A TRIBUTE TO THE BYGONE DAYS OF HIGH SCHOOL

This piece is dedicated to the following:

Cyril, who made time earlier this week for some good old catch up, and is about to leave again for New York City.

Gem, a friend I made during junior prom, who invited me to a seminar yesterday.

My longtime friends Ton and Kookles, who never fail to make time for food, drinks, and comic relief.

And to the rest who became a part of that period in my life.

During my high school graduation many moons ago, one of the speakers asked us to take a good look at every student graduating that night. After a brief pause, it continued with the statement, “Savor and cherish this moment because there is a good chance that this is the last time you will be seeing these faces for a long time.” These words came true.

But what was it like during my time as a high school student? Back then, calling your friends through telephones to chat or ask about home works was a usual practice; internet connection was still in its dial up phase; the sago-filled shakes fad was about to start its demise while coffee shops were picking up the pace; there was much goofing around at the auditorium backstage; we snuck in empty classrooms to catch our siesta; quizzes, projects, home works were really the bulk of our worries. It was a much simpler world to live in compared to today.

Fast forward to the present. By this time, we have made a whole lot of decisions that further defined who we are and who we will still become. Along with these decisions came triumphs, progress, failures, and sacrifices. We have to live and adapt to the ever changing world in hopes of creating better lives for ourselves. Facing the future also presents the caveat of uncertainty. We might not always have our family, friends, and teachers for as long as we would want them to be around.

My true inspiration for this piece is appreciating the legacy we can impart to people who have crossed our lives. Consciously or unconsciously, our worthwhile interactions with these people will last a lifetime. And who knows, maybe one or two or three of those interactions became defining moments in your life. Nevermind going away for a while, nevermind living careers different from each other, nevermind growing old. At this point, I just want to sincerely thank these people for being part of my life. I urge you to do so too.

“If I leave here tomorrow
Would you still remember me?
For I must be travelin' on now
There's too many places I got to see”

- Taken from Free Bird by Lynyrd Skynyrd

IDLE

Writing against time, killing more time, am I?

Places I’ve been, places yet to be seen

Does it really matter?

Scribbling a line, evening feels fine, or not?

Thoughts misplaced, and ideas replaced

Can you go further?

Shifting my eyes, looking beyond lies, is it?

Born free, born stupidly free

The idle mind

Stops.

AGAINST A CANDLE

I start with a rhyme
While I waste grandfather clock's time
The wind blows steady
As my pen make ready

In this darkness, words come and go
My thoughts like a river flow
But before this void puts my mind to shade
I bid you adieu, to Neverland I parade

BRUTUS I: 1968 YUTIVO CAMARO RESTOMOD

Throaty rumble from V8 engines, screaming runs down the strip in Greenhills, and lingering smell of burnt rubber – I imagine guys in bell bottom denims crowding around Chevelles, Camaros, and Mustangs the way today’s fanboys take their chances glancing on Imprezas and Evos. These cars could have been the rides our parents have lusted over back in the day. However, the lusting does not stop in the 60s, 70s and 80s.

It is not a secret that muscle cars continue to make appearances all around Metro Manila and other parts of the Philippines. What does not come into mainstream consciousness is that General Motors vehicles were actually assembled in our country back then! Such is the case of the award-winning 1968 Yutivo Camaro restomod by Route 66 Real World Classics dubbed Brutus I.

The Brutus I came into life as a six-banger Chevy Camaro in the GM assembly plant ran by Yutivo & Sons Hardware Company Automotive Division (where the Isuzu dealership is located along Otis Street in Paco, Manila). The first generation Chevrolet Camaros that came out of the plant were equipped with inline six engines. However, this standard specification did not hinder gear heads from having the plant equip their cars with crate V8 engines.

