P A N D E M I C

            Let my start by saying an apology because I am running and going back in this blog only when I am distressed which explains my current situation. Like your BFF with too many social life, I know I will be leaving this blog again when the swirls of busy life and adulthood attacks me again. I may not be touching this blog again when I will be truly happy. 

            Let's start with this pandemic that forces us to stay at home. Living in a rented house for 24 years, I realized that 6 people in a small square lot is starting to be not enough for the family. I tried to get away, but my parents, particularly my mother, wouldn't let me have my own apartment and finds a LOT of ways to keep me pinned in their home. Losing your sense of autonomy at age 24 is possible in Filipino households.

           It is disappointing that my parents both live in a constant state of denial that we are fine. Imagine living with somebody with a delusion that we have enough when in reality I am supporting the family's needs ever since I am in college. YES, I pay my tuition and support myself when I was young. I am starting to believe I am a "black sheep", but then I remember how much pain I have gotten because I am shouldering responsibilities I shouldn't have when I was a teenager.

            I have been borrowing spaces ever since the pandemic started. We tried an kinder room that no one uses for the past months. Right now, I am in the front porch of somebody's house. It is indeed embarrassing to borrow a little space for somebody else just to keep my job afloat, but I have no choice. 

            My boyfriend and I are having a good relationship, I swear. We keep each other's backs, and we constantly talk via video calls or seeing each other personally (with face masks, of course). He is the only thing that keeps me calm; otherwise if I am single I will be wallowing in my own emotions and probably just going to cry in the corner.

            The only thing that keeps me emotionally stable, my mom hates. He dislikes my boyfriend, despite him bringing some small gifts or food everytime he visits. She eats his gifts, but dislikes him at the same time. I am horrified at my mother's behavior a lot of times, but what I cannot tolerate is being an ingrate. No thank yous. No pat on the back. Just vile comments like, "why don't you find someone else" and other spiteful comments that my boyfriend didn't know until recently. 

           My life is falling apart and I am abhorred by my lack of sense of autonomy. I am starting to build a life long grudge with my parents, that I know even time won't heal. 

BOOK REVIEW: The Devil and His Boy by Anthony Horowitz

History has turned into something amusing, finally!

Situated in 16^th century Tudor, London, this story is about a boy named Tom Falconer who grew in an inn in Framlingham. He claims to be an orphan, only living as a servant. Yet, as the story advances, it revealed that he is Queen Elizabeth’s grandchild to Thomas Seymour, his Protector (or knight).

Thrilling and fast-paced, it became a ticking-clock scenario: while being hunted by Ratsey, he has to race against time to save the Queen from an assassination plot.

C.S. Lewis wrote, “A children’s story that can only be enjoyed by children is not a good children’s story in the slightest”. I know it rings true because I am still enthralled to flip it every time—and I am 23 years old! The Devil and his boy is an amusing read across all ages because the vocabulary is so simplistic yet profound.

If it were like a graphic novel, it will be Oliver Twist that portrays the slum Victorian era: desecrate yet equally poetic and worth reading.

Horowitz’ characters in the story are also well-researched because they had existed in real life—Shakespeare, Moll Cutpurse, John Dee, and others. The author is talented in storytelling by making the lives of these people more colourful and interesting.

Considering this is a children’s book, just like John Green’s Looking for Alaska, it can be a home reading assignment (god I miss those days in the early 2000’s!) and/or as a book club discussion. It is a good two-hour read short novel for thrill-seekers.

POEM: Wine, Women and Song

I wrote this sometime in January 2015 for some jerk I needed to forget. Even typing this, I’m still cringing at the thought of falling for him, but I admire my utmost honesty to make an art so truthful—besides, at some point, the tragedy made me wiser that I know how they play the game. Four years later, this 2019, I have matured enough (or recoil in fear?) to make me doubtful of men’s intentions. Because, duh, chivalry is just a curtain of deception.

