Cloud Above My Head

August 28, 2011
08:35AM

Dear Apa,

Morning!

I decided to greet with just "morning" instead of "good morning" because it isn't really a good day for me. You see, I cried my self to sleep last night. And if you're thinking that it's about Ralph Jhonel again, then you're right.

I was meaning to write to you about this last night but I was too emotional and I knew that I'm just going to say mean things that I don't really mean to say. I was really mad at Ralph Jhonel and I was crying as if it's the last time I'm ever gonna cry. But as I wake up this morning, I realized that there isn't really anything to be angry about. I understand now!

But I don't plan on asking for another reconciliation. Ralph Jhonel don't want us to be friends anymore. Honestly, I don't know why I'm even writing to you about him when I don't want to think about him anymore. He was always mean to me. He hurt me so much. He won't give a damn about me. So why would I bother to spend time ranting about him?

I guess I should just stop writing now. I'm sorry Apa, I promise to find better things to say the next time I write.

it's me,
Tuesday

People Change

August 24, 2011

02:41AM

Dear Apa,

I just checked Ralph Jhonel's blog and found this image he reblogged 1 week ago. I had to cry to this, you know. I mean, it wasn't mentioned there whether the post was for me or for anyone else, but the fact that he posted it only proves that it is how he treats friends — even if they were best friends the year before. So maybe it makes everything clearer now. Maybe not crystal, but at least less muddled enough to reflect his true feelings. He wants everybody to know that people change. That he himself is changed. That he is not the person I once knew.

I felt so bad about it all of a sudden. There's really nothing I can do now to win our friendship back. It's the last thing I want to happen, Apa. But as the days drag on, it gets more frustrating than I can ever handle. I feel like I'm falling little by little into pieces and to be honest with you, I wish I could just die. How can he ever do this to me? I did nothing but love him and I didn't even asked him for anything in return. I contented my self with being just friends with him because I don't want to lose him. But still he's changed.

I wish I could tell him all these. But there's no way he's gonna give a damn. I wish I could ask of him to at least try to keep in touch with our friends. I don't want him to do to them what he did to me. I want them all to remain friends. I'm sure I'm going to be happy to see that. As for me, I will just watch them from a distance where I will try not to make any sound so I won't have to disturb them. I will just smile to my self because I know I'm going to see how they keep a strong friendship between each and everyone of them. I will try not to force my way into the scene, so that they could all forget I ever existed. They could live their lives without me.

I know I'm being too emotional. I know I might just be jumping into conclusions. But I don't know better, Apa. I'm hopeless!

People change. So I guess I should just change myself.

it's me (or is it still me?),
Tuesday

"Stand up and win!" — RJCG

August 23, 2011
04:18AM

Dear Apa,

I feel miserable right now. I'm sure you're not interested to know why, but since you don't have a choice, I'm going to tell you. I just want Ralph Jhonel back is all! It's not that I'm saying that he was mine for me to wish him back, I guess what I want is the friend I had to come back. You know Apa, I really want to talk to him and ask what the problem is but I'm afraid that he's just going to ignore me again and it will just make me feel hurt badly again. If you want to know the truth, I'm so sick of being hurt all the time. I haven't been crying for months but that doesn't mean I'm not hurting. I just know that there are things that can't be washed away by tears. If you are being treated as if you are the most unimportant person for someone you always wish to be someone special to, crying is never gonna make things better. So why would I waste my time crying if it won't even make any difference? I'm not going to lie to you, there are a friggin' lot of times that I feel the sudden need to cry (like right now), but I want to be strong so that I could manage to hold on to what I am trying to keep in my tight grip for a long time — our friendship. But it always breaks me to realize every single day that I am the only one who fights for it while he just enjoys it seeing me suffering this much. Ralph Jhonel is always so unfair to me. I never asked him to love me back because I know it's impossible. I just want him to be my friend for the last remaining days of my life. I try so hard to make wonderful memories but they always turn out to be the ugliest memories of my life. And the more I try to make things better, the more they become worse. Now Ralph Jhonel see me as a joke. But really, can a person in tears be a joke? Well maybe — just maybe — if you are Ralph Jhonel, it will be a joke for you.

