#where to stay in cubao

[beingjellybeans]

5 Things to Do During Your Staycation at ibis Styles Manila Araneta City

Looking for a vibrant and eclectic staycation experience right here in the metro? Look no further than the newly opened ibis Styles Manila Araneta City. As the first ibis Styles hotel in the Philippines, this trendy and creative spot offers a unique blend of business and leisure, all within the bustling heart of the City of Firsts, Araneta City in Quezon City. Here’s a guide to making the most…

[djmandin]

Ticao Island in Masbate, Philippines, is a hidden gem boasting pristine beaches, vibrant marine life, and a rich cultural heritage. As you step onto its shores, you're greeted by crystal-clear waters and powdery white sand. Explore its underwater wonders through snorkeling or diving, where you'll encounter colorful coral reefs teeming with tropical fish, sea turtles, and even majestic manta rays. While writing this travelogue, I can feel the butterflies on my stomach remembering all the core memories I built on the paradise island. Now, allow me to tell you the very reason I love beaches now… 

I am beyond blessed and I could not thank the Lord more as my mother was born and raised on the Island, giving me a “VIP” access to visit the place once in a while. I can vividly remember my first-ever visit to the Island— a core memory that will live in my mind rent-free. Imagine a seven-year-old girl in awe of the scenery her mind could not even process. It was my first time to travel places outside the city I was born and raised in. So, here’s how it goes— setting off on our journey to Ticao Island, we start our adventure from the bustling streets of Caloocan City. Laden with anticipation and excitement, we made our way to the Cubao bus terminal, the “gateway” to our island paradise. Navigating through the vibrant chaos of Cubao, we finally reach the bus terminal, where a sea of vehicles awaits to carry travelers to their destinations. Amidst the hustle and bustle, my parents were able to secure our tickets for the long journey ahead — a ride to Pilar, Sorsogon, the launching point for our island escapade. As we boarded the bus, I remember settling into my seat, brimming with a mix of eagerness and patience for the voyage ahead. The engine hums to life, signaling the beginning of our 17-hour odyssey through picturesque landscapes and winding roads. With each passing hour, I find myself drifting in and out of sleep, lulled by the rhythmic motion of the bus and the gentle hum of conversation among fellow passengers. Along the way, we pass through beautiful countryside, quaint villages, and majestic mountains, each scene providing a look into the varied fabric of the Philippine archipelago. Finally, as dawn breaks on the horizon, we arrive at our destination — the Pilar Pier in Sorsogon. Stepping off the bus, I was greeted by the salty tang of the sea air and the sight of fishing boats and ferries bobbing gently in the harbor. There, at the edge of the world, our journey to Ticao Island truly began. With a sense of anticipation building in my chest, I take a moment to savor the thrill of exploration and discovery that lies ahead. For beyond these shores lies a paradise waiting to be explored, where azure waters and pristine beaches beckon with the promise of adventure and wonder. And so, with hearts full of excitement and wonder, we set sail towards the sun-kissed shores of Ticao Island, ready to start on the adventure of a lifetime. 

As the ferry glides across the azure waters, I find myself struck with the sight of Ticao Island's rich foliage and craggy coastline. When I step ashore, I am immediately surrounded by a sensation of calm. Our lodging, Lola’s delightful home in the municipality of Monreal, is the ideal place for us to unwind from the polluted air and busy vibes of the City. For the first day, we decided to just rest and stay at Lola’s home. Oh! I almost forgot Barangay Real has no water line but the Lord is not cruel after all as He blessed the barangay with a flowing cold water spring in which people can have water for free— may it be for taking a bath, drinking water, washing clothes, and many more! For our whole stay there, we always took a bath and did laundry in the water spring or what the locals call “matang tubig”. It was a nice summer because of the water spring. We also climbed Lola's rubber plants from the neighboring peak to her house. It was a completely new experience for me to trek a mountain and find so many different flora and herbs. Hiking my Lola's rubber plants was a wonderfully enriching experience, as it allowed me to immerse myself in nature's wealth while also interacting with family. Trekking across the beautiful mountainside, surrounded by thick greenery and the earthy aroma of plants, must have been a sensory delight. Exploring the many plants and herbs along the journey undoubtedly inspired a sense of surprise and interest, strengthening my connection to the natural world. While the last thing I can remember from the trip was the beach we visited! The salty wind, the sun-kissed white sands, and the rhythmic music of the waves breaking against the shore all work together to provide the ideal setting for relaxation. And oh the joys of beachside activities! Building sandcastles became an art form, with each grain of sand meticulously sculpted into turrets and moats, a testament to our boundless imagination and creativity. The laughter of my cousins and I echoed along the shoreline as we splashed in the glittering seas, our joy contagious as we reveled in the freedom of the open waters. I also remember how we got very sentimental as the day drew to a close, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange. We gathered together for one last embrace before bidding farewell, before going back to reality, to the beachside. Though separated by distance and time, the memories we made on this idyllic shore will forever bind us together, a treasure trove of moments to cherish until we meet again. The sands beneath my feet bore witness to the depths of my heart's embrace of that unforgettable moment, capturing the essence of pure joy and bliss in their golden grains. Even now, the mere thought of sinking my toes into the soft, warm embrace of sand fills me with a sense of longing and nostalgia. 

I miss my Lola and her cooking, and my cousins back there. I hope we can come back soon. 

-beach-lover

[walaumalistulog]

One mistake that I made during my La Union trip is not booking a bus ticket back to Manila. I was actually a chance passenger—waiting for folks to alight from Bangued, Abra in San Fernando, La Union. I was lucky enough to find a private van that can accompany us back to Manila.

I was sharing a ride with group of call center agents who had a short trip in La Union, a couple leaning each other’s head to one another during the entire trip, and I was seated with a 20-year-old man—a La Union local headed to Quezon City for his driver’s license. We shared a conversation when we had our stop in Sison, Pangasinan. He asked dull but uplifting questions: if how was my stay in Elyu, what do I do for living, where do I live, if I do not get cold during the trip because it was raining cats and dogs throughout the trip. It was wholesome. I usually put my earphones on during trips, but this man made me live in the moment and engage in a prolific human interaction.

My driver, who calls me ‘ading’ the entire trip: “naiihi ka ba, ading?” “Malakas ba aircon diyan, ading?”, was kind enough to make an exit in NLEX Sta. Rita just to drop me off, so I didn't have to go to Cubao to catch a night trip headed to San Miguel, Bulacan.

I was the first one to leave the van. To my surprise, everyone said, 'Ingat kuya!' to me while I was retrieving my luggage from the back seat. The passenger next to me said, 'Salamat kuya. Ingat ka,' and gave me a fist bump. I didn't even ask for his name. Shame on me.

This is probably one of the best traveling experiences so far. I wish I could be less timid and start talking with strangers more whenever I go on a trip.

I never knew that a dreadful 6-hour trip from La Union to Manila, with all the torrential rains, could be so meaningful and warm—that you never want it to end.

Sometimes, the journey is also the destination.

[ireceived-p8250000]

May 4-9, 2014

I practiced driving with my brother Marvin. He had another motive for helping me—he bargained not just for a little money but also for our dad's gun. He needed it for reasons he didn't share.

While driving, my boyfriend kept texting me. I opened one of his messages, but Marvin took the phone away, lecturing me about the dangers of using phones while driving. I had another exam at the end of the month for my non-pro license, so I needed to focus on learning every bump and curve.

We drove quite a distance, and I noticed how smooth the sedan was. It had a feature where it slowed down if you stopped. We eventually stopped to eat at a traveler's eatery, a turo-turo. Marvin knew some people there, and they were curious about me. He introduced me as his sister, though I was actually his sister-in-law. I didn't like how his friends looked at me, and I asked for my phone back. Marvin gave it to me, and after some brief, disinterested answers, his friends stopped trying to chat with me.

On the way back, I practiced successfully parking my new car. Marvin also put a bumper sticker on the back to signal other drivers not to hassle me.

Monday, I helped my friends with their experiments. Luckily, we found Dom's old seminary classmates, and they helped ensure the experiment's success. We ate out and then went home.

Tuesday, Mansoor and I woke up at 5 a.m. and took the bus at 7. We had a full ride to Quezon City, arriving at noon. Our first stop was Diliman, where we explored books at OBookau Ukay. We wandered around before checking into a hotel. It was cheap and had a pool. We shared a bed and explored Cubao X and the old cities, enjoying the nightlife.

We got a bit drunk and went swimming in the hotel pool. Back in our room, things got heated, but we didn't have protection, so we improvised. We tried watching some adult content, but it wasn't enjoyable for me. I told him, "We'll figure it out."

"It's fine. At least we're learning together," he replied.

Wednesday morning, we had another swim, had breakfast at a local place, and then checked out. We went to Makati, visiting Silverlens Gallery, The Met Manila, and Ayala. We explored BGC, which was tiring, and then headed to Pasay at night. We stayed in a motel for a few hours to shower and rest before going out for dinner.

Thursday, we returned to Baguio early in the morning. Over coffee, we discussed our intimacy and decided we weren't ready to go all the way yet. We were happy to take things slow.

When I got home, the fighting was still ongoing. Dad was forcefully telling Roxanne to leave. He was very stubborn, dealing with things his way. This led to a fight between Dad and me. I told him we didn't need him, which made him act childishly, complaining to my mother. I tried to protect Roxanne, who was crying and said she would go to a friend's place for a while. I told her we would find a dorm for her, and I’d pay for the first two months.

I tried to apologize to Dad, but he wouldn't be convinced about Roxanne. On Friday, we went apartment hunting. Most places were far from her school or just bed spacers. One of her friends referred us to a place near her university. It was good, not too crowded, though a bit pricey.

On Saturday, we saw the place. It was decent—2k a month, including utilities. It was a bedspace, shared by four girls: two in college and two working. Quietly, Roxanne and I went home to pack her things. She would be moving Sunday, and Mansoor and I volunteered to help.

[glitterywolfbanana]

Hi. August 19, 2023 he went to my place where I'm working to process some documents that I need to sign for the motorcycle.

Anyways, i really miss him. And you know I didn't know what to feel when I saw him in the office, when he was already here i don't know how to feel. It's like my eyes got stuck looking anywhere. I didn't also look into his eyes that time and I feel again what I felt when I fell in love for the first time with him. I feel like I'm going to a heart attack. Well, i think it's overreacting.

But OMG when he visits me here in Cubao. 😍💓

He really loves me ha. He gives me effort. I much appreciated what he's doing to me. I'll never fool him or cheat. Because cheating is a choice. If you choose to cheat with your girl, i know that you know what you are doing.

I love my Marklee, my love, my hubby, my daddy. You're the only one to my heart. I love you. I miss you. Please be mine and hoping that our relationship was going Stronger than Strong. Me and you will stay forever until we're grey and old.

You're my forever lovely love of my life.

