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 stressed which explains my current situation. Like your BFF with so much 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 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.

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 that can console what I feel. I am aware that a twenty-year-old woman is far too early for doing anything crazy; 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!

"Meh" mood

“The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference.”

― Elie Wiesel

The Tale of the Unknown

I control the information I share on any media. However, I hate those who makes a string of inaccurate stories about me just to fill the gaps they don't understand. They are not supposed to understand.

I'm starting to think everything can backfire on me any minute now. Where's my plan?

We cannot grow if we are not ready to be uncomfortable. Accept the chaos.

At the very least, I should have an idea what I'm doing—but I am running back to what I've started, trying a leap in a fake progress. Wrapping my head around a career building at the expense of crushing other people makes me feel substandard.

I'm human and I have a couple of morals. Please pretend to be surprised.

Paghihintay.

Magkikita rin tayo. Sa pagitan ng mahinhin at malandi, mahalaga at di mahalaga, mini skirts at make up, matataas na gusali at kapitalistang banyaga, kasabay ng lahat ng obligasyon, at ambisyon na mayroon tayong dalawa. Nangangarap kasi tayo--sobrang taas, na hindi ko alam kung may puwang ba talaga ako para sa iyo. Kung naiisip mo pa ba ako, hindi ko alam. Magkikita rin tayo.

Sa ngayon, mangarap ka muna.

BOOK REVIEW: The Subtle Art of Not Giving A F*ck

I think I found the book The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck on instagram, propped up beside a lovely coffee mug with a tear-jerking caption that can make Michelle Obama cry. Somewhere around 2016, this book is a hit because number one: it appears on every book website I visit, and number two: damn, the F word sounds nice. Haha.

This is probably the first book that agrees with my rather careless life decisions. Am I REALLY careless? Are my virtues malleable and therefore easily persuaded? Or maybe something more: that I wouldn’t pay attention on my make-up because I have to update my résumé, or I would deliberately pick ukay-ukay than any high-end clothes shop because I don’t know… its way cheaper?

Then it dawned on me: we all have different filters in making decisions. Mine is self-improvement and happiness—EVERYTHING ELSE DOESN’T MATTER. I have known POVERTY since the day I was born, so I would rather be broke and happy than to be rich and miserable. Fuck it all. Therefore, maybe I was never really reckless jerk at all.

No copyright infringement intended 

Sorry Paris Hilton, I don’t want to be you. Please don’t get offended. I mean, I can’t be you because I can’t stomach the horrors of blind dating and fake flattery. YOU CAN. Who likes to be anybody’s trophy girlfriend? It sucks.

Choices, the value of suffering, and finding your self-identity by NOT giving a fuck at all—these are the things that might get you mind blown within 146 pages. It’s really short, actually, given that I’ve read it on PDF. But it’s worth reading, if you are willing to get your ego crushed so new perspective will blossom.

 I could kiss the author right now. Seriously.

Why am I even there?

This is the part where one faces reality as a cruel trap--on the brink of our collapse. Amidst all distractions and temporary glory, we have to painfully cling to our ideals.

On Mocha Uson

Sabi nila, ang argument ng iba, somebody has to be given a second chance regardless of her past lifestyle, that we are all judgmental jerks and we should give Mocha another shot.

Pero dude, hindi nga sya exotic dancer, naging political prostitute naman sya. Bayaran pa rin. Never had a personal opinion; she will defend the administration whatever the cost of her twisted logic. GANUN PA RIN NAMAN. I have yet to see a Mocha blog entry that despises or criticizes the President. Ang bias diba? Hindi ba sila nagkakasala? Hindi ba nagkakamali ang bansang 'to?

Let’s end this once and for all: her present, actually, has no difference at all. Iba nga lang ng platform.

POEM: The Ladder

My eyes are starting to wander,
let my mind grow asunder!
I wear so much shame in my head.
but gods must've love to see me bled
or, I don't know.
maybe its a responsibility they bestowed.
( must I lay myself upon their Pantheons? )
I don't care anymore,
let thy name lose its reputation,
somebody should stop settling the score.
there's nothing really special up the ladder.


