Celebrating the First SIN TAX Bill Anniversary: Another year, Another Chance for the Government to Bully Smokers

 To My Beloved Government,

I have a few hours to kill until I wave farewell to 2013, and here I am smoking my last cigarette for the year. Welcoming the New Year has always been a blast for me, but now it has to come with so much anguish as it is now no longer just goodbyes to the year departing, but also a farewell to my hard earned cash. It’s the second New Year’s Eve that I am feeling this twinge of regret for once again failing to stock up by going on a cigarette hoard spree before the due price hike. Nevertheless, the bitterness in this letter is rooted from reasons beyond my starving wallet’s inability to provide for my nicotine desires. I am writing you this letter in behalf of all the affected consumers who have been bullied by your money-grabbing scumbag policy.  

I will not even bring up how you stepped on our right to choose our own lifestyle. That argument is crass and I have no qualms with that at all. Smoking has always been a problem with rising urgency, yielding countless detriments to both smokers and non-smokers--and it is your job as government to minimize this incident as much as possible. This isn’t even a point of dispute, as I find this completely right and acceptable. But that is still beside the point. I still have so much to say. As ideal as your framework appears, there are still million reasons why your plan just doesn’t work.

First of all, thank you for masking your money making desires through the façade of ratifying a law with principal urgency, which are, in accordance to your bill: to be able to look out for the health of these consumers by discouraging them from purchasing these “sin” products, and to garner more funds needed to cater to our country’s developing needs--which your fictional Daang Matuwid platform labels as “ key development areas.” Indeed, there is nothing wrong with trying to achieve both goals. I just can’t help but wonder, how do you expect us to believe that this extra amount we spend for our vices really do contribute to the development of these areas? With countless tax thieving issues emerging left and right (With Napoles’ famous Pork Barrel Scam as only one of the many) how are we to see the earnestness behind the goal points of your Sin Tax policy implementation?

There have been multiple times when I have witnessed the front page of our papers lamenting over the missing revenue garnered from the SINTAX bill. For some reason, I can’t seem to find any of these articles online. I’m not accusing anyone of manipulating media, but I am sure that I saw what I saw—and what I saw, I saw more than once. Thank you for using our vice as another excuse to extort citizens. There is a proper place and time to levy taxes, and that is only when the extra revenue would truly end up in key development areas, as oppose to landing in the obese pockets of our very sympathetic politicians. If you would tell me that our nation’s wellbeing always remained at the core of this policy, and that vast corruption was just another inevitable side effect in this means towards a healthier end, then I’m sorry but you are a terrible government. And if you are terrible as a government, you have no right to milk out the opportunity of having a vice-inclined populace by taxing them heavily for it.

 I am very tired of all these seemingly sincere and flawless frameworks that offer endless loopholes for government officials. When opportunities for taxation and extortion arise, the government is omnipresent. All Pacquiao needed to do was opt against joining the administration’s party, and presto, another impetus for you guys to tax him a hefty amount of 2 Billion (which is, take note, almost greater than what he earns per fight. Regardless of all his sponsorships, how again could that great amount make up his taxes? If I am not mistaken, income tax only comprises more or less 30% of total earnings. The moment citizens noticed how questionable 30 Billion is, BIR presented their facts, admitting that 50% of the amount was purely supplement collections disguised as due interest. Wonderful.) But then again, I digress. Back to my point: When opportunity for revenue arises, government is ubiquitous, but during the times that really matter (case in point: Yolanda, and a million more) our beloved government suddenly goes missing.

Since we have brought up Yolanda, it is about time we point out how your bill’s credibility vastly decreased after this massive tragedy. I find the feasibility of your statement declaring that “the funds garnered from the levied taxes would likewise be used to bolster our national healthcare” to be very questionable, seeing how you cannot even manage to provide for your affected areas. How much donations, both cash and in kind, did you squander while your citizens from Tacloban starved and died? Let’s stop the fooling. I know you have enough funds to at least make better the situation. But if during a very urgent tragedy, you cannot even provide ample health services, how do you expect us to believe that PhilHealth and all your crass health care plans will be bolstered by Sin Tax? Insofar as your officials will continue to pocket a massive chunk of the national budget, no amount of taxation would ever alleviate our poor country’s condition.