God bless us always. Lord always protects us and gives us shield and protection. Thank you po lord. 🙏😇💗

[in-decisivo]

sparks fly

we said sparks fly back in 2016, my memory will never falter what i feel that night in megamall with arielle and janina even when you heavily teased me to a point i needed to pinch you so hard i love doing karaoke w u, makes me woner why we never do it alone

i think of all the times i was gushing about you, remembering your face and just smile because i cant help it; you to me is my safe space when i think of you it felt like home, it feels like breathing and im reminded that everything is going to be alright

i really adore u so much u dont even know it

but how fast sparks fly, can sparks can stay a bit longer so we retain this familiar and light atmosphere between us? how did u know my sparks went off? (honestly asking u)

to me; & this is im certain is that night of 2020 in october when i actually have to convince myself that youre not actually drifting away from me; when i have to also convince myself repeatedly that it will be alright if i show myself to u and it will not hurt and it does until this day, to change parts of me bcause you wouldnt like it - admittedly there r but it was a big leap

honestly i cant remember all the little things we fought about but i know from what i felt u pull back every single time and parts of me needed to be scratched or bruised to mend what happened; a its sad to be reminded everytime of what every little thing i ever did to you everytime -

learning about your online nuances on Twitter i think thats when things shifted for me, trust / trust issues could only be the thing thats making my walls standing - i was in a place where i felt so insecure about the way you present yourself to people you just knew, and it was never clear to me- your words could simply mean nothing but your actions takes a lot of space in my head during those time;

i dont trust the rest of the world but you

only you will make or break it

maybe I didnt trust you enough

but trust is actually a big thing for me

youve seen me hurt before youve seen me struggle all these years even were just friends at school even before then being friends with me needed to have a solid foundation on trust alone

somehow thats slowly creeping away i second guess myself now i doubt myself most of the time i lean into you bcos my confidence is not so great anymore

in times of uncertainty you were the one i run too and in time i dont know how to actually trust myself on most things

because of u

u stopped acting on our nuances so i never forget how you:

*make a video greeting messages every new year; you did this for two years only

*stopped making round trips at cubao manhattan area bcos you said you were tired

*you wake up so late you dont even greet me good morning for so long but i understand youre not a morning person but there are so many days you just dont even bother

*my hyper fixation to Starbucks could be a bad thing to you and has brought it up so many times and drove me off to actually disliking it

*the things we do are not relatively inclined but when I learned how to be a homebody you suddenly resist the idea why i haven't asked u out for so long - while I thought it was a nice feeling just spending my days with u

*everytime you want to go with that group of friends u somehow conceal half of everything then leave me wondering who are these people u r going out with

*you stopped flirting with me in public; stopped holding my hands; stopped doing sneaky kisses; you stopped clinging to me like the way it was

*it feels bad when i feel like you are just obliged to do the things to make me happy when in fact u r not a fan of the things i do

cont…

maybe that's how my sparks went off

[dailyunsolvedmysteries]

The Chop Chop Lady

Sometime in the late ‘50s or early ‘60s, Lucila Tolentino Lalu left her hometown of Candaba, Pampanga, to try her luck in Manila. She initially worked as a waitress at a small bar and apparently, she was really good with money. Her hard-earned money, which she saved quite wisely, was enough to start several ventures—Lucy’s House of Beauty, a salon on Mayhaligue St. and Pagoda, which is a restaurant and cocktail lounge / nightclub located along Rizal Avenue in Sta. Cruz, Manila.

During this time, Lucila also met Aniano de Vera, a police officer who was married, but who nevertheless fell in love with her. Soon, the two began living together in a common-law marriage, and their union was blessed with a child. Like any career woman, Lucila was adeptly juggling her businesses and family life at 28 years old.

Then one summer day in 1967, Lucila disappeared. None of the old newspaper clippings mentioned whether Lucila’s family members or friends reported her missing. 

On May 28, police officers found human body parts: a woman’s pair of legs, cleanly cut in four pieces, wrapped with a newspaper dated May 14th. The legs were found in a garbage can along Malabon St. not far from Pagoda. The garbage collector who found the parts said that they were cold to the touch, as if they had come from the freezer. He also noted that the toes were well-pedicured, like they belonged to someone well-to-do.

At first, police officers and the media thought they may match the badly decomposed, severed hand that had been found just a few days earlier in front of a barber shop along Recto Avenue. However, this theory was discarded after checking the decomposition rates on both body parts.

Almost a day later, a torso with arms were found along EDSA, near Guadalupe Bridge. These parts were also wrapped in newspaper, this time dated May 23. The body was identified to be Lucila’s, whose fingerprints were on file when she applied for a police clearance, back when she had just arrived in Manila.

Homicide investigators noted that whoever killed Lucila was someone skilled with the knife, or have some sort of medical knowledge since the parts were expertly cut. In initial reports, they also mentioned that, since the body parts were frozen and scattered in different parts of the city, they were looking for someone with an access to a huge freezer and an automobile.

Several suspects were rounded up, most of them Lucila’s lovers. First was Florante Relos, a 19-year-old waiter at the Pagoda whom Lucila had supported. However, Florante was drinking with his friends during the time of the crime and he was released. He also did not have any motive to kill Lucila, the person who was both his lover and provider. She even rented out a “love nest” in Cubao where he could stay. However, the cashier at Pagoda also said that Lucila had already broken up with Florante. During the night of the murder, she also told Florante and his friends that Lucila may be at the beauty parlor if they wanted to see her. Some witnesses even said they saw her being dragged by Florante and his friends into a taxi in front of the parlor. These accounts were never verified.

The second suspect was Aniano, Lucila’s common-law husband for seven years. Many already knew that they were having problems. Their six-year-old child had been staying at Lucila’s mother in Caloocan. Aniano was also prone to fits of anger and jealousy, having fired off his service gun three times in Lucila’s Pagoda and Beauty Parlor, the month before she disappeared.

The night of her disappearance, Aniano claimed to have had dinner with her in the beauty parlor at about 6:30 p.m. He left immediately after. Some witnesses, including some of Lucila’s relatives, said that around the time Aniano left, they even saw her in the salon, sleeping. However, this contradicts Florante’s earlier testimony that he and Lucila had met, around 7:30 the same night, in another cocktail lounge on Rizal Avenue.

There was another suspect, an executive of a printing firm who was also said to be Lucila’s lover. He was never named in any of the reports, only that he was suspected because of a cardboard material used in wrapping newsprints that was found under the torso of Lucila. This mystery man seemed to have an alibi for the night and this angle wasn’t explored any further.

The last suspect was someone who came forward due to his “guilty conscience”: a 28-year-old dentistry student, Jose Luis Santiano. It was June 15, 1967 when news broke out that a “handsome young man” son of a retired PC colonel, married and father of five, confessed in his own handwritten statement that he experienced a “mental blackout” but remember strangling Lucila to her death. Jose Luis was also one of Lucila’s lovers and was one of the boarders of the spare rooms in her parlor.

In his initial testimony, he said that Lucila had tried to seduce him, and that when he refused, she threatened to create a scandal. This was when Jose Luis lost his mind and killed her. In his testimony, he even mentioned disposing of the head in Diliman, Quezon City and carrying parts of the body in paper bags and boxes while commuting in taxis and jeepneys. Police later found traces of dried blood underneath Jose Luis’ bed where he said he kept the body before disposing of it. It was never mentioned in old news reports if the head was ever found. Three days later, Jose Luis was singing a different tune. He retracted his earlier statement, saying he wasn’t the murderer but just an “unwilling witness” to the murder which was in fact committed by three men. While the murder did happen in the mezzanine of the parlor where Jose Luis’ room was, he said that two men killed Lucila while another man held him hostage while pointing a gun at him. A fourth man appeared the following morning and planted evidence, the blood, in his room. Over the next few days, he allegedly also received notes, reminding him to keep silent. 

The police insisted that Jose Luis did it, especially since they found a hammer with bloodstains in the mezzanine, as well as the knife and razors in his initial testimony. They claimed that he was merely following his lawyer’s suggestion of retracting his statement. When Jose Luis was being held by the NBI, they also received bomb threats to let the murder suspect go. He was released later on and some even say that Jose Luis is still alive and living abroad.

Without any new leads, the investigators reached a dead end and the case remains unsolved. 

[vellumed]

Last October, I joined the 10th Ateneo Heights Artists Workshop, an enriching experience that encouraged me to examine personal lived experiences I don’t usually explore in my art. My submission for AHAW is Time Traveled, a series about the frustrating Metro Manila commute, how when it comes to the way we exist and move in public space here, it is like we are stuck in past time.

I started on it way back that October when a fire broke out along the LRT line I take to school. Stations past Cubao were shut down. Officials said full operations would return in 2 to 3 months, but the train stayed unrepaired even after the year turned up until today. So when I was finishing the series this summer, the public transport system was already broken when the coronavirus outbreak came down, suspending mass transportation entirely. It is an exclamation point on the malfunction that pervades where there should be space and support in times of everyday living and in crises.

Time Traveled reflects on the perpetual unreliability and inconvenience of transport systems where the commute feels as slow-going and outmoded as how the nation itself is being run.

[greaterlandscapes]

My Dean Blunt Rotation aka High Fidelity Left A Bad Taste in My Mouth

For the past 2 to 3 months, my listening habits were teetering to an end; mostly via burnout by spontaneously listening to local artists daily and less likely of a musical discovery drought, whereas my interests of a certain artist or genre hasn't found its, sort of, "eureka", moment per se. I've been feeling less enthusiastic over the things i listen to since my friends have gradually lost their flare when it comes to discovering/exploring untapped parts of the music realm. Thus, in return, my enthusiasm not being reciprocated. It leaves an empty feeling from someone who has been yearning social interaction, may it be media being latched on the topic - it's a feeling that's been guilt-tripping me ever since I was stranded in the other end of the metro. I feel closed off, exposed to the crippling loneliness the lockdown has punished us: a defacto solitary confinement in a national level. Our act of staying online is also an act of staying alive outside.

To be fair though, it's a valid move to not boomerang compliments/gripes over an art you haven't consumed due to someone's autonomy. Your able body being to consume the art you wish to finish with free time is a luxury in of itself. The art is then failed to serve its purpose to reach its goal: You have squiggly lines heading straight to oblivion rather than swirling in the earlobes of a wandering cyber nomad. We, eventually, need to find something that could help us exit, rather than escape, from capital. We, in return, do not shut ourselves from the outside. Instead, we then tend to avoid the stress of protocols and outdoor fascism; Not avoid the indoor liberalism that is eating us alive and online. It's a capital punishment we never knew we signed up for ever since the onslaught of the virus and the state. Art for art's sake is nonexistent now, always has been, it seizes to ever since we went inside. Feeding off of a holographic meatloaf coming from a glowing screen. We have a real-life Karen acting as a nightlight in our rooms.

The COVID lockdown made us listen to music — both for better, for worse. For one, it made us pass most days. You could say the same for any sort of media: film, mixed media art, or whatever pre-Covid activity that sprung up during our time in isolation. For music, however, there was an uptick of new listeners that made others Wheel-of-Fortune the fuck out of their music discoveries in sites like RateYourMusic, Bandcamp, or even Sophie's Floorboard. We've continued to expand and became more open change of opinions and be less of a jackass towards someone else's opinions. On second thought, our opinions have been catalogued, leaving more notes than actual footprints of our previous listens. Our new discoveries made new bands and re-emerging bands, bands who faded to obscurity, crawl back in the surface with newfound interest from younger listeners (ie Panchiko, Jai Paul, and Dean Blunt) and this glowing, previously unseen and unexpected overwhelming support from fans of departed artists (ie SOPHIE, MF DOOM)

For the other, we've hogged gratuitous amounts of media, resulting into losing our primary direction as to how we want to consume our media based on the preconceived notions of what we want in our art. There is goodness in becoming directionless when you think about it, but there comes a cost to our identity as music listeners. Instead, we end up widening our tangents, falling in endless rabbit holes, having zero chances to emerge from the surface. In fact, i refuse to call it a "rabbit hole" instead i'd rather call it a "pipeline" of sorts — transitioning casual music fans into a full on, different, unique versions of themselves that would define them when laws and protocols have eased in the outside world. Our act of staying online has either made most of us break our character or enliven our past selves. The music pipeline is now more apparent, stretching the norms of what was once alienated by a silent majority, but now accepted as an acceptable form of expression. The more music we are exposed to has made casual listeners stranged out or react in ways that our personality have betrayed us or deemed not as acceptable to them. Still, not changing anything that was prominent pre-pandemic. Liberal cop behavior is stronger, now more dangerous than it ever was once perceived by the outside world.

