I can't sit with them

I think, have I been someone who loves reading books like many brilliant people I know, I would’ve been better in writing. All of my favorite writers are voracious readers and the smartest people I know owns a lot of books that they actually read.

Book junkies reading this can judge me all they want (some, who are my friends, may think less of me now), but I cannot sustain reading printed text over long periods. I just don’t have the patience and the EQ for it. It got worse now with my presbyopia which made it difficult for me to read anything in front of my nose.

I am saying this not because I’m proud of it, but because it is what it is. I mean, it’s not that I don’t read at all, it’s just not something I do for leisure. I’m not one that finds joy holding a physical book (I even know someone who sniffs pages) and read it obsessively from cover to cover. Simply put, I'm not too keen on reading books but not reading in general. 

I am not too well-attuned and I tend to zone out after a while. When this happens, I had to stop and put the book down otherwise nothing penetrates. The problem with this is that when I put it down, I hardly pick it back. There are at least about ten books I bought in my lifetime mostly out of impulse but never finished. For one, I never got past the first few chapters of The Alchemist. 

Most of the time when I read a book, there are parts of it I intentionally leave out. Say, one to two paragraphs, or sometimes even a whole chapter. Then I’d start flipping pages because I can’t concentrate anymore, then eventually I lose interest. It happens in almost every book I try to read.

Any author will be frustrated at me especially when the intention of every writer has always been that their book is read from beginning to end. I think they have a term for me: fractal reader — or is it? 

Reading a book for long periods can also make my hands feel numb. I’d develop this strain on my thumb for pressing on the pages while my other fingers support the book spine (happens most of the time on thick paperbacks). Once this happens, I put the book down— and I already told you what happens when I put the book down.

Not counting the ones I read for my book report in school, there are ones I did read and finish. Most of them are the light and amusing ones from our local authors like Jessica Zafra’s Twisted series and Womenagerie and Other Tales from the Front and Pam Pastor’s Paper Cuts and Planet Panic. I did read some Tom Clancy, Sidney Sheldon and Dan Brown. I loved Paradise by Judith McNaught but was not as stirred with her other novels. 

My choice of books might be sneered at by the pompous bibliomaniac snobs but here goes. I read chick-lit novels like Confessions of the Shopaholic or The Devil Wears Prada. Didn’t shed a single tear for The Fault In Our Stars (even if many friends swore that they did). I did finish the Hunger Games trilogy and actually liked it, but then got bored with another young adult dystopian novel, Divergent trilogy. I secretly read Fifty Shades of Grey E-Book during the idle hours in the office (and became quite an expert when it comes to reading in minimized windows).  

Please don’t hate me, but I have never picked up any from the Harry Potter series like, ever. 

I’m always fascinated at people who are so passionate about reading that they can talk for hours how much they love it. I envy the ones who’d feel some kind of orgasmic happiness when they’re inside a book store or library. I admire those who challenge themselves to read X number of books in a year. I love how some of them seem like they are living in the pages of the books they read because they enjoyed it that much. 

When I see my most admired people and their magnanimous book collection, I always ask myself: How can they do that? How can they read all of that? How can they have the time?

I wish I had that same kind of passion for books. But I honestly don’t think I’ll ever will. 

It dawned on me now that all my friends are book lovers. All of them but me. I imagined them sitting at a table with each reading a good book and when I come near they’ll look at me and say, “You can’t sit with us!”

Hissy

I don’t know if it is hormonal imbalance, aging, lack of sleep, anxiety, too much caffeine or a freaky amalgam of all these, but I have been feeling ‘out of sorts’ lately. I get irritated at people at the slightest stir, whether it’s with my rambunctious nephews, a noisy coworker, a car driver that honked at me while I was crossing the street, a nosy neighbor, a sloth-slow service crew—practically everyone can tick me off so easily.

Photography by Erkin Demir

I’m quite annoyed at myself as well when I’m like this. See, I’d ordinarily shrug off minor hassle and move on. After all, I believe it’s not the stress that would eventually kill us, but it is our reaction to it. I try every trick in the book when the negative feeling is brewing and most of it was a series of inhales and exhales. I wouldn’t want to react impulsively and regret it later on.

But yeah, it’s quite challenging not to snap at some people these days.

Last weekend, I went to buy my mom some takeout at a Filipino-Chinese fast-food chain. The groceries were already particularly heavy for my right shoulder and I’m carrying another tote bag on my other hand. I was swearing under my breath when I saw the long lines to the takeout counter and was thisclose to turning back, but the better part of me however, decided to stay and wait.

The line was moving at a glacial pace, thanks to this woman at the counter who was just standing there staring at the menu display board like it was Jason Momoa’s half-naked bod. It took her so much time to decide that she wanted a chicken over the shanghai lauriat.

Behind her was a father with a toddler throwing a fit for being there instead of the McDonald’s next door. I wonder why he can’t get the little boy to stop his outburst when people are already looking. And the high-pitched scream feels like a jackhammer inside my head.

No Happy Meal for you, kiddo.

I can feel the painful pressure pulsing in my temples and the bright lights of that crowded place is forcing my teary, swollen eyes to squint. It was also so noisy in there and many of the tables are either occupied or dirty. I can point out so many things in one spot that can trigger me.

D’yos ko po, I said to myself.

After several minutes, I finally got to my turn at the counter. I was no longer in the mood for niceties so when the female service crew greeted me ‘good afternoon’, I didn’t answer. Instead, I went on dictating my order that I have already memorized thanks to the long wait.

“Two pork chao fan with siomai top—”

“With drinks?”

“Wala po.”

She nods so I continued, “Okay, pork chao fan with siomai toppings, tapos—”

“Steamed or fried?” she interjects, which threw me off a bit, but I managed to answer steamed after realizing I was being asked how I want my siomai.

“Tapos isang siopao box na bola-bola.”

Punch. Punch. Punch.

A momentary pause and then, “Ilan pong siopao?”

I can’t believe this.

“Isang box. Yung tigatlo.”

Punch. Punch. Punch.

“Asado or bola-bola?”

Oh God.

“Bola-bola `nga.”

Punch. Punch. Punch.

I doubt that she got it so I was looking intently at the POS system to see if she punched the correct order. From there, I saw that she only punched one pork chao fan with siomai (instead of two) and the siopao box.

“Miss, dalawa po `yung—”

“Dalawa po yung siopao?

“Hindi!” now there’s exasperation in my voice, “Dalawa yung pork chao fan with steamed siomai tapos isang box ng bola-bola siopao!”

Punch. Punch. Punch.

I was about to rail at her but it was only then that I noticed the burn scars on her right cheek and ear. For a moment there, I froze—then looked away. I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable if she sees me staring.

Punch. Punch. Punch.

After she gave my order total, I handed her my 500-peso bill. That’s when I saw that her right arm was badly burned as well and she has no thumb and index finger.

That hit me. The female crew is a burn victim. Maybe second, maybe even third-degree.

