Keeping The Beat Alive Part 2: The Two Trying-Hards and The Battle of the Bands

Still, I was in a quandary, for in my wish to have my own band, I had to scour for others to complete a decent lineup. I couldn’t imagine playing all by myself (that would be utterly daft and incredulous, not to mention downright embarrassing). I was also not yet particular on what kind of music I wanted to play, but I knew the urge was there to have a band. So I tried to continue jamming with my pals, but eventually, getting nowhere with what we were playing. It seemed that they had just a trivial interest on the band thing, and I was still yearning for more than just fooling around with the instruments.

Then one day, Jojo, who was the bass player and a childhood friend of mine, lent me a cassette tape of a band he really fancied. It was Nirvana’s Nevermind LP, and he told me that it was an amazing album. And as soon as I put it on my brother’s stereo component (I didn’t have my own then) and heard the first track (which was the infamous “Smells Like Teen Spirit”), I was totally blown away. BLAM! The floodgates suddenly opened out of nowhere. Right then and there I told myself that I wanted to have a band playing that kind of kick-ass music. I immediately went to Jojo the next day to reveal my newly found euphoria, and he told me that he knew someone who could probably share my blissful Nirvana experience. I insisted on knowing that someone and, at once, he hooked me up with an acquaintance named Chris. He was into Nirvana and was also a good guitar player. After a couple of times hanging out together and professing our fondness for Nirvana, the three of us ended up forming a band, sloppily and shamelessly jamming out various Nirvana songs like “Breed”, “In Bloom”, “Come As You Are”, “Love Buzz”, “Lithium”, and “Territorial Pissings”. We tried hard to ape Nirvana (pun not intended) with Chris on guitars and reluctant vocals, Jojo on bass, and me on drums. I was really banging the shit out of the kit, imagining being Dave Grohl (Nirvana’s drummer extraordinaire) and having the best time of my life. But though it appeared to be an absolute thing already, the band (which hadn’t named yet) eventually broke up because Jojo wasn’t really determined to play (choosing to join his other pals in indulging their drag car and scooter races). Chris and I had no choice but to continue on and started to look for a new bass player.

After a few weeks, Chris enlisted his cousin Jeff to do the vocal duties, and another acquaintance named Luther to man the bass. We jammed a few times, doing a variety of covers, but mostly sticking with Wolfgang songs because Jeff’s voice was quite similar to Basti Artadi’s raspy wails. We had our first gig at a birthday party for Luther’s cousin, and like all band’s first gigs, we sucked. After playing a grand total of three songs (Rivermaya’s “Kisapmata”, Wolfgang’s “Halik Ni Hudas” and “Darkness Fell”), we were grasping for other tunes to play. We either ended up doing short pieces of songs or long noise jams (with me still beating the hell out of the poor silver drumkit). It was mortifying, to say the least. Subsequently, the band didn’t last long as Jeff left to migrate to Florida and Luther lost his desire to play. Chris and I were again groping in the dark. We persisted on forming yet another band, continuously searching for at least a bassist. But alas, after weeks of looking, we couldn’t find anybody. The two of us would just jam at a shoddy studio (owned by Ka Rolly, a former Maria Cafra drummer), which had a double bass drum kit (but had only one playable bass drum and dextrose poles as makeshift cymbal stands). There were countless times when I broke something on the ragtag kit, whether it was the tom drumheads, the bass pedal, or the already cracked cymbals. I was then into my full Dave Grohl mode, which meant, “hit as hard as you can”. I would watch Chris just shake his head in utter disbelief and complain that his ears hurt because of the volume of the drums. But I didn’t care, maybe because I was desperate to play. Or maybe because I knew it may be my last time to play. I was aware that we were still going nowhere and that we would never have a decent band.

As I went back into the seminary during my third year high school, I found myself excited on the prospect of being included in the seminary band because aside from having a seemingly substantial amount of “experience” as a drummer, my classmate who drummed in the band suddenly wanted to play the lead guitar (the erstwhile lead guitarist was kicked out because of academic problems). I thought I would be the one who would replace him. Unfortunately, the remaining band members chose another one, a second year guy who they felt was more able. I was really disappointed since I lost the chance to play the drums in the seminary. And so every time the band would play, I felt envious. But I realized that since I was into a heavier kind of music, I would never get the opportunity to join them anyway (sourgraping!). As the year passed by, I just hung out with Chris during my short vacations and continued playing Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins, and other grunge tunes. I was also the time when I started my musical odyssey, listening to every bit of rock, punk, indie, alternative, and metal bands like Black Sabbath, Megadeth, Soundgarden, Pavement, Mudhoney, Pearl Jam, Oasis, Presidents of the United States of America, Alanis Morrisette, Beastie Boys, Ash, Teeth, The Youth, White Zombie, Metallica, Silverchair, Green Day, Gin Blossoms, Foo Fighters, and Bush (just to name quite a few…). Then, when I reached my fourth year in high school, I was surprised on being the drummer for the seminary band (this was after most of the former band members either graduated or were kicked out…lucky me, huh?). Still, I made the most out of it and I got to play on the various programs within the school year.

