tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8420862753585929972024-03-12T18:07:16.693-07:00the space in betweenA blog about the struggle to live life with dignity and meaning.m35bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00036763560440708794noreply@blogger.comBlogger735125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-842086275358592997.post-40677337958510452212024-02-20T21:06:00.000-08:002024-02-21T02:24:18.899-08:00perpetual patience<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqCJG_nN7H3ejtycskKLOI6135K33LIfyhJTstYjvp8qW8ImikophbvPIKRpx57q9padMgV9rv_TBaOGWeEQ3V3WqyOAgFRUvxi0AlJKEGL5wMyZt4-hOUawmAX-j4Rg59J0F_K8DeYasvRsbYgHpNY_8KJk5cbsvy61cMEmD0s_ZG4ZgFF9ejcKICG30/s1200/intramuros_walls-56a40cac3df78cf772809213.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqCJG_nN7H3ejtycskKLOI6135K33LIfyhJTstYjvp8qW8ImikophbvPIKRpx57q9padMgV9rv_TBaOGWeEQ3V3WqyOAgFRUvxi0AlJKEGL5wMyZt4-hOUawmAX-j4Rg59J0F_K8DeYasvRsbYgHpNY_8KJk5cbsvy61cMEmD0s_ZG4ZgFF9ejcKICG30/s320/intramuros_walls-56a40cac3df78cf772809213.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /> Waiting…<p></p><p>to reclaim fire that was extinguished </p><p>to climb walls and watch the sunset</p><p>to take long walks inside the campus</p><p>to jump fences and locked gates</p><p>to hold banners and chant protest</p><p>to roll the dice at snakes and ladders</p><p>to see those piercing eyes </p><p>and your disarming smile</p><p>to embrace as we bid farewell</p><p>knowing that tomorrow holds promise</p><p>Longing…</p><p>to share an umbrella in the rain</p><p>to stroll empty museum isles</p><p>to have ice cream, noodles and cocktails</p><p>to be embraced in the cinema</p><p>to fall on a roller skate</p><p>to drink tea on coffeeshops</p><p>to get lost in old manila</p><p>hoping that the winding road </p><p>will lead me to you</p><p>Waiting and longing…</p><p>…Longing in silence</p><p>….Silently waiting</p>Chuck Baclagonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453853046034450720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-842086275358592997.post-46705614200400726472023-12-24T22:01:00.000-08:002024-02-20T21:03:39.246-08:00to the beautiful soul that everyone passes on<p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 18.2px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 18.25px;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDrnp-4k8B2OV5MOERTaCimPU6k3zCmZPFAZgtsCj38AvOKLwHmME8eZHRTZHWcjUNFNAkum-7N76LELylW-urdMF3NwwAyYRdIW_DFAjIj1O0kUbK7a00qGTlMJHf3rXHFudK34WHdeEvGTD-4YcA8ug-dlosISJHu85fadEjtsU2OfmdWvy-2SohAZ0/s4032/IMG_3969.jpeg" style="clear: left; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDrnp-4k8B2OV5MOERTaCimPU6k3zCmZPFAZgtsCj38AvOKLwHmME8eZHRTZHWcjUNFNAkum-7N76LELylW-urdMF3NwwAyYRdIW_DFAjIj1O0kUbK7a00qGTlMJHf3rXHFudK34WHdeEvGTD-4YcA8ug-dlosISJHu85fadEjtsU2OfmdWvy-2SohAZ0/s320/IMG_3969.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table>on the brink of tears</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 18.2px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 18.25px;">after a string of bad decisions</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 18.2px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 18.25px;">in a dance of vice, substance</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 18.2px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 18.25px;">and years of indecision </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 18.2px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 18.25px;">unspoken words, silent refrain, </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 18.2px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 18.25px;">hearts bespoke</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 18.2px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 18.25px;">is the chill of this occassion</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 18.2px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 18.25px;">that i drown in intoxication</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 18.2px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 