| This is one of the reason why I hate farming. These people spoils my okra business |
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Farming isn't good
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Be a cheap HERO and get fed up
| October 06, 2009 around 3am, I woke up without the benefit of an alarm clock. I woke up because of a mysterious cry from the back of the house, in the middle of the dark and lonely dawn. At first, it sounded like a slight screech similar to a rusty door hinge that makes noise when you swing it close or swing it open. But as it progressively rings my ear, it infused clearly to my rationale that it’s a yell from a long-tailed rodent. Familiarity and the nature of my intuition smoothly connected, granted me enough knowledge before I can even see the whole situation. A creature needed my help. I didn’t waste a minute and immediately picked up the flashlight on the board; erupted from my bed like Jet Li, fast and flawless. Camouflaged by darkness behind the beam, it only took me less than ten seconds to get to the backdoor. And when I came to the spot and looked down into the almost-empty drum, I saw it there, a rat looked up back at me, wet and bushed, fighting for its life and I sensed that it was more troubled of the inch-deep stagnant water than me. The rat had been trapped in the drum for quite a few minutes on its attempt to slurp water. The scene was enough for me to fill my sensitivity and reacted as fast. I whispered to myself that moment, I waited this opportunity to become one, to prove the merits of consideration for a frontline heroes of X-men or Fantastic 4 but been derailed so many times because of failed chances. Now, this is what God give me, a chance to save a life. So without a small measure of hesitation, I demonstrated some sort of level-headedness towards the muroid creature. I Jet Li-kicked hard the drum and knocked it down, eventually supplied deafening echo sound due to the hard impact, and spilled all of its contents to the ground (liters of water and the rat). And from the corner of my eyes I saw something leaped in swift instance, which I believe was the rat, jumped off in delight, ran away with its life, expectant for the next day’s morning sunlight. As I stood there alone following the commotion and after few seconds of stillness, Downy came to my side, licked her chops. I took deep breathes of exhaustion and spoke to her… “Am I a hero?” She replied to me with a lazy yawn… |
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Kick my life
| History Bought last December 30, 2006 at Metro-Gaisano Colon for an undisclosed (on sale) amount. Official receipt was lost.
Feat 7,500 dribbles, almost 800+ missed lay-ups and pull-ups, 100+ bad passes, 20+ kilometers of jogging distance, 19.50 inches vertical leap, 11 eliminations, 7 teammate arguments, 5 championships, 4 third placers, 4 buzzer beaters(one from half court, including a game winning shot), 2 injuries, 2 second placers, 1 owner , zero dunk and no tears.
Future Unknown
Just do it! Just retire it! Dammit! |
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Ayaw hilabti (Don't touch)
| Two weeks back, I helped out my father went a coconut reap. We got approximately 200 in quantities from 25 palm trees. All of them that had been hoarded were full-grown were we intended to split-crack into two with a hatchet and dig out manually the coconut meat with a hand-grip-designed-metal tool for copra production.
From the pile of coconuts, my father selected one, planned for his own special point and purpose to germinate. He’d be using it soon when it’s due enough to be planted in the ground. Yup, u heard me; my father is going to embed a coconut tree with it.
The chosen one was temporarily placed right on foot of banana foliage where dampen streams goes through, mostly on rainy days or whenever someone do some laundries on Sundays.
For maximum irrational security from thieves and intruders, he neither caged it nor chained it. His indestructible optimism thrust him to believe that as long as a stranger that passes along knows how to read, the fate of the said “special” coconut will be in good well.
So, with my father’s shaky-right-hand and twenty-seven strokes of inscriptions of a black Pilot marker, the stipulations on the aforesaid coconut proved to be as authoritative and understandable as an Internal Revenue stamp, though public yet sealed and secured. And it read “Ayaw hilabti”, a bisaya dialect and that means “Don’t touch” in English.
My father whispered a voluntary deep sigh of relief knowing that his chosen one, his seed of life and future coconut tree is in no doubt, will be safe. |
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Oh pain, please stop
| We’ve been in deep torments for so many years now.
