T.R.A.I.N.

In my Psychology 101 class, we were assigned to bring an item that reminds us of our childhoods. Meeting time came and I had nothing to show, but fortunately, my seatmate had brought a book, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, the UK edition with the cover showing Harry and the Hogwarts Express. In an inspired fit, I thickened my face and asked to borrow her book right after she finished as it was my turn next. Having made the prior confession to the class bashfully, by way of introduction, that since I live in Bicol and stayed in a dormitory, I couldn’t afford to lug around stuff purely out of sentimental value, I then began to talk about the train on the cover. (I hoped the class would appreciate the joke and my clutch whimsy, as I’m really proud of pulling that one off.)

I told them that a train set was the first toy I ever loved. As birthdays and holidays rolled around, I would invariably ask for another train set on my wish list. In my grandparents’ house, nestled among the encyclopedia volume collection, was a book dedicated to mass transport, and the section on trains was the one I pored over most. I marveled at the sheer length of the trains in the pictures and daydreamed of riding the Japanese bullet train. To wrap up, I rather wistfully said to the class that now I couldn’t help riding the MRT and LRTs without a tinge of nostalgia, lamenting the state of mass transport in Metro Manila and the collision of reality into boyhood fantasies.

However, I had neglected to narrate to them the most meaningful detail, and this I still very much regret and now seek to assuage somewhat by writing it down. That same grandparents’ house was my father’s family home—along the riles. When we were packed off there for the weekend, one of my favorite parts was hearing the authoritative blast of the horn pierce the air, and the staccato rumbling on the tracks growing nearer and nearer. My sisters and I would rush out, and with almost deep reverence, carefully keeping our distance, watch the length of that great steel beast lumber along. I knew even then that these trains were Japanese hand-me-downs, of post–World War II to pre–Martial Law provenance, but their patina of reliability was undiminished.

The Bicol Express was also my maternal grandparents’ favored mode of transportation, whenever we would venture out into Metro Manila. How pleasing it was, to sit there on the train knowing the risk of a traffic accident had been minimized, knowing we could not but get to our destination, counting down the hours, counting on the train to get us there like clockwork. Standing in the city streets, the LRT’s flickering window lights was as glamorous to me as the flash of high-rises and neon.

The last long-distance train trip I took was in December 2011. Mama took us kids on a Christmas vacation to Manila, while Papa opted to stay behind. On the trip back home to Bicol, our train stopped dead in its tracks. We could hear the conductors shouting instructions to each other, all the while conversing about how the man must have been stone-cold drunk to be lying on the tracks like that. They said he had lost his head, sliced off cleanly on the rail. Though delayed, we got home safely. Papa was just as happy to see us back as we were to see him again. He had missed us, though he wouldn’t say it; he had not joined us out of a tantrum, because he and Mama had fought before we left.

Less than two months later, on 9 January 2012, Papa decided against taking his motorcycle to work on account of the rain and because he knew that he would be drinking at a friend’s birthday party. Papa was a cheap date, and when he was positively tipsy, his police officer friend insisted on hitching him to the back of the police officer’s motorcycle to take him home from the provincial capitol, where Papa worked as a sheriff for the regional trial court. Even when he had imbibed, Papa was always a careful driver: sometimes he would pull over at a waiting shed or under a tree on the side of the road to doze off the hangover. But on that day, Papa was the back-rider who got thrown off the motorcycle and ran over by a bus in a freak accident on the national highway, only two hundred meters away from our house. The regional trial court recently dismissed our civil claim for damages against the bus company and the motion for reconsideration, more than seven years to the day. In the course of that protracted litigation, the bus driver was debilitated by a stroke and has had to stop working.

