Anyway, as I tried to fix my g.damn cellphone’s time, an sms flashed. It was from somebody who was reminding me of a stupid assignment. Actually, the right term’s not somebody (and don’t let me start off by singing Jason Mraz’ songs of endearment and unfortunate tales of love-lost and stupid fall backs); it was from a person I merely call “fantasy”. Yeah, hyperbolic in a sense that’s oxymoronic at the same time—she’s an n.f.f. according to a buddy (means newly-found-friend. Now you see that even straight guys use acronyms, the world is ending, I tell you).

And so I quickly jumped up the computer and logged on the YM. I was thinking of asking her about that stupid assignment again because I wasn’t able to receive it completely (and it was actually the first time that I thanked Globe for their rotting service). Luckily by the time I logged in, I saw her name in the list that said: “Dancing is my passion (not the exact words, though. Anyway you got the message, she’s good at dancing)”. But the thing that struck me was that stupid red hole attached before her name that said ‘busy’. And so I was kind of dubious about buzzing her to disturb for a while. But then I thought it was for an “academic purpose” (and I always abhor that phrase—two words forcefully glued to form one seemingly cool bandwagon. fuck), and so I clicked on her name and typed my message.

Just when I thought I would again stare at her ym window waiting for that reply (I did that twice, call me “hopeful”, but not “obsessed”, still), she replied with a “grinning emoticon”. And I thought she’s in the mood for a talk. I grabbed the opportunity.

Of course, to conceal the main intention was the topmost priority. That was the renegade’s secret code of the night. And so I asked her if she could re-send the message I got about that assignment. First rule—don’t sound imperative. Always have the knack to appear like a person of courteous requests. And I think I have always pulled that off. And that night’s not an exemption.

And so she did re-send the message. What now?

I wanted to prolong the talk, and let the conversation grow. And so I didn’t have any choice but to ask for her advice on something that involved my relations with my best friends and the fiasco going on. It was a sincere ask-for-advice sandwiched by two contradicting intentions—first, to get to know her more when it comes to “matters of the heart” (Pam, I know you’re good at this) and second, to implicitly send that message of i-know-i-trust-you—can-we-go-out? afterwards. (actually, this was the time when reasoning and logical thinking were up high in the night clouds).

She didn’t betray me. She was a hell good adviser on love matters and what not. Her reasoning was sound and acceptable, and feminine I should say. Anyway, that didn’t care much. I just liked the fact that we were able to talk and I was able to have a glimpse on how she thinks and weigh down circumstances. And I tell you, she’s as deep as well.

Now it was my turn to ask something about her love life. Yeah, the target.

And so I asked, “Ikaw naman magkwento. Musta love life natin? Haha”

I wasn’t actually sure if it was the word “haha” or the words “love life” that pulled her owning-up side away. She was not in the mood to talk about it, she said. But the great thing is, she still mentioned that one cool sentence that paid it all off in a way: “Some other time.”

Call it sincere, call it pampalubag-loob, call it euphemistic, I don’t give a shit. I just realized one thing that night, that no matter what, we’ll still have a lot to talk about. Tomorrow I’ll have a four-hour break, and don’t think I’ll just be sleeping my free-time through. I need to do something to resume that chat. 

To live beyond the boundaries of death, to shine beyond the light of humanity. A man of depleted hope and courage lies flat on the floor. He’s a story of false promises, of faking virtues, of losing hope, and of simple death. And yet a leaves a legacy, a story to unveil, a treasure to preserve.

What is it in a dying man that’s not found in a living one?

I say beauty. I say mountains. I say flowers. I say birds. I say light. I say death.

I see nature in a dying man- a direction to freedom. He’s a claimer of his own rights, of rights taken from him, or rights stolen from him. But why were they stolen? But why were they taken?

Inside man’s imagination lies intelligence. Intelligence birthed inventions out of man’s diverse intensions. He craved for life, so he made food, so he made clothes, so he made home. And yet he’s not satisfied, he added more food, and made it taste even better; he added more clothes and left it complex yet more comfortable; and he added more to his home and formed luxury. With intricacies interwoven, life became a hodgepodge of everything man has virtually found on earth.

But above the millions things it gave him, he never gave one he truly needed.

And so he invented fraud, stealth and crime. He invented the world you and I now know. He made the world untrustworthy, and turned it into a carnival.

And yet amidst all atrocities, amidst all foolishness, a man lies flat on the floor. And he is dying.

To die is to step out of the world other men made, to sparkle like a diamond on a wall. Cruelty designed for eternity is not solved with having courage and hope, but with abandoning them and annihilating them to call for the simplest order man has known. He is not a loser, nor is he a hopeless fellow; he has just found reality in the scenario. And that reality pushed him to either destroy man’s own gifts, or destroy oneself to end the miseries. He chose the second.

