I spent the last few hours of my day popping bubble wraps. Why I did that, I really don’t know.

It started early: 10 PM of January 10. My niece came to my room, telling me I had a “phone call”.  And in our family’s vocabulary, “phone call” has become a code for something like “Hey, your cake’s ready. Come down now and act surprised, for the kids.” And so, just like last year and the year before that, I went down the stairs, pretending I didn’t know what was happening, looking for the phone.  And like people rejoicing over electricity going back on, they all shout in unison: “Surprise! Happy Birthday!”.

And then 2 hours later, I turn 21. And I am not surprised, at all.

I’ve actually been looking forward to being 21, almost as much as I dreaded turning 20. I hate those ages—10, 20, 30... It’s too precise, and too exact. It’s like sitting on a fence.

More than that, I’m looking forward to being taken seriously. Some smart ass stranger named Anonymous once said that age is just a number. Cute, and sometimes true. But in many cases, it has become more than that. It has become, say, an excuse to dump and to get dumped. You’re too young; you’re too old—as if they didn’t know from the very beginning.

At this point, I’m just grateful.  I thank all the people who remembered, all those who didn’t, all those who have been with me cheering me on. A shout-out goes to those whose greetings had me crying or lol-ing, though I never really “lol”: Ryder, for wishing me a “very faggy birthday”. You, dude, are a nincumpoop. Aris, for wishing me a “haba birdie”. Well, there’s still room for that. And Jake M., for wishing me wings to fly high, a vision to dream freely, a heart to love deeply and the spirit to embrace all the beauty in the world.

I’m excited of the possibilities.  I have so much to do, and to be. And there’s so much to enjoy.

Like popping bubble wraps, maybe?

Had I taken these photos 3 months later than I actually did, I would’ve called her Garie. And I would’ve told her upfront that she’s a better actor than most young actresses we have here right now. And I would’ve said the same thing about Jericho too, but he already knows that.

But this was on a September afternoon, before the show even premiered. And to me, she was simply Carmen, this actress from Malaysia only my Malaysian friends recognized.

Tonight marked the last episode for Kahit Isang Saglit, a soap opera in ABS-CBN starring Jericho Rosales, Carmen Soo, Christopher de Leon, Albert Martinez, and well, a bunch of other people. Having examined all of the show’s elements, I unapologetically say it is, by far, the best telenovela that has graced the tube in recent years.  Now, I am no soap opera freak and I actually have no good basis for comparison here. But it really does not take a genius to say which ones are good and which ones are piles of crap.  And in the Philippines, 80 percent of the time, it’s the latter. I must also admit that I didn’t watch the show religiously, but the few shows I did get to watch were enough for me to draw conclusions.

So what did I like about it, anyway? For starters, it had Jericho with Christopher and Albert—all of whom starred in films which have made it to my “Favorite Filipino Films of All Time” list. And it was nice seeing Isabel Rivas again on screen.  Carmen Soo is awesome in her crying scenes. Not that she isn’t when she’s not crying. Just that her crying scenes and mad scenes are so good I forget about her being sober.

I, too, am a huge fan of 24 (which, by the way, is coming back real soon). So any show that attempts to do a 24, or at least come up with a story that’s very Jack Bauer-y, usually interests me.  Now some shows, such as Lupin, Codename: Asero and Palos, tried doing it. But their attempts, though brave, verged on pathetic.  Saglit, though infused with a lot more drama and romance than 24, does have a well thought-of storyline reminiscent of the US show.  What sets this apart from the other soaps is the absence of bizarre events—the villain burning down in flames, or the protagonist getting jailed for the nth time after having been caught in a crime scene and for some reason thought holding the gun was a brilliant idea. Here, people die because of two things: guns and diseases. No freaky circumstances whatsoever.

Saglit simply does not underestimate the thinking power of the Filipino viewer (and Malaysian and Singaporean).  It tries not to insult his intelligence.  It deviates from formula yet seeks to keep the melodrama (a must) that has long tickled the Filipino’s fancy.  Visually, it border s on excellent as well. I may be biased, as the show’s cinematographer is my professor.  But fuck it, I liked it. (Now where’s my A, sir?)