HIGH FIDELITY? NO, THANK YOU.

Imagine a situation inside of a record, pre-pandemic of course, where you do not feel like lifting a record out from the shelf, instead, you window shop just for the sake of windowshopping. Capital and media made us think that going to record shops is a semi-productive activity. The age of discovery has died ever since High Fidelity romanticized and normalized the incelage of horny record diggers. Does this movie age well, yeah sure it does, for old 90s nerds at least. But did it translate well over in the past 20 or more years of events and tragedies that unfolded in pre-9/11 America? No it didn't. It was an age of free expression, only liberals would dream of whenever they take a sip of Guinness beer in their favorite dive bar.

Mind you, over a couple of months ago, it was my only chance in seeing why this movie was the talk of the town back when it was released. There's music, yeah, and attractive leading leadies, yeah, it has everything a 90s kid would love to salivate and drop their gonads over while they watch this movie. I obviously did not live to see the movie on opening day but i could imagine the scent that came out of that movie theater with attendees donning windbreakers and The Who shirts with popcorn dressing stains on their plastic cups. If there was a Filipino counterpart to this movie, i'd bet corporate champions Eraserheads and Rivermaya would soundtrack their music over and have either Tado or have Boy 2 Quizon, but i sense it to age like milk more than it could age like fine wine due to the senseless jokes one can execute in a Cubao or Cartimar record store.

John Cusack is obviously the incel in question here: a damaged, vengeful ex who constantly fails to live his partner's expectations and weaponizes his personality over the situations that has nothing to do with his interests. I spent the entire time being absolutely disgusted over the spineless responses of John Cusack's leading character. The movie then treads on flashbacks with John Cusack's failed relationships and what he could do to move on from each and one of them. If i could stand a SONA for 3 hours then I can't stand John Cusack being the dull entry point to incel, making more reasons why you should hate record store clerks who don't give an iota of shits to someone's inviting rapport. High Fidelity is opium for massive music circle jerks who can't take a single breathe of fresh air or a single quota of touching grass. There's more targeting weak and inferior guys and hot women who dump dumb overconfident dudebros more than the actual "music recs" in the entire movie. The more I think about this movie, the more I realize how our personality is in line towards Dick, the record store being unmercifully dunked on by the movie's two leading characters. He's an angel in the world of cynical bastards, witnessing both demons pitchforking record store customers in the ass while they're purchasing the latest Sonic Youth album.

I believe that Jack Black, the dark horse of High Fidelity, has a pleasing personality more than an irritating demeanor due to this behavior in the record store. In fact, outside of the record store, Jack Black doesn't seem to take the business is your pleasure act pretty seriously. Unlike John Cusack's character he brought his obsession over involving a record in an important memory/point of his life. There is so much stuff that has happened outside of the record store, so much for Rolling Stone and NME being the bible of music at the time, endlessly christening and shilling artists that believe to become the second coming of the Beatles. The music references here however are treated as fluff than it is a mechanism that would drive the senseless plot forward. If anything, there are events pointed out in the event that doesn't have anything to do with the life of the characters.

If anything, this movie did a great job at capturing the feeling of music bros being dumped on the wayside by a mature set of characters and how their current conditions aren't perfumed by the studios' liking of having to Cinderella story the shit out of a bunch of normal record store owners. The reality is in the reaction of one's social capital being invaded and we're here to witness how those reactions panned out in 2021. This is a villainous depiction of music nerds being the salt of the earth, the bane of all media discussion, still reflective of the insufferable salt of cyberspace found in music forums like 4chan and RYM. High Fidelity is a pipeline of 90s musicology, a dreaded fever dream of an owner waiting for the decade to end, trends ossifying and re-emerged by the hands of nostalgia-savvy individuals. It was, at its time, every music-movie nerd's excuse equivalent of Scott Pilgrim VS. The World. There are memories worth remembering and cherishing, and this movie isn't one of them.

DEAN BLUNT, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

In the past two weeks I've been fancying myself into sitting down and listening to different projects from the ever elusive, UK-based sound artist Dean Blunt. The first time i chanced upon his music wasn't too long ago - albeit a recent one in the time of COVID - was when I randomly stumbled upon his records at a Spotify recommendations section under John Maus (yeah lol i know the implications whenever his name is mentioned) - but then i was enamored by his online presence so quickly I put everything down and dedicated an hour or two researching about this man's music.

Other than the fact that his album "The Redeemer" wasn't the best record to start off in journeying through his discography: ending up disgusted and borderline bored even and I was more likely to lambast this record's aimless, pretentious art-pop inflections. By the end of the day, it was a preference long solidified by his undying fanbase. According to his hardcore fans, the music isn't really music, evaluating it as a free form of sound art, rather than sticking to a structured and conventional cues; the genre is nullified by most analysts of the arts. The growing interest of the general public towards Dean Blunt's pranks and antics have long appealed to my tastes as a chaotic neutral individual. Pranks that are well executed to piss off UK gallery connoisseurs and entertain ironic attendees who'd shit on the art piece rather than participate in it.

More of the resources I've found about Dean Blunt online: numerous aliases and collaborations that lasted around almost 2 decades. The most notable of all them, at least for my money, are either Hype Williams, a duo consisting of Dean and frequent collaborator Inga Copeland, and Babyfather, an art performance parodizing the pirate radio culture in the UK. I have not delved enough in Blunt's body of work to evaluate everything and what i could synthesize from it. For now, I enjoyed it as a form of entertainment. Well, color me impressed because Dean Blunt isn't clowning around, he, in fact, makes blissful and transcendental music from left to right.

Dean Blunt was the only few artists that made me want to binge on their discography. His movements in his music has attracted this pesky listener who thinks that being mysterious is a plus. I mean, look at me who thinks The Paul Institute, Panchiko, and Burial are the greatest artists that have walked the face of the earth.

The most I've enjoyed from Dean Blunt's discography are his mixtapes and collaborations: preferably his Soul Fire and ZUSHI, both of which were packaged as B-sides or supplemental releases rather than major releases such as the Babyfather project or the Black Metal releases. His knack for blurring the lines between genres still fascinate me as of this writing, and it continues to amaze me how he doesn't seize to compromise his art, he's here to prove a point and it sells quite well despite the lack of direction in his music. Blunt's music has more aggressive and hazy texture than the hollow, wide, soulless structure of art-pop/hypnagogic pop released today. He creates terrains from the rubble of his country's current shortcomings. The music overlaps the actual intentions with abstract concepts, becoming deconstructed down the line. In Babyfather, noise music coincides with Blunt's amateurish rapping. In Black Metal, Blunt isolates himself along with the assisted skeletal guitar playing. Both projects throwing all tropes in a vaccum alongside Blunt, who he himself would sought to become a personification of a musical void.

--

(Excerpt from the Babyfather album review in TinyMixtapes)

--

Dean Blunt is an entity that wishes to become one person, but no, this isn't a figure in a specific art form; this isn't Banksy, this isn't Bob Ong, this is made by one person, clearly it is if you listen closely, and it's been entrancing me ever since his presence was felt on the horizons of the internet. Dean Blunt, what the actual fuck.

[torendheavenandearth]

1.0 - Prologo

“You can hardly imagine the fear, when the maya bird and the latoy bird were crying, when they knew of the incoming flood. You can hardly imagine the attachment on the crown on the trimmings of the shield. Brighter than gold, and sadder than the maya bird’s crying. With these things they will rend heaven, earth, and hell. With unimaginable fear and unimaginable decoration, they lumber into the world they know will be destroyed.” -- From Ang Aklat, Holy Book of the Trinity, interpreted by Engkanto Sandobal.

---

Follow the girl. Underneath a maroon-colored oversized hoodie--a horrible mistake in the tropical climate of the Philippines, doubly so in the stuffy, polluted air of Metro Manila--she wears her simple high school girl clothes: skirts that reach her knees, black sandals, and a white sailor-esque blouse. She pushes up her circular glasses as she waits for a bus to come by, waiting for one in Guadalupe in EDSA. She absentmindedly sweeps her bangs away from the top of her eyes. Bangs that she cut on her own during a night of terrible decisions.

Eventually, a white and red bus stops by. She rushes to it, managing to climb into it before the others do. It’s full. She’s forced to stay near the door, she can’t scoot her way in, full of men and women on their way back home from corporate work, probably from Makati. She mentally curses herself: it’s 6:30. Prime rush hour. 

She breathes. I can do this, she thinks. Just another day in hell.

Eͥ̄͊̓̿̌v̝̗̪̬͓͎̪ͮe̜̖̞r͉͖̲͕ͤ̓ͨ̃̍ͅy̮̙͚͇͂̅ͅͅ ͓ͣ̑̈́͗͋ͤlͪ̍̒̆i̺̭͎ͅṫ͇ț͕͈̠̞̳̜͊ḻ̝̟͍̝e̩̰̜̺ͨ̅̋̅̽̍̐ ̤̠̝̟͇̖̀ͮͥd̈ͩͬ̔̆̒̄á̰̳̼͈̗̹͈ͧ͒ͦý̯͓͚̮̤̝̌̍ ̳͚̖̯̮͖̭͐̉̇̐ͣ̔͊ì̬ͯ̚ṅ̰̗̦̅ ̓h̼̳̤̬e̯͚̤̓͛̂ḷ̹̎ͫ̊̈́ͫ̽̚l̞̠ͩ̂͛͛ ̤̥e̱̝ͬ̄̂v͎̗̒͛͒ẻ͖̦̑͒ͫ̒̎n̔ͬ͊t͕̪̱ͦu̼ͯ̃̑a̹l̬͇̟̞̖͕͒̌̑̅̈́͗l͈̭̯̉ͬͦ̔̽͂y̥̫̟̘ͣ͛̐ ̞̺͎̥͐̍̐ͧ̀́m̱̲͚̠͎ͮa̩͇̜͎̭k͕̜̦͈͊̏̐͆ͦ͒ës͖̥̄̒͊ ̦͉̺͕̦̽ͭͣͥỹ̜̯̗͈̺̍̂͌ͤ̂ͅo͇̟̪u̩̖ ͈̰͓̤̞̪ͮͯͪ̊̚t̮̆͐ͪḣ͚̖̘̰͙͖̓̐i͈̖̙̗͔n͎̻̱̲̬̑k͖̫̳̮ͯ̓̂ͨ̏̐ͨ ̦ͥͦͣ̋͗̽ṯ̓̿̓̔ͭḧ̺́̋ā̘̰ͣ̈t̝̼̖̪͗ ͇̪̪͖̏͑̿ͯ̄ȳ̓͆o͇̬͑̏̎ͨ͆ͮ͛u͎̻̮̿̒’̬͇̙̖̖͔ͤ͌ͨ͆řͤḙ͍̦͓͉̰̏ͦ̃͒̓̚ ̜̟̥͔͙͇͕͊i͇̝ͮ̑n̻̙̞̓͗͊̄ ̺̺̦h̖̪̙̳̥̬̔ͧ̽ͩ̂é̘ͪ͒ͩ̓͌̚ä̜̰̲̻̠̰́ṽ̼̐ͫͫ͂̏̃e̖̜̖̦̺͚̋͌̓̏͛ṋ̰̳̱̺ͅ.̣̥͎͕̼̦̜ ̼̗̙̣̙̫ͬ͆͂̏̾ͣͨT͉̩̻̩̅̋̔͆̂͆h̆ͭͫ̉̃́a̰̺̳͎̲͚̠ͮͫt̲̪̞̥͌’̜̤̟̘̤̭s͔̠̝̎͛ͥ ̖̩͚͕ͫ̽ͬi̮͉̬̭̱̜ͬn̟͍̹ͫ̚s̝̼̙ͨ̒a̝͔̟̬͖͔͂̋ͥͫṋ̍̓̍ͭi̻ͩ̐͒ͬt̙̐ͧͣy̝̲̬̰̤͚͔ͦ͒.͉̣̖͗

Eventually, she drops off at her stop: Farmer’s Plaza at Cubao. She squeezes through the rush hour rush for people from Cubao trying to get onto the bus that she’s in, presumably to get to another residential area somewhere in Novaliches or perhaps trying to get to the Balintawak area. The smell of sweat and fatigue cling on to her, but she doesn’t care since it’s something that she also omits.

