Take a Peek
It's been a whiiiiile since my last post. Just couldn't get myself in the mood to write. Anyway, check this out: bryansantos.multiply.com.
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Come on in. Take a sneak peek at the written snapshots of my thoughts and emotions. This is your chance to ride the dimly tinted car called me, speeding and careening along the highway called life. I may be incapable of promising a fast, exhilarating ride all trip long, but hitch with me as we burn rubber and drift through traffic, racing with other cars of diffrerent makes, stories, traits, appearances, and capabilities. Fasten your seatbelts. I'll start the engine.
6.04.2006
12.04.2005
Filled-up December
It's THE season once again. Days really seem to fly fast. As usual, it's going to be a very busy month for most of us.
As for me, my weekends are pretty much booked this early, counting in the company-sponsored Tagaytay Christmas party and SQA's YEBBAH at La Luz. Those activities will eat up my 9, 10, 17, and 18. Then there's this annual family Christmas shopping that will take my 11. The weekend after YEBBA is the eve already which essentially closes my weekends, bearing in mind that I still have several unscheduled activities to fit in. Darn.
Why does December only have 31 days? It's insufficient as far as i'm concerned. As for my yet to be scheduled events, there's this annual Christmas Reachout with my college blockmates in different children welfare foundations. Then there's this Master's Class Christmas reunion. Then there's this annual Christmas Party with my college friends. Not yet counting the different sets of Christmas shopping I must complete.
I guess I'd have to put my weekdays as options. Much to do. Little time. Much to look forward to.
As for me, my weekends are pretty much booked this early, counting in the company-sponsored Tagaytay Christmas party and SQA's YEBBAH at La Luz. Those activities will eat up my 9, 10, 17, and 18. Then there's this annual family Christmas shopping that will take my 11. The weekend after YEBBA is the eve already which essentially closes my weekends, bearing in mind that I still have several unscheduled activities to fit in. Darn.
Why does December only have 31 days? It's insufficient as far as i'm concerned. As for my yet to be scheduled events, there's this annual Christmas Reachout with my college blockmates in different children welfare foundations. Then there's this Master's Class Christmas reunion. Then there's this annual Christmas Party with my college friends. Not yet counting the different sets of Christmas shopping I must complete.
I guess I'd have to put my weekdays as options. Much to do. Little time. Much to look forward to.
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11.29.2005
Go Pinoy!
I may not say this again for a long time, but I'm proud of the Philippines! Our nation is thwarting the other SEA games participants and is having a major gold haul.
When sports officials predicted we'd amass 100-120 golds, I though it was baloney as usual. Well, Philippine officials tend to be overconfident as we often fall short of their 'educated' estimate.
But no, the Philippines is proving its worth despite lacking budget and modern training facilities and amidst monotonous political turmoil. Though we are still far off that gold rush we're expecting, and given that there are still a week's worth of competition left before closing, it's a good start. In fact, it's a great start.
It's funny how other people react and resort to lame tactics when they lose. I mean, come on, when you lose, lose with your dignity intact and your heads held high. Stupid excuses won't make your defeat any less bitter.
Look at Thailand, several days through the SEA games, noticing they aren't living up to the expectations, they say that they didn't bring in their top athletes. Well yes, and Hitler is still alive. I mean, who the hell are they kidding? If they aren't sourgraping, they're complaining. I love your bagoong rice and all but stop saying we're cheating our way to the top when the facts are shouting we're steps ahead this time around. Officials and referees hail from different countries, which means we couldn't have bribed and cajoled them to our favor, could we?
Yes, I know we're the host country and that it gives the slight edge. But still, it can't be the only reason why we're having a salvo. Bottomline is, we are capable athletes. Period. Why not let Laos host the next SEA Games? See if that argument holds true. I'm 345% sure that Laos will not have the success we're having.
Take the baseball game yesterday as an example. Team Philippines literally obliterated Vietnam in a shocking 38-0 victory. RP isn't really well known to be baseball players, let alone softball players. But routing a team with that score is hardly by luck. Unless we're all on steroids, for crying out loud, which I highly doubt due to limited budget.
