Remember, remember...

From the movie V for Vendetta: (I got ahold of the movie's entire script and it's jz too tempting not to post some of it here)

"Remember, remember, the fifth of November, the gunpowder treason and plot. I know of now reason why the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot."
Those were almost the very first words he spoke to me and, in a way, that is where this story began, four hundred years ago, in a cellar beneath the Houses of Parliament.

-Evey's V.O at the start of the movie

"The multiplying villainies of nature do swarm upon him. And fortune, on his damned quarrel, smiling, showed like a rebel's whore. Disdaining fortune with his brandished steel, which smoked with bloody execution."

-V, saving a damsel in distress, Evey.

EVEY: Who -- Who are you?
V: Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both
victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere
veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished.
However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands
vivified, and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin
van-guarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious
violation of volition. The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held
as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one
day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise
of verbiage veers most verbose, so let me simply add that it is my very
good honor to meet you and you may call me V.
V: And you would be?
EVEY: Evey.
V: Of course.

- haha. that scene's funny.

EVEY: V, v, v, v, v.
V: I hear your summons, my lady. And obey.
EVEY: Oh, V, you scared me. I was reading the inscription. What is it?
V: A Latin quotation. A motto. "Vi veri veniversum vivus vici." "By the power of truth, I, while living, have conquered the universe."
EVEY: Yes, I suppose you have. This place is the only universe I have right now.
V: Does that bother you?
EVEY: I don't know. I'm so grateful to you -- I just feel I should help you, you know, the way you're helping me. I mean, that's the deal, isn't it?
V: No deals, Evey. Not unless you want them.
EVEY: I think I do. Part of me wants to stay here forever and never have to face what's going on outside. But that's not right. Is it? That's not taking responsibility. Not conquering my universe. I want to help you.
V: I want to do something. Can we make a deal? Yes. I think we can make a deal if you like. I think I know a way you could help me very soon indeed.
EVEY: Good. That's that, then. V, you said that Latin thing was a quote. Who said it?
V: Nobody you'd have heard of. A German gentleman named Dr. John Faust. He made a deal too.

- V and Evey in V's lair

I was born in a rainy burg in Nottingham in 1975. I passed my eleven plus and went to girl's grammar. I met my first girlfriend at school. Her name was Sara. Her wrists. Her wrists were beautiful. I sat in biology class staring at the pickled rabbit fetus while Mr. Herd said it was an adolescent phase that people outgrew. Sara did. I didn't. In 1994, I stopped pretending and took a girl called Christine home to meet my parents. A week later I moved to London to go to college and study drama. My mother said I broke her heart. But it was my integrity that was important. Is that so selfish? It sells for so little but it's all we have left in this place...
It is the very last inch of us...

But within that inch we are free.

London. I was happy in London. I played Dandini in Cinderella. The world was strange and rustling with invisible crowds behind the hot lights and all that breathless glamour. Work improved. I got small film roles, then bigger ones. In 2006, I starred in "The Salt Flats." That's where I met Ruth. We fell in love. Every Valentine's Day she sent me roses and, oh god, we had so much. Those were the best three years of my life. In 2010, they came. And after that there were no more roses...
Not for anybody.

After the takeover, they started rounding up the gays. They took Ruth while she was out looking for food. Why are they so frightened of us? They burned her face with cigarettes and made her give them my name. She signed a statement saying I'd seduced her. I didn't blame her. God, I loved her but I didn't blame her. But she did. She killed herself in her cell. She couldn't live with betraying me, with giving up that last inch. Oh, Ruth. They came for me. They shaved off my hair. They held my head down a toilet and told lesbian jokes. They brought me here and pumped me full of chemicals. I can't feel my tongue. I can't speak. It is strange that my life should end in such a terrible place but for three years I had roses and apologized to nobody.
I shall die here. Every inch of me shall perish...

Except one.

An inch. It is small and fragile and it's the only thing in the world that's worth having. We must never lose it or sell it or give it away. We must never let them take it from us. I don't know who you are but I hope you escape this place. I hope that the world turns and things get better and that one day people have roses again. I don't know who you are but I love you. I love you.