Following my graduation from high school, I entered the college seminary. Since I knew there was also a college band, I was eager to join it. However, there was still an incumbent drummer (who was a bit of a selfish SOB), so I didn’t bother on auditioning anymore. I just made myself content on jamming with Chris during weekends, yet again trying to form our own band. I had a startling break on my second year, as some my classmates (who were competent musicians) wanted to form a band from our class. We eventually created a 6-piece band (a vocalist, 3 guitarists, a keyboardist, and a drummer) and we performed at a Family Day program. Although it was short-lived, I still had the chance to practice my “chops” in a different kind of music (mostly new wave and radio-friendly alternative rock music).

It was also the time when the so-called rap metal rage was brewing. I bought a copy of Korn’s second LP, Life is Peachy, and while most of the folks were either into boy bands or pseudo-grunge/alternative rock, I was discovering the groove-laden, rap-driven, and chord-twisted sounds of Korn, Limp Bizkit, and Coal Chamber. And because I was more of a “meat and potatoes” kind of drummer, I gradually became fond of pounding out bouncing grooves which Chris found smashing. Although it was also a bit of a stretch since some of the drum parts were too technical and hard for me, I persevered in learning some of it through constant air drumming with the songs. And one day, Chris told me he knew of a potential vocalist who liked the new sounds that we were digging into. He introduced me to RV, who to my surprised recognition was an elementary classmate of mine. We hit it off immediately and began to listen to various “nü-metal” tunes while hanging out and drinking beer or gin. We knew we wanted to form a band with riff-crazy and backbeat-heavy tunes, but we still need a decent bassist. So, I enlisted a guy named Brian, who was an amazing bass player (slapping and funky notes included) and a seminarian (a year behind me). I also got to enlist 2 additional guitarists: Anthony, a former bass player who played amazing lead guitar licks, and Ed, a projected keyboardist who eventually chose to play guitars. After much ado and familiarization, we all jammed together in a modest studio in Malolos, spewing out covers of Limp Bizkit’s “Faith” and “Jump Around”, Korn’s “Freak On A Leash”, and Sandwich’s “Butterfly Carnival” and “Maybe”. We felt a really good vibe while jamming that we felt we were already set as a band (naming ourselves Sinister Karma, which I duly suggested) and we decided to join an upcoming Battle of the Bands at a nearby town. I was a bit nervous and anxious though. Although I had watched a couple of those band competitions, it was my first time to actually participate in those types of production. I felt my playing would be scrutinized and, knowing that I was an unschooled drummer, I would be laughed at by other seasoned drummers. Nevertheless, I just thought of playing, having fun, and letting the music speak for itself. We practiced hard almost every other day (which was stressful both physically and financially). When the appointed day came, we were very frenzied performing on such a big event (even if the crowd in attendance were mostly old people just curious to see an organized event in their “backwater” barrio). As we were almost at the bottom of the list of bands to perform, we got to watch other bands play. We immediately noticed that most of them played radio-friendly or über-technical tunes that showcased their musical abilities to the fullest while entertaining the crowd and judges. We knew we were roast beef, but we still waited for our turn, hoping to at least perform in front of a decent crowd (well, it was a loooong wait for sure… from 9pm to 2am!). When our turn came, we expected a passable performance at the least. Instead, we bombed. Guitar mistakes here and there, an overzealous stage presence, an imbalance sound, and a shaky drumming all contributed to a frantic two-song tornado that blew everyone away (as in everyone seemed to move as far away from us as possible). It was disappointing. But even if we were sort of disheartened after that event, we still wanted to try another shot. And we did have another shot.

A year and much practice later, we were able to join another Battle of the Bands. This time, there were only the four of us left (Chris, RV, Anthony, and me) because the other two members were not available anymore due to various “extracurricular” commitments. Chris was forced to man the bass, and we thought we could either have a repeat of last year’s disgrace or have a respectable showing. But then, after a blazing and honest round of Korn’s “Falling Away From Me” and “Freak On A Leash”, and Limp Bizkit’s “Nookie” and “Faith”, we were dumbfounded to learn that we won the third prize! It was a big surprise for us, considering that we had a depleted lineup and a pessimistic view of the whole competition process. Maybe because we were more confident this time around, that our sound and performance duly improved. Later, we went home a few bucks (read: Php500) richer and a lot of dreams bigger. I knew that I needed to improve my drumming further so that we could eventually progress from doing covers to making our own songs.

