My Wireless Brain

Yes, it’s that time of year again when everyone yearns for the comeback of that shiny-haired, buffed-up, and oh-so macho-and-brave American mega sleuth, Superman.

It must be a dream to see his red cape bending behind the clouds of economic meltdown, terrorism, and corruption here in RP. If Superman was a Filipino, he would have given those tuxedoed crocodiles and armed guerillas quite a pounding. I imagine him doing that Matrix scene where bullets go swoooosh in slow motion while he dodges easily, feet still on the pavement, then like magic makes those bullets spring back to the enemies. Boom! Pow! Kablam! Abu Sayaff (ASG in short) would be begging for their lives, as if Pinoy Superman was another prophet. He could give those walking crocodiles a whooping too, with one muscular hand grabbing their coated tails then tossing them to a fruit bangketa.

Of course, if Superman was Pinoy, he would probably stand at 5’4”, like a regular Filipino. He would have that slightly tanned look, pug nose, and a lightly built jaw. “Ikaw masamang loob, tumigil ka!” would be his tagline every time he catches a bad guy. And nobody would be calling him Superman here in RP. Perhaps your average kapitbahay would be calling him Superjuan or Superkwan.

Still, it's a good fantasy. If he was here in RP, Superkwan would be the guy who lands in your doorstep even before you open your mouth for help. He will be the man who’ll halt your friend hawking marijuana in church, crunch the limbs of the traffic guy who makes a living out of charging extra on parking tickets, and throws to jail (literally) the bad guys who steal, kill, and find it funny to bully people. He’s omnipresent, always there for anyone anytime, for anything. That’s why he’s Super!

But curb your excitement. No one said Superkwan will be flying to your hometown any time soon. We’re not even sure if there’s actually a superhero out there. No one knows if Superkwan is alive. If he was, he would probably be in a mami store somewhere, talking with friends, unaware he’s actually a superhero. Kwan might just be his ghetto name, invented by his barkada in Tondo.

Superkwan is the perfect remedy to the Pinoys’ flurry of problems. Talk about fast (I mean, faaast, superhero fast) solutions. Where else could a Super Kwan be most useful to Pinoys than when talks of corruption, terrorism, and injustice begin to flood the media canal. When Martial Law tore through RP, Super Kwan could have looked at Marcos’ bulging eyes undauntedly, beaming his Super Laser Eyes furiously across the dictator. It could have all ended in a heartbeat.

Just last week, reporters flashed news that an Italian hostage was released from the hands of the dreaded ASG. He was among the hundreds of unfortunate travelers whom the Abus have taken hostage, also among the lucky few who has grabbed media attention. “I feel free,” he told a reporter when he got released (Way to go Captain Obvious!). But the release was overshadowed and left dry by the A(H1N1) scare and the tawdry Hayden Kho-Katrina Halili sex scandal. Seeing the opportunity and citing the ‘generosity’ of ASG to release Vagni, some senators offered them full amnesty (What?!). The local news also reported RP’s low economic rankings and the sliding satisfaction levels of Pinoy residents toward their government and Gloria (-31% net satisfaction rating to be exact). People felt hot under the collar so a few hours later, they took to the streets; chanting Go-to-hell-Gloria songs and talking trash. When the Congress resolved to favor Charter Change, protesters organized again, this time with a larger army that almost clogged the streets of Makati. When it was disclosed that Gloria had her bust enhanced before becoming a president, unbelievably, like crazy, some protested again, saying the president should have divulged such public information to the curious masses. As if her confession can help RP’s economy. Duh?!

Realistically, only a handful of Pinoys actually remain pro-government, even while most prefer to munch chips on their couches instead of howling on the streets. Heck, not even Superman would be able to stomach the government’s stink. The whole Malacañang has become a sty of wrinkly crocodiles and useless zoo-keepers. Only the swine can tolerate their own kind.

