Tatay Ko 'Yan!

As I am writing this blog, I already had a conversation with my dad greeting him a Happy Father's Day with a kick of bola and a rhetorical question of how does he stay pogi after all these years. Of course, my dad, as all four of us know him, feeds off of compliments such as that. But hey, who doesn't?

My dad is less of a storyteller compared to my mom. Stories of his childhood and early adulthood were mostly told by my grandmother, aunts, and uncles. It's probably because it was too hard, painful, and humbling all at the same time and that he'd rather keep mum about it. I never knew what his reasons were, I never asked. Hence, writing this shall be the riveted version from the bits and facts. Born in Ilocos Sur from the union of a market vendor and a baker, my dad's childhood was weathered by a life with barely enough to eat. The oldest of five, he started working to fend for himself at the age of 7, hopping on and off provincial buses selling kalamay to passengers. He barely could read at such a young age, let alone speak Tagalog to tourists so he could sell the kalamays out and be back home and look after his younger siblings. In the summer, when he'd probably gained enough muscle mass and strength from the kalamay stint he did, he took on a more physically demanding job as a popsicle vendor. That was on foot, treading and shuffling his way from Candon to Tagudin, a 28-kilometer stretch, and back. Yes, we're still talking about a boy in his pubescent years here. That was his childhood routine.

I remember him telling us that at the age of 10, he already knew what he would want to become - A LAWYER. He said the jobs he did, hard as it may seem, had perks on the side, so he felt it to be less of a backbreaker. Perks? Well, the hopping on and off from one bus to another took him to places like Baguio and, for all we know, places in the 50s were still mostly off-the-beaten paths. Baguio was home to a then diverse flora and fauna and people. He made friends with tourists and locals alike. They've let him into their homes and businesses allowing him to scavenge on heaps of old newspapers and magazines and television. And then there were the movie reels shown to a public audience for free, which he would not-a-care-at-all dart himself to get to the front row. That definitely marked the beginning of the inclination to moving, Hollywood-made pictures of the very young mind of Benito. Television and films in the 50s are the Internet of those days. They may already had the UNIVAC going, but that's an NSA-related history, and that's a whole lot of different story.

Anyway, however big his dream may had been, however hard he worked his ass on realizing it, that dream was shattered by the very man whom he's supposed to look up to. I'm sure you've heard it once somewhere from someone about old folks back in the days telling their kids, "Basta marunong ka nang bumasa at sumulat ng pangalan mo, hindi mo na kailangan magpatuloy pa ng pagaaral." Unfortunately, my dad is one of those parents' kids. Bound by tradition and religious teachings that a child should never disobey his parents, his hands and feet were tied. Tied to the farm animals and farming tools he was forced into using while enduring the sweltering heat under the sun.

Fast-forward to the present, I was old enough to witness what he has accomplished as a person, as a son, as a brother, as a husband, as a father, and now a very doting grandfather. He didn't fret. Never. The same dream had always been there with him. Just the circumstances he got into let it take on a different shape and form. The lawyer became a cook and had a family. For me, that's all that matters. His past inspired him to become a great father, even though he was away for the most part of our growing-up years. He was spared of all the teenage drama my sister and brothers and I were so good at creating, but his wisdom and love made it through despite the distance. He's always been proud of what he has become. He's proud of what his children have become. Me, I couldn't be any more proud, Tatay. But what I will always remember as an essential part of what he is is the kalamay boy who loved his job and the perks that came with it allowing him to live out the wanderlust in him in his own right. I love you, Tatay!

Nang Dahil Kay Anthony Kiedis, Will Ferrell, Josh Klinghoffer at Flea

All I wish from this day till April 26th is to score a nice seat at the Air Canada Centre and listen to these guys while recounting The Adventures of Rain Dance Maggie. I might tag Charlie along with me for a date and hang out Under The Bridge while Naked In The Rain right after. That might just be a possibility. By The Way, what I consider for a date conclusion is calling My Friends and hang out in a Coffee Shop and talk about anything from A Death Of A Martian to something as mundane as the Snow. If You Have To Ask, he could be My Lovely Man, but that's just between us, my girlfriends, because I'm not gonna Give It Away to him that easy. I Could Have Lied, who knows, because Universally Speaking, lying to someone on a first date is a Minor Thing. After quite a while of going out with him and If these feelings come pounding my heart like One Big Mob which I Can't Stop, Transcending beyond the limits of my emotional bastion, I hope he'll let me go Falling Into Grace, his. Anyway, it's Midnight and time for me to get Dosed so you better Throw Away Your Television. Warlocks, be gone from my dream. This Is The Place where I can be happy. I don't want to wake up with Storm In A Teacup for breakfast and no more Tearjerker, that kind of stupid stuff. (Yeah, I'm all Warped. Strip My Mind and Torture Me!)

