Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Silver Year Existential Crisis.

I've been thinking about becoming a polytheist. No, this has nothing to do with missing Game of Thrones. And yes, I realise my blasphemous notion flies in the face of a few thousand years of "Ye Shall have no other gods before me" (To be honest, even when I was a kid that commandment troubled me. It sounded like a jealous girlfriend saying, "If I catch you looking at other girls, you're in big trouble, Mister!" And don't get me started on how "no other gods before me" kinda implies that there might actually be some other gods loitering about).

But my main reason for considering becoming a Pagan (Pagish?), is that it neatly answers the age-old question, "Why does god allow so much suffering in the world?" When tragedy strikes, the monotheistic approach can only offer the tired old, "It is not for us to question god's will" Really? Why not us? Who else is in the question business? But look what happens when we ask the same question from a pantheistic perspective.

Why do the gods allow so much suffering in the world? Because outside of their particular area of expertise; farming, war, fertility, what-have-you, they are not even remotely in control. The buck stops nowhere. (In this scenario both the Old and New Testament deities are off the hook as far as your general suffering is concerned.)

But here's the really good news: with the polytheistic approach to prayer we can micro-target our beseeching. Trouble with love? Take it to Aphrodite. Not catching enough fish? Poseidon. Are you regularly waking up from the alcohol-induced blackouts in the sleeping compartment of a long-haul trucks that carry circus equipment and little people? That sounds like a job of Dionysus. Your jokes are not funny? How about asking Anansi? In other words, whatever crisis might be, there's a god ready to take your call.

What are you waiting for? Call now and receive a free goat-sacrificing kit! (Goat sold separately)

Saturday, September 20, 2014

Le Taxi Driver Experience


The best tour guides in any city are the cab drivers. They know all things both trivial and weird about places that you will not find in any travel guide books and blogs. This is specially true in the small city state of Singapore, where a cab driver of 2 years probably have been literally everywhere multiple times. These cab drivers can also be a source of general opinions (political or otherwise, mostly unwanted too) and local gossips. If they are talkative enough, they could be a the Singapore voice in a nutshell for Tourists.

As a matter of fact, I learned all the juicy stuffs and street knowledge from them when I first settled here some 5 years ago. 

Scene number 1: 
Coming from a party around 2AM, going back home I heard this unexpected field report about Girls of Geylang. 

Me: Uncle, Lorong 28 Geylang
Driver: Ahhh.... Which way, geylang ah? You Filipino ah?
Me: We go Guillemard, Yeah, How can you tell?
Driver: You, Babaero ahh.. Hahahahaha (Babaero = Playboy in tagalog)
Me: Where did you learn that word?!
Driver: My Filipina gerpren told me.

The Playboy Taxi Uncle who have a Filipina gerpren started telling stories about the girls I will find in Geylang. Apparently he thought I'm there to find some sexy time.

Driver: Dun waste your money with tseena gels ah. Outside they veli sweet. But you pay money   inside they just shake your didi until to come then finish leh. Waste of 100 dalla. Better take those indo cewek (?) (he pronouced as chiwek - i don't know what this is) at Lorong 10, you pay 30 or 40 good sevis oredi. Best sevis are Thailand ger. Veli veli good sevis.


Scene number 2:
I Learned On how big Singapore actually is.

Driver: I drive 20 years. First time flood like this. Siao eh (crazy) betta commute but MRT faulty too. Dun know what’s happening leh.
They dig dig for mrt. Yellow line, Brown line, why need so many lines ah, Singapore so small what? 
I drive from Changi to Tuas in 1hour! Aiyoo!


Scene Number 3: 
They are also multilingual and amusing with their showing off.

Driver: You Filipino ah?
Ako: Yup, how did you know?
Driver: How you speak. I kenna learn Filipino too. Salamat po!
Ako: Cool, where did you learn?
Driver: I have lots of Filipino passengers, night shift call centers and club gels.
Ako: Ah…
Driver: Kaliwa, kanan? Hahahahaha. (translation: Left or Right? LOL) -- This despite we were on an overpass and there are not exits to turn left or right


Scene number 4:
Singapore held a Presidential Election 2 years ago, and coming from PH with a westernized political structure, the notion of Prime Minister and MP's confuses me. Uncle Cabbie to the rescue.

Driver: Election coming already, all president running last name Tan. Very funny lah.
Ako: Uncle, what’s the difference between, President, Prime Minister and LKY (Lee Kuan Yew)
Driver: LKY is Minister Mentor, he is father. Prime Minister is his son (which is true literally)  
            President is like treasurer only and display.
Ako: Like mother?
Driver: No, more like maid.


Scene 4: 
Just like how they learn from us when it comes to Language. 
We too, can learn from them.