When clouds turn gray as smog, it feels like only a super human being can save RP and its inhabitants from sure suffering and terror. It requires super human guts to challenge the villains of this country. Sure enough, like the Nancy Drew stories your mom always loved, you’ll never get to know who the villains are until you reach the ending. I hope Superkwan lands in my backyard today. Because by the looks of it, RP’s historical chapters aren’t running out any time soon, not with the Pinoys still clueless on whom to point their fingers at, unsure who the real villains are. The riot hasn’t even reached the climax.

Like the protesters on the streets of Makati, Pinoys want someone to accuse, someone to lay blame on for the death grip of poverty and corruption. Like them, Pinoys want to do something sadistic, atrocious, and obscene, but they cannot. They are left powerless to do so, like a cobra desperate to swallow a horse. They are reduced to pleading in the streets for someone to listen to them. As always, and with no doubt, their cries will always fall on deaf ears. They’re fighting a bigger villain, someone not human. What’s left for them to do? If angels don’t come, they ask for Superman (or Superkwan). At least if manna doesn’t fall on earth there’s still someone they can hope for. Bahala na si Batman!

Last night’s encounter with friends made me a lot more frustrated about being unemployed – the very thing that everyone thought wouldn’t happen to me as soon as I graduated from college with a Magna cum laude citation. I didn’t think I’d feel depressed, too, over 12-hour sleeps and eat-chat-watch TV routines. The first few weeks of the graduation hangover had nothing in comparison. The long rest was a long overdue self-reward. And then, when an SMS or a PM on FB arrived, there were no giving second thoughts on going out with pals to share fantasies over icy cups of Oreo Frappe about becoming gazillionaires or husbands of Carnival performers in Rio. Eventually money runs out, I realized. I spent my paycheck (way back from my part-time bartending job in Le Chef in Camp John Hay) on clothes and food, sometimes uncontrollably like in situations that called for heavy spending. There was that one time I had no choice but to spend 600 pesos for dinner in a fancy restaurant. Somehow, the feeling became trance-like the minute the big bills started pouring out of the once bulky wallet. Those were the days.

Now, I’m poorer than a mouse.


Here's a snap of me playing restaurant manager in a dining service competition in Baguio Country Club. My teammates and I won silver. No one snatched gold.

Although I have with me my mom and dad at home, the feeling’s different when I ask for money. There’s a trace of guilt now. I could be paying the house bills this month if only I had scouted for a job earlier – when I finished my last three units in school. There were just too many things I was scheduled to do for May – none of them would have benefited if I had a job. As if depression wasn’t enough, as of last night I began feeling upset, too, over the idea of majority of my batchmates having jobs, if not, just something to keep their selves busy with. Before I slept last night, I thought: “Man, I could’ve skipped an hour playing Special Forces with my buddies for a minute of fishing employment contact persons from my instructors.”

I can’t deny that I’ve never chosen a preferred career path. I’m not even sure if I love the course I graduated from. The truth of it is people who graduate from my course either land in a waitering or commis career then get a scanty, ignorable, 5-bucks-a-day salary for a job-well-done. Reality bites hard. And then, as soon as they’ve worked their a**es off and get to the point of having a more dignified occupation nearing promotion, they quit and strive to land in an entry-level job abroad, repeating the tedious process once more. I, myself, am a candidate for that kind of fate.

Still, I’m crossing my fingers (my toes, even) for something good to happen soon. Who knows, I might really end up dancing in Rio as soon as this nightmare of a phase comes to a close.

I never thought six heaping cups of brewed Sagada coffee could be as punishing as a six-pack. The consequence was austere – more like out-of-this-world (I mean, my head was spinning!) and the trying-to-get-some-sleep part was as equally tormenting. I had to go to bed at 3:30 a.m. after an hour in front of the TV, then listening to “Maiden with the Flaxen Hair” on my radio to get a shut eye. It’s at the moment I started feeling the weight of my eye lids and began noticing my body stop to tremble from all that caffeine that I knew I was closer to a deep, soothing, slumber. In my case, sleep got to me past 4.

Then the alarm clock rang!

I almost jumped right out of my bed. “7:15,” my glowing-in-the-dark Spongebob clock read. I forgot to turn it off. Stupid. Then the sleeping went on.