At that point, I felt guilty for being snarky at her. I mean, yes—she did have difficulty taking and understanding what I’ve ordered, and she interrupted me more than once, but I could have been more sensitive and considerate with her. I don’t have the slightest idea of what she’s been (or still going) through. Who knows if the burn had made it hard for her to hear? Or if the scars affected her motor skills and concentration? Or her stamina?

She handed me my number and my change using her three remaining digits. I gave her a smile and said thank you.

I sat on a corner table and watched her from afar. She was really having a hard time getting the customer’s order the first time, but I can see she was trying her best. Every once in a while, she’d leave the counter to serve drinks or take the tray out, then goes back to man the counter again. All I can think of at that time is how glad I was that the establishment is giving a chance by hiring people like her.

Suddenly I felt compassion and empathy towards that female crew. Here she was trying to make a living and I am giving her an attitude over something I could just let pass. It also left me reassessing myself; I realized how often I react to what I perceived as an inconvenience caused by other people. Perhaps it’s about time to be extra patient as not everything is about me.

I am still working on how I can successfully ignore the things that some people do that bug me, but I guess that’s the tita in me creeping out and making it all harder. The wick of my temper may be shorter than ever, but a little forbearance might just help. 

Deadz

I think it was two Sundays ago when my older brother told me that he dreamt that I died. It was so vivid that he described how it went, on how it started out sad and then scary until it got all batshit-crazy. 

…He said that when he looked inside my coffin, I was alive and was actually texting.
…That the next thing he saw was me running around (he said my wake was held inside a relatives’ compound) saying I am not dead.
...That people in my wake bolted out of there in panic seeing me alive (who wouldn’t?)
…My late dad was there during the commotion and said: “Kawawa naman si Vayie, na-embalsamo na `yan eh.”
…Then I went up to the stage (yes, there was a stage) and sang this song.

See, told you it was crazy.

I know most of us try to brush that thought aside but deep inside, we all have our own mental picture on how we want it to be when we’re already in that eventual state. This may be a morbid thing to talk about and some may not be comfortable in discussing it, but let’s take this lightly for now because just like everything else, we have our preference even when it’s about our own death.

Like how, if I ever get to choose, I don’t want it to be an open casket for me. Just like when my dad was still alive, he’d always tell us that he wanted to be cremated immediately and then on the wake it will just be his ashes inside an urn. He said he doesn’t want people peeking through his coffin and saying things like: “He looked like he suffered a lot.” or “He looked different. He lost a lot of weight.” — so yes it was all about vanity up until the very end.

When it happened, none of us wanted any of that for him and gave him a traditional viewing. The good thing about it was my daddy never looked so handsome, it’s almost like how he looked when he was in his early 40s, (a younger Rafael Alunan III). It was the exact opposite of what he feared people would say when they see him in such state. I think he got more compliments while lying in there than the last few years of his life.

I always say jokingly and not-so-jokingly to make every effort in making sure my corpse is pretty enough to be viewed. I want a flawless, airbrushed make-up finish in the right shade. That may sound so vain, but I don’t think that’s too much to ask. If people will come to see me for the very last time, I wouldn’t want them whispering to themselves, “Did they use a pink undertone Kokuryu summer cake on her?”. I mean, if they won’t go to great lengths prettifying me, then cremate me, pronto. I won’t be a beautiful corpse. Heck, I’m not even beautiful while sleeping.

I also don’t want to wear something white as I never liked that color on me, instead, I want to wear something in turquoise blue, one of my favorite colors other than black and red.

It would still be a Catholic funeral, with masses and prayers, but when it comes to my wake, I don’t want it to be a sad, somber affair. I want ‘80s New Wave songs to be played on a continuous loop. I want everyone there just having a good time snacking on Boy Bawang and Ding Dong while swapping funny stories. Promise, I won’t take that as disrespect of my memory.

Also, no eulogies, please. Everybody says only the nicest things about you when you’re already dead. And while I believe my spirit may be hovering around my own wake anyway—it defeats the purpose of such tribute when I’m already a cold corpse.

Unless you have a family mausoleum, you wouldn’t choose to be buried considering the sad state of cemeteries in the Philippines. That’s why even then I wanted to be cremated. I wouldn’t want them to place my corpse on the ground and leave there to be eaten by maggots. Good thing this is not open for discussion anymore since we’ll all end up in the same crematorium vault where my dad is now. (Once upon a time though, I wanted a Vikings funeral with flaming arrows to hit a pyre, similar to Frigga’s in “Thor: The Dark World”. Then again, where will I have my ship burial float? Manila Bay? No, thank you.) 

While we should all live with the end in mind, I hope that talking about this now won’t jinx me and this post becomes some sort of a premonition. That would be totally fuc*ed up.

But come to think of it, they say only the good die young. If that’s true, then I will be safe for now.

Exotica

A few years ago I got invited to an intimate dinner for selected readers of a women’s fashion and beauty magazine. It was quite an experience meeting fellow long-time readers and rubbing elbows with the editorial staff over chips, pizza, pasta and cocktail. The event was a meet-up mainly to get insightful feedback about the magazine plus a chance to get suggestions for them to improve.

They set up four tables with around 40 people in total and I was seated facing directly the well-respected editor-in-chief who I so admire since my years fresh out of college. It wasn’t a formal set-up as they made sure it will be just like the kind of conversation one would have with female friends.

As expected, it started with the usual introductions: name, age, occupation, single or taken, how long have you’ve been reading the magazine, what are your thoughts about it, and so on. After a while, the atmosphere became more casual, with some opening up on their personal details.

Even if most of the attendees were women in their 20s and I was already in my mid-30s then, I didn’t feel out of place. I might not be overly fond of socializing especially with people that aren’t my friends, but I know how to hold my own when needed. I was actually having a good time.

For whatever reason, the conversation veered towards relationships and marriage. It was no biggie for most people on the same table when I let them know my age and status, until this girl seated adjacent to me, who was sporting a Mamma Mia Christine Baranski haircut (and by the way was being a self-absorbed b*tch the whole night), chimed in: “Okay lang `yan, habang may Europe, may pag-asa.” — which actually translates to: “As long as there are Europeans, you have hope.”

I glared at her, with so many counter-insults racing in my head, but decided to just let it go as I don’t want to sound defensive if I clap back. There was a three-second awkward silence before the editor-in-chief came to my rescue and proudly said, “I got married in my forties!”

Maybe to some, the remark wasn’t offensive at all, but for me it was. While it wasn’t delivered rudely, it was meant to poke fun at me. It’s lacking propriety that she say that, let alone to someone she barely know. To think, there was never a moment the entire evening that I made it look like I was desperately seeking companionship.

I know comments are subject to one’s own interpretation and it’s up to me if I’d allow it to affect me. The problem with her statement was it’s malicious and it seemingly implied that my case was hopeless (after all, she used the word “pag-asa”). It’s just like saying that if I can’t find a pinoy for a boyfriend, then I should fret not as there are foreigners. Like only then will I have a fighting chance.

Que horror. How was it that even in this liberal age, girl-on-girl shaming when it comes to relationship status (or the lack of) still happens? And why the need to objectify another person?

