Ang unang pumapasok sa isip ko noon kapag binabanggit ang hiphop ay mga kantang pulos tungkol sa pakikipagtalik, pag-o-objectify ng mga kababaihan, pagkalango ng alak, paghithit ng marijuana, at kung ano pa. Itinatak ko sa isip ko na kahit kailan ay hindi ko tatangkilikin ang ganitong musika na walang ibang mensahe kung hindi ang pagpapalaganap ng isang bobong kamalayan. Ang bumago sa aking makitid na pananaw ay ang pagka-diskubre at pagsubaybay ko sa Fliptop Battle League noong dalawang taong na ang nakakalipas. Mula sa isang featured video na naisipan ko lang panoorin, naubos ko sa isang upuan lahat ng mga laban na naka-upload sa channel nila noon.

Noong naririnig-rinig ko pa lang ang Fliptop, akala ko labanan siya ng trumpo. Parang Beyblade lang.

Bago magsimula ang bawat laban, laging may kaakibat na intro music ang pagpapakilala sa bawat kalahok. Kahit ilang segundong preview lang ang laging pinapatugtog, lubos akong naenganyo hanapin ang mga kopya ng ilan sa mga kantang iyon sa internet. Kung pangit man ang bakat sa akin ng hiphop noon, iyon ay dahil maling anggulo nito ako nakabilad. Sabi nga ng iba, “Real hiphop is underground.” Kadalasan, sa parehong tono at liriko nakadepende ang totalidad mga mas sikat na porma ng musika, samantalang sa hiphop naman, ibang iba ang karanasan ng pakikinig dahil mas nabibigyan ng atensyon ang lirikong nakasaliw sa isang constant na beat. Kaya minsan napapapikit na lang ako para lubos kong maunawaan ang nais ipahiwatig ng emcee.

Noong una, inakala ko na freestyle lahat ng kanilang pinupukol na linya sa isa’t isa. Sa katagalan, napagtagni ko na ang bawat salitang lumalabas sa kanilang bibig ay bunga pala ng matagal pagsusulat at paghahanda para sa laban. Malas na lang ng iba na nakakalimot paminsan-minsan ng kanilang mga banat dahil wala silang ibang magagawa kundi mag-freestyle nang sa ganoon ay maiwasan ang choking o ang pagkakaroon ng mahabang dead air. Ang talagang nagtulak sa akin na maging tagahanga ng modernong balagtasan na ito ay ang pagiging middle ground ng mga liriko nila sa prosa at patula. Kung baga, parang free form poetry na mas hitik sa references, rebuttal, katatawanan, at higit sa lahat, panlalait. Minsan ko nang naisip na sana’y mas umaangkop sa mga kasalukuyang isyu ang pinag-uusapan nila pero natanto ko rin na ang mga pamimintas nila ang mismong salik na nagbibigay ng aliw sa Fliptop at sa iba pang pang-international na liga tulad ng Grind Time at King of the Dot. Likas na rin naman talaga sa mga Pilipino ang ganitong estilo kaya nga patok na patok sa atin ang mga comedy bars at ang mga personalidad tulad ni Vice Ganda.

Si BLKD, ang future ng hiphop! Tiyak na hindi square root of negative one ang rapping skills niya. (likhang sining ni Antoni Tudisco)

Magka-iba ang kumikiliti sa akin sa English at Filipino conference battles. Sa Filipino, mas hilig ko yung mga on point, witty, nakakatawa, may wordplay at gumagamit ng mga hindi karaniwan na references. Ilan sa mga paborito kong emcees sa division na ito ay sina BLKD, Loonie, K-Jah at Tipsy D. Kinakatawan siguro ng linyang ito galing kay BLKD sa laban niya kay Mel Christ ang mga katangian na nais kong marinig sa mga sinasambit na bars ng mga kalahok sa liga:

“Dahil ang tula ko ay deadly / Pumapatay, kumikitil, pumapaslang—3 ways! / Huwag ka nang umasang magr-resurrect ka pa after 3 days / Dahil hindi ka na tatalino kahit sa 3 wise men sumabit / Mga linya mong nakakaantok parang 3-o’clock habit!”

