fire-Air-Water-Earth...and so on.

The current Avatar is the last surviving member of the Air Nomads, a twelve-year-old boy named Aang. Living in a time when the expansion of the Fire Nation's empire threatens the balance of the world, his life has become more complicated than the other Avatars before him. Legend has it that he is the one to restore the balance.

THE SPIRITUALITY

A large part of the show's theme deals with spiritual ideas. From what I've observed so far, it seems to be majorly Taoist, which is good because ideas of humility, kindness, and harmony with nature are present across most, if not all, cultures and religions.

THE STORY DESIGN

The plot is very well-thought-of. When you watch Avatar, you know that the story for the whole series has already been planned out before production, unlike other cartoons where the writers just make things up as they go.

Unlike some anime series, each episode of Avatar can stand alone. For example, you don't end one episode in the middle of a fight scene that will be continued in the next episode.

The overall feel of the show is ingeniously engineered. As far as I can tell, the show is going to be divided into four seasons or "books". What's so ingenious about these seasons, is that they really are "seasons". The events of book one, "Water", takes place during the winter, and focus mainly on the Avatar's quest to master waterbending. Book two, "Earth", takes place during spring, while the Avatar travels through Earth Kingdom territory looking for an earthbending teacher. The events of book three, "Fire" occurs in the Fire Nation by summer where Aang also finds a firebending master. And I'm guessing that book four, "Air", will take place on fall. The books also follow the Avatar cycle: Water-Earth-Fire-Air.

THE PEOPLE

Avatar Aang is the last surviving member of the Air Nomads. He is fun-loving and thirsty for adventure. But now he is forced to accept his greater responsibility as the one to put an end to the Fire Nation's conquest and restore balance to the four nations.

Katara is very compassionate and maybe just a little pushy. Her friends would even say she sometimes acts like their mother, in both the positive and negative senses of the word. She grew up in the South Pole, learning waterbending by herself.

Sokka is Katara's older brother. He is sarcastic and very skeptical of things that he cannot explain through science or logic. He doesn't have any bending powers, but he is the one who often comes up with ingenious solutions to their problems. In combat, he depends on his weapons, particularly his boomerang and recently, a sword made out of meteorite metal.

Toph Bei Fong is, curiously, the only character who has a family name. Perhaps it is to emphasize the influential power of her rich family. However, she left her home to travel with the Avatar and teach him earthbending. Toph is blind, but is considered to be one of the world's greatest earthbenders. She is rash, unmindful of hygiene, and likes to trash-talk her enemies (and allies).

Zuko is the banished firebending prince. He disrespected one of the Fire Nation's generals and his father, the Fire Lord, burned his face to teach him respect. In addition to that, he was also charged with the task of hunting down the Avatar while in exile. He is bent on capturing the Avatar to restore his honor.

Iroh is Zuko's uncle and companion while in exile. This tea-loving happy old man has also taken the role of being Zuko's firebending teacher. He likes to play the boardgame Paisho.

His complicated life experiences have equipped him with wisdom that he shares with people around him.

Azula is the Fire Nation's princess, and older sister of Zuko. Ever since she was young, she's been considered a firebending prodigy. She's very cunning and cruel. The task given to her by her father was to bring back Zuko and Iroh to the Fire Nation as prisoners, but she has decided to go after the Avatar as well. Unlike Zuko, however, she's doing it with all the resources of a Fire Nation princess.

Agnostic

2007-12-29T23:10:00.000+08:00

For those who don't know yet, I now consider myself agnostic. What that means is that I do not believe that absolute knowledge of anything can be attained, at least not at present. I am humble enough to admit that I don't know.

What is my purpose in life?
Is there life after death?
Do animals and plants have souls?
Does God exist?

I don't know.

Please do not judge this profession of uncertainty as something that was done by someone who was too lazy to reason things out. It's quite the opposite. An agnostic is agnostic because he or she has made the attempt to reason things out. Perhaps things did not make sense to the thinker. Perhaps they did, in more ways than one. Either way, it just goes to show that the grasp of "reality" is dependent on one's capacity to think. And since it seems that different people have different intellectual capacities, then it will seem that different people have different "realities". Nothing, then, is proven to be absolutely true for everybody. What the thinker perceives is probably just his or her own reality. And the thinker is aware of that. That is why the thinker becomes agnostic.

Notice how the explanation in the previous paragraph is heavily dependent on probabilities. One could easily counter-argue the whole thing by pointing that out, and telling me that I haven't proven my point.

But that IS the point! That all explanations are heavily dependent on, not just probabilities, but presumptions and pre-conceptions. And that no point can be proven to be absolutely true. Not even what I just said. And that's why I'm agnostic.

So how did I get here?

Well, ironically it has a lot to do with religion.

CATHOLICISM

I was raised in a devout catholic family that goes to church every Sunday, and we also used to pray the rosary every night. I used to read a daily scripture diary for catholics, which includes the readings for the day and "correct" interpretations of scripture that are consistent with catholic doctrine.

I found great love for Christ. And great love for my God. And I wasn't saying that like most mediocre catholics did. I really read the Bible, and analyzed it. I read it from cover to cover. I had fallen in love with the Gospels. And, unlike other catholics, I understood Christ's status in society as an outcast - a reject. Even his own family didn't want him doing what he did. (see Mark 3:21)

Catholics who don't read the Bible look at their made-up figures of Christ wearing some princely robes and a crown, and think that he had always been Lord of all that lived. They think that he died to save us from our sins because there existed some supernatural law that required his physical death in exchange for the salvation of our souls, operating in much the same technical way as how you need a passport if you want to travel to other countries.

They don't realize the social aspect of Christ's story. They don't see what I saw - that he was a freethinker, an independent being, somebody who refused to belong, somebody who contradicted a certain form of institutionalized religion, and we killed him for it.

It was this side of Christ's story that stuck on me. I believed that this was the essence of it, and that all religious dogma should have their roots on this. And since this "essence" was not very evident in the catholic religion, I guess that's when I started drifting away from the catholic mindset.

CHRISTIANITY

Later on, I began to read Christian fiction novels, particularly the Left Behind series and the Babylon Rising series (both by Tim LaHaye). Unbenknownst to me, the catholic church wasn't in full agreement to all the concepts presented in these novels. Well how the heck was I supposed to know the difference between baptist and catholic? More than a decade of catholic propaganda had made me think that the terms "catholic" and "christian" are synonymous.

Right now I notice that all christian denominations seem to have this bad habit of blurring the lines between factional divisions and calling their beliefs or their orientations simply "christian". I suppose this is done so that certain groups can change their colors whenever they want. When it is convenient, they are all one "christian" family holding their holy ground against secular forces like atheism. But when they themselves are starting to bash one another, they begin calling their opponents "protestant" or "catholic" or whatever they feel useful.