We haven’t quit at all.

I think I have smuggling to thank for that.

It’s been pretty clear how this policy has done nothing more than lower the sales of the higher bracket cigarettes. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that cigarettes are inelastic needs, at least for those of us whose wellbeing are really on the line. In the same light, most market actors are wise enough to maneuver their way around your policy. All we need to do is to acquaint our taste to a downgraded brand, and we are good to go. Even the poorest of smokers have yet to quit, or even decrease at all. As of the inception of this bill, cheaper and cheaper cigarettes have flooded our market. Smuggled cigarettes (costing about P1.00/stick) have been patronized instead. And you do know that when we spend less, we tend to smoke more? Right?

                                                 

Whereas I am very certain that a lot of you would question my knowledge and opinions regarding this matter, as I would not know more than a nineteen year old who has invested several months following whatever is released regarding the bill, please please please do not shun my opinions. I believe my thoughts matter, as I have only garnered what I know from public documents and the press and media statements made available. My thoughts, therefore, represent what most of the affected consumers believe, based on the raw information you have left us to process.

Now that I have said my piece, I will now spend what’s left of this year to hoard whatever sari-sari store remains open at this time.

Have a Happy New Year and enjoy smoking all the expensive tobaccos that only you could afford!

With love,

B

It's that time of the day when I wish I chose the hard way out

This is unfair, so unfair 

To you

I'm sorry

A Letter from Pupu to Her Estranged Father

Hi Dad!

        This Bianca lady has taught me how to write and speak in English with astounding fluency. She still has the copy of your English 12 research paper draft murdered with red ink by that Ensomo lady. I've skimmed through it and am now equipped to say that, despite being a kitten, I have better mastered the language, if in a shameful comparison to my estranged father.

       Life without you has been quite turbulent. First, this lunatic Bianca locks me in an old empty house that reeks of cigarette butts and dead relatives. She was under the illusion that I preferred dog food over what was really meant for my species. . Her series of stupidity lasted a week: Everyday she'd walk around the house screaming "Pupu" attempting her best imitation of your voice and idiotic accent. I laughed as I watched her at her wit's end, looking through every single nook and cranny of that big smelly dump she forced me to believe was home. She left me locked in with nothing but dog food and ghosts to interact with--the least I could do was give her a horrible time looking for me. That lunatic was so worried, it reached a point where she even invited a bunch of smoking losers to help her look around that giant dump hoping their sub-par hunting could outskill my feline abilities. Dumb ass. 

    After a week, your dumb ass lunatic ex finally decided to take me to her house. I met a bunch of even dumber creatures there. I received a pleasant welcome from this friendly hairy creature that looks like the hybrid of Hagrid and a feather duster. I think his name is Stalag, I'm not sure. He kept sniffing my pink butt as if he were waiting for me to shit some Alpo or something. He had a tiny wife who just kept lying down on the couch with her tongue out. She was so ugly I'm not even shocked by how attracted he is to my pink cat butt. They were pleasant creatures. Stupid--but pleasant. 

  Dad, I will cut through my bullshit memoirs and proceed to my important news: I think I've found the alleged murderers of my brother. The moment I entered your lunatic ex's room, I could already smell their pheromones all over the place. I have no proof that these really are the ones who killed Socrates, but somewhere in my tiny kitten gut, I feel it. I just know. I really wanted to jump on them and scratch their eyeballs out, but they were so much bigger than me. Oh and did I mention, these murder suspects are really really beautiful. I'm not sure, I think I've seen them on television once. They really look like leading actors in Puss N' Boots. Their fame and beauty make my pursuit for justice ten times more difficult. If I take any action now, I fear that all the neighborhood cats would come for their defense. So I guess right now I just have to settle with peeing and pooping on everything they own. I have slowly marked the whole second floor as my territory and am winning the love of every person in this house. Would you believe me if I told you that even the John guy with a mustache now adores me too? I learned from the best, thanks dad.

