Another blog entry about Gwen again. I know, creepy, right?

The idea was, I'm going to bookend 2011 with blog entries about the same thing. So happened that the first blog entry I wrote this year was, well, about Gwen, and the fact that we've been trying to arrange a second meet-up for ages.

Last year she gave me a vague idea of a calendar date: the middle of January. It did not happen.

We almost met up a few months later, but she found herself in a hospital, her check-up taking longer than expected or something. Or, in my words back then, I was stood up.

Now, it's December, and I've long let go of the hope that we'll ever arrange that second meet-up. I will, perhaps, forever owe her a coffee.

We did have a few conversations here and there, mostly around two things: the fact that she's been busy, even if she said back then that she wouldn't be, and the fact that we can't arrange that second meet-up. We'll reaffirm our commitment to finding a date and then forget all about it. Then, a few months later, the same old rigodon.

The thing is, she's the one who got busy. She quit her job and went on some filmmaking lark (not to dismiss anything, but I don't have an idea how else to describe what she's doing exactly). At least, I thought, she's doing something with her life.

Me? I'm stuck at home, working at home, doing the same things I've done for the past three years or so. I'm always the one who's telling friends that I'm free on most weekends if they want to meet. They're the ones who say they miss me, besides, and then, nothing.

I don't think this year's been that good to me. Sure, I got ahead in a few things, but for the most part I was either held back or forced to hit reverse. Sure, perhaps it's my tendency to view the glass as half-empty. It's gotta be, right? There's always something wrong with how I see things. Everybody says that. And even if I counter along the lines of "there isn't anything I can do, really," I still get told that I could do better.

I could do better. I know I could do better. I also know that I cannot do anything else. Even if I wanted to - heavens knows I do, I want to - I cannot do anything else.

And here I am, closing the year the same way I opened it. Writing the same old thoughts about the same old people, or something. I haven't really changed, and everybody else has moved on without me. I wanted to go with them, but they pretty much said no.

And then I gave up.

For some reason I had a good think about all the people I've met over the past few years.

Inevitably, I'm not in touch with most of them. There are just a lot of them. (And I don't have as many "friends" as the others.) But I'd see a few of them now and then - online, of course - and I'd notice that our interests don't exactly match.

Not anymore, perhaps. And sure, it's possible that in all the years that passed we have drifted apart. Nothing new. (Nothing I want to happen, but still, nothing new.) But what if we never really had that much in common in the first place? How come we had friendly relations with each other?

I've always liked to think that I am fairly independent. I have my own set of interests, my own set of preferences, you get my drift. But after another bout of overthinking I realized that my interests aren't exactly my own. For the most part, it's something that I've adopted because my crowd at the time were into it.

I wasn't really much of a film buff until I began hanging out with Jason and Cuyeg more, in part because we worked on our thesis together, and in part because we took more or less the same classes. Jason, particularly, has seen all these artsy films, and I haven't, until I had to for school.

A few years earlier Jason introduced me to Issa, and she hooked me up with my appreciation of the late Rilo Kiley. Sure, this was when I was starting to find my way through the British indie side of things, but a part of me would really like to think of her as the enabler, for lack of a better term. Same with Alyssa and Muse. When I found out she loved the band I sort of use it ti start some conversations with her, or something. (It's not meant to sound that desperate. Trust me.)

With the mostly-forgotten biters, it was a long-dormant love of 80s music and an optimistic mindset - heaven knows how foolish I sounded when talking about romance there, especially in hindsight, now that you've factored in how shitty it all ended.

When I started working... let's just say I became more of a pop-loving kind of guy. I wasn't resisting, but I found myself buying more Glee CDs. Suddenly I was the guy who knew a bit about television. And I didn't watch a lot of television when I was still in college. I even found myself looking through magazine stores for old issues of Elle.

Like my preference for coffee shops other than Starbucks.

Like those conversations I remember having at one point, knowing I've never had those before that point.

So, what exactly is up? I'm not exactly the most independent of persons, I figure - I've always just followed. I've never started anything. I've always just followed so I can have something in common with the people I'm with, the people that I want to be with. It works out, and then people drift apart, naturally. And then you go back and see them talking about things that are vaguely alien to you, and you start wondering what exactly was there.

In my case, perhaps, it was a deep desire to be accepted - which I got, in some cases, momentarily, at least until the charades is over. Some of these things, I've learned to take as my own. Others, they've become battle scars of sorts. The things you can't live without now, for lack of a better term, but are fully aware that it's part of a time you do not want to be part of anymore.

I've been with so many crowds, seen so many interests, that looking back, I don't even know what I really am anymore. I changed too many times to get in. Turns out it wasn't all worth it, of course. Because right now, I'm still alone, and I don't have a crowd to call my own.

Unless, of course, I was the one who started all these crowds, and I was the one who moved away because they changed without me.

These things make me afraid of making new friends.

I don't usually write film reviews here - they always go on my still mostly active Multiply page - but I have to write something about Manila Kingpin: The Asiong Salonga Story.