Anyway, by the time I figured out that I had been harboring protestant beliefs all along (without even having a clear idea of what protestantism is, no thanks to catholic propaganda), it was too late for big old Vatican to "save" me. These non-catholic beliefs are evident of the essence that I had not seen in the catholic community. So I did research and immersed myself in the vast ocean of non-catholic Christianity.

Later on, a particular church found me. They were approaching random people in my university and, well, they approached me. They began sharing to me and I was surprised to hear from them things that I myself would've told other people. I was so shocked to find people thinking the same things I was.

In consistency with my belief in the existence of a Great Designer behind the Great Design of the universe, I thought that the whole incident was too good to be mere coincidence. So I asked my God for signs telling me that this church was THE church. Guess what? My God granted them all. Surely, He was telling me something?

Needless to say, I got baptized in that church.

A few weeks passed and, well, that church's teachings were getting ridiculous. They believed that, in order to be saved, one of the requirements is that one must celebrate the Passover. Of course that church had its own version of the "correct" way of celebrating the passover, which implies that a prerequisite to salvation was membership in their church.

Here are some of their other beliefs, all of which are based on passages from the Bible:

Only 144,000 people will be saved (Revelation 7:4)
The roman catholic pope is the beast bearing the number 666 (various Biblical verses, and as I later found out, age-old allegations, some with evidence some with none)
Christ had already come and gone in the form of their church's founder (various Biblical verses and the biography of their founder)
Celebrating Sunday mass or Sunday worship means worshipping the beast (various Biblical verses)
Sabbath is the true weekly form of service, and should be celebrated on Saturday, the seventh day (all Biblical verses that talk about the "seventh day" as the day of celebration)

I confronted the pastor and challenged him with well-researched questions regarding these beliefs. When he failed to answer them, I left that church for good.

I did further research on other christian denominations, and I also got oriented with a born-again church. In that orientation, a lot of the sharings involved beliefs that were the same as the more reasonable teachings of the church I used to belong to. But that - plus members' stories of persecution at the hands of their catholic families - conjured a familiar atmosphere that I didn't like. It was re-doctrination all over again. Even if they didn't have strict rituals, they still had certain requirements to salvation. And that's pretty much doctrine. They also believed that sinners go to hell, a belief that I realized I had never been comfortable with. If I myself know mercy enough to spare my enemies from suffering, how much more does God?

AGNOSTICISM

Equipped with the knowledge of different spiritual orientations, I came up with an insight. Spirituality and religion are products of human interpretations. Whether or not these interpretations are inspired by some higher power, it is hard to tell. They all claim to be God-inspired, and yet they all contradict one another. Against one another they would assert their own beliefs to be true, but against me they would band together and explain this inconsistency as part of the "mystery" of God that we have yet to solve. It is possible that that explanation is true. But it follows, then, that it is also equally possible that that explanation is false.

And that is why I am now agnostic.

So where am I now? What do I believe? Here are some questions I frequently encounter in my life as an agnostic, followed by my answers to them.

Do you believe in God?

I do not believe in his existence, nor do I disbelieve in it. I have not encountered sufficient evidence to prove either his existence or non-existence. People might counter-argue this and cite to me several theories of perfection or causality or whatnot to prove or disprove the existence of God. I assure you I know a little something about proving his existence myself. But theories are called "theories" for a reason: that they are not called "truths".

And, okay, I'll cut you some slack. Let's say that your evidences ARE evidences. Then please consider that, on whichever side you are (existence vs non-existence), your opponents also have so-called "evidence". If you succeed in shooting down my point that there's not enough evidence, then you only succeed in showing that there is as much evidence for God's existence as there is for his non-existence.

Are you Christian?

The definition for the word "christian" is very arbitrary. Like I mentioned earlier, in everyday usage among catholics, "christian" seems to be synonymous with "catholic". On the other hand, among protestants, I've encountered a lot of them who, when asked what their religious or spiritual orientations are, just answer "christian" without any elaboration as if to say that catholics are not christians.

Since, it seems, that everybody has his or her own say on what "christian" means, then I'll have my own say.

A christian is someone who likes Christ. Enough said.

I do not agree with everything he has said in the gospels. That said, I'm not even sure if it's him in the gospels because for all I know the Gospels written long after he died might have already been distorted information. Heck, I don't even know with absolute certainty if there really existed Jesus Christ. But despite all that, I like him as he is portrayed in the gospels. I love him both for his ingenuity and his imperfections. In that respect, I am a christian.

Don't you fear God's judgment on those who deny him?

This question presupposes the existence of God. In the first place, I do not believe in the existence of God. So why should I be afraid of the judgment of someone whose existence I'm not even sure of?

Again, I'll cut you some slack. Let's say that God does exist. The thing is that different people have different interpretations on what actions merit God's "judgment". One one end of the line, there could be someone believing that those who deny God will go down in eternal punishment. On the other end, there might be someone believing that God punishes those who do not try to seek him, and that the search for God starts with a sense of awareness that one does not know whether or not God exists. As it is in real life, both sides will have justifications for their own beliefs. So who's to say that one is more correct than the other?

In the case that the latter is correct, and there is that possibility, then I could just return to you the question. Don't you fear God's judgment on those who hypocritically believe they know him despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary?

The point is, no, I am not afraid. I am kind enough to love my grandmother even if she doesn't remember my name, or anything about me. If this God exists, and he is as kind as he is believed to be, then I think he's more than capable of loving me despite my ignorance.

How do you explain the complex and ingenious design of even the simplest things in the universe?

I don't. It could be God, it could be coincidence. I don't know. People who ask this question usually try to lead me into invoking the existence of a great designer to the great design. But I don't really think there is necessarily a "great design".

People could tell me to just look around and see the "beauty" of it all. But, yes I do look around, and besides seeing butterflies and blue skies and rainy days and delicious food, I also see male lions "herodically" (not sure if this is a real word) performing the massacre of male cubs after taking over a pride. I see hyenas cannibalizing on both the dead and the living of their own species. I see earthquakes, volcano eruptions, hurricanes, tsunamis claiming innumerable innocent lives, even of those who worship this supposedly benevolent deity.

Yes, the universe is complex. But there is no evidence showing that all the complexity is geared to fulfil a single "purpose". There is as much complexity in the conception of a human child as there is in the suffocation of the same child by volcanic ash. Tell me what "great design" puts so much "ingenious" effort in creating something only to destroy it?

What is your purpose in life?

Again, people usually ask this with the presupposition that there exists a higher power assigning us with our respective "purposes" in life. That we were put on this earth for a "reason". But I don't even know if that higher power exists! It follows, then, that I do not know if I have a purpose in life, let alone what it is.

