529

KWENTONG SABON # 001

(o mga kwentong nabuo habang naghuhugas ng pinggan)

 

Pinahid niya ang dugo mula sa kaniyang kanang kilay.

 

Alas singko kwarenta y singko. Bad trip, may lamat na relo ko.

 

Sa ganitong oras ng hapon, kulay orange na lahat ng paligid. Mapa-bubong o bintana o kurtina sa bintana. Kahit na anong kulay ng nakasampay na damit sa bubong sa kabila, orange lahat.

 

Hinga ng malalim.

Isa pa.

Yuko.

Pikit sandali.

Dilat.

Tayo.

Mula sa kinatatayuan niya sa rooftop ay tanaw pa rin niya ung unang gusaling pinanggalingan niya. Rinig ang sirena ng mga mobil.

 

Nanginginig pa rin ang kamay niya.

Mainit pa rin ang baril na hawak niya.

 

Ilan nga ba ang nabaril ko?

Isa.

Dalawa. Tatlo.

Tatlo.

Ganun lang naman talaga sa ganung sitwasyon. Ako o sila ang kakain ng bala.

Oo, kasama na ung pangatlo na nadapa at nabitawan ang baril.

Oo, wala na siyang laban.

Pero kung iiwan ko siya, Pupulutin lang din niya yung baril niya at hahabulin pa rin niya ako. At babarilin.

Wala namang awa yung mga yun. Yung mga tipo nilang kayang magpaputok sa gitna ng palengke, walang awa ang tulad nila.

Tama lang ung ginawa ko.

 

Tumakbo uli siya patawid ng rooftop na kinalalagyan niya. Sa dulo ay may putol na hagdan.

 

Sige kaya yan. Abot naman yata pag may bwelo ung talon ko.

 

Dahan dahan siyang umapak sa putol na hagdang bakal. Dahan dahang bumaba ng dalawang yapak. Bumwelo.

 

Tumalon.

Pumlakda.

 

Masakit.

 

Ang sarap pala ng hangin dito. Mainit pero masarap pa rin.

Ang ganda ng kulay ng langit, orange.

Ang sarap titigan ng langit.

Parang painting…

 

Sinampal niya ang sarili niya.

 

Mag-ayos ka. May apat pang humahabol sa iyo. Wala nang panahon para sa ganyang mga bagay.

 

Pilit niyang nilabanan ang antok at sakit. Pati na yung hindi maipaliwanag na pwersa na humihila sa kaniya para tumunganga na lang.

 

Tayo. Tumayo ka na at tiisin ung sakit ng pagbagsak mo.

Dali.

 

Mula sa lugar niya ay may mga aninong lumitaw. Mga anino ng mga taong nakatayo mula sa kinatatayuan niya bago siya tumalon mula sa mas nakatataas na gusali.

 

Hindi pala apat. Anim. Saan nanggaling yung dalawa?

 

- - -

 

Mula sa kinatatayuan ng ale ay may narinig silang dalawang magkasunod na putok ng baril. Sumunod ang isa pa. Nagtakbuhan ang mga pulis sa direksyon ng mga putok.

 

***

 

May katuloy. Sana.

posted by moonbeam at June 29, 2004 03:04 | link | comments (4)

528

lazy morning # 001

posted by moonbeam at June 27, 2004 03:42 | link | comments (2)

527

perhaps you've already met him

one day i'll drive through the urban streets wearing one of these.  i'll drive through fastfood chains with a stoic face, ordering greasy food and  ocassionally blowing my moustache. come join me.

posted by moonbeam at June 26, 2004 02:07 | link | comments (3)

526

keeping my fingers crossed and hoping that this will be as respectful to the original material just like the LOTR films were...

up until now i find rest and comfort in the character of Aslan. may he not become a mere freaky-giant-talking-CG lion when i meet him inside the theater soon. oh no, not the garfield type please. amen.

posted by moonbeam at June 26, 2004 01:34 | link | comments (1)

525

 

acting. on. my. own. again.