(to be continued…)

[Note: I know, I know… you’re wondering why it’s not yet finished. It is simply because the entry became a bit lengthier than what I initially expected it to be. It has become a three-part entry, I guess. I duly apologize for it, and I thank your never-ending patience to actually still read this seemingly irrelevant and worthless piece… it may serve a certain purpose, for all you know. Please, please do wait for the final installment Thanks!—Yusaku Godai]

Keeping The Beat Alive Part 1: The Beginning and the Fellowship of the Wannabes

[Note: This is a three-part entry, wherein the author tries to trace his passion and love for drums and drumming that already spans for 10 years. The author only asks for patience from the reader, as payment for the effort of culling and organizing this descriptive phenomenon, for as a certain cliché goes, “Patience is a virtue”. Here is the first of three parts.]

I remembered the first musical instrument that I had: it was an Ovation acoustic guitar that I bought with my dad in the outskirts of Recto. I persuaded my dad to buy it for me because I wanted to learn how to play the guitar. Knowing it was a remote possibility considering my dad was a very stingy person when it comes to buying “luxuries”, I was really surprised when he suddenly drew out his wallet and gave me some cash to pay for the guitar. I also bought a leather case and some picks to complete my musical “arsenal”. It was then my first year in high school at a minor seminary in Bulacan and I totally envied the older seminarians when they played guitars during our daily masses or during our family nights (social programs). The way they seemed to coax beautiful and stirring melodies from those wooden string instruments bewildered me. So when I got my own guitar, I wanted to learn to play like them, perusing over the chord charts and straining my fingers until I had gotten the notes and chords right. I was determined to play even just only the song “More Than Words” by Extreme, which was the current rave then. But alas, all I ended up knowing were a few basic chords and I eventually swapped my guitar for a pair of baggy corduroy jeans because I preferred to continue as a “hip-hop” dancer instead. I felt that I couldn’t really become skilled at playing any musical instrument, and that I had to settle for just being a kibitzer.

After a year, I was still dabbling into hip-hop and dance music, joining my other classmates in dancing during various programs and competitions. However, since our school once had an amazing band, Sine Nomine (which played mostly covers of The Dawn, The Cure, and other New Wave bands), most of the higher years also had their own band. Not to be outdone, some of my classmates started forming a band, too, which played covers of Guns N’ Roses, Metallica, Eraserheads, and other rock and alternative acts. Though I wasn’t into rock music then, I usually found myself watching them when they held their practice in our classroom. I would join my other classmates in nodding our heads as we relished every song they played. And as I continued watching more and more, I found myself drawn into the beats and movements made by the drummer. He really seemed to be having such fun bashing the daylights out of the red drumkit and his energetic pounding drove the whole song into a rhythmic frenzy. I was in total awe of that moment. But I knew that I couldn’t possibly learn how to play the drums because I thought it was a grueling process of comprehending the beats and rhythms. I was resigned to being just a modest dancer, I said to myself.

When our summer vacation came that year, I was back to my routine R&Rs: basketball, malling, sleeping, pigging-out, and gimmicks. Being inside the seminary denied me of all the perks of the outside world, so I tried to indulge in having fun most of the time. I went and visited most of my friends, and sought to find something worthwhile to do with them. Then one time, while I was attending the graduation ceremony of my elementary alma mater, one of my friends invited me to join in their jam session at a nearby studio. I asked him if I was going to just watch them play, and he told me that I could also play if wanted to. So I went with him and his pals to a cheap practice studio, assuming that I would either just watch them play or tinker around a bit with the guitars. When we arrived at the studio (which was actually a small foyer of a house), my friend and his pals started to play right away. I noticed that they were all just novices because they had some difficulty in continuing or finishing the songs (not to mention that they were using crappy pieces of equipment). Then all of a sudden, I was stunned when my friend, who was manning the guitars, asked me if I wanted to try playing the drums because the drummer had to go for an errand. I was a bit hesitant at first, but I thought this was my chance to play the drums. I slowly went behind the red worn-out drumkit, sat down, and picked up the cheap set of drumsticks. My friend then asked me if I knew the song “Zombie” by The Cranberries, and I told him that I was quite familiar with it (who wasn’t? it was all over the airwaves then). And so, my friend started playing the opening chords to the song, anticipating I would be competent enough. I became really nervous, as gallons of sweat began to pour down from my head, hands, and everywhere else in my body. But then, while I tried to recall the drum parts in my mind, I just gave it a go. It was a bit awkward at first because I had no coordination at all with the beat. I was struggling to just imitate the parts as I imagined it to be, breaking it down into the hi-hat, snare, and bass drum components. The end result was a grossly despicable wannabe performance at best. Nonetheless, I was quite thrilled with the experience. It was as if I discovered a gold mine under our own backyard. Eureka! My friend just scratched his head in bewilderment.