Now that she’s in Farmer’s Plaza, she still has to take a jeep to get to Anonas, so she has to walk all the way to Aurora Boulevard. She decides to go through Farmers Plaza instead of walking around the sidewalks. It's a Friday, and the line on the left side of the Plaza is hell since everyone is waiting for a UV to ride. 

She slings her backpack off of her back and opens it, readying it for inspection. There is only one guard now, a small lady. She uses her wooden stick to widen the girl’s bag, and when she’s done, looks up at the girl with horrible bangs. The guard lady’s eyes have been replaced with balls of blue flame.

The girl blinks and flinches. She is usually devoid of emotion--or at least, she says so--so she’s surprised that that brought out a reaction from her. After blinking, the woman’s eyes are normal, brown, and human. “Ate, pasok na po kayo may iba ring papasok. (Please go in there are others that also want to go in.)” Sheepish, the girl walks past her and into the mall. She goes up a small escalator and into the second floor. 

The lights of the mall flickers. 

She blinks and stops, and she grasps the straps of her backpack as the entire floor goes pitch black. 

She swallows. She can hear her own breathing. Ṫ̰̬̜̫̈̊̀̑h̥͍̙̞̰̘͕̃̏͛i̖̗͕̱̊̎̍s͔̺͚̟͂ͤͭ ̮̙̝̊ï̦s̒̔̋ͪ ̻̘̱̲̋ͩn̪̬̲͋̓̉͋̑o̩͖̮̪̙͗ͩͭ̚t̪̊ ̦̩͎̥̮ͅw̐̃̚h̰͉͍ͤ̏̊͐ͩa̝̱͚̼̰̯͛̌̊̏̍̄ͅt̹͍̬̭̘͕̭́ͬͭ̈́̊̄ͩ ̙̘ͮ̈̃s͚̼̬͂̚i͚̮͖̜̲͍̹̓͂́͛̋ͫ̚l̯̯̆̋̄e̱͇̰ͯ̉́ͪn̙̊ͬc͚̼̳̒̈͂e̽̄ͮ̈͆͊͋ ̜̬͙̻̏̐ͯͬ̐̋̔ͅs̜̪͛ͤ̔ͅo͇̮̓̄̐u̖͈̺̒̔͊̋n̟̺̫͍̠̘ͣ̋ͪͨͩ̄ͣd͓̣̟ͧͥͥͩ͆̈s̳͕͚̱̩̝ͧ̎ ̙͉̲̭̠̹̊̽̇͛̇̔l̙̦̗̻͚̮̙͊i͚̙̣̲̫͆̍̋̈́̋̍k̺̥̝͕̾ͥe̱̱͎̫̥̲͈̓.̖̬͗ͦ

A few seconds later, the lights blink back on. The people are walking about, in the midst of their daily lives, as if a sudden blackout hadn’t just occurred. They all look normal, doing their own thing: attending to shopping errands, looking at merchandise, selling their hotdogs and iced coffees… until the girl realizes they’re not looking at whatever they’re doing. They’re looking directly at something behind her. 

They look at it from impossible angles, even if they shouldn’t be seeing it, they’re looking at it. One who is supposed to be leaning against a counter, speaking with the woman behind it, has their head turned around impossibly upon their neck, looking at the whatever is behind the girl. So is the woman that’s trying to make a cup of coffee.

The girl is flung into her fight-or-flight response. She decides the latter: without another beat, she surges forward, running past all the people, trying to get to the exit door on the other side. As she runs, the strange contorted heads all follow her, tracking her movements.

Curiosity gets the best of her. Before she reaches the exit, which has no guard for some strange reason, she whips her head around and looks behind her. 

There, at the point where she was just standing, is a blue flame, which has taken on the form of a human. The folds of its fire reveal watching eyes. Its “head” is crowned by a halo of swords, and it's back is cloaked with wings of spears made from impossibly solidified light.

It doesn’t move. All that happens is that the girl is not running anymore. Instead, she is floating, and the Fire raises its hand. The girl cannot do anything. She cannot scream, she cannot speak, she cannot plead. In the next moment, she is in the being’s flaming grasp, unburned but unfeeling.

From up close, the girl notices that the Fire, despite having multiple sets of eyes, has no head and no face. The Fire turns, bringing the girl along with it. When it does, the girl finds that there are six other Fires, each one a different color of flame, carrying with them their own set of people. They stare at each other for a little while, before one of the Fires--a being made of bright gold flame, as if forged from the heart of a volcano’s furnace--raises its hand. Something rips in the space before them, and the girl’s stomach drops. That horrid action of perverting reality did not sit right with the girl. It’s not natural. It’s not supposed to happen like that. Nothing is supposed to do that.

The girl feels like vomiting, but before she can do anything that rash, the seven Fires leap through the rip in reality--like a scar upon the skin of space--and they are falling into blackness.

▼

She wakes. She is on a rattan mat. There is someone kneeling beside her, there is a needle right of her eye… no, that’s not a needle. It’s a creature that drillsitselfintohereyeanditburrowsdeepintohersoulthereisasearingpaineverythingis

red.

▼

“Angela De Jesus--that is her name. Her Kaluluwa screamed it as they went through the Wound,” the voice comes from somewhere else as Angela’s consciousness. She’s sitting on a damp stone floor. It’s hot, humid. Is she still in the Philippines? She looks about her and there is only one opening: the cell bars before her.

She tries to stand, but pain lances through her and throws her back down. “Ow. What the fuck--” she looks down on her hand and sees that it’s basically nailed to the stone floor by a little lance of light. “What the fuck?!”

There is a creature beside her, also nailed down by that lance of light. This one is a bird-creature. Humanoid but avian, with an overly long tongue and teeth lining its huge beak. Its face is mostly the face of a bird, something that looks like a raven, although it has both of its eyes in front of its face, similar to a human. Its “hands” and “feet” are bird wings and bird feet, complete with vicious, crushing claws. The creature’s feathers are black, as if covered in a coat of soot or dipped into a tank of the blackest oil. 

“Don’t try to fight it,” speaks the bird-creature, in a slow, croaking voice. “It only gets worse.” The creature doesn’t move. Completely still. Its voice is somewhat feminine. 

Angela gulps. “Ahm… what… are you?”

“Tiktik, girl. And what are you?”

Angela blinks. “I… uhm… I thought I was human--”

“Tao.”

Angela blinks again. “That’s what I said.”

“No, you said something else.” The tiktik looks up at the bars, and then back at her. “Look, you’re not tao anymore. You’re bihag. Slave. Raid trophy. You’re a transuniversal entity: you come from another Universe. Is your civilization advanced enough to know this?”

Angela blinks. 

“Then it sucks to be you. But, don’t worry, you’re in luck. It just so happens that you came in at the right time.”

Before Angela can ask what she meant by that, a squat, gray little creature pops out of the stone floor and dances around a bit. The tiktik leans in close and whispers, “What’s the matter lil’ buddy?”

“Ka Alvaro is here! Ka Alvaro is here!”

The tiktik breathes a sigh of relief. Her shoulders relax. “Good. Thanks little one.” And then the tiktik regurgitates a gold coin onto the creature’s head. The thing catches it--spit and all--and it giggles in delight, before sinking into the stone floor. “The security in here is shit,” says the tiktik, glancing at Angela. “The Pamahalaan--that is, the government-- doesn’t want to invest in them after all. They only invest in the military.”

Angela blinks again. “Wait… wait, what’s going to happen?”

“Like I said, girl,” says the tiktik. “You’re in luck. Because--” boom, something explodes outside, out of sight. Screaming and shouts and noise erupts from the other cells. There’s a lot of them, of these “bihag”?

“Ah shit, you’ve been branded, girl.” She gestures with her beak to Angela’s brow. Angela, in response, blinks, and tries to look up at what the tiktik is pointing at. She can’t see, but she can move her other hand. She moves it up to her brow and feels around. Are those… horns?

Angela blinks. She tries to scream out something--what the fuck is happening?--but the tiktik says: “You have to make sure Babaylan Abulencia removes it from you. Be sure to stay with me, all right?”

Angela looks up at her, in the same way someone who just woke up looks at the world. That glassy-eyed stare. “I-If you say so.” She has no idea what’s happening, but she decides that going with someone that doesn’t seem malevolent would be the best course of action.

“Good.” And at that word, blood splatters and streaks across the floor and the wall in front of their cell. There’s the sound of jail doors being unlocked and swung open. 

Someone screams with a masculine voice: “Go on! Down the hole!” Footsteps resound as if in reply. All Angela can see is the shadows dancing upon the wall.

And then, a woman appears, wearing the trappings of a devotee of the Catholic faith. She walks near the  

A white panuelo is draped over her head, and she wears a black skirt beneath a white butterfly-sleeved blouse. The baro’t saya. Sleeve-and-skirt getup, iconic to the Philippine Spanish era.

“Come, quickly,” says the woman, and she is immaculately beautiful. Her eyes are blackest black, and her skin is the palest of pale, as if untouched by the tropical sun. Her hair is tied up in a messy bun, but is darker than black. She waves her hand and the lances of light that pins Angela and the tiktik to the cell are lifted. A wave of blissful relief washes over Angela. There was a small humming pain that accompanied the lance of light that made even movement agonizing and tiring. She and the tiktik stand up, stretching.

The tiktik says: “Binibini Abulencia--” Binibini, an honorific, meaning “Lady” or “Maiden”, “--I am so glad you are safe.”

“The turning of the wheel of fate has only just begun,” replies Binibini Abulencia, her eyes half-closed, making it look like she’s sleepy. “Now come quickly, Dimahuli.” She produces a key from her sleeve and unlocks the cell door. Angela notices that she is stuck to the floor, unmoving because of the shock. All around her the noise of people rushing, uttering prayers, invocations, and thanks to “Ka Alvaro” resound.

Angela is still like a newly awoken child. But this time, with the rushing noise of footsteps and voices, her heart beats faster. She swallows, unsure where to go, and ends up sticking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie.

“Anak,” says Binibini Abulencia, and that is a word that means “my child”. Angela looks up and Binibini Abulencia is standing right before her, looking more or less like a Mama Mary painting. “Come, now. It is time to go. You are free now. Come.”

Angela blinks and notices her eyes are wet with tears.  “Ate--” ‘big sister’, “--what’s happening? Where are we going? Where am I?”

“Hush, dry your tears, anak. It’s time to leave. Come with me, and all will be safe.”