When the Brutus I was acquired by its current owner, the quest to turn this Camaro into a full-fledged muscle car began. The original L90 low-compression 250 inline six engine was replaced with a small block 350 V8, and a Muncie M20 4-speed manual transmission took over the stock 3-speed manual gearbox. These were only few of the era-correct modifications made to the Brutus I in order to satisfy the owner’s personal specifications. To add to the performance and aesthetic intimidation, the Brutus I already bagged a trophy from the Trans Sport Show.

It is such a beastly performance car from a great era. My first encounter with the Brutus I just left me drooling and lusting since I am a muscle car buff in the making. I am also very privileged befriending the owner and eventually making him my mentor. Aside from bench racing, we would go on quick speed runs whenever I visit the master and the machine at Route 66 Real World Classics.

Truth be told: the Brutus I is built for those wanting nostalgia with extreme adrenaline rush!

FRANCISCO L. BUCCOL: THE REFORMED SCHOLAR

Francisco L. Buccol – I have been fondly recalling this rather gentlemanly-sounding name that I concocted to humanize and to add more intelligence and substance to the carefree perception behind the term iskul bukol (knucklehead student). The common iskul bukol is someone who seizes the day in the least relevant way to the pursuit for knowledge. Trademark activities of an iskul bukol would be cutting classes, idle afternoons, and misadventures with friends. While this individual could be so-so among peers and classmates, this type is despised by teachers because of their negligence to learning and responsibilities.

By now, your keen eye should have spotted this term in the name Franc(ISCO L. BUCCOL).

For those not familiar how Filipinos would derive nicknames from Hispanic and American-inspired names, someone named Francisco can be fondly called as Kiko, Franky, Frank, and ISKO. Moreover, my short-lived stay in the country’s premier institution the University of the Philippines Diliman has taught me that the same ISKO is a shortened version of the Tagalog attempt on the word scholar. So if you have followed my trail of thought properly, the wordplay is somehow reminiscent of an enlightened and learned individual who came out of a medieval-esque stage in his scholarly journey.

To elevate your status from a mere iskul bukol to Francisco L. Buccol, you should merit the following:

1.       Knowing the difference between fun and too much fun.

2.       Has understood and experienced the implications, setbacks, and hope found in failure.

3.       Learning that continues beyond theories and school.

4.       Thirst for knowledge (and alcohol if you will)

5.       Liberal thinking

6.       Long-term goals and objectives

7.       Principles

8.       PASSION.

I intentionally placed passion last on the list. Why, you ask. This factor is the same trait that fueled the renaissance, the industrial revolution, global businesses, world leaders (even Hitler and Napoleon), and many more. This is the upward push everybody needs to effect life-defining moments, great discoveries, and influencing works. This is the most powerful trait that can and will turn a senseless or mediocre life 360 degrees.

So what if you failed countlessly in your past? So what if people have doubted you for the longest time? So what if you have been rejected? A Francisco L. Buccol will definitely continue the journey with bravado and all the lessons acquired previously. This individual has the passion to turn dreams into reality, no matter what it takes and no matter what other people think. The only bukol this individual will be leaving this world is his legacy. A legacy of triumph, achievements, and inspiration.

It is you and only you alone who will call the shots in your life. Nothing more, nothing less. Make every one of them count.

THE PIANO SONG

I wanted so long

For the keys to move

Away from minor

And melancholic tunes

I could’ve stayed forever

Touching black and white

But I saw the rainbow

With these keys of gold

So listen to my heart

Listen to the music we play

I know it’s the time

To fly away!

It’s been a while

Since this baby had the chance

To hear it loose, to hear it high

That’s all there is to ask

Let’s give music

Another chance to light

To make it loud, to make it bright

For the angels up above

PRINGLES AND WRITING

Once you pop, you can’t stop.