Sa kabilang banda, ang pamantayan ko naman sa English division ay sina Protege, Skarm at NothingElse. Kumpara sa Filipino division, malaking bagay para sa akin ang angas at confidence sa mismong pag-deliver ng mga kataga at linya. Mas tipo ko yung mas malalim kesa sa patawa. Ito ang isang banat galing kay Protege sa laban niya kay Diaz sa King of the Dot 2:

“See, out of 64, you probably have 8-bit like a phase out cartridge chip / Like your brain is, played out, with not enough space for some creative sparks to fit.”

Mataas ang replay value ng laban na ito. Kahit na hindi ito kanta, ito ang LSS ko sa kasalukuyan.

Lumaki ang respeto ko sa hiphop matapos mapadpad ang aking tainga sa mas kaaya-ayang sulok nito. Bagaman may mga musika talagang hindi ko pa rin magawang pakinggan, kanyang-kanyang trip pa rin yan at syempre, walang panlasang nakakahigit pa sa iba. Sana mas umunlad pa at lumawig ang impluwensiya ang ang hiphop scene dito sa Pilipinas. Dahil sa totoo lang, kung tatanggalin natin ang mga kabastusan sa Fliptop, mas nakakatulong pa ito sa pagpapayabong ng creavity, di tulad ng mga local TV shows dito sa atin na puro generic ang istorya. Ito ang makabagong pasalitang literatura para sa mga takot at ayaw makulong sa konserbatibong pamamaraan ng tuluyan at panulaan.

At ngayong habang wala pang bagong uploads si Anygma para sa mga pagtutuos sa Ahon 3, babalik-balikan ko muna ang mga videos ng mga laban na tumatak sa akin.

Quick Thought 2: I find that a person with raw wisdom cannot fully transcend to the level of a philosopher unless one of his feet is propped on the pit of the fallacy of composition. The intent of these thinkers has always been to pen all-encompassing generalizations on entities whose idea of permanence is but theoretical and ideal. If canines differ largely from their personalities, yet are still dogs, how is it that they’re trying to cramp us in a single statement? I am put off by the conception that as long some satisfy the anatomical qualifications of a man, they automatically merit to be collectively called as a humanity together with the rest. Part of being a human is our implicit rationality, and if by its usage, some mean the dastardly act of hoarding money through illegal means or settling to bloodshed and other corrupted machinations, then let us allow them to win over the title of humanity while the lot of us relinquish it for a label with a much agreeable nature.

Quick Thought 3: To further drive home my point in number 2, I am disposed to say that they are doing us a great disservice because we all know for a fact that leaders don’t forever remain righteous, not all the governed necessitate guidance from their leaders because sometimes it’s the other way around, and this or that form of government is not always apt for societies with varying histories. Philosophers should have recognized that the same mental aptitude that breathed life to their treatises is what precisely makes all of us not simplistic.

Replacing the sound of the fit of the fireworks nearby is the collision of the drib leftovers of the brief round of rainfall against the roof of the rear-side neighbours. Everyone in the family is fast asleep while unusually, the lights of the houses in proximity to ours remain to be put out. Greetings in the form of text, wall posts, and tagged photos continue to pour in, albeit in a much slower rate than during the first hour of the day. Communication lines tend to be clogged in the face of these universal occasions so perhaps some of the recent texts sitting in my inbox were meant to come in along with the first few greetings. As a matter of fact, the realization that the 24^th had handed over its dominion over the fourth dimension to the 25^th only came about when greetings started trickling in. On another note, there’s presently a growing riot in my stomach and despite having had the option to feed my appetite, I thought better of it, partly owing it to the fear that my mother will mistake it as an act of partaking in the season.

I don’t know how else I could have phrased that in a less dismal manner but it isn’t as strict as it appears to be. Consider my belief as a legacy, something that was passed on to me by my parents and I received without inquiries. No one who claims to be a theist ought to question his faith, as it is an instinct often viewed as the other facet of the duality along with reason. (But I believe they go hand-in-hand, similar to how Calvin or Hobbes seems incomplete without an “and” adjoining them.) That, and the influence of the fact that we were all, at one point in our lives, impressionable youngsters who swallowed and never spat. Now what we have is a Sarah refusing to jar out herself from complacency by not doubting. I don’t exactly enjoy entertaining the thought that I might wake up one day and discover the foundations of my belief falling apart. Though if I got the carte blanche on my spirituality when I was younger, it’s likely everything would stay the same except for the confidence gained anew in walking about the path of a non-conformist Christian.

