Archive for the ‘drama’ Category

It crept on me like a serpent. It stayed on my shoulders and reared its head up, looking intently in front me, surveying those who surround me.

Once I was nobody. I can slip in and slip out without anyone knowing. My voice never mattered (and never been heard before). This is a choice I made after leaving The Firm. Power burned me. Fame blinded me.

But I am on the same path again. A creature born as a shark will always be a shark. I now prominently show my coronet. My voice is slowly being heard. My ideas are slowly being considered.

In every kingdom, there would always be royalties. You must bide your time lest you be accused of usurping power. But in all kingdoms, there would always be jesters, soothsayers and loyal soldiers. A prince yearning for the crown must know who these are underneath the garb.

I felt the power some days past after making a critical decision that would have changed the lives of some for a few hours. It was a difficult one to make, emotionally. The stolid equation was clear : hand down the verdict, assert your political will and see the kingdom walls stand the test of times.

But it did not come without a cost. Few jewels of friendship I hold so dearly were lost among the rubble. I searched after the dust has settled but they were not to be found. Perhaps, they are in hiding? Or has abandoned me for good? I cried over the lost. The weak child peeped through the mask of iron I wear every day. But as said, it was a peep, no longer than that. For many others are counting on unbiased decisions I would have to make. The iron mask was put on again.

I am afraid for as I make these decisions, my best friend, my other self, my prince, is in a far-away kingdom no Gandalf horse can take me to him. There are times when I know I stand vulnerable. Vulnerable not only to vultures who lie in wait till I make the limb-crushing ill decision, but vulnerable also to my own self – I might be so true to my responsibility and end up as stolid as the algebraic equations I once hated in high school.

I fear a moment when you are so blinded by your own luminescence, you no longer see the truth around you. I fear a moment when you shine so brightly, so quickly, you burn out ahead of the others. I fear a moment when your pull is so strong it creates galaxies but sucks you in yourself.

This is not new to me. I must learn from past mistakes. File the budding of horns while I still can. There are too many mistakes and too little time and one must learn from the mistakes of others.

I will continue to struggle in the snow. To work in the darkness while the numbing coldness of the breeze kisses my cheeks all the time. I can try to please as much people as I can, but I know it would be in vain. Let me be true to the cause without losing sight of my loved ones and friends. I just wish we stand the test of time.

I just wish the snow would melt soon.


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November 11, 2010.

That was the last time you read something from this blog.

I thought that was the last post I would have made.

No, I am not yet dying. No, I am not yet giving up on blogging either.

I am just plain tired. And sad.

My new process has taken a considerable toll on my activities. As the professional accountant in me keeps on pushing me forward, to achieve more than what my predecessors have achieved, the person hiding behind the curtains of the strong façade I keep weeps as he feels the tired muscles, sleepy eyes, and sometimes ill-functioning brain.

As anyone who had taken the course of time management can attest, if you just plainly run out of time, you must learn how to prioritize. Do the things which need to be done first. Sacrifice those which can be sacrificed.

And sadly, blogging was one at the bottom of the list.

And I paid a price for it, I know.

I grew even more listless, frustrated, cranky. Yes, I delivered the results but I lost track of the things that keep me sane.

As anyone whose Facebook, Twitter or WordPress account nearly once died can attest, in order for you to keep a balanced, time-managed life, activities should be sorted out between those which NEED to be done and those you WANT to be done, and get equal amounts of work done on both categories.

With that and for that, I am back!

I am so back in what I want to be done.

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I am a very intelligent person.

I know things a normal guy my age would not know – the difference between a Bactrian from a Dromedary camel ; the migration behavior of wildebeests ; the reason why Mona Lisa escaped the Nazi pilferage.

I also know the things people tell behind my back. I also know who will spill the beans and who will take the secret to their graves. I know the interests some people are protecting. And I know, sometimes, I am the sacrificial lamb.

A friend once said that education, therefore knowledge, eradicates poverty. I firmly believe this. My knowledge of things people of my age and educational background are not expected to know has allowed me push beyond boundaries.

But this knowledge has, to certain extent, imprisoned me.

Truth hurts and what you do not know won’t hurt you.

I know, right?

However, the more you know, the more you want to ask questions.

Why not me? Why him? Why didn’t you? Why won’t you?

But the very fact that moves you to ask more has hurt you so much you no longer have the motivation to move forward. And you know, whatever will be the answer to those questions will just hurt you, whether they be the truth or lie.

For apparently, it’s too late.

Which puts time in the equation. Knowledge learned in a timely manner surely helps the person. But information given at a later time nullifies its effects.