18.25px;">feeling empty and in misery</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 18.2px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 18.25px;">not wanting pity nor empathy</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 18.2px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 18.25px;">all I have are the smiles of the dead and the dying</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 18.2px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 18.25px;">to comfort this aching heart</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 18.2px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 18.25px;">in this season of jubilation<br /><br /></span></p>Chuck Baclagonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453853046034450720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-842086275358592997.post-42273542622161092302022-05-11T08:18:00.005-07:002022-05-11T20:51:28.032-07:00gaslight anthem<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidcNQbhXzCdgxjh-HUWcKU9DNcHN64yga7T9TWY7DL8dH0PJMYuO3nZVgDhnBtRXKY8m_x9nJixMVL7qEIwH57r0vo7iAyYwYHXsHFrCaBi01QrbkH46uiPlAGW6ZHI1l7aXwZVtnayw677I8sMr0ewIwD_ay4YBA6-VT39Mf0_FByu0chrQKlhtgM/s512/fa4puXDgROWtsrr76IN4_power(1).png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidcNQbhXzCdgxjh-HUWcKU9DNcHN64yga7T9TWY7DL8dH0PJMYuO3nZVgDhnBtRXKY8m_x9nJixMVL7qEIwH57r0vo7iAyYwYHXsHFrCaBi01QrbkH46uiPlAGW6ZHI1l7aXwZVtnayw677I8sMr0ewIwD_ay4YBA6-VT39Mf0_FByu0chrQKlhtgM/s320/fa4puXDgROWtsrr76IN4_power(1).png" width="320" /></a></div><br />Personally I take offense on those so-called radicals who use this 'defeat' as an opportunity to gloat and gaslight the many who chose to cast their lots on the pink movement and the Leni-Kiko campaign. <p></p><p>I take offense that their drive to push their 'radical' agendas they peddled the same populist language that was used in the disinformation campaign of the Marcos-Duterte tandem.</p><p>I take offense for intentionally leaving out the reality of massive disinformation and electoral fraud as important variables in the final outcome of the polls.</p><p>I take offense at their gull to speak for the 'masses' for romanticizing them as a revolutionary force but hesitate in demanding responsibility from the masses for their choice to elect oppressors.</p><p>I take offense in how they attacked their supposed allies more than the Marcos and Duterte tandem.</p><p>I take offense that in their pursuance of ideological articulation of change they willingly provided an opening for the rise of fascism and an extension of populist rule in the Philippines.</p><p>I take offense that when the shit of this new regime hits the fan, it is not them who will certainly experience the violence of the state.</p><p>To those who chose cynicism because it seemed cooler. </p><p>To those who are saying: "I told you so". </p><p>To those who say: "that's just the way thing are". </p><p>To those sayin: "move on."</p><p>Fuck you.</p>Chuck Baclagonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453853046034450720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-842086275358592997.post-22523073471653465422022-05-10T11:11:00.009-07:002022-05-13T08:55:58.264-07:00walking wounded<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIwbmHuISrGj0pgNNMWO1WldODhjbQJGuEgT_qbNsAra8Hk6iBOre8plYq5eqfP48OFmidx30vsN0jOSbC0QnMfI2KOtKY4A6zCma_l7Qzdlta2oxHizpyuAMOdijJTHTyDWvIaU-zwchByxCNBsF6agCaw3mHKbrP5BD1E56FYYyRLS0cgpVXsjML/s247/images.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="204" data-original-width="247" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIwbmHuISrGj0pgNNMWO1WldODhjbQJGuEgT_qbNsAra8Hk6iBOre8plYq5eqfP48OFmidx30vsN0jOSbC0QnMfI2KOtKY4A6zCma_l7Qzdlta2oxHizpyuAMOdijJTHTyDWvIaU-zwchByxCNBsF6agCaw3mHKbrP5BD1E56FYYyRLS0cgpVXsjML/s1600/images.jpeg" width="247" /></a></div> It's very hard to see beyond the horizon. <p></p><p>The prospects are so uncertain </p><p>We cannot feel anything but anxiety.</p><p>Many rose to the test</p><p></p><br />And for the first time their lives have <p></p><p>Cast their lot on hope itself.