- Valerie's story

V: Welcome home, Evey.
EVEY: You. You did this... to me. You did this to me! You -- You hit me and -- and cut my hair. It was you. It was just you all this time. You tortured me. You tortured me -- Oh god, why?
V: Because I love you, Evey. Because I wanted to set you free.
EVEY: Love? Set me free? Don't you realize? Don't you realize what you did to me? You nearly drove me mad! I hate you. I hate you! Set me free? You put me in a prison to set me free?!
V: You were already in a prison. You've been in a prison all your life.
EVEY: Shut up! I don't want to hear it. I wasn't in a prison. I was happy! I was happy here --
V: Happiness is the most insidious prison of all, Evey.
EVEY: That's warped! That's evil and it's wrong! What gives you the right to judge? Who are you to say what's not good enough?!
V: You were born in a prison, Evey. I didn't put you there. I just showed you the bars. You've been in a prison so long, you no longer believe there's an outside world.
EVEY: Shut up! You're mad! I don't want to hear it!
V: That's because you're afraid, Evey. You're afraid because you can feel freedom closing in on you. You're afraid because freedom is terrifying.
EVEY: I can't feel anything! There's nothing left to feel! Don't you understand?
V: Don't back away from it, Evey. Part of you understands the truth even as part pretends not to. Woman, this is the most important moment in your life. Don't run from it.

- the "Revelation" as I like to call it. Hehe. Or the Liberation of Evey. Either way, it rocks.

haven't seen the movie yet? Do yourself a favor, and do.

Sanamagan!

I knew today wasn't just going to be my day when:

1. I woke up with a throbbing tootache and one hell of a nausea.

2. I found out the food I prepared for my Mamuy to take was left in the refrigerator, waiting for somebody to rescue it from leftover hell.

3. Even the note I left on the table (you know, the one telling her that I've cooked food for her and even included extras so she should just help herself and eat before she leaves 'coz I don't want her getting hungry while she's at work 'coz I love her so much?) was left unread.

4. On my way to the job interview (yes, improbable as it may seem, I had one!) the sole on my right shoe came undone. So I had to walk a little more careful or it might totally come off.

5. I was late as a result.

6. And because I was late, I was called last to be interviewed. Now, this would've been just fine by me, but when the airconditioning was at full-blast like it wanted to produce snow, I knew that I just had to tolerate all that numbness, shivering, and chattering of my teeth till the interview's over.

7. Right after the lunch break, (the battery of tests were stopped so that everyone could eat) I got a case of mild diarrhea, (from eating at that cheap, Cost-U-Less canteen) and had to rush inside the bathroom to take a dump. Thankfully, the bathroom was clean, had toilet paper, and had the soap dispenser full.

And the best of the worst things why I knew it wasn't going to be my day? (No, it wasn't the diarrhea)

7. I actually passed that interview that begs the question: why do you want to apply in a call center when the course you've finished is Physical Therapy? It turned out so well that the interviewer was so impressed with me he even gave me a chance when I didn't passed the listening exam (for the 2nd time!), and allowed me to take it for a third time.

Well, you ask, how does that translate into how I knew it was going to be "one of those days?"

Well, obviously, when your day isn't going that good, and suddenly something good happens, you know for a fact that you're fucked.

And like clockwork, calamity strikes when it's supposed to strike -- at the last hurdle of the job interview.

8. So there I was, sitting anxiously, waiting for the simulation call, (I've just passed all those grammar tests, iq tests, typing tests, and listening tests, all with flying colors; well with the exception for the last one) when the phone rang. So I pressed that button that they said I should press when the call comes in, delivered the spiel that was given in the manual, and spoke really well, until the "pretend" customer gave the reason why she was calling.

Now, understand, though I expected that the reason why the simulation call was done was to test the applicants on their ability to handle stress and pressure, I wasn't prepared for how I would actually react once the call was made. (I haven't really handled calls like that for long, so I really didn't know how I could've handled it properly. In fact, I haven't handled any calls like that since -- ever) I panicked, stammered, and basically made a fool out of myself.