After that fateful jam session, I knew I wanted to play drums. Or, to be more circumspect, I had to play the drums. It wasn’t about being able to grasp and master the instrument, but rather, about being able to play it within a band and having fun.

(to be continued…)

Give Me That Pigskin!!!

I’m not you average, run-in-the-mill, jock type of guy. But don’t get me wrong because I do like sports.

My first love was basketball. I’ve been playing that game since kindergarten (I could barely dribble the ball then, and yet I was trying to shoot from the three point area). And after playing the game so many times while imagining myself being Anfernee “Penny” Hardaway, I suddenly lost interest in the game itself. Not that it really sucked, but I thought basketball was just too familiar a sport for me to really get so excited anymore. I mean, shooting the ball, playing nasty defense, and showing off those nifty dribbling skills became soooo boring for me. I had to find another exciting avenue for my competitive nature, either as a participant or as an enthusiast.

Then came that fateful day.

I was hanging out at my friend’s house, trying to wile away some time. Luckily, he had cable TV so I indulged myself into a frantic channel surfing. There was the usual flurry of programs like documentaries, news, fashion shows, B-movies, and silly commentaries on most of the channels. But then, when I tuned into ESPN, I was surprised to catch an NFL (it’s National Football League for all you poor, clueless souls!) game between the Kansas City Chiefs and Buffalo Bills. I quickly became interested, because it was my first time to watch an NFL game. I was an avid San Francisco 49ers fan at an early age because my older brother had all these football magazines and I grew up fantasizing to be quarterbacks Joe Montana and Steve Young. I never really had the chance to actually know how the game was played, I only knew that you had to score points by going past the end zone line (it’s called a touchdown, nitwit!) either by throwing an odd-shaped football to a receiver or by running with it. So after watching the Chiefs vs. Bills game, I was so enthralled with all the plays that were executed by both teams, with the physical nature of competing, and with those cool fiberglass helmets they use, that I kept on raving about it to my disinterested (and seemingly annoyed) friend. I went home feeling a bit enthused. I knew it was the start of something fascinating.

I was still taking up some computer short courses at Informatics, SM North EDSA at that time, when I thought of going to a nearby game shop to check out if there was an NFL software game available. And, lo and behold, there was a certain Madden NFL 2004 game available indeed! I immediately bought it (at 200 bucks, it was a bit cheap) and proceeded to install it in my PC (personal computer, chona-blogspotters!). At first I was so dumbfounded trying to figure the hell out of the rules and gameplay that I wasn’t really able to enjoy much. However, as I practiced a few select plays, I found myself playing long hours and intermittently shouting “Touchdown!” whenever I would score (which would then duly disturb my sleeping mom and yell “Tama na yan!” at me). I didn’t realize that I was slowly getting obsessed with the game, even buying a “Football for Dummies” book! (Well, I thought if was going to be a fan of the game then I should better be damn prepared, right?) I also tried following the real NFL games through their website (NFL.com), rooting for the 49ers. Still, I wasn’t truly satisfied with what I had so far. I really wanted to catch the games on TV but it was so sad to know that I could only watch it through cable TV. It was also depressing not to have anybody whom I could have a decent conversation about football. (I guess most people have been missing a lot out of life, huh?) Then it came. My mom got a cable TV for us and I was just purely ecstatic. I was able to catch the middle part of the season (NFL season runs from August to February, FYI), and dutifully woke up on early mornings just to catch the live broadcasts. I would dissect every play, analyze every formation, digest every statistic, and argue with every comment by the so-called analysts. I was like, to use football-speak, “sitting in the pocket all day and throwing deep balls to the wide outs.” (Which meant I was really comfortable and happy with everything that was happening…or something like that, I suppose.)

So after all that mumbo-jumbo and crazy, nonsensical ravings, you ask--“what is really up with that football-madness?”

Well, to tell you the truth, I don’t exactly know why I’m so into American Football. Maybe I’ll just give you some of my reasons by comparing it to two other popular sports, basketball and soccer…

It may be because of the gameplay. Unlike basketball, wherein everyone scores a point almost every possession, football is a game of field position and strategy as much as it is just a scoring game. But unlike soccer, wherein everyone seems to hate scoring a point, football has many ways in order to score, with utmost tenacity of course.

