the balut virgin and the cigarette virgin: a reflection on the roots of addiction

two people lost their virginity last tuesday: me, the balut virgin, and ms. jp, the cigarette virgin... virgins no longer.

we both lost it during the despedida drinking session held in honor of mr. tugak, who resigned to take a better paying job in manila. not wanting to miss a free drink, i dragged myself from the office looking for the watering hole where it was now ongoing. the place was, literally, a hole in the wall. the owners of the place were airsoft devotees, so they called it 'fire in the hole'.

when i got there i found that mr. tugak, ms. jp, ms. k, and ms. s had already started 2 hours earlier. apparently i had some catching up to do.

*******

after a few bottles, the balut man came. believe it or not, in all my 24 years of existence, i have not yet partaken of these eggs, eggs so magical people believe they granted the partaker certain powers, ranging from stronger knees to increased sexual abilities.

the thing is, i am not very adventurous when it comes to food, and my sensibilities found the idea of eating 'duck abortions' a bit too exotic. as a child, i was also afraid eating balut would give me nightmares: imagine my horror when breaking the shell open, the unborn chick inside would suddenly wake up and beg for its life, telling me in a shrill voice: "please boy! don't eat me!"

"want some?", they ask me. with the unborn chick in mind, i kindly declined. but then, it occurred to me that if i did that, i would look like a sissy in front of everybody else. so the nightmares be damned. i took it back and said, what the heck, sure, i'll have one. tugak was paying for it anyway.

to give myself more courage, i recited mr. tugak's mantra: "sa sugod ra nang luod."

they ordered the 13 day old balut. after a brief discussion on the correct procedure for cracking the egg open (you crack the end marked with a pen), i proceed with my initiation into the mysterious world of balut eating.

first the 'sabaw'. i've heard a lot of stories of pregnant women pestering their husbands in the middle of the night to look for balut just so they could taste its 'sabaw'. but fortunately for the husbands of the world, balut sellers tend to work in the night shift.

so how to describe it... it was... ok, i guess. more or less, it was like an oily version of the tinolang manok's broth. so far so good.

and then came the hard part, the rest of the balut. i broke the shell apart slowly, apprehensive of the possibility of seeing the chick's face. but heaven be praised, the egg had not yet developed enough to a discernable form of a chick. no nightmares this time, thank goodness.

in a nutshell, the balut was like a hard boiled chicken egg that got exposed to gamma rays, with an uneven consistency. there was the tough chewy part, another part that tasted like the ordinary yolk of a hard boiled chicken egg, and another part that had the consistency of phlegm. the last one my mouth had difficulty swallowing. i had to wash it down with a glass of beer to prevent from any further embarassment.

now that i've successfully hurdled my first encounter with balut, i have come to the following conclusion: balut is overrated.

*******

the night wore on, and tugak and ms. k eventually ran out of cigarettes, so they buy themselves another pack. suddenly, ms. jp asks if she could try one. she also says that this would be her first time to smoke. ms. k gives her a stick, and guides her in the technicalities of smoking her first cigarette (i.e. how to breathe in the smoke, the correct way of holding the cigarette between your fingers, etc.). it was weird, after 20 something years, there we were laying witness as ms. jp's pink lung's got devirginized by her first (and hopefully, for her health's sake, her last) cigarette.

ms. k also offered me a stick. i considered it for a moment, then thought: balut and cigarettes are 2 very different things, and i no longer care if i look like a sissy. the farthest i could go was 3 puffs, and i didn't even breathe.

after some clumsy puffing, ms. jp soon finished her stick. it is curious, but not until i sat there staring at the dying embers of ms. jp's first stick in the ashtray did the significance of the event hit me: i just witnessed first hand one of the origins of addiction. people take up their first cigarette, their first bottle of beer, or their first joint of marijuana, for the same reason that i ate my first balut: we just don't want to look like sissies in front of everybody else.

which is not to say, of course, that ms. jp is now getting addicted to cigarettes. ms. jp, you're not getting addicted now, are you?

the carrot and stick approach

talk about the carrot and stick approach:

Boom Boom's village loses road project after boxer's loss

CEBU CITY -- The shocking defeat of Rey "Boom-boom" Bautista by Mexico's Daniel Ponce de Leon did not only sadden his fellow Boholanos. It also cost his village a cemented road.