Angela looks at her for a moment, a moment that she’s not sure of--perhaps she reminds her of her mother?--before nodding. She leaves the cell, led by Binibini Abulencia by the hand. Outside, the cells are now mostly empty, save for a few creatures that are leaping down the hole. Others have had to use the rope to climb down safely. There are a lot of them: other humanoid looking creatures with different skin colors, from blue to red to green to yellow. Others have horns or are partly feline. Others are tikbalang: horse-headed humanoid beings with strange, overly long, and lanky appendages. Others still are strange beings with the feet and wings of an eagle, but the body and head of a man. There is a snake person there, slithering down the hole on the ground. There is a little goblin man, with lanky arms and legs but with a straw hat of a farmer, with bulbous black eyes and a black goatee. Duwende. 

And then there is the man. Angela didn’t know what she was expecting when she heard the name “Ka Alvaro.” The man standing there is old. Wrinkles line his face, and his mustache and “beard” are wispy, scraggly strands of hair. His eyes are tired, and his long unkempt hair is held down by a salakot, a broad-brimmed hardwood hat. He wears a simple camisa, a white shirt, and brown balloon pants. He wears a pair of leather boots that look like they have been stolen from the guwardya sibil. Hanging around his neck are rows upon rows of necklaces. Anting-anting, the word bubbles into Angela’s mind. Magical amulets.

Before the man there are two limp bodies, blood spilling from their wounds, on the ground. They are wearing the boots and dark-colored trousers and rayadillo of the Guwardya Sibil. Their weapons are spread across the floor.

“So familiar, yet so different,” Angela mutters. Ka Alvaro looks up at her and then gestures for her to go down the hole. The tiktik--Dimahuli-- waits to grab the rope.

“Can you not fly?” asks Binibining Abulencia. Dimahuli shakes her head and shows Abulencia her scarred wing. 

“They tortured me.”

Angela gulps. She looks up at the Binibini, who simply nods sadly. “You’ve done good work. You’ve said nothing. You are brave.”

“For a better Perlesensya,” says the tiktik. “Mabuhay ang Perlesensya.”

Ka Alvaro nods, and repeats the phrase, like an incantation, or perhaps a promise. Maybe even a little cry of victory. “Mabuhay ang Perlesensya. They’ve taken away our language, our lands, our culture, and our people, but they will never take away our souls.”

Behind Ka Alvaro is a set of stone stairs that lead up to double doors. Those doors have been barricaded by a wooden desk, and a large carabao-headed man stands guard with a kalasag and a kris at his disposal. He peers through the slit between the doors.

As Angela watches the carabao man, she notices a few white rose petals enter through that slit. She glances around her and sees more petals come in through the cracks in the stone floor and the walls. Even more flurry in from the hole they’re escaping through. There are still quite a few folk trying to escape, trying to get down the rope, but when they see the rose, chaos erupts. Some of them leap down, throwing caution to the wind. Others scramble down the rope, even though the rope can only handle a single being at a time.

The carabao-headed man--sarangay, as they are called (Angela wonders where the voice comes from, but the immediate action is too much for her to focus on this strange thought)--shouts: “Ka Alvaro! The Guwardya Sibil are here! They have--” The sarangay cannot finish his warning: the doors are blasted open and the sarangay is blown away, sending him sprawling onto the floor in front of Ka Alvaro.

Ka Alvaro rushes to the sarangay. “Makaalingawngaw, are you okay?” 

Makaalingawngaw nods. He takes Ka Alvaro’s hand and stands up, then readies his kris and kalasag. Ka Alvaro pulls out his pistol as a red sprite dances around the barrel.

“Binibining Abulencia! Bring them all down quickly! Tell them they have to hurry!”

Binibini Abulencia leaves Angela’s side and helps the others down the rope, even as they scramble down and the rope begins to be pulled taut.

Angela turns to the doors, which have been blasted open and thrown off of its hinges. White rose petals flurry through, like a river bursting through a dam, before suddenly stopping in midair and then beginning a lazy circular dance around a strange figure standing by the door frame.. 

The being is as tall as the sarangay, who is almost three heads taller than Ka Alvaro. For reference: Angela is small--only around 5’2”--and Ka Alvaro is only around 6 inches taller than her.

The being’s skin is even stranger: it is made of gold. The kind of gold one would find on statues. Actually, the being actually looks like a statue, if a statue could walk. Its face is unmoving, looking like it had been painted on. The face itself is reminiscent of Renaissance paintings one would find on the ceilings of churches.

Clothing the being is a somewhat simple and light cassock. Flaring out from the top of the creature’s head is a bonfire of golden flame, with multiple eyes blinking in and out of existence from it, as if those were the fire’s embers. In one hand, the being holds a staff, and the other hand is in a strange finger sign. The thumb, pointer, and middle finger are pointed up, while the pinky and ring fingers are folded. This sign is brought over near their heart, where a shining white ball of flame burns through a hole.

“Fuck,” Angela hears Ka Alvaro. “<ARKSERAPIN SAN BARACHIEL>--” and the words materialize in the air in a strange script that Angela cannot read, but somewhat resembles baybayin. “--How did they know?”

“No time,” says Binibini Abulencia, who throws her panuelo down and runs up next to Ka Alvaro. “The hole is getting backed up.”

The sarangay turns and says, “I can help!” And he begins to rush over to the hole.

Angela looks over to the hole and, indeed, there is chaos. Especially now that they can see the being standing by the door.

“Ah, yes. <KA ALVARO, THE TULISAN> and <BINIBINI ABULENCIA, THE ERETIKO>,” bellows the being without moving his lips. “I’ve come as God’s Judgment.” The Arkserapin brings the staff down once to the floor, and one of the white rose petals becomes a razor blade that darts toward the sarangay. 

The petal slices the sarangay’s head clean off. Blood streaks across the already blood-splattered walls.

The people trying to get down the hole begin screaming. Others begin to leap down through the hole. The others begin to slide down the rope, burning their hands.

Angela can’t move. She’s stuck to where she is.

“Ka Alvaro, you can’t die here,” says Abulencia, kicking off her wooden clogs. “You have to leave with them. You have to lead them.”

“Binibini, I cannot leave you to fend for your own!”

“I am not alone,” says Abulencia, setting her mouth in a grim yet determined line.

Ka Alvaro stares at Abulencia for a few moments, but in the end, he nods, seemingly as if defeated. As if he knows that he cannot talk her out of it. “Then please do your best, and return safely.”

Ka Alvaro turns and kneels before the sarangay, uttering a small prayer, before rushing over to the hole. Barachiel taps the floor with his staff once again, and three rose petals turn into razor blades that spin toward Ka Alvaro. The Ka ignores the razor petals. The petals slice into his skin, but then Ka Alvaro is unharmed. 

“Barachiel!” screams Abulencia, and when Angela turns back her attention to her, the Binibini is convulsing violently. Her movements are reminiscent of a strange erratic dance: one that honors all the gods that have ever existed. “Barachiel/BARACHIEL!” When she speaks, her voice is not one, but two. The other is the hoarse voice of a thousand poisons and a thousand swords clashing against each other in the middle of the sea.

Barachiel turns to Abulencia as her hair explodes into a shining red corona. Abulencia tears her baro away, revealing her glowing crimson skin, like her soul threatening to burst through. She raises her hand and a spear materializes from the glowing of her skin, and tattoos suddenly line her glowing skin, glowing a divine white and gold. Three extra sets of arms explode from her back, bursting from her skin as if burning out from her soul.

“Woman,” says Barachiel.

“I am no woman/I AM NO WOMAN. I AM <INAGINID, BATHALA OF WAR>, AND YOU WILL BLEED.”

“Amusing,” says Barachiel, as he taps the floor once again. The rose petals converge into a great lance that Barachiel then flings at the Inaginid. Inaginid catches the rose petals, turns it redder than blood, and then breaks it apart with her six hands.

Barachiel, emotionless, taps the ground again. A flurry of rose petals turn into razor blades and cut into Angela, sending her tumbling to the ground. She cries out in pain, and blood drips from her wounds. 

Ka Alvaro curses and runs towards her just as the last two men begin climbing down the rope. Behind him, Inaginid is punching sharpened rose petals, their infinitely cutting blades doing nothing against her. Step by step, inch-by-inch, Inaginid closes in on the Arkserapin. “Girl, I cannot save you. Forgive me. But wear this--” and Ka Alvaro puts an anting-anting around her. A triangle shaped emblem with an eye in the middle. “--and trust me.” The second it settles on her neck, she feels a wave of relief flood through her, although the pain is still too great to wholly stem. She writhes as floods of relief and floods of pain fill her soul.

Ka Alvaro throws a seed into the stone floor and immediately a small tree--like a miniature balete--sprouts from the ground. In the middle of the tree is a hole, one large enough for Angela to fit through. Before Angela can say anything else, Ka Alvaro picks her up and pushes her into the hole.

Nothing else follows.

Next Chapter.

Return to Table of Contents.

[aspiringbusenthusiast]

My Travel before Pandemic

It was December 21, a day after my classes end, and the start of Christmas break. I was really excited upon packing my things as well as packages for my province. Luckily, my family owned a taxi, which lessened the burden in finding my means of transportation to the terminal. 

At 7:00 AM, we have reached the terminal in Fairview. I was hoping that I would ride their latest fleet of Volvo B11R, but after more than 2 hours of waiting due to difference in dispatches, I have climbed on to one of their fleet of Golden Dragon Marcopolo. Not bad though, because I was fascinated with its beauty.

This bus that I rode was involved in an accident from few months, and its restoration bring back its glory. We officially left Fairview around 9:00 AM, going to Cubao, where we wait another hour for passengers.

We have reached the Araneta City Bus Port, and to my surprise, they were the only one (yet) that offers trips to Eastern Visayas on the Bus Port. When the passengers have filled up the slots for Cubao, they have set their trip towards Pasay, where there are more passengers than in Fairview and Cubao. As we get there, there were also more packages and things loaded onto the bus. After everything is all set, the voyage towards our destination has started.

8:00 PM. It was cold evening when we reached Lucena City, our first stopover. And as usual, I took the time to eat my dinner but it wasn’t sufficient to finish eating because the driver already calls us to board the bus already.

It was early morning of December 22, 4:00 AM to be specific, when we reached Pamplona, the second stopover, for a short break for drivers and a chance for passengers to unwind. I also took the opportunity to take a pee (LOL) and take a drink. It was pretty late for a schedule in ferry, but this is the best moment ever. 

It is 7:00 AM when we reached Sorsogon City, for third stopover. This time, the bus needs to refuel to reach our destination. I also got the chance to see the glimpse of their former fleet parked in their separate garage in front of the terminal.

It was at this point that the driver said that there was long traffic towards Matnog, the end point of Luzon, mainly because of the motorists waiting to board a ship. So instead of being in a hurry, I took my time appreciating the landscape before continuing towards Matnog.

It was a hot morning of 10:00 AM in Matnog when we caught in the midst of traffic hoping to get on board a ship before the day ends. I took the time to take a few photos of buses while the traffic slowly moving towards the port. 

M/V Nelvin Jules (IMO 8504404) And yes, I finally boarded the ship at 4:00 in the afternoon, however, I was hoping that we could leave early, but I was wrong.

Yes, you’re right! 6:00 PM, the ship doesn’t leave yet! I found out that the Coast Guard still checking the number of passengers if it matches to the manifest. Such a valid reason. Nonetheless, I needed to recharge my phone for emergency and picture purposes as well. 

I feel the pressure between the passengers and the deck officers because the ship doesn’t leave yet. Luckily, I was permitted to stay beside the bridge, thanks to the crewmembers of M/V Nelvin Jules. I also took the opportunity to visit inside the bridge as well as the crew cabins with their help.

