JAY-R GATDULA writes stuff here

(via idothattoo)

I am an insomniac. Paraphrasing the words of Chuck Palaniuk: “If you have insomnia you’re never really asleep and you’re never really awake.” If the moon really does pull the waters on earth and it pulls the juices in my brain at night then this is the result. I give you three stories from my old blog and hopes that if you have a glimpse of what I write before you would understand how sick I am. Thanks anyways.

Unnamed Heroes

You don’t ever control your future. It’s Destiny’s job. So many dreams are tossed along the way. People never knew their names. Names that are meant to be recognized but still hidden beneath surfaces of spoiled history. The past is never far.

I walked from Boni Hi-way to the building I am staying. I was emblazoned by reruns. I was pondering on the way. The deserted streets gave an inviting breeze that seemed more luxurious than the life I will have a few years later. It was another night. Just another night.

There was this old balut vendor that was always in the same place every night. I watched as he gave change in the most cool way. He is the ultimate veteran. There is this certain mist at some nights that occludes him from the road so people driving around late at night doesn’t seem to see him. You’ll only get the chance to lay eyes on him if you walk around.

It was late and the drowsiness of the masses is in effect. He industriously waits there like how he had waited a few eons ago. He was mixed up.

Since I was drunk and all my friends are asleep at home I just sat down and talk to the guy. You know, being there and drunk, its nice to have some company or someone that will take care of me if by some point I pass out.

The sky is so turbulent. I can see the movements of the clouds in the darkness. There begun the haunting monologue of the old man:

“I was in the Death March in Bataan, did you know that?”

“Really.” I tried to look interested.

“Yes, but I am not one of the detainees, I am the one doing the lashing.”

“Aren’t you recognized by our fellow Filipinos.”

“No, they wouldn’t recognize me since they had barely enough to eat, all their senses are down. I was going to retire to the force. The Armed Forces sold me out to the Japanese bastards. The contract was iron-clad. If I didn’t cooperate back then they would have killed my family and they did eventually. I am still at large because I have taken with me the secret military plans of the Japanese that I revealed to the Government as part of my reconciliation. The President was pleased with the plans that he personally took care of my witness protection program, only a few years back the Japanese government traced me and killed my family. They said its just payment for my treachery to a community I never swore loyalty to. The government didn’t much do anything after that. They thought I died and got back to their own business. They didn’t even bother to investigate. My family was mercilessly murdered and spared me to bear guilt upon their death. Dreams haunt me and I never felt peace again. I fear somebody’s watching me, waiting to finish the deed. I am troubled.”

Just then the government secret service had deployed an agent that shot him just right after he told me the whole story. I was shocked. I was tipsy. His blood was oozing from his shirt.

I tried to chase the agent but he got away. I went back to the old man and tried to secure the wound.

“Let it be, young fellow, tell my story to everyone. Tell them everything. Let my lack of voice be heard.”

“I am sorry old man, I don’t even know your name.”

He died shortly.

Nostalgic Neighbors

Where do I live? I live in an apartment. A freaking apartment for eighteen years. Always acquainted with the words ‘rent’,’landlady’, and ‘eviction’. So much for having a stable home. It is so difficult for people to look for house and lots in Metro Manila. It’s like looking for a silver strand of hair in the darkness at night, in a cave, and your blind. The darkness that makes you feel that you have wandered around forever without realizing you haven’t left the spot for years. I think the hyperbole gave the emphasis I wanted.

Anyways, being a resident of an apartment I usually have different kinds of neighbors and I have the fortune of having Mrs. Marson as a neighbor. She is an extremely accomodating old woman. Although eccentric as I am I can’t pretend I don’t find her presence idiosyncratic. At night she wears this fancy dress and look herself at the mirror for hours. Then she goes to sleep in them. The next morning she would light up a cigarette and pour wine good enough for two people. When I come by her place she gets ecstatic about it. She quickly cooks her specialty which was bolognese. I am a glutton with pasta. I just eat. She cooks nice spagetti as well. When she washes the plates, she would wipe the windows above the counter as well seeing the sauce sprinkled in it. After washing the dishes she then tell me stories about her grandson she never met and that kinda make it seem more freaky. Everytime we slide in that subject I change it. She sleuthed my evasive responses and do change the subject. I felt her desperate desires for company.

One day, when I visited her, she laid out this military fatigue uniform for a Major. She then begged me to wear it and for her to take a picture of me in it. I agreed for I knew that she assumes her grandson would have been in the military because her son was. I even made a good salute at the photo. After she took the photos I left, but before I completely closed her front door, I heard her whispering sobs. She was sad.

That night I passed by another neighbor. This bum who lived in that apartment since he was born. He approched me cautiously and said that if I wanted some company I should go to some bar instead of visiting an empty room.

