The Misadventures of Dabs

Caught up with the past

2007-06-04T09:41:00.000-07:00

Woke up in the middle of the night
Set my eyes against the blinding light
Yesterday, it was attention that I was yearning
Now, I’m just a key that needs a little turning

I close my eyes, to get no sleep
There are no longer any secrets that I can keep
I promised myself I wouldn’t weep
Another promise I can’t keep

It was just yesterday that I accidentally lost my way
Today, I deliberately led myself astray
How do I remember how to smile?
Tonight, nothing seems worthwhile

It seems no one can help me now
I’m in too deep, no way out
I let words drive me to evil, it drives me insane
It’s a lot easier than dealing with the pain

Tonight everything feels dead and dry;
Her and me, day and night, earth and sky

Dear Mama

2006-09-24T11:01:00.000-07:00

To my lola,

Thank you for reminding me that I can never be too old to learn things about life.

“We are never alone. Our mothers will always be with us, whether we’re in a mansion or a jail house. Our mothers will always be with us.”

Setting: At a cemetery in a hot afternoon

Noah steps to the podium dressed in a black suit all wrinkled and wet. He reeks of beer and Marlboro reds. Some of the visitors seem appalled by his presence. Yet he doesn’t care. He rarely did.

He takes off his sun glasses to reveal his teary eyes coupled with grey eye bags. He frisks his suit pockets to search for his eulogy. To his dismay, it got lost in the havoc of the past 48 hours, preceded by the havoc of the past 31 years. He stumbles, in a way only a drunk man can, and then he lays his head down for a while. He looks at his brother among a sea of people; his brother gives him a slow nod. At once Noah began to speak softly and slowly…

“When my mother was 21, she was nursing two children and pursuing a degree in English literature at a renowned university. Upon hearing this from my grandfather, I never thought I’d ever meet her. Nobody else would have taken her place. The father was a drunk, who beat my brothers up for no reason. Sometimes he’d come home and hit his eldest for not greeting him at the doorstep.

My mother never knew about this until it was too late. Wounds which were deeper than scars were already embedded among us siblings. The eldest became addicted to drugs, so as the second. And I stand before you as an alcoholic.

My brothers have led great lives, lives of character and nobility. And most of their shortcomings were bought about by a childhood that no one on this earth deserved.

My mother loved us unconditionally. During the peek of my moronic youth, I would come home drunk. I’d start cursing her for making our father leave us for another family. She would take it with such grace. She’d even fix me a hot plate and tell me to eat and go to sleep, ‘we’ll talk about this in the morning.’ But she never bought it up. She was the epitome of patience.

I was resentful. I always blamed her for all my troubles; it was the same for my elder brothers. But we never stopped to consider that she’d work two jobs at a time just to feed us and put us in school.

She was always too responsible to engage in pointless banter. She was the only source of stability in my life. I understand now, why at times she seemed so cold and calculated. Unfortunately, raising three boys alone does not give one the luxury to be frail. She stood her ground and raised us, as best as she could.

I guess losing someone so responsible is hard. But following that line of thought would be selfish. She now sees the world in the most beautiful perspective possible. And that gives me a sigh of relief and an air of comfort.

I love you mother. I know often times we clash with one another. But I want you to know – no – I need you to understand, that when whenever we fought I was simply applying the lesson you have taught me best: to stand my ground when I think I’m right. To fight for what I believe is right. Thank you for everything.

P.S.
Yes, I wasn’t always right… Good thing you were there to correct me.”

The Secret to Life

2006-07-23T11:47:00.000-07:00

My father told me, “Add garlic.” I was about to cook fried rice and was in the process of melting the butter. He said everything nice starts with garlic and butter.” It’s a simple premise but it works. I wondered if life could be that simple.

Finding your “garlic and butter” in life proves to be a much harder task. I have spent twenty years searching for it, and even today it manages to evade me. There are no signs of it arriving soon. As much as I desire to please my friends and family, I refuse to conform to what society dictates me to do: To study hard, to be rich or financially stable or to be ‘successful.’ What is success anyways? To me, it is nothing but what separates a man’s sorrow from his joy. I firmly believe that a man’s measure of success depends on him and him alone.

