The decisions of our ancestors made way for our present predicaments.

My grandmother had probably voted for Marcos. My mother could have voted for Cory. My father voted for Erap. My mother voted for Gloria. My father voted for FPJ. My mother voted for Noynoy.

Who pays the price? A part by us, the rest by our children.

For that, I often criticize my mother. And by criticize I do not mean hate; I do not totally blame her though, for it is not her decision alone. It is the decision of the majority. The practical democracy is not about what is right but what is popular.

So in case you stumble upon this dark spot of the cyberspace, the post is not about a quarrel between a so-so son and his mother.


late at night if you drive south, passing muntinlupa through the national highway, you will be bothered by signs. yes, SIGNS. they say, "Keep Right, Men At Work" and then you take the right most lane and speed up. traffic builds up and and you say "what the fuck," brake hard and see vehicles in front flash their left-turn signal lights. you get a good view of another sign as the vehicles yield, "Keep Left, Men at Work." and then you realize that your mayor wants the road decorated with light reflecting paint.

and you think: this must be from a portion of my tax again (your district representative already took his) because the entirety of it is a SIGN. and you expect to see another one again: "Keep Right, Men at Work."

and when you're home your mother who is a city paid teacher tells you, "our health card has ran out of funds..."

"again." you say. and you tell her, "did you see the road, your mayor wants it painted bright." trying to imply that there is a SIGN.

and then you go somewhere the next day and get back home again. this time your mother asks, "can i borrow a hundred?" she sees your face animated. "i need to get a Class B tax payer certificate. it's confirmed, our contract is through by the end of March. i'm applying for a call center job."

exasperated, you slap your forehead and rub your face with your hand as if to be erased from this world is all that you desire.

then you tell your mother, "you voted for him. now look, your master betrayed you." in filipino: "eh ibinoto mo eh. yan, tingnan mo, TRINAYDOR KA NG AMO MO."

and with all your hatred you continue, "that is why we're like this, you voted for that mayor, you even voted for the president."

and your mother justifies, "it's just like i gambled. and i lost."

you say, "you gambled, putting the future of your children at stake." and after that you cannot speak anymore. you begin to think about the signs again. you cannot make any sense of it, everything just gets absurd. you get the one hundred peso bill from your half empty wallet, telling yourself that you are in deep shit.

back in december, on my way home when I was traversing the East Service Road from Sucat to Alabang, a jeepney suddenly turned left entering a gas station, without warning or clue.

i pushed my left handlebar to swerve away from the jeep, trying to avoid collision. the skill saved me. i needed to reduce speed to properly maneuver and return to my lane so i slowly squeezed the brake lever. surprisingly, my front wheel suddenly lost traction. then i kissed the concrete in the most torrid fashion i ever knew.

the next events should be posted in a different story.

now we have been talking about this matter for a while and came up with a handful of thoughts, in a very general way. a handful indeed, that this post cannot deal with it all at once. so i will speak about what i can remember clearly.

if you ride or drive, or you acquired a license in a legal way, you should know at least that vehicles with defective lights are not allowed to travel. you should also know that you should reveal your intentions other motorists; thus our vehicles have fog lights, brake lights, hazard lights and turn signal lights. we should use them accordingly.

apparently, most of the things that we see on the roads are hazards, the very antonym of our idea about road safety. this paradox is embodied by that jeepney.

me and sweety, embarked on a jeep (my motorcycle was damaged so i was back to being a normal commuter) talking about the accident and why accidents happen

me: ilegal nga yang jeep, dapat jan hinuhuli (the jeep runs illegally, the driver should be apprehended).
sweety: pano mahuhuli? e wala naman nagsusumbong... (how, nobody gives a damn squealing about them?)
me: ah alam ko na. walang nahuhuli kasi walang nanghuhuli, kasi walang nagsusumbong. walang nagsusumbong kasi wala namang umaaksyon. (i think i know now. nobody gets apprehended because nobody apprehends. nobody apprehends because nobody gives a damn. nobody gives a damn because at the end of it all, nobody acts a damn).

we finished the small talk shortly after my last phrases; we were not making any sense anymore. for the same reason i should stop right here. i could believe that small talks tell a lot.

i miss rocking

there is a trail outside the confines of this company that leads to a little world where i truly live. there is hope and there is love. but reality snatches it from me at this very moment. i so long for it.

very soon i will go out and return to it. there where the work is worthy of my strength and my intelligence is constantly challenged. it can be your world too if you choose. it's not hard to live there at all. it's fun, actually.

when i do i will play until the tips of my fingers numb. my feet should ache for standing too long. my shoulders should feel tense for having the guitar strapped for hours. there should be ringing in my ears. my brain by then will release endorphins - as science call.

i say it's euphoria.

so please bear with me a little longer. i will play for you again.

soon.





photo by Julian