A day in the life…

DISCLAIMER: Sorry for the long entry. Had to let it out.

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I think I’ve overcome the initial shock.

Well no. I don’t think so. Not just yet.

Maybe because after his operation we expected everything will finally be well. I guess I expected too much. Not to mention holding on to his promise of a really great summer vacation.

But some good things don’t last. I just didn’t expect it to be soon.

Good ol’ Almanz. When I first met him here in Maverick, I thought he was some weird guy with an MP4 player in his pocket and a pair of earphones stuck in his ears, singing "Crawling" ala- Chester Bennington. After leaving and coming back to stay for a few months, I realized that this guy was one of the funniest, most intelligent persons in the planet. He was easy to get along with. He had no pretentions, whatsoever. He loved joking around, throwing useless trivia our way every now and then, or translating everything to his own version of Bahasa, or altering song lyrics just for the fun of it. And he is one really talented copywriter. I even envied him of his way of churning out those great ideas.

But behind this great guy lies a condition he has had since birth. He was born with a congenital heart disease, with his heart on the right side, inverted. His parents had it operated upon when he was a kid. His blood thickens every now and then, so he has to regularly go to the hospital to have the thickened blood removed and be injected with plasma. Yes, he was a blue baby. His complexion was different than normal people, his fingernails were shaped differently, and he easily got tired especially when walking long distances or frequently going on overtime. I remember in his next job, he had a breakdown and had to be hospitalized. He quit his job and stayed with his mom and sisters in Bulacan.

But when you see him, he doesn’t look like he had a serious condition. He was so giddy, dancing ala-Gackt or some J-rock/J-pop band member (imagine Chito Miranda in Mang Jose, like that, with the arms flailing all around) while singing. He’d sing his own version of U2’s Elevation, Square Heads’ Happy, or Banal na Aso Santong Kabayo. He’d tell stories and jokes which made us laugh our hearts out. I even remember him showing me a "study" proving that the Voltes V exists, that their base is down under the seas of Japan, and that they are undergoing preparations for world domination. Crazy, huh? Yep, that was Almanz.

That was before everything that happened since the start of the year. January, he was again confined in the hospital (Makati Med). I remember Zeth telling us that he was intravenously given another kind of plasma, different from the ones before. After that, he got a little weaker. But he was out of the hospital then, so I guess he’d be okay afterwards. By the last half of January, he texted us about his big birthday bash on Feb. 12, and that we should be there. He told us we should even prepare a special number for him. He was excited, just like a kid. We were all excited, too. He said he’d come by at our office to give us the invitations, and at the same time see how different the creatives department was since he left.

It was his mother who came into the office, because he was still weak. We learned from her that Almanz was having a hard time walking; he got tired easily even while walking short distances — from his room to the bathroom and back. She also told us something that creeped me out: he would ask his mom and his sister, out of the blue, if they love him. Upon hearing that, I didn’t want to think bad. I shrugged off every negative thought. This was going to be a happy birthday for him. I texted him to get lots of rest so he’ll have lots of energy for his birthday.

Feb. 12. The picture in this entry and in my profile was taken that day, at his house. He was up and about, and very happy when he got the gift he wanted (a Gundam Zaku model kit). We proceeded to the party venue (at his lola’s house). There we saw him escorted to a wheelchair. We knew he didn’t want to sit there, but his lola was so concerned about him getting tired and all. Nevertheless, that was a happy day for him, and for his family and friends as well. We celebrated mass, ate, danced and sang. He sang, too. That night, he made a speech about his condition and how he was thankful to everyone (Pol remembered he said something about accepting his fate that night). It was touching. And he took a bow.

Days after that, he’d call us to say he was going to have an operation at the Philippine Heart Center. I even joked about it. "So magiging cyborg ka na!" "Dati pa naman akong cyborg, e. Di ko lang pinapahalata kasi humble ako e!" We laughed that time.

He’d text us after that, telling us that after the doctor explained the procedure, he wasn’t afraid anymore. I told him that was good, and we’d be praying for him. He even told me that after the operation, when he’s well, he’d be going with us on our summer vacation. I looked forward to it.

Now, I can’t.

He passed away yesterday, Feb 28, around 5AM, less than 24 hours after his operation. The procedure, we were told, was successful. But, as my boss said, how the body reacts is a different thing. Maybe he was tired, Jasper said. 28 years with such condition… it was already a miracle he lived this long.

I was just too sad and angry yesterday. Sad because I never felt such loss ever, not until now. Angry because I did not (and maybe I still don’t) understand. And because he promised us a really great summer.

It wasn’t going to happen anymore.

I miss the guy. We all do. He’s become a part of our lives. On his death, a part of us died with him. I’ll miss the laughter, the jokes, the useless trivia and all.

What makes it more painful are the things that will remind us of him: songs, anime (he introduced me to Shaman King), Che Guevarra, Oreos and the anti-ketombe shampoos, among others. Kinda ironic, somehow, these make me smile as of this writing.

I remember going to a supermarket. I read the back label of an imported body wash. It was in Bahasa. I texted him that time, telling him I remember him whenever I encounter labels like these. He laughed, and told me he prided himself in having such impact to his friends.