In the case that it is I who makes my own purpose in life, then I would choose not to assign one to myself, at least for now. It'll just box me in a particular mindset, and there's so much in this universe that I would like to understand and accomplish.

Since you don't have faith, what do you use as your life's guiding principle?

Let it first be said that "guiding", in my explanation, does not necessarily mean "leading to what is good" because I have no concrete concept of what is "good". "Guiding" here means leading to what is useful to the accomplishment of my goals. That aside, there are two things I use to guide my life.

One is reason. Of course, I am aware that my level of reasoning goes only as far as human limitations would allow it to. And at this level, it's impossible to explain all of life's mysteries and solve all of its problems. But that's okay. This reasoning has, so far, proven to be more useful than anything else I can think of. It has allowed me to explain why night comes after day and day comes after night. It has allowed me to understand why sometimes parallel lines don't intersect and why sometimes they do. It has allowed me to realize that the catholic church is capitalizing on the concept of the holy family to encourage the solidarity of the family institution in the catholic community because they know that the inconsistencies in their beliefs have no power over believers except through peer pressure in society, of which the most basic institution is the family, so they weave an illusion of a happily-together Jesus Joseph and Mary despite the hostility between Jesus and his family evident in his ministry as described by the gospels.

The other guiding principle is emotion. I consider this as separate from reasoning for the reason that emotions don't always fall under the category of concepts that I can dissect and use as I deem necessary. If I like a certain emotional reaction to something, I keep it and let it lead me into pursuing certain goals. If I don't like it, then I try my best to suppress the emotion.

You seem to be distrustful of so many things. What else don't you trust?

I don't trust anything to be true. I only trust concepts when they are "useful" to my goals, as do all people. Those who trust in religion, for example, trust it because it is useful to their goals of feeling an inner fulfilment, or belonging to a community, or simply being happy.

I don't trust laws, seeing as to how they were institutionalized in pretty much the same way as religion, by people with personal biases but still expect their made-up rules to apply to everybody. This does not mean, of course, that I will not abide by the law. What choice do I have if I want to live?

I don't trust in what is so-called "common sense", if it is defined as the faculty of thinking that is common to all human beings, enabling them to perceive certain things in the same light. I don't believe there exists such a thing. Like I've already said in a previous blog entry, and might elaborate in a future one, every living creature perceives reality with some sort of selfish bias. Someone might argue, for example, that common sense will tell the rest of the world that a certain picture of an apple is indeed a picture of an apple. But in the hands of a blind man whose sense of touch cannot tell what the picture is a picture of, it is not necessarily a picture of an apple.

Why don't you just follow what your heart tells you?

I'm afraid my heart is incapable of verbal communication. It just pumps blood, all day long. Now if you're saying that as a metaphor for following my emotions, I've already told you that I do use emotion as a guiding principle of my life.

Usually, however, people tell me to do this akin to telling me to use my common sense. They presuppose that there is some faculty in feeling that is common to all human beings. And when they tell me to "follow my heart", they expect me to end up believing the same things they believe or doing the same things they do.

Like I said, I already am using emotion as a guiding principle in my life, which means that I already am "following my heart". My heart tells me to think like this. Sorry to disappoint, but it seems that my heart and your heart do not speak the same language.

Why do you think too much?

Can you count "thinking" in a particular unit of measurement? Is there a particular quantity that says "beyond this point is thinking too much"? I'm sorry if your comprehension cannot go this far, but mine can, without much conscious effort. You might think I'm thinking too much, but it's just normal for me to think this much.

In fact, I think I'm not yet thinking enough.

Kanlungan

2007-11-10T23:43:00.000+08:00

Personal comments on the video:

I'm really proud of this particular work of mine, especially since I put a lot of thought into it. By the way, I made this video thinking of an audience that is not very much acquainted with any game in the Warcraft series. So if you know the games, you'd probably see some weirdness in some parts of the videos (like how Inday boarded the ship on Theramore, but when it sailed, it left Auberdine. >.<)

This is a video that I've wanted to make for a very long time, but didn't have an excuse to do so. That is, until I crammed making it for a project in Geography. Fortunately, cramming didn't get in the way of it turning out as I wanted it to. The only thing I wanted that didn't get is decent technology. -_-

Technical stuff:

I used two major sources for the visuals on this music video: gameplay clips from World of Warcraft and game cinematics from Warcraft III: Reign of Chaos.

I downloaded a direct-screen-capture program on our laptop but the problem was that it didn't have enough processing power to record the game's killer graphics without slowing down. So I used a digital camera instead, to record what was going on in the laptop's LCD.

Everything was edited using Microsoft's Windows Movie Maker.

Literary elements:

Okay, I kind of experimented on this video using fiction-writing techniques. This means that you'd have to read between the lines to squeeze the full meaning out of the video.

Death

The two themes of the video are intertwined with each other, but the dominant theme of the whole thing is death. Of course, the most obvious manifestation of this is the literal death of Toto. And with this comes the death of the physical relationship of Toto and Inday.

The whole portrayal of how the forest setting got urbanized also shows a transition that is not as easily recognized as "death", but is undoubtedly the "death", anyway, of organisms like plants and trees.

The war scene is, of course, also meant to amplify the feeling of death that I wanted to achieve. As soon as it starts, you get the feeling that Toto is going to die. And when he starts heaving like he's so tired of life, you start thinking "Oh, shit, he really IS going to die!" Also, no literal deaths are shown in the war scene but they are all implied. It starts with armies rushing to battle and then later on, only two warriors remain standing. Obviously, the others have died.

Even the credits are meant to be about death. But there's more to it than the credits simply signaling the end (and therefore "death") of the show. To understand this fully, it would be important to see the video during the credits as something that Toto perceived as he died. The fading in and out of blackness at the beginning of the credits are meant to represent a sort of "awakening" to some kind of "higher reality". This "higher reality" is supposed to be a better understanding of death, and this process of awakening lasts throughout the entirety of the credits, and Toto doesn't fully "awaken" until the end. This means that he doesn't fully understand death until his own death is completed. The fast but subtle travel through the woods is meant to give the feel of being carried away - in flight - to some unknown destination.

There is a moment where the video turns into a replay of an earlier scene: the part where Toto sits by the river and then Inday approaches him from behind and kneels beside him. This is meant to be a brief recollection of an event in life, but now with a different (and still changing) perception of "life". Notice how that scene looked so romantic when it was shown while Noel Cabangon was singing, and how the same scene looked all gothic and creepy with "Lament of the Highborne" playing.