And yet there comes a turning point. Just as when he is about to go and leave, he heard children’s laughers, he saw mountains, smelled flowers— he saw light but not death. He questioned himself, and doubted what he had seen. Is Somebody fooling him?

From cacophony what he heard was beauty. From distortion he was able gaze at the aesthetic. All these he saw, in the world he tagged as “cruel”. Is Somebody fooling him?

No one fooled him, only himself. The world is cruel, the world is dull. But the world is also a shelter for the sick, a home for a relative; and just as when he thought it’s dull, it’s also an arena of flowing ideas designed to attain the things he thought he’d find moments later.

PEACE and HAPPINESS.

He wasn’t wrong in craving for them, nor was he wrong in seeking them. But when he sought them in death, that’s the difference. It’s like looking for a rabbit in the North Pole.

The thing is, dying makes one more human, and being human is being natural. All things not natural, definitely not human. To destroy oneself to snatch back peace and happiness is different from dying because he had to. And that choice lies beyond his own hands, definitely.

But with the decision made, he didn’t have any other choice but to follow the course of life. From beginning it had to end. Now he craves for life, now he seeks for it.

The children’s laughers eventually fade, his view on the mountains became farther and farther, and the flowers’ scent finally died. Even though he didn’t want to, he had to give everything up. The light he knew turned into darkness. From richness his world reverted to nothingness.

That moment changed the meaning of death, and the meaning of life. A legacy to leave, a story to unveil, a treasure to preserve.

To die with the dying, to live with the living.

           How can you survive if you get stuck in a jungle? How will you try to save your life from the different forces that emanate from it? How will you keep yourself strong to not lose hope and give up? The answers to these questions are hard to find. But like precious stones, with the right amount of hope and courage, getting them may become a lot easier if you just know the secret. So let me tell you how.

            I for one am a survivor. I’ve once been hurled into one of the most nerve-wrecking experiences in my life, and honestly up to now I still cannot imagine how I had managed to get out of that jungle. The jungle’s found in Valle Verde II, where seeing Vic Sotto or Kris Aquino or even Bobby Eusebio jogging around the village becomes less of a celebrity encounter. The purpose: to get Coelho and Mandino Books from my bestbud’s house.

             I got there fast, knocked at the door without knowing what lied ahead of that seemingly normal experience one Saturday afternoon. Somebody opened the door. Then I heard loud music (Ciara’s 1,2 step was in the background). The teenager (15 perhaps) greeted me. I told her my purpose. She ushered me to the sala.

            Here is the most important thing: ALWAYS HAVE THE BRAIN TO DISCERN WHETHER YOU’RE IN A JUNGLE ALREADY OR NOT. Often times, you’ll have your gut feel. Trust it. But don’t just simply slip away. Remember, jungles are like labyrinths, getting in is easy but getting out’s really hard and tricky. So just venture till you get out of the other end.

            I was surprise to see people whom I thought I’d just saw in my bestbud’s  photo albums. It was like one of those huge family get-togethers seen in the Mano Po Series.

            His mom called me a few seconds after I seated in the couch. When I looked back I saw his dad, and two other parent-like figures (I’ll later on realize that they’re my best bud’s tito and tita). Ashamed as I was, I got up and went to their bar. I was asked to sit. Comfy chair, I always envied my best buddy for having chair like that. Then his mom started talking to me, asking questions which looked more like an interrogation seen in a courthouse with the case whether or not her son’s a good boy or not. I wanted to say hell no (and I don’t want to start talking about good old gimik days), but then I realized that we all have to lie for each other when asked by each one’s parents. Friendship works this way actually.

So, after making up stories of how eager my bestbud was in his studies, and how loyal he was to his girlfriend, (I didn’t have that tone, of course), our conversation died. Then his mom turned to the tito and tita. Then conversations rolled by. Alien talks, hard to understand.

Now, you got yourself into an even scarier scene, YOU FINALLY MEET THE TRIBE. You want to go back, but you just can’t. Here, what you do is to actually make yourself appear more like a friend than a lunch or dinner. If they talk gibberish, follow it. If they dance around trees, do so. If they eat shhh, nah just kidding. But one thing that you have to do is to make them realize your presence. Assertiveness is a brutal term, but I should say it’ll be more helpful.

And so I decided to open up a topic.

OOPS! Don’t tell them bout your beer-drinking trips or scenes from “ONE NIGHT WITH PARIS HILTON”. You have to think hard on this one, this is going to make or break you. Tribes like to talk about the things they see around them, like trees, the sun, rocks. If you find it corny, well you shouldn’t. Especially when your life’s at stake. The perfect formula: BLEND IN.

