Dear Sibling

Dear sibling,

How have you been spending your first pay? I say spend it all on something lavish and I’ll answer for the rest of your expenses until your next wage.

I can only assume how you feel about the board examination result. I am not happy of course. I am not sad either. I understand.

I rang up the night before day-1 of the examinations. We went on and on cracking old jokes. Then you mustered your courage to tell manong Bry that someone broke your heart—your first time.

I can tell as you blether hate, anger and hope that you’re in a flat spin. I can feel through each sob, you’re smashed to smithereens.

Your phone line's end is flooded with tears.

You tried haplessly to put into words your pain.

You told me it’s unfair and then asked me why?

Hey, you didn’t tell me there’s someone there to cause all these in the first place.

No sibling, I don’t grasp it no more than you do. Love is messy. Sorry, but that’s the best I can come up with. At any rate Manong will be here to help at every turn.

Sibling, hang on there. The raining and pouring shall end.



I’ll remain,

Manong Bry

Filipinos You Meet in Port Moresby

"Seven Kinds of Filipinos You Meet in Port Moresby

1. The Pioneers.
Legend has it that they paddled their way to pre-independence Papua New Guinea fleeing the Imelda Inquisition.

This is the bunch I don’t know much about but ever so easy to spot in a crowd.

From the grannies with faux Australian accent and their SM-deprived offspring they’re almost always vexingly together anywhere they go thronging the ever few expatriate-safe locations in packs like a grade school fieldtrip.

2. Second Generation.
The OFWs.
Like the Pioneers, they are ever present during them infamously banal June 12 Independence Day celebrations where you’ll die of boredom from the shitty appearances of minor over-sensationalized Pinoy celebrities, Bingo craps, Christmas whatnots and basketball blahs.

3. Cross Breeders.
For socio-economic reasons, they breed exclusively with Caucasians.
If there’s too much carats going on, that’s them.

4. The Entertainers.
They’re prostitutes.

5. Churchgoers.
Well, you see them in church every Sunday and at majong tables after mass.

6. Accountants.
Grace Adler once said, “I hate clowns. They think they’re so funny”.

Delete “clowns”. Insert “accountants”. Delete “funny”. Insert “smart”.

7. Then there’s this gang of five. You’ll live life regretfully if you never get to meet them.

Nothing extremely special about this party of five but they guarantee an experience second only to that feeling of orgasmic headboard-rocking coitus.
Ever genial and handy, they paint the town red onboard a green Mitsubishi."

Rambling to 2007

Fridays uncommonly serve me as downers.

I’m guessing it’s that feeling of sadness and longing to be home with family and friends.

Hello control dramas, my trusted friend!

Still, in my state of destitution, in the face of all my fashion transgressions, as my spa/sauna-deprived circumstances, I am thankful.

My nomadic, adorable Filipino friends in Port Moresby keep me at bay from insanity-ville. My Caucasian comrades keep me intoxicated every so often and have them to thank for things like yacht in social vocabulary.

I might exploit this into a long, mushy, rambling story. I better do something else.

No, I don’t masturbate anymore. At least I lie that I don’t.

Ever Belina

It was our first heated argument. At the Burger King, of all places. Somewhere at Seoul’s gay district—we had our very first conversation without any mention of Miss Dominican Republic’s national costume for last years’ Miss Universe.

Some remark I made on his lover from few lovers ago ricocheted as retaliatory I-hate-this-and-that-about-you. Like a tong-its game (gin & rummy) in your neighborhood wake abundant with M.Y. San crackers and commoners’ coffee, things went hardcore and hate cards were laid.

Consciously, we’ve been avoiding any altercations on matters that matter. Like that homo sitcom, we were Will and Grace, Karen and Jack: spatting over the artistic merits of Bata Bata Paano ka Ginawa versus Titanic, what is the capital of Gabon, our waist lines and other people’s non-gym-going waist lines, commuting on jeepneys and my I-don’t-eat-at-food courts policy. It’s comfortable stuff only.

It’s as like as chalk and cheese this time: embarrassed stares, wrinkled noses. We said things to each other that we meant to say ages ago. Things we never thought the need to discuss them may arise…like Ever Bilena on cosmetics.

I’m not going to write about it though. I tell about other people too much.

Here’s what I can share though:

One is ever grateful to the heavens for a best friend with
1. two co-dependent nervous systems—for his penis and for himself,
2. with a taste for the mongoloid-ish oriental boys which cuts down any competition between us, and
3. with a twisted understanding of love but with the generosity to parade his broken heart and sore, sometimes violated ass once or twice once and again to set example to the likes of me who understands the game of love less.

Lubid at Lupa

Hihiramin ba ang lumbay ng umaga kung sa krimen ng kahapon ay wala ka
Kahapong sinlapit ng nakalimot na gabi sa isang bulag na pagkakasala
Ang hakbang ba’y pabalik sa kalawakang bubog na may dantay ng lason
Lasong taksil sa pawis at luha

Aalayan ba ng rosal ang libingan ng mga buhay na bihag
Bihag at alipin na di na ma-amoy ang hiwaga ng pulang rehas
Mananatili bang itim ang belong burada ng ala-ala
Itim pa ba ang tema ng iyong dalangin

Sira na ang biyulin at pigtas na ang lubid ng duyan
Ngunit tila ang duyan parin ang kanlungan ng iyong tulirong damdamin
Anong kasabay ng iyong paos na himig
Himig ng iyong hikbing hanap ang mga punit na guhit ng byulin

Halika’t baybayin nating ang bangungot: tapang na tapakan ang mga bubog
Tumayo ka’t Ako at ako ay may paroroonan
Pulutin mo ang lubid na hinahagkan na nang giniginaw na lupa
Sa sapang dilaw doon lahat tayo’y magkita-kita

Di ba’t sa kahariang dagat ang hantungan ng bawat butil ng tubig
Libingnang may sumpa’t pangako nang muling pagkabuhay
Na ang tabang na tubig ay lilipas sa alat ng karagatan
Tubig at tubig, tubig din ang kalalagyan

Arok nawa ang pangitaing may bukadkad ng rosal at tiklop ng belo
Ang pagsunog sa lubid at paglimot sa biyulin
Anong lason man ang pumatay sa iyong maikling kasaysayan
Hiramin mo’t angkinin ang lumbay ng umaga

Papa

It's been a while, what...three years?

I'm not sure if i'd make it to heaven... but if i'm refused entry, i guess we can meet up in a bar somewhere next to the gate and catch up on old times over a few bottles of San Mig.

I miss you dad. Happy fathers' day.

Bryan Anthony

5 PM

5:00 p.m.’s are everyday to anyone as it is to me, but not today…

what and why port moresby’s cold june wind brought breeze of nostalgia, i do not know…

my late father seldom made it home at 5:00 p.m.

his showing-up on time is always a special occasion

for me it’s an answered prayer. it is.

--

papa IS the best cook in the world. although help was always around to prepare dinner, consistently, he does all the cooking every time he’s home by 5:00… making such days so special.

i never grew out of these 5:00 o’clock’s:

us siblings shove ourselves on the passenger seats, thrilled for that special trip to the market.

trips that make my day perfect no matter how fucked-up the rest of it was.

i would trade a day of waking life for another 5:00 o’clock with papa…one is to one...

---

papa always reminded us of two things every time we take these trips:

(1) a good cook buys the ingredients himself &

(2) only lazy people can’t cook.


this is not my fathers’ day blog.