Throughout this whole process of "awakening", the viewers (through Toto) are taken across the scenery of a lush forest teeming with life until the revelation comes - that death is some kind of "metamorphosis". Into what, it is not immediately revealed. But Toto comes to observe structures that were built using "killed" trees - the kind of death that is a reason for something (ie. the structures were properly built because the trees were first killed). And then he sees trees that are dead or dying due to some kind of phenomenon - the kind of death that is a result of something (ie. the trees are dead because rain hasn't touched the land for a long time). He then turns to see a gigantic rocky slope - a massive force of nature that "exists" but is non-living, and is therefore "dead". Last but not least, he sees empty vacuum - pure and simple, absolute death. What he comes to realize is that, there is no phenomenon in the universe that doesn't involve death. Even things that are alive are alive because other things are dead (ie. humans are able to survive natural calamities because of the shelter they construct using "dead" material).

It might not occur to many viewers, but this actually explains what death is a "metamorphosis" into, at least in my opinion. The clue to understanding this is the quote by Edgar Allan Poe that I used: "What we call 'death' is but the painful metamorphosis." This was taken from his short story entitled Mesmeric Revelation. It would really help readers understand my sentiments if they're persistent enough to check out (and try to understand) that story here but since I know that not all of you will do it, I'll try to explain anyway.

When you're alive, everything that has to do with being alive involves your perception. But your perception can only function as far as your physiological organs would allow it to. Of course, due to DNA, your organs would not be exactly the same as anybody else's organs. And since your organs are not exactly the same as anybody else's organs, your perception would not be the same as anybody else's perception. In short, everything that is alive, perceives reality with some sort of selfish bias.

When you die, you are freed from the restrictions of your bodily organs, and you are able to perceive "reality" in an unbiased way. Of course, it could also be looked at as you losing the function of your organs and therefore losing your ability to perceive. But consider that "perception" itself is biased. So "losing your ability to perceive" still means losing your bias. Whichever way, you become one with the state of majority of the forces in the universe - and that state is non-living and therefore non-biased. In short, your "metamorphosis" is into that of an infinitely wiser entity without any trace of narrow-mindedness.

Biased perception

Speaking of biased perception, that is the other theme in the video.

As mentioned earlier, the transition from a forest setting to an urban one is less easily perceived as "death". And even to those who perceive it as death, the tragedy of the whole phenomenon fails in comparison to the tragedy of the death of Toto. But this is because the viewers are humans, and we can relate to human experiences more than we can relate to the experiences of plants and trees. While we give our respects to the dead of our own species, we feel no guilt in walking on, and adding to the weight of, the brick, the concrete, the asphalt that defile the ground where billions of innocent blades of grass have died. Sure we lament their loss sometimes, but do we give them tombstones? Do we spend thousands of pesos just to give them decent funerals? No. Those luxuries are reserved for the dead of Kingdom Animalia, the biological classification for which we have a selfish bias.

The war scene showed a showdown between two factions. Not everyone may be aware of it, but the two factions are actually Humans and Orcs. The Orcs are portrayed as very savage and barbaric, and are cast aside as unimportant in this story. Of course, I did this to achieve the effect of how humans easily misunderstand other species, or how humans of one culture easily misunderstand humans of another culture. And in case you haven't noticed, in mentioning the latter, I'm actually satisftying my bias for humans. Anyway, this is one of the points that I wanted to make by including the war scene: things might seem like something or seem like something else depending on what one knows of the things that one perceives.

If the viewer is aware of the history of the Orcs in the Warcraft universe, they don't look as evil anymore as they do to someone who has never known of the Orcs' long history of slavery, of how they passed from one oppression into another, of how they've fought with their lives and with their deaths for their freedom, of the spirit of heroism that has kept them firm in their struggle to survive in a land that is alien to them. If the viewer is aware of how humans have maltreated the Orcs for years, or how the Orcs DID make a pact of non-violence with humans (which, by the way, the humans violated), then their violent behavior towards humans is justified at least to some degree.

But then here comes another viewer who knows about the massacres that the humans have had to survive at the hands of the Orcs. So the actions of the humans are then justified further. And here comes another viewer who would tell us of how the massacres weren't the Orcs' fault since they were being used by demons back then. So that's another point for the Orcs. And this could just go on and on and on without having everybody agree to one interpretation.

So somebody perceives one thing while somebody else perceives another. The difference in perception is accounted for by prior knowledge (or the lack of it). And that thing that decides what your interpretation would be is your selfish bias for how far YOU know.

The names "Toto" and "Inday" also have their significance. When my Geography classmates (remember, I showed this as a project in Geography) read those names at the credits, they laughed. And although I forgot to explain it in class, their reaction actually contributed to the theme of biased perception. Since Manila culture dominates media exposure and information-circulation here in the Philippines, Visayan nicknames like "Toto" and "Inday" are easily perceived as "primitive" or "jologs" or funny simply because they don't usually show up in anything "modern" or high-tech. But that is the point. The closest Filipino concept that we could associate with "modernism" is Manila culture, because media and information systems have created in us a bias for Manila culture in perceiving what is "modern". And it is this bias that sets the expectations among the viewers that, something as "modern" as a music video shot using scenes from a computer game, could not possibly be associated with something as "primitive" as Visayan nicknames.

Credits:

Thanks a bunch to Andrew James Sarmiento. I couldn't have made this video without him. I really appreciate that he learned how to play World of Warcraft just to help me make this and then stopped playing WoW afterwards.^^

I would like to give a very special thanks to the staff and administration of the Clanprovider Private Server, for letting people play WoW for free in a server that so ROCKS! Seriously, it's the only private server I've played on where ships and zeppelins actually work. That's got to say something about how free of bugs the server is. ^_^ Check out the website here.

World of Warcraft

2007-05-29T21:55:00.000+08:00

For the longest time, I complained of the boredom that this long, hot, activity-less summer had cursed me with. Amidst my idleness, I turned to the internet for answers to life's questions, hoping against hope that I may come across a light at the end of this seemingly endless tunnel of boredom. Fortunately, as fate would have it, I did.

I signed up for the free 10-day trial of "World of Warcraft" and I can proudly announce that it's the best MMORPG (massively multiplayer online role-playing game) ever! I got so absorbed in it that, after my free 10 days were up, I signed up for another free 10-day trial account. Haha.

As you may already know, an MMORPG lets a huge number of people play in interaction with the other players. But World of Warcraft is not like most MMORPGs here in the Philippines. WoW servers are accessible from all around the globe. So, unlike Ragnarok Philippines or Mu Online Philippines, you can log in to WoW and play with people from the U.S.A. and/or Australia or wherever the heck the other players are playing from.

The real downside to this game is the high cost of playing it. The retail version costs about P1795 here in the Philippines. You can skip that payment by downloading the whole game via the free 10-day trial account, but after the free 10 days, the subscription costs would still be painful for someone like me. The main billing process that WoW takes advantage of is payment through credit card. It costs about $19.99 to activate an account and get 30 calendar days of "free" (so-called) game time. It would cost another 20 bucks to keep playing for the next month, and another 20 bucks to play for the month after that, and so on and so forth. And in some places, the amount could still be higher due to subscription tax. Here in the Philippines, it could cost as much as P1,000 per month to keep playing.