One more thing, another reason I'm writing to you apart from updating you on my justice hunt and letting you realize how stupid my foster mother is, I also want you to know that I'm very alarmed by your recent facebook status. Is it true that you're even considering not coming back for me? Please rethink your decision and get me out of here, ASAP.

With much love and falling fur,

Pupu

13 Things I've Learned from 3 Horrible Semesters of Political Science

13 Things I've Learned from 3 Horrible Semesters of Political Science

I'm halfway through my junior year and I think I'm about to faint. I'm surprised I haven't yet.

1. A great RRL can never be done in one day
Contrary to your ego's belief, your crammed RRL isn't that great. Just because you worked hard for it, doesn't mean it's any great. And besides, a fruit of an all nighter isn't a fruit of hard work--it's a fruit of cramming.

2. Love what you are doing
If you find yourself out of love and filled with aversion for all those damn theories, question your decision to be in this course. If it still doesn't work, try harder. Force it. Watch news as much as you can; it will get you interested. It's a great orgasmy feeling when you watch TV and suddenly apply your class theories to the issues. Whoo-pieee-dooo!

3. Beadle for your hatest class
Nope, the best part of beadling isn't the "one letter grade up" myth. Some professors don't believe in giving the beadle extra credit so don't count on that. What's surprisingly beautiful about beadling is how you find yourself burdened with responsibilities beyond your own grade's sake and are now forced to actually go to class. You will be compelled to know when all the tests are and when all your homeworks are due. Another bonus is that you'll have access to everyone's grades when you're tasked to keep or distribute the returned tests. It helps to know where your current grade stands in your class.

4. Do not ever try to converse with a Lit major about your theories or with a Philo major about your philosophers.
Everything is the same, but everything is different. Just because they're both called Realism, doesn't necessarily mean they're the same thing. And no, don't every try to converse with anyone else about your readings. I'm sorry but no one else knows Kenneth Waltz, Hans Morgenthau and Deborah Yashar. Just you.

5. MECO people invest in stocks, we invest in vocabulary.
When you read too much ThoughtCatalog, you end up sounding like a menstruating hormonal peaking fifteen year old going through her life's biggest heartbreak. When you watch too much Jersey Shore, you end up sounding like...well, a ditz.(Also: I think I've spent too much time Buzzfeeding, it explains why I am now blogging in a didactive ordinal form now) The same principle stands for class. When you read enough class readings... hopefully you will end up sounding like a polsci major. Read as much of your readings as you can (without dying) If you do so, you'll notice after a whileyou'd sound a little bit more scholarly (or a little bit more boring, but still, scholarly) with very minimal effort. Immerse yourself in political science jargon and before you know it, the boring, I mean, scholarly, language will come naturally

6. Always cite your sources ASAP
 It doesn't really matter if it's just a draft. Making notecards will forever be the bane of everyone's existence. Use post its or in-text it to make sure you won't confuse the different authors. If you don't, you will regret. Your teachers DO CHECK your citations, even when you don't turnitin.

7. Make friends with upperclassmen from your department, form your course and from your program.
They will make everything easier for you. And of course, studying is more fun with a smarter older more experienced friend. (Thank you Richmond, Yoj and Loree. You guys make my life so much easier)

8.  DO NOT EVER view your course as merely a means to an end, or a stepping stone to lawschool or your political career. 
Polisci is your end. Brainwash self. Repeat 200x or else all your work will be half-assed half-baked with a really crappy bibliography.

9. Always, always, always schedule for consultation
When you feel like your paper is excellent, think again. IT'S NOT. It probably even sucks. You will always always always have an error you'd fail to notice, even if you review your paper one hundred thousand times everyday. Working hard for your paper doesn't make it infallible.

10. When National Bookstore goes down to 80% off, run to the polsci books right away 
No one wants to buy them so they're really cheap. I think they go down to 50 pesos sometimes. You don't have to be a pretentious prick and pretend to actually read them. Just allow them to dust up on your shelf because one they those books will come in handy, and that long ass walk to the library to meet the two-books-per-bibliography-requirement will no longer be imperative.