We still get shipped off to Mama Lola’s railroad-side house occasionally, but the trains no longer pass by regularly. The trains finally showed their age and could no longer take care not to derail on the equally rusted tracks. The renovation and modernization of the train lines proceed in fits and starts; the train we rode in 2011 was the first time the Bicol Express had reopened in years, before they suspended commuter trips again. The daily agony of commuters on the MRT and LRT is well-documented, but not any less rueful for it. The months in which the MRT doesn’t suffer a breakdown at all on any given day are far and few between, and closely remarked upon and tallied by the media. Just last month, the LRT2—my favorite line for being the most capacious, underriden, and newest of the three—had an electrical mishap which crippled the Katipunan station, to exasperation from me and other university students that it services, and the two stations sandwiching it. The estimated time for repairs was initially a frustrating nine months, whittled down to an impatient three. Rodrigo Duterte’s ambitious “Build, Build, Build” infrastructure project is secured by Chinese capital—which also fuels China’s massive infrastructure expansion in the disputed West Philippine Sea—and ultimately premised on the Omelasian death of thousands in the drug war, the election promise which catapulted Duterte into the presidency.

The old canard about Benito Mussolini’s fascist Italy was that he made the trains run on time. How much worse can a life under Philippine fascism be when the trains no longer run at all?

On USCGAs

This midyear term I’ve succumbed to the unhealthy habit of sleeping at around five hours, on average, at night. Fully aware of the mental, physiological, and epigenetic damage that cumulative sleep debt inflicts on the body, I decided I would sleep at a reasonable time tonight to get adequate sleep and put my body clock back to its natural circadian rhythm. Like many of my well-intentioned plans, however, this one was derailed by another unforeseen distraction.

It’s now 5 AM and the University Student Council General Assembly (USCGA) on the recent incidents of frat-related violence (FRV) drags on, with me avidly following it still after nine hours. It’s only thanks to a free cut in my 7 AM class that I can afford to do this, and there’s still the small matter of a quiz in Math that I should be brushing up for. It’s not just me that’s transfixed on this vicarious display of campus politics; it has set the local Twitterverse afire, generating thousands of tweets that are enough to land #USCGA a spot on the Philippine Twitter trends, alongside the usual inane trends that Pinoy teens concern themselves with.

It’s exhilarating, packed as it is with the sort of political intrigue and hugot lines that sound perfectly crafted for a tweet or a teleserye a la House of Cards—providing more than enough fodder for social media witticists to mine for memes and references in the days to come, until the next issue comes along. It’s also exhausting and frustrating: the live-tweets we spectators rely on gives a glimpse of the chaotic, even cutthroat political process.

The platitude that UP is a microcosm of the Philippine society is not entirely accurate when it comes to university politics; our system is organized along remarkably more mature lines, having parties contesting elections with ideology and principles above all. This is more akin to the politics of Western nations, especially parliamentary democracies that descend from Westminter, and a stark contrast to the traditional politics in this country where the focus is on celebrity and personality—party affiliation being just window-dressing to be put on and discarded as the seasons change. Student council proceedings are still just as prone though to being subverted to advance a partisan agenda rather than personal interests. It is arguable if this is a ‘purer’ motive, but for many dispirited observers and constituents, the effect is the same: gridlock and inefficiency in deliberation and administration.

That is the unfortunate lament of most regarding this GA. It devolved into political sideshow and partisan bickering that wasted much time and unnecessarily prolonged the discussion. The cynic or those with axes to grind will see it as exploiting an important issue to make cheap shots against opponents. Differences will surface but when the meeting is sidetracked from the matter at hand, especially by impertinent political quarrel, then the purpose will have been defeated. Full disclaimer that my sympathies are aligned with ALYANSA but this is not to say that they are blameless, or to imply that the fault lies solely with the Red opposition. As the dominant party, it is ALYANSA’s prerogative to take the initiative in setting the tone and agenda of the discussion; the duty of the presiding officer is to ensure that the meeting adheres to it, does not veer off-topic, and sets a definite time beyond which the meeting must adjourn. They have the greatest share of responsibility in elevating the discourse and by responding to the gripes of persecution by the opposition they are allowing the GA to be distracted and so they cannot really said to be better. It’s also worth noting that the sole independent councilor, who ran and won not on concrete policy proposals but a vague promise to be the people’s watchdog against exactly this sort of partisan gridlock, has yet to be heard from in the course of the GA. Anyare?