Another reason why the statement was off-putting is because we are all familiar of this conventional belief of the narrow-minded that when a Filipina is seen with a foreigner, someone will always make fun of how the woman looked.

“Mahilig talaga ang mga foreigners sa pangit.” 

“Sa exotic!”

“Sa pangit nga.”

Not that I believe it, but I’m willing to bet that you have heard of such nasty remarks too. It is not uncommon for a Filipina to be judged at situations like this. Not only that many would think that she’s just after the money, the Green Card and the financial security, but people will likely attack her on the physical. That is because “pangit” for some Filipinos are the short, dark, broad-nosed women.

Exotic eh. 

I’ve also been described as “exotic” (not followed by the word “beauty”, mind you) and quite frankly I don’t like it as there’s nothing exotic about my features. Whoever said that might have something else in mind.

I know the word itself is not bad as it can mean a lot of things including being strikingly unusual but often when you use it to describe one’s looks, then it could be somewhat tricky.

“Exotic? Parang iguana?” 

Call me touchy but I don’t want a word that is often used to describe snakes or rafflesias used on me when it comes to classifying how I look.

“Mahilig kasi ang mga foreigner sa exotic.” 

I mean, are they talking about fetishization in general? It’s absolutely not the same as having a quirky feature like freckles. Saying “exotic” is definitely about a trait unique to a race or ethnicity. Was it my skin color? My naturally black straight hair?

It’s good that slowly some prejudices about beauty is changing. There are so many advocacies now that encourages everyone to embrace their looks even if it doesn’t fall in the same spectrum as the ideal. But admit it or not, we have a long way to go.

And some people should stop shaming single women, for crying out loud! Do women really require a man (whether a local or foreigner) to validate her self-worth? You tell me. 

Mine.

All those years of blogging up until I stopped sometime in 2016 (after a whopping 2,011 posts), I only used Blogger services and its subdomain. Even at my most active when I had quite a number of followers and regular readers (mostly friends and relatives who were probably forced to read out of fear that they might be on it), I never actually considered having a personal domain. Well for one, I was contented using a subdomain. Then there’s the fact that I’ve changed my blog address probably around six to seven times in its entire run.

When I went back to publicly writing again (yes, I never stopped doing it privately), I thought of using Wordpress because most of my blogger friends are on it. Maybe it has something there that makes them write so good, I thought. Loyalty eventually wins as I chose to stay with Blogger because I’m already familiar with the dashboard and it’s much simpler for someone who doesn’t have the patience to learn the basics of another blog-publishing site.

After putting it off for years, I finally decided to get my own domain. My blogger friends Clare and Judie thought it was a good idea (they both have theirs) and I thank them for helping me out and being extra patient even if I might’ve asked them many no-brainer questions on how to go about it.

There couldn’t be a worse timing to have a customized domain than now because blogging is not as popular as before. This I get to experience first hand, as even my once loyal readers no longer read my posts like they used to, which I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad (as that `80s song goes) considering they were the very same people who encouraged me to write again.

But I’m not alone. I noticed that even seasoned bloggers with a large following are experiencing the very same thing. They don't get as many visits as they’d have around five to ten years ago. How do I know? Just look at the lack of comments on their posts and their sporadic postings.

It’s no secret that microblogging such as Instagram and Twitter (especially after the longer 280-character limit) killed it. Vlogs or video blogs also became so popular, where one doesn’t need any writing skills and as long as they can confidently talk while filming themselves—then they’re good. In the past five years or so, most people prefer visuals over the raw beauty of the written word. I don’t have to look far to prove this as I myself have more than 6,000 (some archived) posts on Instagram after I stopped blogging.

I also read somewhere that blogging is more of a “people-pleasing” endeavor which is why you will not be able to carry on if you are only into it to publish and impress.  In due time, you’d get tired when you don’t get as many affirmations or hits as you would have hoped. When someone says to me that he or she wanted to start a blog and was asking for advice, I always tell them that it’s not easy and that they should reflect on their intentions. If it’s anything but an innate love for writing, they will only add to the growing statistics of dormant/dead blogs.

Of course, it’s always heartwarming when people praise you and tell you how much they like what you wrote, or just the mere fact that they took the time to read your work. However, entertaining an audience is no longer my motivation. If I'm happy doing it, then I'll continue doing it, never mind if I’ll be the only one who ends up reading it. It’s like going back to a time much simpler when I write my thoughts on paper without any intention of showing it to anybody.

In my early years of blogging, one of my many shallow motivations to write is knowing that the person behind my narrative is actually reading it. Nothing can make me pound the keyboard keys than writing about my interpersonal relations.

Now more than ever, I’m writing for myself. I no longer feel any pressure to come up with something just to keep my site updated. I do a lot of reflecting on my content before even publishing it as sometimes, I can be my own biggest critic. This is not something I do before; Back then I can create a post one after the other like it's coming out of an assembly line.

So there, after a lot of problems encountered for something as simple as getting one (including credit card payment disputes and mostly techie stuff) — I finally have my own domain! I end up using my nickname and last name (dot) com. I may have mentioned how much I regret oversharing and putting myself out there before, so this is a clear contradiction. But then again, this is my space, and nothing is more personal than having your name on your site. Besides, do you know how many Valerie De Leons and Vayies are there now? Before when I type “Vayie” on Google, it’ll be just me—at least now I’m sure I’m the only Vayie De Leon out there.

It's cool having a personal space online. It kinda “legitimizes” what I do while at the same time reminding me to do it well as I’ve already put my name on it.

Dating Dread

I don’t know if it was youthful confidence or just stark recklessness, but I was audacious in my early to mid-20s. I go out on dates with guys I only met in chatrooms like mIRC and Yahoo! Two of these guys I met in the chatroom and dated became my boyfriends. One was Alex, who passed on years ago, and another ex—who shall not be named. At the time, the phrase “single and ready to mingle” was my mantra and boy, did I thrive. Haaayyy, those were my salad days long gone.

But now if there’s something I dread and could instantly give me an anxiety attack, that would be going out on a date. Regardless if it’s a blind date, casual date, group date, or double date—I just don’t know how to go about it. The fact that I will have to spend a few hours with a guy petrifies me. Maybe part of it is my declining self-esteem, plus that looming fear of rejection.

Jonathan J. Castellon on Unsplash

Quite frankly at my age now, I don’t get asked out that much—which is okay, because I’ve gotten so uncomfortable with the whole “protocol” anyway. If I do get an invite for one (no matter how friendly), I always end up turning it down politely.

Yes, people—I’m riding on a bus to my doom to singlehood.

Nonetheless, this irrational fear didn’t stop me from creating an account for a popular dating site back in 2014.

Many believed that online dating is for the desperate and that it's the last resort for people who can't get a date in the real world. I'm fully aware of this negative stigma, which is why I don't go around telling people, even friends, that I joined one.  There's nothing to tell anyway, as I wasn't counting on meeting someone and hoping it'll take off from there. I did it more out of curiosity (promise!) and just to see how it is. I didn't even pay for the membership and just opted for the free account which gives very limited access. Guess I'm not that keen to start a new romance.