I don't really know if we're going to be friends again. But I'm keeping my fingers crossed. At this point, it wouldn't really matter if things aren't going to be the same again. What's going to matter would be the fact that I finally have him back. But who am I kidding? Ralph Jhonel changed so much. He's not going to feel bad about me feeling bad. He's not going to cry for me again when he see me cry again. Because I don't matter to him anymore. Because I'm not his friend anymore.

Hey Apa, I'm crying now. But I'm OK. At least Ralph Jhonel is not here to see it. At least he won't see that I am not as strong as what I've been trying to be.

But now I wonder, is it even going to matter to him if I'm strong or not?

I miss Ralph Jhonel so much. I want him to tell me, even for the last time, to stand up and win. I honestly need it now. Because at this point, I'm starting to want to give up the fight.

it's me,
Tuesday

Dear My Closest Friend

August 17, 2011
01:33AM

Hi there!

I know you're still awake, I see you keep posting tweets. I just felt like writing to you, you know. But I don't really have something to tell you. Maybe I just want to talk to someone. You see, I signed up for our college's newsletter team and I want to brag it to everybody. I didn't make it through yet, but I am pretty sure I will.

You know for certain that this is one of my dreams, right? That is why the first thing I did as I got home today was tell you the news. But you still won't reply. Tonight, I sent you another message asking if you could possibly quit ignoring me. I'm not anticipating for a response, of course I'm not! And I can't help but to feel sad about it again. I miss you. Honestly, I don't quite get it why you keep ignoring me. The last thing I remember was we were working on with your magazine and then nothing. Was it wrong helping you out when you need me? Most of the times I just wish you need me everytime so you won't have to keep distant. But I know that when you need me no more, I'm going to be nobody to you again. It always hurts me realizing that, but I just console my self by saying that at the very least, it was you! At least I had time for you, and you for me. Sad, but if that's the way it should always be, I should just always console my self by thinking positive.

Do you know that if you're going to give a damn about me even just once, it would really mean a lot to me? But since you're not doing that, I just had another realization; I don't mean anything to you, so why would you bother spending a little of your attention? I just miss you. After all, we used to be friends. Old friends talk to one another from time to time, don't they? I always envy those people who still talk to their friends after several years. Sometimes I just think to my self, was I never really a good friend? You told me that before, and now I find it hard to delete it from my memory. That is why I'm trying my best to be good enough. But now it seems too late. You're gone.

Dear Photskie, I know you are a busy person. So if you happen to still be reading this up to here, thank you very much. At least you gave me a little of your time and attention; the things I've been asking from you for months. I miss you. Take care. Don't forget.

it's me,
Tuesday

Three Years Ago

August 10, 2011
10:51AM

Dear Apa,

Hello there! I’m trying to cheer up upon writing this letter because my previous letters weren’t really happy letters, were they? And besides, I think I really need to force my self to cheer up since Monday night. You see, I tried to talk to Ralph Jhonel but he just ignored me for the nth time. I really should be used to it, but I just can’t help but to feel sorry for my self for feeling like I am always begging for a little attention which seems like I’m never going to have.

Ralph Jhonel, by the way, is the love of my life. But I was never his love though. But that’s alright. If there is one thing that I am used of right now, it’s the fact that he’s never going to give affection back. He isn’t even willing to give me his attention!

Anyway, I caught him online on Facebook Monday night but I didn’t really plan on bothering him for I know that he just won’t give a damn if I do. But one of my friends advised me that I should at least try to talk to Ralph Jhonel because we never know what could happen next. So I said “Zup?” just to get over with it. I told my friend how I was sure that Ralph Jhonel won’t give a response. My friend told me that she was going to send Ralph Jhonel a chat message to see if he’s going to respond; if he responds to her, then that means that he’s really ignoring me.

After a minute, a chat message came from my friend saying that Ralph Jhonel replied to her chat message. I was like “I told you!” at first but as soon as the thought gradually sinks in my mind, I felt hurt. So Ralph Jhonel isn’t really busy after all, he just don’t want to talk to me – me alone! He talks to everybody but me. My best friend, Jhepmar, confessed when we were at Nelson’s (our friend) house to have some drink that he had been talking to Ralph Jhonel on Facebook chat. But I didn’t really make it a big deal. And then, few nights ago, my twin, Frankie was chatting with Ralph Jhonel and I was even right here in front of this computer to see what they were talking about.