</p><p>But it seemed that in spite of everything</p><p>Still fell short of victory </p><p>Against the monsters that lay siege.</p><p>We are walking wounded but not fallen.</p><p>Tired but not lifeless.</p><p>Today we limp </p><p>Knowing that in time we will heal</p><p>And with enough perseverance</p><p>We can emerge strong and organized</p><p>And able to seize the day.</p>Chuck Baclagonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453853046034450720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-842086275358592997.post-91902046823623801882022-05-10T11:05:00.004-07:002022-05-10T11:05:23.503-07:00jusko<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWbojjBmuGMW4uPJtgHUv9kQDvdR9EoAaGvUaNvG3HNg0iHR0IdkUlgY8KYKHWFUMRPcU5ZgfcUq2Uf1OWgg1vPWvW8aS2cMseWmepJasmg6wpfDN5OqI2wMjvtXprj9YVKCEh-qMk-UURalGlavjxDFYWrCxDlm2k3lMHqfJ0OJrn1vBKu5yQICPC/s260/cartoon-interracial-friendship-solidarity-peoples-260nw-1810127806%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="260" data-original-width="248" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWbojjBmuGMW4uPJtgHUv9kQDvdR9EoAaGvUaNvG3HNg0iHR0IdkUlgY8KYKHWFUMRPcU5ZgfcUq2Uf1OWgg1vPWvW8aS2cMseWmepJasmg6wpfDN5OqI2wMjvtXprj9YVKCEh-qMk-UURalGlavjxDFYWrCxDlm2k3lMHqfJ0OJrn1vBKu5yQICPC/s1600/cartoon-interracial-friendship-solidarity-peoples-260nw-1810127806%20copy.jpg" width="248" /></a></div><br />kung wala man diyos/mga diyos. meron parin naman tayong isa't-isa mas mabuti pang umasa sa kapwa kesa sa mga poong kailangan pa ng pananampalataya natin para lang tumugon sa ating mga pangangailangan.<p></p><div><br /></div>Chuck Baclagonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453853046034450720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-842086275358592997.post-60218915313393221192022-01-10T05:59:00.003-08:002022-01-10T05:59:36.561-08:00why bother?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhExBJzK9MQmI3RXTGIej1vL3Fm_t5c5MHZNBWyCLVEwdgcqatI94042MqNPsz0TKo8QCGoDE-ee5UwKV5v_i9Q5g3i7lg7eIe6osFWYXFVlKp8SAQYR02wlTy2IZQqPW0XhW8wJlS6c_QZ0wfzhwdTgoBlhT47jraX3AFyoew6sekWvSaB_Vt9a5-k=s184" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="164" data-original-width="184" height="164" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhExBJzK9MQmI3RXTGIej1vL3Fm_t5c5MHZNBWyCLVEwdgcqatI94042MqNPsz0TKo8QCGoDE-ee5UwKV5v_i9Q5g3i7lg7eIe6osFWYXFVlKp8SAQYR02wlTy2IZQqPW0XhW8wJlS6c_QZ0wfzhwdTgoBlhT47jraX3AFyoew6sekWvSaB_Vt9a5-k" width="184" /></a></div><br />why do we even bother to pray?<p></p><p>so far my experience has been terrible with prayer.</p><p>mere seconds of praying i get the opposite response.</p><p>the thing just got worse.</p><p>worse for the person i am praying for.</p><p>worse for me.</p><p>and then when i reflect and try to count my blessing.</p><p>i realize the multitude that are worse off than me</p><p>who i believe likewise prayed.</p><p>again i ask: why do we even bother?</p>Chuck Baclagonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453853046034450720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-842086275358592997.post-80203805000009505592022-01-09T10:53:00.006-08:002022-01-10T00:13:31.821-08:00Purgatory<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6qitJvIBPyJZcXpCUM8oRITmWD5YFjWUsa6xYAsgRSmC7tnYqrT1JeCIiaiHlwQItj24CN1JXu5ctsFb1URhOY-q6NlNTBFxfgpS1iHUUI23ZvjfIciyAOqSF2eHSe9NHqWztAtEusaOOkZblfi_5u5Ty5XcSvexrUt2Jg3QJX0LQiYrvZQEHISy9=s707" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="434" data-original-width="707" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6qitJvIBPyJZcXpCUM8oRITmWD5YFjWUsa6xYAsgRSmC7tnYqrT1JeCIiaiHlwQItj24CN1JXu5ctsFb1URhOY-q6NlNTBFxfgpS1iHUUI23ZvjfIciyAOqSF2eHSe9NHqWztAtEusaOOkZblfi_5u5Ty5XcSvexrUt2Jg3QJX0LQiYrvZQEHISy9=s320" width="320" /></a></div><p>There was a time when i started adjusting my entire personal time to bathe, take a shit, groom and take care of myself in general to the hours beyond midnight.</p><p>Now it just sucks that even that time is being taken away from me.</p><p>For how long will this last I sadly do not know.