Lines

Posted by RJ, Sep 19 2008, 05:51 AM

So far, most of the time I've spent online was spent reading. As I had been a teenager -- fourteen -- when I first found Nifty, I mostly stuck with the high school and young friends section. That mostly changed now of course. I've made some observations from the stories I read, and I found that almost all of them -- most being American, Canadian, British, and the rare Australian -- are very consistent in what they tell of their reality that I have come to believe them. Of course, maybe they're all exaggerations.

The most consistent "fact" is the high school cliques -- jocks, cheerleaders, preppies, geeks, punks, blah, blah, blah. When I first read one of those high school stories, I thought, are these guys for real? And then, I found that there's more of them. In fact, I can't remember reading a high school story that didn't have these cliques. I just kept reading these stories that soon, I began to believe that that's the status quo in the Western Hemisphere (I'm not sure if Australia is a part of which hemisphere). Sure, there are those rare best friends from different cliques, but they had to have known each other since kinder, or had been neighbors most of their lives.

That's why I wonder, if I write a high school story where there are none of these usual cliques, would anyone believe me? If all these different people mingle with each other, would it be okay? Would it not spark disbelief in others? These cliques add conflict, I know. But, I've never known these cliques, not once, in my short high school career. The only cliques I've known are the guys clique and the girls clique, and you can't really call those cliques.

There are no cliques in Philippine high schools, at least, not in the birds-of-the-same-feather sense. There are the jocks, geeks, punks, etc., but you would rarely see them grouping together. Who you'll mostly find grouped together are those who have sat with each other on the first day of classes, or those who are neighbors. Even gays, as in the stereotypical Hollywood gay, can be found in one of these groups. I could be wrong, but as far as I know, there's no such thing as a pecking order in high schools here.

As far as bullies go, they are an undying species, though I've never really seen one at his worst. So I think bullies here can be classified as sissy bullies. At least, the high school ones. Now, the slum areas are a different story. You'll find your classic bully there. Only, he's uneducated and very much used to getting his way by flashing his guns.

It's perplexing to think how people in the same planet could end up so differently in the way they live. If what I read of high schools abroad are true, I think it's very sad. I think the adults, claiming to be the "more responsible ones" should think of a way to change this.

And they could start with the cafeteria. From the movies I watched where there are high schoolers, the cafeteria tables abroad are round/square ones that can probably sit up to ten students. Probably, the reason why I found none of these social cliques -- that could very often lead to social discrimination -- is the fact that we use looooong tables here, the ones that can sit up to thirty students or more.

That's my theory, anyway: long tables that would force people to eat together. Wouldn't that be sweet?

"Amazing Grace"

Posted by RJ, Sep 1 2008, 07:09 AM

I've changed my pen name to RJ now -- my real name's initials actually. If you're new here, I was formerly known as Rad Steven. I still like to be called Rad though. It is, after all, a part of the "R" in my new pen name.

I told Mike, the guys at Codey's World, and Rob (at The Authors' Haunt) that the change was because that's what I need. A change.

I think anyone who has been reading my blog here will agree that I do need a change.

This year has been something I didn't expect it to be. First, January of this year, my best friend moved somewhere. I didn't expect it to affect me as much as it did. I was, or am -- surprise! -- in love with him. But more than that, he was my confidante, my comforter, my, well, whatever it is that best friends do. I didn't really think much of what my parents do until I didn't have a trusted ear to confide in about it.

He's very terrible at keeping in touch, and, I guess, I just gave up. I mean, I'm sure there'll be times when we'd see each other again, so I'll just wait for those.

And then there was that job. Right now, there's a bit of regret in me that I resigned, but I also don't know how much I'd be regretting it if I had stayed. But, being broke all the time, well, it has its highs and lows. Or lows and lows, depending on your point of view.

Then school. I finally decided on what I'm going to do, and in the process, I gave up The Dream -- you know, the dream that all of us, at one point in our lives, believed we'd be able to achieve. For now, I feel alright about it. And I hope that I won't regret it later in life. And that's my goal: to study as best as I can so that I won't regret the career change.