Of course, it wouldn't hurt to fantasize something similar to “You’ve Got Mail” but who am I kidding? These days finding a Joe Fox who would be interested with a woman my age is a long stretch.

Besides, I'm so torpe; I have gotten so socially inept that I have more courage to talk to men in such a platform knowing that there will be no physical interaction. Well, not unless temporary insanity made me decide to meet with the guy in person and the probability of that is = 0. You can say that the point of having an online dating account is moot in my case.

This particular site I joined is frequented by foreigners that are not based in the Philippines, which is better. See, if I install a location-based dating app such as Tinder, the possibility of coming across the guy is higher and I don’t want to be within close proximity to someone I met online. The obvious downside though is most of these foreigners have Asian fetishes, so I kinda expected that I’d encounter a lot of shady and deviant characters.

As it turns out, creating a wholesome profile didn’t stop the pervs. It was discomfiting at first getting indecent proposals and invitations for hookups one after the other. As it got so frequent, I learned to just laugh off at their pathetic attempts. For one, I got so used to being sent unsolicited dick pics of all shapes, sizes and colors which would be enough to spread it like wallpaper.

It wasn’t all bad. I met a British guy almost 18 years my senior who I ended up liking because we always have interesting talks. If there’s one thing that would get me attracted to the opposite sex, it is the way he carries a conversation and this man is just that and more. He’s divorced with two grown-up kids and also a retired law enforcer, so his stories about the IRA and “The Troubles” fascinate me.

He was a perfect gentleman, never hinted sexual innuendos even if he was—as he said—very attracted to me. But before it could turn into a full-blown romance with him whooshing here or me packing my bags to Northern Ireland, something happened along the way that it just didn’t pan out. No harm done; I'm just glad that apart from Skyping, sharing of stories and photos—nothing else was “exchanged”—if you know what I mean.

Since then I didn’t take any invite seriously from the same dating site. I don’t like going through the motions again only to end up like what happened to me and the British guy. It's good that there wasn't a lot of options anyway. I get messages from octogenarian guys to creepy Arab men. I once got a proposal ala-Fifty Shades of Grey minus the billionaire angle (so it’s just like saying he just needed a submissive but is too poor to pay for one). And perhaps my all-time favorite was when I was asked: “Are you a ladyboy?”

The only one quite promising was this Michael Biehn look-alike but ruined it all by saying the wrong hirit. He flatly asked me minutes into what I thought was a fun chat: "Are you going to ask me to send you money now?" Grabe, I was too insulted to come up with a ball-busting counter. When he realized I got upset, he went on explaining that most of the Filipina girls he meets on the site would ask him for money so he was just cutting to the chase. I went rambling on how I have my own money ready to slap it to his face (Charot lang). He apologized and was very resentful that I got close to a hundred messages from him saying sorry and begging for another chance. Too late, my interest fizzled.

There was no way to delete the account, at least no way that I know of, so even if I have long been inactive, I still get matches via e-mail twice a week. Almost four years after Mr. British Guy, none of them got close. Don’t get me wrong, there's quite a handful of good-looking guys I see there but maybe I don’t have the level of confidence I had when I was younger to ramp it up. Plus, it's not always the physical that counts.

In short, whether online or IRL, I don't have any luck when it comes to dating in general. My dating diva past is all behind me now. Well-meaning friends were telling me to give it a try a little more this time because I’m single, available and got nothing to lose. What they don’t realize is I have my dignity to lose if things don’t work out again since I get attached too quickly. But then, maybe they have a point. A good guy will never fall into my lap because things like that only happen in the movies.

And if my life was a movie, it was never a rom-com.

The Aftermath

Even if no one has been officially proclaimed, the majority has spoken: The administration bets dominated the Top 12 senatorial list. Since last night’s televised partial and unofficial results, netizens are already taking their disappointment to social media, that #RIPPhilippines even became trending on Twitter.

Screengrab from GMA News

I won’t lie. Seeing Alyas Pogi in the Top 12 is giving me a mild coronary. Among all the candidates, it is with him I am most frustrated for obvious reasons.

But it is one thing to be disappointed with the results and another when you resort to name-calling other people just because you didn’t share the same views or voted for the same people. I see so many posts on my timeline from friends calling those who voted for the likes of Revilla, Marcos, Lapid, Bato and Estrada “bobo” or “tanga”. I  know most of us are triggered, I simply don’t see such remarks are necessary and how it would make the situation any better.

I think these people are more uninformed than “bobo”. Besides, who gives one the right to think that he’s smarter and better than everyone else? That their choice is the choice? That their pick would change the state of the country with utmost certainty? Don’t you think that—in itself, is just as arrogant? It’s easy to hurl insults at people who we differ in opinions, but we refuse to look hard on ourselves that perhaps we have our shortcomings too.

Like how I only realized last night over dinner that a family member voted for Revilla. Of course, this came as an utter shock to me because here I was being very vocal to anyone who cared to listen on how I wouldn’t like pogi back in the Senate, not knowing that someone close to me actually voted for him.

I asked her, in between facepalm and self hair-pulling, why she did it—when Revilla was already detained for four years for plunder (for the embezzlement of P224 million in discretionary funds). She simply answered: “Hindi napatunayan!” (It wasn’t proven!).

That’s when it hit me: I have my fault too. I mean, if I had enlightened her on why Revilla shouldn’t be given a seat in the Senate again instead of cursing in front of the TV whenever I see his “Budots” campaign ad, then maybe she was able to weigh it more. If I had reminded her that this is the same person who was in cahoots with Janet Lim Napoles, who she hates, then maybe she will not vote for him anymore.

I have participated in a number of elections since I hit the voting age more than two decades ago. I started like everyone else: hopeful and patriotic. For all the years of my early adulthood, I was very much involved in every election. I was a PPCRV volunteer more than once and was present in meetings, youth assemblies and live political debates (this was long before the age of social media).

Like everyone else now who’re frustrated that the likes of Chel Diokno didn’t make it, I believed that my candidate then was the “savior”. I was idealistic more than realistic; I thought my “intelligent vote” could turn things around and steer my country to prosperity. Eventually, some won, some didn’t. But those who won disappointed me in the long run, as they didn’t turn out what I hoped to be. Most of them started as the “young bloods” the youth look up to, and ended up a TRAPO over the years after being eaten by the system.

Then came the next election, and I was as fervent as the last, I continued choosing for the candidates who I think will make this country great—only to be let down again. It became a never-ending cycle of big expectations vs. disappointing reality, but here I am, still believing in the power of the vote.

I guess what I am saying is that our “intelligent vote” is not a guarantee that our country will be better if they get elected. If the people we voted for didn't make it, then let's keep on trying until things change. We can only hope, and that’s the best we can do.