Aww.

Our precepts admit exceptions too; it’s the reason why I get to participate in parties and in the habit of exchanging gifts during this season. And it is not so much about us not being bigots—still, we are no bigots—as us avoiding the hassle of having to back-up our insistence not to celebrate Christmas with Biblical citations, in hope of explaining ourselves to everyone. (This is when the convenience of the President’s ease to call news conferences seems desirable.) Moreover, I find it more satisfying to celebrate His birthday in moderation daily than assigning a particular day to be excessively compassionate, not to mention be a more steadfast lapdog of capitalism. But permit me to clarify this: I love this season for all the positive chi it brings to the table.

I don’t greet people but I do greet back. Inconsistencies abound my personal tenets, don’t they? The rationale behind this can be explained by those Happy Birthdays in Facebook from friends totally oblivious to the fact that their greetings are 2 or 3 days late; and that this very lateness is more of a consequence of them being made aware through their Top News feed of the great flood of posts on your wall rather than a manifestation of their thoughtfulness. But nonetheless, I personally find these late greetings deserving of a thanks due to the initiative of these friends to make their remembrance of this worn out but well-meant thought known to me. To individuals who sent out their greetings today, thank you!

So um, I don’t think I’ve shed much light on any of the points I raised but here… in place of a contextual greeting, have a nice day everyone! :)

If my memory serves me correctly, the first time I tried this, my stream of thought did not take me far. Firmly latched onto me were the pressure of time constraint, and the urge to edit, erase and to press the backspace key. I’m actually not quite certain whether my pinky finger hasn’t hit the backspace key in the past seven minutes; perhaps it has become a habitual practice and for this reason, my reality now refuses to categorize it as unnatural. I vehemently wish I didn’t because everything I’ve typed so far will be rendered invalid, and I would have violated the rules of the game then.

Only a moment ago, the clock hit 10:46 PM and that leaves me with two minutes or less than two minutes (for time never pauses) to close this. What else? You know how they say a true writer should be able to write anywhere and anytime with his style unmodified? Too bad, I am no writer– it’s such a big word to call myself or anybody for that matter. Like giving someone the title gamer! Anyway, going back to what I said, I find it tougher to write with a piece of paper and a pen than with a keyboard close to my hands. I wish I can start amending my ways with a tangible journal. Good ol’ instinct tells me this should end in 15 seconds. I have nothing else to say.

Let it be known that every time I write, I trip over one of these four ruts:

1. My thought is rarely monogamous and it is never silenced save when I am asleep. It shuffles through the extant tabs in my head like a typical ladies’ man who experiences dissatisfaction from sticking around with a single partner for long. And it certainly doesn’t help to have pairs of eyes and hands which constantly demand that I find something to occupy their attention. In between my trouble to focus, I get to fiddle with the wash bottle on my table, repeatedly insert the key into my drawer’s keylock, and visit the bathroom and unwind with the current roll of tissue in the dispenser.

How I rise up: Buddha is my ever-dependable henchman. I get on my meditation stance and follow every thing written on this article. After a good 2 minutes, I immediately start relishing the whole duration I pounce on the keyboard. No kidding.

2. The portion of my brain involved in processing language regularly experiences bouts of verbal constipation. (My gratitude goes out to Sedric for his accurate diagnosis. He’s definitely on his way towards becoming a great doctor.) I usually have a general idea of how my sentences will explain themselves. The difficulty comes up when I plod though my limited database of words and pick ones which, upon subjection to the loooong process of putting them into order, will satisfy the expression I pictured in mind.

How I rise up: I literally rise up from my seat and descend the stairs to consume a bottle of Yakult or depending on its availability, several spoonfuls of powdered milk. I have this notion that the ounce of sugar contained in either will instantly supply my brain with ample ATP.

3. I am rarely in the mood to finish my sentences.

How I rise up: I hold off any attempt to write, and only set my brain in motion as early as when everyone in the house and most of the people in my messenger are asleep. The perfect ambiance is completed when the sole source of light left in my room is the laptop screen I am facing right now.

4. Any combination of (1), (2) and (3) since they almost always come as a package.

How I rise up: I don’t. I can only solve one problem at a time so I’d like you to consider the invaluableness of each instance I that I write here or successfully submit a paper.

