Soft-speaking Angry Madman

I'm counting on the Clowns to arrive

2009-10-06T00:21:00.000-07:00

One, two, three, four ... over thirty sopranos, altos, tenors and basses gathered on a Sunday afternoon. Five, six, seven, eight ... in less than fourteen days, they would have to be ready to perform for friends and family, both here and abroad. Anyone sane knows that it would be a logistical nightmare putting up a concert this fast.

But brilliance is never in the same neighborhood of sanity.

The initial response to the idea was overwhelming. Believe me when I say that the word overwhelming is an understatement. It was getting harder each day to read through the dozens of email replies, most of them providing encouraging words to keep us on the path. Albeit, in all efforts, naysayers are always bound to be trolling the happy campers--they were shown the error of their ways, if not shown the way out.

This was the kind of brilliance held by those who postponed their lives, left early from work and who felt there was something else important that they had to do. It's the kind of brilliance that warms the hearts of strangers: the kind of brilliance that turns into magnificence when four sets of voices and members who have never even sung together assembled to sing as one.

For one.

It wasn't just a reunion concert. I wouldn't even call it a PPF Concert. At best, it was a choir serenading its son, brother and father, Eric Oracion. And half-way through the performance, which he thought was the end of the concert, he was asked to sit with the audience as the rest of the choir continued to perform songs which he taught us, the PPF Choir, to sing.

We started the evening with the PPF version of Ama Namin, which was followed by Precious and Few with the choir's most prime members. Calvin Millado sang the solo part of Hanggang Langit, and Matit Villasin-Wood and Glenda Rea-Rollan sang Matulog Ka, one of the songs that was written and composed by Eric Oracion. Mavee Rea led the choir into a medley of Christmas Songs, one of them which was Himig ng Hangin, a haunting song about the birth of Christ which is my personal favorite. The men rendered a swooning Iniibig Kita rendition, which was upped by the song God Will Make A Way, led by Matit, Eric, Jay Rollan and Vincent Ocampo. Jan Mendoza flanked by Oliver Liwanag and Noel Ibay, with the rest of the boys sang a Boys II Men original, If I Ever. I'll Never Say Goodbye, the theme from the Promise was sung afterwards and Jan Mendoza and Batchie Dy sang Butchikik together with the choir. After the songs Pagbabasbas and Love and Truth, we requested Eric to sit down and enjoy the rest of the evening.

It was Kiko Versoza, who was able to gather himself quite admirably faster than the rest of us, explained why the rest of the choir was almost crying when Send in the Clowns was being sung - it was one of Eric's karaoke favorites. Even after the concert, its haunting melody is still stuck in my head like an idea waiting to be conceived.

And the Clowns continued to perform.

Tere Ibañez, sisters Carla and Dada Yoingco sang Your Heart Today, which left the men breatless. And a brilliant guitar duet of the song Katana by cousins Artie Ocampo and Harold Ocampo left the audience and rest of the choir speechless. Sophie Mozo braved the song I'll Take Care of You armed with a guitar while Pepeng Rollan and the Rollan and Rea cousins brought the house down with Eraserheads' Magazine and Huling El Bimbo. The Ocampo girls, backed-up by the choir, sang Breath of God while Adel Samson killed Change The World. Afterwards, the girls serenaded Eric with Say A Little Prayer led by Matit.

The concert ended with the songs Sana'y Wala Nang Wakas and the choir's swan song, United We Stand. I found myself shouting, "one more time" when there were still two stanzas left to sing. I can only imagine the high that everyone was feeling during that night. Amidst the rain, the strong winds and the obstacles that were laid on our paths, we were able to prove that impossible is nothing.

So who's clowning around? "Was there any doubt?" I told Corina Millado before leaving that night. There was a huge task that lay ahead of us still, but for one night we gave ourselves the task of seeing the smile on Eric Oracion's face, I think the clowns did an excellent job.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight... my head's still counting the beats. And my heart's still beating.

Football Fever

2008-08-10T08:07:00.000-07:00

I should just rename this blog to something along those lines - almost all the articles I've written so far are all about the beautiful game and that may be the reason why I am fond of it.

It is more than a month ago that I witnessed a great revival in the sport when Spain brought down Germany in the Euro. As much as I am a great fan of the Spanish League more than the English Premier or the Italian League I never really followed the ascent of the Spanish team led by Iker Casillas. It was when they were slowly climbing and beat the Italian team through a penalty shoot-out when I realized that I missed a lot, but that never stopped me from watching the next few games with so much zeal. At the height of it, a lot of old players came back to the pitch in the week that followed and our Sunday skirmishes became just a tad serious.

I even had the opportunity to play futsal, once more, after several years of begging of it because of an old injury. There was, at the least, something to look forward to after work and in the weekends.

The news of an inter-agency football tournament had given inspiration to a few of my comrades on the pitch to form an All-Star assemblage. BBDO, O&M, Saatchi and DM9 had enough players to form their own teams, but there was enough still to go around to form an team composed of players from other agencies who didn't have a team to call their own.

Squatters United had been born, comprised mostly of players from McCann and individuals from J. Romero, JWT, TBWA and mine - eventually we held on to the name until we got a sponsor to help us with our finances. We entered the tournament as Impaq Interactive, and while most thought of us as the favorites, we really considered ourselves as underdogs. And for a team that hasn't played regularly and only knew each other for less than a week, I'd say that we did pretty good.

Our first game with Saatchi, my old agency, was tied - I thought at the end that we would get the better of them but having the first-game-of-the-day-jitters got to us. We were tense for the next few games and we still haven't played enough games for us to gel like most of the teams.

We shared our second game with BBDO and it was there that we lost our first - owing their victory to smarter plays and height difference in which we were lacking. Our next game with Ogilvy gave us our second defeat and when we returned to our bench, we promised ourselves not to lose hope because we were going to go against DM9, the only team so far that hasn't lost.

The DM9 team played fast with three forwards and one able full back. It was harder for the opposing team to play offensively against them, because they always scored first and when they do the opposing team would always start to panic.

I remember Jake Tesoro, from TBWA, who blurted out loud while waiting for our turn with DM9 that we will be the only team that would beat DM9. He said it confidently and me being the realist that I am, didn't think much about it.

Perhaps it was Miguel Mercado's determination or Celine Lopez' commanding presence in the pitch or the thought the we didn't want to end that day without a win that made us realize that we could actually do what Jake had suggested.

We had scored first against DM9 and that broke their confidence. All we had to do was to hold on to our defense for as long as possible. Celine was with me on defense, and Miguel (I really can't remember which one, because we have three Miguels and two of them from McCann) doing brilliant work as the substitute goalkeeper. We had won our only game, much to the disappointment of Ogilvy who was now tied with us. Saatchi had defaulted their last game after losing their players to injuries.