There's always one relatively artsy film when the Metro Manila Film Festival rolls by - one that looks different from all of the other, more unabashedly mainstream releases. This year, it's Jeorge Estregan's retelling of the story of the 1950s gangster, whose story has been immortalized as early as the 1960s. It's an action flick. It's shot completely in black and white. It's a period piece. Never mind the issue about director Tikoy Aguiluz wanting his name off the credits because of certain scenes added without his permission. (He got his request, by the way.) Never mind the fact that this might be Estregan's way of putting his name back into public consciousness, perhaps in preparation for the upcoming elections. (He is governor of Laguna, after all.) The film's got to work, right? Somehow?

Well, it doesn't. It's crap.

To be fair, they had good intentions. Mounting a film that's not exactly mainstream (despite the cast) and not exactly on the fringes (despite the look) in the one date on the Philippine film calendar that's very family-friendly (and that's a euphemism) is a challenge, and they should be applauded for that. There are some good things with the film: Carlo Mendoza's cinematography is thoughtful for the most part, and while the partly-random cast is too old to play young gangsters (the real Salonga died when he was 28) they give the gravitas their roles ask for, especially John Regala and Dennis Padilla. But while watching the two-hour-long flick, I can't help but be totally thrown off. Manila Kingpin is quite messy.

One, the film begins in the middle of the action. We have Asiong being tortured by some other gangster. The usual territory war. We have Asiong exacting his revenge. We have Totoy Golem hearing about the aforementioned attack. Suddenly all of this is happening, and I'm wondering, so what happened before all this? The assumption is, you've seen the Asiong Salonga movies from before (notably the one featuring Joseph Estrada) and you know what happens. My dad knows, as he's seen them. I haven't. There's no inkling of an origin scene, and there are no transitions to certain chapters. It's event after event - either they crammed too much, or they spent too much time showing Asiong Salonga is a Robin Hood type of guy. (ER Ejercito is a Robin Hood type of guy.) It feels clunky at times.

Two, you cannot turn the provincial town of Pagsanjan (in Laguna - but of course!) to the urban district of Tondo. The black-and-white style eases you through this obvious disparity, but you'd expect a film set in Manila's underbelly in the 1950s to look gritty and tight. We get a cinema that's obviously fashioned from an ancestral home, a church that's not in the middle of the market district, and wide spaces that you will never find in that part of Manila at the time. And banana trees. Lots of banana trees. I actually gave up believing it's Manila and decided that I was watching a film student's thesis where location is a bit of an afterthought.

Three, certain facets of the film feel forced in. Asiong's dalliances with the ladies - where did that come from? Sure, it's a given - he is a gangster, a notorious gangster - but I still don't get it. I don't even know what he feels about his wife Fidela (played by Carla Abellana, making the whole idea creepy) and now he's taking off Jaycee Parker's top? The idea of someone from the Liberal Party asking for Asiong's support - do we really need politics in the picture? Even my dad said it was nowhere in the originals. (Is ER running under Noynoy? Nice way of making it that explicit, sir.) The idea of corrupt policemen and corrupt government officials - it's a given, but how does that exactly figure? I can imagine how the production meetings go: "Aha, let's make the police corrupt! They'll understand." I don't even know what the motivations are - things just happen.

Four, every sharp cuss word was cancelled. Phillip Salvador went "putang ina". John Regala went "putang ina". But you'll have to read their lips to know that. It loses the grit the film requires. So much for the R-13 rating.

Finally, the last straw: the scene where Totoy Golem hijacks Asiong Salonga's funeral - and forced a gunfight between his gang and Asiong's - is soundtracked by an orchestral version of Tears for Fears' Mad World. It's 1950s Manila. Where the hell did that effing come from?

Manila Kingpin is more style than substance. They definitely sold the aesthetic, and the fact that it's a period piece, when they could've tightened up the storytelling - focus on one aspect of Asiong's story, like the recent Robin Hood remake with Russell Crowe - and paid more attention to the production. I thought they were perhaps better off creating a whole new story, about a gangster from Pagsanjan who fought corrupt officials and their cohorts. the enemy gang. I would have bought that.

Instead, what we get is a film where the crew decided to throw everything they know to the wall and see what sticks. Some things look good, but everything doesn't make sense together. Like a film student's thesis, really. You get excited trying out all the techniques you learned, the end result looks messy.

Oh, right, Manila Kingpin is a vanity project. Jeorge Estregan shooting guns, fighting for the common good, and making out with Valerie Concepcion on the side. I tried watching the film as just that. A vanity project. And it still fails. I can't quite convince myself that Jeorge still has it. He screams to the heavens after fighting off Ronnie Lazaro's character - those big epiphany moments - and he looks limp. He kisses the young girls (lots of them) and he looks more excited. Not exactly the message you want if you're running for some government position, if that theory is true.

Funny that the film that we assumed would be a bright spot in this year's MMFF turns out to be such a disappointment. Enteng ng Ina Mo actually could be better, even if their merger is very, very forced.

"Sana magkita na tayo soon!" was Tonet's reply to my second wave of Christmas greetings - on Twitter, mostly for people who I don't have the numbers of, to say the least. For good measure, there was a heart at the end.

I thought, were we that close?

Okay, maybe we were. You know my definition of close on this one: the people I end up confiding in, for some reason. In her case, the peak of our closeness, so to speak, came in a blog entry she wrote almost four years ago, one that took off from an online conversation we had about certain people and certain feelings.