I am completely aware that my writing rituals are placebos.

Dumilat ako at dumalaw sa kulungan
Ilang iglap akong nagitla sa tagpong tanaw
Bakas ang hirap sa panginginig ni Bantay
Daing pala ay ang maselang umbok sa tiyan

Di kusang naging saksi ako sa pribadong yugto
Ng nakapanghihinang pakikipagbuno ni Bantay
Para at laban sa laman ng sinapupunan
Upang makasapit sa isang mainam na areglo

Malaon din bago umusbong ang punla
Maliit at kapos sa proteksyon, subalit kumakapit
Sa kanyang mapag-arugang yapos at dila
Na hindi natitinag na katiyakan ang hatid

Gunita ang nagdala sa aking mga paa pabalik
Sa silid na matagal ko nang hindi nabisita
Ipinagkasya ko ang sarili sa espasyong para sa isa
Ngunit kailanman ay hindi naiba sa akin
Naalimpungatan siya at nang may bahagyang ngiti
Binalutan ako ni Ina ng kanyang init
At kami ay nahimbing sa malalim na gabi

——

Nakaupo ako sa inidoro (mahalaga at kailangan talaga ang detalyeng ito) at nakatitig sa kawalan nang bigla kong maalala na may isinulat nga pala akong tula noong isang semestre na mailalapit sa okasyon ngayon. Makailang beses din ako nagrebisa at nagsumikap gumawa ng tugmaan kaya kung pilit pakinggan, pasensya at ipasaaiyo mo na lang pagkasuklam. Tulang pambata dapat ito para sa isang elective ngunit sa makailang-ulit na paghagod ko ng pagbasa, parang lumalabas na teenager ang persona. Bata pa bang maituturing ‘yun? Ewan ko lang, sa palagay ko kasi, iyon ang mga taon na tumutulay sa patlang sa pagitan ng pagkabata at pagiging mayor-de-edad.

Wala akong espesyal na nagawa para kay Mama sa araw na ito. Hindi ko siya nasabihan ng “I love you” at ni hindi ko rin siya pinaretiro kahit ngayon lang sa mga gawaing-bahay. Sana, sa kabila ng aking sinabi na hindi ako komportable sa pagbisita niya sa aking blog, ay mapadpad siya rito para mabasa ang mga katagang pupunan sa hindi masambit na paghanga at pasasalamat. Happy Mother’s Day!

Unlike everybody, I can state with a good deal of certainty that I am not close to my cousins. It is a kinship I would most precisely put into words as amiable, but likewise inert and distant. The prevalent gap in our ages would in all likelihood be the closest reason I could attribute this aloofness to. As I was growing up, most of them were already in their college years, and so when I eventually recognized how unusual our relationship was, they were already living lives apart from the scope of a family. The few ones whose ages are near mine dwell in the province, affording us little time to create tight-knit ties.

If anything, I never sought to distance myself from them. Were that distance to be quantified, it’d be apparent by a healthy margin that I am friendlier to my cousins in my maternal side. What perhaps largely contributes to this inclination is the generation overlap between me and the daughters of my one particular auntie. We don’t talk often yet when I come by their place, they make sure they engage my attention by having me in their bedroom while the grownups catch up on the lost time. What the small talks fail to bridge are filled in with the sounds of the television tuned to the channel they think I would have opted if I spoke more openly and comfortably to them. This happens as frequent as a child dares to curse in front of her parents, so one can easily imagine how it fares between me and the rest of my cousins.

As it happens however, I am the sole one with a case like this among my siblings. One would have thought my middle sib, who I’ve written about a handful of times, as an exception because of the limitation posed by her disability but I think it is highly-relevant to the matter at hand that I note that she is held fondly by my aunties and cousins. My eldest sister (which much to my current surprise, I haven’t mentioned not even once in any of my entries), on the other hand, had grown up warmly with some of them, landing her on a floor a league atop my small talk level. I was a kid who played with tea sets alone within the confines of our home, so though we used to live in a compound with my paternal cousins, they were strangers to me as much as the kids living from across the street.