11. Every class is a role-playing gig.
When your professor is a Marxist, you enter the class adapting a Marxist frame of thought. When your professor is a statistician, tell yourself that surveys are fun. You can refute them a little, but not too much to brew up tension and a dead zeal.

12. When you have to NOT SLEEP, don't sleep. 
It's better to be sleepy and hungover from coffee for a day than to have failed to pass a paper, and have your QPI haunted for the rest of your college life. If you are drunk, drink coffee, puke it out and drink more coffee (or just don't get drunk) As James Bond has said "There is plenty of time to sleep when you're dead" (...or when there's nothing to read..but really, when does this even occur?)

13. Last, and most importantly: You are not stupid. You are just lazy
READ YOUR READINGS. If they were meant to be skimmed through, they probably would've been called skimmings. BUT THEY'RE NOT. Readings are called readings for a reason.

I haven't really been procrastinating this semester. In fact, I've been trapped in the hardcore workzone for the past three weeks, I just can't seem to understand why I still have so much to do. I've done my calculations: For me to make it through this semester and pass with flying colors, I need to cut my sleep down to 3 hours per night for the next five days.

Bianca, study. Bianca, work. Bianca, research. Do it for no one else but yourself. Do it for your retention. Do it for ASOG. Do it because you want to be like Val.

NOW GET BACK 2WERK

I have five long ass research papers I can no longer organize my thoughts anymore

Well screw coherence.

1. I hate you Kant, you're a cunt.

2. If you think Earl is a philosophical jack ass, then what does that make me? Your words hurt me... Somehow

3. How do you cut friendship with a relative? Hi I miss you but we just can't be friends and  I'm sure you know why. I can never revoke my relative status with you it's destiny (or more like a plague, sometimes, at least) but friendship, on the other hand, has to be earned.

4. How am I supposed to present my gathered data and corresponding analysis to and IN your institution when YOUR NEW POLICY SUCKS??

5. No one's rebounding anyone okay so shut up keep calm and I loohhb you

6. VAPE IS A LIE. VAPE IS A LIE. YOU CAN NEVER QUIT

Sometimes I wonder what drug I'm secretly on. What is wrong with me and why does my mind work this way?

All The Things I Hate (A letter to my ugly soon-to-be-soldier ex)

All The Things I Hate (A letter to my ugly soon-to-be-soldier ex)

 …OOH YEAH TEENAGE ANGST!!!

I hate that you asked me to write you a goodbye letter. I find that very insulting—it’s as if you didn’t  know me at all. Of course I've already made you one (thousand… kidding) farewell notes. That’s what I do. That’s what I've been doing. That’s our dynamic: I’m the Noah who writes infinite cheesy bacon letters and you’re the Allie who always seems to find some sort of excuse to not respond. (Which reminds me of the time I forced you to watch The Notebook and I cried like I was in a funeral and your eyes remained so dry because you are a soul-less douchebag) I hate how I always loved you more. But it’s okay. I like it that way.

I also hate how in a few hours, I’m gonna be driven to your place for the last time. I hate how I haven’t been to your place and you haven’t been to mine since both screwed up. I hate how my parents want to skin you alive just because you fell out of love. I am a little prick and you had every right. I hate how I was an overacting gremlin and how my parents would use that against me every single time I’d tell them I’m with you. I hate that I’m gonna be picking your cat up and taking care of it for two years. I feel like Britney Spears and you’re K-Fed, both screwed up but still fighting for child custody. It’s weird. I hate it. I hate it so much. I remember when I surprised you with the sibling cats we shared. I love how you stayed for an extra seven months after that day I found out you were leaving, gave you a cat and  threw a psycho fit in my house. I hate that your extended stay came with an expiration date. I hate how that expiration date is today.

