today i got my heart broken

Today I got my heart broken. I hate that I only write when my heart breaks. I wish I could write when it is happy. As to save it. As to remember. As to claim that not all the time is a sad day. Only if that is the case. This is not the first time I had my heart broken. And I know it is not going to be the last. But every time it happens, it hits differently. It is supposed to feel the same, right? The same thing just happened again. Again. Why does it feel like the first time? I thought I knew what tomorrow would bring because today was just like yesterday. For someone who does not have anything to look forward into anymore, I am almost always wrong. Today I realized, I can be more broken than I already am. But I wonder what is there to break? I fear that I am just making up this feeling, so I get to be human for a day. Sentient and not oblivious. Overreacting and not sedentary. Breaking my heart is the last thing I would make myself do – not because it is hard, but because it is easy.

Tastebuds and Saliva

To speak rhetorically is counterproductive for common understanding. To speak literally likewise does not always contribute much, or does it? But to speak has various forms. It can be printed or recorded; it can be silent or deafening. To speak is to express – to reveal what goes unsaid, to repeat what goes unheard, and to resolve what goes stated but ignored. Cinema speaks. It communicates more than it aims and sometimes aims more than what can only be communicated. The medium is limited but has a lot of power, and it thrives and fails with such nature. Cinema has a sharp tongue. It tastes the reality and assumes its knowledge as to live through it. It can also lick what is presented and passively swallow. It tastes and spits, rarely, and almost always misses the ground; but when it does, it will surely leave a spot. When facts can be presented poetically, do meanings become more defined and understanding more essential? In documentary films that are formally stunning and have practi

what i need is not words

Two months since the flu and I’m still sick. There was blood. Mornings linger like a fly unbothered. It’s disgusting but a proof of life. Or death. I learned to count the days unlike before when time didn’t own me. I owned it. It was an illusion. It was real. Neglect and regret, I do. Like a wheel with no break, my demise goes unchallenged. The image looks lifeless, as everyone is. But I am not everyone. I am alive. Even if it doesn’t feel like it. Even if I don’t want to. I am alive. I never realized how long the nights are when the ceiling speaks the same monologue so I can sleep. Although nothing was written, everything was heard. It was an illusion. It was real. Visions are forced to wake up. There has to be a reason, I thought, even nothing matters anymore. No one does. Not even myself. Although I should. But really? Self-importance is indifference to everyone. So why should I? The will is lost. I have not written any alter series lately because it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t mat

Muslim Arts, Culture, History: Key in Understanding the ‘Moro’ Problems in Mindanao

“Islam is not only a religion but a way of life.” Such statement is manifested by Muslims in their culture where sciences and arts play important roles as to examine the extent of the said religion to be more than what people perceive Islam to be. This is the same religion that marked a significant part in the history of the country – from its indoctrination to the southern natives to its struggle against the colonialism. In the contemporary times, the religion and its followers still encounter multitude of issues concerning primarily the social, cultural, and political dimensions they encompass. The so-called “Moro problem” does not only reflect the matters of the Muslim people within themselves but more importantly the multidimensional system problem that significantly involve politics, culture, as well as history and economy. Given the problematic situation, Muslim arts present and represent organized manifestations which explain the ideological rationale for the cause and effect of

Ikalawang Taon sa UP

Naging professor ko yung nagdisenyo ng UP Sablay, nagkaroon ng orgmate na math instructor (buddy ko nung applicant palang ako kaya special mention), tapos naging orgmate yung professor sa isang film class eventually. Big deal sa’kin ang mga ito noong panahon na nararanasan ko sila. Manghang-mangha ba. What are the odds? Sa sobrang lawak ng UP, ang liit pa rin ng mundo sa loob. Kaya naging maingat na sa paghook-up. Chz. Nakakita, nakausap ng mga artista’t aktor. Nakapanood ng shoot, naging bahagi, gumawa ng sarili. Sa sobrang daming opportunities, wala ka nang mapili at pinapalipas nalang sila; umaasang marami pa namang dadating. Nagkaroon na ng beep card. Nadelay sa MRT at inakalang sobrang tagal. 2 minutes lang pala. Narealize na malaking bagay pala yung nawala sa dalwang minutong delay ng tren – o siguro ganun lang sa metro manila. Iba ang takbo ng oras at tao sa terminal sa Centris tuwing tanghali at gabi. Sobrang daming ruta ng jeep at kapag mali ang sinakyan mo, paniguradong magla

Dambana ng Gunita, Panata sa Paglaya

On the 47th Martial Law anniversary, the University of the Philippines had a weeklong activities to “commemorate and honor the memory of the University’s best and brightest who struggled against dictatorship and despotism”. I was able to attend two events: a film screening of Liway and a forum on Media, Martial Law, and Human Rights in Cine Adarna. Both opened my eyes to the political climate of that historical period in our country. The former uses the audio-visual medium to expose and enlighten people about the subject, while the latter utilizes verbal interaction to illuminate audiences. Such programs do not only help the community to remember but also prevent the mistakes of the past transpiring again. Film, as one of the prominent media, is able to deliver an experience that transcends other forms as it does not only display moving and sound pictures. For one, Liway carries a strong narrative about the grimes and terror inflicted during the Marcos regime and his martia

Alter 100 [8/12]

I heard you came home. You really did it, didn’t you? I don’t know whether I’m sorry we didn’t last or I’m grateful for our story was cut short by circumstances I don’t even remember. But then I would lie if I say I didn’t miss you. We were not friends in Facebook anymore, because you unfriended me before you left. You thought I blocked you, so your impulse was to cut the strings entirely. Then I revealed that I just deactivated my account for a period and that’s why you couldn’t reach me anymore nor send me a message. Your assumption was wrong, and you reacted badly. Funny, you kept in touch via text despite cutting me online. I sound arrogant now, do I? Here you are with your public photos – with your partner and son. What a beautiful family! Your son got your looks – that’s obvious. You’re a loving parent – I could tell. Too loving that we happened. Your arrival should not mean anything. Yet it reminds me of us. It reminds me of the Sunday nights, the impractical travel to Sta. Cru

Alter 100 [7/12]

“I’m here,” I texted. I waited. You came with your gloomy face. It wasn’t the cheerful vibe I got from our exchanges online. I smiled. You sat beside me. Was it really you? For a second, I felt I met the wrong person.  Who was that? You drew something from your pocket and wallet. You lighted your cigar and started puffing. I still smiled. You finally moved so I followed you. You smoked as we walked so I had to distance myself. You were sorry, or were you? After a grid of streets, we entered your house. You got your own room. It smells though. I still smiled, or did I? You had the courtesy to offer one of the sandwiches you ordered from that Buy 1 Take 1 food stall where we just personally met. I refused; you haven’t eaten yet, you said. I explored your room – with my eyes – as I always do with every new place I’m in. You were a college student. As I’m about to become as well. I sat in front of you. I dare occupying your bed while you sit on your study chair. I wonder if I broke or bui