I'm not so depressed now; well, maybe when I'm lying in bed at night and worrying about the future. I'm mostly angry, but it's an emotion I rarely show. I finally gave up on my parents -- they'll never ever change. I've focused on getting my degree and getting the hell out of here. The faster, the better. The farther, the better.

I finally have that goal again. Become my own man.

Thing is, I have this internal debate going on -- and sometimes I think it's stupid -- if one night stands are something I'd want to continue having. On one hand, I think sex is sex. On the other, well, there is no other yet. All those gay romance stories have messed up my mind! But I haven't looked for any since I'm still confused about the subject.

But, anyway, I like to think things will be different this time, that I've got a handle over things this time. And I'm sorry for turning this blog into "musings of a tortured mind" (as WBMS had said) for a while. I was really more depressed about what my life had become, than the daily going-ons (or goings on, whatever). Right now, what they do, say, or what I think they think don't hurt me anymore, but it really pisses me off. So I just piss them off back, just, you know, very subtly.

Where's the Joystick?

Posted by RJ, Jul 4 2008, 08:33 AM

After months of silence, all I can give you is another stinking breath of depression. And I apologize. I just need to unload.

And, on that note.

The past few months, I’ve been rather... adrift. Kind of like floating in space. It just seemed like the more I tried to get control of my life, the more I lose it.

So I let go.

I really let go. In fact, I’ve probably gained at least five pounds now. If not for my metabolism, it probably would’ve been ten pounds. My pants also have become a little difficult to fit into. It’s really embarrassing, but there’s not much I can do but stop doing whatever it is I’ve been doing.

I’ve been letting things happen on their own. It’s actually almost like I wasn’t there. I was just watching from the background. Watching myself fail. Every day.

I had quit going to that shit-class school.

I had quit my fucked up telemarketer job.

The only thing left to do now is move out. Even if I’m not ready to. Thing is, I’m just so afraid of dying of hunger. So, you know, I have to swallow my pride – what’s left of it – every day, while my parents do what they do best. I can’t even think of them now without wishing they meet an accident on the way home. I just really can’t believe they’re my parents. And, you know, I’d rather not think of them that way. But I can’t help it.

It’s been hell. And, probably, the only bright spot these past few months are the emails, well, almost everything online. Almost. It’s been a trying year, so far.

I think I even have a monster writer’s block now. What else can go wrong, right?

Anyway. Phew! Anyway.

Cole Parker told me that when he writes his novels, he completes it first before posting it on the web. I tried. I really tried, but it’s just not for me. I can’t finish anything but short stories. So, I guess, you’ll be seeing a first chapter as soon as I get some things straightened out, but the posting of chapters would only definitely happen after they’re each completed.

From time to time, I still try to get control of my life. My latest attempt is enrolling for a vocational course, something about computers. The classes would be next week. And if everything goes as planned, I’d be going back to college and shift courses from Accountancy to either CompSci or IT after this vocational thing. As for a job I can’t seem to find to right one for me. If only I have porn star looks.

Nights Eternal

Posted by RJ, Feb 22 2008, 05:16 PM

Transferred to graveyard shift again. Ugh.

I don't mind if I get caught using the internet. I think I deserve it. The internet, I mean. *Chuckles*

At the Moment

Posted by RJ, Feb 5 2008, 11:39 AM

I find it hard to blame myself.

I've always read about people blaming others but themselves, and I always agree with that stuff. It's that ego thing; you know, like they did their best, but they just didn't think first if they're doing the right thing under the circumstances, so saying they made the wrong decision is like tripping in the mall or right in front of national TV. Or maybe they didn't do the good thing. I don't know. I've always read - again - that there are no right decisions, only good decisions. I don't want to think if they made the good decisions or not, because that would mean all the fault falls down on me. In their eyes, at least, and all this time I do believe that that's what is going on. I mean, what I think is good may not be the same with what they think it is.

Life scares me right now. I'm already 20 years old, but my life isn't going towards the direction I wanted it to go to. I'm not sure I have the control over it. I'm not sure how I'd be able to get control over it. It's a fucked up feeling. Especially when the people I blame for my life going this way might be blaming me for the same thing. Right now, I feel like becoming a hermit, a recluse. I just don't want to die of hunger. That's the most fucked up thing in this world. No one should die of hunger.

