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Nai-tae rin ang taeng kailangang i-tae.

Apologies for the crude analogy… but you get the point, right? =)

I speak of last night’s Bazookang Buntis gig.

Pehaps a better analogy would be the birthing process.

We — Bo Razon, Dave Harder and I — gave birth to a child last night.

Musika.

Energy collected.

Pooled.

Was released.

Beauty.

Andon.

Mismo.

Ganduuuhhh.

Shine nuuuhhh.

Mwah sa daigdig.

Nawa’y mamayani ang diwa ng Musika.

Ang diwa ng musika ay siyang diwa din ng pag-ibig… na siya ri’y diwa ng daigdig.

Diwa ng Diyos. Diwa ng Bathala.

Nawa’y mamulat ang lahat.

Nagmamahal,

Lulu Aya

c",)

… is an illusion.

It doesn’t slake one’s thirst.

Unless used to illuminate Life.

c",)

Now part of it can be told.

Around this time a year ago, I was in hell.

Yes, dear reader, I too succumbed to the call senner lure.

Every time I see a bunch of otherwise normal-looking people hanging out in front of some building past midnight I think to myself, "Ah, yes… call senner people. Been there, done that, have the t-shirt."

I was once a communications trainer at a fairly reputable call senner somewhere along Ortigas Center’s Emerald Avenue.

Imagine it… I used to train "behaviours". I trained people to say call senner.  I also taught ‘em to say "dude" rather than "pare", "tsong", "tol", "brad" or "sis".

It made my skin crawl.

Tagalog was forbidden within the building.

Lemme say that again…

Tagalog was forbidden within the fucking building.

(sometimes, nothing but profanity will do)

Tagalog was forbidden within a building on Philippine soil, peopled by Filipino employees, with a Filipino country manager, a number of Filipino operations managers, Filipino trainers, Filipino HRD people, Filipino call senner agents.

Anger? Yes.

Allow me to work through it by sharing the absurdity of my call senner experience.

One of the straws that broke the camel’s back was this: at one point, my direct superior asked me, "What kind of relationship do we have with America? Is it an adversarial one?"

To which I sighed and replied, because I knew it was the answer he wanted to hear, "A non-adversarial one."

Well, friends… the truth is… this is my true opinion: When have we NOT had an adversarial relationship with America, The Land of The Free?

When have white folk not oppressed everyone else?

And they have the colossal effrontery to call the rest of the planet minorities?

Last I checked, non-Caucasians outnumbered Caucasians. Who’s the minority, whitey?

Seen graffiti’d on a wall somewhere in America:

Black is beautiful

Yellow is mellow

Brown takes the crown

and White…

just ain’t right

When you’re happy and you know it, bomb Iraq.

Stick your noses into Vietnam when it’s clearly none of your frickin’ business, why don’t you?

Get Native Americans drunk and steal their ancestral land. Sure, why not, whitey? If you’re enough of a dumb redneck hick to think you’ve circumnavigated the globe and landed somewhere in India, who can blame you for calling Native Americans "injuns"?

And you did much the same thing to people in The Philippines’ Mountain Province. Got ‘em drunk and stole their land.

Stole our bells somewhere in Mindanao too.

Sure, why not? We’re just a bunch of no-nothing savages, aren’t we?

Please explain something to me — why is it that I, a chinky-eyed Asian minority can spell better than you, write better than you, have a better command of your own language than you?

Ultimately, you and i are one, whitey.

But you have a lot to account for before the ultimate can happen.

And that, former call senner comrades-in-arms, is part of the reason why I resigned.

Please, take note… this is NOT a call to hatred. I profess hatred for no one. No race, no creed, no religion.

We all are one.

And I love you, Whitey. As I love everyone else.

But just as the Old Testament law came before that of the New Testament, justice comes before mercy.

No, no, no… I ain’t no terrorist. I abhor terrorism.

I reject violence.

I’m brown and proud of it.

We are the better man/woman. So I forgive you, Whitey. I forgive you. I love you.

We browns, you see, wear the crown.

Mwah.

c",)

… feel free to read.

But presume no closeness where there isn’t.

Allow me to expound.

Kung hindi tayo close, as in close, please lang po… ‘wag po kayong maging feeling close.

Mabait po akong tao. Madali po akong kausap. Kung kaibigan kita, tauspuso po akong mag-aalay ng kung anuman ang maitutulong ko.

But do NOT cling to me if i don’t want to be clung to.

‘Yang cling-clung na ‘yan, pang krung krung lang yan.

And please, please, please…

If your name is neither Reeni Aragon nor Aya Yuson, you do NOT have the right to use "stupad".

"Stupad" is sacred ground. One earns the right to use the term.