Nowadays, when in doubt, I reach for my right pocket and pull out my optimism. But I never forget what’s on my left pocket: reality. Hold on to both and everything else will make sense. Live for something, a deeper purpose than your new cell phone, your ‘reputation’ or your fancy girlfriend, and then you’ll have everything.

I haven’t found my “garlic and butter.” But I’m not rushing to do so. I take uncertainty as an adventure and a smile as my boarding pass.

Yes. I have changed…

Something funny...

2006-01-18T08:34:00.000-08:00

To Sarah,
For removing my childish ignorance.
For allowing me to see things that, prior to knowing you, I did not see.
A thousand thank you’s.

A 13-year old girl wrote this poem. I just revised most parts of it, but I made sure the general theme was still intact. It was originally titled “Great Obsession.”

The very thought of you,
makes a tingle in my tummy.
I’ve got this big crush on you,
cause you make life so bubbly.

When you wear that red dress,
I just can’t resist,
the obsession is stressed
and the love appetite persists.

You make my day,
in every single way.
Without you I’m lonely.
Babe, you’re my one and only.

You quench this thirst.
You are both my last and first.

So now I’ll force you to me.
As my lips slowly curve to make a smile.
Nothing else can compare to COKE for me,
I love her with such style.

The tragedy of a hopeless romantic

2005-12-08T07:17:00.000-08:00

For the past six months I have gained and lost everything I ever hoped to have. I worked hard to get opportunities, yet I neglected them when they were finally within reach.

I feel stretched. I feel tired. I feel dead. But I am still here, still breathing.

Rising, rising, rising, gone…

To her who listens,

What makes you think that I no longer love you?

My love for you is the guiding force of my life. I cannot simply give it up or else I would be lost.

I choose to ignore and rise above the pain of the past. I choose to be better than the mistakes I have made. I choose the possibility of Us, I choose the possibility of making something beautiful.

The rest of the world gives me all the reasons not to believe in Us. But that’s when I believe in Us the most. You give me a reason to believe, you are my reason. I believe in you, to believe in myself. To believe in Us.

The fool in me,
Dabs

2005-09-02T00:24:00.000-07:00

Every Saga has a beginning. Every Journey has a first step.

Where?

2005-08-31T11:08:00.000-07:00

Two paths fork from one road.

One I dare not take and one I dare not shun.
The one I dare not shun,
the path I longed to take.
Was always shut by a wooden gate.
Through the punctures of the wooden gate,
I could see beyond the road I longed to take.
The stars align and the moon smiles, looking down below.
At once I thought, “this is where I should go.”

I laid in long wait,
hoping for the opening of the gate.
The wooden gate was closed for so long,
when my curiosity led me to survey the path I dare not take.
I was scared and I was nervous.
When I peeked, to my surprise.
I saw a place that was alien to my eyes.
As the sun rose and the clouds greeted it with a kiss.
Earthly good ended against heaven’s bliss.

When I preceded to walk the open path.
I struggled in making my first steps,
at times I even lost my breath.
I looked back to see how far I’ve gone,
when my attention shifted back to the wooden gate.
It was then and there that a wind blew thru.
Splitting the gate in two.
As I looked at my tracks.
I had already gone too far to come back.
I had already grown to love this road,
it has become my sweet abode.

I looked far beside me,
I glanced twice only to see.
That the path I did not take
was always parallel to me.
I turned once right and twice left,
and I glanced once again to see,
That the other path will always be beside me.
Then it came in an epiphany,
only destiny knows the future of that other road and me.

PERHAPS

2005-07-12T21:24:00.000-07:00

Do we control destiny or does destiny control us?

PERHAPS a common thought flowed,
through us upon waking.
Perhaps a common star showed,
to us upon gazing.

Perhaps a common song,
tickled our ears upon listening.

Perhaps our hearts share a common beat,
upon breathing.
Perhaps we were destined to meet,
decided from our beginning.

Perhaps all of this seems so convincing.
Yet, the premise is un-worth relying.

For, if ‘perhaps’ defines me and you,
then absolutely nothing would be left for us to do.
But I control me and you control you,
then ‘perhaps’ is everything, but nothing to do.

Letter to the basketball god

2005-06-27T07:05:00.000-07:00

Dear Game,

More than a decade has passed since I first held you in my hand. I remember that day as if it were yesterday. I saw you in our backyard; you looked lost, as if you were searching for a friend, a lover even. You aroused my curiosity and I picked you up as if you were my son, gently and passionately.