Driver: Filipino language almost same same with malay language
Ako: I know, Pintu, Batu, Gunting…
Driver: Yah lah, I understood what you talking back there.
Ako: Bro, what’s the Malay word for FART
Driver: Fat?
Ako: Fart
Driver: What? Fat ah?
Ako: No, no, fart. You know puuuttt and then bad smell? (while discribing, I was pointing at my ass)
Driver:  Ahhh… Buntut!
Ako: No, I know buntut. Buntut is tail right? Like monkey, tail? Buntut. I mean fart. The smell.
Driver: Ahhhh I know I know. KENTUT!
Ako: (Shocked) Really?! KENTUT?! Hahahaha. What does, Kentut means? (just to make sure)
Driver: Bad smell, you asked. Why you KENTUT ah? Don’t KENTUT inside my cab!!!

Sometime later (actually a few weeks after) I had a chance to ask our Malay speaking courier and ask him if KENTUT is fart and of course, It is. 

** Kentut sounds the same as the tagalog word for FUCK. The super obscene and vulgar version. 
     I am actually contemplating on writing it down because it's that vulgar I feel dirty. hahahaha.
     But here you go, KANTUT. So yeah. Cheers 

Thursday, August 15, 2013

Do Not Read Before Dinner

I am not a sporty person. Yes, I do swim laps, and run and joined a couple of marathon or two here, but generally I am not a sporty person. I realized that when in my Elementary days, I joined the track and field but lost all my runs. They entered me as a shot-putter but I was too skinny. I tried high jump and long jump, both failed. In my adult life i found ways to slink off my colleagues football invitations (it's big here in SG), and even if I'm standing 5'10, I'm useless in basketball. I dunno why but I guess I'm not giving my all, I'm always playing safe. Afraid to be injured.

I remember my high school classmate breaking his arm in one of of our basketball game. It was so bad that his arms have to be casted away.

And when you have a broken arm, there aren't many choices for you in your life. You wipe your ass and you put the food in your mouth with the same hand, same fingers, and same fingernails.

I can just imagine how he washes his ass with a single hand.

You know how most of us isn't contented with just a wipe of a tissue. Wipe and Go never work out for me. I never feel clean without the feel of soap and water in my ass after taking a dump.  It's kind of hard with me if I go with one hand. Like I said, it's a process so I need the other hand to pour the water and then the other hand to wash the poos away from the hole. It's similar to the union of body and soul: The union of left and right hand, soap, lather, pour, rinse, smile. It's not a big deal if I smile after I take a dump, it's self-fulfillment after all.

I just can't sleep thinking about it, so tonight, I tried washing with only my right hand. No I didn't take a dump, I just tried washing. First, I wet my hand and bubble it up with soap. Then gently soap my ass with my bubble hand. Afterwards I pour water slowly, wash it up, pour again, wash, and pour water again, until the soapy slippery feeling is no more.

But.... What will happen if there is  shit clogging at the entry of your asshole? That's where the trouble begins. You have to scrape it especially if its a sticker type of dump, because there IS actually no way that you could shake that off even if you get jiggy or wiggly with it. And even if you furiously tried doing that hole thing, like you make it blink or something (just like what the chicks -- chicken offspring, animal, fowl, et. al, get the picture?-- do when you blow their bottoms, it's like MOMOMOMOM kind of movement, like it's blinking)  there's no way that you could make tiny piece of shit drop.

So you have to scrape it. With two or three of your fingers. With your yet to be un-clipped fingernails.

So after you scrape it, you again go back to process of taking the soap, lather, pour, wash, so and so and so, and it's tiring for a single-handed person, don't you think? And at the end of the day you still have to eat with one hand. Yes, there are utensils, but what are you gonna do if you're eating shrimp or a very bony bangus?

So every time you meet a one-arm-casted-person. Be wary on shaking their hands.

Also, for some reason this post that was meant to be a lamentation about my lack of sporting abilities, somehow transmuted on a rant about shit. I hate writing free-flow, I should practice drafting my entries first.

This is a cocoon that fell from a branch, but it looks like shit. So Yeah.

Sunday, July 28, 2013

Existential Dilemma of an Almost 30 y/o Happy Guy.

Have you ever thought on which way you wouldn't like to die? 

For me It's Falling Down The Stairs.

It's different from falling from a high rise building. When you fall from a building, depending on the height, it can give you 1 to 2 secs for your life to flash by your eyes. Burj Al Khalifa will give you 6 seconds. Then when you've seen everything, a fraction of a second will make you realise that you're done for and there is nothing you can do. With that millisecond, you give in and just relish the moment that you're finally flying. You begin to tell yourself that is awes.....PLAT! Then your brains are all over the pavement and your entrails probably a few meters from you. Falling from a Building is somehow a gutsy way to die. People imagine that you are a sort of Daredevil who bent down to peek a few inches more, lost your balance, fell, and splat. It's a stupid way to die. Stupid but Gutsy.

That's different from Falling Down The Stairs. The higher you fall the more painful it is. You go.. bump-break-bump-ouch-ouch-crack-plat. It's a longer process but I reckon that the "flashing-of-life-by-your-eyes" won't have a proper hold. It will be interrupted by every bones you break, every moan you make on your way down. You ARE CONSCIOUS WHILE FALLING. Then you die. Unlike the awesome/epic graphic remains you will have when you free fall, all you will be from the bottom of the stairs are a collection of weird limbs and bumps and bruises. 