‘Yun lang po.

Bow.

c",)

… Maria Marinella.

Happy anniversary, Maria Marinella.

Twas August 16, 1987 when she and I got together. We were both in our sophomore year (high school), she in St. Scho Manila, me in Ateneo de Manila.

If we had stayed together, we’d be celebrating our 19th year together.

Nine is a number of great power. It’s the highest one can reach before one cycles back to zero.

It’s also a magic number — each multiple of nine adds up to nine. For example, 18 is a multiple of nine. 1+8 = 9. 27 is also a multiple of 9. 2+7=9.

Getching everloolacious?

Good.

Now on to the number 16.

Here’s my theory. 16 is 4 squared. 4 x 4 = 16.

In Japan, four is shi. Shi is also a word that means/pertains to death.

I take this happy numerological happenstance to mean this: today is death squared to the 9th degree.

Now what that means in real life, I have yet to figure out.

All I can offer is empirical observation.

Almost two decades ago, strange things would always happen in my life on August 16.

This went on for a number of years. Four, maybe five, six years. Something like that.

I at first thought of the 16th of August as an august occasion, as befits an anniversary with a Cono Capricorn. Then, when stranger and stranger things kept happening on August 16 of each year, I began having my doubts.

As today has been proving to be a rather strange one — history repeats itself — I hasten to process my feelings, lest I miss the lesson this go-round.

Shi = death. Shi = 4. Four = death. (Commutative property of equality)

Death need not be literal. Death also refers to death of ego, death of self.

"self" dies to meet Self.

And presto, change-o, you’re enlightened.

All I need now (aside from a can-opener), is awareness maintenence.

Allow me to clarify.

Awareness is all.

Make sure each present moment is good and one is forever in a state of grace.

Forever is merely a string of present moments.

self dies.

Self is aware.

Maria Marinella is both more and less than Maria Marinella. She is both an old high school girlfriend and an archetype.

Dulcinea to my Don Quixote.

Yes.

birth is thus

death is thus

poem or no poem

what’s the fuss?

Happy anniversary, Maria Marinella.

Happy anniversary, August 16.

Hello, death. Hello, Self.

(this would be so much more biblical if the desert had internet cafes, but what the hey… my hairdo’s more zen monk than nazarene anyway.)

Death doesn’t exist. Life is forever.

Love is the absence of fear.

Fear none.

Love all.

c",)

Captain’s Log:

So… let’s take stock.

Played at Sitti’s concert on August 11. That was last Friday. Cool gig. Pay was ok. Just an honorarium-type thing but at least i got to do my thang. Knowhutahmsayin’?

Twas funny… i was playing as they opened the doors to Music Museum’s hall. Curtain opener, i call it. Front act, sa madaling sabi. =)

After playing an hour-long set of solo guitar, fly na ang lolo niyo sa Chakik’s, where your grandfather played two sets with Skarlet and Simon Tan.

[hmmm... mental note: "lolo niyo" does not translate well to English =p ]

The cab ride from Music Museum to Chakik’s took forever, though. Greenhills to Ortigas Center should only take around 15 to twenty minutes. But as it was a rainy friday, traffic was hellish.

Blame it on the rain, Milli Vanilli and the public utility vehicles that hoard space along Ortigas.

So anyway…

Played two sets with Skarlet and Simon.

Couldn’t quite find The Sacred Samting that night. Could see it just around the corner but couldn’t quite meld. Oh, well.

I suppose that’s a good thing, in its way. If I were to meld fully with Sacred Samting… I’d be dead! =)

Then…

The following monday, August 14, I played a Bazookang Buntis gig at Diamond Hotel with Dave Harder and Bo Razon.

Again, I could see the Sacred Samting just around the corner but couldn’t quite meld.

But the gig was still fun, as always. =)

Played well. But it wasn’t quite magical on my end.

Loved Dave’s playing that night, though. Siya yung dinapuan ng Sacred Samting. Dave was dripping with Sacred Samting that night.

Ganduuuhhh. Shine nuuuhhh. =p

So anyway…

Also played last night, tuesday, August 15, at Stonehouse. (That’s along E. Rodriguez Avenue.)

Chai sang. Dave played upright bass. Some bald guy played guitar. Can’t recall his name offhand but i think it was Bogart something-or-other. =p

I again couldn’t quite get it.

Di ko natumbok ang masarap tumbukin. Tinukso lang ang tumbong ko. Pero hindi siya nadilaan.

Shameless metaphor mix… taeng-tae na ang lolo, ngunit sumilip lang ang tae’t hindi nai-tae.

Mala ganon. Kung hip kang nagbabasa ka, getching mo na yan everloo.

Anyway….