</p>Chuck Baclagonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453853046034450720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-842086275358592997.post-13300914602296026992022-01-03T08:55:00.003-08:002022-01-03T08:55:28.996-08:00Big. Empty. Nothing<p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhBNudb0iSN_4zkpVLCcrqDzd3EVXpoKAHtVwtfD2mfogEsQJtN1MjzybW64hS3Wd-BT6CtMWKJW9GMiHap2LxJrLLnbKQzJ6D-qMa_CR0ftHp4TD2RQVs-LBPhAFWXjwWG-sN8PinTNOy2oRKhTKo2XKiammFR2P0lMZewpwcUJ1yBc3IFp5Wt8qae=s320" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="320" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhBNudb0iSN_4zkpVLCcrqDzd3EVXpoKAHtVwtfD2mfogEsQJtN1MjzybW64hS3Wd-BT6CtMWKJW9GMiHap2LxJrLLnbKQzJ6D-qMa_CR0ftHp4TD2RQVs-LBPhAFWXjwWG-sN8PinTNOy2oRKhTKo2XKiammFR2P0lMZewpwcUJ1yBc3IFp5Wt8qae" width="320" /></a></div>Understanding our mortality is reckoning with the fact that time will come when all that we hold dear would amount to an empty nothingness at life’s end.<p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-1b84af41-7fff-4267-df6e-8f248db1305c"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For the past 5 years, I have been gradually immersed in this empty nothingness at home.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And now we start another year again in the shadow of this big empty nothingness.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We are only on our third day of 2022 and it’s beginning to feel like prospects are no better than the previous year.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am tired and lonely staring, living and breathing the air within this big empty nothingness.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Each passing day is a difficult act of waking up to a new day with nothing to look forward to.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don’t know how long I can last.</span></p></span>Chuck Baclagonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453853046034450720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-842086275358592997.post-1527864855818649972021-12-24T08:26:00.011-08:002021-12-24T08:36:34.811-08:00cast down the mighty. lift up the lowly.<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjC_lW_LZT1YOIEblb9HXEXpCJkijMaNf0djFM1lyjRPMN2Jus9Kjp5xSbUSPTiN76YEwjRn1D788_lKutz-c-eGb7UHN00WG0updgkZtHZD_uH1LgClCPqhiS0nKsWUq4zHmMsw60ibjZ_jg0DyAItpyFTin-RjB9gxGVRseS5usDI4CZIciKdtx99=s1260" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1260" data-original-width="916" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjC_lW_LZT1YOIEblb9HXEXpCJkijMaNf0djFM1lyjRPMN2Jus9Kjp5xSbUSPTiN76YEwjRn1D788_lKutz-c-eGb7UHN00WG0updgkZtHZD_uH1LgClCPqhiS0nKsWUq4zHmMsw60ibjZ_jg0DyAItpyFTin-RjB9gxGVRseS5usDI4CZIciKdtx99=s320" width="233" /></a></div><br />More than a decade ago I entered the seminary and then dropped out. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've forgotten most of the things I learned there but this one still stands out:</div><div><br /></div><div>Theology is not only the study of the Bible and dogma ---<i>rather</i> it is the discipline whose goal is the formation of the self in order to live the whole of life consistent with the reality of God (or following the way of Jesus Christ)</div><div><br /></div><div>A good sign of theological maturity is when one increases in their empathy when they begin to understand the key aspects of life especially in science, art and the work of social change, where human activity is most distinct.</div><div><br /></div><div>At a time when doctrinal precision fails the litmus test of ethics. Discernment teaches us that we need not look far. The Nativity story vividly illustrates that the Divine allies itself with the desperate, dispossessed and the downtrodden.</div><div><br /></div><div>A life that is consistent with the reality of the divine allies itself with the struggle of the oppressed, the marginalized and the vulnerable.</div><div><br /></div><div>The words of Mary in the Magnificat is an invitation to rise up against the false order of the Empire, and a refusal to treat evil as an acceptable part of a larger harmonious vision.