Riding on a bike with deflated rear wheel while carrying the weight of past, we couldn’t get fast and feel we couldn’t last.
Been swimming in a lake of mud, toiling like a sinkhole; the more we pull way up to the dirty and dry earth the more we sink deeper into powerlessness.
People keep on injecting us with their medicines of kind words, artificial sympathies that brings us down towards craters of vulnerabilities.
The handshakes of their smooth, free from callus hands, which has magnetizing effect on our devout effort and intending to manipulate the goodwill, we do in their favor, leaving nothing for ourselves.
We climb trees with high fortitudes, only to find out that, they, our most trusted individuals, sow tons of thorn around the stepladder, en route to our desired goals in life. |
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Vincent's Dream House
| My younger brother loves to draw by using any apparatus he can get. It could either by pencil, water color, ball pen, crayons or sign-pens, depending on what’s available on the table. He loves to draw just to keep his hands busy, loathes being unoccupied.
And one Sunday morning, the thought of having his own house someday drove him to sketch. He once described it to me as big, mansion-planned and sophisticated façade in a sub-urban community.
He used spare charcoal (uling in Bisaya) from the dirty kitchen. Penciled it on the wall like a MyGel pen stroke on a fine bond paper, smoothly glides with poise and grace, of the same kind to a ballerina slide. Free of any sign of flaw.
When he’d done creating the art on the wall in front of terrace, I paid a gape onto it and found out that it wasn’t it was suppose to be. Rather a simple and small house, common-designed with an undersized attic, from where you can see the stars on a lonely night.
Vincent is a younger brother with a simple dream. And he’s not hiding it. |
Monday, August 24, 2009
Tropical Mantis
| Tropical mantis came into view one night. I was leaning with my elbow on the motorbike maneuver while playing GRID-race on a mobile phone; it blew a fuse in my eye when emerged from behind a baseball cap that had been put in the front bin of my cousin’s (RJ Gacasan) motorbike.
Known as “praying mantis” which sometimes misspelled as “preying mantis” because of its praying stance, it seem to be un-prayful and unreligious. In my opinion, mantises don’t belong to the family of grasshoppers and crickets because I didn’t see any mantis hopped.
The mantis looked confusing with its behavior of repetitive side-to-side movements. It made a crossover move with steady-planted feet.
Mantis can bite but have no venom, though can slash your skin with its raptorial legs. Some sort of scientific warning.
But I got too irrational to dart away when it went off and suddenly climbed up fast the speedometer towards the rearview mirror of the bike.
And for the first time in its life, saw its own reflection, its own image and likeness. |
Sunday, August 23, 2009
My Friend's New Toy
| Hobbies and toys evolve so fast nowadays. From music to movies to gadgets to sports activities, it’s changing like a wind direction, in swift instance.
Now it’s happening to my friend, Neil Tracy a.k.a. Islaw. He used to love soccer & basketball for more than 15 years and just lately he swings to cycling, though not for a career but only for leisure pursuit.
He said it’s good for his knees, which was badly injured due to kneecap dislocation from playing basketball. It affected his full body mobility and the doctor recommends him to go into mountain biking, to help it heal.
He followed his doctor’s advise and guess what, he really feel affection for it and can’t live a day without riding. Sometimes, I borrow his toy for few kilometer ride myself, makes me feel like Brad Wiggins of Garmen-Slipstream team. It was such a delight. |
Monday, August 17, 2009
Lizard won't say Cheese!
Monday, 1:57 pm. in the midst of work at the office, I’d felt a chronic feeling of dizziness. Lack of sleep consumed my attentiveness, my eyelids were heavy, and I needed some sleep or maybe just a cup of coffee.
I took a deep breath and chose to wave my stomach to give myself a sense of relief. Not good. It worsened my mood, maybe it has something to do with the chocolate ice cream that I’ve taken days ago. Too much sugar is bad; the okra weren’t enough as remedy.