Our victory didn't stop there, though, we had to break our tie with Ogilvy and the organizers had allowed us to have a penalty shoot-out instead because the last game was reserved for the BBDO and DM9 - they had to play for first place when DM9 lost to us.

We chose Mel, Caloy and Celine (all from McCann) to be the strikers during the shoot-out while Miguel will continue goal keeping duties. Pepper, from Ogilvy, completely missed the goal on their first strike against us. We designated Mel to be our first striker, and while she missed her first, she was given another opportunity because she had kicked the ball before the whistle was blown. When the signal was given, Mel delivered beautifully. And we all stood at the back cheering joyously. Isa, Ogilvy's Team Captain and second striker had struck on-goal, but Miguel was too fast, too quick. Caloy was our second striker, but he wasn't able to deliver as well. Ogilvy's last chance fell on Mike and if he was able to get a goal past Miguel, it would be Celine's job to save our asses. Fortunately, Miguel tapped the ball upwards and away from the goal which earned us our second victory and getting the Third Place in the competition.

Not bad for a team that really hasn't spent enough time on the pitch, I said. It was enough for me, that day. I had found new friends, rekindled old relationships and found love on the pitch where the beautiful game was played.

The last game between DM9 and BBDO was watched with as much enthusiasm as the final game between Spain and Germany. Everyone had picked a side to cheer on and most of my team members had chosen DM9, probably because they were the dark horses of the tournament. We realized in the end, that we probably broke their confidence and after losing one goal to BBDO everything shattered - they were tired and they were desperate. In the end, BBDO got another goal through DM9 and I just had to stand up and clap for the ones who tried their best to hold on.

So much drama, this beautiful game can conjure. In the end, there were no red or yellow cards drawn - it was a tournament between friends, and rivals who respected each other's skills on the pitch. And while BBDO and DM9 got the most praises that day, I got more, I believe.

New friends. A slightly shot right knee and a bad sunburn. One out of three ain't that bad, right?

Full Moon Empty Room

2008-04-27T06:53:00.000-07:00

I moved in to my new place last Sunday. The full moon was watching me as I sped across the boulevard to Mandaluyong. It wasn't a new thing for me - living alone, I rather missed it when I was with my mom and sis while my new place was being prepared.

Now, it's just me, myself and I - and of course, an empty one bedroom condo waiting to be filled up with the stuff I've collected in so many years. It's going to be a good thing for me. I'll be able to concentrate on the things that need to be done.

I'm still waiting for some furniture to be delivered. The last few pieces will be arriving on the 16th of May and I have yet to purchase that 32 inch LCD TV. Hopefully, my new phone line and internet should arrive soon. Going to coffee shops becomes tiring when I already am sitting comfortably in my sofa.

The place needs dusting, too. And I desperately need to trash the things I know I'll never use again. My hands are full but I can't just put them down yet. It's a good thing the moon provides me some company.

White Heat

2008-03-16T04:59:00.000-07:00

It's official: summer is here. This Sunday marks the fourth time I've played football with my advertising buddies. I could ask for more, really. My love for the game is such that I've promised myself to fight off the hours spent on sofas and in front of the computer doing nothing and instead spend forty-five minutes on the treadmill building up the muscles and the stamina I've lost over the years.

I'm not ashamed to call out my age: 36. And I try my best to battle the bulge, the sedentary lifestyle and everything that comes with being that age so that I could play much better football.

Sometimes I wished that I hadn't stopped playing but before I left high school I was already into martial arts. And the only time I ran on the pitch was when I enlisted in soccer as a P.E. class in college. After that, when I already went to work, I lost sight of it and focused on my passion for advertising.

It was several years later when my friends from the industry began talking about football again. That was when the cable networks started showing the world cup in this side of the hemisphere. I blame my country for not falling in love with the game - it's a good thing that the my interest in it never really died.

I went back to the pitch several years ago and played in the Ateneo High School Football field. Several months after that, we grew in size and became a ragtag band of enthusiasts. We called ourselves a team, by the funky name of Mang Chester United.

I designed the logo of a man spewing his guts out. Funny, but we tried to become more serious about it. We tried competing as well, first with the old timers that also spent weekends playing in Ateneo and then in the non-professional league which held games during summer.

We never did get anything but a serious butt kicking, but it was worth it. I had regained my youth. I also tried indoor football, futsal - my love was returned with a badly sprained ankle, but it was during this time that I realized that I could push myself further.

I'm still playing now and my love for the game is stronger than ever. I'd religiously do 4k to 5k, three times a week to strengthen my stamina. The only harder thing to beat is my age, but it's not impossible to overcome that.

Today just proved to be more difficult, the sun was a worthy opponent and everyone was just complaining how hot it was. The proof is the tan which I now sport. I should have brought protection, but hey, if you love the game you'll have to love everything about it.

Of course, I couldn't stop myself from asking who invited the sun to play that morning. He should have invited the rain clouds as well.

January 26, Part 2

2008-02-02T18:19:00.000-08:00

Not the usual suspects showed up when I went to Cyrano Wine Selections, my favorite spot in Makati and the only social networking site I will be involved in from now on. Alex, Cris and two of the three Blue Babble Battalion already had their spirits up.

Neil was there lounging in the sofa, sipping his regular coffee but the bigger surprise was seeing a former office mate of mine who happens to be one of the people I admire and respect in my industry - Greg Martin III, a guy who enjoys his alcohol with his coffee, sometimes separately and sometimes mixed even before the sun goes way up. He had brought along his former team mates from his agency and they provided me a sense of newness to my favorite hangout.

And while I'm addicted to everything new, we ended the night with a bright new morning as I came out at around 6 am, panicking at the thought that my mom would knock at my bedroom door and not find me inside.

Thank God, I arrived just in time to get a 15 minute nap. After that my mom, cousin Amy and I headed back to Makati, to my old place, and began packing. While most birthdays are spent removing ribbons and tearing off wrapping papers from boxes I spent the day doing the opposite.

Ironic. But it also meant that I was going to receive the biggest birthday present in my entire life - a box which was 44 sq. m. big. I didn't bother with the ribbons and all that, really. The following day, we went to Dansalan in Mandaluyong and finally signed my papers for my new condo. Seeing my name on it gave me something to smile about - it would be enough for now.

That was Sunday and I'm jumping headlines from one day to the next. Saturday wouldn't have been completed with the event that one of my pet piranhas biting me in the hand. I'm speaking figuratively, of course.