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Cast down the mighty. </i><i>Lift up the lowly. (Luke 1:52)</i></div>Chuck Baclagonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453853046034450720noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-842086275358592997.post-80330767597568740342021-12-17T03:58:00.001-08:002021-12-17T03:58:06.629-08:00on a lonely place this season<p> For the past few years, nothing has pained me more than the holidays.</p><p><br /></p><p>None more so than the Christmas, I guess there is something about the cold weather and the cloudy skies that contrasts to the superficial joy of the consuming frenzy that comes with the season.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhVmwxVJ2n_q70X7zX9T9ZNIb_UyK7gqKAB09aB0tigyJaP0ZVKIxzx4TqeyDwatoMaARZMqHxsrN6fBVh2ZJuI_3HZRfDEAsJqlxhJnat_rgrIJ5Q0rmysedWVszxyCbgINlNyfEiGQ3g2LtztjltMpFmqsbq1HArQ3WOydRfO54Wukm1yB1BT2wCL=s960" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhVmwxVJ2n_q70X7zX9T9ZNIb_UyK7gqKAB09aB0tigyJaP0ZVKIxzx4TqeyDwatoMaARZMqHxsrN6fBVh2ZJuI_3HZRfDEAsJqlxhJnat_rgrIJ5Q0rmysedWVszxyCbgINlNyfEiGQ3g2LtztjltMpFmqsbq1HArQ3WOydRfO54Wukm1yB1BT2wCL=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br />When I was younger I always loved Christmas, because it means no school, gifts and parties. <p></p><p>But as I grew older I can help but feel short-changed by the hype.</p><p>In the past couple of years, there's that added anxiety because Christmas means being alone in a houseful of people who have no idea that I am dying on the inside because of them.</p><p>The feeling of being trapped is more pronounced than on the regular days where I have my job as an escape.</p><p><br /></p><p>The shit we have to live with because of love.</p>Chuck Baclagonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453853046034450720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-842086275358592997.post-3367369654682048522021-11-21T00:13:00.009-08:002021-11-21T00:13:56.928-08:00No rest for the weary<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguREnxA6sfviE761fStua4KP_JLny4swpU2aQ-Jzg_20Avp5PPeZDnH3u4qpLO68_903GqTrKNHE6VTOJhckVfSt00lCcfBC2NtUuatESiEXP5y_LD8cS0iyTB4fJjePr_eQDcK2lbjaU/s540/unhappy.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="356" data-original-width="540" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguREnxA6sfviE761fStua4KP_JLny4swpU2aQ-Jzg_20Avp5PPeZDnH3u4qpLO68_903GqTrKNHE6VTOJhckVfSt00lCcfBC2NtUuatESiEXP5y_LD8cS0iyTB4fJjePr_eQDcK2lbjaU/s320/unhappy.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> Envy.<p></p><p>I have always thought that I am prone to this feeling. But these recent and ongoing years of unkindness have brought out the worst in me and then some.</p><p>There are no words to describe the pain of feeling left out at the sight of others' freedom while you stare at them from the confines of existential prisons made of love, kinship, and regret.</p><p><br /></p><p>Holidays. Weekends. Lockdowns. So on...</p><p>Wasted sunshine. Sleepless nights. A shit-scented house. And nowhere to go.</p>Chuck Baclagonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453853046034450720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-842086275358592997.post-57093006008322245832021-11-13T23:33:00.002-08:002021-11-13T23:33:25.609-08:00Woke<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv3AbllsVXyNomaXtcvK3XsqoaJAOE3jY9gNADiTkZpVGhLQpTzX9vjJeYXcizLLkN3DhXzoUHMweDABP47aPLhLYL5BtXUOP7ELb1Lkvyc_oLUilH4Q3s1xhyf_NfJSsvVldkSQtgeYg/s868/depression-5859313455e7e__700.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="868" data-original-width="700" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv3AbllsVXyNomaXtcvK3XsqoaJAOE3jY9gNADiTkZpVGhLQpTzX9vjJeYXcizLLkN3DhXzoUHMweDABP47aPLhLYL5BtXUOP7ELb1Lkvyc_oLUilH4Q3s1xhyf_NfJSsvVldkSQtgeYg/s320/depression-5859313455e7e__700.jpeg" width="258" /></a></div><br /> I have read somewhere that we should stop using the term 'brutally honest'.<p></p><p>As much as I would like to put an end to the usage of the term, I also feel that I can only be nothing but brutal in uttering words to articulate this indefinite limbo of pain.