A Reflection on Flowers

My very good friend Jennie wrote this sometime in early February. I don’t know if it has something to do with Valentine approaching, LOL. [I'm dead if she reads this.]

But she’s a very good writer, especially when it comes to poetry. That’s why I decided to share this. It kind of struck me in a weird way. Hehe. Between me and her, she’s the more emotional one. The dreamer. Proud of you Jen! Keep writing!

Daisy, my favorite. I think the white ones mean eternal love. Jennie likes forget-me-nots.
As usual, thankyou, Google :)

What’s with a flower? I mean yea, it’s beautiful in every way but, why is it always a symbol for courtship, professions of love, or beauty? Men give women fresh flowers today and then what? Two, five, seven days later they become weathered weeds. Just give a stone, for all I care.

I mean, a flower is not enough to represent such a solid, deep, forever thing as love. It withers, it dies. Yes, it promises beauty and love but, I believe, for only a short time.

However, on the contrary, I think it can very well serve a purpose. It’s a man’s way of saying, “Hey! I like you ‘coz you’re pretty and cool but I’m not sure if I can feel the same way tomorrow.” Hell, few of the guys don’t even believe in what they call love these days.

Right. A flower can be a symbol of women, love and beauty. It can symbolize their majesty, royalty, charm, their frailty, ignorance… the hours, minutes, seconds of their importance.

How stupid a flower can be if she thinks she can last forever, that she can go through the test of greed, pride, time and still comes out not ravished, sparkling, unconquered.

And these men? Are the sizes of their brains the same? Come on, there are hundreds even thousands of things to represent what they feel for the person they love. A flower is a cliche. Don’t they have any initiative to profess their love in any unique way? Without doubt they can be a little bit creative and find something worthy for the lady’s eye – not something so finite it perishes moments after.

Unless, they think that a woman do not deserve more, or a flower is all that she deserves. Which is, for me, very shallow, insensitive and unreal. Of course, a flower brightens a woman’s mood because it’s her initial reaction, her appreciation for beauty and act of love. But didn’t it occur to you that if you give a woman something weird or alien she won’t just accept it and say she’s happy? That she might stop and think why on earth would anybody give her something like that?

Then and there, she may realize that however funny or weird that thing may be, its characteristics signify a deeper, more sensible and sensitive meaning of who you are and what you feel for her. That way, she may treasure not only your gift but your love as well.

So to hell with flowers. They are just vain creatures hungry for attention and affection. Which serves them right, because they can’t live very long and the spotlight is their only compensation.

Huh?

I never write about something which I cannot relate to. It is almost just like changing gender for a day.

So when a good friend of mine asked my help on an essay about seafaring, I initially had doubts. My father is one, yes and my brother will soon join the big metal ship, but I cannot easily organize my thoughts on the subject matter—much less put it in writing.

The result? Lots of word documents saved under many different file names, even if they do not contain anything useful at all.

I scoured different search engines to look for good aphorisms, asked my writer friend if she ever encountered such ordeal and spent three whole hours just looking at the monitor, but no useful idea flew out of my head.

Now I wondered why I ever said yes to him. Perhaps it was because he asked nicely, or maybe it was because he threatened to send me messages to ask me for my help—in Jejemon language! I’m telling you, he’s losing his marbles.

When I was finally able to cap the essay, I heaved a deep breath. I hope I would not have to do it again. Even if he threatens to Jeje-text me.

blame it on the chibog

We aimed for the fireworks, but we got the Ferris wheels instead.

Not that we undermined the big amusement ride, but what we initially wanted to see were the Guiness-aimed-P128, 000 fireworks prepared by the Cebu City government for the South Road Project (SRP) Launch.

But it’s the puso’s (hanging rice) fault. Had we not painfully searched for the small, sinful mound of puso, we could have made it in time for the fireworks display. With the puso is its other accomplices, the siomai and lechon manok sans the sauce.

Going back to my (and my friends, too) lamentations, we stepped out of our ride only to see groups of people exiting the venue. Phew! Sayang. We decided to go and have a look inside. Maybe the rats left some cheese.

With the Yael Yuzon of Spongecola serenading the crowd behind us, we lined up for the scarier ferris wheel. Some of us initially declined because the ferris wheel revolves very fast and the boys wanted all of us to queue for it! “At least we’ve accomplished something”, said one of my companions.

Most unfortunately, we were seated with a crazy, hyperactive friend. We kept on shouting as he kept on swinging the cart we were caged in. He kept on laughing like madman, with much fervor—I was quite sure he hadn’t any dinner that night yet.

When our rounds were finally over (much to our crazy friend’s disappointment, of course), I had jelly for legs. The boys said we should also ride the other ferris wheel (there were two) so he could scare our other girl friends. They declined his offer as seat companion, by the way.

After two and a half hours of walking around, eating peanuts, taking jumpshots, riding ferris wheels and clowning around, we decided we were hungry. So, at 3AM in one of our friends’house, we feasted on the puso, siomai and lechon manok while blaming them for not having seen the fireworks.

The ride was worth it though, we got good photos.

On The Quiet World

I would like to share a copy of “The Quiet World” by Jeffrey McDaniel. When we did a short film once, we made this poem as basis for our storyline.

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The Quiet World
by Jeffrey McDaniel

In an effort to get people to look
into each other’s eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.

When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.

Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.

When she doesn’t respond,
I know she’s used up all her words,
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.

When i first read this poem, i wondered how everything would go if the same law will be implemented in the Philippines. How quiet would it be? How will things go? Will the country be more peaceful? Or even more chaotic?

But perhaps we will be more sensitive–to ourselves and to others. I think that if the Philippines becomes a “quiet world”, we can hear and understand better. We will hear the birds chirp, the song of the wind and of every falling raindrop.

Perhaps we should try, one day. Just once, to have a quiet world for a day. :

shading is not elementary anymore

Its election time once again.

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And once again, my friends and I have constantly found ourselves talking and debating politics—especially when we run out of good topics to talk about over late-night walks back to Escario, where Myra, the cat, is waiting for us to close the gate and call it a night.

In one of those politics-driven walks, we would lament over not being able to vote this year because our internship period would not end until the last week of May. Too bad, we said, we will no longer be able to experience the thrill of being a virgin voter.

But when we think of it, we have no name to fill in the presidency post. I feel like we are weighing different smelly fishes in the market. When one is surrounded with controversial issues, the other is clouded with health or psychological issues.

One of my friends said that some people have no choice but to vote for who has done something for the country—especially for the poor. He who has done something gets a vote. But how sure are we that his ‘kindness’ is sustainable?

Then, there are the surveys whose results are oftentimes favourable to those who commissioned them. How credible are these Q&A’s when they represent only a measly 10-20% of the population? The way I see it, the surveys make it seem that there are only two to three candidates vying for a certain position. Sadly, media reiterates this. They narrow the choices for the people. Where is equality, horserace journalists?

A week after May 10, 2010, perhaps the flood has subsided—for now. It will be the start of a new era for the Filipinos. All we can do is hold on to our personal choices and shade the dot of the person who we think will be worthy as the next leader.

For now, we can only hope that whoever he may be, he is the right one and he will not make the Philippines worse than it already is.