(Danica Ann Niegas)

BOOK REVIEW: Gapo by Lualhati Bautista

Mostly, novels have two possible outcomes: the good, and a tragic. The resolution may disappoint us, making us understand the frailty of human—on the other hand, there are stories that positively sheds a light of hope for the readers. In the end, the “absoluteness” of some conclusions are far more predictable than others.

The book Gapo, by Lualhati Baustista is way beyond that. Talking about the love-hate (and rather exploitative) relationship between Filipinos and Americans, it made me see that having no change is worse than a tragic ending at all.

Gapo by Lualhati Bautista talks about the tale of Magda, a prostitute in Olongapo, and Michael, a half-Filipino whose heart is seething with anger for Yankees. After a series of struggle between those them, and the clashes of their ideals, Magda still tragically becomes pregnant of her “boyfriend”, which later reveals already a married man.

This circular story sinks hopelessness deeper that after reading, you must accept that reality is so much complicated that what it looks like. No force on earth cannot change the way of Olongapo. No wannabe hero must dare to solve the problems of a sick society. The Filipino-American relationship roots deeper than the garbage exports and lustful Yankees being thrown in our land—for it is ingrained in our mindset, that terrible and disgusting colonial mentality.

I also like the commentaries in-between: Bautista talks about unfair quality of export products, how we are so accepting of their substandard products, and how Filipinos can almost die for the elusive American dream. There’s also a lot of subplot that makes the story alive, like Modesto, Jun, and William.

Overall, the only round character capable of shifting viewpoints is Magda. At the end of the novel, upon knowing that she’s been pregnant again by a Yankee, she ended seeing Michael’s viewpoints. She finally understands that illusory fairytale that every prostitute wants are just blinders that makes Americans more exploitative, and Filipinos more abused and beaten. 

People and Choices

“Neither of those men realized your worth,

because you failed to value yourself highly enough.

A man does not know a woman’s value.

She is the one who determines her value.

The higher you price yourself,

the more he will realize what you are really worth…”

( Woman at point Zero, Nawal El Saadwi )

------- 0o0o0o0 ------

When people walks up to you, their first impressions of you will stick in them. Some may be satisfied by what they see, others not. Some lunatics might follow you around, know every corners of you and even chase who you are and why do you act as such. It doesn’t stop. The extent of a man’s determination to know your soul is both pitiful, charming, and impressive—all at the same time.

But there will be a time when you can’t hold the game anymore—that you need to put your foot down so the truth will eventually spit out. It’s not that you’re whining, nor demanding; not even in the slightest hint that you are being cruel. It’s just that in relationships, people must know where they stand. Who you are in their lives. Which parts are real and which are lies.

People without labels are only better off in their separate ways. At least, they can play their dangerous games without hurting each other so much. 

The Blame Game (I have read the first chapter of Dale Carnegie's book)

Insane criminals never blamed themselves for anything. They just believed they are just defending their over inflated egos. They use reasoning, fallacious or logical, to justify their anti social acts: like dehumanizing their "enemies" with vindictiveness and insulting remarks.

They will NEVER understand what you feel; in fact, they will justify it even more. It's like talking to a brick wall.

BOOK REVIEW: Mga Kaibigan ni Mama Susan by Bob Ong

Bob Ong’s comical books has been already know for every Filipinos for years. After his debut work ABNKKBSNPL Ako, most of his works has gained an equal popularity for his comical style and witty lines. This time, his latest book Mga Kaibigan ni Mama Susan ventures a different breed of genre (I wonder what are the things he cannot do more than what he can). Gather your fires and pull up your blankets, because this kind of thriller makes your skin crawl and hairs rise in fear.

This is a series of diary entries of a college student named Gilberto—who has a recurring nightmare of a woman in black. Whenever he dreams of it, he wakes up in the morning panting and drenched in sweat. But alongside that, he has difficulties with his aunts and uncles. He is shouldering the chores all the time. He is the least favorite in the family, and most of his cousins are getting better privileges in the house than him. After finding out his grandmother has grown sickly, he decides to leave the city and look after her in a small province. He founds out that his lola (grandmother) has an almost-religious group “Kapatiran” which the whole province relies on, after banishing a Catholic priest. After a chain of horrendous events, like hearing their religious chanting, and somebody always taking his pen (so he cannot write in his diary), he realized that the Kapatiran was not just a group, nor anything that praises Jesus Christ.

