Anonymous asked: Gagraduate ka na po ba? Nakikita kita minsan eh :c wala lang crush kita e. Pag wala ka wala na akong susundan ng palihim :ccccccccc
Next year pa po. :)
Anonymous asked: Maganda po b ung Sputnik Sweetheart
pooping is just like giving birth except out of the butt and with a smaller baby
when my sister went into labor the doctors told her that when it was time to push all she had to do was act like she was pooping really big
i knew someone who pooped on their baby when she gave birth
are you all okay
Anonymous asked: you’re stuck living with your icon for a month have fun
I’m stuck with myself for a month? I think it’s been going on for 3 months already
Anonymous asked: Malampasan kaya ni Maja Salvador yung album ni Bea Binene na nakakuha ng gold record award?
who the fuck is bea binene
Anonymous asked: "Gusto kita pero hindi ko ata kayang mafall sa'yo" sagot n'ya sakin nung tinanong ko s'ya kung pwede bang maging akin s'ya. May tao ba talagang ganyan? Gusto ka.. pero hindi kayang mainlove sayo?
Marami. Maaaring siya ang may problema o ayaw niya lang talaga sa’yo.
Where my youth will go after this night, I don’t know. For now, I’m a lonely man sitting on a barstool with cheap beer in front of me. In this bar, thought, I am never alone.
It’s called Fred’s Here in this U-shaped compound, I have spent over half a decade. None of those times I’ve wasted. Before Fred’s, there’s this bar called Mogwai. Green walls and itchy couches propelled me to more than just maturity. I never thought I’d spend years with people older than me and the fact that I’d actually fit in. Well, they’re not that much older but the last time I was with them, they were shocked how young I was. Where were we that night? At Fred’s.
A few years back, Mogwai closed. The now-Fred’s was a coffee shop twenty steps away from the then-Mogwai; which is now half-bar-half-another-bar. After Mogwai stopped operations, we pretty much lost track. Some friends still get together, some others weren’t able to catch up—I was one of the latter. From time to time, we see each other; most of the time, they. It’s not that they don’t invite me anymore; it’s just that, it’s not the same as before. We used go to Mogwai regularly, every Saturday to be precise. Now, we see each other on holidays, and that would be like thrice a year. To cut the long story short, it’s not the same as before.
After Mogwai closed, I still went to the compound from time to time just to visit the place. A small specialty bookstore opened, I worked for the owner, and it closed eventually, too. While I was at it, Fred’s has begun its operation. White walls and designs that say: revolution. I was a communist so it appealed. For all I know, the pub’s name actually is Fred’s Revolucion.
For me, then, there’d be no other place for me that’ll be like Mogwai. Meeting new people, making friends, being accepted on an age group that you don’t totally belong in, and many other things that I can’t even begin to count. There has been this huge hole that nothing can fill in when Mogwai has been gone in our lives. Someone got engaged in that place, how can we ever move on? And everytime I walked and saw the metal shutters stay put for weeks was just heartbreaking. But not as heartbreaking as when I walked and saw it was open and there was nothing in it but the green walls, the old chalk board, and the rusty metal stairs.
I can’t remember how but it started with food. Almost every day I ordered a plate of those incredible chicken wings. I used to have a job to compensate for my gluttony. Then the pork strips that unbelievably are better than bacon even if they look almost the same. Then back to the wings. Food was it, I conclude. One of the bar owners (and also the chef) always makes it sure that I enjoy my food and I usually do up until now.
How it followed through, that I cannot remember. If you asked me about Mogwai stories, I can remember how things built up but Fred’s had it magic. One day I’m at the bar sitting alone, just like today, and the following days I’m sitting by other people whom I don’t even know why I even became friends with (in a good way, of course). It’s just that they are these successful people. Interesting people whom I don’t think would have to do with anyone as mediocre as me. But I did become their friend.
It came to the point where I even felt like I’m family. The chef-slash-owner instantly became a father to me. There he’ll be making fun of me, then as the night ends, he’ll drive me home. One time he also told everyone how I reminded him of his younger self. Like how I am today is how he exactly was when he was young. I remember these things because they are one of the few moments that I feel like I really matter. Like when his partner-slash-co-owner called me, “hey, sad person”, and when she said things like “it’s because I trust him,” “because you get it,” and many other things that I don’t even think I can tell myself but people see in me; and it’s the people who I don’t think I’d ever be around with.
Once, the walls are white and there are just a few bills and paper coasters pinned on them. A few frames, flags, and bobble heads; those and a few more were just the decors. Now, tens of bills added, beer bottles from different countries, napkins, ID pictures, maybe some blood, and maybe a few earwax ‘cause if this wall in front of me has ears the dried ones would’ve fallen off from the music and laughter and stories and more laughter and memories. What’s left would be unshaken with the peaceful nights just like tonight. And if this sole wall could speak, it would speak with the other once-clean walls, it would thank us “we were once clean, but we are now filled with memories that everyone will cherish when the time comes.”
Just like how I’d like to thank this place, from this barstool, that I was once cleaned off with the lack of place to create memories in, and now here I am sitting, a bottle of cheap beer in front of me, and a piece of paper to write these down; the memories that I’d never ever forget. May it never end; not like the others that did.