Was there malice in the delay? Did someone unintentionally withhold it? Why was it kept secret for so long? For so much despite the fact that I have a right to know?

Today, more than ever, I know more. I should be able to use what I know to be a better person. To survive the competition. To make the right decisions.

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When Age Matters

Nurse : Do you smoke?
Me : No.
Nurse : Do you drink alcohol?
Me : No.
Friend : Do you go to bars to hang out?
Me : No.
Friend : Do you work out in a gym?
Me : No.
Driver : Can I listen to loud music while driving, sir?
Me : No.

My answers to these questions all show I lost touch with youth. Or what society considers as youthful. If I answer at least one ‘yes’ to any of the questions above, I would feel really young. But I don’t.

I was a young kid, not even attending school yet, when I admired my older cousins and their taste for clothes and music and wished I was a lot older.

I was in sixth grade when I no longer wore my school uniform but instead went to school in shirts and jeans (it was a public school so it was allowed) and pretended to be a college student.

I was in sophomore highschool, two years short of the legal age, when I started watching R-18 movies in cinemas and no one asked for an ID!

I was in senior year in college when I admired those people pushing carts filled with groceries to the cashier and wished I was old enough to work and afford such things.

I was in my first year of work when I wished I was older upon seeing the success of my boss.

Now, I am in my late twenties, will reach even the latter part of twenties in less than a month. I already have what I wished for – the taste in clothes, the money to afford some things I need, the success in my work – but I feel so old.

Did you ever have that feeling that you grew up too fast? Too quickly? I feel that I did. That I trained myself to think like an older person. That my actions betray my age.

Some people who are old and yet act as if they’re still teens (I mean those people who are really old but act immaturely) have nothing different from me who am still young by some people’s standards but act as if I am in my late forties.

I feel that I am running out of time. That I once wished that time be so fast for me to grow up at once but only wish that time would slow down after.

The sad part is – I know I am not running out of time. That I am still in my youth. That I am still, technically, in the yuppie category.

But I could no longer relate to what young people do.

I do not see the sense in hanging out at night and drinking your heart’s desire. I do not see the sense of listening to loud music when your only time to sleep is the travel from your office to your home. I do not see the sense why should I bother working out in gyms when I could spend time with my dogs and plants.

I am not even mentioning the lines around my eyes when I laugh too hard.

But I am obviously fretting over my age.

The crowd in the office is getting younger and younger, lots of fresh graduates to train, and lots of older people acting like fresh graduates! I feel so different!

Should I start hanging out with older people (James, do not give me that look – this is not about me finding older men sexier) so I could relate? So I could be the younger one?

I’ll be 28 in less than a month, but I look like 38 and think like 48.

Well, I think this is a job for Shiseido eye cream!

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I was once famous

I was once famous.

Being a consistent honor student and president of most of the school’s clubs would certainly give you ample airtime to increase your popularity.

Everyone knows you. Everyone wants to hear what you have to say. Everyone appears to be nice to you and wants to be friends with you.

Then the evil of popularity strikes. People talk behind your back. Your every move is watched. Your every action is judged. One wrong move or word was quickly blown out of proportion.

Bitter thing about this is you get used to the popularity and you start pleasing everyone else. Like everyone is a fan you could not afford to lose.

I got tired of the spotlight. I wanted to be normal. I wanted to be me without thinking or worrying whether I would be liked or not.

I know how to lose the popularity. Said no to all parties. Said no to all engagements. Never went out to meet new people. I stayed with friends I truly trust. I never smiled at anyone without them smiling at me first. I just looked straight and ignored everyone hoping I, myself, would be ignored.

But perhaps, I was born in front of the stage, rather than behind it. Whatever I do, I get attention. Unwanted attention. My actions are judged mercilessly. My name is dragged to common gossip channels. Suplado. Masungit. Mayabang. Namemersonal. Some of the words I’ve been described as.

Worse, you have no chance to prove otherwise without gaining popularity or appearing as people-pleaser. A very wise blogger once said that you have a serious problem if you want everyone to like you. I no longer want to have that problem. I should live happily with the fact that I can not please everyone.

It is just sad that people you do not want to notice you get to notice you while those you want to notice you totally ignores you.

After this, I’d stand up, get my bag, get a ride, sleep and then everything starts all over again…tomorrow.

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Bring it On!

I am a very, very competitive person.

I know what I want, I know how to get it. I plan like a thief, wait like a panther, watch like an owl, strike like a falcon.

My competitiveness stems from the desire to be recognized. To be noticed. As the youngest child, I was often seen as the weakest, dumbest, slowest among us, something that did not sit well with me.