Most of the time, this smaller piranha fights with the bigger piranha. If you know me it would be impossible for me not to get in the way, because I love my pets. It was one of the few times I stood my ground and the smaller piranha realized that I wasn't going to give up without a fight. Eventually, the smaller piranha realized how wrong she was and made it up to me by buying me snacks and even a polo shirt in the next few days. Me? I'm just enjoying the fact that I took a stand and won. Don't get me wrong, I love my pets, but sometimes you have to show them the side you always try to hide from them.

They see me as someone who can do no wrong and who can't raise his voice beyond the conversational tone. They were wrong of course. But that's when I realized how old I was, or how comfortable I was with the gift of age. I liked it. I was happy with it. It gave me a sense of belonging that I've never felt before. It gave me a renewed sense of respect which I didn't bother from other people, but from me. I believe that's the most important thing that one should consider, self matters. And it's not just a very high opinion of one's self, but a genuine love and respect for one's own abilities, skills, talents, gifts and all that goes with it. That was the best gift I received that day.

Friends have always been gifts to me and this year, they became fewer. At least it's easy for me to count them and to count on them.

Sunday morning was spent playing football with people from the ad industry. And while my ex-office mates completely forgot that it was my birthday the day before, I got another gift - the realization that my body was getting old. Sure, I may not look that old but my left leg was sprained even before the game started, but that didn't stop me from playing the next one and a half hours. Of course, I had to limp my way to lunch afterwards.

I went to Cyrano the following day when one of my friends called up and she wanted to see me after two-week long vacation. It seemed like a weekend when we arrived on that monday night, the Blue Babble Battalion were there and some of the shop's regulars. And Alex being the gracious host that he was had informed everyone that I had recently celebrated my birthday. Yup, sounds like Cheers to me, too.

Our small agency had a free day at the end of the week. And for the past few weeks of working straight through the weekend, it was a great gift indeed. I love my privacy and I love spending days alone. It's one of those days that signaled the end of my birthday celebrations. Usually, it's a month long, but with the things that happened to me lately, I'd rather keep it short and continue living the days like it was the last - doing everything what needs to be done, or living it like it was the first day of the rest of my life.

It works for me either way. Probably it's how I see things that are different now. Only time can tell. Who knows? Maybe it'll take me another year to figure it out. Until that happens, I'm just going to enjoy everything this year has in store for me.

January 26, Part 1

2008-01-29T07:11:00.000-08:00

I spent this day with a lot of people. The funny part is that during the first hour of the day I navigated to the social networking sites I belonged to and deleted my profile. Yup. Halfway across the globe, one of my friends got a surprise when she decided to send me a message through one of the networks and discovered nothing as she went to my homepage.

Fortunately, I still do keep several blog sites open to public. It's the traffic that got to me. As much as I love people, I'm not really THAT sociable. I would rather spend my energies with those who deserve my attention, who listen to my corny jokes, who patiently wait for me to talk to them even if they're in a different hemisphere altogether and those who just simply adore me - and I really don't need a social networking site to keep them in one place. (Besides, how social can you get if you can't even see these people much less talk to them, converse with them in a proper way?)

In fact, the number becomes smaller every year. On the other hand, one discovers how strong some of the bonds are with the people I've kept so close. If anyone would like to know me or get to know how I am like, she would only need to speak with and gather three or five of my good friends - you know, kidnap them, keep them blindfolded inside a room and interrogate them until one of them spills the – okay, I think I'm getting lost now.

And before I lose it completely, I shall bid farewell for now. Nope, I'm not going to delete this site. At least, I don't get to see who's been checking up on me. I'm probably over my head, too. Right? Maybe, no one does, but just in case you're someone whom I call my friend, then I'm just as happy as you are.

To be continued …

New Year's with my Cyrano Friends

2008-01-07T05:56:00.000-08:00

Posted in: Cyrano Friends

Home is now fifteen minutes away from where I used to live. I am exaggerating, of course, because this only happens when it’s way past three in the morning. But after the first hour of the New Year, I get ready to celebrate the first holiday of the year with friends I’ve been rewarded with during the year that was. Fifteen minutes is nothing compared to the hours I will be spending with Cyrano Friends.

My arrival is greeted by an ensemble of explosive instruments playing a five-minute long composition in the key of G. As in Gago. Because the culprits left their instruments of chaos and mayhem right behind Alex’s vehicle after lighting it and running away like a bunch of rock stars being chased by hundreds of girls.

Sinturon ni Judas! That’s what the blazing idiots lit and they had to do it after the rest of the fireworks were done because it was the type of fireworks that could never compete with the expertly crafted fireworks display that lit up the Ayala triangle and the whole metro for that matter.

The arrival of the lively ladies of Cyrano; Cris, Jam and Janet; and the soon-to-be-married-within-the-year Leo was more than enough to compensate for my loss of experiencing the fireworks spectacle in any of the major areas of interest.

Leo, in his half-drunk state because he started much earlier with several shots of absinth, talked about how awkward the past weekend was for him when he and his family met with the family of his betrothed.

Janet also spent New Year’s Eve with her own family, but instead of spending it traditionally within the comforts of home, they dragged their parents outside, for the first time, under the stars smiling on Makati Avenue. She was smiling at the time, counting down to the New Year with the most significant man in her life. There was a major fireworks display reported on the street below challenging the ones happening in the Makati skyline.

Cris had her share of fireworks even before the weekend began. There’s more to come, we say. The New Year was about to begin and there are 365 days left, every night would be lit with all sorts of pyrotechnics and what not - better prepare yourself, Cris. Besides, you were the one who said, “Bring it on!”

Jam was bouncing and energetic, eyes wide full of excitement and all sentences an exclamation when she speaks, keeping the night vivid and cheerful, even after all the fireworks had stopped.

The exchange of stories, highlights of the year and things that couldn’t be helped but had to bring up kept us awake for hours. Seven hours and four wine bottles after, we were ready call it a day. I was just as surprised to see daylight creeping into the bar as Alex vigilantly stayed behind the counter while reminding me to write about the New Year in Cyrano.

And what was I going to contribute to celebrations, you might want to ask, other than the usual one-liners and the more obvious witness to the day’s revelry? Well, nothing, really. I was there as a recipient of what the Cyrano Friends could offer and if I had to offer anything, it would only be an extra smile, adding loudness to a healthy drum of laughs, an additional quote or page full of stories to fill the dark corners of Cyrano.

At 7:30 in the morning, we left each other’s company. And as I went back to Parañaque, I realized that the New Year couldn’t have been complete without spending it with the people who inhabit my home away from home. But whoever said that the New Year celebrations had to end so early in the day?