This is one of the phrases I know that is derived from eating the crisp potato chips known as Pringles. But the use of the line has also evolved through time. It has even been used to describe different exploits one may have enjoyed in life; but that is not the case of this work. Over a conversation with a friend, I came to realize that the same concept can be attributed to writing. More than a leisure activity that eats up idle time, writing mobilizes my eyes, my mouth, my hands, and most importantly, my mind. Much to the opposite of the original goal of exhausting myself to sleep, writing amplifies my senses, often extending my nights from as short as one hour to periods stretching to undetermined times.

The crunch, the salt, and the flavoring are basic components that I believe are essential for a fried potato to be a legit potato chip. Let us start with the crunch. Crunch disrupts the harmony and the pacified nature in our mouth. More often than not, Filipinos love crunchy meals such as lechon, crispy pata, and potato chips. I say the crunch in an article is the level of interest it can generate using its title and the first few words. It creates enough tension to stimulate a reader’s mind. Next is the salt. Salt is a universal flavoring agent. Being able to use a salt in writing is to use a medium common to people separated by geography, technology, education, and other factors. Lastly, we have flavoring. Flavoring creates the personality distinct in every piece of writing made by an individual. Shakespeare wrote tragedies, Dylan wrote poetic songs, and Rizal (the Filipino national hero) wrote revolution-triggering novels. Each individual should eventually learn to use these components in order to communicate their minds to others.

Writing is a gift to humanity as Pringles is a gift to a hungry stomach. This gift has allowed people to leave imprints of their lives to their successors. Whether it speaks of science, religion, philosophy, history, and anecdotes, we are assured of the continuity of ideas and thoughts throughout generations. We learn to appreciate. We learn to progress. We learn to communicate globally. That is the reason why I continue writing articles in English. It is never my intent to alienate my fellow Filipinos. Sa katotohanan nga, sa bawat pagkakataong ako ay makikipag-usap sa mga kabayan, Tagalog pa din ang ginagamit ko. Para sa akin, pinakamainam at pinakadama pa din ang talastasan sa sariling wika – masarap sa pakiramdam! Kaya huwag tatalikuran ang sariling atin. But in this site, I aim to communicate to people beyond my hometown and my country. I pray more and more people, especially the youth, to discover their niche in expressing themselves through writing – not just pointless and random blabs, and nonsensical stories on how their day was. I believe such journals are better kept under the pillows far away from my eyes.

But then again, I wish to contradict what I had said. Here we have is a free world. A world where we can talk about anything under the sun (even if I consider some as plain stupid and a waste of my time). We may have norms that censor every other work for subjectively offending parties; but in the world where internet has been very instrumental, we all deserve an opportunity to tap every potential our mind has. We can justify the existence of the internet by being creative, expressive, and smart. And everyone deserves a chance to satisfy their knowledge.

Today is the best time to expand our minds. So I won’t hold it against you if… YOU POP AND YOU CAN’T STOP!

A SEUSS VALENTINES

This is my attempt to reimagine Theodore Geisel, or better known as Dr. Seuss, during Valentine's Day. I tried to stay as faithfully as I can to his style.

The Cat in the Hat card is from
BabyDreams Co., Ltd.

Oh today, I do think, is the perfect right time

To make most, and be silly with words and some rhyme

Ol’ cupid up above was inspired… got his aim!

Now the quiet young boy has seen hearts and a flame

I could go pull off Seuss all my day, all my night

But here is a box of good chocs, and enjoy it you might!



...

ME AND MR. CLAPTON

Another of my old writings dating back to 2010. This chronicles the development of my music preference for Eric Clapton. Mr. Slowhand has opened my mind to a wider variety of music, and has since been considered one of my main musical influence.

“Oh my darling, you are wonderful tonight.” It was the last line, sang by what seemed to me to be a drunken man, before a guitar solo broke loose on the radio. The song was in the regular play list of a station that strictly served songs that your mom and dad would love to hear. I would hear it a couple more times before I started asking who the drunken romantic singer was. The answer was Eric Clapton. Nothing was really special about him if you asked my classmates. It’s only me – the lad who would listen to that song, close his eyes, and even make a distinct facial expression as if he swallowed a good number of tamarind candies – it’s only me in class who knew about the old man. Fortunately, I was not alone in my quest to get to know Mr. Clapton.

