Balikan natin ang nakaraan
If anyone of you out there heard this song for the first time and THEN understood every single word in it you'd probably feel the same queer sense of strangeness in the song that i felt. It's a catchy ditty, but the words just stab at you.
"I never should have said the books that you read were all I loved you for."
I never really understood the song the whole time that I was hearing it in the old NU107 about 5 or so years ago. Now that I saw it in a friend's blog, I can't help but feel awe.
This, my friends, is poetry.
Here's Where the Story Ends
The Sundays
People I know, places I go,
make me feel tongue-tied
I can see how people look down,
they’re on the inside
Here’s where the story ends
People I see, weary of me
showing my good side
I can see how people look down
I’m on the outside
Here’s where the story ends
Ooh here’s where the story ends
It’s that little souvenir of a terrible year
Which makes my eyes feel sore
Oh I never should have said, the books that you read
Were all I loved you for
It’s that little souvenir of a terrible year
Which makes me wonder why
And it’s the memories of your shed that make me turn red
Surprise, surprise, surprise
Crazy I know, places I go
Make me feel so tired
I can see how people look down
I’m on the outside
Oh here’s where the story ends
Ooh here’s where the story ends
It’s that little souvenir of a terrible year
Which makes my eyes feel sore
And who ever would’ve thought the books that you brought
Were all I loved you for
Oh the devil in me said, go down to the shed
I know where I belong
But the only thing I ever really wanted to say
Was wrong, was wrong, was wrong
It’s that little souvenir of a colourful year
Which makes me smile inside
So I cynically, cynically say, the world is that way
Surprise, surprise, surprise, surprise, surprise
Here’s where the story ends
Ooh here’s where the story ends
you're still you
wala lang narinig ko lang ulit yung josh groban version.
naalala ko tuloy yung movie na Malena. OST kasi yun sa movie. monica bellucci is such a vixen.
naalala ko tuloy yung isang taga village namin na siguro twenties na nung mga 13 o 14 ako. ate siya ng medyo kala-kalaro ko na batang riles. may vulcanizing shop sila. tapos yung ate, hindi ko na matiyak pero parang nagtatrabaho sa SM nun bilang saleslady.
ako naman iskolar. payatot. anglaki ng bag. mukha talagang kolokoy.
pag nakakatabi ko yung ate sa pedicab, lagi akong kinakabahan. ang ganda kasi niya. gandang-ganda ako sa kanya. oo na sige na manyak na kung manyak.
hanggang sa lumaki ako. at tumanda din siya. at magkaanak siya. at magkaanak ako. at hindi ko na siya nakita. siguro, ngayong naiisip ko, mga 10 o 15 years ko na siyang hindi na nakikita, kahit na andito pa rin naman yung pamilya nila. siguro nakapag asawa ng taga ibang lugar. siguro naman masaya siya ngayon.
siguro din lahat ng lalaki may Malena-type na babaeng minahal. yung tipong 13 to 15 yung boy tapos 5 to 10 years older yung girl at naghahalong kadalisayan at kalibugan na ang nararamdaman kasi nga pumapasok na sa pubescent stage. ito yung stage na kakatapos lang nung mga puppy love-puppy love na kakornihan at kabaduyan. ito yung stage na walanghiyaan na ang kasunod.
tama, siguro nga ganoon kaya damang-dama ko yung huling eksena sa Malena nung nagbibisikleta na paalis yung batang lalaki palayo kay Malena, na una't huling beses niyang natulungan matapos matapon ang mga dala nitong prutas. kasi para siyang may tinatakbuhan, may nilalayuan pero at the same time inaaasam din niya, patuloy niyang nililingon kahit mamintig pa ang mga binti sa tigas ng pagpadyak.
kasi kagaya ng maraming bagay sa buhay, maraming mabubuti at magagandang bagay na sa hindi maintindihang dahilan ay hindi talaga mapapasaatin, gaano man natin asamin. may mga bagay na hindi natin makakamit para lamang sa mga kadahilanang kasingwalang kuwenta ng "wala kasi sa panahon" o kaya'y "hindi kasi bagay" o kaya'y "tinatamad kasi ako nun."
parang yung ate ng kalaro ko. dahil sa hiyang itanong, hindi ko man lang nalaman ang kanyang pangalan.
i don't know about u
but i think i'm enjoying bamboo's hallelujah song, playing on the house music at this exact point, if only for the riffs there. as usual, as with many of his songs, i hate his lyrics. "sino'ng sawa, sino'ng galit?"
i thought he was playing on the archetypal sawa as in snake and thus was a passable allusion to biblical symbolisms on the devil but then again i thought it was a python and pythons never figured in the bible. then it hit me, the word could never have been mispronounced,or was it???
should it have been pronounced sawa as in fed up????
naalala ko tuloy yung isa pang word mangler nung 90s: yung singer ng Introvoys. "Di na kow, aasa pang myuliheee...kung ikaw ay babaleek, seka na lamang ngingiteeeeee!!!"
