Alaric Yuson: I'm not really
sure how to answer this...
Kripotkin by Alfred A. Yuson
The Philippine Star, April 05
I finally spotted the guy with the inverted South Africa cap that he’s worn
even in his sleep for the last three years, or since I performed rap poetry in
Jo-burg and Durban and came home with it. It’s to keep his voluminous hair in
place, even when it’s tied up in a ponytail. I knew better than to tell him of
my hope that he’d leave the cap on his seat when he climbed onstage for the
diploma hand-off from beloved Fr. Ben.
would be a moment of great import, a breakthrough. It would be the first
college diploma to adorn a wall at home, since his old man never got one, and
an older bro of his turned out to be another feckless artist who had also
sought diploma-tic immunity.
took his picture as the clear-out alarm sounded: Alaric Riam M. Yuson by the
sign that read Bachelor of Arts, Major in Philosophy: Pre-Divinity Track. Oops,
we were one sign off, but it made for a funnier pic.
This is the guy who wrote a book I'm currently reading. For some reason I just found the way he wrote about his son really endearing. :)
She can already see it happening, five years from now.
She will wake up at quarter past three in the morning when he finally gets home and collapses into bed, reeking of alcohol and smoke and a myriad of other smells that she does not even want to know where he got from. She will irately more than worriedly ask where he had been but will stop before she even gets the third word out because she knows that it’s useless anyway, while he will try to mutter an answer that not even an Icelandic translator will be able to understand.
She will try to tell herself again that men are just so – they drink and get drunk and do many stupid things, screw her teenage dreams of a prince who adheres to Straight Edge. He will say something about fixing things in the morning before completely passing out, and she won’t know whether she feels more furious about his eternal childishness or sorry for herself that she is in this situation. The absence of that golden band in her fourth finger will just mockingly remind her that it’s all her fault anyway because she answered no to the wrong person, yes to the wrong question and she threw away the wrong ring.
She will try to go back to sleep and ignore everything to oblivion, but she won’t be able to because she knows that no matter what he says, things never get better in the morning anyway. She will think about all the friends she can run to at three in the morning just so she doesn’t feel so alone and frustrated, but she will be too proud to want their pity. And because she won’t know what else to do, she will grab the phone and dial his brother’s number even though she knows that she shouldn’t really be doing this again.
His brother will bolt awake when he hears her on the phone and he will know that things have gone wrong again. But with a piercing feeling in his chest he will slowly tell her that no, he cannot come over and make things fine because he can’t be that anymore. His brother will curse when he hears that distinct beep of an ended call, asking why it always has to end up like this, with him having to choose between her and his brother, and him always having to choose the later because brotherhood is much more than the same blood running in two men’s veins.
She will throw the phone away in even greater frustration and hate herself for not even knowing how her life became like this. She would not know where to go but she knows that she just can’t be there on that same bed, that same room, that same house as the drunken mess whose last name she now uses. So at three thirty in the morning she will take her keys and drive away somewhere, anywhere, anyfuckingwhere - just not there.
And when his brother finally finds her parked in a random street somewhere the next morning, they will look at each other and neither of them will know what to say.
She can already see it happening, five years from now.
So when he asks her if she wants to go see a movie this weekend, she tells him that she can’t.
Follow your dreams but beware of the illusions
You won't feel the void in your heart with the bank statement and the car
What is it worth, what is it worth, have you given up on freedom You spent your life working for keys to set you free when you were free all along
You know why it's emotionally draining to write something like Red River? It's because everything has to be so fucking literary. Like, You can't go in there and just say "A guy is playing the piano." You have to come up with shit like "...fingers skimming over the tapered rows of coal and ivory like a storm over Mont St-Ambriere."
The gym will be your play pen and grapplers will be your play mates and triangle will be your favourite shape. And when you grow older people will come to you and say that your father is a great man. :)
Okay call me condescending or judgmental or any other evil thing but there's a part of me that's irked whenever I see banners congratulating people for graduating from UP Diliman or facebook pages that declare someone's school as UP Diliman when I know for a fact that they went to UP Clark and have never even spent one semester at Diliman.