So naturally, the one who tested me on that simulation call told me I don't have what it takes to be "one of them" yet. (she didn't really tell me in those exact words, but you know me, ever the sensitive guy, it just had to be EXACTLY what she meant) I persisted and asked to retake that simulation test, but she told me: sorry, but we don't do that. I even wanted to go so far as to pose an argument in my defense, but she never gave me that chance to cut in and speak as she just kept speaking and telling me that I should just wait till Monday, and that they'll probably call me if there's no one else left they could possibly hire, that I should just hope and cross my fingers and hope that one of the applicants have an accident, or contract some deadly disease out of South Africa, or God forbid, die, (don't raise your eyebrows! of course she didn't really tell me, again, in those same words. But you know me, guy with the ever active imagination...) and promptly stood up, indicating that her "precious time" talking to me, was up.

I kept smiling, all the way out of the building, and kept asking myself: Why? Why? Why did I put myself again in such a situation wherein somebody will try and tell me I'm no good? Why would I get my lazy butt off my most comfortable bed, forego that maddening urge to start writing my "dream screenplay" (which had been nagging me for days), and waste my whole day on a job search I know I'll never get anyway. (when has fate smiled on me on this one?) (laughed maybe. even sniggered maybe. or cackled. or stomped its feet, rolled on the floor, wept in such mirth it fell dead once it stopped)

And the simple answer to that one is:

I wanted to measure up to Mamuy. I wanted to be other than what I am. A bum. And a house-husband. I wanted to give it a shot and never think back for a moment and say: what-if?

The larger part of the scheme, and what really gets me, is that even our cat agrees that what happened to me was exactly what I deserved.

As soon as I arrived, feeling all gloomy and trying to be upbeat anyway, I picked up Ming-ming, (yeah, we named him the most original name we could think of) put him on the table, and played the "asking game" with him. Now, if you've watched "A Very Long Engagement," you'd know what I mean, and if you're one of the millions who didn't, well here's how it goes. The "player" asks a question he or she would like to have an answer to, and poses a situation that might or might not happen, and say: if this happens, this is what'll be the answer to my question. Like: if she really loves me, the sky would fall down, the earth would shake, and the kingdom, would come!

Well, me and Mamuy sort of developed a deviation to this kind of "silly" game. (what am I saying? of course it's silly! it's a game seeking an answer to a question based on stupid things happening! of course it's silly. and fun. you should try it) Instead of posing a situation that might or might not happen, we just ask Ming-ming the question, and if he thinks the aswer to the question is yes, he'll bite our hands. (and boy, does this cat love to bite!) And if he really thinks the answer is an emphatic NO, he'll look at you and give you a stare that says: would you really wanna know, punk?

So I played the "asking game" with Ming-ming and asked him if I should still hope that I'll be getting a call-back this Monday, when he turned his back on me, twisted his head to one side, and gave me a squinting look that said: (well, just ride on with me, hypothetically, I heard him say it) What? After all that piece you said knowing how fate fucks up your life, how you knew it wasn't your day, how you even felt the interviewer told you: it's either an applicant dead or none, how could you expect me to answer that truthfully, say yes, and still be the cutest, darndest cat I can ever be? No sir. No siree. Ming-ming is not a cat to trifle with the mysteries of life. You're on your own with this one, P-U-N-K-!

Well, gee, who am I to argue with a cat, who does nothing all day but sleep, lounge, eat, pee and shit under our cabinet with nothing but the pitch that: Humans don't own cats, cats own humans? Well, I'm certainly not the one to try.

So I decided to just continue with the list of why this day is NOT my day.

9. I switched on the light in our room and -- nothing. The damn guys living in the other room where the cicuit breaker for the lights was located, had again switched it off.

