Good Friday

I may be pooped, but I'm contented that I got to do all my traditions this Good Friday.

Antipolo may be a very chaotic town not worth entering during normal days, but at least it can get civilized for the Holy Week procession.

Every year, I am tempted to bring a camera to take pictures during the procession. The whole scene of a river of candlelight, cascading through the streets of Antipolo is nothing short of beautiful. In fact, every year, I get to wishing I was on an airplane that very moment to see the river of light from above.

Unfortunately, every year, I get cold feet. Somehow, a procession isn't exactly the best of occassions to be taking pictures. But I still hope to do so, one day.

The whole procession was the same route as last year, and the years before that. But somehow this year, the whole thing seemed to stretch on longer than usual. I really think I'm feeling the effects of age, aside from my bad knee. I guess that will have to do for some semblance of sacrifice.

Speaking of sacrifice, I tried to abstain from... the internet for one day! And I was pretty successful. I just got to feeling guilty since I haven't really been sacrificing anything since the start of Lent, so I decided to do my share. Besides, the Church talks about staying away from something that is staple to you. And for me, that has got to be the internet.

It took some effort, for whatever that was worth. So here I am, prowling the internet in the wee hours of the morning.

In a few hours, I'll be leaving for Quezon. We usually culminate Holy Week there because it's tradition, I guess. The clan owns the Resurrection image of Jesus Christ and we all have to chip in with the preparations, since our house is also the venue for the salubong.

Having our house as the place for salubong has its perks. One of them is that I got to be the angel for a year. Of course, since I couldn't sing a note, my year was the first year that there was more than one angel. My relatives made all my cousins angels to... er... disguise (drown out) my voice.

Pretty humiliating, if you ask me. Aside from not being able to sing, I also kind of ripped the veil of Mary when I was getting it. But that's all behind me now, thankfully.

Since I was on a self-imposed ban from the internet, I got busy being bored. It was even worse since there was hardly anything decent to watch. So I got busy reading.

Reading is fine, really. It's just that it's so still. And Heaven knows I can't keep still to save my life. But what's a bored guy to do to keep himself out of trouble?

I was able to dig through my old comic books and spent half the day re-discovering the adventures of Tintin. Haven't read these things for ages, to think they were my collection back in Grade 3.

While sniffing around my sister's room, the book "Honor Among Thieves" by Jeffrey Archer caught my attention. I'm now enraptured in it, since it's one of those books that are suspense-y and action-packed right from the start.

The whole story is a bit dated, though. Yitzhak Rabin is still alive, the Gulf War just finished and Clinton was still the new president (pre-Lewinsky). The story has proven to be outdated, especially with the events of the recent months (though I still believe that the U.S. won way to easily. There has to be a catch. Saddam is not as stupid as they think....)

* * *

SARS has a back door into the country. I was just speaking to Kenneth today. He's got a Singaporean visitor.

The guy took a flight to the Philippines from Singapore. The flight has a stop over at Brunei before proceeding to Manila. According to Kenneth's visitor, it's harder to enter a building in Singapore than to gain entry into this country.

Since the flight came in from Brunei, the NAIA people didn't mind that the guy was holding a Singaporean passport. He just had to sign some papers then he was let through. But the guy's a med student so I guess he should know better... I hope?

* * *

Some people walked on my dad's car to watch the procession in Quiapo. When my dad got back to the car, there were footprints all over it (hood, windshield, roof, trunk). And a dent on the roof.

Just had to share. It's annoying.

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Confessions of a Renegade Catholic

Although my mom is one of those near über-religious kinds of people who try to center everything on prayer, I like to think of myself as a deviation.

A "Renegade Catholic", that's what I'm proud to call myself. Sort of like a religious rebel, trying to break away from all the external gestures of prayer that people practice.

I practice my faith to the barest minimum: mass on Sundays. I am a far cry from the Grade 2 kid who used to carry a rosary in his pocket and attend mass every single day. But that doesn't mean that I don't believe, or that I've turned my back on the Church.