The sad thing is threefold.

Una: Hindi nadilaan ang tumbong ko.

O, yung mga bastos at literal mag-isip diyan, hindi sekswal ang tinutukoy ng lolo. Metaphor yan. Hindi nadilaan ang tumbong musikal.

Getching na ever?

Good. =)

Pangalawa: Maliit ang kita.

Gaya nga ng sabi ko kay Inang Skarlet sa telepono kanina, "Tsong, sa edad natin, siguro naman alam na nating hindi naman talaga abilidad, musicianship o artistry ang basehan sa bansang ‘to, eh… o saan pa man."

That’s not how the money game is played — here or anywhere else.

The essence of business is making a profit. The essence of music is sharing the bounty.

Making pera is ibang game na, Inaki. Yuck. =p

(And Kris Aquino enters on stage left, says, "Khew-rheck.")

Anyway, as I was saying…

Pangatlo: This is what saddens me most. Tauspuso kaming nag-aalay ng musika’t pag-ibig ngunit iilan lang ang tauspusong tumatanggap.

Hindi ako nalulungkot para sa amin o para sa sarili ko.

Nalulungkot ako para sa mga taong hindi nakinig, mga taong wala don, mga taong hindi handa tumanaw.

Sayang.

Bo Razon is taking a month-long trip to Europe in September. Someone else will be subbing for him at Diamond Hotel.

Dear reader, please… catch the Bo Razon-Dave Harder-Aya Yuson chemistry while you still can. Our synergy is quite beautiful, even if i do say so myself.

We have fun playing whether you’re there or not. But if you were there with us, we’d all have fun together.

Ganduuhhh. Shine nuuuhhh. =)

There’s a lesson to be learned here somewhere.

But each of us has his/her own lesson to glean. So to say any more would be stupad.

c",)

Ever notice how when you’ve got money to burn and are in a huge rush, you can never get a cab?

Then conversely, when you don’t have money and have all the time in the world… cabs’ll stop right in front of you without your having to flag ‘em down.

That’s the Taxi Principle.

Nothing sought is ever gained.

Desire is the root of all suffering.

As Yoda once put it…

I sense fear in you. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to… suffering.

Sa madaling salita, young padawan, steady ka lang.

c",)

Someone just sent me a text message, asking me to elaborate on the floating one.

Hmmm…

Let’s put it this way…

A beat is a circle.

When you’re new to the game, the circle seems small.

As you grow in the game, the circle enlarges. You learn to play in the circle.

Sometimes you stay at the front edge of the circle. This is known as "being on top".

Sometimes you play on the back edge of the circle. This is known as "laying back".

Sometimes you stay in the center. This is known as "juicy fruit gum".

No, just kidding. It’s not known as "juicy fruit gum". It’s not known as anything but being in the center of the beat.

Ok, with me so far?

Good.

Now as you grow further, you learn that hiding the most important beat — the downbeat, the one — can be great fun.

This is especially true when playing with those of similar bent, of like minds.

The circle becomes elastic. Like taffy.

Or Juicy Fruit Gum.

You chew it, you blow bubbles with it. You have great fun with it. It enriches your life with its tangy sweetness. It’s fun.

It loses it’s flavor…

You throw it away.

It sticks to your shoe.

You thought you’d lost it, the Juicy Fruit Gum… but it was with you all along. Stuck to your shoe.

And that is what is meant by, "nothing sought is ever gained… nothing is lost" chuvah-ness.

Understood?

I hope so.

c",)

The Floating One.

A new/old concept, that.

Where the one, the downbeat, is hidden… fudged, obfuscated, veiled… sometimes lost. Then, ultimately, found.

Nothing is lost.

All is one, one is all.

Form is emptiness and emptiness, form.

Understand one art, understand all.

The Gate opens.

And a dowggie glimpses home.

c",)

Yes, as you, dear reader, may surmise, I’ve just come from the second Bazookang Buntis gig.

Still on that Bazookang Buntis high.

Tired but wired.

Glimpsing Self does that.

"Self" is capitalized here because the "G" in "God" is capitalized.

To glimpse Self is to touch godhood.

The collective unconscious, as Carl Jung calls it.

The Sacred Samting, as I fondly refer to it.

God, Allah, the Tao…

All is one, one is all.

The one is not.

The one is.

The One floats.

Nothing sought is ever gained.

No need to seek.

The One is always here.

Love is the absence of fear. Never fear. Love is here.

Fear none. Love all.

Bow.

c",)

Why do people persist in calling me "Sir Aya"?

I realize it’s a sign of respect, esteem and all that but….

Lateral, my friends. Not vertical.

Equality for all.

We are all masters.

Some remember. Some would rather forget.

c",)