I also came across an unintentionally hilarious Malaysian article, "Likely absence of Filipino stars good news for Malaysia", referring to the absence of Efren "Bata" Reyes and Francisco "Django" Bustamante. Them Malaysians were bubbly and were excited to claim that, due to our stars' absence, they have a high chance of ending their six-year gold medal drought in billiards. Ha. Are they stupid? Don't they know that the Philippines is full of upcoming and established pool players, capable of zilching any Malaysian, anytime, anywhere? They probably don't have any idea that last year's World Pool Champion, Alex Pagulayan, is spearheading our players. Speaking of Alex, he, along with two other Filipinos, defeated the highly-favored Thais in Snooker, a sport wherein we're considered underdogs, en route to the gold. Another noteworthy Filipino pool participant that may have missed the Malaysian's keen eye of scouting is Ronnie Alcano, widely considered as the best 15-ball rotation player in the world today. True enough, Alcano captured the singles and doubles gold medal for rotation. Sorry Malaysians.
Ah, due to the intense rivalries, a fresh breeze of patriotic spirit rushed within me. I was never really proud of what our nation can do. I am now. But I don't know for how long. Anything can happen after the SEA games. We should cherish this rare moment.
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11.28.2005
Hakuna Matata
It feels refreshing to have spent days like a bum again.
And no. I'm still very much employed, thank you.
It's just that because of the long weekend, I feel like it was a college summer break once again. Waking up with no worries, no plans. My days went by in slow motion starting from the get-go.
Usually on regular weekends, it's either I'm out the house or I'm running errands left and right. But this time, I was in a 'Hakuna Matata' mindset.
Honestly, I miss days like these. Though quite an unfruitful weekend, I enjoyed it - imagine having more than enough time to sleep, watch TV, eat, surf the net, play PS2, and play with my dog. I guess it helped me relax and unwind a bit. Although I know continuously living like this is unhealthy in more ways than one, I'm still very much thankful nonetheless.
Ah, Hakuna Matata... what a wonderful phrase and it ain't no passing craze.
And no. I'm still very much employed, thank you.
It's just that because of the long weekend, I feel like it was a college summer break once again. Waking up with no worries, no plans. My days went by in slow motion starting from the get-go.
Usually on regular weekends, it's either I'm out the house or I'm running errands left and right. But this time, I was in a 'Hakuna Matata' mindset.
Honestly, I miss days like these. Though quite an unfruitful weekend, I enjoyed it - imagine having more than enough time to sleep, watch TV, eat, surf the net, play PS2, and play with my dog. I guess it helped me relax and unwind a bit. Although I know continuously living like this is unhealthy in more ways than one, I'm still very much thankful nonetheless.
Ah, Hakuna Matata... what a wonderful phrase and it ain't no passing craze.
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11.21.2005
The Room
A very inspiring article. Read on.
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features save for the one wall covered with small index-card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read “Girls I Have Liked.” I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one.
And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn’t match.
A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named “Friends” was next to one marked “Friends I Have Betrayed.”
The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. “Books I Have Read,” “Lies I Have Told,” “Comfort I Have Given,” “Jokes I Have Laughed At.” Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: “Things I’ve Yelled at My Brothers.” Others I couldn’t laugh at: “Things I Have Done in My Anger,” “Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents.” I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped.
I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my 20 years to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.
When I pulled out the file marked “Songs I Have Listened To,” I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn’t found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented.
When I came to a file marked “Lustful Thoughts,” I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.
An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: “No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!” In an insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn’t matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it
Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it. The title bore “People I Have Shared the Gospel With.” The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.
And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.
But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus.
I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn’t bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one?
Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn’t anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn’t say a word. He just cried with me.
Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card.
“No!” I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was “No, no,” as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn’t be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood.
He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don’t think I’ll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, “It is finished.”
I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.
"The Room" by Joshua Harris
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features save for the one wall covered with small index-card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read “Girls I Have Liked.” I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one.
And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn’t match.
A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named “Friends” was next to one marked “Friends I Have Betrayed.”
The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. “Books I Have Read,” “Lies I Have Told,” “Comfort I Have Given,” “Jokes I Have Laughed At.” Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: “Things I’ve Yelled at My Brothers.” Others I couldn’t laugh at: “Things I Have Done in My Anger,” “Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents.” I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped.
I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my 20 years to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.
When I pulled out the file marked “Songs I Have Listened To,” I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn’t found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented.
When I came to a file marked “Lustful Thoughts,” I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.
An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: “No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!” In an insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn’t matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it
Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it. The title bore “People I Have Shared the Gospel With.” The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.
And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.