Payment via pre-paid cards is also available here in the Philippines, but it costs pretty much the same. The only available pre-paid card that I know of costs P1,995 and adds 60 calendar days to your game time.

But, if I have the money, I do believe that I will keep playing this game because (1) it rocks, and (2) WoW is, more than a game, a community. And I feel drawn to this community.

You see, the World of Warcraft is divided into two factions, the Horde and the Alliance. At one point in the history of Azeroth (the name of the world where the game takes place), the Horde was an evil, demonically-empowered legion obsessed with conquering the world and destroying anything that stands in its way; while the Alliance was the congregation of noble defenders out to save the world. But after a long and interesting (I even dare say award-winning) history, those distinctions no longer exist. Each faction has its own goodness. Each has its own evils.

When I created a character, I chose for it to be a Horde character. Due to the factional divide, there was the other faction - the Alliance - for everybody in the Horde to treat as a rival. And because of this, members of the Horde treat each other as more than just allies, but brothers and sisters in whatever battlefield that Horde and Alliance members trudge upon at the same time. Sure, conflicts break out between members of the same faction, but the game rules do not allow open violence between allies, at least not beyond consensual duels where nobody can die.

In contrast to this, the game doesn't allow meaningful interaction between members of opposing factions. Horde members cannot understand the languages spoken by Alliance members, and vice versa. This is integrated into the game world by blocking off all dialogues of one faction from the view of the opposing faction. The most meaningful interaction that I have gotten so far from Alliance players are on instances when they wave at me, dance with me, laugh at me, taunt me, spit at me, challenge me to a duel, or engage me in open combat.

Playing in this world really makes you feel like living in a community. And, so far, the community I chose is turning out to be the ideal community I would like to have offline.

My first character is named Blackfist. He is a Tauren Warrior, and for now, also a herbalist and alchemist. I chronicled his first few adventures through screenshots and I'm hoping to post them on this blog soon along with more information on what a "Tauren" is and on their history. Meanwhile, feast your senses on these other stuff:

The Count of Monte Cristo

2007-05-12T04:34:00.000+08:00

I just finished reading “The Count of Monte Cristo” by Alexandre Dumas (pére) and I just can’t help but look back at the long history this story has shared with my life.

The first time I heard about this story was when my brother, Anton, saw the film adaptation in their school. He told me all about it, but I quickly forgot about the story because, as his narration seemed to suggest to me, the film was filled with a lot of Hollywood clichés. In fact, it had been so predictable for me, that as my brother was telling the story, I was beating him into telling some of the details before he revealed them. Like I said, I quickly forgot about it afterwards.

I can’t remember which came first, but at one time, I bought a VCD of the film and saw it for myself, and another time, I finished reading Jose Rizal’s “Noli Me Tangere” and “El Filibusterismo”. But I’m sure that one of those incidents had a big influence in a series of stories that I conceptualized in my fourth year in high-school, though I haven’t started writing it yet. It wasn’t until my first year in college that I would learn that The Count of Monte Cristo might have actually inspired Jose Rizal’s novels.

Here, The Count of Monte Cristo started taking supernatural twists in my life.

For the final installment of the series I conceptualized (in my last year in high-school), I decided to give it the working title “EXVI: 5-22”. I plan it to have a meaning beyond the context of the story, and “EXVI: 5-22” is actually meant to refer to Ezekiel 16: 5-22 of the Bible (The “E” standing for “Ezekiel” and “XVI” standing for “16”), a verse which I find reminiscent of my story, but a verse that is in no way intended to appear or bear any meaning within the context of the story. That is, because, the significance of “EXVI: 5-22” in the context of the story takes on a whole new meaning. The title refers to an incident that occurred after the previous installment, (as recalled in the last installment) where the words “Ezekiel. 16-5-22” were splashed by outlaws on some public place for everyone to see. Rumors spread that the words meant that in 16 years, in the 5th month’s 22nd day (or 5/22), a man named Ezekiel would come to their land to have revenge on his enemies.

After I graduated high-school, Hero TV started airing the animé adaptation of The Count of Monte Cristo. After having influenced my story (directly or indirectly through Rizal’s novels), I awaited it with much excitement. In the animé, the Count of Monte Cristo was scheduled to arrive in Paris at May 22, (or 5/22)! And, so far, it’s the only date that the story had given such importance as to be cited. It really struck me since that date had a personal significance to me through my story. Moreover, the count was to arrive in Paris for the same reason that my character, Ezekiel, would come to the land mentioned earlier. That reason is revenge.

It wasn’t until later, though, that I would read the novel for myself. In the novel, the count arrived in Paris at May 21, not May 22.

As I read the novel, I found that the original story (freed from distortions of the film and animé adaptations) dealt with more things that I hold dear in my thoughts. The novel touched on issues of injustices brought about by some party believing itself to be bringing justice. It also showed the elaborate steps that the count took in getting what he wanted, reminiscent of my stand on how to bring about social transformation as opposed to just noisily protesting in the streets. The count’s personality also reflected a big part of what I want to be: a Jack of all trades…maybe even master of all of them at once. But there was one particular spike in the story that pierced through me like a needle through cloth… Warning: spoiler ahead…

In chapter 53 of the novel, Albert de Morcerf had just learned about his father’s grave transgressions against the Count of Monte Cristo. He wanted nothing more to do with his father so he decided to run away with his mother, Mercédes, who had once been the Count’s lover. Since they wanted to rid themselves of the filth that their current surname took with it, Mercédes had this suggestion: “And since a heart as pure as yours needs an unstained name, take my father’s name, which was HERRERA(!)” (emphasis and exclamation point mine). If you don’t get the significance of this in my life, then I’m sorry, but I’m not in the mood to tell you.

Oh, man… I wished I hadn’t written that last detail. Now, I’m not in the mood anymore to continue this post. But that’s okay, I guess… I’m pretty much done, anyway. I’ll just end this with a quote from the novel…

As for you, Maximilien, here is the secret of my conduct toward you: there is neither happiness nor unhappiness in this world; there is only the comparison of one state with another. Only a man who has felt ultimate despair is capable of feeling ultimate bliss. It is necessary to have wished for death, Maximilien, in order to know how good it is to live.

Live, then, and be happy, beloved children of my heart, and never forget that, until the day God deigns to reveal the future to man, the sum of all human wisdom will be contained in these two words: Wait and hope.”

Your friend,
EDMOND DANTÉS
Count of Monte Cristo

P.S. (By Andre', and not the count of Monte Cristo!)