That, my friends, is a another story waiting to be told.

Goodbye Makati, Hello Parañaque!

2007-12-19T21:28:00.000-08:00

I've moved so many times in my life. From Fairview, the place where I grew up, to move to Makati, where I decided to work. When my parents could afford it, they bought my sister a condo. Eventually, I moved in with my sister and stayed in the smaller room. When my father died, my sister and I couldn't help the fact that my mom was alone in our house in Fairview, so we decided to adopt her. The next few years would be difficult. I was no longer used to being with my family. A few years later, I moved out of the condo and rented a place for myself. I stayed there for more than a year until we decided to sell our house in Fairview. My mom and my sister got themselves a brand new condo in Parañaque, Roxas Boulevard. It was too big for two small women. Three bedrooms, an extra room (if we had help, but we don't), three rest rooms, two parking spaces alloted for us - it was big and even I didn't live there with them.

I stayed in our Makati condo. Until, of course, the break-in. I decided that staying there was no longer worth it. My safety was far valuable than the privacy that I cherished for so long. So, I started packing up, again. I've moved so many times that I already know what to bring first and what to box. I initially bought 5 Balikbayan Boxes and realized yesterday that it was not enough, but I have two weeks to go before everything would be done. At least I've already defrosted the refrigerator and removed all plugs from the sockets. The clothes that I regularly wear and the items which I need for work have already been transferred to the Parañaque condo and I've decided to just leave all the other boxes in Makati until we get a buyer.

68 sq. m. 2 bedrooms. 1 parking space. Alright, that's enough advertising.

Hard to let go of the place. I love my freedom. I love my individuality. Not that I'm saying that I don't love living with my mom and sis. It's something I could get used to. Besides, there's a gym on the 2nd floor which I can take advantage of, until we have the money to purchase a new property. Now, where do I want to live next?

Privacy

2007-12-09T09:26:00.000-08:00

I keep to myself most often than not and allow only a few to come a few inches near my personal bubble. I don't enjoy crowded spaces unless I'm surrounded by several girls from the mansion of Hugh Hefner. And when I'm at home, I expect my privacy to be respected - even my mom doesn't have all the keys to the condo.

On December 9, between 7:30 to 8:30 p.m. my personal space, the privacy that I've been protecting has been desecrated.

I just finished watching a tv show in my macbook pro when I decided to finally take a bath, go to Starbucks and have my usual sunday night coffee. That didn't happen, of course. A few hours later, I found myself talking to the local police and some investigators while their men search the house for fingerprints. It looked like watching CSI, but to be seeing it from the point of view of one of the actors is pushing it, really.

Anyway, as I went out of the room I saw my football boots on top of the counter and the main door was ajar. Quickly, I rushed out - not thinking that the miscreants may still be around - and saw the window leading to another rest room inside my house had been broken. The sliding panels and the steel grills had been removed.

I found myself shouting at the top of my lungs. I had no problem there, I was in the choir for so many years - my voice echoed throughout the building and the tenants of my building quickly rushed to my aid. I called up my mom and sis to inform them of what had happened and called my partners telling them that I might not be able to go to one of our meetings.

While my neighbors gathered outside my house, I quickly took a glance at what had been missing from the house. I lost four thousand pesos, my SSS and driver's license that were stuck in between the money clip. My house keys were taken as well, including one credit card and one ATM card, which I immediately canceled. My PSP was taken as well. Thank God I didn't leave my mobile nor my newly-acquired iPod Touch! But the worst of all (really, this was the one that pissed me off) they also got a ceramic bowl with all the coins that I didn't want to keep in my pockets! I don't even know how much the coins are worth, probably five hundred pesos or more even, but that thing is just way too heavy. Sheesh. What a bunch of idiots. There are so many things one can get from my place and then they get that instead.

Good thing I didn't decide to go out of the room when all of that happened. I wouldn't know what I would've done. Throw a chair at them? Go get the short and dull samurai sword hanging behind the door and see how much blood comes out of them? Scream like a girl? Hell, I'm just smiling now because my life has been spared.

But to think that they got so near to me ...

Now, I'm already thinking about packing up my bags and going to my mom's house for the remainder of the year. It's going to be moving out day soon. It's also a good thing that we've already made the last payment for the condo. I'm thinking of selling it quick and get to a much safer place. I don't know how long that will take but as long as I'm safe - that's all that matters.

I can't sleep now and for the first time it's not the coffee. In fact, at the time that I'm writing this, I can smell the full roast of hazelnut beans coming from my coffee machine. Thank God they didn't think about stealing that!

I'm fine. But this is one of those nights that I truly feel that I'm alone.

Do you live on Maginhawa Street?

2007-10-17T09:49:00.000-07:00

No, I don't. In fact, I live more than 10 kilometers away, in a 65 square meter, two bedroom condo unit in Makati. I don't have to pay rent because I own it, but I have to pay association dues, electricity and water bills, and then some to live comfortably. You could say that I already am living in Maginhawa Street, but there are those who wander in that area that are far from it.

My workday begins behind the wheel as I drive to pick-up Judith, who lives in Cainta, Rizal and we're bound to arrive in Chubby's place a little after lunchtime. Judith, my copywriter, Creative Director and Chief Executive Officer all rolled into one, was already hungry and we decided to stop in a small restaurant in Maginhawa street, a few blocks away from Chubby's house.

Combi was our all-time favorite dinner place when we would end the working day but since we started working in Chubby's house we've never had the opportunity to go back. While our orders were taken a young girl dressed in a worn-out blue and white school uniform came to our table, which was outside the restaurant. She was selling cigarettes that were inside a small plastic container, but Judith and I were already lighting our own cigarettes. I waved my hand to inform her that we weren't interested in what she was selling.

The girl stayed nearby, inspecting the life-sized plastic skeleton that was on display in front of the restaurant. It was then that I asked Judith if she had any spare change because I never carry any in my pockets. We called the young girl back to our table and bought several pesos worth of candies instead. I noticed that the cigarette brands she was selling was written over the plastic container she was holding and the brand that I was smoking was misspelled. "Winton," I said. "Kulang ng 's'," I added.

She smiled and the pair of dimples on her cheeks broke my heart. Judith, being fond of writing instruments, quickly handed the young girl with a marker so that she could correct the mistake. And that's when we started asking her why she wasn't in school even if she was wearing her school uniform.

"Walang baon, eh," she replied.

The young girl continued to answer our other questions even if she tried to avoid them, but in a matter of minutes she was already telling us how scary it would be if the skeleton that was on display were made out of real bones. And while Judith kept on talking to her, I felt scared of how grave the situation was.