10. The money I'm supposed to win in the Lotto, still hasn't arrived...

11. The board exam I'm supposed to pass, still hasn't been given...

12. The publisher who's going to make me a best-selling author, hasn't been born...

13. And the God or fate (whichever the case may be) who'll finally take pity on me and give me a break, still hasn't stopped enjoying the "asking game" wherein they ask: what if we did this to Jao, or this, or that? Wouldn't it be so much fun to just watch him flounder and wonder why he gets all these kind of breaks?

Well, wouldn't I just be the luckiest guy there ever was if that ever happened, don't you think, PUNK? (Ouch! Ming-ming stop biting me! You're not the one I'm calling "punk." Seriously feline punk, you're not! Ow! Ow! Ow!)

Me, French Fries

To escape reality, we often drown ourselves in things that would help us get our minds off the "real world" for awhile. For shopaholics, it maybe a trip to the mall; for film buffs, a movie or two; for intellectuals, reading their favorite book; still for others, gimmicking and guzzling booze does the trick for them.

For me, and for many other "addicts" like me, gaming is the way. It has often been said that gaming (arcade, video, online, pc) accomplishes no other purpose than these two: entertain, and waste time.

For a long time, I depended on this "alternate" reality to sustain me. The pains and heartbreaks of my past have led me to the point that I subsisted only to play. I was more than a potato lounging on a couch, I was amoeba germinating, I was a rock gathering moss.

What is bad about gaming as another form of entertainment is that unlike sports, reading, or watching movies, gaming has little to contribute in the way of intellectual and spiritual growth. For the many years that I've been playing, I can only attribute two things positive that gaming has taught me: more coordination (for pressing x & y buttons alternately, simultaneously, extraneously, and any other way posible that can be) and lots of patience (try playing any of the FF series and you'll know what I mean). Other gamers may argue. But what about strategy or RTS games? Don't these games exercise your analytical thinking and decision-making in pressured situations? They may well do, but the case is, often, the only things they exercise are the ones on your arms and wrists as more often than not, average gamers who play these games resort to pre-developed tactics by other "much better" players and do not really develop strategies of their own. These games also have a saturation rate on the amount of strategies that can be developed and learned, and when thus reached, stops being a thinking game but becomes an exercise in futility.

Role-playing games for me are much better in the brain-exercise category. By saying role-playing, I'm referring to those RPGs that are played offline, those RPGs that have deep storylines and complex character developments (like the FF series) In these kind of games, gamers are forced to use their imagination (an activity most kids nowadays do not do). Text-base RPGs are even better in this category! People who play these games use their imagination, create their own characters, choose their own attributes, in short, gives them a life of their own. Creation is the key word here. To create something out of nothing, that is imagination.

Going back to what I'm saying, the reason this whole monolouge started was because I, who have been for so long using games as anesthesia for my pain, suddenly woke up one day and realized that I no longer need this same anesthesia to dull my senses.

I woke up one day to realize that this same anesthesia, though materially important in saving my life post-trauma, have cease being useful to me, and have in fact, become the opposite.

My life as a wandering swordsman and a black hole unfilled is over. I find no more use to be numb to everything around me. It is this precisely that has led me to reject any, and all sorts of subtitutes for the reality that is my LIFE.

What used to sustain me, now kept me from living my life fully. Fantasies, games, and dreams are all so well, so long as they do not encroach on your ability to live your life well and productively.

I've realized that there is more to life than "just living."

There's also living with yourself, and living with those you love that makes life what it is. These are two things similar and intertwined. You can't live with those you love if you can't live with yourself. (for what you've done in your past)

It took me this long, and Mamuy that much patience, for me to see the light.

That is why, though Fate and God conspire against us together, I will never let my Mamuy go.

It is more than just love that's keeping us. It is something which I think is greater than love but has no word to define it.

How have old couples remained married to each other all through those years? Was it simple love? Yes, undeniably, there was of course love. Was it mere patience? Yes, that too, cannot be denied was present in their relationship. Was it just forbearance? Reasonably, that would be included as well. But the sum of all these things: love, patience, forbearance, faith, trust, hope, or whatever...