But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus.
I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn’t bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one?
Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn’t anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn’t say a word. He just cried with me.
Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card.
“No!” I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was “No, no,” as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn’t be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood.
He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don’t think I’ll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, “It is finished.”
I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.
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11.19.2005
Tired and Grieving
Practice makes perfect, but nobody's perfect so why practice?
Ah, my day turned out to be really exhausting. The fact that I had a slight hangover due to last night's 'macho-mugging' didn't exactly help.
I played badminton this morning in preparation for next week's company tournament. Not that I'm good or anything but a little practice might help. Who knows? Maybe we could pull a win or two.
Then after eating a heavy lunch, we went straight to Ateneo to play basketball.
I feel really tired, my entire body feels heavy right now. Sleep is starting to kick-in.
Ah, my day turned out to be really exhausting. The fact that I had a slight hangover due to last night's 'macho-mugging' didn't exactly help.
I played badminton this morning in preparation for next week's company tournament. Not that I'm good or anything but a little practice might help. Who knows? Maybe we could pull a win or two.
Then after eating a heavy lunch, we went straight to Ateneo to play basketball.
I feel really tired, my entire body feels heavy right now. Sleep is starting to kick-in.
***
I still won't sleep though. Not just yet. Not before I make an eulogy.
Two of my toenails, one in each foot, just died during the basketball game. Too bad, they weren't able to survive the pounding I've put them through. I cut my toenails earlier not knowing it would be their last. It hurts. Figuratively and literally.
Seriously though, I hate it when my toenails die. They hurt and they don't exactly look nice, do they?
Two of my toenails, one in each foot, just died during the basketball game. Too bad, they weren't able to survive the pounding I've put them through. I cut my toenails earlier not knowing it would be their last. It hurts. Figuratively and literally.
Seriously though, I hate it when my toenails die. They hurt and they don't exactly look nice, do they?
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11.13.2005
More than Anyone
If you're watching ETC, then you probably know this song. It's nice - simply written yet straightforward and meaningful.
More than Anyone
Gavin DeGraw
You need a friend
I'll be around
Don't let this end
Before I see you again
What can I say to convince you
To change your mind of me?
I'm going to love you more than anyone
I'm going to hold you closer than before
And when I kiss your soul, your body'll be free
I'll be free for you anytime
I'm going to love you more than anyone
Look in my eyes, what do you see?
Not just the color
Look inside of me
Tell me all you need and I will try
I will try
I'm going to love you more than anyone
I'm going to hold you closer than before
And when I kiss your soul, your body'll be free
I'll be free for you anytime
I'm going to love you more than anyone
Free for you, whenever you need
We'll be free together, baby
Free together, baby
I'm going to love you more than anyone
I'm going to hold you closer than before
And when I kiss your soul, your body'll be free
I'll be free for anytime
I'm going to love you more than anyone
I'm going to love you more than anyone
More than Anyone
Gavin DeGraw
You need a friend
I'll be around
Don't let this end
Before I see you again
What can I say to convince you
To change your mind of me?
I'm going to love you more than anyone
I'm going to hold you closer than before
And when I kiss your soul, your body'll be free
I'll be free for you anytime
I'm going to love you more than anyone
Look in my eyes, what do you see?
Not just the color
Look inside of me
Tell me all you need and I will try
I will try
I'm going to love you more than anyone
I'm going to hold you closer than before
And when I kiss your soul, your body'll be free
I'll be free for you anytime
I'm going to love you more than anyone
Free for you, whenever you need
We'll be free together, baby
Free together, baby
I'm going to love you more than anyone
I'm going to hold you closer than before
And when I kiss your soul, your body'll be free
I'll be free for anytime
I'm going to love you more than anyone
I'm going to love you more than anyone
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A Blast from the North
My friends and I used the last long weekend to our advantage. We literally had a cross-country adventure, travelling from Manila to Pagudpod (it's on the northern part of Luzon) and back in a span of three days. The trip was truly enjoyable except for the 12-hour travel time.
It's fun to play tourist in your country and it made me realize that our very own land can offer as much, if not more, than any other country can. Yes, we don't have the Disney World nor the Pyramids, but if you look closer, the Philippines has its own profound identity to be explored. The trip made me realize that from time to time, it's quite refreshing to enjoy the simple pleasures in life. No pretensions and just pure appreciation of what's there, of who we are, and of what we have.
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