With no electricity, mobile devices, or any help with the adjacent cities, will he able to escape his grandmom’s cult and the “Kapatiran” women?

Even though it is crafted effectively to scare the readers, its whole excitement is crammed at the end of the novel. The exposition is quite long, that isn’t attached to the conclusion. The narration of his school life didn’t rise up to strengthen the ending of his grandmother. I’m aware that it’s supposed to be a student’s diary, but having lots of incoherent angles in one book weakens its fluidity and oneness.

The Latin words gave rise to the climactic cliffhanger. Albeit the slow pace of the book, I like the way it ended.

Well, it works the same way in real life. Sometimes, we cannot control the people we love, and if they morphed to a monster we don’t know they are capable of, the best thing we should do is to simply run away and save ourselves. The guilt of leaving your family is unbearable, especially if you have a family like Gilberto who is guilt tripping you all the time, but there are moments when we have to think for ourselves and start saving our sanity.

After a long ride of eerie and disturbing experiences, this book from Bob Ong will let you have a taste of troubling rituals and terrifying nightmares. Coming from a life of a normal kid, it is enjoyable for it is seething with mystery.

ESSAY: Convincing myself

(Pardon me some few words of unrhymed poetry. This is made as a diary, not a creative assholes used by English majors to intimidate and isolate the general public haha)

Part of me wants to believe that its for the best. I mean hey, I am the first one who told me that I want to love someone who is completely whole, absolute and emotionally secure. As for their case, I know I can never get by to people who can NEVER be satisfied with anything. In the first place, they stole me my intelligence, wit, and personal identity, which can take YEARS to rebuild and recreate--and I must admit, him playing in the dark signifies the dependency of his love. It actually feels safe to live with him, with all that chivalry and sensitivity, but then, is that the price that I must pay for that blissful feeling? A loss of character? A life unworthy to everyone? A running contest living for vindication?

I have fought far too many devils and died a million times in the name of being "worthy". If you will be my another social casualty, then let it be, for the books and ideas and lifestyle I have given to you will always be a part of you. As for my case, I think that is enough; my semi-self in your breathing, pieces of me intact in your choices, my limbs and bones in decision-making, and my heart in every word you say (even with other women).

This is probably the most irrelevant thing that I must say, but your career will take you back to me anyway. In any other way, crossroads will reappear, loopholes will refreshen, but time will only orchestrate the perfect timing of everything. I hope, by then, that your attitude will change, whole altogether, without being overly dependent on one women whom you will circle your world into. God knows that the weight of your world is heavy, TOO HEAVY, for a woman of five mouths to feed, an ideal mind to keep, and a depressing life challenged and always lacking in material wealth. Haven't you realized the stretch of our living? You in a mansion and comfort, while I in a struggling home. I don't even know why you convince yourself that I am a good idea.

God only knows if this must stand against all. Right now, for this matter, with the persons involved circling in this society, with all his friends and enemies, particularly in his state of mind, we both need some peace of mind and thinking lapses for personal bloom.

P.S.,

That simply proves that you don't value yourself, and that you only get validation from other people that can say positive, and most probably lies, things that reflect your worth.

(originally posted on facebook notes, dated March 24, 2016)

POEM: The November Jump

I have already said too much poetry

about you; cries and lies, all your glee;

How am I, in my humblest self,

to call upon your weariness, color your elf.

Ugly and broken, destitute you may appear,

hospital wars, and divorce papers you saw clear

the crib was made of straw

limp and weak you have grown

sour milk you have drawn

shouts you heard, your baby rattles

yet food was in silver platter.

As interesting as they can see;

you're still finding for your great leap.

- Danica Ann Niegas

(first published on facebook notes, dated July 27, 2015)