Just a shout-out to Lawrence Yatco: Thanks for your last comment, man. I've also been wanting to get to know you better, but I didn't want to seem like somebody who was "feeling close kahit hindi naman". Haha. Do you have a blog of your own? Hope to see you soon, at the Cathedral of Praise if God wills it! But, until then, all I can do is "wait and hope".

My Little Ducky

2007-04-13T20:20:00.000+08:00

One fateful day, three years ago, I was sitting inside the classroom that housed people gathering there with a common goal: to apply for a spot in the school paper staff. I had been in the school paper the year before, and the year before that. But every year, we've had a change of moderator. And standing before us - on that fateful day, three years ago - was the new one.

Around me were students from all year levels, some of them I already knew and some I did not. One of them caught my eye. And to be honest, it was because - more than anything else - her fair complexion and the innocent expression on her face made her a notch prettier than all other girls in the room. It was the first time I saw her and it was clear to me that she was a newbie. She was very quiet and I've always liked quiet people because, as I have experienced, they always turn out to think more than those who speak more. I looked forward to working with her.

Some days later, after finding out that I made it into the staff, I found out that she'd rather join the school band instead. So, for the rest of the year, I wrote articles and poems and columns while she jammed with the rest of those musical geniuses. Even from behind the keyboard, she mesmerized me with more than just her smile. She played the instrument with such skill that I could never hope to match. But she had her stage and I had deadlines for my articles to chase. She would go on with her life and I would go on with mine. Oh, well...

Before the school year ended, my ambitions shot up a level. I filed my candidacy, taking aim for the position of Student Council President. Little did I know that she was also running to be their batch's year-level representative. Perhaps it was fated that I be late in choosing the running-mates I would have in my party. So I was left with the people whom neither of the two other parties' candidates for president had chosen. That included her.

For the early period of our room-to-room campaign, it was only I who spoke since my running-mates were all too shy to say anything. But later on, she asked me if I could allow her to say something as well. Well, of course, I let her. All that time, I had been looking for more concrete support from my party and finally there it was. By this time, however, the effects of her pretty face had worn off from me. And I hadn't seen her play on stage for quite a while already. I cared little for the fact that we would be working together.

She asked the students for something like hearing her out even if they weren't going to vote for her. It took me a while to notice that her audience, in fact, was not going to vote for her because she wasn't even talking to her batchmates. I truly regret that I didn't hear what she had to say that day - what someone felt so important to say to people who wouldn't even make any bearing on her political quest. I had been too absorbed in what I was going to say next to even listen to the support I had asked for.

Four out of the eight positions went to members of our party. The two of us would be working together in the Student Council.

It wasn't until the succeeding school year that I truly got to appreciate her. Yes, all those paragraphs you see above this one - they're just part of the introduction.

We started really talking to each other when she tried out for the school paper the second time. We were so glad with her work that we decided to put her in charge of the poetry section, that is, if she decided to pursue membership with us. Later on, deja vu struck as I found out that she was considering the band again. I didn't want to lose such a talent *again* and so I tried my best to talk her into joining the staff. My efforts paid off because she did. I was going to work with her both in the Student Council and in the School Paper. What else was there to keep us from interacting?

She introduced me to her friends, and though I had been in High School with them for only a year, I became closer to them than I did with any of my batchmates (she was one batch lower than me). I mingled with them for almost every recess and lunch time I had free. In one of our wacky times together, she and I worked out an imaginary family tree, dragging in the names of people we knew - students, and teachers, and administrators alike.

She put my name above hers...and designated me her 'Tatang'. I found it quite ironic...instead of somebody adopting her to be his child, she adopted somebody to be her father. Haha... and she chose that somebody to be me. While I was mostly flattered, that initial reaction had hints of feeling ridiculous. To think that I had feelings for her well over a year back...and then I would just find out that she would adopt me as her father. Really ironic...haha. But it's okay, I wouldn't have it any other way. And I've never regretted that we did that that day.

For some time I kept calling her 'My Princess' (fancying myself as a 'King'...haha). But I stopped calling her that when rumors spread that I had romantic feelings for her...which I did not, by the way (at least not anymore). She, however, had all the freedom in the world to keep calling me her 'tatang' until now. And I'm not sure at what point in that long expanse of time did I begin to take it upon myself to live up to the title of being a father figure...her father figure. But I'm certain that I did.

It wasn't until later that year that she discovered the joys of using the word 'ducky', which has grown to be her trademark...her 'signature word', if there's such a thing. If there has not been such a thing, then let me announce that there is now, haha, thanks to her. She seems to use it in synonymity with 'happy' or anything desirable. She also uses it to refer to persons she likes. You really don't have to know the exact meaning of the word when she uses it. You just understand it, like one of those words of a language that cannot be translated into other languages. I, however, have found a special meaning of the word that I just discovered when I began writing this paragraph. I'm surprised at how appropriate it is for the title I gave this post.

As I got to know her better, I couldn't help but admire her more. She's a genius, I tell you. And she doesn't brag about it...so I'll brag about it for her instead...hehe. For so many of the things that I learn, I find out that she had learned them earlier and she doesn't flaunt them at other people's faces. It's like, for so many of the races I ran in life, she had been close to the finish lines all along waiting for me just so that we could cross the finish lines together. We have so much in common - she and I. Just how fitting is it that we consider each other father and daughter? For, surely, a father should know that he could learn as much from his daughter as she could from him.

You would rarely (if at all) ever find a combination of her smarts and her innocence in other people. Her Christian values fill her with love more than anything else. Her thoughts and her person constitute what I value in servant-leadership. So before I graduated, I helped convince our moderator in the School Paper to make her Editor-in-Chief. Sure enough, it worked.

Now, three years since we first met, my little ducky is swimming in troubled waters where I had been before. She now faces the tribulation of losing *once* close friends...who are not only indifferent to her now, but in fact, have negative feelings towards her.

Yes, my little ducky, I've been there...when I decided to go against our Alma Mater's corrupt CAT system, of which many of my friends had been part of. Friends with whom I shared some of the happiest moments of my life called me all kinds of names: quitter, traitor, back-stabber. But I held on to one inspiration who had also been called all kinds of names: crazy (Mark 3:21), blasphemer (Matthew 26:65, Mark 14:64, Luke 5:21, John 10:33, John 10:36), prince of demons (Matthew 9:34, Matthew 12:24, Mark 3:22, Luke 11:15).

I know I don't need to tell you this anymore since you're already doing it anyway, but I would just like to remind you to look to him for inspiration. He preached what he believed to be true no matter the cost. And though people spurned him once, they pray to him now. We might not be so lucky in terms of recognition, but the point is we know what is true in our respective contexts. And we hold firmly to that truth...no matter the cost.