They're A Buttch Of Joke

Who likes the Kardashians? Who on earth buy their bullshit on TV? Come on! Aside from the money-making retards who are behind their fake-or-no-fake asses, I don't think those people are worth any smart people's time. Kim Kardashian, most especially, who can single-cheek-buttedly kill brain cells for every word that comes out of her mouth. I've never watched a single episode of their (un)reality show. Just watching Kim being hounded by paparazzi or just seeing her open her mouth to say something more likely stupid is grueling enough that I might actually fall in a coma if I see all of them talk at the same time.

Kim actually is who I hate the most among the bunch. The rest just act as a pulley to keep her face above her ass like any other normal human being.

And with that said, that's all there is. These people are not worth a crumb.

Oh, Manny, Manny, Manny!

After the much-awaited third Pacquiao-Marquez fight wherein it would finally rule out who really is the better fighter, a lot of people, mostly my fellow Pinoys of course, are proud that our own pambansang kamao won. Anticipation was smoking and boiling anywhere in the world where there's a pack of Filipinos. Actually, the bunch I was with overlooked one of the important highlights of the night: Remembering Smoking Joe Frazier. Anyway, after the hoopla and nirvana from finding out that we get to keep the title, I moved a few mental inches back from what's going on to look and see what has just happened. Media, both local and international, praise Manny. We Pinoys love him (an overblown love that people provided him his own ring in congress, which is ugh, ridiculous). I respect him and have high regard to the man. Big names in Hollywood and sports alike come to see him train and can't help but marvel at his speed, stamina, and strength. Sports fans admire him. These, in fact, have put him in a pedestal with all the credentials under his belt that he worked hard for for the past 10 or so years. He made Pinoys feel proud and confident in every single fight that losing was never an option. Talks and bets would just go around like, "What round is he gonna knock his opponent down our out?".

I wouldn't go over the science, mechanics, and technicalities of boxing. Nope. This post is PURELY MY OWN OPINION and no intention whatsoever of persuading nor sway other people's opinions. What I saw last night was simple. It was Marquez's fight. It was a Mexican night. And also, over the years, between the two of them, Marquez has shown the more obvious headway than our very own Pacman. I think the decision was the result of Marquez being left in the cold under Manny's shadow. After all, of course, it was Pacquiao he fought against. It reminds me of watching the PGA Tour last summer where Tiger Woods wasn't actually winning nor anywhere near that thought. But the hell with the media giving him more exposure than the ones in the lead, and that's because they are not the Tiger Woods. (Keegan Bradley won, by the way.) Simply put, Manny isn't the king of the ring, so is Tiger of the course, and so was Jordan of the NBA court in his heydays. But let's give the world to Leonardo Di Caprio, okay? James Cameron made him shout it out in the ocean. (Do you get where I'm going here? Ahuh, ahuh!) Most importantly, let's all move on. Manny has a lot of making up to do in the House of Representatives. It's the arena where he can't be saved by the bell and a fight that doesn't end in 12 rounds. We don't pay taxes just for pride and this is one thing we all should slice off from this. It's something we owe to ourselves, our individuality as a country, more than the international pride banner because ESPN, HBO, and Bob Arum don't give a crap on that side of Manny's life.

But hey, now we have to look forward to a fourth, a fifth, never-ending match, huh. And Mayweather would probably lose his voice and run out of spit with all the trash and sissy talks he's been dissing for a long time and would never go anywhere near Manny.

1 Year, 8 Months, 17 Days

Yup, that long. As if it was only yesterday when the idea of joining the increasing number of Filipino expats all over the world popped into my head just 3 months after giving birth to my son. And then another 18 months after that, I hopped on a plane bound for Canada. February 11, 2010, touchdown!

It wasn't easy. It's never easy. Whether you're fending for yourself, you're head of the family, or a parent who worries so much about raising a family in a financially ill country like ours, the idea is always twinned with a lot of uphill battles both physically and emotionally. It's not always that bad. We're lucky nowadays that our loved ones is just one click or tap away. It gets better every day anyway. For me, it started getting better halfway through my first year here.

