Small Talk

Kelan kaya ako magkakaroon ng pure Tagalog na blog post?

Maybe next time.

I have always wanted this blog to be a pure reflection of how I think, what I think of and what I’d probably say if things mattered.

But since my vernacular is Tagalog. Why don’t I blog in Tagalog?

The reason is simple. I think in English.

And I talk to myself in English.

Usually our thoughts are a hodge podge porridge of ideas, thoughts, concepts, and memories. But I think we have these thoughts are disembodied in the sense that they do not come with words or subtitles.

When I think, it’s usually a steady discombobulated stream of words - usually in English.

When I speak, I’m more comfortable in Tagalog.

Thimblesticks, I’m probably even funnier in Tagalog (Two lifeless har hars instead of just one if I spoke in English ).

But I love the earthy qualites of my vernacular. I just hope I make sense when I do write with it.

And oh yeah, when I talk to myself? I answer back :D.

Dialogues are a great way to learn

I got the results from my PreEmployment Physical Exam the other day. It came in it’s tell-tale XRay sized folder with my name prominent out in front.

The results?

1. Heart is not enlarged and normal

2. Aorta is unremarkable.

3.Patient is normal.

4.Patient is Obese 1

SAY WHAT! OBESE 1! And what is that supposed to mean? Are you telling me that we rotund beings are ranked according to weight and BMI now? Is this terminal? Should I freak out now? How much more till I get to Obese 2?

I object! With every agitated lipid in me I object!

I am not obese!

I’m just big boned…

and a little constipated, that’s all.

I heard a familiar tune the other day on my way home.

City sidewalks, city sidewalks, bluh bluh bluh bluh bluh bluh, Don’t they know its Chri–ist– mas day…

Yes. I don’t really know the lyrics.

But what I do know is that a melancholic jingle is the last way I’d want to start my Christmas season with.

Bah humbug. Bring on Pasko Nanaman…

I have walked this earth 28 years with a card that reads my name:

Chee Chiang V. Puen Jr.

And for the life of me, I don’t know what it means.

It wouldn’t have mattered if I were named XC9lAo21. Same gibberish to me. That is, unless I find out what my name means. All I know is that it’s my Dad’s name as well.

And given the romantic nature of Chinese names and its gratuituos flora-fauna allusions, I usually imagine my name meaning such:

Jumping Gazelle (effeminate, but it’ll do)

Running Rabbit (possibly an allusion to my buck teeth)

Chilling Gust (this one’s cool)

Great Flowing River (cool now, but wait till I grow old and incontinent… )

But then again it could actually mean the following:

Scratching Monkey ( please no… )

Brave Duck ( at least brave )

Fast Slug ( nah )

Looks Like Father ( 0 points for creativity )

I will not allow my life to cross median without finding out the answers, that’s for sure! Keep posted for details.

During employee orientation for IT company:

We are involved in business solutions for Fortune 500 companies. And being open minded, we also consider other sources of income. As a result we have an arm that sells …

beauty products

…

Oh, boy, this is going to be a long day….

Sorry. This really isn’t poetry. It’s just how I feel today.

Naked, I am, and bare.

Before God’s presence, the masquerade ends.

The sin that roils within this heart.

The guilt that stains these carnal lips.

The clouds of miasma that are my thoughts.

Thoughts of evil. Of lust. Of Hedon excess.

The nausea that is guilt eating at my soul.

What am I? A bag of flesh and bones?

Surely, a compendium of bad decisions and evil persuasions.

And daily I realize how incalculably wonderful one’s Saviour must be.

And how incalculably wonderful and holy our Saviour truly is.

One of the gems I got from Aldrich,

"Make sure you live your life in such a way that when the time comes for you to die, all you have to do is die."

Yep. Make sure there are no rushed apologies, no belated expressions of love, no sins in need of absolution, no unfinished business.

Just serene peace in the bossom of Abraham.

I’m not ready to die, aren’t i

Yes, it’s official.

I’m suffering from Video Game Menopause ( or Andropause, whatever makes the better literary device).

When I was younger, I’d do anything short of selling my kidneys just to latch on to a video game machine.  I’d cut classes, use my tuition, cheat, beg, steal, and everything in between. And it would never get old.

But then something happened.

A few months ago, I got into DOTA. Addicted, yes. But for the first time in my life, I didn’t really care if I was the best at it. It used to be that mastery over a certain video game, and the bragging rights that came with it would be cause enough for shoves and fistfights. But at that time, I was all smiles.

All I wanted was to have a little fun. And I wanted everyone else to have fun. Which is weird. And effeminate. I guess.

Today, it’s come to bear.  I no longer have any desire to play video games. None. Nada. Zilch.

I had a few days off recuperating from a nasty cold/fever combo. I took a look at my PC, imagined playing a few games I had over there( I had Neverwinter Nights 2, FEAR, and Perfect World), and felt no desire, no lust whatsoever.

I am so getting old.

Or maybe I’m maturing.

Maybe I think I have better ways to spend my time.

Or maybe I’m farther down the jaded road than I thought.