As mentioned, the show will premiere on Malaysian and Singaporean television soon.  Kris Aquino put it quite succinctly actually—and I can’t believe I’m agreeing with her—Kahit Isang Saglit made us learn about two cultures, and could in fact be a visual representation of the Asian psyche.

I hope ABS-CBN comes up with more projects like this one. Never mind if it doesn’t rate. Hehe As long as it keeps people like me still in touch with Philippine television.

*While I’m on this, there’s another show I adore: Skins. Cinematography’s just brilliant! And I like Michelle and Effie. And Maxxie, of course. Haha

Photos by: Me (Notice they barely look at me? Haha This was Niccolo's shoot.)

TWO and a half days of no sleep, a strange e-mail, and a friend’s text message gave me the time and the impetus to start writing and shooting again.

The lack of sleep stemmed from a school production that lasted for more than a day, coupled with my already conked-out body clock.

The email had in its heading perhaps the most interesting “subject” I’ve received in a while: “You’re losing, it Jacques!”, it said. The sender was MySpace, telling me that because it’s been some time since I last logged, that makes me a non-active user, so they just might take away my myspace url (jacquespal) and give it to someone else. While I wonder who in the world would even want to use my name as their url, I really did not bother reading the rest of the mail. Dear MySpace, you had me at “You’re losing it, Jacques!”.  You disturb me.

And the text message. It was nothing inspirational, really.  It was a friend’s text at 3 am, reeking of alcohol and an awful sense of humor. Not exactly the kind of thrust I was hoping for, but well, it worked.  I realized that I had to do something with my life or else I’m gonna end up like my friend and prove the email right.  And I’m not losing it. I’m not losing me.

So here it goes—my new photo-blog, my “revamped” multiply site . I’m not a CSS genius so this is probably the best layout I can come up with. If any of you would want to help me out, then I’d really appreciate it. Everyone needs a makeover at some point. This is my face lift.

A train ride. A friend’s smile. A cat stuck in a tree. A beggar. A king. A man stuck inside a woman. A boy on a lazy Sunday. A couch. A slouch. As long as I keep moving, there always will be stories to tell, and images to capture.   As I write with highly charged emotions, my mind is flooded with old memories and novel fantasies; and all of a sudden, the panorama of the world around me unfolds. 

Like the waters of a flowing river, I now let my thoughts go free.

Motion Blur, Cubao, October 30, 2008

In Transit 1, Baseco, November 12, 2008

 (Header #1) : In Transit 2, MRT, June 12, 2008

JacquesAss: For easy browsing, I'll be storing all the photos in one album as well. :)

It’s Sunday yet again, which means I would have to do my second Sunday recap (Although too early to call, I think this is turning out to be a good thing as I get to take my lazy ass off bed and actually write something, no matter how silly.). As much as I would want to have another blog entry in between my Sunday entries, I hate to say that the past week has been pretty (read: very) busy.

So again, to round up the week, here are seven little things I’ve learned:

1. That I have emo hair (see photo below courtesy of StyleAnywhere). For weeks I have tried to ignore it, deny it, even condemn it.  But alas, it has come to a point where eight out of ten people take notice of my hair and say this three-letter word: EMO. I don’t know if it’s a bad thing, really.  But I think I like my hair. And 6 out of these 8 people like it too (or at least, they say they do).  So I learned that when one wants to grow his hair long, he has to go through emo stages.  And I am in that stage, level 2, thank you.

2. That Mog-wai is a pretty cool place.  I was there last Thursday for the screening of our Film 113 Finals and was amused by the number of artsy people there is in the metro. Man, even my hair wasn’t enough to make myself look artsy. Haha. I did have a camera around my neck though, but the number of shots I took of the event: One. Wow.

3. That Joey De Leon is confused, and maybe high? Do you read his column? Hey I get Pinoy masa jokes, alright. But what the ngok-ngak-fuck is he talking about? Even his column logo (Me Starzan) seems off. Sometimes I wonder, maybe Manila Bulletin fired him. Just a thought.  Or maybe I just hate him. And Willie Revillame.  And Cristy Fermin. (Wowowee, I couldn't get any more jologs than this.)