Ralph Jhonel talks to everyone but me! Great! How can I ever get used to it? Three years ago, he spent almost all evenings here at my house; sometimes I didn’t really have to ask him to come. Three years ago, we exchanged text messages 24/7. Three years ago, we had fights and misunderstandings but didn’t last this long. Three years ago, I felt really important. Three years ago, I was special. Three years ago, I had all the reasons to reminisce the previous days and make the most out of the present day and look forward to the next day. Three years ago, I didn’t have to miss him because we were always together. Three years ago, I was the happiest person in this planet. Because three years ago, we were friends.

I’m sorry I can’t really be a cheerful person. If you live my so-called life, you’ll understand. I am trying not to be sentimental in this letter, Apa. But everytime I talk about Ralph Jhonel, there’s no way I’m going to feel glad. I guess he contributed most of the bitterness in me.

I really do hope we can be friends again, but it seems like he don’t feel the same way. Most of the time, I just cry it over. But the hurt keeps on resurrecting itself. Honestly, I don’t know what to do when the time comes that we’re going to see each other again. He’s mad at me. The last thing I asked him was what I did wrong to him. As usual, he didn’t answer. Maybe because there’s really nothing I did at all. It’s either that, or I’m just unaware that the thing I actually did that made him hate me was loving him.

If so, then I guess he just have to hate me forever!

It’s me,

Tuesday

You're Beautiful

August 08, 2011
06:17AM

<!--[if gte mso 9]> Normal 0 false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE

Dear Apa,

Good morning! Guess what, I already found your Facebook account and I really feel so happy right now. I didn’t expect to find you, I didn’t realize it’s going to be that easy. Maybe I was really meant to find you, maybe even meant to have ridden on the same jeepney where you rode that fateful day. Now my smile just won’t fade – with James Blunt’s “You’re Beautiful” (covered by a girl named Sabrina) on repeat in my headset. I’m sure this song is going to be the soundtrack of my life from now on. Do you happen to know this song? It’s about falling in love with a stranger and never having an idea whether they’re going to meet again. So it’s going to be my song for you.

OMG! I’m starting to feel like Stan writing letters and dedicating songs to Eminem! LOL. But don’t freak out man, I’m not going to do the shit he did. After all, I don’t even really plan on obliging you to read these letters. Although I want to download your photos to keep in my mobile, I’m sure I’m even going to make one of them as my computer’s desktop wallpaper. But that should not mean that I’m obsessed or something. Let’s try to think that I’m a huge fan of yours.

This is somewhat true though, that I’m a fan. I knew by the moment that I saw you that you must be a musician. I have this natural talent to know if a person is in a band. Maybe it’s because I am a confessed frustrated rockstar and I love reading Pulp Magazine. I guess those are the major factors why I can tell if a person is in a rock band by just judging on the way he looks; the style, the attitude, the whole package. In your case, the goatee!

Anyway, I tried to write to you last night about this little catastrophe I am caught up in right now but I thought maybe it’s not a good thing to consult you about those kinds of matter now that we don’t even know each other yet. But really, if I suddenly feel like I want to spill my heart out, I’ll do the spiel. But for now, since I’m having a very good vibe, I want to keep it off my mind until this good vibe fades out. I’m kinda emo, you know. I can’t keep my self cheered up. If I feel glad and uplifted for a moment, I’d be totally quiet and feeling down the next. I am prone to sudden mood swings!

Hey Apa, I’m downloading your pictures right now. But if you think it’s not the right thing to do, just say something like, “Hey freak, leave my pictures alone!” and I’d be more than willing to delete them lots. I just want to keep them so that I can’t forget how you look like, but really, the choice is always yours since they’re your property.

I should go now. The sun is already up and I should get some sleep! I’ll write to you again!

It’s me,

Tuesday

If you happen to be Apa Aldaba and you read this…

August 06, 2011
05:26AM

Dear Apa,

I saw you yesterday. We were riding the same jeepney to Malolos City and then my life has changed in an instant. It was bizarre. And if you want to know the truth, I do realize that it sounds kind of creepy to you. You may think I’m psychotic, but I dare say it was love at first sight.