I've always tried thinking of the things I might have not done enough. Like, maybe I should have argued more, defended my case more, had a tantrum, didn't act like I can bear anything life throws at me. Stupid me, always stoic, always happy-go-lucky, always playing it easy. Now they think they did good, and I was too lax that's why everything's going this way. I really don't know what to do. I just wish I could stop smiling about it.

I thought the new job would be good. Fuck, they made it look good during the training. I was so stupid. I had never been so stupid in my life. Never felt that way before. Next time, I'll ask first some of the employees on their opinion before signing up for anything; there has to be a majority of opinion. And yeah, I'm already planning on quitting. Just don't know when. I have plans on going back to school, and that particular company doesn't seem to care about it. If the salary's good I would have considered really staying, like, forgetting about school for a while. But it just isn't. At least, I have myself to blame for that. Really stupid of me to assume it's gold because they said it glitters. I should have known why hearsay isn't admissible in court. Fuck.

Anyway, sorry about spouting off. I'm not doped, I swear. I just needed to vent and this looks like the perfect place. I did say something about decisions being good at the moment, right?

Might

Posted by RJ, Dec 15 2007, 07:46 AM

As Camy had put it, my muse had been on a vacation. But it's now back because of an inspiration from a friend. He told me I should write a poem for the guy who got me into writing poetry and on whom I have a little crush on. I hadn't written in weeks, I think, before that, but on hearing that advice, I finally did. Thanks to him! (Raise your hand please. *Grins*) I'm posting it here because it's too personal for me to post at CW, though not that personal for me to post here in my blog. Go figure. The title is You and Me.

Anyway... I had told you about my job hunting exploits two weeks ago, and it just seemed fair that I tell you my current situation. I just had an interview with another call center company yesterday, and I now have to go back on Wednesday for training. Never mind that it's more than an hour away from where I live. I love commuting anyway, all those hot guys on the train. Mmm. It really surprises me how many hot guys I see in there.

Anyway, I haven't signed any contract yet, and I'm really not going to get my hopes up. But I wish that was just an oversight. I mean, I was oriented the same day I passed their hiring process, so. I might have a job before the year ends. Ah, I said I won't get my hopes up. The company that I might be working for would have customers based on the West Coast and Australia. The starting pay, though, is a bit smaller than what those companies near where I live offer, so I'll get some experience and try to have a go at those companies again. At least, I might be earning something before the end of the year. Might, being the key word.

I'll write something when I'm officially hired.

Day of Defiance

Posted by RJ, Nov 30 2007, 07:52 AM

Day of Defiance. I like that. I heard it on TV yesterday, during that "non"-coup d' etat. It was one of the leaders of the "non"-rebellion who said that. Day of Defiance, he said, so we should all go there and support them. In other words, they need human shields to block bullets from the police and the army. Poor them, though. Only the media went there so they could cover what was happening. And they surrendered in the end, after the government rammed a tank into the hotel (The Peninsula) that they used as fortress. The media guys were "arrested" along with them because the police and the army were irritated since they couldn't fire at the "non"-rebels at will. Stupid media. I wish those "non"-rebels were all killed yesterday. They were playing underdog after the whole event.

Anyway.

I haven't blogged in a while. I haven't blogged a real blog in a while. I mean, I wrote a poem, an unfinished story, and some spam (because I read my junk mail too). But "nothing" since that Parental Guidance thing. Well, I'm blogging now.

Six months ago, I quit my job, intending to concentrate on studying. I was supposed to be in my third year as an accounting student, and well, things are supposed to be "intense" at that time, right? The college of business in that school was new; they've been a medical school for more than 25 years. So they needed guys who would surely pass the CPA board, regardless of where they studied, so they offered me a "scholarship", and some other stupid smart students who don't have that much money to study in college. The teaching was crappy. It actually took me 5 semesters before I said enough to that. So now I'm out of school, looking for a job again.

