Told my Prayers

"I've never been the praying kind/ But lately I've been down upon my knees/ I'm not looking for a miracle/ Just a reason to believe"
Savage Garden, Hold Me

Off to work and bound to Metro Manila ( Just in case you want to gun me down, Cavite is the place) I was caught in a heavy traffic thus requiring me to push my panic button . Called my manager that I won't make it on my scheduled shift, I requested to do half day, filed for leave the first half of my working hours. It turned out there was a vehicular accident on the highway, splattered blood on the cement-paved road validated the dangers road-related accident bring.

Shortly after the road cleared up, the jeepney I rode must've springboarded off a long slumber and let the vehicle fly its way to Baclaran. I alighted on Baclaran around 7 in the morning, knowing I still have at least 3 hours before my adjusted schedule, I decided to drop by at the Baclaran Church.

What of it?

Did I probably ran out of place to go to so I'm seeking refuge on a place I rarely frequent?

Not really.

It wasn't my first at Baclaran Church. Not that I'm proud of such but it's not blasphemy at its finest to be honest at least. Though the last time I've been there was way way back. I'm just about to graduate high school then, gangling and unmolested by societal disillusion and poetic disambiguation, all I did ask from Him before was, well, success on my then upcoming college years and safety and personal success of my girl back then. Peace on earth was a definite shoo in then, but the young lady sitting next to me already wished for it.

Fast forward to real time, here I am, probably doubled the weight but the same soul (Do souls gain weight too?). It was safe to say what I wished 8 years ago were fulfilled- only regretful that I could've wished more before. But that's not really my cup of tea, I made it a point every time I go to church, that would be only to say thank you. Rarely I submit my fate relying for wishes to come true.

But as if gravity's pulling my leg the moment I alighted off the jeepney, in a split second I transformed like a man on a mission and the gates of the church, normally flocked by people of diverse faith and ideologues, was like an open lane all mine to trudge. Once inside, I stood there for an enthralling momentary cessation. No,I'm not being nostalgic (again) with things of the past, at least during that time, at most as I think of someone I hope to save from mortality.

I closed my eyes as I told my prayers, "Dear Lord, 'musta na po? Antagal na rin, pasensya na. Since the last time dami na nagbago, maraming nalaman na bilang tao gusto ko ring suriin. Nanaig 'yung pagiging inquisitive ko pero siyempre andiyan ka pa rin. Nga pala 'yung Auntie ko medyo napapalaban siya ngayon. Sana huwag muna. Kasi kung may ititira ako sa mundo, isa siya ron. Siyempre hindi ako diyos. Mukha kasing di pa kaya ng mga pinsan ko. Salamat pala sa nauna ko nang hiling, sana maihabol ko 'to. Yaman din lang narito ako, bigyan mo naman ng sign. Andami nang nagsusulputang relihiyon sa mundo at obvious naman na ginagawang negosyo 'yung mga salita mo. Bigay ka naman ng clue. Yun lang muna, keep safe!"

See, I'm not good at asking favors.




(This entry I solely dedicate to Auntie Eva who's battling breast cancer nowadays. Though strong willed and positive, prayers we can contribute may well convince cancer cells to calm a bit.)

Weekly Tough 10!

Weekly Tough 10 is a segment on this blog that will appear every Friday night ranking 10 tough issues or events or basically, newsworthy stories recapping that coverage week. Alongside WT10 will be a sub segment called Top 10 reasons why... ranking 10 reasons corroborating the issue on the winner of the WT10 segment, actually, we can discuss things on it that may shy away from the WT10.
We'll make sure your Friday's a leisure and for comments, readers may want to present their own WT10 and Top 10 reasons why...

FFUgay

My Tatay

With my new home's (www.poeticlicenserenewed.blogspot.com) construction underway and transitions to a rather abrasive genre and issues, just like the way we introduced this site to everyone, we are bound to bring in some of the contents of the demised blogs we've taken care of for the past years. As an integral part of my approach to life structured under the melodramatic irony of things, jumping into another site is never an attempt to move on, hehe. But as the cliche kills us for the nth time, "moving experiences" are bound to make the grade...

My Tatay

January 15, 2008—it was the date of all dates that should've taken place the moment these pair of eyes saw daylight…

I have been living by and by at the confines of what I and my surrounding molded upon me and after all of these 26 years of struggle and otherwise, I have been feeling great knowing the direction I'm taking has been smoothen and broaden by those experiences. I should no longer elaborate on life's ups and downs since its constancy is no longer news to everyone—as every breathing organism get along with it very well. And through these theses of living holding true no matter what, question is who befits who and who completes who comes in the hanging conclusion of everything.

What came as of late on that fated day completes the missing link of my whole being, the unknown quantity of the equation that solves my whole being.

I grew up fatherless. No, my father didn't die nor lost in oblivion but for sure you've heard of these things. I am pretty much an emotional person but this fact was the kind of thing I never put too much weight with. It's not my concern at all, but deep inside I knew there's something missing within me. That situation caused me aplenty of explanation to the world—which, based on my character, I never did.

Fact is I never reeled from believing I would someday meet my real father. And as it seems that every element surrounding me gives motivation to wait, if not pursue, I trusted these instincts of mine to connive with hope. Though my mom and I never ever discussed about it all this time until recently that she concerned meeting my origin, I knew she wondered about the feeling I must have growing up with no one to look up to. I can understand her, perhaps on my side I wouldn't want to inflict any of that pain on her, assuming there is, to inquire about him. My mom now is in Canada so she sent an SMS saying,"Hi Mac, are you interested to know or meet your real father? I know you're matured enough to understand." It never occurred on me such a chance but I didn't answer back. I'm mulling over that this set up could get me nothing but false hope. And then she called me to inform that she actually contacted my real father and told that he just recuperated from a stroke—which nearly paralyzed him and taken away half of what he is. She gave me contact numbers of my siblings and relatives on my father side which apparently my mom got as well upon contacting them and the rendezvous is to be slated.