Now that’s insane, isn’t it? I don’t know how it feels like to get affection from someone you don’t even know at all, but I’m pretty sure that it will freak the hell out of you. Man, I’m so sorry about that! I don’t mean to be like some deranged stalker or something, I may be somewhat deranged but at least I’m not a stalker. Or at least not by now! I’m going to be honest to you, I plan on tracking you down; I could search for your name on Facebook or anywhere in the World Wide Web – internet is just so wonderful for this kind of stuff, don’t you think? But really, I don’t know what to do next. Should I talk to you? If I do, I’m not sure you’re just going to freak out and ignore me. But it’s the best thing I could think about at the moment. My semi-psychotic, wholly neurotic mind can’t seem to function well right now as I still don’t get me some sleep. I have been trying to memorize every single detail of your face the whole freaking night, kind of afraid that if I sleep, I’d wake up only to forget what you look like. I don’t want to misremember those cute little eyes. The ones that never looked my way and let me down. It was depressing! I was kind of hoping that you’d look at me, but you didn’t. But that’s okay! At least you failed to notice how I stared at you half the trip. It’s funny, we were just inches away and yet you were unaware that I had been watching you all along. Don’t you think I’m such a good stalker?

By the way, I want to thank you for your tattoo. If it wasn’t for it, I’m not going to know your name. I know it could be that it’s someone else’s name you have there inked on your forearm, but I sensed that the name is yours. I’ve seen a lot of guys with similar tattoos and it’s always their names they have on that area. Miggy Chavez has one. And Chito Miranda too. So I assumed what you have there is not anybody else’s name. But does it really matter if it is actually your name or not? I would want to call you Apa whether it is what you are actually called or not. I guess what’s important is that I can address you properly now that I am writing you this letter – and the next many letters I plan to write to you. I don’t want to talk to you like, “Dear You, whatever your name is” because it’s rude to talk that way. And the last thing I want to do is to be rude to you because I don’t want to get you upset.

Hey Apa, from now on, I’m going to write to you on regular basis, is that alright? I want to tell you things about me and my so-called life so that if you get to read these rants, you’re going to know me too. Let’s get to know each other!

Oh my God, this is ridiculous. What the hell am I thinking? Do I really think I’m going to have the chance to know you? Chances are I’m never even going to track you down or you are not really going to give a damn. Whatever! I’m still going to write to you, if it is any consolation.

It’s me,

Tuesday

To My Groupmates in Crime — Err, Groupmates in our Philippine Literature Report that is!

August 05, 2011
06:42PM

Groupmates,

Here's the script for our Philippine Literature role playing on Monday. I'm really sorry if I had to post it here instead of just simply handing out copies. Let's blame our schedules for that! I tried to hold meetings but everybody seems to be busy. So the best thing I came up with was just posting the script here in my blog. Thankyouverymuch!

And since we failed to meet for the role playing, I just assigned who's playing who. So here's the characters and the artists:

Narrator - Tuesday
Mother - Catherine
Father - William
Brother - Ian
Sister - Avi
Rich Man - Jojo
Rich Man's Children -Mariebeth, Shield and Ellaine
Rich Man's Lawyer - Frankie
Judge - Tophe

Now, what we're supposed to do is read the story/script and try to determine the characters, setting, plot, conflict, theme and style because Ma'am Shiela is the type who asks questions to random members of the group (it is always best to be prepared, y'all know!).

By the way, I already prepared our Powerpoint presentation. The only problem now is where are we going to present it, I mean, ! Do you guys happen to own — or at least know someone who owns one which we can borrow for Monday — a laptop computer? I made our Powerpoint presentation using Powerpoint2007, do you think it would matter if we play it on Powerpoint2003?

About the costumes (if we decide to wear them), let's try to find vintage looking outfit for our roles as the setting says that the story happened in the 1920's. As for the props, I'll try to look for whatever props we're going to use. But let's talk it through text later.

OK. Let's move on to the script. What I ask of all of you is memorize the dialogues (which is a piece of cake actually as there aren't really long lines). And hopefully, by Monday, we could find time to rehearse a little just for the sake of it!

Good luck to us! Kudos!