I hate how you might forget me. It scares me. I don’t care if you have ten million girlfriends in Korea, just make sure she doesn’t give you a cat. If she even makes the slightest attempt, walk away and leave. Cats are my thing. Catlove is our thing. Please don’t do any of our creepy sketchy activities with her. You can love as many girls as much as you want, but keep our own things sacred and locked up in a treasure box of good memories, please I beg. Ross Geller married thrice, but all of them were different. There was the lesbian, the Rachel and the Emily. All of them were special.

…but not as special as Rachel. May I be Rachel Greene?

I hate that you’d have to leave during moratorium week. I hate how my Spanish professor asked me to describe my best friend during orals, and that of all my best friends, I thought of you. I hate how your leaving still manages to penetrate my brain during the most crucial exams. I hate how I cannot concentrate with any of my acads because I’m either spending my last hours with you or just here at home smoking my worries away. I have so much worries. What if you die? What if Py wasn’t just being an asshole when he said that Korean soldiers play baseball with grenades? What if Korean Paul wasn’t just overreacting when he said you could end up stepping on a minefield? If you die, I will lose my best friend. If you die, Inigo will lose his only kuya. (I hate how I’m not allowed to read your palanca) If you die, Pupu will have nothing to look forward to. Might as well turn her into Siopao. Remember that ThoughtCatalog article I linked you? I’m not sure, I think it’s called “Love is Dead” and you said it reminded you of us. Do you remember how the guy died in the end after they broke up and lived far away from each other? What if that IS the story of us? Oh, no, see, I’m being an overacting gremlin again.

I hate how people think that if I really were over you, I’d have no right to be depressed over your whole army getaway. They don’t understand that before everything, we were really really really really great friends. I hate how our amazing connection (crazily) raised my standards for both friendships and relationships. You set a bar waaaay too high for anyone to rise above, or even to just simply reach. I don’t want you to get in the way of my new relationship. I don’t want to get in the way of your new relationship. I don’t want you to have a new relationship. I hate how I no longer want you BUT I STILL HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY.

I HATE HOW YOU’RE LEAVING IN A FEW HOURS AND I HATE HOW THERE’S NOTHING I CAN DO ABOUT IT. I hate how I tried so hard to make you stay. I hate how I tried everything. I hate how I met you, I hate how  our friendship started, I hate how we fell in love, I hate how we fell out of love, I hate how you have to leave. I hate how I won’t see you for two years. I hate how I can never be sure if you’re dead or alive.

I hate how this is goodbye.

But I have no choice. It really is.

So, good bye.

…Oh wait did I mention… I HATE HOW YOU’RE A MANWHORE. (Manhur hhuhuhu byebye)

"Relationships are like farts. If it has to be forced, it's probably shit." -The Great Vitt Alampay

Ain't no lie baby bye bye bye bye bye

You’re leaving. You’re leaving and I’m not allowed to feel anything. You’re leaving and there’s nothing I can do to prevent your parting. You’re leaving and it’s not like you haven’t done it before but somehow I still can’t comprehend, I still can’t accept. I mean, leaving? What does that word even mean? You’re kidding, right?

You tried leaving before. And I gave you a cat and you stayed. But we both know that’s not really the reason you stayed. But it’s okay. Let’s pretend it was.

I gave you one cat and you stayed for seven more months so I just wonder if I give you ten cats now, would you stay for another 70 months? Math please save us.

What? No. Yes. Huh? Fuck.

This morning.

I was rummaging through my old bags, emptying the pockets so I could throw them away.

Then I found your vape. Your useless overpriced vape. Cooooool

Cool. My morning is crap now.

HI REMEMBER ME?

Di mo lang alam ako'y yong nasaktan

Baka sakali lang maisip mo naman

Hindi mo lang alam kay tagal na panahanon

Ako'y nandirito parin hanggang ngayon para sayo

Lumipas mga araw na ubod ng saya

Di parin nagbabago ang aking pagsinta

Kung ako'y nagkasala patawad na sana

Ang puso kong pagal ngayon lang nagmahal

 

Me: Doc Jerry. Magqquit na ako ng yosi para sa prod na ito!

Doc Jerry: Tama yan!

