Creative Writing

*Written in 2011*

I was just about wrapping up the night when an old friend of mine asked me to join him at a nearby bar. I haven’t seen him for well over a year so might as well ignore my personal rules of not going out at the dead of the night without anyone to accompany me and catch up. This supposed meeting has been cancelled several times and I really didn’t think we’d actually set a date to meet up. But you know what they say, if you plan shit, it won’t happen. Be spontaneous and thing are bound to happen. And it did. A spontaneous invite to the local bar. Fuck, being single rocks. And no, I’m not sarcastic at all, I mean it.

The thing is, we have very little in common so there’s not much to go on. But I feel that at this point in our lives, we may have, I daresay, grown up quite a bit. I have to admit I was expecting him to be his usual flirty, self-absorbed, arrogant self but it seems that boys do grow up. I think, for once, homeboy got straightened out by the girlfriend. Miracles do happen, apparently.

Of course there were certain instances throughout the night when we made each other talk about stuff we’d rather not talk about but did anyway. Apart from that and the sudden invite, it was a strangely pleasant experience.

I also took the time to apologize for drunk IM-ing him after my last relationship went kaput. I have no excuse. I was in a bad place and I should’ve known better than to pester people with my shit, especially one that is on vacation overseas. Obviously, it was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. Never again, Goddamit.

Anyways, I did appreciate the fact that he tried to cheer me up that night. I thought he was actually the last person who can offer sensible advices but he somehow came up with several nuggets of wisdom without popping a vein.

We could’ve dated, he and I. We’ve always have this strange, indescribable attraction for each other. The attraction that lasted years. I have to say, I had a hand at it. I know he’ll always make stupid choices that I cannot possibly tolerate so I never gave it a shot. I never gave him a shot. Oh, well.

He fucked up just as we are about to go home though. Some things never change, I guess. He brought up a certain atraso, which he did during our junior year in college. The artraso was so bad; it is actually the reason why I never took him seriously as a person all these years. An atraso which he vehemently denied ever happening. Oh, well, you can’t win ‘em all.

Some might think this is not a strange night at all, but I rarely do things out of the ordinary and to me, going out at the dead of the night to hang out at the local bar with a guy I only see once every two years, after drunk IM-ing him days before, that’s strange to me.

*Written in 2010*

I never dreamed of being a writer.  When I was a kid, I was sure I’d be a cartoonist and when I was in college, I was sure I’d be a newscaster. No one is more surprised at me being a writer than I.

When you are a wide-eyed probinsyana with a workaholic business woman for a mother, the thought of earning money by stringing sentences together seemed absurd. I come from a family of entrepreneurs and my mom would force the idea of taking over the family business everyday for as long as I can remember. Like a seasoned car salesman, she tried every tactic in the book to win us over and make us like what she does for a living. Essentially, she regarded her daughters as an extension of her life and we did everything we could to escape the fate of selling bolts and nuts for a living.

And we did. My sister went on to become a relatively successful fashion designer while I, well, I went on to become a humble writer. I got into writing by accident. I was not one of those artsy-fartsy people you see brooding in seedy bars on a week night, hanging out with tattooed DSLR-toting friends and discussing the trials and tribulations of suffering for one’s art.

I got into this business months after going AWOL on my first job as a production assistant for a big broadcasting company. News about working for the largest TV network in the country travels fast especially in a small, sleepy town. For once, my parents were actually glad I didn’t stay to take over the family business.

However, much to chagrin of my parents, I had to leave an otherwise promising but highly stressful job because I soon realize it wasn’t something I see myself growing old doing. It might not be a smart move, if you look at it from a professional standpoint but it was a necessary decision. I felt that I am doing myself great injustice, studying for years only to end up fetching water and bending over backwards for every whim and fancy these so called “stars” have.

I heard it so many times from my fellow production assistants, how this career is a “stepping stone” to become a director, production exec, etc. I must admit, I was hoping that gig would help me become a newscaster but deep inside, I knew it will never happen. And I was right!

Of course, my decision to leave the network was not without drama and problems. My parents got mad, production heads got mad and I almost regretted my decision. Almost.r

I spent months planning my next move and just when I was feeling like my life is over at the ripe old age of 24, a certain company took a chance on me. To my utter surprise, they offered me a job as a creative writer despite the fact that 1) I’m computer illiterate and 2) I never wrote anything remotely coherent. I daresay, I sucked at writing but I was ecstatic that I got in. Initially, I thought writing is a glamorous job.

My first day as a writer was a  fucking nightmare.