My little ducky, know that I am with you in these troubled waters. It's my turn now to wait for you so that we may cross the finish line of this particular race together. My little ducky, feel the grown wings of your daddy duckies wrapping themselves around you...yes, daddy duckies, all three of us: me, your biological father, and Him.

And so I would like to end this blog entry with a song...

"Rubber Ducky"(from Sesame Street, as edited by me)

Rubber Ducky, you're the one,
You make bathtime LIFE lots of fun,
Rubber Ducky, I'm awfully fond of you;

Woo woo be doo

Rubber Ducky, joy of joys,
When I squeeze DADDY CALLS you, you make noise KNOW HIS VOICE!
Rubber Ducky, you're my very best friend, it's true!

Doo doo doo doo, doo doo

Every day when I make my way to the tubby THROUGH THIS WORLD
I find a little fella who's Cute and yellow and chubby I THINK OF MY DAUGHTER, THAT CUTE AND DUCKY, LITTLE GIRL

Rub-a-dub-a-dubby!

Rubber Ducky, you're so fine I'M HERE, OF COURSE
And I'm lucky that you're mine I'M YOURS
Rubber ducky, I'm awfully fond of you.

Every day when I make my way to the tubby THROUGH THIS WORLD
I find a little fella who's Cute and yellow and chubby I THINK OF MY DAUGHTER, THAT CUTE AND DUCKY, LITTLE GIRL
Rubber Ducky, you're so fine
And I'm lucky that you're mine
Rubber ducky, I'm awfully fond of -
Rubber ducky, I'd like a whole pond of -
Rubber ducky I'm awfully fond of you!

Doo doo, be doo

The ULTIMATE spirit

2007-03-14T20:48:00.000+08:00

Excerpt from the Official rules of Ultimate: 10th Edition

From Section 1. Introduction, item B.

Spirit of the Game

"Ultimate relies upon a spirit of sportsmanship which places the responsibility for fair play on the player. Highly competitive play is encouraged, but never at the expense of mutual respect between players, adherence to the agreed upon rules of the game, or the basic joy of play. Protection of these vital elements serves to eliminate adverse conduct on the Ultimate field. Such actions as taunting of opposing players, dangerous aggression, belligerent intimidation, intentional fouling, or other 'win at all costs' behavior are contrary to the Spirit of the Game and must be avoided by all players."

What's so amazing about the sport Ultimate is that it's main guiding principle is the so-called "Spirit of the Game" (explained above). For over 30 years, Ultimate has functioned without the use of referees, without penalty systems, in fact, without any punishment of any kind at all. The game is played with the assumption that no player will intentionally violate the rules. It sounds like a ridiculous dream that will never work. But I know from experience that, in Ultimate, it works.

Of course, people still make violations from time to time. In the case that somebody does commit a violation, any player (even the violator him/herself) can inform the other players that a violation has been committed. The players resolve whether or not there really was a violation, and any other disputes that may arise. After the resolution, the game is continued as if nothing happened. No red cards. No foul-outs.

If the Spirit of the Game works for Ultimate, then what logical contradiction is there to keep it from working in society? What the heck, in human nature, is there that keeps us needing such strict rules and regulations - wanting such rules and regulations.

Ultimate functions under the assumption that players follow some sort of moral code or honor system that keeps things reasonable. Seriously, there's no need for an "infallible" referee to dictate that a foul occured when the alleged fouler and the alleged fouled both agree that there was none. Why can't it be the same for society in general?

I've done some reading about Jose Rizal and found that we have significant evidence to show that his vision of the nation was anti-statist, meaning that he believed the people could rule themselves without some so-called "government", that people can live in a society guided only by moral principles and ethics. He didn't even believe in being "Filipino" by blood. He believed that as long as you adhere to the culture, principles, and ethics of the Filipino nation that he envisioned, then you are a Filipino regardless of what blood flows through your veins. To Jose Rizal, his good friend Ferdinand Blumentritt, in whose veins German blood flows, was a Filipino. I wish I could discuss this more extensively, but I have neither the time nor the references to do so at the moment. If you wish to know more about this reading of Rizal, then click this.

Anyway, what I'm saying is...that stand of Rizal's has also been my stand even before I discovered he believed it. I believe that if we can be "moral enough", we can run society the same way we live amongst our families. It's not like we have family constitutions, or president of the family or anything. We just live together, guided by a set of unspoken (yet no less existing) moral principles that get passed down from generation to generation.

The ULTIMATE life

2007-03-14T19:10:00.000+08:00

Today was the last day I played the sport of Ultimate for a grade in my PE class. But I definitely hope that this would not be the last day I would be playing Ultimate.

I still remember that enlistment day when I just enrolled in this class because there were no other PE classes with available timeslots that would not conflict with my schedule. Back then, the sport was listed as "Ultimate Frisbee" and I had no idea what the significance of the word "ultimate" was. Couldn't they have just called it "Frisbee"? It wasn't until my first day in class that I found out that "Ultimate" is the real name of the sport. The term "Frisbee" is a brand name of a disc. And, ironically, the Frisbee brand is barely even used in the sport.

I took it for just one semester. I took it just to fill out that "PE" blank in my course checklist. Little did I know that I'd grow very fond of it. And I can't help but feel sentimental now that I'm about to scratch this PE course from my "academic obligations" list.

Goodbye to the classmates I got to know in this course. Goodbye to the friends I've made. Goodbye to the 'kuyas' that helped us rise above our own shadows. Goodbye to my crush in this class, whom I never got to talk to. Goodbye to Sir Avox (pronounced "AWEX"), his life-enriching, thought-inspiring, block-busting poetry reading, his patient tolerance of our error-filled games, his atheist-existentialist-inspired beliefs that I guiltily find useful in living my own life. Goodbye to you, Ultimate.

Goodbye.

For now.

A few random facts about my Ultimate life:

I had perfect attendance.
I got a .25 plus in my final grade because of my perfect attendance.
I've played all positions: long, mid, and the handler position.
I learned to throw backhand properly early on in the course.
I learned to throw forehand properly...oh, wait. I haven't.
I've been a part of five different teams and none of them won a game when I was a part of them.
When asked by Sir Avox what grade I think I deserve, I was going to say "2.00", but I remembered about the .25 plus for my perfect attendance. So I said "1.75".
Sir Avox gave me 1.5 - I'm not sure if the plus is already included.
The last cheer of my team today was: "Ang galing-galing ni Sir Avox! Awuh!!!"
The last cheer of the other team today was: "Same here!!!"
The last cheer of everybody, as we all stood in a circle with our hands on one disc, was: "ULTIMATE!!!"
Our class was the first ever PE class of the sport Ultimate in the University of the Philippines. Maybe even the entire country itself.

Lightspeed Tribute: "Run"

2007-03-07T19:02:00.001+08:00

My third AMV. A tribute to the episode "Lightspeed" from Teen Titans the animated series.