I have seen people posting online on how, after the initial results, that there is absolutely no hope for the Philippines anymore. Some even expressed how they want to leave the country as they do not want to be a part of a “sinking ship”. Someone even said, “Maybe the Big One is already coming and the Philippines will be no more.” — which is just a terrible thing to say. I have friends who wouldn't stop expressing their disgust online over the results, only to find out that they didn't even vote. When asked why they'll say they no longer believe in the system and they knew something like this is going to happen. It got me scratching my head that they profess their so-called love for their country, and yet they didn't even try to do something and got contented just watching in the sidelines.

Why can't they see the little victories in the city-level positions? Years of political dynasties in Manila, Pasig, San Juan and Makati finally ended. Isko Moreno beats former president Joseph Estrada for the mayoralty of Manila. Vico Sotto wins over Bobby Eusebio ending the 27-year hold of the Eusebios in Pasig. After 50 years, another Estrada lost to Francis Zamora for mayor in San Juan. Jejomar Binay lost to Kid Peña for the Congressional seat for District 1 in Makati. How can some say this election is hopeless when some, albeit not all, are gradually taking a stand against political dynasties?

When the dust settles and all this is over, let’s just continue praying for our country. That is far better than wishing for the country’s fall just to prove to people you once disagreed with that you were right all along.

Vote Wisely, Philippines.

Today is the PH Midterm Election and as always, I am going to exercise my right to vote.

While I wasn't saying with absolute certainty that my choices are the right ones, at least I know I have put a lot of thought to it and I wasn’t influenced by anyone. I am going to vote for someone who I think would make a difference for my country. That is, even if their likelihood to win is very slim.

The result of the latest survey for the senatorial race frustrates me as I see the names of convicted plunderers and TRAPOs (traditional politicians) on the Top 12. A rush of hopelessness coursed through me, like we will never get out of the political situation we are in. For a while, it made me not want to vote anymore. But then I realized that if I don’t, I will have no right to complain if our country’s gone to the dogs because I didn't do my duty as a citizen.

I don’t know why Filipinos never learn, and why they still vote for a candidate with a questionable track record. Why would you elect someone who was charged over the misuse of their Priority Development Assistance Fund (PDAF) and was dancing like a loony in his TV campaign ad? Why would you elect someone who will be a centenarian in five years? (Will you hire a 95-year old for ANY job? Why should Philippine senate any different?) Why would you elect someone who's known to be either corrupt and unqualified?

Sad to say, Filipinos still vote whoever is popular. People still vote straight because of “bandwagon appeal” or affiliation—be it with “Otso Diretso” or “Hugpong ng Pagbabago”—without even thinking if everyone in that list is competent. People still vote for someone because a family member or a friend persuaded them. People still vote for a candidate because they were given 500 pesos. People still vote for a candidate that was endorsed by a popular celebrity.

I don’t see this going away anytime soon because Philippine politics has become a big circus over the years. Expect political families to win again. Expect the same faces, the same ol' crap. That is because the majority of voters don’t care about platforms anymore. Why would they? Most politicians don’t even bother about it. What’s important to them is a good endorsement, and they’d think that will be enough to assure a win. Victory by association, in other words.

But then maybe, just maybe, it will be different this time. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

Now more than ever, voters should demand integrity from their candidates. Let us not make the same mistakes we made before. There were candidates that I truly regret ever voting in the previous elections, but that’s it — I learned from my mistakes. Shouldn’t all of us do?

To vote is your absolute right but to vote wisely is a responsibility. I pray that we all take that to heart when we go and cast our votes today.

Why breakups are hard—but winnable

Sometimes a breakup can change a person so much that they become a different person in the process. Some breakups consume you in more ways than one as it affects several facets of your being. It impacts how you see yourself, how you deal with people, how you behave and how you view things like relationships in general.

When a relationship ends bitterly, some tend to beat themselves over it. What did I do wrong? How could he do this to me?—there’s always that sinking feeling at the pit of your stomach that is eerily similar to being humiliated. It makes one question his or her worthiness. Am I not good enough? Don’t I deserve to be happy?

Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

Picking up the pieces is always the most difficult process of all. It is when you have to accept the fact that the love is gone—or at least it’s not enough to keep you two together. Even while the relationship was never perfect and oftentimes turbulent, the mere thought of going on without the person seems unbearable especially when you worked so damn hard for it. You find yourself waiting for a text or call that will never come or some cosmic miracle that somehow your ex shows up right at your door. You think about the day-to-day activities that you do together and how all that will be no more. It's a series of adjustments and a major change in routine.

When the unlikelihood of reconciliation sinks in, comes the grieving process. People differ in how they manifest their own grief. Some would retreat to the comfort of his or her own solitude, while some need to be with friends to divert their mind off the hurt. Some are vocal, others just clam up. While the approach to handling a breakup differs, there’s no denying that by the end of the day, you—more than anyone—know that the pain is real.

There are times you’d suddenly get desperate for answers, wanting to understand what went wrong. Even if you feel you have said all there is to say, there will always be something you feel you’ve missed out. Because of this desperation sometimes you relapse and contact your ex again, but then you realize the truth that there is nothing left to say, at least nothing to make any difference.

I have my share of bad breakups—with one more recent, and it was so bad that I even thought of swearing off love for good. I admit that at first, I struggled at doing anything, that even getting up in bed seems so hard even if I had trouble sleeping that night. I can't concentrate. I would have this upset stomach and a wave of nausea almost every day for no reason. I feel disconnected from the people around me even to family and friends. I lost my appetite not just for food but even for the things that usually interest me. Couple this with my f*cked-up hormones because of the thyroid condition I always had, I sank into mild anxiety even the people closest to me knew nothing about. It was hard to talk about it, as there is that thin line between heartbreak and depression that some people interchange the two. Heartbreak—to most people—is petty.

I am not really the type who cries to friends and because of that, they don’t check up on me that often (I don’t know if that’s good or bad). I learned to just fend for myself. I allowed myself enough time to mourn. To be lonely. By experience, denial can only make matters worse, so when I’m sad, I am sad. I don’t say I’m okay when I’m not. I don't go convincing myself that I'm over it because the thought of the breakup still makes me sad. There are times that even if I feel like crying, I just can’t.

But when it starts to hurt too much, I pray.

While I know that it’s been months since and I have successfully moved forward, there are moments of weakness when I still feel angry when I think about it. I absolutely hate feeling angry because I don’t want to think that I feel so because I still have feelings for the person. You know how they say that the opposite of love is not hate but apathy? More than anything, I wanted to be apathetic than hateful.

Perhaps because of my instinctive tendency to love myself more, I didn’t reach the point that I let all the hurt and anger eat me. No way will I let this destroy me. A wound won’t heal if you keep touching it so that must’ve helped as I don’t talk about the person or what I feel to anybody. At least not every waking hour. Gradually, I got numb and just went on with my life. While a part of me was crumbling, the other part has never been so strong. It's amazing how much strength I have to just go on.