He's only nineteen, but he's very mature for his age. We usually talk about music, but tonight we talked about love.

I remember the first time we "met". I was in an Internet shop. To be exact, the now-gone Netopia branch at the then-drab University Mall. I was answering a question posted on some place I refuse to recall. What are your favorite bands? This was the time when I was discovering Camera Obscura. This was also the time when my PC started acting up, which meant me not being able to listen to my music on iTunes because the library file was in a hard drive whose life force was ebbing away. Rather than hear every track skip all over the place, I decided to listen through another app.

The app then decided to play XTC's Senses Working Overtime a lot. It's one of those songs that I have but never really paid attention to, mostly because my PC tends to play certain songs more than others. I must've heard it before, but I must've been too busy with school projects at the time - it was 2007, after all. But that night, I somehow ended up listening intently to this band I've never heard much of, and enjoying the one song I have of them.

So my answer to that question about favorite bands? Not sure what else I mentioned, but I did mention Camera Obscura, and Athlete, and the fact that I'm "getting into" XTC.

Tonet replied, pointing out that we have the same interests in music, more or less.

Why we ended up talking about love, or whatever that is, I can't really recall. Definitely, at one point, I decided I liked talking to her enough to add her up on YM. When the proverbial shit hit the proverbial fan over on the motherland, she more or less took my side. And kept quiet about it. And then we talked a bit more, whenever she has time, at the very least. She doesn't always have time. Running an indie label isn't the sort of thing you give a few hours to.

I actually don't remember why I had her phone number at one point - I definitely never had the chance to use it. And that phone number's definitely dead.

And then, that Christmas message. She hopes we'd meet soon. I hope so too, but I don't really have time to go to gigs. Back then, I had to go home to Cavite and sleep early. Right now, I'm still not a gig person, perhaps to Jeany's consternation. (I've always been more of a radio person, at least until it got mostly crap.)

But what do I do when I do meet her? Get drunk, while perhaps watching a band I haven't heard much of (radio being mostly crap nowadays) but probably will have an interest in, because I try to keep up appearances that much? Maybe. But I've never been drunk ever.

Here we go again.

This year, I was sending my Christmas text messages while in line at a grocery store. I didn't want to be a Christmas crammer, and we tried our best not to, but when it turned out that we forgot a few things it came to be to drive to the grocery, try to find a good parking slot (nowhere), and brave the aisles to buy the few items I have to buy, and then some. I am, after all, in the grocery, not them.

Before the phone lines get longer than the grocery I'm in, happy holidays! Applause for dropping by in 2011, and fingers crossed you'll hang on in 2012.

The last time I did this, there were 72 people on the receiving end, and only twelve of them replying before the cut-off. Today, I only sent it to 39 people. Just 39 people. I don't know why. I just felt like it. I guess it's how things go. People stay, people go, and people mess up.

That, or I don't have everybody's phone number.

As for the replies?

From the girl who I was close with despite only meeting once: Merry Christmas, Niko!

From the girl who told me a classmate was pregnant: Merry Christmas to you and our family, Niko!

From the girl who everybody thought was a soccer player: Have a blessed Christmas, Henrik! Sana bongga 2012 natin!

From the girl who eased my transition to a Community fan: Season's greetings, sabi ni Shirley. More laughter I can't type here. Merry Christmas!

From the girl whose voice you'll hear virtually everywhere: Thanks Niko! This was preceded by laughter. Was my message funny? Have a great Christmas as well!

From the girl who might've asked me to keep quiet by mistake: Hug! I really feel like a scrooge this Christmas but thank you for being there at random moments!

From the girl who eased my transition to a Community fan: Yes! She was talking about this year's Christmas episode. It's all over this blog entry. Or not.

From the girl who thought Hayley Williams was in Manila: Merry Christmas, Niko! Hope to see you soon. Now that you've mentioned it, we were supposed to meet up years ago. Enjoy and have a wonderful time with your femilyyy!

From the girl with three moles (sorry): Merry Christmas to you too, Niko Batallones! You'll forever be DLSU's infamous Shale.

From the girl who surprisingly replied with her local number despite being in Taiwan: Happy holidays Niko! Let's have a great 2012!

Finally, from the girl who introduced me to Golden Oreos: Happy holidays Niko!

Ten! Not complaining. It's a bigger percentage than last time. But I am hitting diminishing returns, yes? Because we're getting busy and drifting apart and all, yes? And because we're losing track of each other's phone numbers? And because texting is no longer a cool thing? And because I'm sending my text messages a day too early? Because surely later I'll get a bunch of them, and it's going to be too late, kinda.

Not that I'm complaining. Except, perhaps, when my uncle goes "puro tsiks na naman yan, Kuku!" again.

Well, then. Happy holidays to every one of you, whether I've yet to meet you, or I've already decided to disown you or whatever. Maybe next year things will be better for us. Or worse. It has to be balanced, after all.

I had this conversation with Gwen a few months back - maybe a few years back, even; this was the time when she showed more interest in me. Err, when we talked a lot more.