Then from there on things get to start sending shiver to my bones. I'm being taken back to my childhood days on my place in Pangasinan as someone that had been taken special care of sufficing the absence of my biological father. Been ridiculed as well, kids my age bully their way toward me 'cause they believe I'm helpless and no one can defend for me.

My father does live on the mountainous region of cordillera, in the province of Kalinga and that is to say I have an Igorot blood. Just before Kuya Herbert (my older brother on the fatherside) and I met, I told him thru SMS that I am in Baguio City few months ago and told my girlfriend that's with me by that time that I'm having such feeling that it would be sooner that I'll meet my father. My brother told me, "you've got those feelings maybe because you belong here in the cordillera region. You're an Igorot. Igorot means people of the mountain."

It never failed to amuse me that I was even part of a bloodline from a minority origin. Though, I must say, the closest association of moi to a higher place was being an activist way back college and before dreamt of trudging the struggle of the mountains (I will no longer elaborate on this point). It's funny I'm beginning to dress myself on my thoughts with those bahag and everything, dancing my way to some rituals I can only see on movies or documentaries relating stories of the minorities.

When it was time to see my father, it was hard to absorb everything. Both of us went awkward as we didn't know if we have to hug or just simply shook our hands (the latter that we did as we never knew what to really do by then). I was just stealing glances off him, trying to figure out how I was able to be created by this man, just like me, even the air he breathes was full of intrigues of the past. We just had a simple question and answer thing but my heart longed to embrace him, probably tell him I survived everything without him. All this time, I longed for those times I should've had him on my side braving my storms, but never was I resentful he never had the chance to saw those phase of my life. I never harbored indignant thoughts blaming him for whatever that happened to me, after all, who am I now would only translate to be part of his glory—with or without his presence.

My siblings accepted me wholeheartedly and it was an addition to an already heavy cast of characters in my life. They all have their stories to tell, moments to wonder what could've been growing up together as brothers and sisters known to one another. We are all starting all over, as if, like a clichéd telenovelas, this one deserves a second book—another set of characters to deliver their lines.

Reunion that would mean to me...

The Eheads Reunion Concert (That fever which hasn't died down yet) for all the stir it caused and inspiration it meted out had all, even at this prime time of their lives, branding the fab four as the greatest band ever in the local shores. It's been going almost three months since the momentous event that forever changed the landscape of what one true concert is, but the impact of 083008 on the consciousness of my generation will of course, be remembered until another bold individual or group for that matter inherits another firm guts to brave against the existing order of manufactured entertainment. Things will never be the same till then...(to be continued)

What was the worst thing you were called?

In an imperfect world comprised of 99.99 percent people that see first other's imperfection and .01 percent people who are blind and doesn't seem to appreciate physical imperfection, we all grew accustomed with the variety of ways we had been name called, and for some reason it even induced our own thinking how creative those "pang aasar" was to the point we even laughed out loud to our own imperfections. It's nasty to hear those, especially if you're the type that seems not good at handling it and it easily get your goat that you go nuts and probably go berserk on mauling that bastard that's taking notice of those imperfections, hehe!

I myself went onto that stage where I've been a constant target of those, growing up I've always been that gangling monkey and t'was my staple thing to be called, payat, bangkay, and kalansay and basically everything/ anything that resembles boney creature (even for such a dish like bulalo, darn!). But I've always won the battle of irate-loser (transliterate:pikon-talo) simply because I've learned, even as a kid, to think quickly on a retort which somehow made those things a lot of fun. They'll go like, "Buto, kalansay tabi tabi po sa bangkay!" then I'll fire back with, "Leche, magtigil, 'kaw, kakasama mo sa tao akala mo tao ka na rin!"

For sure (check my stats), we've all been called and took heed of our own imperfections but what such thing could learn you is how to rise on those occassions. While it's funny that we test characters through those shallow ways but it made sense to me. it did in a way that you learn to accept your shortcomings, and not being oblivious about it. Because when you do, that;s the time you'll start giving weight to the pressure of our very own imperfections.

Devirginized!

When was the last time we thought of venturing on things which to be considered a "first time"? On such point we are anxious and wobbly about the rising excitement as such we forget to let things happen naturally- and more often than not, screw things up because we're overpowered by the anxiety of being on that "first time" scenario, "Sweety, that ain't my hole. That's my groin, you bastard!"

As this blog can never be considered as first time, nor a "pa try lang" attempt just for the heck of creating a blog (Cool daw kasi pag may blog, it's the "in" thingy in the webby), but sure it does have it's own firsts and fits as well with all the things that go along with firsts. I'm not going to tell what are those and those will just surmise as our accountings progress. For some who may have read items on my two previous blogs (Well, the very reason I'm abandoning those is because I wanted to start fresh, here another first) which might appear on this blog, pardon me for being too nostalgic of the past that I haven't moved on yet but really some of those I think could still hold true during this time and my age.

So just like a cab driver who went on hiatus and just got his license renewed, I hope to start a journey, now with a new blog aptly named "Poetic License Renewed! (Kailangan merong exclamation point) where I could bring you all to my journey without the hassle of nonchalantly glancing at the cab's meter which mysteriously adds up with every bump on the road.

So, without further due, let me take you there in a joyride of cockiness, pure wiseass nonsense which we'll try to make a sense out of, and of course, with the perpetual topics that fully defined Francis Ugay- Love and Politics!

Happy Trip!