Family gatherings are substantial wells of idle time for me. In fact, they are generally fun but I wish the future ones will exceed the stale enjoyability of the previous. If I am not seen fulfilling my duties in eating and gracing pictures with my presence, I am likely found roving my gaze while awaiting for a cousin whose interest for a short chatter I will rouse. I was never at the questioning end of a conversation and I had mastered my role so well that my prediction for how it’ll proceed had never been wrong– or rather, it has taken the same path everytime. They would ask about my course in college, then my family and finally, leave to search for a more meaningful conversation. Yup, they forget my course every single time, of which I am actually glad since it entails further seconds of zero awkwardness.

If you were expecting this entry to boil down to me saying that I yearn to be close to them, I won’t. I don’t see how its materialization at present would bring change to the past seventeen years I grew up without their fond regard. But just so you know, never did I shut my mind off at the idea.

In the first few weeks of the update deadlock, a “creature” (I’m pretty sure it was Smeagol’s brother) had come to my presence and informed me that my blog is under the surveillance of my parents. My dear parents, I’d appreciate it greatly if you’ll give me at least the comfort of not being reminded of the reality where its URL is no longer strange to you. Immunity from the unsealed dinner time discussions is one of my motives when I started this. Nonetheless, I assure you that the deficiency in kinetic energy of this webspace is exclusively dependent on the variable I dub procrastination.

On another note, it appears to me that my hit counter had recently gotten a generous kick of nitrous boost, thanks to my auto-refreshing browser equipped with the ability to switch IP addresses anytime so I may also be under the impression that I have unique foreign visitors. My cheap statistical means of dividing the total hits over the total number of days the data was collected suggests that my browser refreshes this blog at a rate of 2.73 hits/day. This figure surprisingly coincides with the recent trend in my daily hits. I take it to mean that this general direction taken by the cosmos is plainly a consequence of the strong foreboding given off by my heroic return.

You should bear in mind, perchance you clamor for more updates, that  I put the well-being of the humanity above all else. It should be out of your anticipation that updates are to follow thereafter this for zombie scourges are anything but timed and proverbial.

Cheers for the upteenth start of The Arctic Beetle.

At the back of my mind, I predicted that it was a type of threat I can brush off as pointless notwithstanding the case’s high probability of occurrence. The string of messages we found in her inbox came out to be  implicit offers stating that a wad of money amounting to 20, 000 PHP can (but not almost instantly) be an immunity necklace against possible deadly offenses by “Tau Gamma”. Or at least that’s what I understood from the texter’s intellectually-overwhelming Deaf grammar. Tau Gamma’s background is a haze I wish to direct none of my researching or inferring abilities on since it’s evidently a prop added to make the threat fall into the flair category.

Knock, knock. Who’s there? Me, I KILL YOU.

As with any action film, there has to be a “great escape” of crucial relevance to the rest of the story: her’s entailed leaving the bounds of our home in stealth mode sometime last week. That would have been the plan most susceptible to attack so in supplement to her mind void of shrewdness, we (the sidekicks) stopped her.

We had suspects, of course. Logically, she shouldn’t have a lot of enemies since her irrationality is ultimately selective towards people within her immediate sanguine relations. In her lifespan, there has only been one person who indicated the likelihood of resorting to such means to harm and that’s Krista, the same girl who arranged the aforementioned mobbing. As it later turned out, our conjecture is positive while the rest of the threat is but a flimsily-weaved story that can be made tattered by the mention of  the words police, catch and jail.

For a moment, I was frankly scared. Experiences like this one cause me to rethink whether the line “I live a normal life.” applies to me.

The daily thermometer readings inside my room average to 35.8 degree Celsius; that is approximately 1.2 units away from the normal human body temperature. Being off from the reach of nearest source of air, may it be hot or cold, for 2 seconds can make my sweat glands active as the most hyperactive child you know. Even when I take a bath, it seems to me that the rate at which my body produces sweat is in equilibrium with the speed the water from the shower hose gushes. I am more and more inclined to think that I am probably losing an appreciable amount of fat due to the weather. On the downside, the situation of my face hangs variably between being chapped and excessively sebaceous. Gross, yes.

A 5-second exposure to the sun can cause my complexion to turn two or three shades down the gradient. The sun’s visible affection for my skin is more fiery than a kiss and is suitably named as sun-burnt. Calling out to all the artists out there, my wide array of skin tones is open for palette-referencing.

There should be a primary cause to this and right now, I am trying to think of reasons less lame than global warming. Then again, Philippines is a tropical country.

I need an everyday supply of buko juice.