I started dribbling that ball as if there was no tomorrow. It was a lovers’ tryst, our first date. I started shooting. Before I knew it, 5 hours had passed and day became night. That day I only made 11 baskets. But I never stopped shooting ever since.

I have played basketball for almost 13 years now. From the very first time I picked up that ball, my life changed forever. Everything revolved around the Game. It is the very thing that saved me from vice. It taught me discipline; it made me a better man. It was the key to my life’s engine.

While some teenagers were taking drugs and drinking alcohol, I was at the court. Shooting 250 jump shots, working on my left hand, strengthening my dribble. Figuring out what else I could improve on.

My victories or defeats on the court reflected my life outside of it. There were times that you made me so miserable that I wanted to kill myself. But the joys you gave me were a more than fair compensation for the despair.

I am writing you this letter because for the past three months, I feel as if you’ve left me. The past 3 months have been the worst basketball summer of my life. For the first time I felt no zeal for the Game. This consumed me. Today, a part of me looks back in regret for ever picking up that ball. I don’t know what hurts more, losing or the fact that I could have tried harder.

I look at you only to find no peace of mind. The satisfaction you once gave me is now a mere shadow of its former self. Why?

The losses are much more deeply etched in me than the wins. It hurts a lot. I fight my urge to cry after every lost game. I can accept letting myself down, but I can’t accept letting my teammates down. I’m tired of it; I no longer felt the thirst. And for the first time in years, you didn’t inspire me.

Then I had an epiphany. I realized that I was lost, perhaps I still am. Everything crumbled around me. But you were always there for me. You never left my side. I was the one who let you down, by giving into vice, by treating you like my mistress when you wanted more. I set you aside for women. I sold out. I turned my back on you and it was my fault.

You aren’t a drunken father who’ll hit me. You aren’t a bully who’ll pick on me. You aren’t a friend who’ll betray me. You aren’t a girl who’ll scar me. You are my truth.

You are the father I never had, the brother that looked out for me. The mother I loved, the friend I always treasured and the lover I always aspired to have. You are my everything.

I ask myself, when can I say its time to quit? When I start nailing every single shot. When I start playing every single minute. When I start anticipating every single play. When I start winning every single game. But you can never do all these things. It’s impossible. That’s the beauty in you - you don’t stop, you never will.

You never left me. I left you only to find myself in your arms once again. You’ll never leave me and I won’t leave you again. At first I was afraid of change, because I built everything around you. I know now that no matter how much the times may change me, you'll always be there for me. Thank you Game, I love you.

In love and hoops,
Dabs

Dare to dream...

2005-05-20T01:55:00.000-07:00

I FOUND MYSELF lost. My body felt different; my bones felt so fragile and my skin felt so tight. I did not recognize my limbs because they seemed so withered. I was scared. I tried to move but my aching back refused.

I was sitting in a batibot chair, in front of our brown rusty gate, rising up about eight feet. Across the street, the pink house with red roofing was still there, the orange Chinese temple covered by asbestos at the corner, and the green tilted street sign. Everything looked the way it did yesterday. But there was something suspicious in the air.

The streets were so empty. All I could hear was the whisper of the wind and all I could feel was the blazing heat of the sun. There was not a single soul in sight. I was in solitude.

I picked up a shattered piece of glass on the asphalt. I looked at my reflection. To my surprise, a face of a sad old man greeted me. I had gray hair and a slim beard, my lips were dry and eye bags rose like small hills in my face. I was old beyond belief. A cloud of confusion then shrouded my mind.

Had I lost my sanity? It wasn’t surreal enough to be a dream. I kept scratching my head, thinking where and when am I?

About an hour passed. Beads of sweat fell from my forehead. I felt so weary and weak, when suddenly a boy appears from a distance. He carried a small pillow. I could not distinguish his features. My eyes were too old of age. But I heard him talking to his pillow. He kept calling it “pillow-petty.” Obviously he still possessed that moronic innocence of childhood.

He seemed oblivious to my presence. So I called him out, “boy, come here!” He looked at me, with an awkward stare. Then he looked around, as if he was searching for his parents, to ask permission if he could approach me. But his parents weren’t there. His eyes turned back to me as he drew closer. I could tell he was intimidated. Old grouchy looking men have that effect on children.