It may be because of the unique display of athleticism. In basketball, you tend to see the high-flying dunks, the ankle-breaking dribble moves, and the “threading-the-needle” passes. In soccer, you tend to see the spectacular footwork, the ingenious ball tricks, and the “I’m-going-make-the-goalkeeper-look-like-a-lame-duck” goal kicks. But in football, you basically see a plethora of highlight action in almost every play of a game: the doomsday rush of gigantic defensive linemen vs. the blocking wall of mammoth offensive linemen, the subsonic sprint of the wide outs vs. the “bump n’ run” tactics of the defensive backs, and the gunslinger release of the quarterback vs. the outstretch arms of the linebackers. (This is aside from the Sportcenter highlights of game-winning catches and runs, career-ending tackles, and Michael Vick’s inhuman abilities.)

It may be because of the brief schedule. In basketball, particularly the NBA (you know what this acronym means, right? Negro Basketball Aerials), a team has 82 regular season games plus roughly 20 playoff games and a 7-game final series. (I don’t know how many preseason games are given per team, sorry.) So basically the season starts around late October to early June, and that’s almost 9 months of 48-minute games that could be so exhausting if you’re going to watch each one of them. You don’t have to worry about missing a game because there is always a game being played almost everyday, but you also get so frigging tired after watching players shoot so many times (there’s a replay game, too!). In soccer, there’s the UEFA Cup, the English Premier League, and many other tourney around the world that has so many teams playing a certain number of games (I admit not knowing any tourney format…hehehe). But basically you can have access to the games because of the countless coverage offered by some sports channels.
But in football, an NFL team has 4 preseason games in the span of 4 weeks, 16 regular season games in a span of 17 weeks (1 game per week and 1 bye week for rest), 3 possible playoff games in the span of 3 weeks, and 1 Super Bowl game to determine the champ. So it roughly has only 7 months and you only catch a game per week. It doesn’t get any precious than that, so you can really root and keep an eye on your favorite team without batting an eyelash.

But of course, you’re not interested in know all those things. I would be lucky enough if you had gone this far reading this lengthy article. (Thanks…it’s almost done…a little patience, my dear.)

There are so many other reasons why I love football, and yet the thing is, I haven’t played a single game myself. It may seem odd. Yes, it IS odd. That is why it can also be the big reason why I am so damn addicted to the sport. Not playing the game itself gave it an aura of greatness to me, saying, “You are not worthy to even tie the laces of the cleats (shoes), you are just there to be a spectator.”

So there, I’m not a football player, never was, and never will be. But if I’m going to be a couch-footballer forever, I’ll be a goddamn great couch-footballer. Not some wise-ass football heretic who did that dimwitted and shameless NFL AFC playoff analysis on Studio 23’s sports show last January. Shame on you! Give me that fucking pigskin!!!!

[Note: My apologies for a very long entry…it seems to have taken a life of its own while I was writing it…FYI, I am into the AFC divisional playoffs of my 2nd season of the Madden NFL 2005 Franchise mode using the Pittsburgh “Blitzburgh” Steelers… anyone who is interested in American Football or NFL can leave me a message…yes, we are few but we are the ones blessed to be cool…-yusaku godai]

Not Waking Up...

I swore I was just dreaming.

There I was, a rejuvenated consciousness, having just emerged from a self-made cocoon that gave me a brief period of respite. I knew that most of those who considered me their friend or acquaintance were either bewildered or exasperated by my sudden disappearing and reappearing act (David Blaine wannabe, anyone?). But then, I wasn’t keen on presenting any plausible explanation to them. I was just hoping to immediately reconnect myself to them and the world I selfishly abandoned (lectures, hatred, and gunfire be damned). I felt like I was ready for anything, even a new job that I instantly applied for. However, there was still this nagging source of contention that evaded my earnest self-reconfiguration—the memories of the past. I tried hard to contain it within the acceptable levels because I knew it almost took my existence not so long ago. And yet even after so many times, I was still barely succeeding.

There she was, a disenchanted princess, having a life of her own and trying hard to forget the misery that I gave her just a few months ago. It was just an ordinary invitation. I thought it was time for me to rebuild whatever bond we had, if she gave me a chance. But I got far more than what I asked for, for it came to happen. I was never prepared for the consequences. I wasn’t even able to think (and I thought I was smart). All I did was to stare blankly into a swirling void. There were so many things to consider, so many variables to look into, and yet I made my first decision amidst it. It wasn’t the perfect situation but the first thing that came into my mind after the initial shock was, it was a blessing and I was going to accept the responsibility for it. My next decision was an even greater thing. I was going to love her, for better or for worse. It felt strange, not because I didn’t want it, but because I wasn’t afraid anymore. And I was also happy. It seemed like one minute I was staring at my past with the rewind button, and the next minute I was looking into the future with the fast-forward button.


I swore I was just dreaming.

Maybe I was, but I felt like not waking up from it.