A dismayed Bohol Gov. Erico Aumentado said that the plan to cement the provincial road going to Barangay Can-uling, Bautista's home village in the town of Candijay, would not push through -- for now.

Aumentado admitted that before the fight, he promised the young Boholano boxer that the road would be cemented but only if he won.

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if we could only find a truly effective way of motivating our athletes, then maybe our basketball team wouldn't have to apologize to us after failing in the fiba asia olympic qualifier. maybe we'd even get that elusive gold in the olympics! we can rule the world!

i remember something i read in time magazine years ago. as a way of 'encouraging' the iraq national football team, saddam's son uday hussein would beat the soles of their feet with a cane everytime they lost. unlike the good governor of bohol, uday did not believe in the power of the carrot, only the stick. it had to take the fall of saddam for iraq's soccer team to finally win big, a testament to the validity of uday's motivational approach.

i can imagine gma placing a call to manny pacquiao before his rematch with marco antonio barrera:

gma: hello manny?

manny: yis ma'am! gud ibning ma'am!

gma: my husband just bet 100 million on your coming fight with barrera. if you win this fight, i promise you, on the next election, you will have the hordes of garci and lintang bedol in your disposal! you will finally get that seat in congress! or like migz, even become senator, if you like!

manny: and... uh... if i lose?

gma: i'll just issue an executive order sparing the rest of the country from your singing career [mike arroyo sniggers in the background]

manny: oh, is that all madam president?

gma: yes manny, have a good fight then! bye!

gma hangs up. mike arroyo is later taken to the hospital for laughing too hard. and manny pacquiao regains his focus, forgets about ara mina, goes back to LA, spends his remaining time training hard, and clobbers marco antonio barrera on fight night.

measures of maturity

these are the questions my barkada asks each other...

4 years ago:
unsa na ka nga stage sa max payne?

now:
kumusta na mo sa imong girlfriend?

20 years from now:
kumusta na imong blood pressure?

horror movies

while lining up for a ticket to the simpsons movie last saturday, i caught up with my friend chick & his girlfriend charo. they were buying tickets for a pinoy horror flick called 'ouija', which gives them a very good excuse to get entangled in each other's arms, i think. they then ask me if i wanted to go with them. thought about it, then decided to go with my original plan, since i didn't want to bother them in their... entanglement. anyway, i didn't have anyone to wrap my arms around in case it was me who got scared.

then it occurred to me, is there any other logical reason that people watch horror movies? what's so fun about scaring yourself? have we become so numb and bored with our comfortable lives that we crave that jolt of fear every now and then? or is it just a way of making us happy with our lives by saying to ourselves 'thank God that's not me', while watching people get chased by a madman wielding a chainsaw?

anyhow, if you really want to scare yourself, it's better if you watch al gore's documentary, 'an inconvenient truth'. it's not a horror movie, but think about it. what's scarier than stories of ghosts, ghouls, monsters, and serial killers? the truth.

and by the way, the simpsons movie is a work of genius. if you haven't seen it, get out of your seat now while it's still showing. watch it. watch it. watch it.

the ambulance

attention torn from her wares
the ambulant vendor stares,
as an ambulance breaches
the bustle in the air,
and its sirens scream suffering

the beggar breaks the breakfast in his head,
the sirens' screams wrenching him
to a wakefulness without bread
his happy delusions ended

the policeman parts a path in this pedestrian sea
as rush hour drivers swerve to give way
and commuters look on curiously
interrupted in their reverie

the ambulance soon zooms away
the shrieking fades and dies
the world goes back to turning:
the vendor in her selling,
the beggar to his dreams,
the drivers in their driving,
the travelers in their schemes

and i in my seat wonder
at how quickly the world turns again,
then that grim revelation
from a poet of old:
therefore never send to know for whom the siren screams
it screams for thee

i've been tagged

stephen tagged me. i'm supposed to write 7 random facts about myself, then tag 7 other people to do the same. me thinks this tagging thing is an exercise in narcissism, started by a narcissist to bring out the hidden narcissist among his fellow netizens. but then, aren't we all? so here goes...