That was the decision that I was talking about, a few entries back. Quit school. But I didn't tell my parents, until the next semester, this semester, was supposed to start. They got mad at first, though I didn't really mind. They weren't paying for it, after all. I don't know when or how I'll be able to go back to school. But I'm hoping that by June next year, I've saved enough money for that. That is, if I could find a job, which is really hard right now.

Others had encouraged me to go out there and find a job, but I wasn't really "encouraged", you know. It's not for lack of wanting either. I don't know. I guess, some people had to experience mid-life crisis at an early age. In the past six months, I've been angry at the world for all the reasons that I could think of, angry at my parents for the way they were, angry at myself for not being myself. I wish I could show what I really was feeling inside, but it's so easy for me to smile and pretend nothing's going on. My bad, I guess.

Three days ago, I had a "conversation" with my best friend, if you would call texting a conversation. He told me that he got a job at a department store near where I live. (He had moved away, so that means I'll be seeing more of him now.) He told me to get a job too, and if I could, get one where he would be working. And I wanted to. I don't know if it's sad or funny that a lot of people could encourage me to get a job and I still won't be encouraged, but it took my best friend, telling me through SMS, to get a job just to kind of get my spirits up back again. If I had lost it, that is.

The problem is that I'm tired of working for minimum wage. I don't want to work hard for less money anymore. And those minimum-wage jobs always had more requirements than the jobs that pay more. Like haircut. I want to grow my hair up to shoulder length. I haven't cut it in five months, so having it cut just to get paid with minimum wage doesn't sit well with me. At all. I suppose I could always try being a rentboy for a while, and don't think that it hasn't crossed my mind at all. But that's as far down in my list as harakiri is.

I applied for a job two days ago at three call center companies. And no luck. I really don't know why. I mean, I just have to talk English on the phone, and that isn't hard. At the first one, I got as far as the second interview, which, after that, is the final interview. The interviewer in the second interview was a big, fat Indian, who was wheezing the whole time he was interviewing me. And damn it, I spoke better English than he did. He doesn't have any right at all to tell me I didn't pass his interview. The second company told me they'd call me the next day, and I thought, "Yeah, right," but I still waited for their call. It didn't came. Nothing from the phone at home. No missed call on my mobile phone either. The third wanted to see my transcripts in college. And let me tell you, getting your transcripts when your undergraduate is like cutting through the red tape in goverment agencies. I really don't know what the big deal is. The job was, after all, a job where Americans from all over the U.S. curse you over the phone. Seems like a minimum wage job is all I can get right now.

So I'm faced with a decision between cutting the hair that I've been taking care of for the past five months so I could get paid with minimum wage, and having no job but with the promise of seeing how I'd look like with my hair touching my shoulders. Tough decisions for me. I really want to grow my hair long. I think six more months and I'll have that.

End rant.

I haven't answered most of the emails I have received in the past days (more than one is already many), so if any of you reading this have emailed me, you'll be seeing my name in your inbox either later today or tomorrow. I'm not dodging anyone, I swear. I could've answered my emails yesterday, but I was glued to the TV, watching that tank ram into the hotel entrance. It was really cool watching that, by the way, but seeing them fighting their own brothers, their fellow Filipinos, well, it was sad. It's good that the "non"-rebels surrendered, though I'd rather see them killed.

Well, okay, I'll do my emails now.

That Look on His Face

Posted by RJ, Oct 13 2007, 08:08 AM

I started to write a story for GA's Fall Anthology. The theme was Worth Fighting For, and I liked it. But I never got to finish the story even though I had a lot of time to because I just lost the inspiration. So if you're not interested in reading an unfinished story, don't read further because I'm posting it here. Again, I'm warning you. This is an unfinished story.

I will never forget that look on his face, as brief as it is. It's like a short explosion of joy. I swear, his face at that moment lights up the highway. But then, he looks at me, askance, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. I can almost hear his thoughts aloud. I can taste his desire. I can read them on his face. His eyes beg me. They ask me for assurances, but I wait for him to speak. I wait to hear his voice. Yet, timidity takes over him. His stare returns back down to the ground, and his glances become furtive. At that moment, I feel my heart break-more for him than for myself. How can this boy lose the spirit that makes childhood so full of life and liberating?