Sure, my practices are a bit irreverent. When my family prays the rosary on Sundays, I sleep through the whole thing. Ditto for Wednesday novenas. I mean, I'd avoid them if I could. My dad (renegade Catholic as well) and I also get a kick out of criticizing the priest every mass time. Really, I thrive on a lot of irreverence.

Oh, and did I mention that I haven't gone to confession in 4 years (and counting...)?

I could have been religious, no doubt. But I have a feeling that my slight aversion for prayer stems from prayer being forced on me ever since I was a kid. Faith was not something I realized freely, thus I never got to appreciate it on my own.

The question of faith is very tricky. I do believe, but I have my questions. I have my doubts as well. I may be unenlightened or cynical, but until I have all my answers, I refuse to carry on like my mom, with all her outward practices of devotion.

But I have faith, no question of that. It's just that I believe that my relationship with God should be on a more personal basis. More of a "person-to-person" (man-to-man, if I may) kind of thing between me and the Big Guy. No memorized prayers, no routines, none of that for me.

There are of course still days when I sneak off to the Chapel for a little solace. And at times, I still keep a rosary in my pocket. More than anything, I think I get embarassed by participating in the more open practices of religion. Thus, I'd rather express my devotion on my own.

But when it comes to Holy Week, I'm a traditionalist. Call it raw faith, but these are the times that I want my traditions upheld in memory of Him. Like today, the family attended the Holy Thursday mass in a chapel nearby.

If memory serves me right, it was around 3 years ago that I got picked to be one of the apostles whose foot had to be washed. How mortifying.

Had I also been feeling a bit more adventurous today, I would have wanted to join the Alay-Lakad all the way up to Antipolo. I've never done it before and I'd like to see how it is.

My traditions for Good Friday include doing the Way of the Cross at this place called Via Dolorosa (also here in Antipolo) which is placed along a hill, and you've got to keep on climbing to finish the stations. And then there's the procession at night.

The biggest tradition of the Holy Week culminates in my province in Quezon, where we have a salubong. That's the highlight.

These traditions are a big thing for me. At times, making the 2 and a half hour trip to the province is a chore, but it's a tradition I wouldn't want to skip. It's ironic because Holy Week is the only time I get external with my faith.

Like Christmas season, Holy Week is a season in itself. True enough, I haven't been feeling it much. Maybe because I've been busy and maybe because I've never been able to hold true to abstinence for the 5(?) Fridays of Lent. Maybe also because I haven't been that holy these past few days. More hedonistic, in fact.

Each person's got his own practices. My mom might frown on the fact that I lack devotion. But for me, I think the most important thing here is that I believe. The religious aspect of my life might tend to be a bit raw, I might be slightly irreverent, and I might have some questions on some aspects, but I do know for a fact that the Big Guy up there is galing, and my faith in Him is totally uncontestable.

As they say in Days with the Lord, "Basta Ikaw, Lord".

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Bad Hair Day

I have arrived at the conclusion that even kalbo guys can have the proverbial "Bad Hair Day".

While vegetating in front of the TV (on a senti trip watching Maria la del Barrio), I unconsciously ran my hand over my fuzzy head. And then I realized that my hair was... lumpy.

Apparently, the barber who did my curly locks in didn't do it well. My "quatro" was done unevenly. So in terms of haircut speak, my semi-kalbo is somewhat layered. And it's so obvious now that it's growing.

Unfortunate for me is that this "Bad Hair Day" is something I have to remedy at the most inopportune time-- when all the barber shops are closed for the Holy Week festivities.

Someone up there has a sense of humor.

Every Now and Then

"... I can't escape the thought of all that might have been...."

I watched her walk away, back into the arms of a fortunate someone whom she loves, whom she belongs to. That someone was waiting for her. And I was once again alone.

Sad. Very sad. And metaphorical, actually. What a way to end the evening.

Watching her leave, the thought hit me that I was losing her. That her life was a whole new world away from mine, and that our paths were slowly inching away from each other.

It was generally a great night. If there was one good thing that came out of my drunken conversation with T, it was the dinner tonight. Finally, after 8 months, we see each other again.

I cannot remember much about the drunken conversation. All I know is that it was around an hour and a half long, done all over the cellphone (I loathe the day my bill arrives) and that it was very, VERY incriminating.