The boy wore a dirty white cotton shirt, raggedy red shorts, and worn out blue tsinellas. He had a fair amount of scabs in his right leg. And his limbs were huge for his age, a sign that he would grow taller when he hits puberty.

As my eyes slowly focused on his face, to my amazement, he was me! He was I at the age of seven or eight. He did not recognize me, but I recognized him. Goose bumps climbed up my forearms and I started to feel a bit wobbly. I felt like a million hairs fell from my scalp. Words fail to describe the strangeness that gripped me.

As Sherlock Holmes said, “When all the logical solutions to a problem are not accepted, the illogical ones, however impossible they maybe, are possible.” Had I traveled to a parallel universe?

I wanted to find out more about this boy, so I started asking him questions, “what is your name?” he replied hesitantly, “Keith… Keith is my name sir.” I already knew his name but I had to check. Then I continued, “Where are you from?” without giving a chance to answer, I questioned him again, “Where are your parents?” he responded with an ignorant pause. Like every other child, he was unmindful of the important details.

I looked at him in wonder. I never knew that I looked so scared when I was a child. I even carried that very same pillow when I was loitering around the house; I addressed it with the same name “pillow-petty.” So much of my troubled youth passed me by as I watched him. He stared at his feet and he scratched his thumbnail against his forefinger. A habit I used to do whenever I felt uncomfortable. What was going on?

I observed him for the next couple of minutes, until he broke the silence. He looked at me, so pathetically, so helplessly, and his eyes seemed as if they were going to shed tears. He said, “Mister… do you have any money?” I was moved by sadness and sympathy.

However, my coldness got the best of me. I remembered my childhood, where pity only made me weaker. I did not want to show compassion for the boy, because he has to know that the world is cruel. It will show him not an ounce of mercy.

I took a second to gather my thoughts then I replied with such a pitiless tone, “You little shit, how feeble can you be? Your tears are folly” I said, “go on, go away, get your own money, no one will get it for you.” He ran away in small strides, his face grief-stricken and his eyes soaking in tears. He had nowhere to go, but he went where the wind took him. He was alone, as I always was when I was growing up.

The ghost of guilt sat beside me. I checked my pockets. I had none to give him anyway. But it felt wrong. Regret always comes a minute too late.

I sat there, staring at the young me as he ran away, the old man that I was. Thinking about the young man that I’d never been.

I was alone again…

waiting on nothing

2005-05-09T19:47:00.000-07:00

As you give that look to me,
your hooks sink right into me.
I showed you the best of me.
Because I thought you were my destiny.

You say life is picturesque.
As you stab that knife into my chest.
You say you aren’t beautiful.
What lies underneath you is more eternal.

You talk to me as if you don’t know.
Truly, my heart has nothing else left to show.
When you smile, I just sighed.
Now when I see you, I just cry.

How can you be so cold?
How can you be so cruel?
I want to be your man,
but you treat me like your fool.

At my last cigarette,
its still you I can’t forget.
My love for you is somewhat divine.
Every nightfall, I wait on your shrine.

I close my eyes.
It’s 3 in the morning.
Then I realize.
I crafted my own demise.

A salty tear.
A love not adhered.
Your all I ever wanted.
But you leave me here, violently tainted.

I’ve been hurt, I’ve been bruised.
I’ve walked right into your flame.
Now I’ve got nothing won
and nothing left to lose.

2005-04-04T09:17:00.000-07:00

INFATUATION

I WATCH HER from a distance. She sits there silent and delicate. I cannot help but stare at her. She glances from time to time, flashes a smile and continues on with her business. I sit there without regard for my surroundings. She barely even notices me.

I lay at home dumbfounded. As raindrops pour down, I cannot help but remember her. Her smile pierces through my heart as if a hot knife slicing through butter. Her eyes simply put me in a cosmic trance. It sends me wallowing and yearning for more. She is like a sweet dream, surreal and pure. A dream I wish not to wake upon.

What attracts me most is her simplicity and practicality. In a school where both are in short supply, she shines like a diamond amongst faded rocks. There is nothing superficial about her. She is every bit of real. Irresistible.

Whenever I'm around her it's as if I can feel her soul. I've never felt such a sensation. I have not seen anyone as passionate about life as she is. Happiness is so instinctive to her. There is not a single trace of the world's filth in her soul. Her ways beguile me. It surprises me, catches me, and rapes me.

