Hard times.

Little Green Man

Things are going very well here, if you should know. I make a living and have my fine moments doing so. I read my books and hear my music. It's not even all desk. The beer flows at times and afterwards the coffee.

I've been looking up at Mars because everybody tells me it's special to do so these nights. Sometimes they accompany me, sometimes I do it all alone. It's nice when the skies are clear and no streetlight or neon competes with the vision. They're trying to convince me that there's a tinge of red. I don't mind if I see only the untwinkling yellow. I remember reading Ray Bradbury and his vision of future life there. I look up and remember the movies made, Mars Attacks, Red Planet, and a bunch of forgettables. Total Recall. Do you remember which one we watched together?

I hope things are well with you too, wherever you are. All the best to you and yours.

I wonder how it is up there?

This is darned belated. My petty self-imposed exile has given me an unforgiveable backlog on the news. Congratulations Astrid and Jol for winning your first Palanca awards!

Aristotle asked "If the guardians aren't happy, who else will be?" I texted that to a friend and he said, the enemies of the state would be. Not in the long run, I countered. That was the prelude to my long answer that I prudently deemed uninteresting, as all my long answers are. Since all long answers will inevitably lead me to "check operator services," I will just post his more concise reply:

"disolv PMA. insted,evry HS grad wil b mand8d by law 2 serv 2yrs n d military b4 entring colleg.2yrs n d field.that wil dpoliticize d AFP n change cultur n d process.AMEN"

Well, what do you think?

Malakas ang hangin dito, sinabayan pa ang sakit ng ulo ko. Hangin talaga, hindi masyado ulan. Parang yung kakaunting patak e namamawis lang ang hangin sa kakaihip. Kanina nga, binuksan ko pa ang payong para may saysay naman ang pagdala ko nito. Kaso e mukhang aagawin pa ng hangin. Kapag di mo pinakawalan, maaasar, sisirain. Kaya sinara ko na lang at pakiramdam ko Fred Astaire ako kaya lang hindi umuulan, bumabagyo. Wala na sa porma ang kwelyo ko. Pinabayaan ko na ring kumumpas ang mga dulo nito, walang saysay na ayusin pa.

Galit ako sa bagyong ito kasi kanina inaagaw yung atensyon ng klase. Pati yung mga print-out at attendance sheet ko hinihigop ng mga bukas na bintana. Parang pati yung mga salita ng lektyur ayaw pabayaang makarating sa klase. Katatapos pa lamang mamutawi, binabara na agad ng mga puno't dahong nagsisihampasan sa galit at ng mismong hangin, marahas na sumasagitsit sa pagitan ng mga sanga. May bayolenteng reaksyon pa yata sa mga pinagsasabi ko! Buti na lang, yung klase nagpapaniwala pa sa akin. Sila pa itong ayaw magprotesta, pinipilt ko na nga e.

Brownout sa faculty kaya di ko na itinuloy ang balak kong magtsek. Mainit sa loob dahil kulob sabay maririnig mo sa labas yung pagwawala ng mga elemento. Kaya ano opsyon ko, trabaho? Hindi na no! Baka bumaba pa marka ng mga kawawang nilalang.

Pauwi, naglakad ako, yung dating bagal, hindi ko na makuha pang makibagay sa mga elemento! Dumaan ako sa Carabao Park. Nabakli yung isang puno, hindi ako naabot, ilang pulgada lang sa harap ko bumagsak. Ewan ko pero nangiti ako. Mas gugustuhin ko pa atang bumagsak na nga lang sa ulo ko yun para mawala yung migraine. Yan naman talaga ang pinakatiyak na paraang matanggal ang hinayupak na sakit ng ulo na ito e. Tanggalin na yung ulo mismo.

Oks lang, tanggap ko na namang wala talaga akong mapapala dun. Inisip ko na magkukulong na lang ako sa kwarto, ano pa ba ang ibang opsyon? Pagkapasok, isasabit ang binugbog na payong, huhubarin ang polo, kwelyo, lahat. Tapos magtitimpla ng anumang mainit.

2:26 AM June 13, 2003

After some ritual after another before what should've been sleep, I got a second wind and couldn't shake off the thought of doing something. So I postponed sleep until that time when the cocks would crow to announce a coming day. I know better than those conceited birds anyway. The day is now. It is here, as I write, attending me. It is early dawn, four and a half hours before the workers would chat about wives while pounding the galvanized sheets into a roof. I would wake up then, after two hours of contesting tongues and hammers right outside my jalousies.

That would be later though. The day is already here with me. A queer day too, this Friday the thirteenth. A day ago, it was Independence Day. I will see though that some will celebrate it later, when they will wake up around two hours after my two hours. It'll be commemorated by free hours with hopefully some money to do something else than switch channels for the competing network quips, jokes, contests, and prizes of noontime programming. Everything but ads! After that, a small siesta, merienda, the chinovela, then the telenovela line-up.

With some moolah, the rites would be a bit different. Many would queue before the malls to be screened for guns or bombs that would surely ruin an independence day. Specially an independence day sale, complete with a poster boy with arms permanently raised in some puzzling defiance. Instead of the monumental pose with bolo and gun, poster boy's hands carry shopping bags aloft.

I think the idea of a long weekend is welcome by most. That is, as opposed to having June 12 off only to work again on Friday. Maybe there is prudence too in moving Independence as opposed to the long-ago practice of declaring sandwiched days as co-holidays of sorts. I haven't been arguing much these past few days and I won't start now. Why duel over dates independence? I ask rather, eh independence? Nah. I won't even dwell on those curious jokes, one saying that the president will move even Christmas and New Year.

I will sleep the sleep I foresee from the slackening of my fingers and the drooping of my lids. A few hours later, the clatter and chatter of the workmen will be offset by my phone's alarm. I will rise to whatever else this day would mean to me.

After the impromptu ceremonies of the morning and noon, I will move out. Outside the gate, on my way out to the main road, I may choose the path to the right. If I'm lucky, I'll hear the strains from an unknown pianist playing. If I'm not, I'll get the bark of an unseen vicious-sounding dog.

The left is an equally clean and even path. Clean enough that I wonder why there's this spot which never ceases to smell of cat droppings. I can't see the dung but I suspect one or two or all three of the black cats that always cross me. Maybe the dog scares the shit out of them.

Tough luck! The left is the shorter route.

I hope therefore I am.