Aw, Un Tres Adorable Video

Yes. I like Chinese. And after my stay in Hong Kong, I like them even more.

Below: Song off Monty Python as sung by Eric Idle

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L'amour n'est pas la poésie, l'amour n'est pas le crépitement silence des pieds dans une danse.
L'amour n'est pas le soleil, l'amour n'est pas la pluie.

L'amour est éternel. L'amour est L'Éternel.♥

Suicide As Anything But A Cowardly Act

Forgive me for the rather morbid theme. Suicide as a subject was strutting here and there in my head as I was doing my own shuttling from clinic to clinic one cloudy afternoon.

It is definitely because of the news that I read and watched for a few days in a row. The local news reported suicide: varying reasons, varying methods of killing oneself. So many cases of suicide in these hard stressful time: unlike most cases of mortality, suicide is not exactly identified with a particular age group or social status.

Suicide is treated almost like taboo in this predominantly Catholic country. I am quite sure that many view suicide as an easy way out. Maybe true. Or maybe not.

Perhaps suicide is, contrary to popular opinion, anything but cowardly after all. Let me state this...at least for the sake of discussion.

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If a person would like to end his life because the world treated him like shit, is it not more cowardly to physically run away than to look at death in the eye?

Many means of ending one's life are brutal and painful. Not everyone knows, much so have access to the very few ways of taking one's own life painlessly. Is it not a courageous thing to do, for a person to make himself go through gruesome methods of self-mutilation? (Let's not even get started with the pathophysiology of self-afflicted gunshot wounds, or concussions from a fall, or ingestion of poison, or hanging....) If the person thought, "I did not have much of a choice, I'd take anything, even a painful death", doesn't that make him quite brave?

And is it cowardice that drives a person to end his life because he no longer wants to be a burden to his loved ones? Is it not brave of him to take his life, knowing that his family and friend will eventually bear the burden of "... not doing enough to save him"?

Is it frailty of character to commit suicide because it is honestly perceived by that person as the right thing to do? Situations that endanger the lives of many may call for one to give his own life, out of necessity. Is that the way of the weak?

A friend once wrote: what if we realize that suicide is actually the way that was meant for us to get out of this world? Is it criminal, even blasphemous, when a person is so very convinced that God (or any Supreme Being) wants him to leave the physical world by killing oneself ... especially for a particular purpose?

*****

It is almost always difficult to react when we hear of people committing suicide, even more so when we know these people on a personal level. The unenviable situation of being acquainted with the person who took his own life makes for a very traumatic experience, to say to the least. Sometimes, however, we need to try to understand the circumstances and the manner by which the person arrived at the decision to commit suicide. Doing so may prove to be beneficial later on, when we least expect it...

...especially so when we find ourselves, uncannily, in a situation where suicide appears to be an option.

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.

On Jean Reno, L'immortel, L'Eternel, and (Hmm), Jose Garcia Villa

Two Sundays ago, I was waiting in line in a moviehouse at EDSA Shangrila. A couple of days before that I read about an ongoing French film festival and I thought about checking it out. Since the event advertises "Free Admission", I guessed that the moviehouse will fill up fast, so I showed up about 40 minutes prior to the 3 o'clock pm film screening.

"We can only accommodate 25 free admissions", the male receptionist announced, "please fall in line." It was such a wait for a movie that I was not sure if I will like or not. Patience, I said to myself, at least Jean Reno is in the film.

Ten minutes past 3. The smell of impatience was in the air. The receptionist then made a grave announcement.

"The theater is already full because many VIPs turned up unexpectedly. We can only admit 10 people."

I was 11th in the line. What infuriating luck.

While most of the disenfranchised left, I went to the receptionist and stated my case. It is not fair for me to wait in line for more than 30 minutes only to be told that I cannot be admitted. When the receptionist defended that we were late, I was gripped with a sudden impulse to snap at him ... good thing I bit my tongue before I could lash out.

In my greatest effort to be cool, I reasoned: "How could possibly say that we are late when we were here 40 minutes before the screening?"

A few more words from me and I got what I wanted.

Receptionist: "We can allow five more. Just five people." I was the first to get in.

(Damn, I thought. Had I learned about this earlier, I would have found a way to get myself a VIP ticket and not through all these hassle as if I am a beggar. But, never mind. I was finally inside the theater.)

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Photo from this site.

The movie that was the root of my troubles was the Jean Reno starrer, 22 Bullets, aka L'immortel. This was released in early 2010 amidst mixed reviews. The story, in a nutshell, is about Charly Mattei (Jean Reno), an aging mafia guy in Marseille who was gunned down with 22 bullets but somehow managed to live and exact his revenge. People used to fantastic Hollywood slickly executed fight scenes and car chases may not find this film to their liking. (I sure liked the Audis in the film.)

I am not exactly planning to write a review. Suffice to say that I think the movie is just fine, with the characters well-played (and, it cannot be helped, I have a soft spot for Reno), and the violent scenes adequate, and I am a fan of French films, but honestly, this is not a movie worth waiting for 40 minutes.

For some reason, as I was watching the film, something kept on popping in my head: The concept of "eternel" and "l'Eternel".

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Photo from this site.

It was probably because "l'immortel" rhymes with "l'Eternel". It was probably because of something else. The movie often alluded to the concept of right and wrong, of morality and accountability. Religious allusions were replete as well, and whether this was deliberate or not, they sure provided a good backdrop to the issues aforementioned.

Someone once told me that, in the French language, "eternel" is to be distinguished from "l'Eternel". The word "eternel" literally translates to "eternal". "L'Eternel" is referred to what in English is called "God", thus the capital letter "E". For some reasons I did not get to clear this one up in detail.

Maybe sometime, I will have that chance ... in another lifetime, perhaps?

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The concept of eternity is one of the many things that I am fascinated with.

Apparently, so is Jose Garcia Villa, arguably one of the best Filipino poets to have ever lived. (Thanks to Lenn for the Jose Garcia Villa book that I received many weeks ago.)

As he, too, was gripped by ideations of God, Villa wrote poems that tackled God's immortality and humanity at the same time. There is one poem that I really like: it illustrates a very striking, almost blasphemous, but intensely brilliant, juxtaposition of God and Man amidst the backdrop of time.

Now I will tell you the Future
Of God. The future of God is

Man. God aspired before and
Failed. Jesus was too much

God. Since God is moving
Towards Man, and Man is moving

Towards God - they must meet
Sometime. O but God is always

A Failure! That Time is the
End of the world. When God

And Man do meet - they will
Be so bitter they will not speak.

I have reason to believe that Villa had a word with God, not just hello but a mouthful, many times in his life. Like Jean Reno's character Charly Mattei. Like many people I know ... myself included ....

Happy Father's Day

Father's Day does not leave as much impact as Mother's Day for many people. I, however, know of male friends who are great fathers. Take a bow, y'all.^^ Your children (and, sige na nga, your wives na rin ;P) are very lucky.

To you my exalted father friends, Happy Father's Day.

(To JAB, yes you too, I know how much you love your kids, and I am sure they know that too...be happy, wherever you are, I will keep an eye on your behalf....)

Ngayon, Ika-12 ng Hunyo, ay Araw Ng Kalayaan

Ang kalayaan ay isang karapatan.