In A Nutshell

1999. 18 years old. A wild-eyed teen that has been dabbling in various forms of pseudo-happiness: crazy devotion to basketball, discovery of new school rock bands, ardent desire to form a decent band, introduction to medieval and modern philosophers (Augustine, Aquinas, Descartes, Hume, Kant, Hegel, and Schopenhauer), and constant interactions with many persons, whether for pleasure or for intimacy. Experienced some sort of boredom from being single, then meeting someone who was deemed worth the risk. Jumped into the fire that is called relationship. Transformed into a love-stricken guy who started to learn the bliss of having someone to love. Desperately wanted to flee into the outside world, away from the confines of the seminary.

2000. 19 years old. A focused and rambunctious teen that continued to explore his chosen endeavors, albeit, in a more restrained ardor. Deflowered into the realm of Existential Phenomenology, thereby delving into the thoughts of Edmund Husserl, Martin Heidegger, Jean-Paul Sartre, and Monsieur Maurice Merleau-Ponty. Together with a long-time guitar-playing pal, found an enthusiastic singer and enlisted a willing bass player to complete the band, playing mostly decent cover songs of KoRn, Limp Bizkit, sandwich, and deftones during battle-of-the-bands. Learned the ropes of maintaining a healthy relationship, coming across various things: being “cheated”, having to put up your guard, compromising certain things, and finding ways to be über-romantic and exciting. Went through an agonizing time of being “dumped”. Traveled briefly into the region of depression.

2001. 20 years old. A very passionate guy that seemed to have acquired a certain need for meaningful direction in his life, due to his imminent graduation out of college. Briefly traversed the thoughts of Karl Marx but then continued his intellectual lust for Merleau-Ponty, totally despising Descartes. Made some academic progress yet became critical and opinionated because of the disillusionment towards conventional thought. Sporadically gave attention to the band, not having any interest in doing covers anymore. Was given a new lease in life by being back together again with erstwhile girlfriend. Graduated without any fanfare and proceeded to look for a job. Found a very decent work as a junior sales trainer in a life insurance company. Rode an unimaginable wave of euphoria, having thought of achieving such amount of happiness directly associated with a flourishing relationship and a good career. Had the happiest Christmas by spending it with his girlfriend.

2002. 21 years old. A person finding himself thoroughly content and satisfied with his life, trying to maintain everything to a pleasing level. Exchanged the sphere of philosophical intellectualism with insurance and marketing concepts, gobbling down information with a degree of detachment. Was having some difficulty with the relationship, on a constant threat on dissolving because of changing attitude by the girlfriend. Was devastated on being told of breaking up more than 3 years of relationship, apparently because of “having lost the feeling anymore, wanting to be free, and having a new life”. (Of course, this was done after months of her already predetermined decision, and finished academic requirements) Tried to work things out again, believing it was just a passing fancy. Ended the year writing some songs and spending the dreariest Christmas—alone.

2003. 22 years old. A broken person who suddenly lost every ounce of willpower to engage in any form of activity. Was trying to desperately cling to a sliver of hope to win the girl back, but was repeatedly and straightforwardly turned down. Tried to recover by immersing in work and in writing. Resigned from the company due to lack of motivation and ability to continue working. Entered the realm of depression and disenchantment, drowning in vices and wallowing in self-pity. Tried to recuperate by actively participating in the band, having a new bass player and agreeing to make songs, by writing most of the lyrics culled from the abyss of love lost and looking up to A Perfect Circle as gods. Learned that the former girlfriend decided to have a new guy, thereby causing an awful, near-death decision. Became more of a recluse, opting to shun contact from everyone. Discovered Neon Genesis Evangelion, Maison Ikkoku and Madden NFL 2004, which spurned a renewed sense of being. Sought out new endeavors like studying computer applications at Informatics and TESL at De La Salle University in order to re-organize everything. Another Christmas was spent alone.

2004. 23 years old. A truly jaded, sarcastic, and wary person who wanted to have some sort of escape from the past through indulging in a cornucopia of interests: joining a chatroom (#RX931) and actively engaging in their gimmicks, making more new songs in the band, and playing Madden NFL 2004 everyday. Met many new friends through the RX chat, which led to innumerable trips to Sidebar Ortigas. Tried to find a new job, and eventually ended up as a medical representative in a multi-national ophthalmic company, through the efforts of my former girlfriend’s brother. Was lucky enough to get in as a probationary employee, and was given a car. Struggled to adjust to the rigors of the job, had to contend with seeing the former girlfriend every week due to having the same line of work and area. Figured in an accident when suddenly fell asleep behind the wheel on the way home. Held up by two unidentified men at the FX terminal in SM City, losing a fair amount of cash and an expensive cellular phone. Asked to resign after 4 months because the management decided it was consequentially necessary. Resorted to concentrating on the band, naming it Belvedere. Spent most of the time with the RX chat friends, eventually developing a close relationship with one of them. Tried to jump again into the fire by committing to her, but after some time, decided it was far too overwhelming and couldn’t keep up with the flow of the relationship. Joined her into a newly formed events company that went awry because of conflicting members. Spent another Christmas alone.