My client hated my work. He hated it so much, I was fired that very same day and I can’t blame him because I was doing something that was so alien to me. I never saw a porn film from start to finish until that night. The experience almost shell-shocked me straight to resignation but a quick thinking HR manager sat me down and we had a long talk about my “potential”. I was sent to another client who loved my work and that’s basically how one probinsyana turned into a bonafide porn writer.

It was a great gig, writing porn reviews, descriptions and all that shebang. It paid the bills, I enjoyed what I did for a living and somehow proud that I am a porn writer, something that’s frowned upon in this God forsaken third-world country. I wrote anywhere from lady boys trysts to BBW orgies. You name it, I wrote it.

However, being contented with what I do was soon replaced by yearning for something more meaningful. I wanted to write things that people actually want to read, not because the texts got in the way of all that boobs and semen. The problem with writing porn is that people care less about quality and coherence. As long as you include the words bazongas, love juice, pleasure pole and the likes in every sentence, no one really cares about the content. As much as I loved what I did, I decided to move away from porn and start working as a *gasp* mainstream writer.

The transition was not entirely pleasant. I found myself out of my league. Mainstream people are overly critical of one’s work and it was a huge blow to my ego. As soon as I stopped peddling smut, I started honing my skills. I survived, forced myself to improve and six years later, I’m still here, typing like a maniac on my newly purchased pink laptop.

Now when I think about it, that long talk with my then HR manager was the turning point for me. I’m positive that I wouldn’t give writing another shot then until she and I got talking.

Some say artists are born not made but for others like me, they can be made. Story of my life, man.

*Written in 2011*

It appears that this year is all about reconnecting with people I have not seen in years. After being out of the loop with the webdate universe, Enna braved the rain for a much needed face time. It was nice; we filled in all the blanks left after not being in touch for a long time. I would’ve preferred that all our girls were there but well, just like everything in life, we can’t always get what we want. As always, things are never boring when Enna Bangs is in the house J Still the same, feisty mofo.

We wrapped things up pretty late though she needs to get up early for work the next day. I, on the other hand, wasn’t ready to go home just yet. After waiting in line for cabs that never came, I decided to go for a walk. It was such a gorgeous night; it’s practically a sin not to. It was a good thing I was wearing sensible shoes because by the time I went home, my shoes were pretty much ruined.

It’s very rare for me to even consider taking a walk alone because 1) I’m extremely lazy and 2) walking aimlessly at the dead of the night is not really my style. I felt like I needed one, though. Well, that and I also wanted to take in the beauty of the city, revisit certain places, certain times. I wasn’t there to “search my soul” because I can do that without going on location. And God knows I have.

Ortigas is nice and all, but for some reason, it turns into this shitty little hell hole every Friday night. Cabs magically disappear. People suddenly turn into cab-stealing asshats after being stranded for so long.When it rains, it’s even worse. Traffic will rage on well over midnight. It’s the damnedest thing, really.

Usually, these times make me glad I work from home. I used to spend my mornings sitting inside cramped FX (or cabs, if I’m lucky),  just fantasizing about going on a homicidal rampage, stabbing everyone repeatedly with a dull kitana, on my way to work.

It kinda makes me wonder what would happen if I would go back and work somewhere in Ortigas again. But the idea of braving the morning rush only to make it to work smelling like wet gym socks was enough to make me snap out of it. Not a snowball’s chance in hell.

This night was not an exception. There were no cabs, no FX, it just rained, traffic wouldn’t let up but I didn’t mind. It was a beautiful Friday night and everything is as it should be.

From street corner to street corner, I tip-toed over puddles like a fucking ninja. It was nice. The drizzle casted a beautiful glow over the streets that stretched beyond. These streets. They witnessed some of the funnest times of my life. Some of the saddest too.

No matter how long it has been since I walked these very streets, I never felt like a stranger. It felt like I was coming back home, which is so freakin’ cheesy. Yes, I get cheesy sometimes, deal with it.

It was a great way to clear your head. Heck, I even managed to re-evaluate some of the recent choices I made in my life.

I enjoyed the walk so much I actually considered walking all the way home.

It would be a good 30 minute walk from where I am to my house. I know because I’ve already done so twice and both times I timed myself (had to walk because it was late and there were no cabs and FX in sight)

But I decided against it because, I wasn’t exactly dressed for “roughing it”. I got weird hellos from a couple of guys on two separate occasions that night so yeah, there’s a good chance I might get mugged if I went on with my plan. I felt a twinge of sadness when I saw a free cab.

Maybe next time. I’d summon the old 2007 version of myself and walk all the way home just for the heck of it.