Unlike free falling, death by staircase are 98% proof of stupidity. It's like texting while driving, or you misappropriate the size of your feet, or you're too confident with your stiletto. The other 2% is when it is a wet/slippery floor and some dumbass forget to put a warning sign. But then again, you should always be careful with stairs. So remember, falling from the stairs is stupid. You're Dead, and you're Stupid.

Honestly, If I am to have my way, I'd rather die of an illness, most preferably Cancer. You see, I think it's in our genes. They say my granny died of some illness caused by supernatural beings. Living in the province believing in superstitions for your whole life will make any inexplicable malady caused by Engkantos or Faeries. I have an aunt who died of Cancer (scientifically diagnosed)  and the symptoms are eerily the same. I had another Uncle who died of it too. I wish it would skip our generation, but if it doesn't, I think I'm the only one who have the emotional strength to handle it. I don't want to see one of my sisters suffering. 

I'm telling you this because last night, I slipped from my apartment staircase. It was the last step, I thought there wasn't any. I twisted my ankle, fell face down (but didn't face plant luckily) and my life didn't flash by. Instead I was thinking.... "Fuck! My cellphone! It's gonna smash!" You think that it's just a mere 1 step, but I'm 5-feet-10-inches, add that 1 step and I'm falling more than 6 feet in an inclined position yeah?

I ended up having a swollen ankle, some superficial scratch and bruises and I can't feel 3 of my toes. There must have been some muscle tear but I'm sure no bones were broken. My phone survived too.

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

To The Future Mrs. Fullero

Dear Future Mrs. Fullero,

It has been quite some time since I wrote you a letter. We have been together for a very very very long time. For a semi-ADHD-free-spirit-Libra like me, it feels like eternity. As a matter of fact, this is the longest commitment I've ever entered. Longer than my record career posting of 2 1/2 years and longer than any hobbies that I put my mind into.

I will marry you.

I can't wait to get married to you.

We will put on more years, even longer than my 14 years of my education combined. I cannot guarantee that the future will sail smoothly for us, our years together says it will not be so. There will be hardships and a lot of things you will have to put up with me and I will need a lot of patience to deal with you. But one thing is for sure, these will all be overwhelmed by the Love that we will pour in our relationship. We will endure like we did with our Long Distance Relationship.

You said you never had an inkling that I'd propose soon. With my father retiring, my sister still in her last year at the University, a couple of siblings jobless back then, it's not really a good time to save for a wedding isn't it? Honestly, I was thinking along the same line.

It never came into my mind until one weekend in August, when I woke up and said to myself "I gotta buy a ring!" It occupied my daily thoughts, nagging in the corner of my mind for months on end. I knew I have to take action or else I will explode. I don't know why, but I had a very bad premonition that you'll leave me  if I don't do it soon. That scared me a lot. You remember that cliched line from City of Angels? When Nick Cage told Meg Ryan that He'll rather have a short life with her, than eternity without her, or something along those lines? That's exactly how I felt. I ran my hand on my head and felt Nick Cage's hairline.

I can't remember the details last Christmas when I proposed inside the UST Church. All I know is that it was wet, because we were both crying. For some reason, both of us were kneeling too, but after you nod your head (I didn't hear you explicitly say YES) I felt way way better. Even your mother's looonnngggg text back informing her that I proposed, wouldn't dampen my mood. (I got a reply eventually saying "K")

I can't wait for us to share our own home in Pasig. Decorate it with furnitures from Ikea, curtains from Divisoria, and appliances from our wedding guests (hopefully). We will travel definitely. You'll have someone to hold your hands inside the plane because I know you're terrified of flying. We can go to that train trip from Malaysia to Cambodia finally. Maybe visit Jeju island in the future. I want to be with you alone first and savor being a married couple for as long as possible.... Then maybe we can have our own little runt or two. I pray to God that he/she will look like you. Tisay, big-eyed, with a facially proportioned nose. I'd love him/her to have a healthy supply of hair folicles too. We have to admit, my hairline plus your jawline is not a good combination.

We will be the good cop / bad cop when It comes to parenting. Naturally, between the two of us, you're the bad cop. We will be the coolest parents ever, you teaching them about good manners and right conducts, me about Starwars and how LOTR is the greatest piece of literature ever!

You see, I can't stop thinking and dreaming of our future together. I can breath it right now as I am typing this. I can smell the apple pie you will bake for me. I know you don't know how to cook, and neither do I, but I think I can live by with your brownies and cookies and pies. I can even see us past our middle age in our rocking chair sharing, watching movies on the future iTablet 40-50 years from now. Probably doting on our grandchildren. I don't know about you, but for me the future seems so near now.

If I could I'd move December 2013 tomorrow.

I hope you won't get tired of me saying I Love You. Because I really do :)

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