I’m translating an essay into Filipino in my head.
Damn if it isn’t turning into something really hilarious. The tone of the essay is an image of woman pulling her hair in exasperation and cracking jokes while at it. Woman is laughing like a baying hyena gone crazy. Background Music: Ang Bandang Shirley’s “Bato” & Bagetsofonik’s “Fallin’ Callin’ (Worlds Apart Mix)”.
Selena cried because of what I wrote.
Selena said, “I just finished reading it. I had to stop and cry. Thank you. It was nice to know what the Phil Army thought, that they’re not robots.”
I replied, “Thank you so much for letting me write it...I was afraid that I won’t write it right...I love you Selena. Thanks for being my friend.”
Selena replied, “I love you too Mia.:) Thank you for being mine. Thanks for putting difficult things into words. The world needs you.”
I finally could because Dad is retired and abroad... and imagine the shit I can now do because Ma’s abroad too.
Last night:
I said, “Aww shit. I goddamn made Selena cry. Goddammit.”
Joey said, “No beh, I think it was a good kind of cry.”
I said, “Still...I made her goddamn cry. I need a drink.”
Joey said, “All right, let’s go.”
A text message, dressing:
“Curious, have you been reading my blog?”
No? Hay salamat...Oh shit.
“Don’t worry about it, was just curious. I’ll switch to my private number later to text you. Getting ready now to go out. Get a drink.”
Drink: one doesn’t feel anything when you just about stripped for everyone, knowing who will see you strip.
During the drive, breaking:
What does “the world needs you” mean?
I say to Joey, “That hurt, writing that. The past three entries hurt...”
Joey tells me, “You know, it was only until I read your entry today that I realized the difference between a Speaker for the Dead and a Priest.”
Joey thinks I’m a Speaker for the Dead.
I think about it.
I say, “Let’s fix something tonight. Something, at least, should be fixed tonight.”
A reply to stripping:
“Hey teach. How are you? Feeling better, I hope. I think writing those last few entries and then posting them in your blog was a really brave thing to do. And probably hurt you a lot too...”
Brave = hurt = stupid = drink
Text message to Elena:
Drinking now. Selena cried coz of my latest post. I hate making someone cry. Also patching things up with...
booze... negotiating a truce:
1. “Just because I wasn’t there or I haven’t been there for you that doesn’t mean that I am no longer your friend.”
I said, “Then you and I have different definitions of friends and friendship. Let’s define our parameters so that I know what I can or cannot expect from you. As a friend I am always there for you and my friends and I make it a point not to intrude on your lives. When I do ask you ‘You have time?’ or ‘Want a drink?’ that means that I need you.”
“Maybe I need that spelled out for me.”
I said, “Next time I’ll say I need you.”
2. “As a friend, I am there when the shit hits the fan.”
I said, “That’s the problem. As a friend, you weren’t there when my shit had hit the fan. The first time was obvious enough. The second time I was asking to see you but then you have other things to do. When did I really ever ask you to come during my emergencies?”
“Last year. I was at that family party then I left because you said you needed me.”
I said, “That wasn’t my emergency. I didn’t need you. She needed you.”
3. “I say hi naman ah.”
I said, “We have a communication problem. Hi isn’t How are you. Really, what am I supposed to say? Hi also? So why else reply or talk di ba?”
4. Joey and I said, “Dude, sometimes you also need to be the one to ask. We keep on asking you to come out and go out. And when the reply is usually I can’t or Next time, then people really would stop asking you. Di ba? Parang si ganito yayain natin, baka kailangan na nun lumabas at magsalita. Ay wag na kasi di naman yan pupunta eh. Naku, nangyari na sa amin and friends several times before. Don’t want to go through that again naman. Traumatizing eh. Di naman sinasabing dapat pumunta ka every time yayain ka. Di ka naman yinayaya araw-araw ah.”
5. I said, “Convenience mo eh. Like the last time na tumawag ka. Months ago pa.”
“I said nga that you weren’t picking up my call because you were probably writing.”
I said, “Oo, pero tsong tinitingnan ko yun telepono habang tumatawag ka. Pasensya na dun pero iniisip ko at that time Oh, bat tumatawag to? Siguro dahil libre, bored, may problema or in the neighbourhood. And what? You were free and in the neighbourhood nga. And by that time your shit-list in my head was really just getting longer.”
6. I said, “Pare, bat di mo pa pinapakilala girlfriend mo sa kin? Sino bang kinakahiya mo? Ako o siya?! Alam ko maldita ako pero tang ina di ako nangbabastos ng girlfriends ng boys ko. Eh girlfriends niyo eh so mahal niyo so dapat mahalin ko rin. So what’s the problem?”
We laughed.
7. I said, “At saka tang ina tsong. Lahat ng close friends ko ihinarap ko sa pamilya ko. Ganun ko kayo kamahal na ihinaharap ko kayo sa pamilya ko. Di naman basta ako nagpapakilala ng mga tao sa kanila eh. Minahal rin kayo. Puede kayong labas pasok kung saan mang bahay namin (kahit ano pang hitsura niyo). Putragis sawa na kong pagtakpan kayo pag tinatanong ako Asan si ganito? Kumusta na yun? Malay ko di ba kasi mga di na nga tayo nagkikita and nag-uusap na dahil kayong di mahagilap. Pag sinabi kong nabad-trip ako sa inyo, diyos ko, eh di nasa shit list na rin kayo ng mga yun and I will get shit for being friends with you.”
