If You Are Scared Of Ghosts...

...that is, if you are scared of the ghosts of your past thoughts, then I strongly advise you to never, ever open the pages of your diary, or your planner, or even read the small print at the margins of your notebook (probably scribbles of your thoughts while listening to a boring speaker).

However, if you think you can stand by everything you have written in the past, then ok, skim over your journals ... but I am telling you, I know of no one who was not amused, infuriated, saddened, and most especially, shamed by his own writings, as if he is being haunted by his own past.

I am not an exception.

As I was sorting some stuff recently I chanced upon my planners where I would on occasions write down my random thoughts. Most entries amused me and opened the floodgate through which memories flowed in profusely. Some did shame me, especially scribbles stating my opinions on certain people and issues (revelation of my lesser virtues such as ignorance, intolerance, and insecurity). Some entries made me sad ...

... and some entries struck me like deja vu, especially this one entry that I wrote last December 12, 1994.

At this point I stop to think as it seems everything confuses me.

I know that there is a destiny designed for me and it may not be what I once thought it was.

I long to find out what it really is.

Things do go full circle. I have just come face to face with one scary ghost.

Another Goodbye

I dare not mention the name of a dear friend who passed away a week ago.

She was so low-profile, one who did not want to draw attention to herself. So, no, I will not write her full name nor the circumstances surrounding her death. I will just write that she moved me with her willpower and her strength of character, and I will always remember her for that.

I also remember that she had one of the most beautiful voices that I have ever heard.

She taught our ragtag choir how to sing Handel's "Canticorum Jubilo" and Felipe De Leon's "Payapang Daigdig", both of which we performed during an inter-organization carolfest in the university many moons ago.

We won.

Since then, I have always associated her with both songs. Funny that it seems apt to play both songs once again, now that she has left the physical world.

Most especially, I will never forget that, even when I did not expect her to be around in my times of distress, she was simply, around

[Five people who are dear to me passed away within five years. I do not how I still manage to exist. Love and letting go seem like neighbours uncomfortable with each other's presence. Again, the delicate balance of joy and sorrow....]

Take care, wherever you are. You are thought of with extreme fondness and love forever.

Canticorum Jubilo



Payapang Daigdig

B6M689D6TZ8U

The Last Song Syndrome 15: Ian, The Mac That Is More Edible Than Big Mac

"Seven seas
Swimming them so well
Glad to see
My face among them
Kissing the tortoise shell"

- Echo and the Bunnymen, "Seven Seas"


From the moment I heard Ian McCulloch's voice back when I was still young and wet behind the ears, I became his willing captive. Long after Ian has lain low and his voice ceased to be ubiquitous, I remain his willing captive.

Sure, I was and still is intrigued by many male - and pseudo-male - personalities, most of them being the quirky types. The character of Six Million Dollar Man circa 70s (note: the character, NOT the actor, Lee Majors) was my first object of fascination. The character (again) of The Invisible Man circa 70s. Steve Armstrong of Voltes V. Boy George of Culture Club. Annie Lennox circa Eurythmics. Through the years my taste was getting a little fastidious.. I got to know Ian Curtis, Bob Dylan, Arnold Morales, Al Dimalanta.I thought Joe Strummer was grand, in fact too grand for my feeble capacity for adoration to contain. Robert Smith was awesome but that was as far as I can say. The list goes on and on. Can I just say, even Beethoven was not spared?

However, I can truthfully say that it was Ian McCulloch who truly gripped me. It is something I can never fully understand. Nor could Je, who would often shake his head in resignation whenever I played an Echo and the Bunnymen song on the turntable.

It is definitely the voice, the crisp enunciation, the mysterious timbre. The cockiness that comes with the voice. After all, he is not called "Mac The Mouth" for nothing. It must be he entire package: the funny shaggy hair, the deliberate gestures, the full lips. Ian can pass off as a gorgeous flirtatious woman, a coquinette you may say. (If you have seen the video of "Seven Seas", you would know what I mean.) It must be the intriguing songs as well. Echo and the Bunnymen, McCulloch's band, were sublime. Then again, it must be the somewhat ambiguous yet apparently masculine sexuality that Ian exuded whenever he took over the microphone.

Call it infatuation on my part, I do not care. I have already gotten many male friends wondering: Why Ian McCulloch?! Why him, even after all these years? That, in spite of above justifications. He may now probably look grotesquely aged in person. Probably has a beer belly (like Robert Smith) which he hides well. Probably has enormous jowls on his face (again, like my other favorite Robert Smith) manipulated in Photoshop. If that is the case it does not matter. Only one justification will be enough for me: the sensual voice.

I just have to listen, and close my eyes, and will myself to play the role of a willing captive, again, and again, and again.