-------0o0o0-------

Wine, Women and Song

By: Danica Ann Niegas

To the man who wants to get away but never does.

It is the stares and gaze

With your demeanor you can amaze

With a crooked mind and a big ego

Making your name a sophisticated logo

That people can remember as you walk and go.

Accompanied with reds and blacks,

Enemies accumulated in stacks

I, too, was once a part of that

Pointed looks, words sharp as dart,

Demeaning attitudes and insulting remarks.

Cold air rested in my cheeks

An enemy is not what I seek

Betting my awful manners finally leaked

Fires that caused so much heat

From a spark, a bomb has been lit.

My own pound of flesh

Their tumultuous anger wants to leave me a mesh

Like a hunter found a prey so weak

He approached me and I shivered with fear,

I gasped with his soft eyes as he said, “My intentions are clear.”

Painstakingly waited for my doubts to pass,

Painstakingly waited for my walls to crash

Silly passes, bad quotes and clumsy lines

For years we laugh at our lame rhymes

Painstakingly, he longs to be mine.

But garnering a reputation so bad to hear

A faithless woman I turned out to be

Those silly passes, bad quotes and clumsy lines

He has practiced gazillion times

Unmasking a charming face, a monster I find.

Waiting for the proper timing to find a conversation

Revelations I cannot shun no longer

I watch him desperately pick the clutter

Seeing his hands bleed for the glass we shattered,

But for me, his poetry doesn’t matter anymore.

------

POEM: BLOCK

Sanay akong mapag-isa, aking mahal.

Hinubog ng panahon, pinatibay ng mundo

Tatahimik, uupo, ngunit ‘di masasakal

Bansot ang lipunan! Heto ako’t nakalundo.

Ako lang ang sariling kakampi—

Walang luha ang sayo’y dadampi.

Kaya ko pa, kaya ko pa, kaya ko pa!

Walang sandaling makikitang nalalampa.

Mahal, wag mong indahin

May pasa, may sugat, kirot sa ‘king dibdib.

Dadaan ang araw; wag mo nang dalhin—

ang sugat ng kahapo’y puspos at tigib.

Lilipas ang araw, lulubog ang buwan

makakalimutan mo rin kung ako’y nasaan.

Walang naging tayo, mahal.

“Umuwi ka nang malaya”, aking usal.

Patuloy akong tatakbo sa karimlan

Na parang wala lang ang tinamong sugat

hanapin mo man ako kung saan

Sorry try again, mahahanap mong sulat.

Butas-butas na istorya, iyong maririnig

Ngunit di mo masasagap aking tinig.

Facebook, Instagram, kahit gaano katagal—

Sanay akong mapag-isa, aking mahal.

05-25-2019

4:46 AM

Opo, it has ABABCCDD rhyme scheme. Masyadong pinaghirapan (kahit pangit haha!) para hindi i-post. Lame, lame poet.

BOOK REVIEW: 56 by Bob Ong

I had a hiatus for the last three, or five months. It's nice to write again. Woooooot! Although of course, my writing. RIGHT. I'm lacking practice these days. If you think this book review is lame, please do tell me. Yikes!

 

Bob Ong's seventh book talks about multitude of subjects about his family, the voices inside his head he called "Pokemons", logical fallacies of internet trolls, social media etiquettes, grueling long queues of government offices, how to be a better reader, being a responsible voter, living alone in a big city, and ultimately... marriage.

As usual, his target audiences are young adults as he addresses "coming-of-age" advices about growing up and learning the cheap tricks of the society.

Once again, he proved to be a trusted writer (and yes, he impresses me a lot) as he had done numerous research to come up with the conclusion that he wants to get across. We don't know his true identity—he has been very secretive about it—but he finally solidified his mark in the literature by his no nonsense opinions, and backing it up with his well-researched and reliable information. Away from the usual light subjects like ABNKKBSNPL Ako, Ong shifted into more socially relevant topics to make the next generation turn their focus away from themselves to outward events that makes them functional and responsible adults.