Only a few days ago I was listening to a radio talk show and they were discussing how many school children fail to proceed to the school level. And one of the main causes was that they lack the money to buy food. No money, no allowance, no food. You certainly can't teach someone who's hungry, right?

I believe in the value of education and even if I've been working for more than ten years, I still try to find ways to educate myself. If I had enough money and time I would like to go back to school. I would consider myself lucky for having been gifted with a curiosity that enables me to learn and a family that who values education. Until now, I still in the process of learning, from my mentors, my partners and everyone who has something to teach me anything new. But today, the young girl I met on Maginhawa has taught me more than what my teachers could teach me in a year.

"This is the kind of pro-bono that I would like to do," I told Judith. "This is the kind of cause that would be worth doing." Judith knew what I was talking about and before I could say anything more, her pen was up and she handed me a copy of an ad that I was already thinking about. I gave my approval as she asked me who do we sell the idea to.

I've done pro-bono work for Caritas and Gabriela before when I was still employed, but this time I realized that I didn't want to do this for any institution. "It's going to be unbranded," I told Judith. "Where's the call to action?" She asked me.

Money can only go as far as end of one's pockets. "There isn't any. This is it." Sometimes I wish I had a foundation to my name that would help solve this problem, but I don't.

It had become personal. "This ad is my call to action. The copy you've placed there is yours. Whoever is going to help us produce it has answered that call to action." I said simply.

I'm an ad man and my talents can only go so far as to bring awareness to the situation. And while I'm used to just reading of the situation behind a newspaper or an advertising brief to come up with an ad to help raise funds for a non-government organization I am now placing a face to the statistic.

And while it is a beautiful face, it didn't belong on Maginhawa Street.

When I realized what had to be done, I quickly reached into the pockets of my bag to get my camera which was equipped with a video recording component. But I was too late. The young girl was already gone. I went across the street and asked the employees of another restaurant if they had seen me talking to young girl with the description I had given them. They informed me that she lived a few blocks away in a place they called Krus na Ligas and told me that she regularly made her rounds in the area.

The information gave me some hope of seeing the young girl again, but I felt disappointed. An opportunity presented itself and I missed it, completely. "You're tired, Sam," Judith told me. "That's not an excuse," I replied.

We're so lucky, so blessed with what we have that we take everything for granted. We're rewarded for our brilliance, given recognition and yet we complain how tired we are for doing so much when in fact we haven't really done a lot. And then here's a young girl who's learning to peddle cigarettes so that she could start to learn - and I wish that she wouldn't learn to sell something else in order to have food on the table.

Their lives are far simpler than ours but we live in a more comfortable lifestyle in comparison. It's ironic that those who dwell around the street of Maginhawa never have it so easy.

As soon as the work day ended, I drove around the area once more. I tried to familiarize myself where Krus na Ligas was. I promised myself that I would try to find the girl again. It was the least that I could do because I know that what I was planning would never be enough. Today, I missed an opportunity to do something worthy of my gifts and talents. I swear, this will not happen again.

Eleven

2007-10-03T08:52:00.000-07:00

I've recently started running again. Three times a week, nightly, at the Salcedo Park. I haven't gotten any real physical activity of late since resigning from being an employee and there are advantages of being self-employed. I don't have to wake up just in time to be earlier than the boss, in fact, I don't even have to be on time for anything.

I had so much time that I spend it needlessly on other pursuits I might as well make it productive. I have gained weight - not a lot, but enough that people notice. So, a few weeks ago, I got my old pair of cross trainers and ran. Thirty minutes tops. That's just about enough I could take for someone as old as I am.

I run at night - the cold air is a natural coolant for the body and besides I really sweat a lot. My old pair of shoes need to be replaced, just as soon as I maintain my schedule. I've been on it for three weeks now and it feels refreshing. And just to make things interesting I purchase a futsal-sized football to aid my exercise.

The thing is, that I easily get tired. I'm not used to long-distance running. I should be, since I play football but I'm more used to sprinting. My running pace isn't stable - I sprint, I brisk-walk, I run, I walk, I sprint and I do it over and over again. Until I'm bored. That's my problem, I get bored easily with the routine.

The ball helps. It keeps up with my ever-changing pace of running, walking, sprinting after the ball as it bounces of from the gutter. I would've stayed out until 12 midnight but the rain was worsening. From eleven to eleven-thirty, I passed the ball to the gutter. Not so much of a challenge, right? Sometimes I wish I could easily find a team to play with me at 11 p.m., but who does play at that ungodly hour?

Well, who knows? Maybe a varsity player for a women's college football team lives around the area and would take pity on a lonely man with a ball at eleven o'clock in the evening.

Never

2007-09-27T08:11:00.000-07:00

So, how long has it been? Almost a year, I know and I'll never forget. You know how you can remember things and how exact and precise the moment was? It may not seem important at the time, but when you find yourself down memory lane you'll remember everything that you need to remember.

Sometimes I wish I could forget easily. Sometimes I wish I could forgive just as easily as I could forget. The problem is, I don't. We're a very forgiving people, that's our fault and our loss, as well. And people don't seem to take it seriously. Saying sorry has become an available commodity these days, and it has become as common as saying 'I love you.'

On a personal note, I really don't find it hard to say that I'm sorry. Really. I mean every word that I say when I know that I really am. But more often than not, I know I don't have to apologize for my actions. Now, why is that? It's simple, really. I see things in black and white. There are no gray areas for me. Sounds too drastic, right? Yeah, I know, but by acknowledging my flaw doesn't mean I am ready to change for the better. No way. I'd rather stick to my beliefs, swallow the only pride I have left and stand against the bunch of sorry asses who claim to be righteous. There. See, my middle finger is standing up as well.

I'm not afraid to lose everything. It makes me remember how fragile life is. I'm not afraid of showing what it is like to be human. It makes me remember how important it is to feel. Whether it be love or hate, or even both, one has to learn how to feel and accept why some people cannot forgive easily. We've turned our children into zombies, telling them that ill feelings are unacceptable. That's half of your life shunned away from you.

That's why I can never forgive nor forget. It's been a year and I've never forgotten. I will also never forgive. I wonder how revenge tastes like? I suppose that when I've tasted it, I will wish that I could never forget how good it tastes.

Paycheck

2007-09-26T08:25:00.000-07:00

The last time I set foot inside an office as an employed individual was April 13. It was days after when I received my last paycheck and I have been living off it for months. It was one of those Sundays when I was having lunch with my mom when she asked me if I still had money. And I told her that I was already losing money the moment I stepped out of the doors of my former office. My mom is used to my sarcasm, thank God she's brilliant.