Lord. pull. necessary. strings. assoonaspossible.

posted by moonbeam at June 25, 2004 01:48 | link | comments (2)

524

 

wonderfully blurred landscapes.

 

There are times when all you see in your canvas are blurred semi-abstract shapes. You cannot do anything other than write about these things, without even admitting to anyone that your heart skipped a bit when after waiting for  her for an hour or two you  suddenly and surprisingly find yourself finally staring at her , your right hand trembling as you waved at her.

 

Sometimes, just when you think the paragraphs have ended and the pages have already been turned, you find yourself repeating each and every word, carefully digesting every letter, tasting every line of that poem you so much loved then and so much more now.

 

You just want to write this down. To try your best in molding into words how you really feel.  Still, only wonderfully blurred landscapes come to mind. Like that of staring at a golden field through mist filled eyeglasses.  You just want to wait until the mist dries by itself, and the wonderful landscape to slowly take form right before your eyes. Wiping the mist off your glasses right away would quicken the process, but you might as well ruin it.

 

You just want to write this down. Perhaps some love story is slowly unfolding. Or perhaps you’re just sharpening the knife that you’ll stab yourself with in the future. Perhaps you’ll make a wonderful movie plot out of this in the future, or perhaps you’ll just read this again tomorrow and laugh at yourself.  Perhaps. Anything is possible. Perhaps.

 

But right now, you just write this down. You trace each and every contour you think you are able to see, and you step back, squint a bit and say to yourself that this is perhaps going to be one of the most beautiful images that you’ll ever see.

 

And you hold your breath and you wait.

posted by moonbeam at June 22, 2004 01:05 | link | comments (11)

523

 

Moonbeam leaned on his chair and sighed. 6:15pm. Having spent the whole day working in front of the pc monitor,  he took a break. Come to think of it, since 9:00am he never even stared out the window nor went out. There was only the brief lunch break, and the rest was pure work,work, work.  Now it’s time to take a break.

 

He wondered about the life span of nonlinear video editors as he went to the front porch to stare at his father’s not too crowded aquarium. This has always been his habit.  To relieve eye stress, he thought.

 

There was an occasional warm wind outside.

 

Flap, flap.

 

There was a piece of paper clinging from the gate. Its edges were torn, and no doubt that whoever placed it there was in a hurry, because they were punched right through the gate spikes.

 

Moonbeam cautiously approached the gate.

 

There was something written on the paper, and the handwriting was eerily familiar. But the manner with which it was written was very strange. Dark blots. Crude. But from where he was standing Moonbeam cannot read whatever the torn paper contained.

 

He cautiously leaned on the gate. He carefully reached for the paper,  knowing that further tearing would make the note undecipherable.

 

He read it slowly.

 

Wet paint.

 

============

 

Agh.

posted by moonbeam at June 15, 2004 02:34 | link | comments (8)

522

 

This is it perhaps, the start of that part of my life where I am accountable to someone else. Starting this school year i am supposed to provide for my younger brother’s allowance.  Oh no.

 

I’ve been working  freelance for a year now, once in a while testing the waters, seeing if I’m prepared for the industry vice versa.  and so far my financial obligation to my family is not really that obligatory. When I earn pretty big for this particular project, I give some. When I barely earn, I don’t give and they don’t ask.

 

Yes, yes, perhaps I’m on the better half of fresh grads, having no immediate needs to come by on my own, thereby affording the luxury of  going freelance without really having any contacts to start with, and participating in pro bono productions every now and then.

 

But starting this month, things will have to change.  Even if I stay at home and do nothing,  money inevitably flies away from me. but that’s ok. This is all part of being adult right? Being accountable to someone.

 

Things are looking up for me for the next two months or so.  Projects are set, TF’s will be collected.  But still I cant ignore that voice at the  back of my mind asking me about next next next month, next year, and so on.

 

I’ve experienced it before, the sudden silence. The sudden muted cellphone  and telephone. Suddenly the world doesn’t need the services you offer. Not you as an editor or assistant director. Not even you as a production assistant.  But it was ok then. It means I must tighten my belt again. But this time, if this ever happens, I won’t tighten my belt alone. The people depending on me will be affected too. And I must not let this happen.