I decide to sit with him on the sidewalk in front of the internet café that I half-own. I have been closing down already when I saw him huddled next to this big pot of plant near the entrance. I think he must be around nine years old. I can tell that he is new to the streets because his clothes are not that dirty and his eyes are all over the place like he is scared someone will jump out of the shadows anytime to take him. My heart has immediately gone out to him. I remember how frightened he looked when I approached him to give him my unfinished lunch. I have reheated it inside for him then placed it beside him with a smile. Now, he is still looking at the food then to me with a question. I have imagined he would immediately gobble it up, but he sits there, totally unsure.

"It's okay, bud. You can eat it. It's hot," I say. I have not a single idea what else to tell him. He seems to think it over, and I don't realize until then that I want so much for him to eat the food that I have brought him. I'm confused of his reaction to me because not many of these street kids would turn down a meal that have been offered to them. At the same time, I find myself approving his wariness for strangers. I just hope he would soon learn to trust me. I don't know what it is, but I feel an urge inside me to look after this kid and I rarely disregard my urges. I just hope he would still be here tomorrow.

Almost hesitantly, the kid reaches for the plate of food that I have placed beside him. It's like he is expecting me to take it back. I smile at him encouragingly. He lifts the plate near his mouth and inhales. God, I wonder when he last had something to eat. His eyes flashes at me again, all wariness, but he puts a spoonful of rice in his mouth and pops one of the chicken nuggets in. It is alright, I realize, he doesn't have to trust me; he just has to eat. I can never live with myself knowing I have ignored this little angel at my doorstep. He continues to feed himself, glancing at me once in a while as if I would take the plate of food from him. Not a chance, I want to tell him, but I stay silent, happy for the fact that the little guy is eating the food I have given him.

He finishes up, and there is not a bit of rice left on the plate. I can tell that he wants more, but he contents himself with what he got. He places the empty plate on the ground where I have put it earlier and mutters, "Thank you." His voice puts a smile on my face. I swear I saw him smile a little, and the effort makes my heart jump. It saddens me that he won't smile more, and I wonder once again what could break such a boy's spirit as young as he is.

I smile at him again and take the plate inside. I bring him water on a plastic cup and start locking down everything. After I'm sure everything is secured, I sit next to him. I ask, "Do you have a place to stay tonight?" I have absolutely no idea what I am doing. I can't explain it, but the best that I could come up with is this urge inside me to help him, to take care of him.

"Yes," he answers me.

It disappoints me, but I smile at him. For some reason, he reminds me of how empty my apartment is right now. I stand up and give him a twenty-peso bill. "Take care," I tell him. I hope I see him again tomorrow.

The next morning, I stop by a fastfood and buy breakfasts for two. I have been so sure that I would see the boy at my doorstep again, but he isn't there. I look around after parking my car, hoping to see just a glimpse of him, but later troop to my shop with bags of breakfasts, disappointed. I put his share in the microwave oven, then proceed to attack mine.

I always open the shop up at seven a.m., and there always is a customer at that time. Same as there always still is a customer at ten p.m. when I close down. Jeff, my lover and business partner, has gone to attend to his sick mother for a week now. We used to divide the day between us, but I don't know when he'll be back, so that leaves the shop to me the whole day for now. Our shop also takes in computer repairs, which is sort of a sideline for both Jeff and I, as well as website building. Whoever gets the repair job gets the money. Getting the repair job depends on what time we were at the shop. I used to have the shop to myself during the earlier half of our business time, but now that I have the whole time to myself, I have more extra money, aside from my half of the income from the café itself. But it is also tiring. I
pray Jeff be back soon.

At lunch, I check the sidewalks, but I find no sign of the boy. I give up the thought of seeing him again. I heat the breakfast-his breakfast-in the oven and eat it on my desk. A couple of customers comment on my meal, and I relate to them the story about the boy from last night. "Nah, somebody just stood you up for breakfast," one of the regulars chides, which, of course, elicits laughter from the whole shop. "I'm charging you double," I retort back to him. The rest of the day passes by fast, and I owe it from the workload that Jeff has left to me. It's tiring, yes, but I have always liked the idea of being my own boss. Besides, we still have one of our feet in a little debt over this business. It's nothing that we worry about though. In a few months, we're sure we will be debt-free.