I don't remember exactly how we got there nor why we got there, and I obviously don't remember what exactly was said. But we were talking about that time in a person's life when he feels like breaking all the rules.

"I never went through that stage," I told her.

"I already have," she said. That's not exactly what she said, but as I said, I can't remember specifics. But I'm sure she said something along the lines of, "I'm glad I have already gone through that stage."

There I was, in front of a computer, a 21-year-old talking to a 20-year-old (or was she 19? I'm probably confusing her with someone else) about that time in your life when you do not agree with everything. And getting past that time, and feeling very mature.

I definitely remember squirming. I always felt little compared to everybody else I talked to. I was always surrounded by older people. You know, a year older, because I skipped a level in pre-school. So I always had to look up to them by default. Older people tend to know more, after all.

Little do I realize that I'm doing the same to people younger than me. By my logic, sure, people younger than me should know less than me. They've lived less life than I have. Of course, that is wrong. That is very wrong. Chances are, the younger people I know have experienced more than I have. They've gone through those stages, and I haven't. You know, like Gwen.

It doesn't make for a good feeling, being terribly insecure about yourself, knowing that you're too late for certain things. Or maybe everything.

Today I realize that I'm possibly going through that rebellious stage. At 22, I'm having one of those irrational "I want my own room" thoughts. Seriously. I've always had to share a bedroom with a sibling, which makes me, in a way, a punching bag privacy-wise.

Of course, when you think about it, it is an irrational thought. You'll spend lots of money, for one. And also, nobody likes people with irrational thoughts, no matter how technically correct they are. Nobody wants someone who sets out to break the rules, or something.

People around me must think I'm so crazy. No wonder nobody wants me around.

Thus, I don't know as much as a 21-year-old does.

Like this, really.

I shouldn't have written this, yes?

"Masaya, pero nakakapagod."

That's Alvin Elchico on DZMM last night, talking about how reporters like him see political coverage. A texter suggested that the latest circus unfolding on our television screens will have reporters happy. Sure, Elchico said. They will be happy, but they will get really, really tired.

I see what he means. Sure, the closest I have to political coverage is a blog that goes to life during school elections, but there is a thrill in following the campaigns, talking to people, trying to figure out what they really mean when they speak, and being on the pulse about something. When things get more heated than they should (and they have), it gets much more exciting. Seeing two sides outwit each other, and trying to figure out who has the advantage or not? That really puts you on the pulse.

But eventually it proves to be too much. I remember covering the DLSU general elections in 2009 - the one I did from my office - and getting quite cynical about it. When I was still writing about them on the ground, I really felt that they were fighting for a good cause. Now that I was watching from the outside, a recent graduate who's blogging whenever he's got free time in the workplace, it all felt like they were doing what they were doing to prop themselves up. Embellish their CVs, get a good job in a multinational company, that sort. After all, these candidates have been fighting for the same thing for four years, definitely longer. And it's not like they haven't done anything, but they haven't exactly moved on from those causes. If time eventually catches up with them and renders them ineffective, why bother with running?

Someone posted a comment, chiding me for thinking that way. I guess I felt more cynical now that I'm past that stage, supposedly.

Then again, politics is all about power. It's all about getting it, keeping it, and making sure you still have a piece of it when you step away. I know, that sounds cynical. Everybody enters politics with good intentions, you might say. Sure, I agree with you. And you cannot get what you want - whether it's for your gain or everybody's - without having power. You can't get what you want if you can't hold on to power for that long. And you can't get what you want if you leave the fray and see that someone else has virtually undone all that you've done.

Some who have entered politics may have stuck with their guns, but some inevitably succumbed to the game. Politics is addicting, the way The Sims is. You start playing and you get more invested in it. You start watching the news and you get quite affected by it. You start dealing with power and you can't pull yourself away from it. "Masaya, pero nakakapagod."

This week Renato Corona, the chief justice of the Supreme Court, has been impeached. Among other grounds, he was accused of siding with former president Gloria Arroyo in some of their decisions. As the thinking goes, since he was appointed by Arroyo - a particularly controversial one, since he was named as chief justice in May last year, squarely within the ban on executive appointments two months before the end of a president's term - his loyalties lie with her.

Current president Noynoy Aquino has, to put it bluntly, never been that fond of Corona. As president-elect he was against his appointment from the get-go, going as far as having someone else swear him in as president. During the most recent budget deliberations, the judiciary's coffers were slashed by around P2 million, I think - you can say it's the administration's back-to-zero policy, but you can also say it's him pressuring a potentially unfriendly court to cozy up. But tensions have flared in recent weeks, from the Supreme Court's decision to issue a temporary restraining order against the Department of Justice's immigration watch list order against Arroyo and her husband Mike, to Aquino's uncharacteristically hostile speech against Corona in a summit organized to, of all things, foster cooperation between members of the judicial sector.

And then, suddenly, Corona was impeached.

I have nothing against Corona being impeached. By all means, if he has done something wrong, then do so. What I have a problem with, however, is the speed of his impeachment, and the circumstances surrounding it.

When members of Congress attempted to impeach Ombudsman Merceditas Gutierrez - also an Arroyo appointee, and also accused of being biased towards the former administration - it was a long, tedious battle. It's partly because there were two impeachment cases filed against her, and the Supreme Court even had to issue a TRO just to sift through which has more merit, but mostly because they had to figure out if it was sufficient in substance and form. That process happened in the many impeachment attempts against Arroyo.