Too incriminating, perhaps, that I could hardly look at T over dinner. Did I spill that much? Note to self: never, EVER get into phone conversations when drunk. T was very happy to put me on the spot. And I believe that by answering her questions, I was digging my own grave.

It was just like old times. The old times were dinners, wherein we'd talk about nothing and everything under the sun. The old times were wasting time, doing nothing in particular. The old times were phone conversations that never seemed to end. Those were the old times and I miss them like anything.

The old times were when we were much closer. We're pretty close now, it's just that I'm feeling so distant.

Old times are visits to U.P., having kwek-kwek, eating at some Thai carinderia, eating at Chateau Verde, walking in the rain, bonding in Boracay...

Tonight was like old times, but not quite. What really killed me were the "conditions" she was under just so she could see me tonight. Things couldn't be as spontaneous as they used to be. That is what hurt.

It was the reality that she wasn't with me 100%. The reality that her life revolved around someone else now. The reality that I now exist only within the periphery of her life. Maybe in some perverse way, I was jealous. I don't know.

True, the friendship will always be there. Nothing can change everything we've been through. Nothing can alter the fact that this person has played a major role in my life. And she is still the same wonderful person that I've always known.

But there are some things that do have to change, and this is one fact that I will just have to accept as it is. She travels in a different world now.

God, I miss the old times. God, I miss my friend.

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For Your Eyes Only

So many blogs have been shutting down. She is the latest. But not the first.

Tiff has moved, and so has Fortune Cookie... as well as other blogs I lurk through. For a month now, I have been thinking of following suit, to just delete good 'ol Buhawi.

My life, I realized, has a very, very open book (website, as you will have it) to so many.

Privacy, personally, is the main issue here. The world is just about too small, and the internet is making it even smaller. Thus, blogs are not as open as they used to be, because people are getting scared about who might be reading their blogs.

I'm pretty wary myself. Several times, I've been told "I read your blog" and suddenly I get scared. I am a very liberal blogger-- I post my thoughts, fears, feelings.... basically my angst. My ramblings (thus, Renegade Ramblings!). And I do have a tendency to ramble a lot.

Sometimes I'm embarassed. At times, I get insecure. My thoughts never just about scratch the surface-- I'm pretty much up close and personal with myself when I blog. So when people tell me they pick through my thoughts, I don't know what they may be thinking while reading what I think.

It also doesn't help that my pictures are all over this blog. I've given a face to these thoughts.

It's perfectly alright for the people I've met while blogging to read my blog. I mean, I'm still a stranger in many ways. I am also not scared about the people I know to whom I've entrusted my URL to. They know me well enough that my thoughts are just a reinforcement of my personality. (T, you are an exception... I was drunk. But I don't mind. You're welcome to read).

What scares me are the people who see me around and know about my blog. I don't know if some of the things here may or can be used against me, or alter someone's perception of me. Things here are pretty raw.

Would I have to limit my ramblings, as not to step on people? At times, I get conscious. I don't want to start any controversies by way of this blog. At times, I believe I have...

But then I realized: What the hell?

This is my personal space on the internet. This is my territory, so I believe that I may say whatever I need to say. These thoughts are my personal opinions anyway... they are not plagiarized, so why should I be ashamed?

And like I said, this is the internet. It's very public in a sense and I am aware of that, thus I can't limit visits to this place. I mean, columnists may get flak from for their opinions in the newspaper but that's public property. Though this blog is private, nobody said the internet was. But I just state MY opinions on stuff, so personally that's fine. Nobody is required to visit this blog in the first place.

The tag-line of this blog says it all: "Inflicting myself on the rest of the world". I'm the type of person who wants to have a say on anything. Thus, the beauty of this blog is that I spew out my thoughts, and whoever comes here has the option to read what I have to say or not.

"Inflicting myself" also states the very reason why I began blogging in the first place. I am fighting anonimity (I've always been and will always be a ham) and from the beginning, I've been wanting people to read my blog. I even remember asking my sister when I started "Why isn't anybody going to my blog?". She tells me that it takes time.