I was about to fall into siesta when a startling yells from outside almost tossed me out from where I’ve seated. My consciousness went back to normal that moment, sleepiness were gone.
The shouting from outside draws interest, there must be something wrong outside. I didn’t waste a single minute to respond to it for I couldn’t wait. I got up from my desk, abandoning ream-thick of paperwork in idleness. Strode out through the aisle of desks and officemates computer, all of them were unattended, entire office were deserted and I was alone. I was nervous, maybe they’ve all gone outside and leaving me trapped and in peril.
But I wasn’t.
As I’ve made it to the front of office main door, the luminous afternoon bright sky offered a squinting submission into my eyes; it took several seconds before I was able adjust to the pierce light, and that’s when I saw the real thing.
Up there on the rooftop of Laboratory Office building is a wild creature, A lizard, its body twice the size of a baseball bat, about one meter long, dirty white in color and with dark-devil brown eyes.
I didn’t wonder why the office was deserted; I understood every man’s inquisitiveness and inquiry. All they wanted as much as I was is to witness a big reptile jumping off from a gutter like a suicidal man, broken hearted that desperately needs to end his own life from two stories up to wipe away the painful and cruel emotional reality.
The occurrence happened so fast.
My heart thumped more rapidly when the reptile abruptly set free from its hesitation, jumped off from the rooftop like a Chinese Olympic diver by the gutter and landed in front of me without a splash. The reptile wasn’t broke, stood on its four legs and facing straight at me. I was rattled and couldn’t move that moment, the site of a reptile that big, with its exposed split tongue, I succumbed and almost fainted. I tried to deny it and pretended burly by gulping down saliva, nearly dislocated my Adam’s apple on process.
Fortunately, the reptile seemed busy and ignored me. It didn’t attack. The reptile utilized the open ground at my right side, took cover under parked cars and evades freely like a coward rat, acted in a stratum of a prey than that of a predator.
I tried to catch the reptile, hoping I could get a clear shot (photo). But it gave an impression of a shy mammal because just when I’m about to push click the button, it swiftly turned its back on me towards the pile of boulders outside the cyclone wire fences, as if trying to mock me “Hey Lolek, I don’t deserve to be chased, and neither say cheese!, take my tail instead!”
Credits : Belmer Salonoy's Digicam, Mona (the first to inform me about the reptile appearance), and my desire to chase for a "say cheese!"
Friday, August 14, 2009
Finger Pointing Papaya
We have this lone papaya tree at the backyard, right near the end of the muddy canal where the laundry water streams goes down through, which serves as its unvarying water supply. It stands straight and tall over a trash pit of plastics and other non-biodegradable materials like cable wires, broken glasses, busted Barbie dolls and empty energy drink bottles.
Though my parents love to have papaya fruit on the table every after meal as desserts, they didn’t plant it themselves with their bare hands. It grew by itself from a tossed palm of papaya kernels almost two years ago. It started like a hedge plant back then, away from notice like an ordinary grass that deserves a cleanup slash. The presence of it in our backyard had been ignored for months with no special heed and attention since it was partly concealed by a big barrel.
After about four months, it towered over an empty drum and that’s when it caught us in surprise. The sight of it brought me tears of happiness because I never expected a papaya tree that instant. I remember a motto “Good things come when you expect less to it”. Thanks to the incessant water flows from every other day laundry and the blessing random rain from above, it rapidly grew toward gleaming and promising sky.
Today, the said papaya tree levels the height to the roofing of our house. Erecting with its extended leaves, like that of an open umbrella, shielding anything by its side, doing the cover as possible as it be capable of. Its body resembles that of a jumbo-size deform bars, naturally with grids as welcoming design for probable ‘papaya fruit climbers’, for them to be able to get a grip towards the tree top.
Fruits are now evidently limitless, can be spotted in group. In fact my left index finger is pointing at it right now, directing to the ripe one...
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Cold and Lifeless Moth
Yesterday morning, shortly before 7:00 o’clock, I saw something that halts my way to work. It lied on the pavement resting on its belly at approximately two meters in distance from the office main door, just adjacent to the doormats.