7 things about me

1.) i have 85 friendster 'friends' as of 1:53pm of july 17, 2007. yeah, it may be nothing compared to the hundreds you probably have already, but it's a big improvement over what i used to have. i only had 6 'friends' a few months ago, composed mainly of my college buddies. i'm a late bloomer.

i only started expanding my 'friends' list in the past 3 months or so, when i realized that i'd look pathetic with only 6 'friends'. so i began searching for the profiles of other friends, former classmates and officemates and sent them all 'friend' requests. looking at my rising number of 'friends', i patted myself in the back, thinking that i finally looked normal.

and then one day, this girl whom i didn't know, a 'friend' of a 'friend', sent me a 'friend' request, wanting me to be her 'friend' too. though i knew nothing about her, i thought, what the heck, it's only friendster, so i made her my 'friend' too.

my buddies seemed to do this a lot. when they see a profile with a pretty face, they'd also ask the chick to be their 'friend'. they actually had lots of 'friends' they didn't really know. one of them was even 'friends' with boybits victoria, the former pba player. so it occured to me: what's the point of having all these 'friends' when, beyond the trivial facts on your profile like one's favorite movies or favorite songs, you don't even know anything about them?

is it all about just wanting to not look like a loser?

2.) my bowels and i are scheduled to go first thing every morning the moment i get out of bed, unless something urgent disturbs me. and i prefer doing it in complete quiet and privacy. this is usually the time i do my meditation over the upcoming day. thus, i must have my peace. a number of good ideas have already hit me while sitting on the toilet bowl. there has to be something mentally stimulating about sitting on the toilet bowl, no?

it can also be pretty unnerving for me to know that someone is nearby when i'm taking a crap, that they can hear my crap drop into the toilet water. it bothers my conscience that i may have just ruined somebody else's appetite by grossing them out.

i've read somewhere that in some upscale offices they have separate toilets for the managers and another for the rank-and-file employees. i guess them managers don't want the perception of their superiority tarnished by the truth that, like us mere mortals, they too can be overtaken by the need to take a crap.

3.) i am more of a cat person than a dog person. i prefer the dignified charm of cats over the attention seeking neediness of dogs, who usually show their affections excessively, to the point of being self indulgent. and cats tend to be more confident in your affections toward them, unlike the insecurity of dogs who seem to keep on demanding that you prove it to them.

i like dogs mind you, and having both can be pretty handy around the house. it's like having the services of a pest control company (cats) and a home security system (dogs), and all you have to do is feed them everyday. but i like cats better. and besides, they're a lot less messy.

4.) i always take a nap on sunday afternoon. any deviation from this routine makes me cranky.

5.) "i am the son and the heir of a shyness that is criminally vulgar" - how soon is now by love spit love

i am extremely and chronically shy. when in parties, i am like a fish out of water, i have difficulty breathing. in the course of evolution, animals develop defensive adaptations when they enter such uncomfortable situations. moths, for instance, employ 'protective coloration', i.e. they try blending in with the surroundings by changing color. as for me, i try blending in with the furniture. but i can't really say that my technique is effective, as no one has yet mistaken me for a chair by sitting on me. maybe i look more like a cabinet than a chair? further research is required.

the tragedy of being shy is that some people can mistake one's shyness as aloofness or being 'hambugero'. this unfortunate judgement results in the shy people being avoided all the more, bringing them to even deeper isolation, a dillema that can be solved only by breaking out of one's shell.

6.) my facial hair grows a bit too fast for my diligence in shaving it. just give it a week's time and my beard can cover my face like weeds. and shaving can be a very tedious chore, seeing how my beard covers a big part of my face. so i'm wondering: do chicks in general dig guys with facial hair? or do they prefer the clean look?

7.) i hate wearing shoes. i only wear sandals/slippers, even to work (unless i'm at the gym or playing some sport). of all the things i am grateful for, one is the fact that our office dress code gives us the freedom to wear shorts and sandals.

you see, i want my feet to be able to breathe, to see the world, and not be "condemned to live in a shoe" as pablo neruda would put it. you'd be like an overly protective parent if you don't let your feet out once in a while, you know. and you wouldn't want to live in the dark all day would you?