MY FATHER GOES TO COURT
Carlos Bulosan

CHARACTERS:
o Narrator
o Mother
o Father
o Brothers and Sisters
o Rich Man
o Rich Man’s Sons and Daughters
o Rich Man’s Lawyer
o Judge
o Policeman
o Town Clerk


NARRATOR: When I was four, I lived with my mother and brothers and sisters in a small town on the island of Luzon. Father’s farm had been destroyed in 1918 by one of our sudden Philippine floods, so for several years afterwards we all lived in the town, though he preferred living in the country. We had a next-door neighbor a very rich man, whose sons and daughters seldom came out of the house. While we boys and girls played and sang in the sun, his children stayed inside and kept the windows closed. His house was so tall that his children could look in the windows of our house and watch us as we played, or slept, or ate, when there was any food in the house to eat.

Now, this rich man’s servants were always frying and cooking something good, and the aroma of the food was wafted down to us from the windows of the big house. We hung about and took all the wonderful smell of the food into our beings. Sometimes, in the morning, our whole family stood outside the windows of the rich man’s house and listened to the musical sizzling of thick strips of bacon or ham. I can remember one afternoon when our neighbor’s servants roasted three chickens. The chickens were young and tender and the fat that dripped into the burning coals gave an enchanting odor.

Some days the rich man appeared at a window and glowered down at us. We were all healthy because we went out in the sun every day and bathed in the cool water of the river that flowed from the mountains into the sea. Sometimes we wrestled with one another in the house before we went out to play. We were always in the best of spirits and our laughter was contagious. Other neighbors who passed by our house stopped in the yard and joined us in laughter.

Laughter was our only wealth. Father was a laughing man. He would go into the living room and stand in front of the tall mirror, stretching his mouth into grotesque shapes with his fingers and making at himself. Then he would rush into the kitchen, roaring with laughter.

There was always plenty to make us laugh. There was, for instance, the day one of my brothers came home with a small bundle under his arm, pretending that he brought something good to eat, maybe a leg of lamb or something as extravagant as that, to make our mouths water. He rushed to Mother and threw the bundle into her lap. We all stood around, watching Mother undo the complicated strings. Suddenly a black cat leaped out of the bundle and ran wildly around the house. Mother chased my brother and beat him with her little fists, while the rest of us went double, choking with laughter.

Another time one of my sisters suddenly started screaming in the middle of the night. Mother reached her first and tried to calm her. My sister cried and groaned. When father lighted the lamp, my sister stared at us with shame in her eyes.

SISTER: I’m pregnant!

FATHER: Don’t be a fool!

MOTHER: You’re only a child.

SISTER: I’m pregnant I tell you!

FATHER: (Kneels by Sister and puts his hand on her belly and rubs it gently.) How do you know you are pregnant?

SISTER: Feel it!

(Everybody puts hands on Sister’s belly and feels something moving in it. Father gets frightened. Mother gets shocked.)

MOTHER: Who’s the man?

SISTER: There’s no man!

FATHER: What is it then?

NARRATOR: Suddenly my sister opened her blouse and a bullfrog jumped out. Mother fainted, father dropped the lamp, the oil spilled on the floor, my sister’s blanket caught fire. One of my brothers laughed so hard he rolled on the floor.

When the fire was extinguished and mother was revived, we returned to bed and tried to sleep, but Father kept on laughing so loud we could not sleep anymore. Mother got up again and lighted the oil lamp; we rolled up the mats on the floor and began dancing about and laughing with all our might. We made so much noise that all our neighbors except the rich family came into the yard and joined us in loud, genuine laughter.

It was like that for years.

As time went on, the rich man’s children became thin and anemic, while we grew even more robust and full of life. Our were bright and rosy, but theirs were pale and sad. The rich man started to cough at night; then he coughed day and night. His wife began coughing too. The children started to cough, one after another. At night their coughing sounded like the barking of a herd of seals. We hung outside their windows and listened to them. We wondered what had happened. We knew they were not sick from lack of nourishing food, because they were always still frying something delicious to eat.

One day the rich man appeared at a window and stood there a long time. He looked at my sisters, who had grown fat with laughing, then at my brothers, whose arms and legs were like the molave, which is the sturdiest tree in the Philippines. He banged down the window and ran through his house, shutting all the windows.