Everyone assumed that I would be jumping ship, off to another ad agency whether here or abroad. I simply told them that I'm taking a long vacation, there were things that I needed and wanted to do. It was one of the best excuses I've ever told, in fact I was just preparing myself for the next step, the route that I've always wanted to take which was never presented to me.

It occurred to me, of course, that there were some things in life that were never meant to happen. "If it's not one thing, it could be another." Most people would easily move on, I'd do the same, but I never forget these things that happen in my life. No, let me be honest - I will never forget these things, no matter how painful or painless these things become. It makes me remember why I am doing what I'm doing and instills in me a higher purpose of what seems insignificant to some.

Only a few live their lives this way. Everyone else wants to live life the easy way. Me? I don't want to. Why? Because my life is a testament of what my father and my father's father has gone through in life. My life is proof of my ... greatness. Yes. That's the word that I was looking for. Not success, greatness. Hey, if you're only going to dream, why do you have to settle with something you can easily achieve, right? I'm going for broke. And speaking of which: as far as yesterday was concerned, I've received my first paycheck.

It is a fraction of what I used to earn, but working for it was worth it. I've never been happier compared to all the days that I've lined up in the automated teller just to see how much I've received from half a month's worth of work. I can allow myself to smile even for a bit, knowing full well that I and my partners have to work much harder. Then again, that in itself is another reason to smile.

Before leaving our place of work, my creative partner Judith was playing an old song by Cyndi Lauper, "Money Changes Everything." I find myself singing to the lyrics as I held the check in my hands. There's more from where that came from.

Just a thought

2007-02-04T06:41:00.000-08:00

You know you're alone when you realize that you're missing the company of a particular individual. Other than that, you're just on your own.

Self-fulfillment

2007-01-09T05:18:00.000-08:00

When was the last time you did something for yourself?

I happen to belong to a creative shop in Manila. And for more than a decade, I've churned nothing but crap. Okay. That's cruel. 90 percent of what I do is absolute crap. One percent is the stuff that has been produced. And nine percent are the ones that never get to see the light of day.

I was a young adman when I was taught that there are three types of people you have to please with your work: your boss, your peers and the people judging your work. For the past decade, I've been doing just that. A few of my best work has seen some glitter but now all I come up with is pure 100% crap.

I had coffee with my good friend, Arnold Arre and his wife Cynthia and the topic of creating his next piece came up. He confesses that he is having a hard time thinking about his next book - fearing that it will get him unwanted and invalidated criticism. And this is exactly the kind of pressure we go through everytime our pencils leave the once-empty piece of paper.

Are my ideas sound enough? Is it strategic? Will my boss love me for that campaign? Will my peers be envious that I came up with it first? Will the judges go gaga over it? A thousand other questions flood our minds when it should only be focused on doing the work, accomplishing the task at hand.

When Arnold began his first piece of work, the only thing he had in mind was to create a comic book of his own. He had loads of fun with it. And he cared little of the criticism of others except for the people whom he respected. In 1999, Mythology Class won Best Comic Book in the 19th Manila Critics Circle National Book Awards. He never expected it, of course. And now, his followers expect so much more.

Why don't you go back to how it first started, I tell him. "When you did your first piece, you never thought about what your peers will say or what the critics will write about your work. Do it that way then. With the purest of thought, with no intention other than creating what you think is true." We go around in circles, getting ourselves out of the rut, when the only thing we need to do is travel in one straight line.

Remove the barriers - those that hinder us from compromising our work so that the only thing that we can think about is the work that we want to do, the work that makes us happy, keeps us in our seats and tables until the work is done. The work that we're proud to show off. The work that overshadows the ninety percent of crap that we do everyday. The one percent that makes us fulfilled, that gives hope to the nine percent of good ideas that it may still see the light of day.

Don't do it for anyone else but yourself. Who do you consider your peers anyway, when you want to stand out from the rest? Why do you submit yourself to criticism when you should be your own worst critic?

I tell myself this, too. That's why I write. And I write with so much passion that it helps burn the midnight oil. It is this one thought in my mind: because I'm doing it for myself, that helps me wake up every morning and keeps me glued to my computer looking at a blank page hoping to fill it up with words that mirrors my own beliefs.

This is what all individuals hope to achieve: self-fulfillment. At the end of the day, don't you want to say to yourself, that you did it with your own hands? I do. I believe in man's individual achievement. And I hope to elevate it to a point where I can look up at it and find inspiration in it. I will be envious of it and like all other individuals, I will hope to hold it in my own hands.

Count Your Blessings

2007-01-07T06:45:00.000-08:00

Who wouldn't appreciate this particular cliché? A lot of hopeless people do. And we, a people who've seen so much anxiety and depression, seem to embrace it without thinking of the consequences of surrendering our dreams into oblivion.

Is it wrong to dream and hope for better things? Is it wrong to try to achieve something which cannot be reached? Is it wrong to think about lofty ideas? If I dream, hope and wish for something worthwhile than all of this - should I allow the world to brand me a fool?

Should I give up then and just allow the fates to deliver what is intended for me then? Lazily waiting for the apple to fall inside my mouth? Pathetic. So, why should I count my blessings? I already have thanked the powers that be for giving me such valuable gifts. I have been rewarded on the hard work that I've done, but I always want more. I know I deserve more.

I count on the things I have yet to receive. Am I asking too much then - knowing how big the disappointment can get if I don't receive what is due me? So what. I'd rather be rewarded well than not be rewarded at all. It would be impossible for me to be completely happy if I had compromised.

So, if some idiot tells you to count your blessings, just lie about how happy you are and thank them. They don't know any better and wish for nothing more but what is given to them.

Insomnia

2006-12-30T10:15:00.000-08:00

I cannot sleep. I'm tired, my body is lost and my spirit is broken. I want to rest. My thoughts are keeping me up late. The soul is wandering again. No anchor to hold me down. No chains to keep me. No home to return to. My shadow welcomes me back. It misses me so much that it hugs me until I cannot breathe.

There are some wounds that do not heal

2006-12-30T09:55:00.000-08:00

I once wrote about the pain of losing love. I wrote it in response for a good friend of mine who asked if I ever did get over past loves. And it would have been easier to say 'no'. Really. I wouldn't have to explain everything. But in all honesty, the only answer that I could give was, "No, you'll never know until you love again and you are hurt once more." I realized that it was an answer that no one wanted to hear and I would be lying if I said, "Yes, I've gotten over it," or "Yes, I'll get over it soon enough."