***************

now that i'm done, you people on the list below: you've been tagged! :)

kalen - http://kalentoledo.blogspot.com/
erik - http://erikbriones.blogspot.com/
lenin - http://aloofinmyhead.wordpress.com/
berty - http://forsakendemon.blogspot.com/
manuel - http://yours_and_mine.blogs.friendster.com/my_blog/
dado - http://psychicimpulse.blogspot.com/
farrah - http://farrahdy.blogspot.com/

the eternal erection

makes me think of converting:

... as the Encyclopaedia of Islam says, even orthodox Muslim theologians such as al Ghazali (died 1111 CE) and Al-Ash'ari (died 935 CE) have "admitted sensual pleasures into paradise". The sensual pleasures are graphically elaborated by Al-Suyuti (died 1505 ), Koranic commentator and polymath. He wrote: "Each time we sleep with a houri we find her virgin. Besides, the penis of the Elected never softens. The erection is eternal; the sensation that you feel each time you make love is utterly delicious and out of this world and were you to experience it in this world you would faint. Each chosen one [ie Muslim] will marry seventy [sic] houris, besides the women he married on earth, and all will have appetizing vaginas."

miss melancholy

she wades through
a wet week's worth
of rain, of tears,
a pain i fear i cannot fathom

these words can only gasp
for a grasp of what it means
to be forgotten.
when memories begotten
by ghosts of sunny days gone
are just that: memories.

i am sorry.
i know not yet such pain.
i can only empathize so much.

but this though i can say:

the local weather report
may talk of another rainy week ahead.
but it's THAT season, no reason really
to wrinkle your forehead
when the songs of the birds are dead.

they are only hiding.
all falls to a matter of finding:
a hot cup of coffee on a cold afternoon,
a warm bed and the sound of raindrops lulling you to sleep,
the corny joke of a friend desperate to make you smile,
the occasional break in the clouds for light to shine through

the season won't last, of course.
soon the slumbering bear in his cave
will wake to marvel at a world
where winter is only a sentence
lodged in the past tense.

portrait of a family dinner at a japanese restaurant

i'm taking up a new hobby: observing people.

it's friday evening, and i still have an hour and a half before transformers the movie starts, so i'm off to dinner at rai rai ken ayala. i take up a table and notice that sitting across me was this family of four. so i decide to practice my new hobby and observe them for the duration of the dinner.

there was the father and the mother, both i think in their late 30s, and their 2 daughters, both of whom couldn't have been older than 7. the kids were playing w/ their chopsticks, w/c would be the natural thing kids do at a japanese restaurant. their table was also littered w/ the shredded chopstick wrappers. this upset and probably also embarrassed the mom, who was wearing an almost pained expression on her face while watching the kids at their antics. so to save her reputation, she proceeded scolding the kids, but very very quietly, so as to not attract everybody else's attention. the kids did settle down a bit, but continued playing w/ their chopsticks anyway, beating their plates like drums.

the more detached father, seeing what the kids were doing w/ their chopsticks, decided teaching the kids how to use them. i'm no expert at chopsticks, but i think he was holding it wrong. he crossed the sticks in his right hand like scissors, w/c would make controlling the chopsticks more difficult. a question to chopstick users: was the dad doing it wrong? or am i the one doing it wrong? anyhow, the kids couldn't seem to figure it out so the parents were forced to ask the waiter for a spoon and fork for both of the kids.

they ordered 3 bentos and a ramen. i think their plan was to have 1 bento each for the grown ups and have the kids split the 3rd bento, and they would all share the ramen. the grown ups' bentos arrived first, so the father, in his capacity as provider, distributed some of his own food to the kids. he already gave the kids some rice & teriyaki beef, then he took one whole tempura from his plate and gave it to the youngest. but the kid didn't look too interested in the tempura, maybe found it too big, so she gave it back to dad. the dad then passed the tempura to the older kid, who also gave it back to dad. already rejected twice, he then gave it to the mom, at w/c point the mom frowned at the extra serving of tempura on her plate. weird, nobody seemed to want the tempura. if not for the distance between their table and mine, i would have volunteered to assist them in the tempura's disposal. but the mom soon found a solution to the tempura dilemma. she split the thing in half, giving one piece to each kid, both of whom happily accepted. problem solved.