Corona's impeachment, on the other hand, was definitely fast-tracked. Nothing new there - the impeachment of former president Joseph Estrada was elevated to the Senate in 2000 without a plenary debate, although then speaker Manny Villar insisted there was no need to do so, because the articles of impeachment were signed by 77 representatives, four above the 73 required. But the process of Corona's impeachment is questionable. It has now emerged that members of the majority coalition rushed lawmakers to sign the articles of impeachment, in some cases without letting them read through the documents, relying instead on a definitely condensed slideshow. Thus, the articles did not have to pass through a committee-level hearing; they got their 188 votes in just five hours.

It has also now emerged that the fast-tracked impeachment was because of Noynoy Aquino's wishes. Armed with reports that the Supreme Court will revoke the arrest order against Arroyo, he asked his top men to craft the case quickly. "The majority wanted the impeachment as a show of force to justify their actions," a source told the Inquirer.

The minority obviously has qualms about this: minority leader Edcel Lagman called it the "mother of all blackmails". But some members of the majority were also taken aback: Navotas representative Toby Tiangco quit after disagreeing with their ways, and there are reports that another member of the majority was booted off as chairman of a congressional committee because he did not sign the articles of impeachment.

And that is my problem with the whole thing. As I said earlier, if there are grounds to impeach Corona, fine, impeach him. (He's been impeached on eight counts, most of which are so vague that gathering convincing evidence much be difficult.) But no matter how Malacañang spins the whole thing, the impeachment case is definitely rushed. And not to get rid of a roadblock to reforms, as they'd assert, but to take control of a stop on the road. They can't get the Supreme Court to "cooperate" with them, so they decided to deal with it through other means.

If their main problem was that Corona is a midnight appointee, then why wait so long to boot him out? They waited, so said presidential spokesman Edwin Lacierda, to see if something good will come out - and, predictably, they said that nothing has. More of, they co-existed until the Supreme Court decided to issue the TRO in favor of Arroyo, after which they realized they won't have much of a reason to hang around if their raison d'être could get away. Thus, the "show of force". Hold on to power.

If they believe that Corona favors Arroyo, that he protects the former president, then why just impeach him? Why not impeach all of the justices that she appointed in her nine years in power? Also, can they prove that the Arroyo bloc voted solidly in every case of note? Corona is right - the attack against him is actually an attack against the judiciary's independence. The message the case, and the administration's actions before that, is sending is simple: "either you're with me or against me." To hell with the judiciary's independence. To hell with the system of checks and balances.

And that puts us in dangerous ground. Noynoy Aquino was installed in office with the promise of long-overdue reforms: transparency and accountability, a new culture that will bring change to the country. I believed that his intentions are good. But his actions nowadays suggest that nothing's really happened. It's still about numbers. Still about having every base covered. Still about having more influence than anybody else. Sure, you can argue that it's not his fault - that this whole system is because of the precedents set by previous regimes - but you'd expect Noynoy to rise above it. It's what he's suggested all this time.

Instead, to be able to instigate his wishes - to get what he wants, if you want to flip it - he has resorted to the very things his predecessor, the very person he demonized from the campaign, has done. And maybe beyond it, because Arroyo certainly didn't bully the Supreme Court into submission when she assumed office. Noynoy's intentions are good? Perhaps, perhaps, but he came into office with absolutely no idea on what to do. And so he surrounded himself with people who have more experience, but are definitely part of the old school. And now he's learned those tricks, and he's making the most of those tricks, and he's become good at it, really good at it, much like the people he's antagonized at the beginning.

Not everybody is happy with it. I'm not. Many others aren't. But many others accept what the administration is doing now. It's necessary, they say, to get us the reforms we all need. What he's doing is much more tolerable than the atrocities Arroyo has done. I read these essays and columns, I listen to these arguments, and I can't help but think they're just kissing ass. Hoping that it will lead to the best, to the point of being delusional about it. Noynoy can do no wrong. He's the son of Cory Aquino. He is the child of People Power. He does not know how to lie. He does not know how to cheat. He does not know how to do anything. We have a potential despot - I may be exaggerating, but bullying the judiciary into submission is never a good sign - and people are going, he's all right.

We have drones, and that is perhaps the worst thing of all. They want a piece of the dream, whether it's a better country - I cannot begrudge you for that - or a slice of the pie, a bigger slice of the pie. So you overlook the flaws to get there. Or, you perpetrate the flaws.

Politics. It's all about power. It's about getting power. Maintaining power. Making sure you still have power when you step away. No matter how short or how long you stay in the fray, you become invested. It consumes you, whatever that means. Much like a video game, really. It's time for a meeting, and you're still playing it.

The past few weeks is a wake-up call for me. It's no longer time to believe that Noynoy Aquino's intentions are good. What we have is a vindictive president who's drunk with power. He's become the monster he said he'll never be. And still thinks he isn't, probably, because of the drones around him. And the next few months is going to be interesting, just to see who wins, who loses, and how everybody gets back. Again, politics. You become invested. You cannot look away.