I then realized that I get flattered whenever I am told of someone reading my blog. I am flattered that I have a consistent readership- those who endure my endless (and useless) musings, those who are patient enough to read my looooooong entries. I like hearing that there are people who consider this blog worth it.

And you know what else I like? Getting feedback- from my entries, or about my blog as a whole (I like reading my tag-board, Persh! hehehe!). Everytime I visit my blog, the first thing I look at is the tag-board.

This blog has been receiving around 40 to 50 hits a day. I may not know half the people who read me (I am such a ham, I swear to God!) but that's fine. I've got nothing to be afraid of, I hope (for now, anyway. hehe).

Once I realize that I've sold out to myself, then I'm stopping. But so far as long as each day goes by, and I just have to have a say and share anything, be assured, that the Renegade shall continue to ramble.

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Growing Up

"I'm growing up, getting down
Keeping my both feet on the ground
With all my friends behind me
How can I go wrong this time?

I'm growing up, getting down
Thank God reality came around
Not just waiting for the daybreak
Expecting the sun to shine
It doesn't shine all the time"

The sun may not shine all the time, but having great friends for support sure keeps the darkness away.

This antique Bagets theme song was probably the theme for last night's little outing with the High School boys. I was reminded of it when Maki played the Mulatto version of the song in his car.

Upon hearing the song, I got to waxing sentimental once again. Lately, I've been getting a bit sentimental, looking back at the past and all that. All this, even if I have a fear of looking back for fear that I'd never get on with life, which is passing me by very, very steadily.

But who can resist the security of old friends?

I suppose it's a given that we still keep in touch after leaving the perimeter walls of Xavier for good. But what never ceases to amaze me is that things are still the same. We're still the same loud, boisterous group we were before.

True, 3 years out of High School and many things are different. Transportation is no longger a problem. And it horrifies me to no end that half the guys are already gearing up for OJT this summer. OJT???? We've barely started college... right? 3 years into college and people are just about ready to enter the workforce.

Of couse, I may be just a bit behind since my mindset ever since I entered college was that I'd be graduating in 5 years. Not 4. It should be 5, or bust. This is probably the reason why I'm shocked that many are just a year away from the corporate world. Well... I might be a year away as well. But I'm not emotionally prepared yet.

In any case, it was a great night. I've always believed that we are an inuman barkada. This was a conclusion I derived after noticing our mall habits- we can never agree where to go. Some want to check out car parts, others want to bake in the arcade and still others are perfectly contented in Power Books.

The beauty of it all is that when we finally get seated in a restaurant, we get to talking. Last night, we were in Commonwealth, and then we proceeded to continue talking at Seattle's Best along E. Rodriguez in Q.C.

It's great because everything is so natural and spontaneous. And it's more than just clinging on to the past- it's building on the past as a foundation and looking forward.

Of course, there is some past that I would rather not rehash, like my very comical High School love life which I positively shrivel when I think about it, or my little episodes with teachers that made me realize I have "Foot in Mouth Disease", or even that mortifying moment when I first got drunk. These are the guys who remember it ALL (unfortunately).

We talk about odds and ends. School, drinking (apparently, I'm not the only victim of Hombre Tequila), friends who have faded into oblivion and what have you. But more than that, we also talk about the future.

Don't get me wrong. I love my college life. It's very social, and I guess I'm the person I want to be. I couldn't ask for more. But there is something just so cozy and safe about being with your High School friends. It's a different world, something of a refuge from trials around. It's almost like home.

Not to sound too gushy about it, but as Stephen King once put it, "Speech destroys the function of affection". We enjoy each other's company, we hang out together and we look forward to seeing each other again.

There are no "whys" for the reasons elude us, or that we have never articulated them. Who needs to? We're guys and we don't need any external validation of feelings from anyone. A lot is unspoken, but you just know that you can count on them.

Just give us a place, a story or 2, a really corny joke... it doesn't matter really. The world can stop turning and time can pass by. We may be getting older but we're the same old folks we once were, and I don't think time is going to change any of that.

As the song goes, "Saan na nga ba napunta ang panahon"

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