The sun scorches my eyes, as I head to school. I remember our pleasant conversations. Her words about love signal my heart's final arrest. She shows twinkles of profanity in all the unexpected places. I simply let my guard down but she never takes advantage. No spots of casual flirting or teasing, no lust or cruel intentions. She simply speaks the truth.

Like the truth she is blinding. She intoxicates my senses. I do not know what to do anymore. The sheer act of knowing her has enlightened some of the dark corners of my mind. It opened doors I dare not open. Inspiration is too meek a word to describe her effect on me. It is something beyond inspiration.

Realizations knock on my head as I lull myself to slumber. I know words are far too few to explain what love is. This fact defeats the purpose of writing about her and trying to express what I feel. This is a futile attempt. A shot at the impossible. But the heart beats to its own rhythm. I cannot control it. What I write is barely a hash of what I really feel.

She has shown me something I have not had in years. Beyond the rust of my depressions, she propelled the winds of my hope. Hope that there is something to this thing called life after all.

She is an implication that there is truly a God out there.

PACO

2005-03-30T10:39:00.000-08:00

To Jay-Jay “the play-day,” my childhood would not have colors if it were not for you. Salamat pare!

Paco was a young boy.
A young boy he was.
He had an innocence to him.
A face that was never grim.
He frolicked in the playground,
broke his arm but didn’t make a sound.

He was a brave boy,
A brave boy he was.
Never backing down to adventure.
Always pushing the envelope further and further.
Paco swam the deeper side of the shores,
always looking for new beaches to explore.

Paco was a sweet boy,
A sweet boy he was.
The women found him adorable.
He was always the more lovable.
He took praises with a grain of salt.
His traits made him worthy to exalt.

Paco was not ordinary,
There was nothing ordinary about that boy.
Take one glance at him and you’ll see
He could be anything he wanted to be;
he could have climbed the highest mountains,
crossed the vastest fields, and swam the deepest oceans.

But he held the hand of the devil,
Then he became a rebel.
He ran through the desolation,
Seeking a life of condemnation.
His age washed away his dreams,
and now everything is not what it seemed.

Paco became a bad man,
a bad man Paco became.
His confessions of being high,
bid the innocent child a painful goodbye.
His lethargic slavery,
took away all his audacity.
His artificial emotions,
took away his sweet disposition.

Still Paco is a good friend,
a good friend Paco is.
He was the brother I never had,
a presence that always made me glad.
O, how a sweet beginning led to a tragic end.
Now I no longer recognize my treasured friend.

But on a brighter note,
hope still floats.
As the present becomes yesterday,
and the future becomes today.
Paco looks for the boy again,
then his dreams will re-awaken.
A day I long to see,
the day when his dreams become reality.

2005-03-29T03:59:00.000-08:00

My Favorite band. The Beatles rule!!!

Who am I?

2005-03-26T23:25:00.000-08:00

Who am I, a fallen basketball player, an aspiring writer, a good friend. I have worn so many masks that I no longer know who I am. I’ve been lost for the past two years. Some days I wake up a different person, someone who I no longer recognize.

I am a man lost in the world’s complications. I have seen things that have led me to conclude that Fate is non-existent. Life is made up of random circumstances, connected by smiles and cries. I take a palm of pleasure from the enjoyable details in between: a quarter-pounder with cheese, a stick of Marlboro reds, sunrise and sunset, etc.

Happiness is a myth to me. A drug served in tiny doses or moments.

Movies make us feel as if we could be happy; we could be millionaires, and over-achievers. But we won’t. I refuse to be influenced by culture. My choices are based on self-interest not reputation, image, or status.

This is who I am. A man who’s dreams died out a long time ago. I live for today. I live for the moment because tomorrow never arrives. The world is my mind’s inspiration. My mind is a battleground between depression and sanity. I take solace in the truth, no matter how harsh or kind it can be.

There is no happy ending here.

AS THE BALL BOUNCES...