It also appears that the body has misconceptions about parliamentary procedure and their powers and roles as outlined by their own Constitution. As an example: as of now the body is preoccupied by the debate about the suspension imposed on the Chairperson, who is a frat brother in one of the frats involved. The victim’s lawyer is correct: they forget that the measure as first imposed is a preventive suspension, not a punitive sanction, handed down upon finding of probable cause to avoid interference as the investigation proceeds but not designed to punish. Yet as the GA apparently winds down, past the targeted concluding time, and they are still wrapped up in the petty detail of how long the suspension will last. It’s troubling that the councilors from STAND UP are asking for the maximum time, initially beyond what the USC Constitution allows, and making arguments framing it as a penalty with recourse to such appeals to emotion and grand abstractions as the honor of the institution. One cannot shake the sense that it may be out of vindictiveness against the leader of the rival party or as grandstanding to pander to their base.

As the sun rises at the break of day, the lingering questions that the USC will have to face is whether they have actually done enough, if any, to address the incident and the pattern of FRVs. Justice delayed may be justice denied—but justice made rashly is no justice at all. I am not convinced that the USC has overcome both counts in this GA. Much has been said but it remains to be seen what facts have been found and what will be done. The dissatisfaction of their constituents, made evident thanks to the transparency of the press, will be the collective burden of the body, not any one party. It must ask whether the sacrifice of sleep and physical weariness has given fruit to productive and meaningful steps. Yes, politics is messy but it is expected to arrive at solutions. In this long-winded and protracted GA much juicy attacks may have been spilled and party interests may have been advanced, but has it advanced justice and the welfare of the victims?

Vladimir Nabokov

(I half swore I’d be asleep at 1 AM. It’s now four in the morning. Oops.)

Okay, stop. This is the only thing that matters coming out of the Fight of the Century, y’all. Mah boy Jay-Z lookin’ so fine. That metallic tone is more tasteful than most, but it’s a bit much for a dinner jacket. It’d have looked better with that color limited to a cummerbund, but I guess it fits right in at the high-rolling Las Vegas venue.

BUT DEYUMM GURLL! Jay-Z of all people knows that standing next to Queen Bey reduces anyone, even Hov, to looking like a mere dowdy mortal. At best, one can hope to be an unassuming backdrop, and the tuxedo does just that. Props to Jay-Z for getting it right, mostly.

The real winner of this fight is Beyoncé, amirite Kanye?! ALL HAIL THE GODDESS!!! BOW DOWN BITCHES!!!

The goddess has filled wide space, to its depths and its heights. Her radiance drives out the dark . . .

(Photo by Getty Images)

WOAH MOTHERFUCKER I JUST CAN’T

So the results for UPD’s elections were announced just some two hours ago and I should be studying for the Math 53 LE later but fucking shit this is serious business how could I have studied when shit was going down at Vinzon’s Hall bruuuhhh if ever you needed proof that UPD students were rational, well-informed critical thinkers look no further than the outcome of this elections yes the low voter turnout is a perennially disappointing problem and the significant number of abstentions is also a cause for concern and campus politics is as dirty as its ever been if not dirtier than a stinking soiled rag but despite these the voter turnout is the highest it’s been since 2002 and it carried the victory for the party in power giving them a stronger mandate than ever this may be an optimistic sign that while UP students have always been discerning they are also realizing that change will never come from abrasive clamor that’s more style than substance naïve ideals cannot survive in the face of harsh painful reality without being tempered by a dose of pragmatism that does not compromise on principles even though circumstances demand negotiation and compromise as the only way to move forward genuine progressive change is born of a gradual process that ultimately aims to uplift the welfare of all the stakeholders not vehement cries for an abrupt revolution without first considering the way from there and without offering concrete and feasible solutions coming from a position that brooks no opposition to the radical stance and thus sacrifices self-awareness of when their ideas may be misguided or no longer relevant—