Ever since I could remember, I have always equated love with achievement. If I achieve something good, they’ll love me good.

I started competing in contests in first grade for declamation. I did not win but that was followed by all imaginable competitions – school subjects quiz bees, spelling bees, Caltex Science Quiz Bee, declamation, extemporaneous, impromptu, debate, essay writing, story telling, exhibits, painting and drawing – name it I’d probably joined it. Think of Rachel in Glee.

I did not win in all these competitions. One time, I won second place in History Quiz Bee on my third grade and I was expecting that a silver medal would be given to me. Our school principal spoke on behalf of the district supervisor and said that there will only be one medal – the Gold medal – as in all competitions there is but one prize, the first prize, the rest are consolation and we should all aim for the only prize. That molded me into the highly-competitive Scott.

Now, now, don’t start getting all the evil thoughts that since I am very competitive I devise ways to ‘dispose’ of competitors. I can assure you, my dear readers that I had not, in my more than 20 years of beautiful life, done something malevolent against anyone I competed against.

I know I am competitive because I prepare for the battle. I study. I memorize. I practice. I strategize. My focus is set on winning.

This is why I do not understand why some people claim that they only join contests to have fun, not necessarily to win and not exert effort on the matter. Do they have the luxury of time and money and energy to waste joining a contest without aiming to win? Are they just being sickeningly humble so as not to appear competitive?

There are games where I enjoy having fun but these are games where I am not good in – badminton, accounting quiz bees, paramihan ng manliligaw!

But if it is my turf, expect my tiara and my full feathered boa to be there.

I know what I want, I know how to get it. I plan like a thief, wait like a panther, watch like an owl, strike like a falcon.

I just do not know when to stop, to call it quits, to rest after falling and losing, instead of getting right back up, to not cry over my own limitations, to accept that I can never be the best, that I can never be loved by the whole world all at the same time.

I just know I need to win this one. This time, I am up against the best opponent for the prize to have bigger biceps, firmer pecs, rounder butt – myself and my insatiable desire to sleep!

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Missing Link

The internationally renowned brand Liz Claiborne has been suffering losses for a considerable time now. One of the greatest blows to the brand was when Macy’s, its strongest retail partner, virtually dropped the brand from its 300 stores after a partnership of 30 years.

This morning, after checking my Facebook account, then my WordPress blog, then the blogs on my blog roll, I’ve noticed that I have been dropped from a blogger’s blogroll.

I consider the guy a star in the bloggers’ world. I have been reading him even before I started my own blog. There was no thinking twice in including him in my blog roster. When he informed me that he would be adding me up, I was elated! I told him it was an honor! Honor na na mareplyan ka, mas honor pa na ma add ka sa blog list nya!

Since he is in my list, I get to check his blog every time I get to check my other favorite sites. Parang ritual na yan eh. I smile every time I read my blog’s name at the right side of his page with my latest post under it. This morning, I expected to see

Posted 9 hours ago

But I did not see my post. I expanded the list and looked for my entry, but it is not there anymore. I believe I was taken out of the list.

Blogs are supposed to be complete, honest representations of one’s thoughts, especially, if it is held in anonymity. You can say what you really feel without having people judging you for uttering words which would otherwise seem impolite.

And to be honest, I was hurt.

The accountant in me is saying that the only reason I was hurt is due to the big hits I would lose with my account’s disgraceful exit in a star’s blog. What is the point of writing if no one else reads it? Yes, I believe, half of my hits come from his referral, but that is not the real reason why I was hurt.

I mentioned in previous blogs (got to learn how to use hyperlinks here) that I never look for friends. If you are meant to be friends, then you will be, no need to go to the ends of the earth to meet new friends. But I consider the guy my mentor, a friend to a certain stretch.

His blog is filled with honesty, sometimes annoyingly true, but plain honesty. I believe it is possible to have friends in the blog world since blogs are true representations of themselves. Read the blog, get to know the person.

I read his blog, and I got to know him through his words. I know he is a nice person under the entire superhuman persona.

But the mentor dropped me off his list. It was never his responsibility to keep me there. Perhaps my posts weren’t exciting enough. Having him in my roll doesn’t ensure my inclusion in his.

Perhaps it was a system glitch. Perhaps I am still in the list. Or perhaps my account did not meet the qualifications.

I may never know the reason why. But that wouldn’t stop me from writing. I still have the half numbers of hits to keep interested in my posts.

Hit or no hit, stepfordboy will continue to write. To share. To inspire.

But at the end of the day, behind the knight’s armor, I am but a small boy, na medaling masaktan…

And I hate it when it happens…

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