Dahil sa konting katangahan, naiwan ako ng flight ko sa iloilo. Solution? Bacolod muna!!!
Pareho lang naman ang pasahe kaya walang dinagdag sa plane ticket. Rerouting fee lang na 100 pesoses tska konting takbo para hindi na ulit maiwanan. pero ganun naman talaga ang PAL: ang lakas magpa check in agad pero antagal naman magpa board! kundi lang dahil sa mabuhay miles na iniipon ko para madala na rin ang wifey sa davao e matagal na akong nag cebu pacific.
pati nga pala sun cellular sa jg summit din, kagaya ng cebu pacific. astig din tong jg summit e. alternatives ang inooffer. well, magulo lang talaga ang sun. pag gabi na nawawala na ang signal. minsan tumayo lang ako saglit naputol na yung linya ko. sumobra na nga ako sa limit kaya putol na yung sun ko ngayon. oks lang. saka na bayaran habang may company fone pa.
tang ina bored na ako dito.
i will be
going to iloilo and bacolod next week. those who wanna come just meet me at the terminal 2 and we'll do something about it, awright???
au revoir!
creator
On my way to work every morning, my bus always passes by Magallanes on the South Superhighway side. I used to see a lot of the shanties lined up along the railroad tracks back when I was still going to college. Those living there would go about their usual stuff unmindful of the backyard, which, in their case, was the Highway--and consequently, the travellers out for some nice viewing. Their sight would always make me squirm a little, I suppose, only because we used to live in such a place in Alabang. Only, our railroad track was the small creek behind the "house." After the construction of the Skyway, concrete barriers were erected to block the view from the Hiway. Still, the shanties just adapted. Now, they are two-storeys high, using the concrete barriers as sturdy back walls.
In Graduate school, I remember one enlightening discussion about creation. Claude Levi-Strauss talked about "bricolage," from the the French word for "tinkering." Levi-Strauss' metaphor for bricolage is an instructional handy person, a do-it-yourself craftsperson who can put to use a host of materials lying around at various stages of construction or (dis) repair. This craftsperson works by continuously shifting according to the everchanging requirements of the task as a function of the ways in which the task has been addressed.
The person who creates by way of bricolage is a bricoleur. The bricoleur, as Levi-strauss explains it, is contrasted to the architect, who designs with a grand plan on hand before actually executing it. An architect works logically, while a bricoleur works intuitively.
I was driven to remember these thoughts because in our discussions, it was remarked that our shanties were created by way of bricolage. Tires are found atop the roofs. Old cooking oil cans have been flattened and nailed together to form one wall. Electric fan covers have been used to form a part of windows.
Function takes precedence over aesthetics. Budget over safety.
What is created is order in disorder. Some sort of bizaare logic from chaos. Aren't our lives like that, anyway?
I just had a beloved aunt die of brain aneurysm. She was 41, with 5 kids whose youngest is merely 7 years old. But I suppose I trust that her husband can take care of the kids. They have a business anyway to take care of the finances. What cannot be compensated for will be the love of a mother. But they will live with this, and come up with fairly good lives in the future.
My aunt was very nice, very healthy, very loving. But I suppose there is really no point asking questions.
We all have to live with our own tragedies and we can.
Advancing in years into my nearly-thirties, I can't help but feel walls are tumbling down around me. Walls of ideologies, of hard-fought beliefs, of heroes, of loves. They're all tumbling down like the walls of Jericho. What is left?
I am left. Right? (nyahaha! baduy na joke na naman) And some trust that no matter what, there are people who love me and whom I love. I suppose that is more than enough.
Indeed, God himself is a bricoleur, not an architect. And He cracks baduy jokes sometimes.
Good morning everyone. :)