The man soon turned me into an archaeologist looking for clues in a place that boasted of different noises and harmonies all at the same time. The next thing I know, I was in a pile of records that no youth had probably ever took notice before. The Cadillacs? Johnny Cash. Ray Charles. Chicago, The Chipmunks… Clapton. ERIC CLAPTON. I had a million dollar smile when an average lad wouldn’t even bother staring at the name unlike if it were his first lollipop. The Cream Of Clapton would be my first ever possession that bore the name of the old man who I only recognized in photos as a guitar slinger with properly trimmed hair and an overgrown 5 o’clock shadow. I finally had a record that played Wonderful Tonight, and probably other greats that flowed through the airwaves on long star-filled nights. Finally, I could play the record that could have possibly been a 70’s cruising theme. I WAS WRONG. The first sound I heard was not a caress to my ear. Right there and then, I met the divine goddess Layla. Her revelation was so sudden and intense that at first I refused to believe that it was of Mr. Clapton’s creative juice. That ultimately removed the cloak that hid the god that is Eric. Behold, I am innocent no more.

“Layla, you got me on my knees. Layla, I’m begging darling please. Layla, darling won’t you ease my worried mind.” It was the guitar god wailing and pleading to his lover to take him into her arms. Simple, yet effective. The song Layla was only one of the trademark hymns that the guitar virtuoso wrote during his prime. I believed that there was a mandate that required it to be included in every anthology companies would produce of the god. This was the time that I started turning my CD rack into my own holy grail that paid tribute to Eric. After all, he was hailed a god during the so-called British Invasion in music history. Reading, listening, reading, listening. Those were the times that I discovered more about the god, and more about his music. Texts stated that he was the offspring of the titans that dominated the Pre Rock ‘n’ Roll Era with their blues. Before him reigned the three glorious kings – Freddie King, Albert King, and B.B. King – each of them leaving something significant to the boy who would rise up and become the god. In the end, I found out that these kings did not make such a big impact on Eric compared to the devil himself – Robert Johnson, the father of rock ‘n’ roll.

As a musician and music lover, Eric did not limit himself from listening to other players beside Robert Johnson. He incorporated so many ideas in his style that it made him into a fine blues rocker. His career would span from The Yardbirds, Cream, Derek and the Dominos, Blind Faith, to Live Aid, and Crossroad Festival. Like him and because of him, I was open to many other musicians, especially his contemporaries. I started listening to Jimi Hendrix and Stevie Ray Vaughan, just to name a few. These are the players that accompany Eric in the league of hall of famers. There were so many distinctions between them – from their guitar attacks, lifestyle, and preference of guitars – but in the end, they all played one sound, they all played the blues.

“I went down to the crossroads; fell down on my knees. I asked the Lord above for mercy; take me if you please.” The blues is indeed the type of music that has the power to step over every other genre you can name. Why so? This Black-American product has led the way to the sounds we know of today. Rock ‘n’ roll, rhythm & blues, jazz, funk, soul, disco, metal, reggae – imagine all of those sounding differently from what we know of them today because they did not have roots based on the blues. Though it is the root, many youngsters today take the blues for granted. Some even call it lame or old-fashioned; NOT ME. And who could not blame me for trying to walk in Eric’s foot steps in the road of blues? After all, we both started playing the guitar at almost the same age.