A moth enfolded by its own wings, it must have been sleeping and forgot to wake up. But it seemed a peculiar moth-instinct which I believe they don’t normally act such. This kind of creature isn’t like humans, that’ll curls up and wraps up with blankets as if trying to ignore a deafening and activated alarm clock.
As it stayed motionless for several minutes on cemented passageway, I lost my patience to wait and witness it to be in motion, to see it possibly fly high past me in an abrupt way. And I came to conclude that it has been dead and done.
Its bearing posture says it all, for it should have spread its wings, and tacked on walls, revealing a single sign of life. But it hadn’t taken place. From there, my curiosity elevated from zero to turbo. So I tried to flip it up with a stick. It didn’t flinch a bit. I couldn’t believe it’s lifeless. Free of pain, cold and quiet.
But there’s one atypical thing on the moth’s behavioral quality that made me wintry inside. The behavior of it facing the direction where the sun rose upon its death, like a frozen compass pointing East, positioned like a bullet train, as if getting ready to head for its long journey to heaven…
I've decided
Not all of my Friendster friends love to read, they’re here to add friends, photos, groups, to be a fan of and hang out with each other online through short messages and cheerful comments.
Friendster is a thing of beauty, because it helps you remember the forgotten, use applications of your like and customize profiles to ensemble user’s personality. Along with all those good things Friendster website offers, blogging is far-off from my “Friendster friends’” line of interest. Furthermore, reading is their last priority. It has been noted, if not certified.
So to give way for that, I’ve decided to create an account on a certain website specifically intended and designed for bloggers, for me to post all my future blogs instead of here. I’m not a paid blog spammer right? At least not here on FS.
Blogs and Bloggers has its own place. Unfortunately blogging here is somewhat narrow and off the record, too personal and secretive, concealed, sealed shut and confidential to some extent. Considering the fact that only those who existed on my lists of friends has the exclusive rights to access the pieces that I’ve scripted. Isn’t it a torture?
I plunk for being here not to gain thousands of views on my blog page. In truth and reality as of writing this article I have only 156 friends here on Friendster, statistically speaking. And that will be enough a reason not to expect those thousands-kind-of-thing that I’ve mentioned.
I am a philanthropic person. Now I don’t have money and traumatically been swindled by big amount lately. As an alternative, I’ll tender nothing but my words. And that includes bad grammars and wrong spellings. Human as I am, mistakes are my blood.
From this day forward, I will let your desire dictates to visit and motivate you to do the reading. Because here I am now, expanding my lexis to the public, willing to take the risk. I think it’s the right time to let it flutter.
This blog is dedicated to my friends who make my difficult times more bearable, and good times much sweeter…
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Alone with the Moon
Past six o’clock in the evening, the world seemed like a lonesome place to be. There’s no one around to see. The sea was so serene. The sky was getting dark. The wind blows, chilled me.
I felt isolated. But I had enough time, waited for somebody to come and share the darkness with me. Nothing to fret on, patience is my good worth.
Thirty minutes later, it paid off when I saw something ahead, straight from the horizon. It appeared to get out of its hiding. More than willing to prove to itself, its eagerness to give light, courage and reasons not to afraid in the gloomy variety of life.
It’s naked and beautiful. Its body was wonderful that turned me on and aroused me like a desperate old man. I stopped and can’t help but stared, while it seized my consciousness. Felt its need of me more than my needs to it. I had the notion we loved each other that night.
As we went face to face, it exposed everything about me. My desire, dreams, and weaknesses were put into picture, reflected on its luminous self. The moon and its disguised radiance but dim in reality, its perfect coin-shape form but have flamboyant, unstable surface in veracity, its nearness in sight but beyond human-flesh touch, theoretically.
That was the night when the moon stripped me. And by its light and splendor, nobody took the path with me. I was alone, and that will be the last …
This blog is dedicated to Edriane, my son.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)