then the 3rd bento arrived, and the ramen. the dad tried distributing the ramen, but mom and the kids would only take the soup and only a little of the noodles. the kids couldn't finish the 3rd bento. the mom, who never lost the pained expression on her face since the start of the dinner, also didn't seem too keen on the leftovers. so it was all up to dad, who gamely started on what was left of the kids' bento, and then the ramen noodles. he soon cleaned everything out, leaving nothing to waste. that must be why most men tend to get fat when they become fathers (what we cebuanos call 'papa ug lawas'), they're the ones who have to clean up the kids' leftovers.

after seeing dad clean everything up, the mom, still wearing the pained expression on her face, calls the waiter and asks for the bill. the kids were now as well behaved as angels, their full tummies probably holding them down. hmmm... a thought, their must be a link between child obesity and hyperactivity. maybe the parents of obese kids overuse food as a solution to the kids' hyperactivity.

the bill soon arrived, and out came dad's wallet. he paid for the dinner in cash. the change promptly arrived, and i noticed that the dad took everything, not leaving any for a tip. i myself didn't leave a tip for my meal. are we filipinos really bad tippers in general? w/ the change now safely in the dad's pocket, they all stood up and left. the mom's face was now noticeably calmer, like she was relieved the dinner didn't turn out to be a disaster.

seeing no other interesting subject left in the restaurant, i finished what was left of my food, paid my bill, and left.

people watching

it is 3pm on a lazy saturday afternoon, and i am relaxing at bo's coffee club ayala, sipping a chocolate chip froccino. very disappointed with the chocolate chip froccino. the ice and the chocolate chips were too lumpy that sucking through the straw required the strength of a vacuum cleaner. the barrista probably wasn't in the mood to blend the darn thing well enough. i start thinking that maybe i should have gone to bigbucks for my caffeine fix. i can personally attest that bigbucks' coffee kicks bo's coffee's ass. and even better, i have an employee's discount at bigbucks. but the thing with bigbucks though, it's just that there aren't too many interesting people to watch there.

for example, to my right is a group of 4 office girl type chicks. they are talking very animatedly, like they haven't seen each other in a long time. maybe they were close college friends, this being one of those rare opporunities that they all weren't too busy to meet and catch up on each other. i find the one facing me cute, so i steal some looks at her every now & then. but then i notice a ring on her finger. damn. she's married.

to my left, is a young couple, about college age. they both look shy, this might be their first date. they talk in short and measured sentences, as if both are scared of saying something that might screw things up. both are looking quietly out the window. they only look at each other when they talk, then they promptly go back to looking out the window. the girl is pretty. the guy must feel very lucky to snag a date with her. i wish him luck.

after about 30 minutes, the young couple leaves. they are replaced by another couple, a filipina and a white guy. a most interesting specimen. the white guy is carrying a camera with him, taking pictures of his filipina date. he has a very tourist-y aura about him, like he just landed from the states. they order coffee, brownies, and ice cream. the filipina looks bored & uncomfortable. they don't talk very much. the white guy does most of the talking, while the filipina just smiles most of the time. i get a sense that they are still trying to form a connection. the white guy looks like your normal run-off-the-mill average looking white guy. but his filipina date is just... well... to put it more politely... exotic.

the question that's racing in my mind as i watch them is this: does he really find her attractive??? or is he just plain desperate? i so would've wanted ask him that, but i expected a punch to the gut to come after the question. we wouldn't want an international incident in our hands would we?

when we see such couples, we start forming conclusions based on our prejudices. we surmise that the filipina girl is poor, and the white guy middle aged and desperate. we guess that they found each other over the internet, maybe through social networking sites like friendster or dating sites like itzamatch.com, or maybe some random chat room over ym or msn. they continue chatting or exchanging emails in a span of a year or so, trying to form a virtual bond with each other. white guy eventually decides to come to the philippines so they can see each other in person. and now, here they are, right in front of me, having coffee.

a common judgement is that the relationship is one that is created out of convenience, with the hope that love will find its way into their hearts as the relationship runs its course. the filipina is usually condemned as a gold digger and the white guy as a poor pathetic sucker. such blanket judgements are wrong of course, but prejudice usually has some basis in truth. anyway, we're all trying to find love one way or another. that's just how it works for them. i can only hope that both are sincere.