2005. Turning 24 in a couple of days. A semi-distraught individual still looking for a new lease in life and searching for a decent job in order to escape being a lesser citizen. Sometimes is bothered by past failures and future challenges. Just hoping everything would turn out better. Wishing maybe this year to claim a rightful place into the world of happy and wonderful things.

Misunderstanding Me

It was just a case of misunderstanding, for all it was worth.
I was misunderstood by her, by others, and heck, even by myself.
Why?
After several reflections and introspections, I have finally found some probable answers to the questions that hounded me up to now. Please let me have the pleasure of explaining them…

First, she misunderstood me. She, in this case, was someone whom I truly loved in my life. I never did believe in that “fairy tale” conception of falling deeply in love until I had come to know her. Hell, I couldn’t even truly describe why I loved her. It was really incomprehensible to my mind, but my heart understood everything. I was swept away by the waves of something inexplicably beautiful. And I was damn sure that I would give my best. Unfortunately, as there were two sides to a coin, so were there also two sides of my seemingly wonderful relationship. Whereas I knew I was trying to care and be concerned for her, it was misunderstood as being super-possessive. Whereas I knew I really like to help and pamper her, it was misunderstood as making her dependent on me. Whereas I knew I was so afraid of losing her, it was, misunderstood as jealousy. And whereas I knew deep in my heart, that I love her for who she was and what she has been to me, it was misunderstood as an obsession. Well maybe I’m just not perfect, and maybe it was mostly my fault for trying too much to love her. I had never loved someone that much, and it was not something I intended on just doing for the fun of it. But she definitely misunderstood everything…and that’s why everything was gone in an instant. I don’t blame her for her decision, I have not been a good guy I guess, and she deserved far greater things in life than me. I have looked back on what I had been to her, and I noticed I wasn’t making her happy anymore because I had so many things lacking and only so little things to offer. It was indeed a tragedy of my own making.

Second, others misunderstood me. They were the ones who thought that I was being foolish with my actions and with my life. Maybe they thought that I had everything going good in my life and I was wasting it away with my stupid ways. I guess that’s because they’ve been expecting too much from me, thinking I was someone brilliant and great. But they don’t know that I’ve been in such mess that I could even see straight. All the hurt and pain that I was carrying took a toll on me. I didn’t want to miserable, but maybe I’m just a magnet of disaster. I admit I am guilty of low self-esteem. However, if they had been in my shoes, I doubt they would even manage to show a weak smile. I was just fed up with what I was going through, that I wanted to end everything. I won’t justify my actions, because no one will understand. Yet, it was not a “tendency”, as many believed it was. It was just something borne out of deep frustration and immediate escapism, and not a psychotic fancy. Hell, I didn’t really want to do it…it just came to me as my world seem to fall apart. And after that, I have learned many things, which I wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t done it. Still, they misunderstood me as a basket case. I don’t blame them for they also have a different view of things and they don’t know rat shit about me at all. For all I know, I have already overachieved by loving someone. I don’t care now if the shit continues to hit the fan or not.

Third, but not the least, I misunderstood myself. I had seemed to construct a very ideal world for me to exist. A happy and vibrant life, a good career, an exciting bunch of people around me, and the girl that I love…. that was what I dreamed of. That was what I built and constructed. But dreams are not real, and I was painfully awakened by a slap in the face. I didn’t know life could be harsh and unfair, a career could be very stressful, people could be deceiving, and love could be superficial. I was left to ponder what else could I ever believe to be something of true worth anymore. I have been “too kind” and positive in my life, that I never noticed the ills of this mundane generation. In short, I was too idealistic. And it cost me everything now. I only blame myself for what I have become. I fell into a series of traps that were obviously awaiting me. Nevertheless, my predicament was not pitiful but just a matter-of-factly phenomenon. It was what it was.

So after sorting everything out, I guess a very interesting question appears now at hand—“What now?” Or to be more circumspect, “What will I do now?”… Honestly, I have no idea. I’m still trying to get my life back, or what it seems to be something like it. I just seem to know now that life never really has a happy ending or a happily-ever-after kind of crap. There’s so much irony around us that I have given up hoping for the best. I just try to get by somehow by “grinning and bearing” everything. As much as I want to, miracles don’t work anymore and the only beautiful thing in my life has become a far, fleeting fantasy. Talk about life so candidly sweet and sour. I hope I would be understood this time.