I managed to cope with the collapse of the relationship and redirected my anxiety to something that would benefit me more. For one, I started writing again, something that I have abandoned for a time. Writing has always been therapeutic for me. It made me realize that I am capable of channeling my negative feelings to something positive. In the end, it’s more about the fact that even if it’s not a competition, I want to be the one who wins the breakup. That in the end, self-love prevails. I don’t want to give my ex the satisfaction of thinking he destroyed me because he didn’t. No way.

Life is going well and it’s treating me right. Guess I won.

Endgame: Best Scenes (and other side-thoughts)

SPOILERS AHEAD: While I patiently waited for the spoiler ban to be lifted before posting this, please do not proceed if you haven’t seen “Avengers: Endgame” as this post contains major plot points.

So did I like Endgame? To use the word 'like' is an understatement. How about me saying, after being a Star Wars fan all my life, Endgame is far more spectacular and satisfying than Star Wars?

There, I said it.

It's been two weeks since and I’m still on geeky fangirl-mode. I do nothing in my free time but rewatch Endgame scenes posted on YouTube and read articles and reviews online. I am also planning to see it two more times this week, I kid you not.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so pumped up (was hooting, cheering, squealing and applauding) and as emotional over a movie (still can’t move on). For the entire three hour-run, my eyes were glued to the screen that I literally didn’t touch my popcorn. I digress, this was a personal record because I would usually finish a bag just before it gets to the middle of the film and I’d have at least one pee break on every movie I’ve ever seen in the cinema.

But with Endgame, NO. I didn’t move since the screening started. I was at the edge of my seat (both of excitement and controlling my urge to pee) and transfixed, making sure I don’t miss out on anything. I’ve watched out for Easter eggs, cameos, references from the previous movies, all while taking pleasure in the spectacle that is Chris Evans.

Let me give you a rundown of my favorite scenes from the movie and let’s see if it’s the same as yours.

(Again, if you have not seen the film, please stop right here. Don’t say you have not been warned.)

Thor going for the head

After the snap that dusted fifty percent of life in the universe, Thanos retreated to a small planet and the team found him with no army, living the life of a farmer, somewhat disfigured and with no stones on his gauntlet. It turns out he used the stones to destroy the stones so there will be no way to undo his snap. As if to add more insult to injury, he taunts the Avengers by saying he won and that he’s inevitable.

Frustrated, Thor did go for the head this time in one swift stroke. Nobody saw that coming, evident from the collective gasp we all let out.

Scott Lang back from the Quantum Realm

Even before the fan theories for Endgame started coming out, I always knew the Ant-Man would play a vital role and it would have something to do with time travel. As per Hank Pym, “all concept of time and space become irrelevant” when you are at the Quantum Realm, so if the team can come up with something, it would be through this same science.

The universe should thank the rat that accidentally tripped on the machine that brought back Lang, albeit if it’s five years late. Having no idea of what happened (he’s not in Infinity War, so he knew nothing of the snap), his wanting to find answers led him to a park overlooking the Golden Gate bridge where tall memorial plaques were erected for those who vanished. Under his breath, he was praying not to see his daughter’s name. He didn’t—but he saw his.

I especially love that scene when Scott saw Cassie all grown up, surviving Thanos’ snap.

“Love you 3000” 

Tony Stark is now a father to a very charming little girl, Morgan. It’s probably the best thing that ever happened to him, so you can’t blame the man if he initially refuses to avenge the world because he has more to lose this time.

On hindsight, I love how Tony has mellowed down, quietly living in his lakeside home (does this mean no more Stark Industries?). But knowing him, he will not stop being the genius Tony Stark. Pepper said it so herself that trying to get him to stop has been one of her greatest failures. She knew that even if he already told the Avengers that he wants no part of their plan, eventually he will give in.

“Cursed with knowledge”, as Thanos once said, he was able to solve the time travel problem which another “big brain” (Banner) can’t.

Fat Thor

Rocket is as disillusioned as all of us seeing a disheveled and fat Thor hiding in some Nordic village with the surviving Asgardians. We are so used to seeing the son of Odin perfectly-chiseled and mighty.

But yeah, the god of Thunder went on a downward spiral, has gained weight looking like the Big Lebowski (Tony says so too), weaker than he was and spends his days drowning in beer and playing videogames with Korg and Miek. He blames himself for not “going for the head” the first time and not being able to bring back all those who disappeared from the snap.

Which brings me to the next…

Thor’s reunion with Frigga

Thor and Rocket were tasked to go back to the time when the Aether (Reality Stone) is at Asgard. We know that this was the same time Frigga got killed protecting Jane Foster who was then carrying the Aether inside her.

It was a bittersweet reunion when Frigga saw Thor, with her motherly-instinct recognizing that he was from the future. “I was raised by witches”, she said, explaining how she knew. Frigga didn’t just give Thor a hug he so desperately needs, but also the wisdom and closure he needed to bring back his sense of self-worth. He even attempts to warn her of what’s to come, but she quickly stopped him and said that he’s there to change his future, not hers.

Before leaving, Thor summons the Mjölnir (“I am still worthy!”) and brought it with him to the present time.

Thor’s hammer will play a big part in my most favorite scene of the movie, which you probably knew already.

Hulk meeting the Ancient One

It was New York 2012, and the Hulk was the one to retrieve the Time Stone at Sanctum Sanctorum. He didn't know that Strange wasn’t the Master of Mystic Arts yet and it was the Ancient One who is protecting the stone. Thinking that he can muscle his way into getting the stone, Hulk was kicked out of his body unto the astral plane. Banner did a lot of pleading and convincing but the Ancient One refused as she fears that her timeline will be defenseless from threats without it. When Banner mentioned that it was Strange who gave the Time Stone to Thanos, the Ancient One replied in shock, “Willingly?”. Only then did she hand the stone to Banner as she knew that Doctor Strange must have a very good reason for giving it up.

Cap’s elevator scene with the undercover HYDRA agents

This is reminiscent of that scene from “Captain America: The Winter Soldier” where Cap was ambushed by the HYDRA agents inside the elevator. This time, he was able to get out of there with Loki’s scepter without having to kick the asses of Sitwell and the S.T.R.I.K.E. Crew by whispering: “Hail Hydra!”.

Hurrah for quick-thinking, Cap.

Cap fighting Cap

Able to get out the elevator without incident, Cap came across his 2012 self. 2012 Cap thinks it was Loki impersonating him and they got into a fight.

“I can do this all day!” says the 2012 Cap.

“Yeah, I know.” says present Cap.

Present Cap won the fight by using Loki's scepter. He could have just left immediately after knocking his other self unconscious, but not before admiring his own ass and saying: “That is America’s ass.”

Indeed, baby. Indeed. 

Tony and Steve timehop to 1970 

As their plan to retrieve the Tesseract in 2012 New York failed when Loki managed to steal it, Tony and Steve decided to go back to when and where both the Tesseract and the Pym particles (since they only have enough for one trip) would be.

The two went back to the army base where Captain America trained in the `40s (which is also the S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ). Blending in, Steve was able to get the Pym Particle after distracting a younger Hank. He later found himself inside Peggy Carter’s office and saw that she still keeps a picture of him on her desk. This was after probably 25 years from the time he crashed on the Arctic. My heart aches to see him looking at Peggy behind the blinds, perhaps thinking how she is so near yet so far.