After 2 hours of waiting, we finally left Matnog towards Allen, the gateway to Eastern Visayas. Refreshing air and bright stars over the waves of sea calms my mind while I sipped on my Cup Noodles.

It was 9:00 PM when we reached Allen, with 12 more hours on continuing the travel towards the destination. A big thanks to PSC for opportunity despite the delays.

An hour before midnight, we have reached Calbayog City, the fourth stopover. As usual, I took the time to eat dinner and take a pee. Such yummy meal after all and this time, I finished it shortly before we go again.

3:00 AM, we have reached Tacloban City, the fifth stopover. At this point, there are few passengers that have gotten off the bus starting from Calbayog City. I took the time to unwind and drink my coffee again.

We have reached Liloan around 8:00 AM of December 23. There were only 2 of us passengers remaining. While the men are cleaning the bus, the drivers, together with us, have a chance to take breakfast. As soon as the bus was cleaned, we are now going to our destination - which happens to be the last destination. 

And finally, after 2 days on a trip, I’m now on my destination, my hometown of Silago, as the last passenger getting off the bus. This was their last destination, which happens to be one of my reasons I choose this bus. Such a happy trip after all! How times passed, and I miss travelling. A lot.

I guess I’ll post another blog on returning to Manila :)

[shelivesbetweenthepages]

V. Mapa, sometime around August 2019.

It’s 3 am in the morning. The city’s obviously asleep. Only few cars passes by and most people I ran into are either on their way home from a late night shift or in their sleeping attires, looking for the nearest convenience store that I assumed was for midnight cravings.

I haven’t been in this area before but I know where I was because I pass by it most of the time when I’m on a train going to school. I don’t know the safest place to be but the important thing was, I know how to get home. I mean seeing Cubao/Gateway/Alimall jeepneys or buses was a big relief for me. Also, having a good memory is an advantage. Like I can manage to remember a place very well even if I came there only for once. I will know how to get there and to get back home. I actually consider that as a secret talent of mine. At least I’m confident enough that I can never be lost and fine on my own.

But the question was, why am I there? I should’ve stayed the night at my friends’ rented place where we had our small party. Or I should’ve probably headed straight home. Yet I was smoking a cigarette along the streets and it’s a bit chilly that night, I can feel it underneath my crop top and shorts. Good thing I was wearing a denim jacket, but it’s not really enough. I even wore my 2 inch heels. I thought I looked like a depressed prostitute.

My phone has no battery left, meaning I had no chance to get in touch with my other friends. My best friend lives across the pacific ocean. The man I really liked for a while now broke my heart into pieces without him even knowing (I know, how pathetic) I wasn’t in the mood anymore to have more drinks and play pretend back at that small party.

But I wanted to see someone.

Or maybe, I wanted to see someone from a long time ago. A long time friend. And I don’t know if this was the moment the alcohol took control of me because after smoking, I took a jeepney back to Cubao and found myself inside a bus going to SM Fairview.

I didn’t expect to have lots of commuters with me on the bus due to the time, but it’s a good thing. It has been a long time since I’ve taken that route. Quezon City hasn’t changed a bit. The only difference I can see was the MRT 7 project on going in the middle of the road. But I’ve always loved that city. I love how close it is to other cities, where you can just take a bus or a jeepney to get there without the hassle and at the same time, It’s close to other provinces. It’s like you’re in the middle of everywhere. And of course, the memories I had there. It was one of the happiest time of my life.

I wished my phone was still alive, so I can listen to some music that I loved way back 2015, 2016 and 2017 to give the nostalgia a cherry on top.

Fairview.

I took a jeepney with a sign that said Tungko and stopped in front of the subdivision. I stopped for a moment, take a good look at the place, and let it all sink in. I was there three years later. I’m finally back there. I walked inside while I kept my hands inside my jacket because it was even cold there than at V. Mapa.

Thanks to my eidetic memory, I still remember what street it was and told the tricycle driver our destination. Then after the tricycle driver dropped me off, I went first at the store in front of the house to take a smoke. The guy in the store looked at me like it was his first time seeing a girl. I don’t blame his reaction though. I just happen to be a complete stranger who knew that place, wearing revealing clothes and just standing in front of a house with her heels at 3 in the morning. It’s not really a normal night for everybody.

But not that house. I will never be a stranger in that house. However, someone chose to.

Do they still live here though? I wondered. My thoughts were answered when I saw his mom’s name was plastered on the wall at the left side of the house, telling to call her if someone’s interested about some caretaking stuff. So they’re still living in that place. The place that I still remember perfectly where I left a huge part of my heart.

Is he there? I asked myself again.

Of course, I don’t know. Unless I’ll go ahead and try to send him a message or maybe knock. But that would be weird for everybody. You can’t just knock at someone’s door or contact them in the middle of night saying “Hey, it’s me, I’m outside. Can we catch things up? It’s been three years!” like that’s being a normal person.

But what am I doing there? Why do I have to be there?

I understand that nothing will change. He left me and we have different lives now. That was the place where we had our last kiss, our last hug, our last real conversation face to face. I remembered how the Uber driver arrived and he gave me a kiss before I hopped in. I remembered calling my best friend, crying, even noticed the driver looking at me from the rearview mirror and me saying over the phone that it’s over. I remembered promising him I’ll love him forever and that he will always be a part of me wherever I go.

By looking at myself back there, it’s a proof that I kept my promise. And I still do. It’s been three years and that was the closest moment I’ve ever got with him again. I also remembered that whenever I don’t have anyone to talk to, I can always reach out to him. But that was just a little white lie exes do while breaking up. You just sort of forget each other somehow and be strangers again.

But if he was there standing in front of me, I will be asking for a long hug and if nothing is really impossible, instead of him asking what the hell am I doing there, he’ll tell me, “Let it out now, I’m here.”

I’ll be crying out so loud while hugging him tight. And I’ll tell him how much it can drive someone crazy to be drowned into something that’s already draining.

I’m tired. I’m tired of loving people that I have to love. I’m tired of being too selfless but I can’t help myself because I always wanted for my loved ones to be happy. I’m tired of being mistreated by such jerks. I just want to be stucked in a time loop where we were still together and everything was okay. I want my smile back again. I want my old self back. But I guess she died. She died the time we had also died.

I’m sorry I didn’t go to your graduation as promise. I just don’t know the exact date and I was pretty busy at work. I also don’t know if that still means a lot to you, but it was to me. I treasured you so much that even though we were apart, I never treated you as a stranger. You have always become someone that I look up to whenever I feel unloved and worthless. Your memories made me remember that I’m still capable of being loved. Your love reminded me that no matter how hard I can be, I still deserve to be treated right and educate me when I’m wrong. You made me the happiest and I’m forever thankful.

“You know the people who lives there?” The guy from the store suddenly spoke from behind.

I wiped my tears and looked back at him. Without smiling I answered, “Very. The tall guy in there mostly.”

“You mean the guy with a little brother? He’s just here not so long ago. They bought some cigarettes and a drink. Why don’t you try to knock?” As soon as the guy said that, I felt like a bomb just exploded in front of me.

Realizing he’s just there, awake, sent shivers down my spine. For three years, it felt like the entire world was between us but that time, it’s only just a door. I can knock. I can talk to him and hug him and tell him finally everything inside my head and he can maybe tell me that everything will be okay and I’ll believe him more than anyone.

Then all of a sudden, I realized like lightning had struck through me that I wasn’t there for him. I guess being there was never exactly about him.

It didn’t happen to cross my mind that I still love him and I never said I wanted him back. All I wanted was to be there and talk to myself. I wanted to go somewhere for me to think, to breathe, to remember.

I heaved out a sigh and said, “They are not answering their phones.” I smiled and he still got that same reaction on his face from earlier. Yup, I still looked crazy from being there. “They are great people, you know, kind people.”

Then I left.

I looked at the house one last time and walked away. There were still no post lights around but I still managed to walk back from the main street to take a jeepney or a tricycle going outside the subdivision and take a bus back home.

I was there for myself. I visited my old self that died with us. I visited that 18 year old girl who celebrated her birthday at Baguio with her complete family. That girl who still has her braces on and all she can think about back then was having higher grades. And, planning great dates with her boyfriend. That girl who has her best friend laughing with her while they have their daily iced coffee at Mcdonald’s P. Campa. And that same girl who kept on praying her life will always be that way with a smile on her face before ending the night. I’m sorry for her though, she asked for too much.

I guess I know now exactly how it felt to visit your own grave.

[coffeeleans]

July 29, 2020. 5:35 AM.

This is the first time I’m writing something or anything again and I haven’t slept a wink... I don’t know if any of this will make sense or what I’m even trying to write. Anyway, I take a deep breath while listening to Stray Kids’ Neverending Story and these thoughts came flooding in.

Neverending Story is like my comfort song for this year along with The Cab’s Angel with a Shotgun. I realized that a lot has happened these past few months and I know that there’s more that are yet to come. I thought about how January was a time of moving on, it was a month that I told myself I’ll walk my path, I’ll look for a job hence, my first job interview. Jea and I decided not to take it, believing that there’s an opportunity that’s better for us. Looking back now, I think I should have grabbed it even just as an experience. My virgo ex and I threw hateful words and exchanged resentment only to find out that we still love each other, that we still want to try again. At the end of that month, I gave her another “yes.”

On the month of February, I went to Seoul, South Korea and experienced my first winter. I remember how cold it was for my then skinny self, only weighing 38 kg. I remember taking banana milk for breakfast and how their non-spicy chicken’s still a tad bit spicy. I remember missing a video call with my then-girlfriend and being grumpy about it. I remember visiting several companies, waiting fruitlessly in front of SM Entertainment. I remember taking photos of this certain place that shines the brightest but still feeling lonely and empty. I remember the alternate extreme hot and cold of the shower. I remember smiling and laughing a lot there, I remember promising to myself that I will visit Everland again with the love of my life (or maybe with one of my best friends). It was also a month where my then-girlfriend proposed to me in an international roleplay agency. Before February ends, I met Kleist.

On March, things started to get fucked up. My then-girlfriend and I decided to call it off. We were suddenly a hopeless case. I spent nights crying alone, not being able to confide on anyone but Kleist. I remember cheering her on for a game that’s stressing her only to be forgotten when the event was over. A week after that, I started visiting Cubao Expo three to four times a week with Kleist, just drinking about two to three bottles of an over-priced Smirnoff. I remember getting home late. I remember random Mcdonald’s and Burger King orders with Jea and just snacking our lonely hearts away. I remember hugging Jea when she cried about Ichi leaving her just because I was back in her life (I still feel pretty bad about it). I remember Kleist crying during our first (and last) Karaoke Session with Kana. I remember Kana telling me I feel “warm.” Half-way before March ends, I decided to go on a journey back in Bataan, my healing place. There, I was met with a four-month long lockdown. At the end of March, I lost Kleist... she couldn’t accept a part of me that I also hate. I tried to apologize after a while but the damage’s done and it’s best for us to move forward. However, I’m still thankful that she was my saving grace on all those dark days.

April, the best month to visit Amsterdam for the prettiest tulips. At the very last day of it, I met Lucho. He was amazing, he made me feel all the things I have lost. He made me feel things I felt like I have long forgotten. He made me see that I can still be me and I’m still capable of feeling something. I was really glad and thankful. Our relationship lasted until half of June, I think? Then it became a push and pull relationship of wanting to hold on and letting go. But being in Bataan, I was safe. My heart could hurt but I have my saviors; Gizel, Gillian, Kenshin, and Gabby. Taking care of them and playing with them was my best relief (also drinking alcohol every two weeks). I’m thankful to my mom and dad who funded me for this healing trip/lockdown. Anyway, Lucho or Dani and I ended whatever we have before it started to bloom. Unfortunately, we’re not able to see whether we’ll bloom as pretty as the tulips. I had to block her after her birthday. Somewhere in between, I had to cut Kyla off. She was no longer good for my mental health and she’s doing more harm than good.