 

Pandayan bookshop told me that his works are under Malikhaing Sanaysay or Creative Essays (or Creative Non-fiction?) genre, so it never has a definitive plot and characters to begin with. Yet, this documentary is a detailed with enumerations and knock-out jokes that I can’t help but wonder how much time he has with his hands. He has read a multitude of topics to create something substantial and yet so close to the masses.

The tone of the voice is very conversationalist yet professional. There are even moments that I am reading this on the bus. Additionally, the erotic pages are humorous (because really, the sexual metaphors are so off-key and... eww) to re-catch the attention of these "semi-children" when the topic gets boring/serious. I must admit, his storytelling was very light, as he chooses a simple set of vocabularies, so I never see it as anything boring. However, if the reader is far younger, a little less ready, or a little more teen, these pages are awkward yet effective mood-shifters.

Last year, I finally had the time to read Mga Kaibigan ni Mama Susan and mentioned in my book review that it lacks unity to build up the tension of the cliffhanger. In his latest book, he finally addresses it, on chapter 55, and I quote: "Mas mabuti na ang librong maraming sinasabi kumpara sa librong walang sinasabi" . At some point, he has silenced my doubts if he can really write a cohesive manifesto with only a single topic. What I realized is, I don't really have to tell him what to do with his writing style. I just have to understand what makes Bob Ong a writer, and accept his writing style the way other writers respect each other.

Blah, blah, blah, gibberish. I'm sleepy.

*** I am planning to write a book review about The Handmaid's Tale, or anything classic, but I feel I don't deserve to write a review about it. The book might get butchered in my undeserving hands. Hehe. Haha.

Orgy Parties and Semi-Pornhub Wet Dreams

Out of anger, I want to search the world to lose myself with different men on each different night, with varying touches and shapes and sizes, so as to avenge myself and get even—somehow, anyhow.

I mean, of all men's manipulative tactics, irrational fucking, and polygamy, why can't women do it too?

I need to ignore their social standards.

They will call me horrible names, throw me rumors, and probably lose friends along the way—but that's nothing compared to the cause I want to push for my personal hostility.

I am the war—and I'm waging against myself.

Monstrous as they would call me, I will silence my guilt as I scream and moan against the weight of another man, writhing in pleasure as we bounce in the mattress in rhythmic thrust.

I want to fuck thousands of men, and be called a "playgirl" like it's a special badge of honor. Proudly, I will carry the scarlet letter as a reminder of endless barbarism, hunting spree, flirting, dodging, touching, and squeezing. Let my existence be a reminder of madness and courage who rips away the stereotypes of innocent womanhood, who treats a man's penis like God; while I am an atheist.

Welcome to the meat market, Danica.

I don't even know somebody's reading my work

HISTORY OF THE BLOG

Two years ago, I had a mental breakdown that of course, my parents doesn't know (but I reckon they felt it) because it's not my thing to be communicative nor say what I feel. In either way, nobody will ever care. I grew up with apathetic parents.

HOW IT ALL GOES DOWN

So I had a second Facebook account that does nothing but to talk of my poetic angst. Looking back, it sounds like a middle-schooler's diary—but I never wouldn't mind. I just know that I need to let it out, for I lack a circle who consoles what I feel. I am aware that a twenty-year-old woman is far too early for booze and fuck; though sometimes I am thinking about being a rebel myself (but never had a courage to try).

So what I did was to write, write, write.

WELCOME, LOSERS!

So far, I already have a 1,000 page views this month. ONE. THOUSAND. PAGEVIEWS. Perhaps, I need to be more responsible with my words here. Well, I lack followers and each blog entires have no comments but as a devil-may-care word spitter, I need to be careful in what I utter, which emotion will I let out, or what perspective will I share to common readers. My blog starts to receive (somewhat decent) amount of page views. Congratulations, self!