Closing up at ten is the same as always. I wait for the last of the customers to filter out of the shop and then sweep the floors until I'm sure I've swept almost all the dusts away. Sometimes I find stuffs obviously forgotten by some forgetful customers. I put them in the drawers in case someone comes back to look for them. When it comes to money, I admit that I usually pocket them, unless, of course, when someone comes asking me about it. Jeff and I keep a log about those, but usually, it's finder's keepers. After sweeping, I mop every inch of the floor. It's a good thing the floors are tiled; they are easier to keep clean that way. I check if all the computers are already unplugged. Then, I switched off the main power switch. The window grills are chained and padlocked, the front doors barricaded with locks after the burglary alarms were turned on. They were connected to our apartment and the nearest police station.

I think of the boy as I drive home, wondering if I should buy him breakfast again tomorrow morning. I keep looking right and left. That boy near the dumpster, another one across the street, they remind me of the boy from last night. I lose interest, though, when I see that they're not him. The ritual continues until I park the car in front of the building where my apartment is. I lay on my bed with the boy in my mind. I desperately want to forget about him, and it's the last thought I have in my mind as I drift off to sleep. I don't have time to tell myself not to
dream about him.

He is sleeping on a flattened-out cardboard box next to the pot of plant when I arrive the next morning with my usual breakfast. His pillow is a little knapsack that I think contains his stuff. I briefly wonder if he is a runaway, then scold myself for not bringing extra food. I wake the boy after I've set the whole shop up. He sits up groggily and starts to pick up the cardboard, tucking it under his arm. He stands and starts to walk away, but I stop him. "Do you want to come in, clean up, and eat breakfast first?" He looks down at the ground and seems to think it over. After a few seconds, he shyly nods at me, and I lead him inside with a hand on his back. I show him where the bathroom is and then put his cardboard behind the counter. I call the nearest fastfood for two more breakfast meals. I want the boy to eat a lot.

The breakfast arrives as the boy strolls over to the counter where I sit. He is still dressed in the same clothes, but he is definitely cleaner. His hair is newly washed, and his skin is rid of dirt. I make a note to myself to buy some clothes for him at the flea market. Just in case, I remind myself, just in case I see him again. We eat as a few customers come in. If the presence of the boy bothers them, they say nothing about it to me. As I have expected, the boy is hungry. I wonder how much he had for food yesterday. He is smiling when we finished our food.

"Thanks, mister."

"Kuya will do," I tell him, smiling, "I'm not that old yet. What's your name, anyway?"

"Cyrus."

"I'm Wendell," I say to him. "Well, Cyrus, if you have nowhere else to go just yet, I'll be glad to have you with me here. Do you know anything about computers?"

He shakes his head, but I notice him glance at the computers excitedly. I'm not surprised that he knows nothing about computers, though, with him being in the streets and all. I'm guessing-if he has parents-that they have not let him go to school for lack of money. Maybe they even make him work. What I want to find out, though, is how long he has been staying in the streets. But that can wait for another day.
I make Cyrus sit on the booth next to the counter and try to explain to him how to use the computer. When I'm finally sure that he can do the basic operation, I leave him alone, telling him not to hesitate to call me if he has any question. He smiles wide, looking like a kid with a new toy.

The fact that he might not know how to read hits me only when I'm into the third paragraph of my email to Jeff. I go out of the counter and look at his monitor. He would open a program then close it after looking it over. That's how I learned how to use a computer. When he settles on Paint, I tap him on the shoulders. He looks up at me, and I take the mouse, minimizing Paint. "Can you read?" I ask him, and he nods. "Okay. Read this." I point at the Microsoft Word icon.

"Mee-cro-sof-tuh word," he reads, then turns back to look at me again.

"That's good," I tell him, "But it's not mee-cro-soft. It's my-cro-soft." I maximize the Paint window and pat Cyrus' head, leaving him to do what he wants. Maybe I'll dig up my Mario Brothers game CD for him. That's where I started with computers too. When he becomes tired of that, maybe I'll teach him Grand Theft Auto, Counter Strike, Battle Realms, and War Craft. Even website building.