Some would retreat from the front lines and remain as far away as possible from the threat of having their heart torn open and broken into tiny little pieces. I can hear them crying over their loss as they crouch and hide in their secret places. I understand how much love they have given, how much of themselves they have sacrificed and how far they were willing to go. And for it to end nowhere - I can imagine the pain they have to bear. Fruitless. Thankless. Hopeless. To receive nothing in return.

I, too, have felt the same thing like many others have felt. It would be easier to retreat and save myself the trouble, but I am stronger than that. I move on, picking up the pieces that has been broken too many times - they no longer fit where they used to be. I count the days, hours, minutes and seconds - trying to forget a wound that never heals. Cutting it off wouldn't do any good either. Have you heard about phantom pain? Yes, even if it's no longer there, the pain remains.

There are some things that do not heal. Some wounds cannot be forgotten. The only thing we can do is become stronger.

Black and White: Creation and Destruction

2006-12-23T03:25:00.000-08:00

After working for more than 10 years in the business of creativity, I've learned my share of doing good work and work I'd rather not talk about. In both cases, one has to be ready and willing to do whatever it takes to deliver. This is, after all, a business venture.

My mom used to say to me that having the mind of an artist does contradict the coldness precision of the business minded individual. And while I love my mother, she really doesn't know what she's talking about. It's all the same thing really - in a matter of perspective and when you look through a different set of eyes. A spreadsheet is a canvass to a person of numbers and a calculator is his brush. I don't need to explain that anymore, now to business.

So let's begin. Lesson number 1: Creation and Destruction. Whatever it is you're doing, to you it is a work of art - whether you deal with numbers, binary codes or marketing strategies. It's all the same. And when you've spent more than half of your lifetime thinking about it and how good it sounds, all it takes is a critic from the powers that be to send your piece of work down in the dumps. And since you don't want to waste any more time on it, you salvage whatever is left and try to make gold out of the trash.

My suggestion to you, if you truly value your work - don't. Trash it. It has served its purpose and it failed - miserably. Whatever you've learned in making it, use it to create the next brilliant thing. But never resurrect the dead back to life.

I've learned that the hard way. After writing the piece that I've been writing for so long, I realized that I was never happy with it. I did spend so many months, coffee and cigarettes on it and felt that it was all a waste. So, I did try to get some bits and pieces off it and tried to rewrite my second piece. A couple of months later, I was still unhappy.

Why, you ask? Because I was working with trash.

While we consider ourselves to be creators, bringing things to life from nothingness, I think we all should learn how to destroy. Remove everything that reminds us of the past work and start with a clean sheet. Some of those thoughts that we have put on paper are still there anyway in our head. But once we have cleared the table of all the mess, then the thinking process will be much more fluid than before.

That is the one and only thing we can salvage from the past. To learn from it. So, if you have a bad idea, throw it. If it had any value you would remember it and use it on the day it is needed. But at the present, it is nothing but trash. It could be of use to someone else, but at that point it is nothing. Better to destroy any evidence of it, shred it to pieces and forget it. Something better is waiting to be created.

And if it doesn't work: destroy.

Looking for a Smile

2006-12-22T04:17:00.000-08:00

There was once a man who was looking for a smile. And it's not like he was unhappy with the one he had - he just didn't have one. And so he began his search for a smile, meeting people and looking at their faces - examining their smiles and thinking which one would suit him best.

He had chanced upon a girl whose smile was warm and friendly. When she saw him, the smile was gone. No, this wasn't the smile he was looking for. He wanted a smile that lasted longer.

He had met another girl whose smile remained when he looked. He had asked for the smile on her face. Sadly, she admits that she smiles to hide the sadness inside. He didn't want that kind of smile. He wanted one that was genuine and lasted longer than a moment.

Another girl came by with a smile that looked genuine and when he looked, the smile had not disappeared from her face. The man became envious of it and had asked for it. The girl approved of it and both of them kissed. But the smile would not go to him, because it belonged to the girl. Sadly, he went away still looking for a smile he would call his own.

He looked far and wide, crossed rivers and mountains, traveled to the moon and back - but there was no smile for him. And as he sat down at the edge of the river one day to rest, a girl came up to him. Why are you resting, she asked. I'm looking for a smile, the man answered. Have you found one yet, she asked. Yes, he replied. But the smiles I found were not for me, he added.

Would you like to try on my smile, she asked. The man looked up at her and examined the smile on her face. It did not disappear when he looked. And it was as genuine as it appeared. Would you allow me, he asked. Of course, she replied. And they both kissed each other. The man looked at his reflection on the water's edge and saw the smile on his face. He was happy. He had found his smile.

I'd thought that I'd never find my smile, he said to himself. And when he turned to the girl who offered her smile to him, he found her face without the smile. Where is your smile now, he asked. It's with you, she replied. You are unhappy, he said. You don't need to see my smile to know I am happy, she said. I am happy inside to my smile on your face, she replied.

The man soon became unhappy. He looked at his reflection and quickly saw how the smile was slowly disappearing. And he tried to fake it, but the smile was genuine. I cannot take this, he said. Why, she asked. Because I have been selfish looking for the smile on other people's faces, he replied. And while I love your smile I cannot take it from you, he added. So he approached her and kissed her, bringing the smile back on her lips.

I would rather see the smile on your face than on mine, he said. Why, she asked. Because you offered it to me and loved it, he said. But it does not belong to me, he added. So how will I know if you're happy, she asked. I will be smiling inside, he replied finally.

President, Anti-Social Society

2006-12-22T03:25:00.000-08:00

Ironic, isn't it - to find a society presided by an individual, whose members and board of directors are one and the same person? You won't find them hiding behind the group whose collective thoughts become one. You won't find them huddled within the masses whose voice is lost in the midst of a thousand others. No. In fact, their voices, thoughts and strengths become weaker that way. You'll find them stronger, more powerful when they are alone. And they're the ones that retreat in their solitude finding the one true voice to listen to: their own.

I am that kind. I am an individual. And I am alone. I stand alone. I live alone. And I will die, alone. While this journey provides us with other individuals as companions, eventually, we all have to walk the road alone, like they do, too.

It's rather sarcastic to talk about being alone and an individual during this time of year when people get together. People from work, friends and relatives get together and sit around talking about their lives and how the year has been kind to them. And while I sit among them, I find myself alone.

I am alone when my best friend and his wife have coffee with me. And while I enjoy their company and love seeing them together, I am alone, listening to their joy and envying their two distinct energies woven into one.

I am alone when old friends decide to meet. And while I laugh with them, my voice is drowned by the sea of thoughts. It is to my benefit perhaps that I decide to swim back to shore and walk alone.