Yes, Almanz, you had that such impact. And we’ll be missing that.

Why don’t motorcycle drivers understand what the sidewalk is for?

Or who is it for?

Why is it that these impatient motorists, when they see a traffic jam before them, go out of their way to drive through the sidewalk, and also have the balls to honk their horns at people ON the sidewalk?

Why do pedestrians, like me, have to give way to these %&*!@ motorcycle drivers just because they are passing through the sidewalk?

Motorists, it’s a sidewalk. Operative word: WALK.

Unless your motorcycle can actually walk, you do not have any right to drive your bike on the sidewalk.

In situations like this, I sometimes wished I had telekinetic power so I can control some pebbles and shit and throw it at their backs (I wanted to throw a twig at the spokes, but it’s kinda too violent, so nah).

Where is the MMDA when you need one?

Wait a minute, can they actually do anything about this?

Or maybe they also don’t know what the sidewalk is for. Or whom is it for.

A rundown of things and thoughts since end of last week…

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Had a little chit chat with my boss last week about relationships (brought about by a discussion on someone else’s "dark days"). He said that there is no such thing as a perfect relationship. That even though how hard we try, we will never reach that point where we’ll say "this is it, i am so contented, my life is so perfect." Somewhere along the way, when you think everything’s going smooth, you’ll encounter bumps on the road here and there, and you’ll probably meet someone else whom you’ll think is more perfect than your present mate, and you’ll realize you were never contented with what you have. And you’ll sway.

No matter how sometimes I feel like I’m talking to an a$$, come to think of it, he is right. We always seek for the perfect thing — perfect job, perfect mate, perfect life. We always strive for the perfection of everything. But no matter how we try, we won’t get it. We were born with flaws, everyone was born with flaws. And the only thing we could do, after all the seeking and trying, is to accept the things we cannot really change. And that’s how we achieve contentment. Not because we knew we couldn’t do anything, but because after we did everything, it just comes to that.

In this world full of imperfection, no one is exempt.

And yes, even if he’s nice, sometimes my boss can be an a$$. I think I’ve accepted that already.

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My sister and I treated my dad to Max’s Galleria because it was his birthday yesterday, Feb. 19. Actually we treated the whole family to lunch at Max’s.

So anyway, since my youngest brother had ROTC that time, we went ahead and ordered the stuff already. We ate really slow just so by the time we were almost done with lunch or starting dessert, my brother would arrive and have his fare.

About an hour after, two waiters (on separate occasions) asked if we were done with our plates. Of course we said "no." So fine. But there was this damn busboy/cashier, whom I think did this on purpose, asked us if we were getting our bill.

The nerve of this busboy/cashier guy! I snapped and told him no, we were still waiting for a companion.

Whoever knows the management of Max’s Galleria (or Mr. Jun, the supervisor of that branch last Sunday, if ever you get to read this, if you ever have a Friendster account), please tell this busboy/cashier named Mark to act with prudence. I understand you want to accommodate more customers, but hey, we were still eating. We’re paying anyway, so don’t do that to us, or to anyone for that matter.

He just caught me in a bad mood. All bloodied on the 2nd day, if you know what I mean.

Mark, busboy/cashier, I already imagined blasting you with a head-shot with a 3-1 (dang-you!).

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Had a chance to catch the undercard game of the Villoria bout at Galleria (prior to the Max’s thing).

Commentators were (my favorite!) Quinito Henson and the people’s champ, Manny Pacquiao.

I must say, I haven’t changed my perception of Quinito’s way of hosting/commenting. Now he asks Pacquiao (I think these were the exact same words), "So Manny, ano sa tingin mo ang nangyari?"

Yo dude, what is this, a pop quiz for the people’s champ?

——–

And of course, after Villoria wins, Pacquiao subtly plugs his album. "Para sa ‘yo ang laban na ito," they both chorus.

Nice one. You really made my day.

Ah well. After the usual flowers, chocolates, office duties and Counterstrike, we decided to do something worthwhile last night. Stargazing was the primary agenda, but we were one step short and instead enjoyed the bands at the UP fair.

Since we didn’t have enough budget for the Rex Navarette show (why does Valentine’s Day have to be BEFORE payday?), my officemates (Zeth, Mike, Angge, Mac), my SO and I planned to go to the observatory at UP to look at the stars. Past 8PM, we quit the CS battle and ate dinner at Megamall. Good thing the preem of Close to You (yep!) was already showing, so we were able to avoid the throng of people who were probably shrieking and raving about Sam (but had enough time to walk on the red carpet, di pa kasi nililigpit).

After that, we bought some stuff to eat from Ministop and headed to UP. Past 11, we were at the Sunken Garden and listened to some of the amateur bands from outside the fair venue. We went in about an hour after, just enough for us to catch Moonstar 88, Itchyworms, Sugarfree, Hale and Kamikazee. Met a friend of a friend who’s a friend of another friend, too (shit, am I poor at name retention, but she’s real nice). Fluxx came in just in time to hear his theme song (Hari ng Sablay, yeah). About 2AM, we drove to the observatory, and this kinda spoiled our morning.