Ah fuck this argument I can save the analysis and rhetoric for another time like all the thoughts I've had this election season written but mostly unwritten would be enough to keep this blog active for at least two months I JUST CAN’T CONTAIN MY FEELS can’t I just turn off my mind for a few moments so I can truly bask in this victory for us the UP students I’m going to burst I just had to vent this out I briefly considered finally making a Twitter account because that medium is best suited for this spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings recollected in the tranquility of knowing that electors have again made the right choice this year the USC is in capable hands lol it was amusing to see the indignant reactions of those against us but nah I remembered I had a Tumblr blog quietly gathering cobwebs and pining for some attention not that anyone reads my shit anyway so yeahhh blog post it is WOOOOOO

WALA PA RING TATALO SA ALYANSA!!! SULONG UP! TULOY TAYO SA PAGBABAGO! BITCHES WON WOW BOW

(My apologies for the long run-on sentences and the utter display of erratic or lacking punctuation egregiously uncharacteristic of me I know but I was trying to convey the breathless euphoria I’m just so glad and thrilled here’s to higher voter turnouts for more ALYANSA victories so we can continue to work for reform that leads to lasting changes in the system)

Jorge Luis Borges

6.4.14

"What's he doing?"

"Being stupid."

"Ah."

On a Bus, Down the Highway of Space-time, Overthinking

...and all the kisses in the world were like chocolate. He could never get enough of them, but she had had enough.

*****

Am I lucky? I may say I'm yours, but am I just hoping to get lucky? Never mind me, I'm rambling like Lucky. I'm still waiting for Godot. Waiting for someone who or something that might never come, with the unthinking, unknowing certainty of Estragon but also with the restless existential angst of Vladimir. But at least the two of them have each other. If the two of them do manage to hang themselves out of sheer boredom, at least they'd still be doing it together. [Unless Didi (or was it Gogo?) is right. If one of them dies first the other would be lonely.]

*****

How will we ever get out of the labyrinth when the damn labyrinth is both outside us and inside us? You tell me that, Kafka.

*****

I hate Third-World buses. Jam-packed, like a tin of sardines from the Legal Wife giveaway. Muggy and suffocating, like Manila in the vise of shadow or the claws of light. Surreal, like a half-remembered dream. Unreal, like a half-finished book. Unsatisfactory, like a half-finished love affair,

*****

How would I know? Dreams and books I've had plenty, yet I've never had a love affair,

*****

Now all I have are metaphors. A busful of them, crowding my thoughts and spilling out onto the dirty, grimy, messy Manila streets. The effluent of the affluent.

*****

It's like putting a cigarette between your teeth. You have to be prepared to light it and smoke deep, otherwise you just wasted your money.

*****

What a drag.

I'm Screwed

THE REALIZATION THAT TOMORROW I'LL BE BACK TO SCHOOL JUST DROPPED ON ME LIKE A SHIT TON OF MADA-EFFIN ROCKS FROM MOUNT ISAROG. WHYYYYYY

CUZ I'VE DONE JACK-SQUAT NOTHIN Y'ALL AND I JUST WANNA GRADUATE AND GET THE HELL OUT AAAAAAAARRRGGGGGHHHHH

Yo 'Appie Nyu Yir Mah Homies

Thas right, dawg. Letz all say peace out ta 2013 n' say wassup 2014.

Anyway, we're now a few tentative minutes into the new year. Happy New Year guys! Eat lots of that scrumptious Media Noche. Jump as high as you can for those extra few inches. It won't hurt, except maybe if you get appendicitis. Make a resolution too. You could start with: "I won't jump after eating."

I was afraid I'd take a bath at 11:45 and not come out of the bathroom until the next year. Got out in the nick of time with 5 minutes to spare.

Now I'm surveying the table spying all the customary fare. Except for a bird on the table that I have never seen before. I am told it is a turkey. It is not Thanksgiving. This is not America. I have never tasted turkey before. Wait, what?

Yeah, enjoy the pyrotechnics. Careful lighting your own though, wouldn't want to get blasted on the first day. Rather not touch the firecrackers. Don't blow them up inside instead if the urge can't be helped.

Oh, and 2k14, meet 2014.