4. That I like High School Musical.  This too, like my hair, is a fairly recent liking I’m owning up to. In the advent of HSM 3, for instance, I was playing their CD (Yes, we have the soundtrack.) and realized I practically know their every track.  Thanks to the N million times my nieces asked me to watch the film with them (Both HSM 1 and 2).  And as the little girls did that “we’re-all-in-this-together” dance routine days ago, I learned that if my dancing were to be videotaped (which is hopefully, never), I’d be very much willing to do it as an extra for High School Musical. I don’t care if I’d have to stand atop the farthest cafeteria table, or stay way back among the bleachers.  Heck, I could probably even do my robot dance in the middle of the field. All I know is if my nieces see me on screen, I will be their hero.  Forever. They’ll tell their friends and their friends’ friends about it. Tito will be cooool.

5. That Nov. 1 in Manila is quiet and cold. It’s my first time this year to spend my undas here. A man named Nap Jamir (hey sir.) has deprived me of a real sembreak (which in my dictionary, means leaving Manila and going to Tacloban for the fiesta).  I also learned that October 31 would be a good time to chill with friends. Nothing is stirring.  Dawn is as close as any inhabited place gets to absolute stillness. No traffic, none at all.

6. That Catherine (or is it Katherine?) is such a dumbass. Of course, I learned about this not just this week. But I just have to write about it, even if I have seen only a few episodes. (I learn from the maids; sometimes they’re the better storytellers. ) If you too have jologs blood in you, then you’d know what I’m talking about.

7. That I do have friends and I love them.  This week I would particularly like to thank: Ian, Dan, Ice, Doc, Geric and Thea for watching the screening, Cadiz for listening, and Six Ways to Sunday Productions—you guys are oh-some.

“Everybody quieeet!!!!!” – My Anya’s favorite HSM line.

“There are Big ships..and there are Small ships, bust the best ship is Friendship.”

If you know this line by heart, then like me, you are one of the millions of Filipinos who take the MRT and suffer not just the agony of squeezing yourself in, but also having to listen to those endless radio ads.  I was heading to Makati today, and this Super Ferry ad  was playing nonstop. The guy was talking about the value of courtship, and friendship, and relationships—and related it to f-ing ships. Probably like you, I do not give a damn about ships. I don’t need inspirational quotes from Chowking.  I don’t need some voice telling me what to eat in the morning or worse, Ogie Alcasid inviting me to watch his anniversary concert.

What I'd really want is to get to where I have to be.  In peace. 

It’s not that I have to take the MRT everyday. My route to school fortunately does not involve buying tickets, lining up, and having to curse someone.  But I am a commuter. And I enjoy being one,.  My friends are bugging me to get a car.  Not only do I not have the money, I also shouldn’t drive.  I’ve had three stiches on my face for accidents in the past—that alone should tell me it’s not the right time. 

So while I take pleasure in being a commuter, I can only hope for the world to cooperate with me. Or I just might end up in Crapship, yeah.

Next station, Cubao station.

(A "real" entry the next time I'm online. Sorry, been busy folks.:D Congrats to Gibbs! )

I did a stupid thing yesterday.  Well, I probably do everyday, but this one was different.  This one was simply out of sheer idiocy.

I went to Cinemalaya in CCP to check out a friend’s work.  The show was scheduled to start at 9 PM. And I was there an hour and a half early.  That gave me ample time to grab a sandwich, sit down, and just stare at people’s faces. In some cases, they stare back. Ahh, love at first sight.  (Meanwhile, I was telling myself I should make a film and have it on the festival right after I graduate film school. Promise. )

I was in the lobby waiting for someone, anyone, really. Then came Boy Abunda, who sat beside me. And I went : “Hey Boy.” While munching on my sandwich. So it was probably more like “Hwey Bwoy”. This lady beside him, who was wearing something ethnic—almost like a banig wrapped around her— then looked at me for about five seconds, took the other empty chair beside me and whispered: “Hijo, you don’t just call him Boy.” Apparently, I had to call him “Tito Boy”. So I said, “We’re neighbors in the province, maam. Yet neither of my parents know him. Either he’s an illegitimate brother of theirs or he’s not my tito at all.” (Still munching on my sandwich.) Seriously, I wasn’t being an asshole at all. It just came out of my mouth.  