 

But I chose this path. Out of all the possible routes I could take to reach my dreams, I chose this.

 

Now this is what it means. Daily bread. Living by faith. Grace for the moment. Now I embrace these phrases in a whole new light.

posted by moonbeam at June 14, 2004 15:18 | link | comments (4)

521 fishing

 

I think our janitor fishy thinks he’s a goldfish.

We have 15 of them golden fishies

Wobbling and gobbling and swaying as they swim

The same goes with this giant janitor fishy

He swims just like the others.

Instead of sticking to one corner

As ordinary janitor fishies do.

 

We have a blind goldfish

We cant remember if we bought him that way

This goldfishy has no eyes at all.

Eye sockets yes but eyes, none.

 

Two of the goldfishies are large already.

Three are very very stout.

The rest of the goldfishies gang were bought at P2 each

They were supposed to be fish feed for larger fishies

But now they’re part of the family.

 

posted by moonbeam at June 14, 2004 14:40 | link | comments (5)

520

 

I am so sick.

Everything I touch is so painfully cold.

I have flu.

And I have a deadline on Thursday.

I have a problem.

 

Lesson 001: never watch TRAINSPOTTING for the first time when you’re sick.

Lesson 002: never watch TRAINSPOTTING for the first time when you’re sick and when you’re with your parents.

 

I am so sick.

Sooo sick.

Pass the  biogesic please. oh, and my ventolin inhaler. ( pffft….hold breath for 10 seconds…exhale) I’m ok now I guess.

posted by moonbeam at June 13, 2004 15:46 | link | comments (3)

519

it's a sad night tonight.

news #1: a middle aged man steals someone's fighting cock. he attempts to escape from the police station. he fails. caught on tape.

news #2:a group of teenagers were caught violating traffic rules. one of them, claiming that he's some politician's nephew, strikes one of the policemen.

staple news items.

but the sad thing is, we see the face of the middle aged man of news #1, while the faces of the teenagers of news #2 are intentionally pixelized.

we see the middle-aged man's shamed face as he lie on the prison floor, kicked around by his new fellow inmates.

we hardly recognize the group of teenagers, waving and taunting at the camera.

there goes the ethics of ABS CBN.

goodness. and they claim to be serving the Filipino people.

calling all friends of moonbeam already inside ABS, do something.

calling moonbeam. do something.

posted by moonbeam at June 06, 2004 05:40 | link | comments (7)

518

 

I

am

nervous.

 

most of the time i’m so scared I might mess things up. I get clumsy . Absent minded. lax. I feel that I am a big joke compared to the 21 turning 22yo moonbeam I ever dreamed of becoming.

 

Most of the time i overestimate bonds with people . I always believe that time wont change the way we talk, the way we laugh at things. I always believe that time wont change them. Or me. But occasionally the cold bucket of water falls on me.

 

Most of the time I fail to remember the Hand that moves all things. And when I do, no matter how I try to squint and squint, I still cant see or even imagine a hand setting things in their proper places. What I embrace is only the faith. The faith of one that once felt the warmth of this Hand. Perhaps this is enough for now, perhaps not.

 

Moonbeam, go lock your door and kneel.

posted by moonbeam at June 02, 2004 03:01 | link | comments (3)

517

 

Perhaps every time we sleep there is this randomly designated position to obtain a hundred percent sleep satisfaction. No matter how  many hours of sleep we have, as long as we’re in that designated position – left hand under the pillow, head turned to the left, right leg on the akap, all of the day’s strength is restored.

 

Because there are those times we spend the whole night on the bed staring at the ceiling. Because there are times when you sleep at 8p and wake up around 8am the next day and you still feel tired. Because there are times when you catch only an hour or two of sleep but you feel soo refreshed afterwards.

 

It’s all a matter of finding the randomly designated sleeping position.

 

Yeah. moonbeam’s  R.D.S.P. theory. That’s just it.

 

A not-so-good alternative thought to prayerless nights.

posted by moonbeam at June 02, 2004 02:42 | link | comments (6)