Electric Itlog

An archive of what was and what will be...

Saturday, June 30, 2007

Por Que?

Te quiero verdad, pero no se si me quieres tambien.

Eres un dios, soy un hombre regular.

Me pregunta unica es, Puedes querer alguien quien no es tan caliente como te?

Porque quiero un japones raro, no lo se de verdad..


Tuesday, June 05, 2007

Revelation 1.0

I guess you all know it by now.

School year 2007-2008 has come. The year I was set to graduate. The year when I march towards the end of my academic life. Unfortunately, some things are always unexpected.

No, I won't be graduating this year. Yes, I will have to endure another year. No, I didn't get debarred. Yes, I will continue my studies. No, I won't be going to school this semester. Yes, I feel so screwed.

Allow me to plunge myself in the illusion that you want to know how all of these things happened...

Milk, Basketball and the Storm

This whole thing started when I decided that I was bored with school. First semester, A.Y 2006-2007: I was constantly late in all my classes; I often didn't attend the boring ones. And I was pre-occupied with the things I'd rather do.

One day, a huge project came to my lap. I was a big break for me and my design career: a contractor asked me to do a project for this multi-national brand involving an interactive CD for kids. I was thrilled. For the first time in my life, I had gotten a six-digit deal. I thought everything was going to be great.

But I failed everything. I had no sleep. I had little time for anything else. And most of all, my academics were suffering.

And that isn't all. I caught school-spirit fever. I watched every basketball game I could. I was in Araneta instead of somewhere else. I thought that I should be there--not anywhere else.

So when the storm came and blew away my entire life, I was left alone. I didn't know what to do. I was shocked. I was devastated. I was thrown to the deepest bowels of my sanity.

Most of you never knew, and will never know, how awful I felt during those days. I never told anyone; I never wanted pity. And I know you all hated me.

And so one thing led to the other, one failure brought forth the next. My academics slowly dwindled into nothingness. I knew that this would happen, I always had. But the truth is, I never told anyone.


To most of you, my decision to not enroll for this semester seems to be too naive. Of course, I never expected everyone to understand my decisions.

Trust me, I have thought of this matter over and over, and the only logical answer I get, aside from the fleeting ideas of my suicide, is to take a breather. And this is exactly what this is. A time for me to breathe.

My decision to not to come to school this semester is not an escape from the problem of my academics. Although I now regard my choice of journalism as a huge lack of foresight, I am wise enough to know that I have invested so much. And I do not plan to waste this investment.

To be honest, I am not really into the my own plans of going back to UST next semester. But then again, things are always unexpected.


Monday, June 04, 2007


Perhaps everything is black and white...

I have not asked anything from you, other to accept my singular beam--a ray of emotion that has scattered for so long. I never asked for anything more. Not a kiss, not word. Not even a response.

Scientists say that color is produced when white light is shattered. What is absorbed is not seen. What bounces back shines brightly. What we behold is that which is denied.

I guess I shine brightly now.

All I see is gray.


Sunday, June 03, 2007

Lucky Number 20

I turned 20 today.

Last year, as you might recall, a few days before my birthday, I woke up panting and almost crying, sorry for that fact that I was turning 20. But I was wrong back then. I was just turning 19.

Today is different. I am not wrong, nor am I dreaming. I am really 20. No more "teen" in my age. I have officially entered the realm when I am no longer just another kid.

So here's to twenty years:

  • To nightmares of flying monkeys, laughing and chasing me around my bed.
  • To old Lego blocks and old trains, never ceasing and stopping to find the perfect fits and find right tracks.
  • To old schools and old poems, old thoughts and old dreams.
  • To first days of school and first moments of laughter.
  • To coins possessed by spirits and papers imbued with scents.
  • To berries and school-busses.
  • To first communions and first commutes.
  • To saws and hammers; to wood, lead and metal.
  • To doubts of homosexuality and classes filled with anger.
  • To the fortune in our palms.
  • To old friends trapped inside books.
  • To a boy who lived.
  • To the bottom class, top-ones and summer classes.
  • To unsuccessful cheating and successful theft.
  • To storms that bond, breakfast at mcdonalds and parties filled with rum.
  • To stolen dreams and awards, great systems and being a campus figure.
  • To never ending morning prayers, liturgy comments and batch songs.
  • To a boy who made me see Manila in a different light.
  • To a boy who made me see myself in a different light.
  • To failed relationships, successful cheating, and to Jojo and Hilary Duff.
  • To UST.
  • To the best classmates and to the second best.
  • To the UST Coop.
  • To block transfers, lonerism and trusted friends.
  • To Plaza Calderon, to confessions to a boy and to another failed attempt.
  • To storms that break, backstabbers and magazines.
  • To teachers and professors, both good and unwanted.
  • To a family that serves as my organization.
  • To the Rizal Aud, Albertus Magnus and Colayco Park.
  • To plays, productions, OPs, Christmas Parties and Farewells.
  • To the Paskuhan.
  • To all people I have met.
  • To smokers and smoke, Marlboro lights and Cricket lighters and Yosi-Buddies.
  • To Starbucks and Megamall.
  • To basketball players, cheerleaders and bangers.
  • To the lights of Malate and to the bars that never did any good.
  • To the elusive thing called love.
  • To more stolen dreams.
  • To all my friends, who I love dearly.
  • To my family, who I love most dearly.
  • To Tinoco Park, jackets of yellow, loud drums, interviews, text-messages, older-brothers, dinner invitations, campaigns, elections, and to the only guy I have loved, I am loving and I will love like hell.
  • To Shiela--all things given.
  • To God.

Happy Birthday to me.