Silence. For about 5 minutes. Both of us doing a mental recap on what just happened.

And then trying to keep the conversation going, out of my crazy crazy mind, I blurted out: “So, say if I come to Cultural Center of the Philippines, wearing banig, does that make me cultured?”

She stood up and left me and my clubhouse sandwich all by ourselves. (But I so wasn’t referring to her! That was a hypothetical question, you know.) Oh, my filthy mouth. I fucking need a lip surgery.

(Sorry, I really can't write short descriptions of myself.  I think I've never had short "about me's" since I put up the account.)

Hello. My name is Jacques. And I am an addict.

It’s a name that even friends of ten years cannot pronounce so well.  My first friends were my cousin Darryl and his dog that could shoot water out of his nose at rapid speed.

I’ve been talking like a robot since I was like, 12. No one ever gets my games.   Everybody hates me now, so I’ve been spending most of my time disguised as a man named Boggart in order to plan my revenge.

I like to eat at all hours of the day, wildly, continuously, until I burst.   I like drinking coffee at 3 am. I enjoy tripping up mountains, through the forests and getting lost. Soon, I will backpack through Europe and then Africa. One day, I will burn down my underwear.  Not because I’m trying to make a statement or anything. I just think it would be fun.

I make weird noises with my throat so when I talk to people it usually makes for amazing conversations.  I cringe horribly when people put z’s on words that usually have s’s.  I have a feeling I’ll die by rupturing my eyeball.  I love my family so if you do anything bad to them, I’ll gut you like a fish.  I have the technology.  

Spontaneity is just big a virtue as reliability.  I will try anything once.  I tend to live my life unplanned, and maybe a bit unfocused.  I’m not the guy that gets up in the morning (or in my case, afternoon) and knows where his life will be in say, ten years.  I fear the moment that I will be set in my ways.  I like the constant feeling…the constant rush…the constant surge that is inside me.  

I try to keep things balanced—school, family, friends, God, work, me. But things are actually never really balanced and I love living in that moment.  That is when things get exciting.  That is when I get addicted to life.

(I've decided to come up with a new one so I'm storing this here.)

I don't want to ramble and go on about all the wonderful things I would like people to know about me.I hate trying to sound like an ad for a new car or something.Well, I suppose I could try and put into words all the things I am, or think I am, or hope I am, or try to be, or eventually want to become, or am working at becoming. There now I've done it. I've rambled.

I like the fact that I am amused by more than 50% of my life. I write lots of stories and throw them away so no one can read them. I like to know what I'm looking at when I look in the mirror... Really important. I spend too much money on food. I don't really cook but I can provide entertaining conversation during any meal.People seem to enjoy hearing the filthiest things that slip out of my mouth.

I love taking pictures of the moon. And sunsets.And trees! I love ruins and the beach. Being on, near, or in water.Im becoming a master of the Knock Knock jokes.Late-bloomer.Right. Tom Cruise is a %&*# lunatic. I once dreamed I was the internet. As a child, I contemplated running away from home one day and took a jar of White Rabbits for provisions. Before I die, I need to backpack through Europe.

I'm no social butterfly but I do have a small group of solid friends whom I have come to love and adore and would do anything for. Having friends around is probably one of the greatest feelings one can experience, with the exception of Samantha's 24-hour orgasm, or maybe, winning the lottery. Whatever. It's up there.

I think my entire persona can be summed up in the lyrics of my theme song when I was a 10 year old gangsta in the hood of Tacloban with my pimped out airwalk shoes and 2 lb CD player that was all the rage (no,silly,not really): Snoop Doggie daaaa-a-a-awg bow wow wow yippie yo yippie yay bow wow wow

There’s one thing I like about the summer heat and having to live in a tropical country.  It’s when the sun gets so hot that droplets of water form around mineral water bottles and mango shake glasses.  You could practically wash your hands just by holding them.  And in my case, it’s a hand sanitizer and hair gel rolled into one.

