I came from a broken family, but this doesn’t mean that I’m that rebellious type, I’m not. Being a part of this kind made me the person who others envy. Arrogantly, I have nothing but my thoughts and opinions are contagious
My mom died in a tragic accident in manila when i was 4 yrs. old. My old man told me that, she was crossing the streets of 2nd ave. Caloocan, when a “trike” came rushing from nowhere at a speed of 120km/hr hit her, sending her 8 feet off the ground in a 360° twist position. If the trike leaves his stationary position at 8am then hit my mom at 8:15am, what is the capital of the Philippines? Seriously, my mom left me with my old man when i was just 4. She and her kin’s had a wicked idea back then, sorry for them. A wicked mind is no match for a crafty guy. No more details in here pls. All I can remember of her was the last time we’ve met, she and her new Japanese husband was buying my principles with a pack of “broas”, pitiful lady. Does she really think that i will sell my pride with only that? Even if I love “broas” back then, I won’t give in with such assault, if she used pork and beans, maybe, I have reconsidered things back then.
I grew up in a skid-row. Like a child going to school every year, I’ve been enrolled to a different family’s year-after-year. Gathering everyone’s thought, saving what’s useful and trashing those that I know are just pure waste. I was teach to share what I have by a greed person, to think of others by an antisocial person, to be humble by an arrogant man, to be real by a hypocrite at heart, to trust others by a cynic. Ironically, I learned good things from evil guys and wicked this from those saintly pagans. I learned to cut-classes from a fellow “sacristan”, a friend-priest thought me how to drink a san-mig-light; a pagan friend showed me how to use my sixth sense. But I don’t smoke, I just don’t, haven’t tried and won’t ever. You see, life is full of learning, only if we want to.
It was in my high school when i found out that I’m not a fake pagan. My kin’s are all “aglipayan” by faith. All must heed to this blasphemy, if you try to resist, you’ll be an outcast...Just like me. July 1997, how could I forget this, it was this month that i found out that I am a real pagan. Baptize in the name of some idol, I was a certified Roman Catholic, Rock and roll! I was young back then, I was hungry for everything. I’d been a part of a group of young boys who serve those a pagan priest in their routine-rituals. Don’t you dare to laugh! Yes, I’d been one of those cute guys “ehem” you see every Sunday beside whom you call a “father”. But it doesn’t mean that I have a hatred for Catholics, I’m not. Most of my points-of-view came from them, from envy is a sin to praying for others and not for myself, sadly, we dedicated our lives in a wrong “if we may call it” religion. All was a vain sacrifice, and we inherited nothing.
Glutton for knowledge, I had what we call desire to know everything my mind can comprehend. There so much question not even pope john Paul can answer. There so much inconsistency in Roman Catholics doctrines. Seems like, all their beliefs was just blurted out for their asses.
From books to newspapers, news channels to knowledge. I was hungry for things that can send me far away. Though others can see me smiling, at heart I was full of hatred. I’m not blaming anyone, not even my insipid mother, but I feel no love and respect for her. Pity is all I can give. How long has it been since she wallowed in those mud, damn her sorry soul.
From shirts to music, from points of view to my opinions, brand to collection, from my personal convictions to my obsessions I am what they say contagious. Like a disease, all those who have acquainted with me become something like “a less than me”. I am whatever you say I am. Though all you see is a disguise of who I really am. I’m wicked; believe me when I say it. A liar, who loves to hurt others right in their heart. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry, like a soldier with his full arsenal; I fire an unfettering burst of assault to their vulnerable hearts. Hurting them with the way they deserve. Ironically, at times, I just shut-up and leave the scene...and it’s the most disturbing thing about me. They say that, whatever will be my decisions, it’s always final, and it wouldn’t yield to anything. I am what I say I am, though Socrates influenced me too much, you can figure me out by only one thing. I get what I want; if you see me giving up a fight, and then it might only means that I learned to how fake my heart.
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