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• About Me

• Looking Back

• Works

• Contact

I consider myself lucky every day that I am only a few seconds away from streaming movies and documentaries online. Unlike in the golden days of physical piracy, when you had to go to Quiapo to catch up and buy old and new films on DVDs and CDs. Which, might I add, was an experience back then. After lining up at the street stalls, one would eventually find themselves digging through a pile of plastic DVD packages trying to find a good film. After you found a film, the store vendor would usually play it on a small TV to “test” whether the film quality was good and if it ran smoothly. We would usually buy about four (4) movies, which I would then watch repeatedly for the entirety of the week. Almost to the point that I would get scolded by my grandmother, saying, “You’ve already watched that.” Then again, we did not have cable TV, so what choice did I have?Although, if there was one film franchise that I repeatedly played, it would be Jurassic Park. I had a fascination with the franchise because, unlike my other DVDs and CDs, it came in a larger package. Larger package DVDs usually meant that the DVD contained more than one (1) film, usually a film franchise or a set of movies produced by an actor/actress. Additionally, the visuals for the first installment were nothing short of magical to me. I could still vividly remember hearing the satellite phone ringtone of the third installment and getting goosebumps. Obviously, playing the film repeatedly would lead to damage. It was my most damaged DVD, next to Barney, who, might I add, was also a dinosaur. It came to a point that the film would slow down and stop at a particular point, and my heart would start to beat faster and faster because the moment that I saw the DVD logo again, it was definitely a goner.

While writing, I learned that there in fact is a Dinosaur day celebrated every 1st of June

Well, it was rather different seeing dinosaurs in books than seeing them in real life, with actual skin, moving, with glowing eyes, and roaring right in front of you.

My fascination with dinosaurs did not end with the films alone. It had an undeniable impact on me.
I armed myself with some plastic Tupperware, plastic bags, a used toothbrush, a used paintbrush, a couple of wooden sticks, a few spoons, and my grandmother’s fabric gloves; I was ready to excavate my first dinosaur. I had a noble excuse for going out of the house when my grandmother asked, “Saan ka pupunta gamit yan?” (“Where are you going with that?”), to which I replied, “Maghahanap ako ng dinosaur [bones]” (“I’m going to search for dinosaur bones”). Eventually, I would find myself at a nearby chicken coop, since it was the only large, unpaved area in the neighborhood. I was unbothered by the chickens since I had a noble mission. After collecting a few pieces of bones, whatnots, unusual-looking rocks, and gemstones, I hurriedly came back to our house as soon as I could, ready to prepare my findings. I cleaned the bones and the other pieces of I-don't-know-what very carefully. Nothing beats the excitement of cleaning those pieces and seeing them in a much clearer form without debris and dirt. After cleaning them, I would dry them with my unused “Good Morning” towels and lay them on my bath towel on our dining table. Indeed, I got a few expletives; my grandmother was not happy about it. I explained to her that what I dug up were important and valuable dinosaur bones and gemstones. To which, I got other expletives, further adding that what I found were chicken bones and a piece of bone (beef shank) that is usually put in Bulalo (Beef Marrow Stew), and the gemstones that I found? Were but pieces of bathroom tiles and broken pieces of beer glass. I was not hurt, though, as I was still proud of my discoveries. After drying, I would display them on my study table beside the house entrance door and label them accordingly. Particularly, I would label the ones that I couldn’t guess with folded sheets of paper that said “Unknown,” and the others as dinosaur fossils, with made-up scientific names, the date of discovery, and my name.

As the last days of my studies at Morayta are numbered and my college years draw to a close, I find myself reflecting on the special reason I chose to study in this area.On an ordinary day, I am often out with friends. Yet there are moments, during long breaks or at lunch, when I suddenly and speedily disappear right after class. I turn off my cellular data and become unreachable. Even if you ask me about it in the next class, I would rarely explain why. Many have tried to follow me, but I only lead them to familiar places when I know they are trailing me. In those moments, I detach from the world, emptying my mind and heart of whatever burdens they hold. I do this at San Sebastián or in the FEU chapel.When I began my college journey, immediately after receiving my certificate of enrollment, I went to Baste and prayed silently before the image of the Blessed Virgin and Saint Sebastian. I asked for the grace to face the years ahead with courage despite fear, joy despite troubles, wisdom despite trends, and unshakable faith amid uncertainty. This practice was not new, as it reaches back to seventh grade, when I would ride my bicycle to the nearby church and quietly contemplate in the adoration chapel almost every day.One might easily say I have always been prayerful, although I must admit that one of the reasons I went was for the air-conditioning. Still, it offered both physical and spiritual comfort beneath the scorching afternoon sun. I also visited the chapel dedicated to the Holy Child at Aurora Pijuan, where I offered my dreams and ambitions for the coming years. Most, if not all, came true.

The Fatima Chapel of the university is surrounded by the works of National Artists Francisco, Abueva,
and Manansala. More than the spiritual aspect, I have always been glad of the opportunity to be there; Studying and praying, yet at the same time feeling as if I were inside a museum.

I have always liked the architecture of this shrine despite its somewhat modern style, as the walls of the entire structure narrow toward the altar, emphasizing it even more.

Besides Baste, every Thursday, especially on the first of the month. I would go to St. Jude near the palace to attend Mass. Sometimes, on ordinary days, I would simply sit in silence, detach from the world, and observe my surroundings. For instance, I noticed that the placement of Christ’s feet on the crucifix at the altar was uneven on the suppedaneum. I also loved the walk to and from St. Jude, as the greenery of Mendiola provided a quiet relief.On Fridays, I usually went to the Nazarene Basilica, and on Saturdays I would visit a Marian church, whether at Baste, Sta. Cruz, or Santísimo-UST. During midterms or finals, I often traveled farther, to Antipolo. At those times, deeply immersed in review sessions and late-night studies, sleepless, at most, I would go to the Shrine of Our Lady of Good Voyage to conclude it all. I always made sure to get a window seat for the ride up the hilly terrain so I could look back at the metro below. I found it easier to pray when I was away from the places I was used to and at a higher altitude. Perhaps it was the thought of being closer to heaven, where everything below, whether intrinsic or extrinsic, seemed small.

I have long held the conviction that I should weigh the value of things before committing to them, for the value I assign determines the effort I am willing to give. This applies to life as well as to every achievement. Before high school competitions, I would often visit the cemetery, wandering among the graves to remind myself that everything gained in this world is fleeting, subject to decay and judgment. Passing the tombs of people whose names endure on bills, schools, and books, I would reflect on how death is the ultimate equalizer and the final destiny of humankind. It is exactly there that much of my persistence and courage are rooted; it is another thing entirely to remember such truths if one is never directly confronted with them.Immediately after high school, the pandemic arrived. Continuing a four-year habit, I found more time for frequent church visits, almost daily at Santo Domingo. Walks or bike rides were accompanied by liturgical songs; reflection, prayer, and quiet observation followed. The image of La Naval was gazed upon, and the Despedida played upon leaving. In those days, when resources were scarce, when I had to make do with what was available, and when rapid adjustments in responsibility and judgment were required, it seemed best to entrust time and work to a guiding hand.That guidance persisted throughout my college years. Each work and study was offered with the hope that it might contribute incrementally toward a vision of the future and that, when redirection was needed, I might be granted the courage to continue moving forward.

Although considered morbid by many, I have always had a fascination with cemeteries, as they offer lessons in history and poignant moments of reflection and imagination through their very visuals.
Then again, Memento Mori.