On the other hand, Tony came across his father after retrieving the Tesseract. This was around the time he was about to be born. He had a heart-to-heart talk with him and there he realized that Howard is terrified about the fact that he’s going to be a father but was actually trying his very best. I guess, after years of having a strained relationship with his "cold and distant" father, Tony understood it more now that he’s already a dad. Getting a hug from Howard is also one of those scenes that tugged my heartstrings.

It’s also in the `70s scene we were able to see Jarvis the butler and Stan Lee’s last Marvel cameo as the long-haired hippie guy in the car yelling, “Make love not war!”.

Natasha’s sacrifice

We don’t know what exactly it was she's done when she said, “red on my ledger”, but now I know it is duly paid as Natasha outwits Clint by sacrificing herself for the Soul Stone.

Next to Iron Man and Captain America, Black Widow is another favorite as she’s the only female founding member of the Avengers. She “beats” the other Avenger recruits “to shape” (quoting her from “Avengers: Age of Ultron”) but was the one who hasn’t fully moved on after the snap. As what she told Hawkeye in Vormir, bringing everybody back is something that she's been trying to do for the last five years.

Natasha’s sacrifice is not for the only family she knew, but more importantly for Clint, who is her best friend. This is why while her act of sacrifice is truly noble, it’s also so heartbreaking for the team. I wasn’t expecting she’ll be one of the characters who will die in this movie.

Thanos on Earth

After getting all the stones from the time heist, it was the Hulk who reverse-snapped the vanished back to existence. The victory was short-lived when the Avengers Facility was destroyed following a surprise attack by Thanos. The entire building collapsed with Rocket, Bruce and Rhodey trapped underneath and it was Scott who saved them. Hawkeye managed to snatch the new gauntlet but was chased by Thanos' henchmen and 2014 Nebula later on.

Meanwhile, Iron Man, Captain America and Thor went out to face Thanos, who is now more determined to get all the stones back and with the intention of snapping the universe to the last atom. The superhero trinity tried their very best to fight with their every ounce of strength but the Mad Titan was too strong even for the three of them. (All while this was happening, my heart feels like it’s lodged in my throat as I was already expecting one of them will be killed.)

Then came the most gripping and my most favorite scene of all… 

He is worthy

With Iron Man down and Thor pinned down by Thanos using the Stormbreaker, the Mjölnir lifted slowly, and the audience started screaming and cheering so loud that it almost drowned the sound. The hammer flew hitting Thanos and then landed to the hand of the worthy: Captain America.

Thor said: “I knew it!”— a reference to that party scene in “Avengers: Age of Ultron” where each Avenger was given a chance to lift Thor’s hammer. Remember that it was Steve who was able to move it a little, giving Thor a brief moment of panic.

Now with the Mjölnir on one hand and his shield on the other, Cap propelled the hammer, summoned the lightning and blasted Thanos with it.

I tell you—just like everyone else inside the cinema, I went crazy. I sank on my chair and screamed the loudest and longest “OH MY GOOOODDDD!!!” ever. I was cheering and crying that it felt like my chest was about to explode from all that avalanche of emotions inside me. Serious goosebumps, people. The audience inside the cinema were clapping and yelling too and I am pretty sure this is the very scene where I lost my voice.

As Odin said, only the worthy could wield the hammer. My baby is worthy. 

The Return of the Fallen 

Captain America battled it all out against Thanos, who destroyed his shield in the process. Thanos summons his army, (I recognized some like the Chitauri and the Children of Thanos) ready to wreak havoc on earth.

Just when it seems that all hope is lost, we hear Sam saying, “On your left” (we know where that is from) and see the bright gold portals appear with every single one of the fallen coming out of it. There’s Doctor Strange, Falcon, Quill, Black Panther, Wanda, Drax, Groot, Wasp, The Winter Soldier, Spider-Man — Name it! Everyone was there!

King T’Challa, Shuri, Okoye and the entire Wakandan army chanting: “Yibambe! Yibambe!” was an absolute delight. HELL YEAH! The Wakandans are ready to beat the hell out of Thanos!

Coming out of the same gateway are the Wakandans, Asgardians, Wizards, Ravagers and a lot more, also ready to defend the earth. Seeing everyone ready to rumble with Thanos is just a fist-pumping moment. It was a visual spectacle that would electrify any MCU fan.

Then the Cap finally said it: "Avengers, assemble!"

It was mind-blowing! This scene is something that you will truly appreciate if you have seen all the 21 films. It was such delight to the geeks who followed each character that I don't think there will be another superhero film  (maybe not even another from MCU) that could match the thrill we got from the Battle of Earth scenes.

Tony reunites with Peter

One of the reasons why Tony changed his mind and agreed to fight with the team again is the fact that he hasn't gotten over the guilt over Peter Parker's death. He saw the boy vanished right before his eyes at the end of Infinity War.

So when Peter, upon seeing Stark, started blabbing on how he remembers getting all dusty and waking up with Doctor Strange telling him it's been five years since—all that Tony could do is hug the boy back.

You are a stone-hearted, emotionless dimwit if that scene didn't hit you right in the feels.

Wanda and Thanos face-off

It can be recalled that Wanda, with a heavy heart, destroyed the Mind Stone on Vision’s head so Thanos won’t be able to get it. Only that Thanos used the Time Stone to bring back Vision to life and remove it from his head giving him an even more painful death.

Naturally, when Wanda got face-to-face with Thanos on Endgame she was gritting to avenge Vision.

“You took everything from me!”

“I don’t even know who you are!” (since this is the 2014 Thanos, and the Infinity War hasn’t happened yet)

 “You will.”

Oh boy, you gotta love that scene. My girl-crush on Elizabeth Olsen came back just like that.

Captain Marvel bringing down Thanos’ ship

Okay—Danvers may be one of my least favorite superheroes in MCU (second to Star-Lord) but I must hand this one to her (This — and bringing Nebula and Tony back to earth and preventing Thanos from snapping again) because it was a super awesome rescue that the Avengers needed at the moment.

I have been wondering what’s taking her so long to arrive and join the Battle of Earth but kinda knew she would do a dramatic entrance. “About time!” I said, when she finally did. 

Girl Power

Another one of the well-applauded scenes, if you’re not a critical feminist, is when all the MCU female superheroes (minus Natasha *tears*) assembled together to help Captain Marvel get the Infinity Stones to the other side where Luis’ La Cucaracha van was.

I don’t care what others think (some say it’s a disservice to the female characters), but I loved it! Whoever said that it didn’t help in promoting “girl power” should seriously chill. It’s a three-hour movie, FCOL. Do you expect everyone to be given equal screen time? *eyeroll*

And relax—they said it’s a glimpse of an A-Force movie so just leave the Endgame to the original members for now.

Doctor Strange signaling “one” 

Captain Marvel came close enough to remove the gauntlet from Thanos, but the Titan used one of the stones against her and it hurled her away.