From that day on, the windows of our neighbor’s house were always closed. The children did not come outdoors anymore. We could still the hear servants cooking in the kitchen, and no matter how tight the windows were shut, the aroma of the food came to us in the wind and drifted gratuitously in the house.

One morning a policeman from the presidencia came to our house with a sealed paper. The rich man had filed a complaint against us. Father took me with him when he went to the town clerk and asked him what it was about. He told Father the man claimed that for years we had been stealing the spirit of his wealth and food.

When the day came for us to appear in court, Father brushed his old Army uniform and borrowed a pair of shoes from one of my brothers. We were the first to arrive. Father sat on a chair in the center of the courtroom. Mother occupied a chair by the door. We children sat on a long bench by the wall. Father kept jumping up from his chair and stabbing the air with his arms, as though he were defending himself before an imaginary jury.

The rich man arrived. He had grown old and feeble; his was scarred with deep lines. With him was his young lawyer. Spectators came in and almost filled the chairs. The judge entered the room and sat on a high chair. We stood up in a hurry and then sat down again.

After the courtroom preliminaries, the judge looked at Father.

JUDGE: (To Father.) Do you have a lawyer?

FATHER: I don’t need any lawyer, Judge.

JUDGE: Proceed!

RICH MAN’S LAWYER: (Jumps up and points a finger at Father.) Do you or do you not agree that you had been stealing the spirit of the complainant’s wealth and food?

FATHER: I do not.

RICH MAN’S LAWYER: Do you or do you not agree that while the complainant’s servants cooked and fried fat legs of lamb or young chicken breasts you and your family hung outside his windows and inhaled the heavenly spirit of the food?

FATHER: I agree.

RICH MAN’S LAWYER: Do you or do you not agree that while the complainant and his children grew sickly and tubercular you and your family became strong of limb and fair of complexion?

FATHER: I agree.

RICH MAN’S LAWYER: How do you account for that?

FATHER: (Gets up and paces around, scratching his head thoughtfully.) I would like to see the children of the complainant, Judge.

JUDGE: Bring in the children of the complainant.



NARRATOR: They came in shyly. The spectators covered their mouths with their hands; they were so amazed to see the children so thin and pale. The children walked silently to a bench and sat down without looking up. They stared at the floor and moved their hands uneasily.

Father could not say anything at first. He just stood by his chair and looked at them.

FATHER: I should like to cross-examine the complainant.

JUDGE: Proceed.

FATHER: (To the Rich Man) do you claim that we stole the spirit of your wealth and became a laughing family while yours became morose and sad?

RICH MAN: Yes.

FATHER: Then we are going to pay you right now.

NARRATOR: He walked over to where the children were sitting on the bench and took up a straw hat off my lap and began filling it up with centavo pieces that he took out of his pockets. He went to Mother, who added a fistful of silver coins. My brothers threw in their small change.

FATHER: May I walk to the room across the hall and stay there for a few minutes, Judge?

JUDGE: As you wish.

FATHER: Thank you.

NARRATOR: He strode into the other room with the hat in his hands. It was almost full of coins. The doors of both rooms were wide open.

FATHER: Are you ready?

JUDGE: Proceed.

NARRATOR: The sweet tinkle of the coins carried beautifully into the courtroom. The spectators turned their toward the sound with wonder. Father came back and stood before the complainant.

FATHER: Did you hear it?

RICH MAN: Hear what?

FATHER: The spirit of the money when I shook this hat?

RICH MAN: Yes.

FATHER: Then you are paid.

NARRATOR: The Rich Man opened his mouth to speak and fell to the floor without a sound. The lawyer rushed to his aid. The Judge pounded his gavel.

JUDGE: Case dismissed!

NARRATOR: Father strutted around the courtroom. The Judge even came down from his high chair to shake hands with him.

JUDGE: By the way, I had an uncle who died laughing.

FATHER: You like to hear my family, Judge?

JUDGE: Why not?

FATHER: Did you hear that children?

NARRATOR: My sisters started it. The rest of us followed them and soon the spectators were laughing with us, holding their bellies and bending over the chairs. And the laughter of the Judge was the loudest of all.