Two weeks before "D" day, I was already off work and devoted quality time with my son. It'll be a dragging 2 years, I thought, so I dosed myself with Theo's smile, laugh, smell, tantrums, but never be enough, of course. Then the time has come. I left when Theo was just 22 months old. For a child that age, saying goodbye is just like one of the routine goodbyes and then I could go run some errands or leave for work. But for me, it was the hardest goodbye I have ever said in my entire life. My mom is used to taking my dad to the airport so she knows the whats and wheres in the departure area. She reminded me time and again, ever since I got my visa, tickets, and flight details, to never look back once we have said our goodbyes. I never doubted that I would be crying an ocean for leaving him behind, but I underestimated his feelings understanding of what was going on that night. I went in at around 10 pm (my flight was at 12:30 am) and kisses and goodbyes to last me 2 years were sealed and given. Theo should probably be sleepy by then but for some reason, maybe the tie that binds us both, he was awake the whole time and as I was pushing my luggage cart, one voice stood out amid the platoon of people in my direction and it was him crying "mama". I swear to God, I was all ready to turn around and just go back out and hug him tight. I pushed that thought behind my mind, but it was breaking my heart into tiny pieces at the same time. I didn't look back, just like what my mom told me. My thoughts of sadness and confusion were suddenly transitioned to anxiety with all the security and check-in issues I had to go through. I called my parents to let them know we're boarding in 10 minutes and asked how was Theo and I was relieved to find out that he was already asleep.

Nineteen long hours and 13,000 kilometers later, I made it. Quite the way I expected it, cold at just -5 degrees. The family who took me in made my first few weeks as comfortable and informative as possible. My eyes were overwhelmed by the enormous difference between Canada and Philippines that my lungs could actually shout the same. Traffic is forgivable. No eye-sore litters I can see. You're free to be yourself without judging and mocking eyes looking at you.

Here I am, 622 days later and 13,000 kilometers away from my son. Ask me if it's all worth it? It will never be. Ask me again what the hell am I doing here then? For one undefeated, reigning reason all OFWs would give you: I'm just one of the many Pinoys who wishes for a better life and turn of fate for good. I can only say it's worth the sacrifice if my son and I both have our permanent residency granted. For now, I'm making every second worthwhile. That's the least I can think of.

Poor Ace

My Acer Aspire 5532 is slowly giving up on me. I call it Ace, by the way, and I do that to every gadget I buy. Like I bought a second-hand netbook in 2009, I named it "Sigma" because it is segunda mano. Then I bought a Canon DSLR and I called it "Mang Romy", named after the photographer neighbor we had when I was kid and my mom would always ask for his services during graduation and special church occasions. Anyway, Ace is starting to exhibit symptoms of what is more likely abuse than overuse. I am a self-confessed burara. But it's just because I use it every day so its safekeeping is more often conceded to just leaving it where I had to. But when I have the time to shine and buff Ace, oh golly gracious, does it shimmer! I take out all of the keys and carefully cleaning it with cotton swabs with alcohol and use a vacuum to get rid of the dust.

To relieve myself of guilt from being a brute owner, I admit, the problem lies on the charger of the battery. Yay! Still, it doesn't make me less of a cruel owner to my own possessions. Ace will only be turning 2 this April and I'm really having a great time with it. No fuss. No hangups. He is still Ace na makinis externally and internally, everything is working out just like when I bought it. Ace is not aging, no memory gaps. Ace has no arthritis, all keys are functioning good as new. No scratches. No, I'm not marketing Ace for selling purposes. The only flaw it has now is just the charging pin or the writhed cord from the pin down to that small box where all the electronic labels are.

I'm not ready to give it up. When I have someone or I could have something to fix it, I promise I'll take good care of Ace. We both shall have more tweets, updates, and blogs to share. Ace, hang in there buddy! :D

Mindless habitual behavior is the enemy of innovation.

The Soundgarden Experience (And The Night Kim Thayil Riffed My Rocking Soul!)

If the Americans have the 4th of July, Canadians have the 1st of July. I have nothing to do with it because obviously, I am not a canuck. The only things Canadian in me are my salary (which is almost always spent as peso, so mabuhay ang mga OFW! LOL), driver's licence, and health card. My tongue and heart will always be Pinoy. And so my way of celebrating it this year was to go to a Soundgarden concert and blast it out with the rest of the die-hard SG fans.