July 7, it was the night I step foot again on my own home. At first, it did felt strange with the new stuff, new setting, new everything... even with my siblings being extra affectionate and careful. With my aunts missing me and asking if I had been well. Pointing out that I got prettier with the extra weight. Getting back here, I decided to take another step and make a path for myself. I rearranged my room, cleaned it and put up new stuff, threw old ones, and donate old clothes. To this day, I’m maintaing a really close relationship with my friends; Gizel, Mariz, Jea, Keon, Yuki, Sie, Sam, Pau, Honey, Kazue, Mauie, Therese and more. I’ve met a lot of new people for this short time... I know what we have may also be short-lived. I know that the world’s constantly revolving and that, the people we are close with may not be here tomorrow. That that stranger who you thought will never touch your life will crash through that door and be persistent of not leaving.

Before, I thought that I couldn’t live without a significant other that I should mend. I thought it’s my duty to help people. I thought that if I see everyone happy, I would be too. While that could be true, I think I somehow forgot to tend to my own needs, I forgot to protect and take care of myself all this while that I became empty, detached, emotionless, and out of this world— I was lost. I was constantly drowning even if I tried to keep on swimming. I wasn’t anything but the hole in my chest. I couldn’t care less if I jump off from the roof of our house and kill myself.

But this rough patch, this deep and cold underwater setting... it made me see that there’s something worth living for. I had to let go of the people I never want to let go, I had to restart a relationship I just want to continue. But the world didn’t allow it and I resisted... I resisted so much and begged for the world until my knees were bleeding and was cut off. But one day, several hands have helped me stood up and became my own pair of legs. The relationships that I started to forget because of chasing the wrong relationships are the ones that saved me. Whenever I think about the people who are currently in my life, I feel this wave of warmth and contenment... I couldn’t ask for more. I don’t need a significant other, I just need myself and these people that I ‘am sure of. I think I can picture myself smiling genuinely again. I can’t be how I was, I can’t bring back the old me no matter how much I want to... but if I go on, if I keep on having the courage to take care of myself and these people, then all is well and all is worth it. Maybe I can be just a new me.

With the politics and pandemic completely fucking us up, I think it was also a time that I healed... even just a bit. All of these could be short-lived but these are the days I will always remember. I was able to love genuinely and pray for the people I love the most. My heart is so happy that I could die right now and not regret anything. It was a really rough run, my heart’s hurting for both the good and the bad but I will live on. If the Kei of months or years from now feels lost again, I hope she can look back to this and remember how warm she felt while writing (or typing) this. You were alive, Kei. You met people with good hearts and one day you will meet more. It’s okay to get tired once in a while but don’t forget these days, people, and moments that made you feel alive. You were alive. You burned. You were here. You could be again.

Amidst of all the rough voices, of all the nights I cried and prayed through the darkness and coldness... Han Jisung, you’re a voice that gave me hope. An existence that made me believe. A presence that encouraged me. One of the billions of people that reminds me how beautiful it is to be alive. You’re a kind of love that I will look back to and smile at.

Here’s to our story that won’t end.

The people that left, the people that stayed. The situations the broke me, the situations that fixed me. The people who made it dim and the people who brought light to it. The hands that chose to let go and the hands that chose to hold on. The days I laughed and the nights that I cried.

I was alive.

Farther than tomorrow, longer than forever... I love you.

PS. These are just highlights and ones I remember after staring at the ceiling, when my 4AM talks with Keon and Ace ended.

- 6:19 AM -

[sophiag-lts-blog]

DRRM: Brgy. Sangandaan, Proj. 8, Q.C., LAGING HANDA!

As a freshman in the University of Santo Tomas, we are required to take up this course called NSTP (National Service and Training Program), and we’re currently focusing on what we call DRRM (Disaster Risk and Reduction Management). So what are all these and what do we do? Basically, we learn and get to know more about the different communities in the country, and how we can do our part and contribute to the overall well-being, happiness, and safety of the people who live in it. DRRM is grounded and focuses on four thematic areas: Disaster Prevention and mitigation, Disaster Preparedness, Disaster Response, and Disaster Rehabilitation and Recovery.

For the past 7 years that I’ve lived in the humble and thriving community of Brgy. Sangandaan, I’ve never had the chance to interact with the people who worked in the barangay hall or office. And now, I’ve recently had the chance to have a walk and “kwentuhan” with one of the local head persons of our barangay’s DRRM: Sir Fidel Nisperos.

December 9, 2019, I visited the brgy. hall. All of the staff and workers who were there were very patient, kind and accommodating. And as I was waiting for Sir Nisperos, I was able to observe that the place has a very happy and healthy working environment, and all seemed very close to one another. This even brought a smile to my face. 

Sir Fidel was kind enough to accommodate an interview with me even without prior schedule or notice. He enlightened me and shared with me almost entirely everything I needed to know about our barangay’s DRRM. 

We first identified and analyzed the hazards, calamities, dangers, that may affect and disturb the peace and safety of the community. Sir mentioned a few specific incidents and calamities that have already occurred: in 2012, a large fire spread across 100 homes affecting around 200 families; in Bagyong Ondoy the floods were so great that it surpassed the height of an average Filipino and the height of three-story townhouses. We are now preparing for “the Big One”.

So how does DRRM prepare for this? To identify a nearing threat, they always stay updated with the weather forecast. They often hold earthquake drills (quarterly) in areas like the Savemore supermarket (Project 8) and the Villagers Montessori, because these are the places where a lot of people mostly gather. They are always alert and standing by, since the Blue ridge, Libis in Q.C. is the nearest fault line to us. Their evacuation emergency plan for any kind of calamity, is to escort people to the designated evacuation centers, namely: first plan is at the Mendoza covered court, then Ismael Mathay Sr. High school, since both are of the highest places in the district, and there are a lot of buildings. If ever it is too full, next is to evacuate to the church beside the Brgy. Hall, the Immaculate Conception Church. Last resort is to the private village, Paradise Village’s covered court (given their consent). 

When it comes to mitigation, He said that they first look back at the previous incidents and what may have caused things to happen, and what may have gone wrong. As for instance, during Bagyong Ondoy, there wasn’t enough mitigation for it, and since then, the government has been continuously cooperating with the different districts to ensure that everyone is prepared. They also conduct inspections of hazards, such as large trees that may cause harm to people and houses next to them, so they eventually have to cut these trees down. They also frequently de-clog the sewers, and provide dissemination programs on proper cleaning of the home and environment to avoid illnesses and viruses such as Dengue, and hygiene programs.

We took a little walk around, this when we talked about the Depressed areas and the Informal settlers who live by the river and underneath the bridge. He said it to be one of their main concerns for a number of reasons: they are one of the main causes of the river’s pollution; it is dangerous to live underneath the bridge and beside the river, since one can easily fall into the river, or during storms, floods may easily surge them due to its overflow; they are the poorest in the society, therefore they don’t have the right drainage and septic tanks that enable them to avoid floods; since they are the ones usually most affected during calamities, most of the funds for financial assistance goes to them. At this moment they are still waiting for the government’s approval and provision for them to be relocated, and they are continuously encouraging them to consider this. This has to be one of the most hazardous places. Another is that there are a lot of stray dogs by the route I pass towards home, and two or three times they’ve already barked or threatened me (but didn’t harm me thankfully).

One of the safest spaces in the barangay has to be the area within the Brgy. Hall, beside it the Church and beside the Church is the Health Center. Having these three geographically close to one another gives (if not all, to me personally) a sense of security, safety, ensurance, and community. Personally based on my observation, one of the best practices my community has is cleanliness. I walk from place to place around the barangay very often, and I have hardly seen any trash such as wrappers or plastics lying around.

In addition to these, I asked Sir Nispenos about the specific and various programs for the PWD, elderly, and the youth. For the Pwd, they have a list and record of them so that they’d know who to prioritize. For the Senior Citizens, they do their best to screen and identify the senior citizen indigents so that the people who first get the government pensions are those who really need it. And lastly for the Youth, there are life training programs, especially for those out of school, such as welding, automobile, call centers, sewing and dressmaking, cosmetology, etc. For those who wish to study, there are several scholarships offered, supported by the government and the diocese of Cubao. 

Personal insights

I think one of our main issues and concerns in our community is poverty. This has been the most obvious yet unresolved and dominating issue in our country, and I can see it clearly everyday as I pass by the bridge where the informal settlers live. Based on my own knowledge on politics and government programs, support and services, I think the government should focus on helping these informal settlers both find a proper home, and gain a sustainable way of earning money and making a living. The government should support them in a way that sometime in the near future they are then able to eventually support themselves. As Sir Fispenos said, most of the funds go to them since they are always the most affected, due to lack of resources, nd the lack of resources come from lack of sustainable jobs and income. Therefore, the cycle goes all over again. The allocation of our budget tends to be quite messy at times, but then again there are a lot of issues and concerns that need focus and I hope the government recognizes this. I simply realized how blessed I am to be able to live a comfortable life. I am thankful for the everyday blessings of having a happy and complete family, a religious community and a solid group of friends who are always there to support me, a roof over my head, having food to eat three or more times a day, studying in a prestigious university, and knowing and having a deep relationship with God. These things I try not to take for granted every day, and I eventually realize that everyone, every single child of God deserves to be loved and to be blessed with happiness and peace, all the days of their lives. That’s why we must in return share these blessings given to us. It is important to be socially aware of these issues and kinds of things, because it strengthens our sense of community, and helps us empathize more with the people around us. One concrete way is to be more active in social development programs, like me not only in NSTP, but in my religious org. wherein I am able to reach out to different kinds of people at different states of life. One suggested way is to also create my own action plan, so that I am able to openly share my personal thoughts and takes on an issue then it may eventually contribute to the greater good. 

 Sources: https://sites.google.com/site/ismaelmathaysrhsqcsecondary/history-1 , https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwiso6Ol1LDmAhVT8XMBHWAvBicQjhx6BAgBEAI&url=https%3A%2F%2Fcommons.wikimedia.org%2Fwiki%2FFile%3A03102jfBarangays_Church_Conception_Talipapa_Sangandaan_Quezon_Cityfvf_04.jpg&psig=AOvVaw1vBG8_kcajqoUVAgsGs0oZ&ust=1576258930208586 , https://foursquare.com/v/savemore-project-8/51511425e4b0fe2bab60f58d?openPhotoId=51a6d80d498e1575af11bb58 https://www.bing.com/images/search?view=detailV2&ccid=17vSFTAP&id=EF31C8E734D970C54EA5A64AF405583ECDB67CDE&thid=OIP.17vSFTAPBzCazaZNrBltdwHaE7&mediaurl=https%3A%2F%2Fs.yimg.com%2Fny%2Fapi%2Fres%2F1.2%2F3xRorRyaPJ4VHMsZbVPUcg--%2FYXBwaWQ9aGlnaGxhbmRlcjtzbT0xO3c9MTI4MDtoPTk2MDtpbD1wbGFuZQ--%2Fhttp%3A%2F%2Fmedia.zenfs.com%2Fen_us%2FNews%2FReuters%2F2014-01-28T083908Z_1069901473_GM1EA1S1A3P01_RTRMADP_3_PHILIPPINES.JPG.cf.jpg&exph=853&expw=1280&q=poverty+quezon+city&simid=608007690116796036&selectedindex=1&ajaxhist=0&vt=0&sim=11

http://ndrrmc.gov.ph/attachments/article/41/NDRRM_Plan_2011-2028.pdf

[womanlalaboy]

Womanlalaboy’s Travel Guide to Mt. Manalmon and Mt. Gola

SUMMARY

Elevation: 196+ MASL (Mt. Manalmon);  192+ MASL (Mt. Gola) Jump- off: Sitio Madlum, Brgy. Sibul, San Miguel Days / hours to summit: Half-day Climb: Minor Difficulty: 2/9 Trail class: 1-2 Features: Beautiful  landscapes with various terrain types, a view of the Madlum River, with access to 2 caves

Type of Travel: Package and DIY Date of Travel: Jul 27-28, 2019 Duration: 2D1N Budget: P 1100 - 1500

If you want a climb that is filled with adventure and a variety of sights, Malmon-Gola twin hike is just right for you.