I am alone when the people at work celebrate the end of another year. And while I mindlessly throw myself in the sea of cheers, taunts and grins, my voice is lost and I return home, alone. Celebrating the year that has been unkind to me.

I dread going home to my family now. I know, I will feel the loneliness that tears my heart in two. And even when I enjoy the warmth that they provide, I would rather have the cold nights spent alone. It is the one and only thing that I look to, these days. Longing for the night of solitude, where my thoughts are clearer and my voice, more distinct than any of the other voices that make their way into my head.

Although, I did have a moment when I enjoyed the company of another individual. One who has allowed me to remain the individual that I wanted to be. And even if I was with her, she allowed me to be alone with her. We no longer see each other. We no longer talk the way we used to. We no longer enjoy each other's individuality. We are both, back to being alone. Alone, the way it used to be, for me.

And the Anti-Social Society has welcomed me back with open arms. They have given me a seat with the other board of directors and a membership for life. A new head has been elected and the votes are in my favor. I become President, uncontested. Again, I am alone.

Buzzed

2006-12-21T08:27:00.000-08:00

It's been awhile since I've been drunk. Yes, ladies and gentlemen (especially the ladies) I am an alcoholic. If there ever was an Alcoholics Anonymous in the Legazpi Village Area, I would be president. In fact, I am writing this under the influence. Ha ha ha. Can I just laugh now? Alright, enough of that. So, tell me, when was the last time you were buzzed? If you're asking me, a few hours ago with the Ace Saatchi & Saatchi creatives and a couple of visitors from the departments we work with. It was the fun-nest time I've ever had. Of course, there was a time I had so much fun drinking, I almost slept with someone. But that is another story. I know, I can hear you call me bastardly names. Mind you, as much as I am the scum of the earth when I am under the influence, I happen to be a gentleman. Okay, I can hear you laughing, too. Yes, I am a gentleman. I open doors, shift to the danger side when crossing the street and then some. I belong to a club only a few men would dare enter. But when men get drunk, they just lose it. Yes, we are not perfect. Ha ha. Who ever thought that men are perfect, were as imperfect as they are. No one is. And I am losing my thoughts already. Good night and Merry Christmas. Thank the gods I am not that drunk. I might have done something I wouldn't regret. Cheers!

Christmas Morning

2006-11-27T05:35:00.000-08:00

I was watching Mr. and Mrs. Smith in cable last night and when Mr. Smith already discovered the real identity of Mrs. Smith, he told her how it felt like when he first saw her: it was like Christmas morning. Quite an interesting way of putting things and all throughout our lives we get that feeling like when we get to see the one person standing out amidst the crowd. Or finally getting that promotion that you deserved. We pray the hardest, so that we can get what we wish for on Christmas morning. I wish that were the same for me. Unfortunately, I haven't been on Santa's list. The boxes I've opened so far have been surprisingly disappointing. But that's that. There are some boxes that do open with amazing results, like the one that I opened last Saturday: a new MacBookPro! 15 inch wide screen. 2.16 GHz Intel Core 2 Duo processor. And the rest is a bunch of geeky stuff that should remain on Apple's website. Oh yeah, feels like Christmas morning. I wish, that all of my presents would feel the same way. But that is another story.

The Fountainhead

2006-11-18T08:10:00.000-08:00

Only a week while I was cleaning my home office that I discovered and old that my late father possessed. It was one of Ayn Rand's books called The Fountainhead. It was obvious that my father would have read it because the protagonist in the novel was an architect named Howard Roark. That profession has escaped me when I decided to become an adman, but it didn't change my mind about reading it.

I promise that this wouldn't be a review of that material, after all, I call myself no critic. But the spirit of the book calls on all individuals to stand out from the rest. Not just to voice their opinion but to champion themselves. Uncompromisingly. The life of Howard Roark was difficult and he stood against the world because he was an individual. He never believed in the voice of the masses nor the collective. Alone, he was all that.

There was a statement by Howard Roark, "I don't work with collectives. I don't consult. I don't cooperate. I don't collaborate." Struck me like a spear through the heart. I had heard someone say that to me a long time ago and it seemed only fitting that I listened to myself saying it when I went through the book.

I think it's time for me to become what my father wanted me to be. There was a reason why he left the book. I believe, he left it for me to read. The Fountainhead is not something I'd give for people to read. A book this potent should be offered instead. And leave the decision to the one who you're giving it to.

Nameless Fear

2006-11-18T07:33:00.000-08:00

Let me tell you the difference between bravery and cowardice. Both know of the nameless fear in their lives. Some have managed to live with it, some ignore it and there are a few brave enough to acknowledge it. It is the brave who know the nameless fear and give it shape, a mind of its own and name to call it. That is the difference. While there are those who have fought countless battles against the nameless fear - calling themselves brave and courageous, they are actually no better than the cowards that choose to run from it.

It is the ones that know who or what the nameless fear is are those who are much braver than them whether they decide to face it or run from it. I make no exception when I say that. I have many nameless fears - most of which I have run away from, because I was not equipped to deal with them during that time. God only knows how long I will have to endure to wait for that time when I will be ready to face all of nameless fears. But even before that happens, I must at least give some of these nameless fears a name, a face, a date, an event, a situation and even an identity. In doing so, I hope achieve that I will have the advantage over it.

"Why do it," you may want to ask. I'll tell you why: because once you attach an identity over the nameless fear, it won't be as intangible as a ghost. It will take shape, it will have a body to inhibit and a mind of its own. Once that happens, you can now see it with your own eyes and not be afraid of something that you cannot even see. It's futile to fight something that you cannot comprehend. Why should you be scared of something you cannot see? I'd rather be scared of something that exists in this reality. At least now, you may have more chances of hitting it back than blindly striking the air.

I have named so many nameless fears and I have fought so much, lost a lot in the process, but also gained strength that I've never had. So many scars written in my eyes, my shoulders tired and my hands battle-weary - I have no time to rest when I realized that I have named of my nameless fears only recently. Again, I pick up what's left of my courage and don the armor of my spirit. I know who I'm fighting and my sword would at least be of much greater use than hitting something incorporeal.

Hello

2006-11-18T07:21:00.000-08:00

Let me be intimately polite so as not to scare you or make you take a step back even for an inch. 'Hello' is a very powerful word. It can immediately disarm strangers and allow them to do what you ask for. It can turn a bitter enemy into a reasonable person. It can make or break a relationship and it can soften hardened hearts.

Now, why do you think I want to do this? Read on. While some truths are harder to swallow, it becomes easier when the one talking to you has only asked for you to listen with an open mind. And that's why the word 'hello' is such a powerful word. Now that I have that out of the way and your attention, let us begin.

Hello.