“What empty room?” I said.

“The one beside Mr. Rodriguez’ room.”

“But that’s were Mrs. Marson lives.”

“Who?”

“Mrs. Marson.”

“Who the hell is Mrs. Marson? Look pal, there hadn’t been any occupants at that room for fifteen years and I should know, I lived here my whole life.”

So damn, I thought. Who the hell is wiping the window above the counter as we made that conversation?

Assault Inside the Silverscreen

I watch movies alone. It’s not that I don’t want any company it’s just that I hate company during times in which I have to focus on something. They’re very distracting. I adore movies. I’m even considering a career in film if my writing won’t work out. I like it when the cinema is deserted, in which I go there when the movie is about to be phased out or replaced, that way it guranteed a minimun amount of audience. I would have various to-go foods from disparate restaurants and food chains. Then I would munch into the food exactly as the opening credits starts. This way whatever crazy stuff I’m gonna do, I am assured of a small number of witnesses. That’s another reason why I want fewer audiences inside the massive cinemas. One time I had a fight with this four-eyed fat nerd who devours the popcorn like it’s his last day on earth. Well, if he hadn’t left early, it may have turned out to be his last day on earth. Lucky bastard. The surround sound of the compact room is my two-hour escape from reality so they better not mess around.

One time when I was watching this old film “Pirates of the Carribean”. The first one. During the climax, a group of hippies came in and blocked all the exits. Even the catchy scenes of the movie didn’t distract me from noticing this hippies lined up in the Fire Exit. I know somethings up again for hippies are very strange already but hippies acting in a very peculiar way is hard to ignore. Two of the hippies walked below the screen and shouted:

“Y’all, this is a hold-up! Please give us your belongings and nobody gets hurt.”

There are only five audience inside the cinema including me which made me think it was not such a smart move. One of the audience is this long-haired bitch. Another one is this scrawny kid with his gigantic girlfriend. And finally there was this black professor (hey, there’s a black man in the philippines, in pinoy terms we should all say “kuyugin”, which rudimentary means “lets all pay attention to the black man because we’re all asian racists.” ) I have been in deeper shit than this and I thought I could get away with it but as I reached for the exits, there I realized that there really was no other way out. I gave them my cellphone because its the only thing I take with me when I go to dark places and it lights up and tells me what time it is. Anyways when the hippies finally tried to exit themselves, they found out they have no idea of how to get out and were stuck there. So counting, we have the bitch, the scrawny boy, the giant girlfriend, the professor who had been robbed mostly, me, two female maintenance who rule the cinemas usually after the show and play loud hip-hop songs during the intervals, and the four hippies in which is dumb enough to hinder all exits.

“What do you reckon we should do?” asked the great big hippie.

“I could call for emergency, if I could get my cellphone back.” I said.

“No, we can’t do that, they’ll arrest us.”

“They is so bummer.” said the bitch.

“My mom will kill me if I am not home by 10.” said the giant girlfriend.

“C’mon think, what could we do?” asked another hippie which was a lot leaner.

“We could see if the exits in the film room isn’t blocked?” suggested the professor.

“Nah.. we blocked that one.” said another hippie.

For hours we didn’t have any food. Finally we realized we have to stay there for the night. I must have missed but the scrawny boy and his girlfriend sat together as the girl cried and few minutes later they made out. The bitch is trying to get something going on with the professor who is hopelessly trying to use reverse psychology to the idiot hippies.

“We could rob the whole place now you know, its already night time.”

“How can we do that, were trapped in here.” He then slapped the other hippie in the forehead.

So after a few tantrums, chaos reigned in. The hippies started arguing because of a so called ‘fool-proof’ plan. The professor is beginning to go balistic then sings a broadway in front of the seats. The bitch is trying to unlock the door in the film room but since she noticed a lot of triple x films hidden in a shelve, she plays them into the screen for everybody to see. I was in the front row not knowing which one to watch, the insane professor, the wrestling hippies, the triple x film, or the live ones starring the scrawny boy and his giant girlfriend. Only the maintenance didn’t seem to care as they continued to snatch up garbage and scrub the seats. It’s amazing what a routine can do to people with jobs.

The professor’s voice bacame louder. Louder than the movie itself. Then the maintenance started humming. Then the hippies started dancing. Then the scrawny boy being a tenor himself started singing. Then I joined in the singing. Then the giant girl. Then everybody else. Then we all went down below the screen and sang our hearts out. We held hands and formed a circle and sang while live nude is flashed in the screen. We sang. It felt so good.

After a few more hours the emergency personel found them lying side by side with each other. I am done with this bullshit, I took the hippies bag filled with everything they stole and went out of the cinema. Nice movie by the way.