....Too bad it was all just a dream. I miss prod. One more year, theater. Just one more year.

Before I Smoked Reds

 

Disclaimer: Misleading title. If you are disappointed that this is, yet again, another chapter of my breakup banters, and expected something a little more yosi related, here’s a good read: http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/tag/cigarettes

(Get it? Good reads? Hehe. NO.)

ANYWAY.

I spent my Friday night stuck inside the mind-numbing walls of DBM, encoding national budget to accomplish my JEEP requirements. I felt like the center agents I frequently see in Eastwood, rushing out in their corporate attires eager to have a smoke. I ran to the nearest convenience store just to lose my mind and enforce my long standing theory that I am, indeed, an unlucky mofo who seems to have captured the liking of Lemony Snicket. In short, they were out of reds.

It’s been almost four months since I’ve last bought myself a pack of menthol lights. This is my first time since, since, since, since everything was right.

For my first puff I expected nothing more than that menthol throat torture that red smokers usually get. But I surprised myself with my own set of thoughts.

“This tastes like the past.”

(Shet. Ang drama)

Because it did, it does. Suddenly I was back in my porch at 4:30 am cramming a paper—and you were there beside me. Your attention was bound towards your laptop screen, browsing for updates on Kobe’s new injury, or perhaps trying to understand mathematic formulas or something. And I’d secretly be matter-loading for your English 12 paper just to surprise you with very important data that might actually fuel up or turn your research around. Suddenly I was half-drunk with you in Metrowalk pooling in what’s left of our baon to buy DVDs to marathon. For you, I set my weak heart on alert mode every single time I had to endure a horror movie. I always hated horror but for you I did. Suddenly I was down the park watching you give my brother a crash course on basketball, math and picking up girls. Suddenly it was five am and we were on my roof, having pseudo political discussions on why your peninsula of origin devolved into two ideologically contrasting nations. You were a citizen and I was a polsci student; our contributions synergized a surprisingly fruitful discourse. Suddenly we were at a Sushi bar with my dad and my brother, and I didn’t know if it was the food or the fact that I was surrounded by the three men I loved the most, but I just knew at that time I was at my happiest. Everything happened with a pack of menthol lights.

It took me to a time before everything fell apart. To the time before you first screwed up, And then I screwed up. And then we kept screwing up so bad forgiveness became inconceivable. We both screwed up so much that we could no longer find it in our hearts to be together. Sometimes I still miss you. Sometimes I miss you so much that I feel its illegal. There’s no way I could’ve screwed up so bad and still be allowed to miss you without going to jail for it. And vice versa—mostly vice versa, actually.

All is different now. Now we smoke reds. Now we’re far apart. It’s been three months so if you’re the type to play by the dating rule books, you’d probably know that it’s, uhm, okay (if not, encouraged) for you to date now. Sometimes I wonder where you are. Or who you’re with. Or what you’re doing. Or who you’re doing. Or if you knew that a Guidon photographer accidentally photographed you in a restaurant with a girl who looked like me from behind? I wonder if she really looked like me. Is she nicer than me? Prettier? Smarter? Skinnier? Better? Or is she just new? She’s probably just new. Novelty can take you to places. But once it fades you realize… I dunno. It was never really that great? Retrospect skews up even the best of memories.

Please don’t play by the game. Or if you do, this may sound a little (or a whole lot) selfish but please, just please, don’t let me know. I am weaker than you. But if there’s anything I’m sure of, it’s that I think of you less and less everyday now.

I will not frequent this cigarette. The last thing I want is to familiarize myself with the taste and associate it with experiences of the present. This cigarette, I guess, is the closest I have to a time machine. I will preserve it. Or maybe it’s because you were a bad memory and I just really hate menthols now.

And for a little dramatic effect:

Five things about Manila that creep me out

This is not a political critique

Nor is it a policy analysis or anything to be taken seriously.

These are just my two cents on Isko Moreno’s babysitting struggles.   

I am extremely bias and NOT CRITICAL.