That -- that is what I'm referring to that me and Mamuy have. The sum of all things that keeps couples together.

It is what has woken me to the truth.

That I am more than just a couch potato in the eyes of my beloved.

I am french fries with thousand island dressing on the sides.

And I resolve to upgrade to a combo meal in a little more time.

So next time you see me, be prepared to see the super-sized new me.

A little thin on regrets, with double helpings of hope for better things to come.

Self-helping Yourself

For a couple of days now, I have been on an overdrive mode. Writing, writing, and writing. My despair inflamed the writer in me, and ever since, I’ve been chugging out compositions after compositions. My mood hasn’t affected the tone of my articles as I’ve even been able to write funny anecdotes.

When I write something good, I instantly know if it is good ‘coz I really feel good about myself; at how I made that composition turn out. It’s like I have this internal editor in me egging me on when I make one good piece, and slamming me when I write a bad one.

My Mamuy and I have been talking about how I should go about fulfilling my dream to be a published writer. She said that all I had to do was believe in myself and everything would follow.

If it were only that easy.

We went to Powerbooks today and spent the afternoon there sitting at the coffee shop and reading/browsing some books. Actually, we went to the mall to meet my sisters, who texted me and told me that they’d be shopping there at Megamall and asked me if perhaps I’d like to meet them and at the same time, finally get the laptop I’ve been trying to borrow from them. The visit at Powerbooks was just a plus. (Ok, I’ll admit. It’s become routine for me to always visit Powerbooks whenever I go to Megamall)

I browsed some (actually, more than a few of them) self-help books on writing, and was frustrated to discover that Powerbooks doesn’t have anything that really had substance. I mean come on! Most of those books I saw were just of authors having an ego trip and boasting to readers how they got to were they where and all that. I only saw one book that really had some good advice, tips, and useful exercises which I could really make use of. And it was the cheapest lot of them!

I was frustrated ‘coz I wasn’t able to find a good screenwriting book. They only had two touching on that subject. Talk about being low on choices. And both of the books sucked! The one was locally published by a local author, written in Filipino, and the other one by an international shyster. (the locally published book was better than the internationally published one) I was pissed ‘coz they usually call them self-help or DIY books ‘coz their main purpose is to let the reader teach themselves! But how can you do that when all the book does is give motherhood statements, stories of successful people doing this and that, and telling readers commonsense stuff that really, they don’t need to be told, (like: hey you, to be a good fiction writer you need a good plot, strong characters, and memorable dialogues. I mean, c’mon mamon! What writer wouldn’t already know that?) and failing on the stuff that self-help books should give, which are: how to do it, how best to do it, what are examples of this stuff, and finally, a few exercises to get the reader going. Talk about pretentiousness.

Self-help books are a dime a dozen in the US, but only few have the quality enough to be really called “self-help.” For example, have you experienced that frustration when you bought a self-help book only to find out that the only persons helped by that book are the authors themselves? Yeah, they’re self-helping themselves to your money!

Well, I certainly felt like that when I read this book. (title was: PC Annoyances: How to kick them out of your lives forever; or something to that effect) The book had all the right PC annoyances identified. The problem was on the solutions they gave. Every one of them asked the reader to buy (or download) some 3^rd-party software which in one way or another, they’re bound to benefit from. Most of the software can be downloaded from their site, or if it was freeware or shareware, was ad-supported through them. The low-life bastards!

Well, anyway, I brought that precious find (entitled: The Word at Work) at the cashier and paid for it. I’ve read most of its contents back at the coffee shop, and had no fear that the book was a wrong purchase. I’ve already known (from browsing it) that it had what I was looking for, and I wasn’t disappointed when I came home and read it fully. Boy, and that book wasn’t even a quarter of the pages of those other pretentious books I saw, and thrice cheaper, too!