The video concept is to show the drama between the villain Jinx and the superhero Kid Flash. Basically, the entire video was about the "conversion" of Jinx to the side of good.

I deleted a lot of the major scenes in the episode to come up with this AMV. And when there were still too many clips, I had to tweak with the song a little beat to extend it so that it can go with all the clips. See if you can notice the difference with the song in this AMV and the original song. Haha.

Song: "Run" by Kitchie Nadal.

Spellbound Tribute: "Spellbound"

2007-03-06T23:00:00.001+08:00

My 2nd AMV. A tribute to the episode "Spellbound" from the animated series Teen Titans. I guess it turned out to be an episode summary.

I used two (incomplete) songs to portray the two contrasting sides of the episode: the "reign of love" and the "breaking of hearts". I also included some dialogues from the episode so that the storyline would be clear for those who haven't seen the full episode.

The video clips do not appear in this AMV as they do in their chronological order in the episode. But I arranged them so that they would make sense and that they would appear to be in chronological order for this AMV. In some parts of the AMV, that irregularity manifests itself. See if you can find them...haha.

Songs: "You'll Be Safe Here" by Rivermaya; "Faithless" by Rivermaya.

Clips: Teen Titans the animated series, by Warner Bros. Animation.

Robin Tribute: "The Absorbing Man"

2007-03-05T22:16:00.001+08:00

My first AMV (anime/animated music video) ever - a tribute to Robin of Teen Titans.

The concept was to show that he's been through a lot, but he doesn't just whine about his problems. He has proven to be resilient both for himself and for his friends. You can throw anything at him and he just seems to absorb the pain (hence, "absorbing" man) and then he immediately gets back on his feet.

I designed the video so that the video clips go well with the lyrics being sung at the moment. During instrumentals, I show how Robin becomes a "hero" to each of his friends, and eventually, to all of them at the same time as he stands leader of the group.

Song: "Absorbing Man" by Parokya ni Edgar.

Clips: Teen Titans the animated series, by Warner Bros. Animation

Gary Brolsma on American Idle

2006-09-17T20:36:00.000+08:00

Gary Brolsma on American Idle
Note: If you haven't seen Gary Brolsma's original video yet, then I suggest you watch it before this one for maximum comedy! Haha. The original video's on the post before this one.

You've seen him do his thing! Now see other people make him do his thing!!! With the power of Flash presentations! Long live Gary Brolsma!!!

Numa Numa

2006-09-17T20:34:00.000+08:00

Numa Numa

Go Gary Brolsma! Haha! For those of you who don't know, this guy is world-famous for this video of himself that he shot and uploaded on the net!!!

Asthma...and Dogs...and Stuff...

2006-09-05T17:20:00.000+08:00

These past few days have been nothing but asthma-infested... I knew this would happen! (for more details on that prediction, see http://commuteativity.blogspot.com/2006/09/more-ancient-form-of-smoke-belching.html)

Hmm...I wonder if dogs get asthma, too. It's just that, yesterday, when I was looking at one of our puppies, he was lying flat on the ground (probably sleeping) and his upper torso was rising and falling in heavy breaths. I know that's how heavily he normally breathes, anyway, and I know he probably doesn't really have asthma. But if a human being breathed that heavily, it would look like he's having an asthma attack.

Oh, well...just sharing.

The Narutrix!!!

2006-08-31T21:32:00.000+08:00

The Narutrix (courtesy: ManyLemons Productions)

All sounds are from The Matrix, but visuals are from Naruto. It's crazy!!! Haha!

The "Huli" Scandal

2006-08-25T20:23:00.000+08:00

It's been quite a while since this story happened in real life, but it crossed my mind just recently and I can still see the abs I grew from all the laughing. I think it's worth sharing...

It was probably one of the laziest periods of my life. I was a senior high-school student. We had free time in one of our subjects. The class decided to make good use of that time by deciding on each classmate's role for the upcoming shooting of "El Filibusterismo".

On the blackboard were the names of the characters and Dominique was up front, asking the class who would fit each role. I wasn't really paying much attention. I didn't even care much when they assigned me the role of "Placido Penitente". There was just one role that I wanted to make a fuss about. As Dominique got closer to asking for someone to play "Huli", I inched forward to the edge of my seat, ready to unleash some ruckus. I looked around and found a number of people, scattered all over the classroom, just as excited as I was. We were all members of "Pangkat SIKAT", and we were all thinking of the same thing... (Flashback coming up!)

The "Sangguniang Itinatag na Kaakibat Ang Tagumpay" (roughly translated in English as "Established coalition naturally inclined to victory"...I think), otherwise known as "Pangkat SIKAT", once upon a time, met in my house to work on the radio-play project for El Filibusterismo. Everything seemed to be going well at first: We met on time; All important characters were present; The recordings were going smoothly; We had some cool special effects; and we haven't even spent anywhere near half of the total amount that the other groups did. Yes, everything was going well...until something went terribly wrong... I think I speak for the group when I say that that incident will go down in history as something that will never be forgotten, something that still haunts us to this day.

It was the recording turn of one of our groupmates, let's just hide her behind the name "Abby". She wasn't happy with what the script was telling her to say...or rather, express. She was reluctant to perform the task and it took the combined efforts of several groupmates to convice her to "get it over with". She finally agreed to accept the responsibility. Gathering all the strength and valor she had in her, Abby clicked on the "record" button and - as fast, as clear, and as intensely as she could - bellowed at the top of her lungs...

"HULI!!! DIYOS KO PO!!! HULI!!! HULI!!!" (HULI!!! OH MY GOD!!! HULI!!! HULI!!!)

Goodness knows we laughed our bronchules out after that. We played the file over and over and over again. Some groupmates even recorded the horrendous sound in their cellphones and set it as their message tones. I still have the file saved in my computer today. And the incident was to be forever remembered as..."The HULI scandal"...

Back in the classroom, Dominique, at long last, got to talking about the character of Huli. Pangkat SIKAT (save Abby) roared in unison: "ABBY!!! ABBY FOR HULI!!!" Abby herself was caught off-guard. She started saying something in her defense but no sound could be heard apart from the cheers of "ABBY!!! NO EXCUSES!!! ABBY FOR HULI!!!" If you've experienced outbreaks like this before, then you would know enough to predict that Dominique had no choice but to put Abby's name under the role of Huli.

The next character to be filled in with an appropriate actor was "Hermana Bali". I looked at my list to check who played Hermana Bali in our radio-play. To my surprise, the name that met my eyes was Abby's! Only then did I have the sense in me to actually listen to what Abby was trying to say amidst our screams: Contrary to what the rest of Pangkat SIKAT unanimously thought, she never played Huli in the radio play. She actually played Hermana Bali, who was calling out to Huli!!!