It was here when Doctor Strange signaled “one” to Iron Man — pertaining to that one possibility of winning out of the 14,000,605 futures he has seen.

Stark gets this. We all get it. By this time my tears were already rolling from both eyes because I know what was about to happen.

“I am...Iron Man.” 

Wearing the Infinity gauntlet and tossing Stark aside after a last-minute tussle, Thanos once again smugly declared “I am inevitable” and snapped his fingers but nothing happened. He saw that the gauntlet was empty, revealing that Stark managed to get it in his armored glove during the scuffle.

 “And I am…Iron Man.”

He snapped his fingers, turning a defeated Thanos and all of his legions to dust.

Tony Stark did the ultimate sacrifice. He knew very well that a force that massive could kill him, but he did it nonetheless, as this is the culmination of the one victory Doctor Strange has seen. With his life draining from him (even Friday is fading), he was surrounded by the people who loved him. I swallowed hard when Peter said, “We won Mr. Stark, we did it!”, but Stark was already dying.

It was that scene with Pepper that got me more and left me like an emotional trainwreck after.

"Hey, Pep..."

"Tony, look at me. We're gonna be okay. You can rest now."

Stark pointed to his chest as if to say I love you, and breathed his last. The arc reactor dimmed until it lost power.

Pepper, Peter and Rhodey were joined by the other Avengers in mourning the death of a husband, mentor, friend and comrade.

It was gut-wrenching, to say the least. I could hear a lot of sniffing inside the cinema, so I know I wasn’t alone. Damn you, RDJ. You are so good.

I can’t believe that Iron Man—my favorite Avenger, is gone. What would become of MCU without him? It will never be the same whether we admit it or not because Iron Man is the heart of the franchise. Two weeks after watching it, I am still reeling from it and I am going to miss him very much when I come to watch the next movies for MCU Phase 4.

Then again, I understand that an era has to end somehow, and while it was a sad end for a franchise that spanned for a decade, it was a fitting one. Iron Man has come full circle.

Old Steve 

As if the death of Stark wasn’t enough for my already broken heart, there’s still that scene of the old Steve Rogers. But before I go to that, there was this article I read about Endgame’s loopholes. While some that were raised are valid, there's this one who pointed out that the time heist will mess up the present timeline and create alternate outcomes.

If this was also something that left you confused, then you may have missed this one scene with Banner, Nebula, Rhodey and Scott. It was clearly discussed that the effects of time travel are not the same as it was in the old movies, like that of “Back to the Future” specifically (time travel grandfather paradox), but instead is explained by parallel timelines. 2023 Nebula killing 2014 Nebula won’t stop her from existing because she killed a counterpart from another timeline. Simply put, if the concept of time travel in Endgame is the grandfather paradox, they could just go back in time and kill baby Thanos, as Rhodey suggested. But again, it doesn’t work that way.

Now following the concept of parallel timelines, I was scratching my head on that scene of the old Rogers. It made me think, how could this happen? If after returning the Infinity Stones to the exact point in time Cap decided to live a full life with Peggy, then he shouldn’t be in the Endgame main timeline, right? He shouldn’t be seen by Sam, Bucky and Bruce sitting on the bench by the lake looking away. He would have existed on a different one.

I honestly don’t want to be a nerd and overthink (even the Russos cannot explain it clearly), all I know is that scene made it all clear that Chris Evans won’t reprise his Captain America role anymore and it’s just too much for yours truly. I left the cinema with my eyes red from crying. Who would have thought that a superhero movie can be such a tearjerker?

So there, those are my favorite scenes from the movie. Feel free to share on the comments section your favorite moments in Endgame that I missed out.

Footnotes: 

- I always wondered why Steve was crying on the early trailers of Endgame. We now know he was shedding a tear for Natasha.

 - Where is the fast-talking Luis?

 - A cameo from one of my many obscure celebrity crushes Hiroyuki Sanada, as Akihiko.

 - During the Tony Stark funeral scene, I see familiar faces except one: A tall, lanky guy behind Wanda and Bucky. I was thinking: “Who’s this guy?” (Even asked my kuya if he saw that, but he missed it ) and only after Googling it did I realize it was the boy who helped Tony “The Mechanic” in Iron Man 3 — all grown up.

- I wondered who ruled Wakanda during those five years.

 - Where did Valkyrie get her Pegasus?

 - Cap is swearing now (“Let's Go Get This Son of a bitch!” “You’ve got to be shitting me!”) and you know what? It’s sooooo sexy.

 - Parker turning his suit’s “Instant Kill”-mode made all the Spidey nerds happy.

 - I didn’t stay for the after-credits because when I asked my brother if there was one and he said none. I didn’t hear that sound of a hammer hitting metal which was said to be the sound of Tony Stark forging the Mark I armor inside the cave on the first Iron Man.

Hold your horses, it’s just a sentimental homage and nothing else.

Or is it? 

True Crime Fascination

I always have this morbid fascination on crime stories. I am not talking about those crime series on TV (I often find them boring and unrealistic), but more about the crime stories that happened in real life. I have subscribed to Crime Investigation Network and can watch its shows for hours on end that sometimes I’d be teased at home: “O, patayan na naman ang pinapanood mo!”

My current read

My interest in true crime is not because I have this sick longing to kill or because I am morbidly drawn to the killers, but more of the curiosity in the psychology and pathology of it. The details of the crimes, especially the manner/brutality/goriness of the killing and the overall shock value—is something that always intrigued me.

Fear is a very powerful emotion as this is a basic feeling. Watching and reading about true crime gives a person a rush of adrenaline. I couldn’t use the word excitement to describe it (especially if the crime is too violent), but we can agree that it’s thrilling. You know how they say that no matter how horrific, people tend to still look at a freak car wreck just because we simply cannot just look away? I likened my interest in true crime to that.

True crime exposes us to the most deviant of the human mind. We want to understand what makes a mind so twisted to commit such act. For a person like me who can’t even bear to hurt an animal, I always wondered about the motives, if it was nature or nurture (or the lack of it) that drove these twisted individuals to kill another human being.

I also wonder what goes on in the mind of both the perpetrator and the victim at the time of the crime. When a crime is so taboo and brutal, I do get upset, disgusted and paranoid, but all that doesn’t stop my fascination for it.

There will always be that gripping fear of knowing that such a thing can happen to anyone. I have heard of the most evil, brutal and heinous crimes and sometimes it makes me think how unfortunate the victims were to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. I always thought of the possibility that I could be one of the would-be victims of Ted Bundy, just because I happen to be by nature, trusting. If Bundy approached me in a cast and asking me to help him, I’d probably would— and sometimes it’s terrifying to think the likelihood of it. I feel that my interest in real crime stories also helped me to prevent becoming a victim.

I know the allure for such dark subject matter is not something people can easily admit to, but I am ready to bet that I’m not alone. There’s something about real crime stories that pique one’s interest; whether it’s the chilling details or the shocking circumstances that led to the crimes itself, some people can’t help being drawn to it.

So, who else among you have the same fascination?