So I purchased a ticket 3 months ahead, 2 weeks after they went available online. SG wolfpacks all over North America and Europe devoured on the first few good seats so I had to make with the remaining seats available that would depend on the large screens provided. But for the heck of being in the same place at the same time with one of grunge's historical giants, I had no reason to think twice. No credit card to purchase the ticket with, I relied on my good friend, Olive, to buy the ticket for me. Kaching! And there went my exciting 100-dollar expense. Everyday from that moment on, I would listen to Bad Motorfinger, Down on the Upside, Superunknown, which their setlist from Lollapalooza 2010 was mostly taken from. Listening to them from the instant I wake up till the wee hours of night took me back to my mid-teen years to early 20s, back when all I had to worry about was how to ask money from my parents by keeping up satisfactory grades and later transitioning to being independent.

Three months of waiting and preparing for the day is like getting married. Bought shoes just for the event and anxiously searching on the net what to wear that would make me look like a fan but still age-appropriate. I must admit, I fancied dressing up in a grunge-like fashion, but I realized I'm a fan of their music and my fashion sense doesn't have to go with it. It was summer so I put on a grey, lightly metal-studded tank, black capri pants from GRG clearance sale, noir nail paint, and a pair of Sperry's (classic!).

With nobody to tag along, realizing that most of my friends are busy waiting for a Sarah Geronimo or Lani Misalucha concert, I went by myself. I do like OPMs, but I won't go an extra mile of spending a buck for their concerts. Listening to them once in a boring while and belting their songs out at any given Pinoy karaoke night are good enough. The concert was at the Molson Canadian Amphitheatre on July 2, 2011 and it was the first leg of their North American concert tour, the first since they called it quits 14 years ago. For a year-and-a-half since I came to Toronto, I've never been that further downtown. I felt like a newbie again, getting on and off the bus and subway with a map! The amphitheatre is in Lakeshore West, Toronto and when I got there, it was so surreal because it felt like I was just walking along Roxas Boulevard. When I snapped out of it, I realized I was walking westward instead of eastward. And no one likes to walk on a new pair of shoes! God, was that so painful! After 20 minutes of agony and two blistered feet, I finally touched down, had my bags checked, and looked for my seat - #401 J. Soundgarden was expected to be on stage at 8:30 and I got there at 5:00. No biggie. I brought a book to kill time while they were doing the sound check. 6:00 PM ,came out Coheed & Cambria, whose lead singer has crazier fro than that of William DuVall's and Lenny Kravitz's. The band's name rang a bell, but honestly, I knew nothing of their songs until that night.

The mosh pit was getting thicker by the minute. By 7:30, almost all seats were filled and I was busy between reading the book I brought along, clapping after every C & C song, and checking out all sorts of people coming in. My seat was at the end side and perfect enough that I wouldn't have to deal with two strangers. Oddly enough of me reading a book in a concert, it attracted two couples from the other side. One of them stood up and sat on my then-empty side and asked if I am expecting company. I put on a tough face because I smelled alcohol and trouble. But when he said, "There's my wife and our friends" and they seemed to be decent-looking people, I gave in to their invitation and had a nice chat with them. Turned out to be a nice how-are-you and good--for-you chat and they later told me that they drove 4 hours all the way from Windsor, Ontario to Toronto to watch Soundgarden and they are definitely huge fans. One of them was wearing a black shirt with Soundgarden's Badmotorfinger insignia. I had so much fun warming up with them, plus the Molson Canadian beer I didn't turn down, but it had to end when a group of guys came to take their seats.

It was 8:00 PM when the venue really started to pack with people, alcohol and weed-loaded alike. The air was filled with strawberry joots and I had no choice but to be stoned passively. Hell broke loose that night, at least from my moral standpoint because I got stoned! LOL Soundgarden finally went on stage at exactly 8:30 and opened with Spoonman. A point-and-shoot camera and an iPod were witnesses of the vocal-splitting singalong I did, trying to keep up with Chris Cornell. Rusty Cage I think came next and I videoed myself singing that mouth-seizing song, which I decided not to post on YouTube for public consumption and possible humiliation. All in all, it was an awesome, unforgettable night. We got rained on coinciding with Black Hole Sun but nobody cared. They played Burden In My Hand, one of the mostly played songs on my iPod, 4th of July, Searching With My Good Eye Closed, Superunknown, and the rest I can't remember. They wrapped the night up with Slaves and Bulldozers, which I butchered a tiny part of, but hey, blame it to my getting high LOL.

"Thanks to all our fans all these years, we appreciate it. I looked at one of three young guys down here, and he's sort of normal-looking guy and he mouthed the words 'I LOVE YOU' very softly and it wasn't gay. It was manly, not the best manly words. And that sets the tone." -Chris Cornell, July 2, 2011 @ Molson Canadian Amphitheatre