The “semi-break” I am having has allowed me to watch twice the number of movies I watched a week during non-summer days. That would also mean that I’m spending twice as much. 

Somebody should have warned me about Dancer in The Dark.  I’ve been watching too many sad movies lately.  This Bjork film was in no way, uplifting.  Maybe I would have preferred watching it on a bright sunny day, junk food and all.  But I am an insomniac and will probably watch anything that’s on at three in the morning.  Screw me.

I guess it’s too late for me to be talking about American Idol now that they’re down to three.  But what the heck, this is my blog. Miiiiiiiine.

I am not an Archuleta fan.  Too Disney. But not really. Disney kids are playful and sometimes, fun.  And this kid aint fun. He sings well, no doubt.  But every time he does, it’s as if he’s trying to remind you of issues like war, famine, and maybe… soil pollution.  Then by the song’s end, he'll give you that “But-the-world-is-still-wonderful-despite-these…” feeling.   David, God gave us Oprah to do just that.

Now that Michael Johns is gone. I am rooting for David Cook.  Carly Smithson would have rounded up my dream top three.

So today I went to the SM supermarket to grab some Del Monte and some bread.

Saleslady (smiling) : “Sir, may Advantage po ba kayo?” (That’s the Advantage card, for those who wouldn’t know.)

Me: (Jokingly) "Hmm…..No, Amy, I’m disadvantaged."

At this point she broke into wild laughter and was even hitting me playfully.  And I was thinking.. “Wow, she got my silly joke. She actually did…” And when she finally calmed down..

Saleslady: "Si sir talaga, o.  (silence) Umm Sir, meron kayong Advantage card?"

I don’t think she got it, nope.

I saw her again scuttling like a crook, making her fearful way, stealthy among the dirty dishes crusted with grease in the old sink. Bearing a morsel of food to her secret sons behind the drain board. 

She made four trips all in all, trying to lug around what she can in each trip.  And then suddenly, she stopped and looked at me.  At least it looked like she was looking at me.  So I stared back.  She must have wondered why I didn’t move this time.  Why I dropped my slipper.  I wondered too.

See, ten minutes ago, I killed that same creature.  That cockroach.  I was sure I saw white goo come out of her.  It was like the pest’s version of an epileptic attack, jerking and all.  I was positive. Or was I?

Here I am, few minutes later, staring right into her. Behind her is the very spot (now empty) where I last saw her.  I wonder, how did she pull that one off? Is she prepping up for another battle? Or is she telling me to just...give up?

There comes a time in everyone’s life when a person comes to accept some facts of life. Facts like, there are some things way beyond our control.  And that time does not heal all wounds.  And that situations, and feelings of hate, of love, of sadness, that you thought have long gone--like this creature--can resurface anytime.

And the fact that cats are not the only ones who bear nine lives.  Cockroaches just might do too. That, or they're just good actors.

So, shall I kill?

A few weeks ago, a friend tried searching for my Friendster account. First name: Jacques Last name: Palami. And three accounts came up, all of which were pretty much active. And so I checked them out, messaged the owners, and asked them to edit the profiles.  Because Gossip Girl is SO not my favorite TV show.

Sometimes, I would end up on other people’s pages with shout-outs that go like: “Die Posers! Die! Eww! You insecure bastards! This is my real account. Beware of my posers, guys.  Here’s the link à”    Actually, it’s usually much worse.  With bad grammar, bad punctuation, and sPeLLiNg dAt goEz lIke Dz. SERIOUSLY people, if you don’t want us to see the fake accounts then don’t give out the freaking links. 

Now if it were me, I would have launched an Invite My Posers campaign.  These people   apparently have way too much time to kill to actually pretend to be me, a nobody.  So the least that I could have done was recognize their efforts.  (Yes, much of an effort is required to create a profile, grab my photos, and maintain that account.)  Too bad the owners shut down the accounts the moment they got my friendly message. 

So now that my posers have gone (and are hopefully spending less time online), allow me to list down other networking concerns that I certainly would not hope to encounter ever again:

1. People asking: “DO YOU LIKE ME?” on my comments section.  With two photos of themselves flashing, and YES or NO options right below.  Chances are, I don’t.  But I’m too lazy to click on “No”.