while i was caught in my reverie, a weird man suddenly approaches. he asks me, quite rudely, if the other seat on my table was taken. i was too surprised to say anything, so i just stared at him. without waiting for my answer, he takes the other chair, swings it to the side, sits down, and takes a nap. i considered the act a violation of my personal air space, but what could i do? technically, table and chair weren't mine. and i couldn't just shoo him away. so i waited for him to open his eyes, then i gave him my best impression of the ghost rider's penance stare. luckily, he got the message, and moved to another spot. he wasn't so dumb after all.

suggestion to bigbucks management: you guys should be setting up a branch at ayala, or some other mall. at least the people won't be so boring.

the nba is a loony bin

and i thought kobe bryant was crazy... here's a bit of old news i came across:

(CBS) MINNEAPOLIS On March 30, Minnesota Timberwolves center Eddie Griffin was drunk and masturbating when he crashed his luxury SUV into a parked Suburban outside a store in Minneapolis, according to a lawsuit filed Thursday by the man whose Suburban was hit in the crash.

something fishy...

i knew there was something fishy about that hotel...

sunday at the park

a new photo essay on my photoblog. check it out :) comments are highly appreciated :)

a divine win

another thought.

after the san miguel beermen's miraculous win over coca-cola last sunday, eric reyes interviewed coach siot tanquincen about the win. he asked coach siot, "what were you thinking during the game?" to which coach siot replied to the effect, "you just don't give up on situations like this, and you leave everything else to God. fortunately God blessed us with this win."

it occured to me, does God meddle with sports? does He decide who should win, or does He just leave it up to the players to win it? do we REALLY have free will?

balls

just wondering, why is it, of all the organs we have in the human body, that the testicles are most associated with courage? like, when you say "you must have balls to do that." or when you say, "that's a very ballsy move."

are there any chemical reactions that happen in the testicles to produce courage? or maybe, is it just because warriors of cave man society had a tendency to display their balls, maybe to attract prospective mates by advertising their virility?

for sure, the feminists will have something to say about that. if you follow the logic, since only men have testicles, then it means only men are capable of courage. which, of course, is like saying our politicians are not capable of cheating.

if i remember right, filipinos lost a major battle in the philippine american war thanks to that particular association. while preparing his defenses, general antonio luna learned that a subordinate he had just reprimanded dissed him, saying if he had the balls then he should come discipline him. naturally, the general, notorious for his short fuse, was furious. he took a part of his troops with him to face the subordinate, abandoning the rest. unfortunately, while the general was out proving his anatomy, the americans came and broke through the filipino defenses.

thus did 'balls' lead the revolution to its doom.

the genie in the goblet

taken with my old camera phone, hence the image quality:

the genie in the goblet


mrs. genie


major headache


ahhh what wonders boredom can do to your creativity...

waiting for papa: studies of a girl on the beach

taken along the shores of san remigio, cebu

for more photos, please visit my photoblog :)

the art of farting

i farted. in public.

it happened in the gym. after a few minutes jogging at the treadmill, i went over to the water cooler for a drink. i was pondering the merits of hale's second album (it sucked. don't buy it.), and then BAM! it happened.

it may have been because of the kamote-q i had earlier for snacks. kamote has a very bad reputation of making one's tummy full of gas. consider yourself warned.

fortunately, none of the people there actually knew me, and none of them was directly near me when it happened. but nonetheless, it happened. i farted. in public. in public!!! and that fart brought with it my own embarassment.

those who have cared to think about farts have classified them into three categories. first, the loud and proud fart. this is more comparable to a dog whose bark is louder than it's bite. it announces its presence to the world ("hello! i am a fart. nice to meet you.") and then is gone. second, the silent but deadly fart. these ones are like assassins lurking in the shadows, or more appropriately, nerve gas. very hard to detect, you never really know that it's just floating there until it assaults your olfactory system and it's too late, you're a goner. and lastly, the wet and wild fart. don't even ask.

unluckily for me, it was the loud and proud kind of fart. well, not really loud in the booming kind of way. it was more like a sharp sound, made even sharper by my own shame. from the sound of it, it was as if my insides were full of air heaving mightily to get out, and my sphincter in a valiant yet futile attempt to stop it. but the fart sounded loud enough for me to hear even if i still had my earphones on, playing music at full volume.