I mean, dude. The American Chamber of Commerce in the Philippines and the American Chamber of Commerce are related but they're not the same. Was Rob Sears ever introduced as Executive Director of the American Chamber of Commerce? No, he was always introduced as Executive Director of the American Chamber of Commerce in the Philippines. NBA D-league is related to NBA, but it's not NBA. Are NBA D-league games advertised as NBA games? No. NBA D-League games are advertised as NBA D-League games, and you can sue off Mark Cuban's ass if he sold NBA D-League game tickets as NBA game tickets.
In the same way, UP Diliman Extension Program in Pampanga is not UP Diliman. So I don't know why you have to omit the three freakin letters 'EPP' if you want to use 'UP Diliman' instead of UP Clark.
Because the fact is, anyone who did not go to whatever school is in discussion has no business claiming that they're from that school. Like, I did not go to UP Manila, I did not go to Lele Magtindang Babi Univeristy and I did not go to Stanford so I have no business declaring that I am affiliated with UPM or LMBU or Stanford. You did not go to UP Diliman so you have no business saying that you studied in UP Diliman. It's that simple.
And honestly, I'm so sorry but a banner or a facebook page stating that you're from UP Diliman does not make you a UP Diliman student. Whatever merit you think you're getting by declaring yourself a UP Diliman student, I'm telling you, you're not getting it at all. Please. The only person you're duping is yourself.
Because honestly I don't understand why I'm getting flak for something that I should have complete creative control over as a writer. Because after twelve years of writing for other people I've reached that point in my life where I choose to write for myself first and foremost. You can hop in and enjoy the ride if you want to or get the hell out if you don't.
This is the most ambitious thing I've ever written. It's supposed to be dark, it's supposed to be esoteric, it's supposed to test my limits. And that's exactly what it's doing. I'm happy with the final result and no amount of whining from other people will make me change what I wrote.
So gahd stop saying that you're not pleased or it's graphic or it's horrific or it's disturbing or I'm cruel and insensitive or 'please change how it ends' because I don't care what you think.
And lol at everyone who said that what happened 'isn't meant to be part of this at all'. Fuck you, who the heck are you to know what's 'meant' to be part of it or not? Do you write it? No you don't, because I do.
Ranting about Pinky stuff in my personal blog so that I get to say this while the people who read Pinky never get to read this. Sorry to my personal friends who get to read this. :P
that you may now add 'can give the scientific names of all 27 recognized species of cobras' in the list of my special but probably useless abilities. :)
How did I end up memorizing scientific names of cobras?
Well when I saw this girl I thought she was so pretty that I just had to follow a link discussing her. She as well as her picture is owned by Peter Pastor of Slovakia lest I be accused of stealing photos. The link led to a venomous snake forum run by 'herpetoculturists' and academics who refer to cobras with their scientific names so no one gets confused over local/popular names. I spent about a day in that forum and tata!
I also learned that the king cobra is not a real cobra... and that there is a country somewhere called Burkina Faso where there are a lot of cobras. :)
ER experience No. 1: While being injected with meds
Guy Nurse: So san ka nag high school? You look really familiar, baka naging school mates tayo.
Me: No I don't think so.
ER experience No. 2: While waiting for the doctor to prescribe meds
Girl Nurse: Kailan ang unang patak ng huling period mo?
Me, inwardly: Kailangan talaga 'unang patak?' Malay ko kung Friday night 11pm or Saturday morning 1am. For the record it's not like I just sit somewhere and wait for it.
ER experience No. 2: While waiting for the meds to be injected
Fat Guy Nurse: I-iinject yung gamot ha?
Me: Okay, sa vein nalang sa side ng wrist.
Fat Guy Nurse: Hindi, hanap tayo ng mas magandang ugat. (Settles for vein at the back of my hand. Inserts needle, figures out he did it wrong, pulls out needle. Inserts it again, still doesn't like how it looks, pulls out again. Inserts needle one more time, even worse than before, pulls out yet again.) Ang liit ng ugat mo.
Me: Get away from me.