Masaya, pero nakakapagod.

I'm done with my Christmas shopping, but not everybody else is. My sister's just getting started, and since she's busy at work lately she only has the weekends to do her shopping. Which meant I have to do the driving.

I didn't really mind. I had the itching to leave home anyway - you know, change the scenery, distract myself and all - plus the fact that I had to pick up a couple magazines along the way. But I spent most of my time with my sister at Rustan's, going through the toy section, trying to pick out gifts for our little cousins.

It's a setup we barely stumbled into. I didn't think of giving gifts for my cousins. She didn't think of giving gifts for our grandparents. She's not taking credit for my gifts, and I'm taking credit for hers, although we're definitely sharing credit on a gift we're giving to the daughter of one of my dad's colleagues - just so freaking adorable. But, since I was around and I felt like proving that I've done Christmas shopping for four years now, I helped out.

I didn't really help out. My sister found this Happy Feet Two plushie, and we chose it over the cheaper stuffed bear because I thought it was too Dickensian. (You know kids nowadays.) We had a harder time looking for gifts for our two younger cousins, Izaak (heretofore known as Tak) and KC (heretofore known as Piching).

Tak's a big Cars fan - he'd watch the movie every time it comes on the TV, and he really finds Lightning McQueen cool - so getting a Cars toy is a no-brainer. Well, except for the fact that there were no more Lightning McQueen toys. "Sold out na po," the sales guy told my sister, just as I saw this assemble-your-own-Lightning-McQueen-statue kit being sold. Nah.

Piching was a harder proposition, because she's the quintessential girly girl. Fashion accessories, make-up, and at six (or seven) years old? It's scaring me a bit, because I don't remember my sister going through that phase. We did see some items my cousin might be interested in, but it's way beyond my sister's budget.

We didn't really do that much shopping.

Then again, this isn't about our shopping. (Well, my sister's shopping.) I was in a toy store. On a weekend. And I was surrounded by kids.

You know how kids are with toy stores, right? Now, I definitely went through that phase. Toy Kingdom at SM Southmall. A ten-year-old's paradise. I was going through a Micro Machines phase and got excited whenever I saw a whole aisle of the toys. Boxes of gas stations and truck stops and auto repair emporiums (or is it emporia?), big boxes, and those small cars, only a few of them. Next thing I know, I've strayed from my parents, I've gotten lost in the mall, and I was crying in the corridor. Customer service played the role of Jessica Soho.

And up to now, I still get that tingling sensation whenever I'm in a toy store. Sure, I'm rarely there nowadays  - I don't really have to go there anymore - but whenever I there, and see an interesting toy, I still quietly go "oooh, that's a really good toy!" And I'm not referring to action figures. They're boring. The kid in me who wanted to be an architect when he grows up still gets excited over those building sets and cars.

Fine, I get a bit excited over stuffed toys too, because I never had those when I was a kid. Asthma.

So here I am, talking to my sister about what toy she should pick up. Maybe that "Dickensian" argument I mentioned earlier. We probably were in the middle of the small aisle or something. We were surrounded by kids, English-speaking ones, accompanied by their nannies or their parents, understandably excited over whatever they're seeing, and silently wishing (or not) that they get that exact toy for Christmas.

Then comes this boy, probably eleven, a little fat, barging in, swiping me with one arm - I would say "pushing me with one arm" to be clearer, but that isn't accurate - and going, "excuse meeeee!" He swiftly walks away, that self-entitled brat.

Kids nowadays. They become devils when confronted by the toy store. Gone are the times when we'd see toy advertisements on Just for Kids on ABS-CBN and make a mental note to look for it in the toy store, silently. (Does anyone remember that show? Saturday mornings with that lady whose name slips me at the moment? That lady who's probably based in Forbes Park? Do I even have that show's name right?) Now, they'd see the same ads on Cartoon Network and push their parents to the toy store, pronto. So much for being nice for Santa all year.

Or maybe, like in most instances, I wasn't like most kids. Or maybe I am like them. Oh, I don't want that thought.

For anybody who lives in what I'd like to call "further south" - you know, folks like me - Daang Hari is a bit of a godsend. It used to be that, to get to the Alabang area, we had to drive westward to the other side of Bacoor, then northward through Las Piñas, then eastward towards your destination. Now we just turn left and go straight.

In the early days a significant chunk of the road was just two lanes wide - more an issue of land rights, if anything. You'd go past Ayala Southvale (or, in our case, get out of it), drive a quarter of a kilometer, and then see the four-lane road, complete with center island, shrink to a two-lane side road sitting beside the perimeter fence of Ayala Alabang. It would go for a kilometer or so before opening up again. Just a little quirk.

In recent years - maybe five years back, I can't recall - the road was expanded. You used to go straight to the two-lane part; now you turn slightly to the left and it remains a four-lane road, at least until the very end, when you return to the two-lane part. (I know, it sounds confusing, but there is no good way of describing this in words alone. Call me ridiculous, but I'm getting to something here.) Anyway, the two-lane part, now just a quarter of a kilometer long, stayed because there is a house at the point where the road expands. Again, I assume it's more an issue of land right. Who'd want their house be replaced by a road anyway?