for a moment, i considered fleeing from the scene of the crime. but that would only have confirmed my own guilt in front of everybody. just when my embarassment reached the intensity enough to tear myself apart, then my psychological defense mechanisms started kicking in.

phase one: denial. "no, they couldn't have heard it... but then i heard it! and i have my earphones on full volume! oh crap..."

phase two: delusion. "i'll just imagine it didn't happen. everything is all right with the world. tralalalala..." but my delusions were too flimsy to carry the weight of my embarassment: "shit... it's not working".

so on to phase three: defiance. "so what if they heard me fart? who cares if they make of fun of me? if they make fun of me, then i'll... i'll... aaaaarggghh!!!"

finally, phase four: acceptance.

so i farted. i would rather have the good air in and the bad air out. anyway, i think it's unhealthy to withhold your fart when your body deems it necessary to be withdrawn. better outside than in.

so i farted. to be human means to fart. i fart, therefore i am. i can think of it as a confirmation that i am normal. everybody farts, so why trouble myself? you and me, kings and queens, presidents and popes, and even angelic beings like angel locsin, angel aquino, and angelina jolie, we all fart. i remember michel de montaigne saying: "upon the highest throne in the world, we are seated, still, on our asses."

so i farted. to live in denial of your ability to fart is to live in denial of your own body. and farting is, by design, part of the package. unless of course you're a mutant, or an alien, or a cyborg. chances are, you're not. so why do we keep demanding from ourselves that we not fart, when it is part of our nature to? again, montaigne: "it is not clever of man to tailor his obligations to the standards of a different kind of being", be it mutant, alien, or cyborg.

so i farted. we seem to live under the notion that we are and should be in total control of our bodies. but we don't, and we can't. mind doesn't always come over matter. we fart in the company of strangers. we stink, burp, feel the urge to piss or shit, or even get horny at moments we need it most not to. and yet that is the most natural thing that can happen to us. the least we can do is live with it, and not tear ourselves apart on the occasional rebellion of some of our body parts.

so i farted. at least i am here able to fart, and able to hear myself fart. so i cherish these days when i can still fart, and hear myself fart, for the day is coming when i will be no longer able to do that. and that day is coming for us all.

that last one really hit me. oh boy, was i happy i farted.

disclaimer: i am not encouraging everyone to take up the license to fart freely and proudly in public. that would be plain rude. and it certainly won't endear you to anyone.

and that is how i lived with the embarrassment of having farted in public.

hoy lover boy!

if you're reading this, you know who you are. honestly, after everything you've said, i *STILL* don't get what your problem is. you're scared she'd be bored with you? you never know, she's also scared you'd be bored with her. that i believe is a very invalid consideration. [syntax error. please delete from thought process.]

as for her weird mood swings, we all know how girls can be, with their monthly transformations from sweet little thing to fire breathing dragon. they can't help it, it's in their body chemistry. but that means you'll have to live with it though. it's a burden all men must face, unless you've chosen to be celibate.

you're not sure that what you feel for her is "LOVE"? you want to make sure that it's actually "LOVE" before you formalize things with her? ahh, "LOVE", the word that has brought so many great men to their knees and so many brave warriors to lose courage. well, i think you're right. what you feel for her right now is *NOT* yet "LOVE", but mere infatuation. but it *ALWAYS* starts that way. right now, when you're with her, you still have that feeling that your stomach is in knots and your heart is doing somersaults. but one day, that feeling will dull, die, and be gone. our brains, according to this article from national geographic, can't maintain the intense neural activity of infatuation. that's when "LOVE" is supposed to take over. "LOVE" is not some sensation you wait for to happen, it's something you decide to do and work on along the way. "Does love not sprout from need/ but choice?", the poet angelo suarez wrote. i used to think otherwise, but now i'm starting to agree with him.

so what the hell are you waiting for? GET A MOVE ON BOY!

unless, of course, you're set on buying me that pizza... dapat yellow cab ha... dugay na sad raba ko wa katilaw ug yellow cab :P

P.S. nya pakapini sad diay ug coke, matuk-an nya ko...

yahoooooooo!!!

pardon me for bragging :)