[Note: I wrote this piece some time ago, maybe around late 2003 to early 2004…I couldn’t remember anymore. I just found this draft after sorting through my things. It is quite simplistic and rambles a lot… I tried to preserve everything in order to have a pseudo-journal feel. I think I was dabbling here on the concept of “bipolar phenomenology”, the approach of French Philosopher Maurice Merleau-Ponty, which seeks to capture both subjectivity and intersubjectivity that find their unity when I take up my past experiences in those of the present. In any case, I hope it may serve a certain purpose. Enjoy! —Yusaku Godai]

A Homecoming of Sorts...

As I walked towards a familiar sight, I knew it was going to be a good day. Almost a year has past since I last came back to this place, but it seemed only like it was yesterday. The lobby was bustling with different people—some I knew, some I didn’t. Well, I wasn’t expecting any sort of grand welcome to my arrival. I was just glad to come back again and celebrate the past with my fellow batch mates of ICS Minor.

I quickly looked for the more proverbial faces I wanted to see. After an almost eternity of searching around the vicinity, I saw them. There was no slow motion or dramatic effect to our encounter; it was just casual hellos and jovial cajoling. It was good to be together again.

There were a lot of catching up to do for the time lost: stories passed back and forth, achievements and accomplishments admired, erstwhile gags and pranks revisited, and even past failures comforted. Every one else seemed to reconnect themselves with the various experiences that occurred during the heydays of our existence in what has been our second home. It was indeed a time of fun and adventure.

But before we truly engaged ourselves into a time warp, we decided to indulge in our favorite pastime: basketball. It was a no-brainer to even ask why we love to play the game. It was more than just a recreational activity; it was a way of life for us back then. It didn’t matter if you’re not an exceptional player; the game itself was not built on victory (although, for me, losing is a bitter pill to swallow), but more on your participation. And it was also good to see those who truly excelled in playing the game, those whom you somehow admired for being so damn good.

Afterwards, it was what everybody really came there for: the fellowship night. The event itself was a symbolic rite of passage—we were the little, wild-eyed boys who served food and beverages then to those seemingly untouchable people, and now, we were the ones on the other side of the fence, being served by a new generation of weary kids wanting to finish up this event so that they can rest after many days of preparing and God-knows-what kind of physical stress they had. Yet there was no immense compassion from us, not because we didn’t care, but because we knew that it was borne out of years of tradition.

Meanwhile, the program rendered everybody the chance to continue with the travails to their colorful past. Our batch has its own exhilarating stories that each one of us hasn’t grown tired of listening and telling. Every blunder (skipping the review class for NSAT because we overslept), every escapade (the drinking debauchery in Malolos), every bad experience (the countless “vigils” and punishments), every accomplishment (the tribal dance for the cultural night), every exploit (the innumerable times we try to cheat on our exams), and every pleasure (our Tagaytay retreat-slash-boys’ night out) were duly recounted over bottles of beer and petite pseudo-sisig.

We were also fortunate enough to be treated to a bandfest, a staple of the seminary, because there were only two things you could find yourself being connected to: either a dance group or a band (I was lucky enough to have done both things). From the minor seminary band that listlessly and shamelessly played covers of Rivermaya’s Liwanag sa Dilim, and Sandwich’s Two Trick Pony, to the spectacular performance of Sine Nomine band (the much-lauded seminary band of yore) that played rousing covers of Tears For Fears’ Everybody Wants to Rule the World, Verve Pipes’ The Freshmen, and Incubus’ Drive, it was just like a huge family night all over again. I also surprisingly got the chance to play drums for a jerry-built band during a free jam session later through the night. From a disappointing cover of Matchbox 20’s Push, to an eerie rendition of Radiohead’s Creep, to an almost ethereal cover of Pepe Smith’s Ang Himig Natin (a song of anthemic status played religiously every year) played by none other than Mr. Moy, the immortal guitar guru/alumnus, together with Mr. Omar Roque’s semi-drunk crooning. I was in total awe of the whole experience because of the magnitude of the people I was playing with, absolute legends in the alumni community. It was like playing drums for Led Zeppelin or the Jimi Hendrix Experience.

Nevertheless, like the program itself, the night must end as well. We were all semi-intoxicated and quite delighted with the whole shebang. Although our group still had its nightcap at a nearby StarMart (still wanting to stall the goodbyes with more alcohol), we knew that it was time to yet again return to our present lives and wait for another year to relive the good times we had inside the minor seminary during our high school years. Maybe we have our own reasons for finding warmth and joy during our 4-year stay, but I could only surmise one fact: that those 4 years had been a time of becoming and knowing more about ourselves (on what we could and couldn’t do) and the world around us. It was a good day indeed.

“Seminaryo minor, Immaculada Conception
Tahanan ng kabataang, may dakilang nilalayon
Butil ng pananalig, dito yumayabong
Ang pag-asa’t pagmamahal, namumunga nag-uusbong…”
--Himig ICS