This setup proved to be a pain in the ass, especially recently. Every morning there's be a big traffic jam at the point where the road shrinks back to two lanes - and while it's always been an issue, it's gotten worse now that you have to turn slightly to the right rather than just veer in that direction. Add to that the usual inconsiderate drivers and the fact that the two-lane part, made of asphalt, gets crinkly after a bad downpour, and you have hell for the impatient.

Thankfully that problem's going to end soon, it seems. The road is being widened again, and this time, the last two-lane part is going to get two extra lanes. The house at the bottleneck has given way. I felt a little bad about it.

That meant a slightly more confusing set-up traffic-wise, at least while the roadworks are on. I'm seeing extra traffic enforcers (and ones that are actually doing something) in the usual choke points, complete with glow sticks. Construction, after all, is going on all day and night. But it is still a choke point, especially during the rush hour - you'd be stuck there for a good twenty minutes. So, tonight, they did something unusual; they opened the old two-lane road, the one we all used to go to, the one beside the Ayala Alabang walls.

It's been closed for years. Too much grass on one side, and even some old flood water (is there such a thing?) in the middle. No lights, since they moved them to the new four-lane road. All vehicles headed north were sent there; we all ended up occupying just one lane because of all the obstacles.

Yep, I was one of the drivers. I was going to pick up my brother from school, since my parents had too many Christmas parties to attend. I knew something was up when, at six in the evening, I was stuck in traffic where I wasn't supposed to be: the intersection between Daang Hari and Ayala Southvale Drive. And I was there for twenty minutes. That usually happens a kilometer ahead from where I am.

I had my iPod with me. I decided to plug it into the car. And I started singing.

You know that feeling? You're driving in an empty road, you have the radio up, a good song comes on, and you start singing along to it? And then you imagine yourself doing just that while in a television commercial, with multiply dramatic camera angles? Only I was stuck in traffic, and there was nothing dramatic about it.

But my iPod remained on, and it was almost an hour later when I had my empty road. Also at the Daang Hari, only on the opposite direction, as empty as the other side was jampacked. I wasn't singing anymore, though, since my brother was there and I know I'd look stupid and maybe get some "what the hell?" looks. But you can't stop it. You're driving. You're the driver. You own the car at the moment. Thankfully, there is a difference between mouthing the lyrics to the song, and singing without a sound.

The Stereophonics' Dakota came on, and as I sang silently, or whatever it's called, I realized I was singing the hell out of it. Or whatever. I was feeling it. Really feeling it. More than usual. Driving on an empty road, spilling my heart out... you get the idea.

And there really was something worth spilling, I thought.

"Gusto mo bang ibili na kita ng polo?" my mom asked me a couple of days ago.

"Hindi, ako na," I replied.

She and my dad were headed to Greenhills to do some more Christmas shopping. I was supposed to go with them, planning to buy a laptop, but schedules moved around. Now, I could go with them just to experience Greenhills again - the only time I was there was when I was... I don't remember. But I was so young. And I felt so hot and bored.

I could've taken up on her offer, for her to pick a new top for me, but lately I wanted to be the one doing my own purchases. I want to be able to see things for myself before I commit my own money to it. That's why I didn't have my dad buy me a laptop in Singapore. That's why I took a while to buy myself a laptop in the first place. For a year, maybe two, I went around doing ocular inspections (heh, thesis) in many computer stores looking at the same things over and over.

Somehow the conversation shifted towards my personal style. My mom said she knows how I dress - not that it's a bad thing; she's just convincing me to trust her about the while I'll-buy-your-outfit thing. And then she'd define my style in a couple bullet points: my preference for earth tones, and my conservative perspective when it comes to today's trends. "Kung pumili ka sa uso eh 'yung pinaka-conservative," she said. I forgot what she said exactly, but her point was, I don't tend to choose stuff that screams cool, thus my outfits tend to look more in vogue longer.

Or, as I'd define it, I don't really follow trends.

Mostly because I think I'll never look good wearing whatever's in at the moment. Partly because I'm not really good with knowing what's in - this is going to ruin my chances of working in a magazine, but I'll admit to being, as Dee described once, "not street enough". Partly because I don't get the point of following trends. That's a sure way of making me spend more. Statement shirts become popular (like they did when I was in college), so I'd plunk all my money on buying ten such shirts. Soon enough, they're so five minutes ago.

It goes for everything, really. I'd like to think that I don't decide to try certain things out because everybody is latching on to it. Sure, I tried frozen yogurt, but I wasn't crazy for it like the back row did. ("Red Mango tayo, tara!" ad infinitum.) Suddenly that's gone out of fashion, and milk tea has. People go crazy over milk tea. People form long lines just to get milk tea. And here I am, going, "it's essentially Chowking's nai cha, so why buy elsewhere? And why are there no lines in Chowking, but there are lines in Gong Cha?"

"Kasi... Chowking," Eena answered.

"Stupid marketing people," I said. "I get what they do, but people are acting stupid over the same thing. I sound old."

"You sound... hmm. Jaded. Try it first?"