I chose to tell them about Philippine Politics. During that time the hottest issue was the “Hello Garci” scandal. I told them about my insights, and how I saw the act as scandalous and shameful, looking of course at its adverse effects on Phil. Economy. His mom shared feelings, too. And the tita as well. But when the tito made his turn, jeez it was more like “LECTURES WITH MR. GUILLERMO”. Long, highfaluting, thesis-like explanations were hurled. It thought I made a bad choice to start off the conversation with politics.

Now you encounter the tribe king. He’s gigantic. Scary. And most of all, cannibal. You had him summoned because of your own lousiness and stupidity when you accidentally hit the tribe’s fertility vase and had it shattered into fine pieces. You know you’re dead, which you really are. So you now have to get away, run as fast as you can.

I knew I had to change the topic. Or vacate my seat. I didn’t have any choice though but to listen to his dragging speech. Then somebody poked at me. When I turned back I saw my bestbud’s sister. The perfect adjective’s savior.

Thankfully there came a saving troop on a helicopter. You should thank heavens for that. If they arrived much earlier, they would have found caldereta or dinuguan served for dinner.

            I was really thankful for the having the sister found me. Then I knew I can finally be myself, at least. So I began telling her about happenings in school, new movies, music and what not—things that concern and ONLY concern teenagers like us. But I had to get the books. So I asked the sister where exactly was my bestbud. She told me she was asked to buy food at the grocery.

            Just when you thought you have finally saved yourself, you then realized that you lost the necklace your girlfriend gave you in the place of the tribe. It wasn’t just a gift actually, it was you life, so you had to go back to find it. Hesitant of going back, you didn’t have any choice. You had to.

            So, I sat in the couch. Waited for my bestbud. I then realized how big and happy my bestbud’s family was. I saw toddlers running around, I saw her lolo and lola’s singing the MAGIC SING. I saw his teenage cousins playing PS2. I thought to blend in with the teenagers, but I knew I didn’t have to. I just waited for my best bud to arrive, then I’d go home.

            Thankfully the tribe’s gone when you got back. Just when you thought you’ll spend the entire afternoon searching, you then found it underneath a rock. You were happy to find it. You knew the experience has finally ended.

            Then I heard a doorbell. The door swung open, then I saw my huge best bud. He was surprised to see me (even though I called him up few hours ago about this visit). Then I asked him about the MANDINO and COELHO books. He ushered me then to his room, handed me the pile of books. I thanked him for that.

            You ended the experience happily. You can’t just imagine how great it went. Saving you life was the price of all the struggles, and having found the necklace the bonus. So ill end this by saying, whenever you’re stuck in a jungle, always always trust yourself and believe that you can get out of it safe.

Either way, I see this semester as truly memorable. I’m glad that after almost four months of making papers, reading thick articles and what not, I’m still here in UA&P, alive and kicking. I’m looking forward to spending the rest of my college life here in this school, because it’s only now that I proved to myself that this is my home. 

The story revolved around the mishaps that the family faced by the time Julia Roberts, the Stepmom, steps into the house and takes the place of Susan Sarandon as the mom. The kids didn’t like her, basically because she was more focused to her profession as a photographer than mastering the facets of being a “mom”, which involves knowing the kids’ schedule in school and cooking “decent” food for them. Though Julia Roberts tried her hardest to meet the expectations that the kids had for her, it still became nearly impossible for her, because her mindset was bifurcated to career and family, something that she hasn’t experienced yet since she never had kids before. But there came a twist towards the end of the story, that is when Susan Sarandon was diagnosed to have cancer and that she’s dying. So most of the times Julia Roberts had to stay with the kids even during weekends, which was originally Susan Sarandon’s day with them while she had to secretly go to the doctor to have her chemotherapy. This gave her the chance to redeem herself and get closer to the children, which didn’t appear to be so hard for her since she is young and knows what the kids are into, like rock concerts and what not.

What, for me, made this movie differ from all the other flicks that has the same concept was the way Julia Roberts and Susan Sarandon portrayed their roles as two women competing for the attention of the children. It was simple, but at the same time convincing and really moving. Moreover, the movie went deeper into the real story of a stepmother, other than portraying her as a cruel despicable bitch as stereotyped in other movies having the same theme. In Stepmom, we saw Julia Roberts’ pains whenever the kids tell her how much they hated her, and as well as her joys whenever they, especially the fourteen year old girl, open up to her with regards to school happenings and other personal things. In a more specific perspective, we see in the movie how the stepmother craves for being called “mom” to the children she didn’t bear and how the stepmother wishes she were part of the family she “destroyed” by the time she went inside the family circle. While I was watching the movie, I didn’t think that Julia Roberts was wrong in the sense that she has destroyed the family nor did it appear as if Susan Sarandon was to blame for letting things become messed up. What I had in mind, rather, was how much they both loved the kids, and it was just right that the movie ended by having them reconciled since each of them differed from one another, and in a way things will work out without the need of having one leave the family.