inglorious wanderer

Photo is a discreet shot with my mobile device while I pretended to use the wi-fi at the Starbucks in Mira Mesa. The place is the only Starbucks I have gone into that did not have a wi-fi. I did not bother to ask for access because I went there just for the purpose of taking a picture of fellow Filipinos playing cards in the vicinity. I moved from one unoccupied table to another while a young Asian guy, probably a Filipino, smiled to me in acknowledgement. His parents probably signed him up to a work permit before he was 18 while finishing high school and keeps working as barista to help himself get through college. "Hello, po!" If he was Dear John, the boypren, he would have flashed a toothy boyish smile: "Hi Auntie..." Dear John lives in the same zip code and I could tell how closely knit he is with his family. On occasions such as birthdays and anniversaries, the family just like many Filipinos in San Diego go to casinos. I have this aversion to gambling an...

Fashion victims of the world, unite! The issue on Lady Gaga's gender hasn't been resolved and here I am thinking of the pha khin artichoke. "At least you'll never be a vegetable..." Now what has fashion got to do with a vegetable? Anyone can look at them as victims. This is the reason why I could never be a vegetarian. Even if I am lactose intolerant, I could go cheesy by religion. The thing about vegetarianism and religion are the the same. They are both based on beliefs. Yes, I did watch Amélie.

Makibaka would be my name if I naturalize as a citizen of Timbuktu, feisty name for the feisty character I wish people I know would characterize me with. Unfortunately, I was mostly seen as a stubborn or worse, bitter or defensive for speaking up my mind. Makibaka is a call to fight for one's rights. I associate the cry to Karina David, my former professor in Diliman for the community development class that I was then enrolled in. Her story: she was driving to her husband's home province in Pampanga with her young children one day and they passed by a herd of cows. Baka is the Pilipino term for cow and as she pointed to the cows and referred them in Pilipino to one of her toddlers. "Baka wag atakot" was the toddlers reply. The child's reply to Karina was an awakening that she is becoming too engrossed on activism that her children are adapting into.Karina was a known street parliamentarian. I don't know if she still goes to the streets to raise her fist in ...

I took the picture on a Good Friday when folks from my old world which I now look closely from afar would be on their knees praying for the intercession of the Blessed Virgin. Okay, the people in the picture were having some prayer meeting and there I was thinking of my caption: "How high does the grass grow in Germany?" The first time Josef, a co-worker of Polish origins told me about the joke, I told him the joke is too political and a little sardonic. Hitler killed so many Jews who did not give him the "heil reich" salute. I was also thinking of a blog on crab mentality as I worked on the shutter of my 35mm. Imagine the crowd in the photo as small crabs all together in a bushel. The goal would be to get out of the bushel. The bushel sits upright and everyone caught in the bushel would just think of escaping. It is a survival instinct to escape out of captivity. The only option is to climb out of the bushel and with everyone thinking the same way, one has ju...

Whew! I am glad I came to my senses. I meant it when I told her I am sorry. "That's the only thing I wanted to hear." She's not a squirrel, hairy and scary as my Abyan puts it. The thing that made it difficult for us to be working together was that feeling I get when she talks to me. She talks down to me like she is the one paying my wages. I wish she'd ask me if I was busy and say please instead of saying when you get the chance. I hated it when I am working with a client and somebody would call looking for a document that was supposed to be on the board and I have to interrupt my conversation with my client. And she doesn't say please, she would say "when you get the chance". The bad ass in me felt like telling her that I will get the chance tomorrow. I had a thing with her from the start but I admit being a bad ass though.It is why I apologized The thing between us could be something cultural. She talked big time actually but anyway I looke...

When I was growing up in one of the top tobacco growing towns of my top tobacco growing province of La Union, there was this lady who called herself Miracle. Every afternoon after school, she entertained us with her characters. Some days, she was the Virgin Mary and on other days she was Imelda Marcos, Back then dying one's hair blond was not yet in fashion and Miracle found ways to come up with indigenous costumes that expressed the character she was playing. One of my favorite costumes that she used to don was a wig made of corn hair. Some rainy afternoons, she would be Snow White with strawberry blond hair with a matching blond pony tail. It had always been the same story how Miracle became Miracle. Sad and cruel stories where bystanders imagined stories where Miracle was once a poster child until her fate as a girl child in a male-dominated family ended. Did I ever feel sorry for Miracle? I do pity her from a distance.

But not from being a Godzilla.

Pha Khin Phat's short and sweet existence Did not end because he was ran over by a vehicle Nor he fell off the lake Pha Khin Phat was standing at the foot of the stairwell Close by when Godzilla threw a fit In pictures, Pha Khin Phat will always be smiling in glee In a spring spree As for Godzilla The seventeen year old in the household Someday, the spirit of Pha Khin Phat will set her free I say for now: Go pluck yourself From your immaturity Godzilla!