2005-03-26T23:24:00.000-08:00

WHEN YOU HEAR about the UA&P basketball team, you also hear numerous negative annotations that are anchored to it. At my first impression, I believed these negative criticisms. When I tried out, I never saw talent that satisfied my standards. I concluded that to join this team would only be a futile decision. But my love for basketball lingered and somehow I ended up in the roster anyway. At first I had doubts about it. But my two-year tenure in this team has changed my mind. I never regretted my decision to play. There is something extraordinary about this team. Something I have not seen in any other teams: a culmination of heart, camaraderie, and talent. I can assure you, our reputation does not serve us due justice.

Behind every successful man is a great mentor. Coach Benjie Sipin, assistant coaches Tyrone Limon and Rick Reyes are the foundation for the team’s success. They persistently push the players to perform better. Always reminding us that we are never too old to learn new things. The practices are based on fundamentals and basic plays that foster teamwork.

Basketball is like photography; if you don’t focus then you only get the negatives. The team’s essence is based on hard work and focus. 5:30 AM practices are not easy unless you have a goal to reach and a purpose to uphold. We have both a purpose and a goal so we don’t complain, we are too busy getting better to complain.

Captains Vic DeLosReyes and MJ Bayang lead the team on the floor. Vic DeLosReyes is the team’s best point guard. He is a tenacious defender and willingly lays his body on the line for the game. MJ Bayang on the other hand, exemplifies dedication. He is always one of the first to arrive in practices and one of the last to leave. MJ is the team’s steadfast motivator.

JR Jocson leads the team by example. He exudes the confidence and poise of a great player. Though this forward is undersized, his footwork and veteran tactics make him as good or even better than opposing forwards.

The team’s most talented players are Ralph Egonia and Rafael Fabie. Ralph Egonia’s game is a combination of speed and distance. He can shoot three pointers like lay-ups and he drives to the basket as if there were no tomorrow. On the other hand, Rafael Fabie’s offensive arsenal is the team’s most potent weapon. His uncharacteristic quickness and range allow him to take big men off the dribble. Fabie or “Waf” as we fondly call him is the team’s Most Valuable Player. His excellence on the court is a testament to his tremendous work ethic.

This year’s team sports two freshmen standouts: Mark Chua and Jim Hizon. Both are outstanding athletes. The two are no longer strangers to the game of basketball. They carry an on-court swagger that makes them seem as if they were veterans. The rest of the cast includes players who are not afraid to win: AC Espiritu, Javie Laurel, Dinno Datu, David Castillo, Paolo Sedonio, Karl Favilla, and Francis Braza.

In their last tournament (MNCAA), the team finished among the top four. Showing some improvement from the Dragons’ previous seasons. The season had its fair share of ups and downs that made it a memorable experience.

It is easy to play for any top-notch basketball team loaded with all the benefits and gimmicks that you can think of. But here we don’t have any benefits, any scholarships, or excused absences. What we have is passion for the game of basketball. Passion is the underpinning of a successful man without it he can never excel in the things he chooses to do. Passion puts our team on the same page because we all love basketball. That is our unifying cause.

Within the team there is no longer a “me”, “him”, or “I.” There is simply an “us.” My teammates are not only my friends they have become my brothers. The camaraderie has transcended our individual differences and made us better people inside and outside the court. It gave us a friendship much more valuable than any game will ever be. Our victories were just a bonus.

I will not remember wins or loses as much as the moments in between them. The smiles and cries the team encountered. Like MJ’s exaggerated injures, Paolo’s weird humor, throwing Vic in the pool, post practice talks, Piolo Pascual look-a-like, among others. These are the moments I will cherish for the rest of my life.

Because of this team, I have learned that the game teaches us things that we can apply in life. They say it is hard to win a basketball game. If so, how much harder is it to lose one? I value our lost games more than the ones we won. Because whenever we lost, the team showed its most admirable traits. It is not until we are at the edge of defeat, that we know who we truly are. The game unveiled who we are as individuals. We are not cowards who tremble upon the sight of a favored opponent. We never gave up, we stayed together and we helped each other when we needed it the most. You need teamwork and cooperation to succeed in the court and in life.

The UA&P basketball team has a heart of a champion. They proved to be more than worthy to be called Dragons. If you’re still in doubt about that, come and challenge us. I am not promising that we will beat you, but I guarantee we will earn your respect.

Only good things are in store for the UA&P basketball team’s future. I’ll end this essay with a quote. It is dedicated to the team’s performance last season.

"Basketball doesn't build character it reveals it."

2005-03-26T23:20:00.000-08:00

The Team