I remember vividly why my friend, Dexter, and I tried to go all-out on a coffee drinking spree. I sent Dex an SMS early morning (before the coffee brouhaha) asking him if he wants to apply in a job fair in Baguio City, something about Holland-America Cruise Lines. Ate Evee, my former Editor-in-chief in college, told me the other night that the shipping line was to stage a job fair in Hotel Veniz, a 9-kilometer stretch away from my house. I told her, “I’ll think ‘bout it”. So there, we’re back to the scene where I texted Dex the morning after (got you confused there, right?). Dex, in a few ways, is just like me – unemployed and always looking for something to do. Several minutes after I sent him the message, he replied, “What time?”

Dex and I met in the lobby of Hotel Veniz. I found him standing there right by the doorway, browsing through the decors of the hotel (something I thought was strange since he could have seated himself and read a magazine instead while waiting for me). And you know the first thing he told me? “Look at that guy, he’s small.” For a Filipino dude, Dex is pretty tall standing near 5’9”. Still, that (or he) was strange. We approached the first guy we saw on the fourth floor of Hotel Veniz. What the heck, he had an ID of some sort so we asked him where to submit our resumes. The disappointment began there. The guy looked at us sternly, took out a flyer, raised his ring finger, and then pointed to a huge tarpaulin. It read: “Applicants must be at least 22 years old”. BUMMER. Ate Evee never told me that one.

Our knees felt numb, so Dex and I seated ourselves on a wooden bench near the registration table, looking at “THE LUCKY ONES”. All that dressing up with a full business get-up, all that hassle, and all that money spent for the long jeepney ride, wasted. Oh, and did I mention, I shaved my kiddy beard (which I let grow for 5 months! 5 LONG MONTHS!). Still, we had to drag ourselves up and go somewhere. I thought of Café Veniz, drew a 50-peso bill from my wallet then told Dex, “Hei, wanna grab some coffee – bottomless?” And there started our 4-hour coffee session.

The first step off that coffee shop was crazy! Everything was twirling in circles. To top it all off, I realized I had no more cash so I had to walk uptown to SM City Baguio for my granny’s diapers.

Until now, early Saturday morning, I can still feel the coffee hangover. Wait… got to do something.



*flush*

Well it's my first blog here and I had trouble figuring out what goes where when I made it to blogspot. I've been reading a lot of blogs lately, most of them on the "Blogs of Note" list. Someday I'll make it there. Someday.

The rotational brownout here in Benguet just passed, apparently the El Nino phenomenon here beat the water supply of our hydroelectric power source not too far away. I live in a high-altitude town called La Trinidad, near the American-designed Baguio City, but the heat's finally getting to my nerves. Lately, I've been so stressed out about the Manila-like temperature here. I got news before the blackout that Manila recorded its highest temperature yet in a decade, 37.5 degrees.

Before anything else, here's an update before I start posting things:

The best part of 2010 is my college graduation. That's me in the middle with open palms. If you look closely I don't exactly look like a college grad in this photo. Bear with it. I'm 5'5" and I just turned 20 last February. I took a bachelor's degree then graduated with a Magna cum laude honor, something I was shocked to learn from my department head early April.




Immediately after graduation day, I went touring in Manaoag, Pangasinan with some of my closest college buddies. There we slept in a nipa hut complete with nipa beds and nipa pillows. After a dip in a pool near Manaoag church and a heavy dinner, we went back to Baguio and looked for jobs.








After a few days, I met with several friends way back from Elementary days at Kalei's Bar and Grill near Baguio City. We spent the night telling stories and teasing the guys about their love life. Man, they looked matured now. Some of them looked really cute, some seemed smart.


Then the latest: Three of my closest cousins from Manila came for a visit here in Baguio City. That was fun, fun, fun! Yeah, I miss them a lot. That was the most fun I had in months. They stayed at our house for three days. On afternoons, me and my brothers toured them around Baguio City; from Burnham Park to the famous haunted Diplomat Hotel.


That about wraps it up. In the following days, I hope I can post a lot of stuff here. Watch out!