Today, I went top-hunting. The plan was to get something at the Gap, since I've always wanted to have one of their tops. I know, my dad told me that it's not the fancy brand people think it is - it's the American Bench, in his words - but I really just wanted to try it out. Also, I went window-shopping there once and I liked what I saw. And, at least, there's a chance I can wear those items, unlike when I went window-shopping at Topman.

Of course, the catch is, it's expensive. It's imported. And it's not made in China. (Funny seeing two mostly identical shirts made in two different countries.) I went as far as fitting myself - I'm a large, and their large isn't ridiculously small like Topman's - only to think twice, because I am close to spending two thousand bucks on a polo shirt. Just a polo shirt.

"Punta ka sa Bench o Penshoppe," my mom suggested.

Well duh, Niko. So I went to Penshoppe and found my way to the men's section, not-so-clearly marked by the photos of Ed Westwick decorating the racks. Most of the items were checkered.

Well, more of plaid, really. Ahh, this is going to confuse me again like it did the first time. You know, when I wrote a whole blog entry about Krizzie wearing a checkered shirt. Plaid? What exactly do you call it? See what I mean?

I've long decided that checkered shirts - plaid shirts, whatever - will never work on me. It's too busy. Too many things going on. Also, it screams "cool". Well, it screams "laid back" more, and I'm definitely not laid back. But it definitely screams "trend". You see young kids in malls wearing checkered shirts. You know, those young kids that watch movies with their circle of friends, before heading to the arcade to play the same old games. I saw a guy fitting one such checkered polo in front of a mirror, while a girl - I assume his girlfriend - dusted off his shoulders. I knew I had to go to Bench.

More of the same. And a long line to boot.

A few days ago Claud tweeted about building blocks she found at Muji, that upscale store along High Street. I replied my usual "oooh" reply, partly because I was trying to make conversation, but mostly because I just came from Muji a few weeks ago - did some Christmas shopping there - and was amazed by the whole thing. It's an upscale store. The newspapers blabbed on about it. It's Japanese, it's supposed to be posh, and it's supposed to be expensive - but I went there and I saw some polo shirts and they're quite affordable. I mean almost half as cheaper as the polo shirt I was thinking of buying at the Gap.

"They're also selling Matryoshka dolls and a bunch of bowling pin-like sumo wrestlers. All cute. All expensive."

"And all destined to be desk displays. Now I've thought of it, Muji is so for the Monocle crowd."

Claud and I haven't talked that much when we were both still in La Salle, but we've talked a bit (online) after graduation. I know she's the designer type. We had conversations about fonts. I'm not uncomfortable because I'm a (bit of a) (really) frustrated graphic designer. We talked about how a local magazine's trying so badly to be a Monocle rip-off - you know Monocle, that magazine from Tyler Brulé with five different paper stocks and all these stories about interesting people and interesting things... if it fits their vision of a wonderful world.

I bought it twice (it's ridiculously expensive) hoping to read interesting stuff, but half the magazine feels snobbish. Or maybe that's not the better word. There's definitely an air of "oh, if only we went back to the basics" in everything they write. All this talk about handmade furniture and artisan markets and drama on the radio. A sneering attitude of sorts over worldwide chains. Definitely a sneering attitude towards countries that aren't in Europe, or isn't Japan, or isn't vaguely rich. I don't know. "All dishes prepared by the club use fruit and vegetables from the gardens dotted around the property," says one feature about the perfect "urban club". You go, "that sounds good," and then you go, "I don't think anybody can do that at the moment."

Anyway, my point is, the "Monocle crowd" - the people who are surrounded by luxury, the people who have the money to get what they want, or the "hipster crowd", as Jeany and I were forced to call them - they tend to want things simpler. Bikes. Art galleries. Coffees. The magazine is a strong believer in print, and recently, radio. (Yes, I've been listening. I need good stories. And then I make those faces again.) But to propagate that message, they have to charge more. Same for the Gap and its lack of screaming checkered tops. Same for Muji. Well, they're not that expensive, but it's posh because it's Japanese and it's got only one branch in Manila and it prides itself in being more about function than form.

"Which is mostly a good thing, I guess," Claud said. Back to the conversation, yes. "Unless you're not a fan of the elite?"

"I bought a Christmas gift there, so I'm not complaining," I answered. "The Monocle types can get it right, but they can be so decadent, though."

"Very much. Also a part of the charm, I guess. Not being that, they wouldn't seem so appealing, methinks." And then she shows me this die that decides for you - this won't be a good explanation - what good little gesture you'll do today. A wooden die that costs a lot.

"But Muji has the balance," I said. "I even thought of buying something there myself - no mean feat for a place I randomly entered."

"Yep, the balance: high cost for all that simplicity."

Which brings me back to the Gap. I was eyeing this striped collared shirt. It doesn't scream striped; more of small lines, really. Would've gone for white and black, but it hurt my eyes when I stared at it. (I stared at it so I know if it looks good on me.) After going through all the checkered outfits at Penshoppe and Bench, and later, Esprit, I went back to the Gap to buy my second option: a similar shirt, only in green and something that looks like green, but not green, and not blue. Two thousand bucks down.

When I wore it an hour ago, I felt good about it. It does look good on me. It doesn't scream. And on top of that, my mom thinks I made a good pick. Earth tones, just as she outlined.