As an amateur, I really hoped I could develop some kind of similarity to his ability. I was even open to the concept of being Eric’s ultimate disciple. But somehow, I developed a different way of playing. I don’t get to play as frequently as him, and I don’t get enough exposure in public unlike the renowned bluesman. Another factor is the bluesmen and rockers I prefer to listen to. Jimi, Jimmy, and Stevie were not the folks my blues lord Eric grew up listening to. They were more like the elites that challenged Eric’s supremacy in the music scene. Eric gladly accepted the challenge in a never-ending guitar battle that lasted their entire career. I, however, treat these deviant musicians a bit differently. They got my attention with their tunes that stand out because of their own personal style. Some of them are now played as standards and anthems in various places. I soon realized that it’s not only Eric that I’m trying to follow. Having other musicians as well helps me build up my own unique taste – something each of them developed as well. I guess I can’t call myself Eric’s ultimate disciple anymore.

ERIC CLAPTON, The God, Mr. Slowhand, Eric Patrick Clapton, The First of The Guitar Heroes, The Armani-clad Bluesman, or whatever you call him – this man has surely influenced my life. His impact on me is more than just the aggressive guitar riffs and sought-after licks, and even more than his lines that I could use to pick up a beautiful lady in a bar. He would never ever be a legend if his influence to people would not go beyond his music. This is the question – What is his legacy to me? What he taught me was focus; never to let anybody bring me down just because they don’t see things the way I do. He did it by being the first man to bring the black blues to the white audience. He never let go of the idea that he could bring change in the way people see and treat other cultures. He also taught me to be a man of taste. Being a man of taste means that I could classify what is good music based from tone quality, composition, and message. But there is more to that concept. I learned that to be a man of taste, I should be careful of every decision I make in life. Therefore I should be able to identify the best options that life has to offer. There are easy options; there are hard options. All contribute to the overall flow of music in my life. Lastly – to be a man of top caliber. Eric kept on rehearsing for every performance he did. He also fought to get back on his feet when he fell due to drug abuse and alcoholism. Like him of course, I should be in tip-top shape in all the songs that I will perform in life’s main gig. I should be a stand out, the main rock icon, and yet be a man who is humble enough to look back at his beginnings.

This is my journey with Eric Clapton. And it does not stop here. I am here to rock…

FURTHER ON UP THE ROAD!

WAR STORIES

A healthy dose of war stories from my grandfather, the fun of playing pretend soldiers during my childhood, and a thirst for information – it was a perfect recipe that slowly turned me into someone who is fascinated by World War 2. That historic war had been fought over half a century already but it continues to captivate the passion of people like Tom Hanks, Clint Eastwood, Stephen Ambrose, and most recently, me.

To supplement the oral stories that have been passed down to me by the men of that era, I started watching movies and documentaries about the war. I started acquiring books, a soldier’s memoir if you will, that chronicle everyday life in the battlefield. One does not even have to have a vivid imagination like me to see the horrors that they had gone through in the jungles, fields, waters, and sky.

Whether you are more inclined with the Pacific or the European theater or both, the stories of heroism, courage, and brotherhood is highlighted with every anecdote of the brave soldiers who faced the terrors of war. They themselves do not consider their actions heroic, some even lament that they should had been the one killed in action, and not their buddies. Words alone bring a lot of emotion, sorrow, and anxiety. Despite these feelings, I have come to understand that they learned trust, bravery, and faith. With those as their core weapons, many had willed to survive and win the war.

It’s these stories that humble our generation. In these times, we have slowly learned to be more selfish, more egocentric, and more arrogant with little regard of the sacrifices made by our predecessors. But in these same stories, we find hope. Hope that soon enough, we will be able to patch up differences and use it to progress. Hope that maybe one day, the world will be in a communion toward a certain goal - a goal to move forward and achieve dreams beyond compare.

My personal World War 2 reads are the following: Wild Blue by Stephen Ambrose (flyboys in the European theater), Ghost Soldiers by Hampton Sides (Cabanatuan raid, Pacific theater), Helmet For My Pillow by Robert Leckie (US Marines in the Pacific theater; as featured in the HBO Series The Pacific), and Flags Of Our Fathers by James Bradley (flag raisers of the iconic World War 2 photo, Pacific theater; as featured in a movie of the same name).