    2.   Lousy GIF’s of people thanking me for visiting their page.

3. Profiles that take way too much time to open because the background photo is that of the owner—you know, that one where the photo occupies my whole screen.  How….self-indulgent.

    4.  Photos of animated cats, dogs, babies that try to be Hallmark-y with their “I miss

         you” messages, but are actually not.

5. And lastly, people who put on their profiles: “People think I’m a snob.” and/or “People get intimidated by me, I don’t know why”.  The former, I can accept if followed by a logical explanation.  The latter is just downright silly.

God Bless The Posers. Buona Notte.

So my ex-professor called me up today and asked me if I had anything to add to her book--a collection of poems, essays, etc. She went:

-----

"Email me. Anything you think is worth reading."                                                      

"Nothing I write is worth reading. I cant write about politics or the economy. Hell, I write about pee (urine) and the one time I saw a stapler in the fridge.  How can that be worth-reading? Haha"

"To pee is a part of life.  Everybody pees. Some people might want to know how YOU pee..."

"I don't want people to know my peeing strategies.  It's a secret how I can pee like crazy and not have a drop on the toilet seat."

"Wala akong pakialam sa peeing techniques mo.  Just go, write about something."

"How about you read my blog first? It's in multiply."

(She goes online and checks out my page--some entries are restricted to contacts.)

"A multiply blog? Jesus. Go create a blogspot or something."

(and then the line was cut...)

------

SO.....Should I ditch Multiply? What's wrong with Multiply? Would blogspot be as user-friendly? (Quite obviously, im not so savvy in layout-ing. I dont even know how to post videos around here.) Are there options as to "who can view my site"? And while you're at it, what would be a good name?

I am writing this at 4 in the morning, because I need to reach towards the outside world of sanity, because I am overwhelmed by the sheer weight of the work still to be done, and because at this hour of the morning normal people are busy sleeping.

Today was a day to remember.  A day that ran a gamut.  A day that provided a spectrum of experiences.

But where do I start?  Do I talk about the road mishap?  Do I talk about making new friends? Do I talk about the art of crying? Do I talk about Angel Locsin? or Von Arroyo? And so I begin to stagger under an inundation of thoughts:

There’s Katherine from school, bowed and cowed, who labors through the halls as overloaded as a pack mule, thriving on discomfort and overwork, compulsively following all directions from her org-mates, a willing martyr to the system.  The frightening thing, is her unquestioning acceptance of whatever is taught to her by anyone.   This has nothing to do with rebellion against authority; she rebels, all right.  But it doesn’t occur to her to think.  She sat beside me today.  And she cried.

(_FastForward x20)

I got into a cab accident on my way home.  But I am alive and well.  I wonder if this is a life worth protecting.

(_Rewind x8)

Von Arroyo sat a few tables away from me.  I didn’t know his name.  Aiko Melendez and Doug Kramer were behind me.  They didn’t know my name.  But we all saw the same thing tonight—talent.  Pure talent.  Wonder, and head to Masas Greenbelt 2 next Wednesday to know what I mean.  

(_Rewind x20)

On my way to Makati, I saw an ad showing Angel Locsin dreaming, wishing, of many random things.  “Gusto ko….”, “Gusto ko….”.  And then I realize how many “gusto ko’s” I currently have.  I seem to be doing a lot—a bit of writing, a bit of photography, a bit of filmmaking, a bit of singing, a bit of teaching.  But in the end, they are what they are: just bits.  Snippets of things that I strongly desire.  I feel lost and a little absurd—as if I were tilting at windmills which aren’t there.  Maybe someday I would have to let go of one.  While some people who drank Promil as a kid can balance everything, I for one would not be able to do so. 

But a good friend told me tonight to trust myself.  And doing so would help me rise above where I am right now.  That getting out of a road accident unscathed should tell me that I am to make most of what I have.  My friend’s name is not Dr. Phil.  He just happens to know a great deal of things.

And he’s probably right.  Because after all, all I really want—yes, like Angel Locsin—is to be complete.