Toots his horn:

"Sometimes funny, sometimes dreadful, but at least
it's well-written all the time."
--Philippine Web Awards Fortnightly, April 20, 2005.

30.1.05

Our Time in Eden: Indulging in Reworked Memories of Friends from College

(2:38 AM)

The small crowd parted to reveal familiar faces I haven't seen in years.

I was attending a launch for a new comic book title, Jam, from Mango Comics, owned by a good buddy. A couple of writers and an artist were old friends from college. A few of the guests and one very special guest were also from college.

Let me introduce them: M, J, X, K, L, K.

M. An artist, now a comic book artist as well. When we were in college, she gave me an unexpected gift: a watercolor painting of me, on the beach with my dog. I had my ponytail, my favorite shirt, and a dog I never had. The most valuable art for me is the one made by someone I know. I haven't seen her since 1993, when I left college.

J. A poet. I have a photocopy of her first award-winning poem, the one about Rizal--handwritten, direct from her writing journal. She will be happily married this April. I last saw her in 1998, when she was still worried about dating.

X. Another artist, but he now calls himself, "a consultant". We launched a website together back in 1996, without ever meeting until months after. I probably saw him last in 1998 during a editorial meeting for a now-defunct literary journal.

K. A writer, now living her dream as Editor-in-Chief of a music magazine. I still listen to the tape she gave me, a copy of 10,000 Maniac's Our Time in Eden. I last saw her in the launch of Darna, also from Mango Comics.

L. A poet, but it's a big secret. In college, when her poem got published, I made her sign my copy. She wrote: "You're weird." I bump into her once in a while.

K. An artist and poet. A rare combination. Now a comic book publisher. He was best man in my wedding. I don't see him enough.

You know who you are. (Consider that a blessing.)

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19.1.05

Midnight Bus: Epilogue and Introduction

(4:57 PM)

I found the reboot button. This blog looks the same but it is not same.

Years ago, when I began my life after college, I found a new form of therapy, only for a couple of hundred bucks. I would take the Dagupan Bus from Cubao at midnight and head off to Baguio City.

By morning, as stores open, I would be walking on Session Road, finding my way to the Baguio Cathedral to perform my secret Roman Catholic rituals. Afterwards, I hunt for breakfast.

With all the preliminaries done, I would have before me, one entire, beautiful day, all to myself, no pressures, no errands, no familiar faces. Just me and my beloved Baguio.

I would walk all over and around the city.

When I was by myself, it was the Baguio that I was intimate with. A personality that no one else knew, that she hid when I was with people.

What exactly happens?

At that moment you step out onto the sidewalk, Baguio holds your hand and guides you around. She tells you stories with the panorama and music of the city's daily life. She hugs with you with her cool holiday wind, kisses you with her September rain, and pokes you with her mountain sunlight. Without you knowing, it happens.

The world stops for you.

Morning becomes afternoon, and your feet are tired. Deep inside you will be exhilarated. Your mind is clear and you feel you will be ready soon, to go back to the speeding, spinning world.

By evening, I would be booking my trip home, again on the midnight bus. During those days, Mario's was perfect for dinner, fine dining on Session Road. At around eight or nine o'clock, after dinner, as I burp from my mushroom soup, I start saying my good-bye's and thank-you's, and wait it out in the bus station.

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