The Sunbaked King

Circus Life

…Ateneans are the HARDEST to date — pero kapag nagustuhan ka nyan, sobrang worth all the hassle. 🙂

– Milan of Circus Life

(Never have read something so real and so fresh and so open and so eloquently written all at the same time. And not just because of the above-mentioned quote.)



Filed under: Being Blue, Vanity

The Wedding Before the Stars (II)

A boy, about age 9, wandered from table to table, picking flowers and clutching them like a prince in search for a bouquet for his princess. He looked dashing in his long-sleeved shirt, which he wore under a cotton vest. The sight was surreal. But like everything else that night, it was magical.

Outside the pavilion, a group of polo players galloped in their chestnut-colored horses, intent in their mission to score a goal. The neighs and the grunts seemed to amplify in the silence that came before the music. It was in this short-lived silence, amidst the background of sporting noise, that my eyes locked with yours. They only said one thing: You came through for me.

An array of five expansive white draperies hung from the ceiling of the pavilion, their ends meeting at the very center. A constellation of crystal stars and sparkling snowflakes descended from this point. When light struck them, they first glittered and shone, and then reflected the light at several directions. When the music began, the stars danced with the beat.

Melody made way for Motion, Motion made way for Marriage, and Marriage made way for Majesty.

Melody: a ballroom tune that had been played in weddings for decades, but whose lyrics now run a special rhythm in our hearts; Marriage: a union between two souls, the merging of which may be painful and tough, but all the more meaningful; Majesty: you and me, me and you, together this night, bound by a common cord: our love for each other.

My sister wasn’t the only person who got married that night. Underneath the crystal stars, I danced with you, and we were together.

Filed under: Fiction, Yes?, Utter Joy

The Breakup Before the Wedding (I)

I sat at the edge of the bed, staring at the closet in front of me. I saw a glimmer of white hanging among the long sleeves and the ties, the pants and the polo shirts, and that glimmer seemed more pointless than ever. Nothing made sense– no matter how much hard work was placed in choosing the perfect fabric, no matter how many hours were put into creating the intricate design, no matter how many times I had to return to get that right fit… it didn’t matter. This barong tagalog was only as good as the outfit that got paired with it, the one that you were supposed to wear tomorrow.

But I broke up with you, the night before the wedding.

My mind forced my eyes to veer away. The more I looked at it, the heavier it seemed to get. But it was all an illusion. Tears had began to well up in my eyes, doubling, tripling my vision. I did not want to break down, not yet, because this wasn’t final. This. Wasn’t. Final. After all, weren’t I the one who told you that this was not how I imagined my relationship with you to be? Weren’t I the one who told you that this was too much, that I couldn’t take your nonchalance anymore? Weren’t I the one who told you that I wasn’t getting the attention I deserved, when all I asked of you was just one day? I did all those things, so I could take it all back. I could take it all back.

But how could I, when it wasn’t my fault?

I felt something in my hand. In my state, I had forgotten all about the cellphone that I held, clenched tightly within my fist. I threw it aside, for the thing was a snake. If I looked at the last message I sent, it was bound to be poison. If I could listen to the last phone call I made, it was bound to have fangs. Now that the righteous anger has passed, now that reason has ceased to control my emotions, I realized… there wouldn’t be another text message, there wouldn’t be another call. Not from you to me. Not from me to you. I had cut you off from my life.

I had cut you off from my life the day before I wished to bind you.

That did it. The dam broke. I placed my face within my palms and cried openly into them. I staggered; my body shook with the weight of the burden you have placed upon me, of the decision I am now forced to face. But I have to be strong. Even without you, I would go to the wedding. The world does not revolve around me. Tomorrow’s going to be a joyous day, and this is something I would have to hide beneath a smiling face.

Tomorrow is my sister’s wedding, and I would be there for her. With or without you.

Filed under: Fiction, Yes?, Utter Sadness


What is it that compels us to Tweet? What drives us to state, in 140 characters or less, the minute happenings of the day, the smallest thoughts that cross our mind?

The Twitter phenomenon (or Plurk phenomenon, if you insist) can be considered as an interesting development in the realm of interpersonal relationships in particular, and poses as a more astounding leap when looked as a societal movement in general. What was once text messaging between people who know each other has been amplified to a bigger level. With Twitter, you can broadcast yourself to the world (that sounds like a YouTube slogan, but it fits), with almost no limits as to who can receive your updates, and no boundaries as to what your issues are going to be like. It’s like blogging in bite-sized, easy-to-digest pieces.

The wonderful thing about Twitter is that it allows you as much leeway as you want in expressing yourself, but at the same time provides you with enough protection so that you don’t put yourself out there as much. In other words, it’s a public avenue for people who wish to remain private. Consider celebrities like Ashton Kutcher, Demi Moore, Ryan Seacrest, Ellen DeGeneres, and the American Idol lads. Why has Twitter become so popular with them? It’s because they can maintain their public image (update their fans with their latest gigs, the type of tea they like, or whether they think so-and-so is an ass) without letting the public come too close to them. There’s always that “Block” link, and there’s always the option of reading the Tweets at your own sweet leisurely time.

But of course those are celebrities. They are almost required to be forever present; it’s their job, after all. But what about us? What drives us to Tweet?

Could it be driven by a celebrity complex that we all innately have? With Twitter, you are the star of your own page. The limelight is on you. You can be criticized, but you are shielded by the physical distance and the barrier afforded by a computer screen. As long as the protections are in place, you, yes, you, can update your “fans” with whatever you think is relevant. Because you think you are relevant.

Could it be dictated by a need to reach out to people? As far as societal movements go, “no man is an island” is still pretty much applicable, and this may drive our need to express ourselves to both friends and virtual strangers. Which is probably why the quality of details don’t matter. You can broadcast your lunch, the little incident in the elevator, or what you overheard in a cafe, it really doesn’t matter. What matters is that these details exist. There is a sense of security in knowing that there’s a probability that people know that you are out there, somewhere.


I have been Twitterless for the most part during the past few days because my mobile phone bill each month threatened to swallow me whole. Now, I Tweet nights when I get home, on my laptop. Which sort of defeats the entire purpose of Tweeting, because really, Tweets are meant to be on-the-go, or at the very least, sent on a regular basis.

If there’s one thing I realized with this exercise in Twitter reduction, it’s this: I don’t really miss it. Whatever symptoms of withdrawal I feared I may encounter with my conscious decision to disconnect from the Twitterverse did not happen. There were no misty eyes, no shortage of breath, no tempting pull to whip out my phone and blast the world with my updates.

I guess not all phenomena are intended for everyone. I guess relevancy and security can be taken somewhere else. And I guess there’s really no need to ask myself each time:

What are you doing?

Filed under: Mindlifting, Them