Both are nestled within the protected area of Biak Na Bato National Park. The trail leads to bamboo forests, grasslands and rock formations. There are areas that need to be climbed with the aid of ropes, including Mt. Manalmon’s peaks. Side trips are available for adventure junkies and history enthusiasts. You can sample the Bayukbok Caves and the Madlum cave. You can also go to Madlum River for a dip, and try the monkey bridge.

To get from Mt. Malmon to Mt. Gola, hikers will have to cross the Madlum River with water raising up to chest level when raining and with current strong enough to pull anyone of any size. But if the weather’s on your side, this twin hike would be very easy for any beginner. Some would even call it a ‘pabebe’ hike, but never when the conditions change. Like what people always say, “never underestimate a mountain.”

HOW TO GET THERE

Commute from Manila: Take a bus from Pasay or Cubao terminals to Cabanatuan (Baliwag Transit, ES Transport, and Five Star Transport) > drop off at Brgy. Kamias, San Miguel, Bulacan > Ride a tricycle to Brgy. Madlum

Private car: NLEX > Take Sta. Rita exit >  Follow the road to Cagayan Valley, passing by Plaridel,Pulilan, Baliuag, San Rafael and San Ildefonso >  At San Miguel, ask directions for Brgy. Madlum

It should only take 2-3 hours to get to Bulacan from Manila, but you should always give more allowance to heavy traffic especially when it pours. We were lucky enough to pass through EDSA with ease, but we encountered heavy traffic along Nueva Ecija and Bulacan so it took us about 6 hours to get to the Jump off from Cavite.

ITINERARY

Day 1 10:00 AM – ETD Lumina, Imus 02:00 PM – ETA in Sitio Madlum 06:00 PM – Pitch Tent 07:00 PM – Dinner 09:00 PM – Light's off Day 2 04:00 AM – Wake up Call 05:30 AM – Start Trek to Mt. Manalmon 06:30 AM – Summit Manalmon 07:30 AM – Descend 09:00 AM – Summit Mt. Gola 10:30 AM – Descend 12:00 PM – Lunch 02:00 PM – Monkey Bridge 03:00 PM – Bayukbuk Cave 04:00 PM – Swimming @madlum​, River 05:00 PM – Break camp 06:00 PM – Post Climb 10:00 PM – ETA Lumina Imus

It was pouring rain when we arrived at Sitio Madlum, so we had a hard time following the itinerary. We’re just lucky to be spared by the weather every time we get to a peak. It’s as if the Gods are giving us time to take photos and enjoy the scenery. We’re really glad for moments like the above photo where the sky started to clear out and we just rested for a fer minutes to marvel at the beauty of the entire Biak Na Bato.

Before our actual hike, we had an outreach program and there’s supposed to be a tree planting activity included in the itinerary, but we ran out of seedlings to use. There was a huge tree planting event before our hike so there were nothing left for us to plant, but we’ve successfully executed the distribution of food, school supplies and slippers to the kids of Sitio Madlum, so all was well except for when we had to descend from Mt. Gola. Our guide opted to change our route. We followed the river instead of crossing it in that condition. Being prepared for situations like this proved to be very essential so I’ve listed below the things you may want to consider.

THINGS TO BRING

Head lamp or Flashlight

Rain jacket (depending on the weather)

Sun Block Lotion & Insect Repellent

Food (Lunch, Snacks, and Trail Food)

Water (2-3 liters)

Extra Clothes

Trekking Clothes, Shoes or Sandals

Gloves

Bonnet/Head Gear/Scarf/Malong

Garbage bag

Sun Protection (hats, headgear, sunglasses, sleeves)

Personal Medicine and First Aid Kit

Personal Toiletries

Tent

Cook set

Portable stove

Spoon,fork,plates,mugs/tumbler

FAQs

Is there mobile signal in the area? Yes, even at the peak, but thunderstorm and heavy rains usually affect the signal at the foot of the mountain.

Are there stores in the camp site? Yes. There are a few stores there that offers the usual sari-sari store stuff. You can also reserve your lunch or dinner at Tata Carding’s.

Are there comfort rooms in the area? At the camp site, yes. And there are fees. P5 for change of clothes, P20 for taking a bath, P10 for taking a dump and P5 for when you need to pee. 

Is there a parking are? They don’t have an organized parking area. We parked our vans near the hanging bridge.

Are the guides required? Yes. P300 per guide for 5 pax.

Can you hike both mountains in just a day? Definitely! if you’re a beginner or with beginners, 2hrs tops and you’ll reach one peak. If your group is pretty fit, you’ll do good with an hour of trek, but things can get really challenging when it pours.

NOTES

As always, practice LNT (Leave No Trace). We are mere visitors. Let’s respect the place and its people by taking with us what we brought there. You might get tempted to dump your waste in their trash bins or makeshift trash bags, but please be mindful that what you bring in the place aren’t supposed to be there. Dispose of your own trash.

Kill nothing but time, take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints.

When in doubt, practice UPS (Upo Para Safe) and GPS (Gapang Para Safe). For some, steep areas can get very tricky and dangerous, so sit or crawl if you need to.

Establish a good relationship with your co-hikers and guides just because :)

Camp if your schedule and itinerary can allow you. Their campsite is by the river and it gets so majestic at night when the moon reflects on the surface of the water.

Communicate with your body. This twin hike is supposed to be easy, but it can get really dangerous when it rains.

Hiking these two mountains are best done with fun friends and to maximize your stay, swim; enjoy the caves and do the monkey bridge. The site has so much to offer than just hiking Gola and Manalmon, but for me, the sight of luscious bamboo forest, carabaoes living the life, and seeing wild dragonflies again are more than enough to compensate the hassle of camping and hiking whilst raining. 

MORE...

Also see: Mt. Manalmon and Mt. Gola photo sets Also read: Panhik #6: TUCLAS Gives Back + Manalmon-Gola Twin Hike Also read: Panhik #5: Dayo Sa Daguldol Also read: Womanlalaboy's Travel Guide to Mt. Daguldol

[peachxmiguel-blog]

18-O

Hi, Miguel.

I am writing this to remind you of the first night we spent together.

Friday, August 16, 2019. Excitement is an understatement. The word that describes the feeling that we have as the day progresses, and as we move closer to the night has not yet been invented. I was keeping myself busy at work and I know you are too. I was constantly looking at my phone to check how far is it to 5:30 pm even if I know for a fact that I just had lunch.

We kept on sending each other I miss you so much messages to constantly express how much we long to be by each other’s side again. We just need that hug so bad.

Hours had gone by and it was 4:30. I could no longer take the excitement in. I started packing my stuff to leave. I was smiling stupidly as I walk towards the exit, even said good bye to every single person I bumped into on my way out. 

30 minutes before your usual out, I was already at Nitro. As expected, Ate Meryl greeted me with a big smile on her face while handing over the menu. I was hesitating whether to wait for you before I order, but I resolved that we’d probably want to leave immediately as you get here. And of course, I was right.

I saw that big smile of yours as you walked towards me and it never fails to make me smile too. We are stupidly in love.

I felt a different sense of calmness when you hugged me. I was relieved. It was as if I was holding my breath for so long and I finally was able to let that deep sigh out, off of my chest. Your presence, especially your hugs, always gives me the feeling of security, and protection, that I could and would never get from anything or anyone else. You are one of a kind.

We’ve decided to leave a little bit after giving each other a few more hugs and as we finish my Nitro Mocha.

I gave you some buttslaps on our way to the train. We were exchanging green jokes already. The tension just keeps getting higher. If we have an option t teleport to the place, I know we would have. Every second that night matters.

That night was so vivid in my memory: I remember your gentle pulls to keep me out of the puddled grounds because it just rained; I remember you holding my hand firmly as we paved our way on the rocky path to LRT shortcut; I remember you telling me you forgot to buy lighter because you’ve seen people smoking; I remember the long line in the station, you going to the restroom first, looked for me right after, went to accompany me because there was almost no lines for men. Because that’s you, you’d always prefer to be beside me, and to make everything easy and convenient for me. I appreciate all that.

It was breezy in the platform. We were on our usual side. We really have this habit of sticking to things and places and make it exclusively ours. I love that about us. After the first train that was a complete chaos, we rode on the second which is surprisingly not that crowded. Thanks universe.

We had our usual train conversations. How our days went, what happened in the office, and gave each other another set of hugs and back rubs. Cheesy. Despite these, we are still not occupied enough to not be paying attention at where we were already. Cubao seemed too far.

Even the train ride was worth it when you gave me a hug after we stepped out of it. We walked down the stairs with hundreds of commuters, it was tight, it was hot, it was noisy. But we were both happy. Of course, there was another hug before we entered Gateway.

Finally this is it. We did not even notice we’re walking too fast. I remember us arguing whether to buy food or just head straight to the place. Thanks for insisting!! I owe you that.

Even falling in line is amazing with you, Miguel. I remember kissing your cheeks and apologizing for letting you carry my bag.

After we’re done with the dinner, we head to the 7/11 where we bought six beers, a lighter, and a liter of water.

This is it.

I used to hate Cubao. You know that. I’ve always perceived it as an extension of hell but when we went there the first time, you made walking less painful, and waiting for a ride a bonding moment. I thought maybe I should give the place a try. This was over a month ago, and who would’ve thought, that at the same place that we just decided to sit, stop desperately seeking for a ride, and just rest a little bit is the same place that we’ll be staying for the night. This night. If this isn’t fate, I don’t know what is. It always finds it’s way to make me change my mind about something through you.

I remember the blank gray and white walls. High ceiling. Andito na tayo, mahal. 

The room is of course just like a typical airbnb but it was perfect and I want us to vividly remember each detail of it.

We were welcomed by a mirrored wall. On our right, the kitchen sinks, some cabinet, and the fridge. As we walk further, there was a brown couch with two brown square-shaped and a huge red heart-shaped pillows. It was leaning on a double-sized bed, with a furry red, blue, and white striped blanket, and four white throw pillows. On our left was the rest room, on our front the TV, and on our right, was the balcony covered in brown-gold curtain with yellow-gold flower embroidery.

I was not even finished checking the place yet when you started kissing me. It was a gentle kiss. A very passionate one. It’s our own way of expressing everything we feel at the very moment. Suddenly, the pain of missing you was gone and shattered into may pieces. It was worth the wait.

We kissed until we’re both naked. We hugged. We never got tired of telling how much we love each other.

We decided to talk and drink, because it’s part of the agenda, but our minds and bodies won’t cooperate. After struggling a bit, we finally succumbed to the feeling and head to bed again to kiss.

Every single kiss is different. It gets better and better.