I go back to my email to Jeff, telling him that Cyrus can read after all. I ask him how he felt about letting Cyrus stay with us. I then remind him to call when he can.

For the rest of the day, I teach Cyrus all the things that he wants to know about computers, and by closing time, he knows all about the usual stuffs-internet, office, media player, etc. He doesn't read that well, so the icons really are a big help. That isn't what makes me feel better though. It is feeding Cyrus the whole day. He's like the little brother that I never had. After locking down everything, I ask him again if he has a place to stay. He nods yes, and I wonder again where this place he is talking about is. I want to take him home with me, but I don't push the issue. I leave him with twenty pesos again.

The next day, I pass by a flea market and buy two sets of clothes for Cyrus. He is sitting on the sidewalk in front of the shop, and I quickly send him inside to clean up, giving him the clothes I bought. I once again call the nearest fastfood for three orders of breakfast, which we eat on the counter together as customers start to file in. I teach Cyrus how to play Mario for a while, and he learns quickly. Lunch and dinner are also with him. We go on like this for a few days, and before I even realize it, two weeks has already gone by.

I watch him transform during those days that we have been together. He's like a bird who suddenly realized that he's out of the cage, and it reminds me of the first time that I've seen him. I am reminded of the way his gloomy face broke out into a joyful expression as I put a plate of food in front of him that night. Now, though, he has that expression everytime I look at him, and it makes me happy that I'm able to fuel his joy. Gone is that timid boy that I have met weeks ago. A boy who smiles a lot and is eager to learn a lot of stuffs about computer have replaced him. One thing that I can't workout, though, is why he wouldn't want to stay with me since we both know that he is homeless. Sometimes, I try asking about his parents, but all I get is a shrug. For a kid, he sure can keep things to himself.

It is one afternoon after lunch that things start going to hell. I am teaching Cyrus all about Battle Realms-I figure I'll start with the least violent first-when this tall thin guy bursts into the shop accompanied by a policeman. He goes straight for Cyrus who suddenly turns pale, picking him up by pulling one of his ears.

"What did I tell you?" he snarls at the boy.

Having had enough, I clear my throat and say, "Excuse me. Are you his father?" The policeman stands there like a stump, looking unconcerned.

The guy turns to me, scowling. "You mind your own business!" he barks at me. By this time, the customers are all up from their seats and watching the ruckus.

"Well, sir, you are here in my property and I must ask you to leave," I tell him sarcastically, "Without the boy, of course, unless you're his father."

"Are you?"

I fall silent.

"See?" His grin is condescending. "I'm his uncle."

He drags Cyrus towards the door, and I turn to follow. The policeman grabs my arm, saying, "Please, sir, you don't need to get involved with this."

"Right. And who would? You?


That's it. Sorry. I don't think I would be finishing this story. *Shrugs*

Moving Out

Posted by RJ, Oct 1 2007, 06:52 AM

I'm a closeted poet. LOL. I write horrible poems in my journal, but I wrote something last night that you might find worthwhile. It's just something that's been on my mind for a while now. Anyway, enough rambling. Here it is.


Moving Out

My shackles are made of blood,
Staining my body with utter despair,
And my voice is gone,
Roaming the earth with a call for help.

Surrender would have been easy,
But my spirit has wings that long for flight.
The sky calls for me,
But I am bound with shackles of blood.

My eyes are dry
For the tears have long since claimed their freedom.
Now I am just a shell
Of dreams of rainbows and a bright blue sky.

A night will come when eyes would be unseeing,
And I will escape and fly where the light is.
I will bathe myself with newfound tears of joy,
And wash all the blood that shackles me.

Just Something

Posted by RJ, Sep 28 2007, 04:00 PM

Hey Guys (and Ladies, if there are some reading this)!

I've been exchanging emails with a reader recently, and I'll share a part of one of them here.

I know you might've heard this before, but I just want to let you know (again!) that you're doing your job.

Have a great weekend! (There's a typhoon/storm and I don't think mine would be great.)