It’s only been a few months after Manila has fallen into the crazy hands of the Ejercito-Moreno tandem and it hasn’t taken them long to, uhm, turn the city into one giant… joke.

I think… I’m afraid… that I might actually like it.

1.     Before anything else, I WAS proud that someone is finally going all Margaret Tatcher in terms of policy implementation (Case in point, all this Iron-fist-I-will-not-allow-provincial-busses-to-enter-Manila-roads-action) But that was until I found out that there is a chance this could all be one massive money making scheme.

What media doesn’t really expose: Provincial buses will be allowed to enter Manila roads ONLY if they pay a dashing 80-120 peso fee. He he he. Genius.

 Any abusive bureaucrat would grasp the chance to milk out this whole traffic issue; the prospect for money making is now hidden behind the façade of ratifying a law with principal urgency.

So much for Tatchering our country out.

2.     I do not know how to feel about this, again. Apparently Ejercito met up with the bus owners, hoping that gracing them with his presence will strike enough fear to once and for all, stop their endless lobbying against this new city ordinance. And of course, as theatrical and action star-like our Manila mayor has always been, he showed up in full military combat gear. ANGAS.

Really now. Really. Really. Really now?? REALLY? Is this a joke?

Atty. Ferdinand Topacio to Mayor Ejercito (non verbatim):

Pasensya na po Pangulong Mayor. Hindi na po kami gagawa ng kahit ano upang kailanganin ninyong magsuot muli ng combat attire.

Not sure if respect or farce but anyway, that leads me to my next thought…

3.     How and when did people start addressing Ejercito as Pangulong Mayor…? What the hell is that about? No amount of explanation could ever rationalize this in my head.

4.     Newly crowned Manila traffic czar Vice Mayor Isko Moreno, has been spotted in the streets of Manila doing some on-hand MMDA work.

 

-You are the most beautiful man in the whole Philippine Government.

-My partial pretentious critic self refuses to acknowledge any as

pect as a Vice Mayor you may ever fall short on.

-I actually feel bad for you. It must be difficult baby sitting our aging Mayor. I am 99.9% sure he isn’t doing anything useful and that you are now the sole CEO of Manila.

5.     Why does Ejercito always sound drunk?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=56S8SrPWtzc

Boring Crap

How do you simplify without reducing?

When something is so complicated and complex, we simplify things and reduce them to certain, uhm, models? or systems? for us to more easily understand.

But with reduction comes subtraction of important features and aspects that, although contribute to the complexity that we are trying to do away with, still make up that rare wholeness that drew us in, that very uniqueness enough to earn it our attention.

And those little details that we subtract, those features and aspects that perplex us, they’re all intertwined in this giant web of confusion. And then boom, we’re back to square one.

Things are so complicated. My solution has always been to compartmentalize. But it seems so unfair to compartmentalize people.

What do I do with you?

Zesto Clocks and Lame Metaphors

I’ve been depriving myself of my much needed blog therapy for months now. My old one is too haunted by the residues of…. Bianca, I just want to commend you for your genius idea of compiling all those episodes of stupid tears and insanity. Good job. Are you proud of yourself?

I’m not even sure if I’m sarcastic. Sometimes it gets too foggy up there with all those crazy neurons and hormones partying everyday the chambers of my brain are too clogged with smoke I can’t even…

Anyway.

Yes. In fact. I am.

Two months and eight days. I didn’t expect. There is life after death. Remnants of who you used to be—gather, compile, mold into something new. Like those reprocessed products consumers don’t really like …you know, those clocks made out of zesto packs. I used to hold some juice, but now I am a clock. I am so cool. Different. But still the same.

And perhaps I am as lame as my analogy… I told you, it gets foggy up there. I don’t understand.

Anyway.

Yes. There is life after death. Why am I even shocked? The tiniest bit of my astonishment still perplexes me, seeing how I have died so many times in life. When life sodomizes you with a cactus a little more than the quota for insanity, you just can’t help but ask how the living crap am I still happy?

Doesn’t matter though. Because I am. Maybe it’s the perpetual party going on in my brain that saves me. Good enough. Now to study.