And Ma blinked and made the sign of the cross secretly when she saw Aoux and his tattoos in one of my birthday dinners. She whispered, “Mia? Who’s that? Nakakatakot.” I whispered back, “Ma, that’s Aoux. He’s a good friend, professor yan ng Philosophy sa UP.”
And Ate had said when she met Marxist Mario, “My god! Character!” because he does end his sentences with ‘Yabadoowap’ and uses ‘I’ll smash you!’ in between sentences.
And Gnomie had said in reference to Ayn, “Ay, naku, yan si Mia and Ayn, joined at the hip.” Then later, she laughingly teased when I introduced Ayn to my baby sister, “Nagsapakan ba siya tapos si Yan-Yan?”
And Yan-Yan had once asked, “Mas mahal mo na si Ayn kaysa sa kin?” I had laughingly replied, “Oo, kasi pag sinabi kong matulog na siya, ipinipikit na niya mga mata niya.”
And Dad had warily asked me when he saw Collins in one of my birthday parties, “Ano yan? Bakla?” I laughed, “Bakla Dad pero babae sa loob.” Dad shook his head and laughed, “Kudutun ko pikoy kiton.” Collins laughingly asked, “Ano raw sabi ni Tito?” I laughed, “Kurutin niya raw bird mo.” Collins laughed to Dad, “Ay Tito! Huwag po!”
8. “Musta si Ate?”
I said, “Ayun, nagbirthday nun isang araw.”
Hurriedly gets his phone to send Ate a belated birthday message.
Joey laughed, “Yari ka.”
“Uy di ah. Nagreply oh. Thanks and regards daw.”
9. “Are we friends?”
I said, as I hugged him, “Yeah, we’re friends.”
We laughed.
Booze is good for truce.
Laugh, poor because of text messages:
Just had a fantastic time reading your blog. First, I’m glad your latest entry has you in a better place than the other one. Second, I never knew I was in Logovore, so I looked for Joey’s entry on it. He said it was based on a girl who “sounded like an Amgirl but talked like a palengkera.” Wahahahahaha! AHLAVET! Tell Joey I love him for not saying “maton” instead. Hay. Teachers are so nouveau bagong bayani, man. God, I miss you.
And when I am asked how we became friends, I laugh, “We had the same ex-boyfriend.”
Nice:
I barely look at my phone. After all, I’ve been getting crazy messages in my public number through the years, psycho babble against me and some in relation to the people with me. Nowadays there are just too many.
I don’t tell people about these messages.
I say “Here we go again” as an unknown number would appear. In my phonebook, there’s Pyscho 1, 2, 3... Then there’s so-and-so’s pyscho 1, 2, 3...
I always think: Wag ko na sabihin. Baka ma-stress lang. Mga pagod. Tawa and delete na lang.
NOT NICE, a text message:
Mr.___, can you please tell whoever you’re flirting or diddling at the moment (or god knows when) to stop bugging me through text messages about you (or ******) because I’ve just had enough of her OR your bullshit. She can have, love& fuck you for all I care. (I don’t bug your life or schedule with my shit, please be considerate.) And no, I can’t give you the number because I erased the stupid messages, not wanting those in my inbox. If you say “what the fuck?!”, you’re not alone in that. Thank you.
I slept to that and woke up a porcupine, reading a message:
Hola Mia! Buenos dias! Today, I celebrate with you heart’s courtesy: “Courtesy...It is [how best to phrase it?]a natural ease, a politeness of the heart, the kind of step backward the God of the cabalists once took, so that the universe of the other can exist.” Stephen Mitchell, Parables& Portraits.
I replied, “Good morning. I just woke. Read your mgs...Am I being reprimanded for something Ma’am?”
Then awake, I send a text message again, “Sorry ** **** for the previous msg. I’ve been off recently when it comes to reading SMS. Been getting a lot of stalker-texts&then some other stuff.”
She replied, “Just a reminder of the gentleness of the gods.”
I replied, “Thank you. Again, I apologize. I’ll think about the reminder...Thank you.”
She replied, “No problem, Mia.”
Well, received at 6:00 am:
Morning...With all due respect...I’m not flirting and diddling with anybody. *******. I’m not even texting anybody. I have no idea who you are talking about. Favor...Go to the log menu (tools-> log) press right on the joystick...Look for the items with the sms tag with a green arrow. Options and then view details. I have no idea who this stupid bitch is...and yeah... “what the fuck”
I laughed, admiring the technical writing for techno-idiots like me, and replied, “Just woke, read your replies...I’ll take care of this then. Thanks.”
Took care:
I sent another message, “I just told the moron/stupid bitch/whoever that is that you&I both don’t know to bug and bugger you instead of me. [After all, you’re the one that fucking idiot’s hankering for.]*********************************************************** This is messing my sched. I refuse to deal with this. Your turn.
I cleared the log.
Icky having those numbers.
Text message from Elena:
Now I know why Selena cried. I’m glad you’re back in the playground--- let’s play indeed. ü
Hey, play:
Hey. I heard that there’s this wonderful thing called alcohol...supposedly it makes you feel good and dance better. We should try some of this stuff together at my despedida tomorrow night...
I laughed my reply, “Heard the same thing too. Dance with me tomorrow baby!”
And God said, “I have come out to play.”
Fuck.
Oh well.
Well, I don’t know if I want to play with you.
Same rules?
21 moves.
I am writing an ending to 692 pages to make it 696 in my head.
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