We arrived there, finding the guard fast asleep on his chair. He woke up, I guess when he heard the car’s engine. We asked him if we could go stargazing at the observatory (prior to this, Angge and Mike had called to check if there would be a technician that time, the guy on the other line said yes, and told them we can come anytime). To make it short, we waited for how many minutes just to be told something about the unavailability of the telescopes, and of Aparri and Cavite. I must be too whacked out to understand what the guard was saying (in fairness to him, he probably tried to wake the tech up, but to no avail), but there was no point in arguing. We just ended up raising our heads to the direction of the sky and plainly look at it. There. That was stargazing, alright. Then we drove home.

Past 3AM. I was still up, trying to remove the stamp from my arm (what did they use, indelible ink?). After a few scrubs here and there, my wrist went from brown to red. I quit scrubbing, I was too sleepy to do so, too. Besides, I had to wake up the usual time (7:30AM) to get to the office on time. Good thing, I don’t have much to do yet. I’m too bangag to work.

Ah well, This Valentine’s Day was good. Almost as good as that of 3 years ago.

Okay. Now let me concentrate on this Rex Navarette CD…

It’s been days since that stampede happened.

I was at Divisoria with my parents, scouring the stores at Tabora St. when we noticed a bunch of people in one stall watching the TV. There we saw on screen the mayhem that was Wowowee.

I remember Friday, Feb. 2, 2AM. I accompanied my dad as we drove my sister to St. Paul (she was going to Iloilo then for a seminar). I saw the long line of people going around Brent and my alma mater. People sitting, even sleeping, on the sidewalk, and a whole lot more coming in from Meralco Ave. My sister’s text message confirmed that it was for that noontime show (dismissing earlier thoughts that it was a Franklin Graham cracker event).

Friday afternoon, about 3PM. My boss, our AE and I passed by Javier St. going to Shaw. Crowd thickens. More coming from the Kapitolyo area. I was wondering if ULTRA can handle this kind of crowd.

Then it happens. Investigations left and right. But more importantly, there were lives lost. Even more disturbing is the fact that most, if not all, who died were women. And a four-year-old kid.

And now comes the pointing of the fingers. Who is to blame?

Can we blame the organizers for not foreseeing the number and the intensity of the crowd? Can we blame the security people whose ratio is probably 1:10,000 against the audience? Can we blame the people, who are mostly unprivileged, who pinned their hopes on that alluring prize of P1M in cash and prizes? Can we blame the station for giving away such prizes and promotion for want of higher ratings? Can we blame media for manipulating the minds of the audience that shows like these also have public service purposes? Can we blame the government for their lack of focus on problems regarding poverty and its solutions?

But why blame each other? It’s over and done with. Can we bring back the dead if we do so?

It’s just too upsetting to see how Filipinos are too desperate to have comfortable lives. To the point that they risk their lives just for easy money.

Such a risk.

Just imagine what happens when you meet St. Peter.

        ST. PETER: So my son, how did you die?

        DEAD GUY:  I watched a noontime show.

        ST. PETER: Such an odd way to die!

Yes, it is.

As I was looking at my notebook just a while ago, I saw something I doodled some days ago.

"Extensive cohesive."

Zeth learned this in one of her masteral subjects, something about personality achuchuchu. As what I remember her telling us, extensive cohesive is a trait common to a group or a barkada that, when you guys have been together for so long, you get to adapt to each other’s quirks and thinkings. You get to like what they like, hate what they hate, do what they like doing, speak the same way, and so on. This usually happens when you’ve been with the same circle of people for more than 2 years but less than 5 years. Less than 2 years, it doesn’t happen yet. More than 5 years, the things you’ve been doing gets boring.

In order not to reach that saturation point, either the group should do something different, or expand your circle or one of them should separate him/herself from that group.

(I should let my sister explain this further. She’s the psych cum laude. She probably knows this.)

Interestingly, I think our group here in the office is a perfect example of extensive cohesive. 80% of the creatives plus a few from the accounts (and their significant others) — we have been together for 3 to 4 years now. Funny, if you actually hear us, you’d know we’ve been sticking around with each other for so long — our brains work the same way. We’re getting weirder by the minute. Our minds are too, er, polluted. We listen to the same music. We eat the same friggin’ junk. Toy Kingdom is our third home. We watch anime. We collect toys and books. We’re camwhores. We kill each other during Counterstike. And most of the time during weekends, we do a lot of things together: eat out, watch a movie, go barhopping (especially when Libis was alive), watch gigs, play billiards, drink our heads out, or just tea party-ing. In that span, we’ve seen about a few come and go (but we still remain in touch with each other), and we’ve always have found new things to do and new places to go.

Thing is, for me it’s almost 5 years. And I don’t want to get to that saturation point. I’ve been thinking over these past few days on making some drastic change in myself to prevent this aftermath of extensive cohesive.

Actually, I’m waiting for something. We’ll see.

For now, I’m enjoying this extensive cohesive thing.