So a word of wisdom for people planning to buy one of them how-to, self-help, DIY books: Never buy one which you’ve never browsed beforehand. Go to bookstores that allow customers to read a few pages, or even better, one that actually allows you to read the whole thing! Powerbooks is one such bookstore. I don’t know about Fully Booked. Haven’t been there yet. The bookstore turns me off because from just passing by it, I get the impression that all their books are very pricey. Goodwill Bookstore and Book Sale are good places to get a really good bargain if you’re being thrifty. Though they don’t allow full-time reading, (like you reading the entire book) they do allow casual reading. As for National Bookstore, it depends on what branch you’re visiting. Some branches would allow you to rip-off the plastic (for those books that are wrapped up) and see what’s inside, while others wouldn’t. It usually depends on the kind of manager they have on that branch. Others understand that you’re the kind of customer who just wants to make sure you’re getting a good deal for your money, while others are so stuck-up the only thing they see is the rule book which says: No opening of packages please.

Bookstore owners should see it from the buyer’s point of view. You’re interested in this book they have on display. You’ve read what’s written at the back of it, and it sounded good. You want to see a full itemized list of what’s really inside the book as the book is kind of expensive (most of those wrapped-up books have prices ranging from Php700 up). You ask the saleslady or the person at the customer service counter if you could unwrap the book to see what’s inside. They look coldly at you, act all high and mighty and point at the sign which says: no personal reading please. You appeal to them that you’re not gonna read the whole thing (for Christ sakes, its hardbound, and more than a couple of hundred pages!) and just wanted to see the table of contents. They look at you like you’re some imbecile and smile condescendingly at you and say: sorry sir, pero bawal talaga eh.

Fine. Pakisabi na lang sa boss nyo na wala syang mabebentang libro sa ganyang paraan.

Wanna know what book I was trying to buy? A medical one! And all I wanted to do was see the table of contents (to make sure the topics I need to study are in the book) and see if the pictures and drawings in the book are adequate and clear enough for me to study! Buying a medical book is a considerable investment. It’s not like you’re just buying some romance novel at 50 or 100 pesos a pop. Medical books have prices starting from 1,000 and going up. I’d be fool enough to depend upon the writing at the back of the book, which I’m sure is self-serving anyway (considering it was the book’s own publishers who put it there in the first place), to be assured that my money would be well-spent.

I mean, I can’t get it while some bookstore owners do not realize that they won’t be losing money if they allow customers some personal reading. That’s even good as you’re making them addicted at reading. Yeah, I accept that most Filipinos are free-riders, and given the chance at buying or reading for free, most would choose the latter. But they have to understand that most of the buying-type customers aren’t the free-riding type. They have to realize that most of the buying-type customers are well-to-do and doesn’t really care if they’ve already read the book, (I for one still buy books which I’ve already read for the simple fact that I don’t own one yet) but only care about acquiring a book which they’ve really liked reading, and would want to read again and again. It’s not having read it already. It’s re-reading it that makes it for good buying. You see, those free-rider types aren’t the buying type. Whether they’re able to read the book or not, they’ll never buy it ‘coz: they’re free-riders for Christ sakes! Either they’ll just wait for a friend to buy one, or wait for an online copy of that book to proliferate.

Powerbooks is a good example. It has become a virtual haven for free-riding readers. But do you see them losing money? On the contrary, their business is even growing! They know that those free-riders, would sooner or later, get so addicted at reading, they’d become more than just mere book readers. They’d become book lovers. And those would become their most loyal customers.

A short differentiation between the two:

A book reader is one who reads a book for the simple sake of reading it. After finishing, the person puts the book away, throws it out, or gives it to someone else; in short, he doesn’t care what happens to the book next. He only wanted what was inside.

Book readers NEVER buy expensive books. Unless they’re ones needed in school, or in their jobs.

A book lover is someone who reads a book for the joy of it. After finishing, he carefully puts the book on his bookshelf, along with his other “favorites.” Some even wrap the book in plastic so as not to have their covers torn. He wanted not only what was inside, but the book itself.

Book lovers don’t care about the price tag. As long as they like the book, they’ll buy it. (they may not have enough money for it, but they’ll save for it)

So among the two, whom would you want as customers: the spenders or the misers?

Well, that’s a no-brainer for me, if you ask me.