</p><p>I can't find myself to be anything but brutal. </p><p>It has been years and each time I wake up in the morning I open my eyes to this ever-increasing temptation to give up the ghost.</p><p>I wake up to be reminded that I have nothing to look forward to in my life.</p><p>I wake up to the loud noise of the television as it is watched by deaf ears.</p><p>I wake up to the thud of a body hitting the floor and the blood-soaked head and fractured bones where adrenalin kicks in to respond to emergencies.</p><p>I wake up to pressing deadlines at work and too tough decisions that need to be made.</p><p>I wake up to messages of scammers and swindlers.</p><p>I wake to count the days of how cruel the pandemic has been to people I know and love.</p><p>I wake up to the darkness of political realities where hope seems futile wishful thinking.</p><p>I wake up to realize that the years have passed and I am lonely.</p><p>I wake up lonely.</p><p>Daily.</p><p>Feeling cold and alone.</p><p>Alive but dying a painful death on the inside.</p>Chuck Baclagonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453853046034450720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-842086275358592997.post-80045073999209255872021-11-01T01:45:00.002-07:002021-11-01T01:45:13.759-07:00Long weekends<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqQOryINE9oCWC6idOfV6idy2BbcDUnwxPzEJPT8bx44SGkUsBI42WfZhPQTtgXhvA7H8EvhAtgdhW5vmA67qbXA63zui8T8FauCDKiauQdWKF-r1cDC5qonE6YtFKU8ytyuasfkk034I/s313/images+%25284%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="161" data-original-width="313" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqQOryINE9oCWC6idOfV6idy2BbcDUnwxPzEJPT8bx44SGkUsBI42WfZhPQTtgXhvA7H8EvhAtgdhW5vmA67qbXA63zui8T8FauCDKiauQdWKF-r1cDC5qonE6YtFKU8ytyuasfkk034I/s0/images+%25284%2529.jpeg" width="313" /></a></div><br />It's just one of those moments when the grip of home-induced anxiety kicks in.<p></p><p>We're on the eve of a long weekend.</p><p>In my case, the pandemic has not been kind to holidays and weekends.</p><p>It means long hours spent at home. </p><p>Longer hours of tension.</p><p>Longer hours of restraint.</p><p>Prolonged exposure to that weird space that lies between anger and pity.</p><div><br /></div>Chuck Baclagonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453853046034450720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-842086275358592997.post-23278528827942182372021-09-19T07:26:00.004-07:002021-09-19T07:53:34.456-07:00Divine Cruelty<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgefpOzL8jkF4ADsoSIRxw8LqtcmksfNj3DxtUL6Bn2b_lUDWzn3SvFKthEri40sysR2UFTOiE2qurd2kn7AbjbCEqQ3AZGh6mohA491pKmnqdjoiJUhSvHF8gP4hCbIrjouWf5YvaJ-Iw/s413/Screen+Shot+2021-09-19+at+10.22.13+PM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="366" data-original-width="413" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgefpOzL8jkF4ADsoSIRxw8LqtcmksfNj3DxtUL6Bn2b_lUDWzn3SvFKthEri40sysR2UFTOiE2qurd2kn7AbjbCEqQ3AZGh6mohA491pKmnqdjoiJUhSvHF8gP4hCbIrjouWf5YvaJ-Iw/s320/Screen+Shot+2021-09-19+at+10.22.13+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />A few hours before dawn she vomited and cried in pain.<p></p><p>In agony she prayed: confessing her sins, seeking forgiveness,</p><p>Expressing gratitude and supplicating for either relief or release.</p><p>In a tragic twist of faith</p><p>A few minutes after saying "amen,"</p><p>Spasms and chills accompany the high fever</p><p>As I lay down beside her I listened to her pray yet again</p><p>But I find it hard not to think that your timing was cruel</p><p>A few minutes after the petition was sealed with an amen</p><p>You sent down pain on her frail body</p><p>I find no meaning and purpose</p><p>Maybe it would've just been better if </p><p>We could have been resolved</p><p>With a universe of no meaning</p><p>No divine cosmology</p><p>And life's tragedy was just </p><p>The byproduct of oppressive systems</p><p>Borne of selfish human choices</p><p>And random coincidences</p><p>Amen</p>Chuck Baclagonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453853046034450720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-842086275358592997.post-64349596619558742442021-09-16T05:17:00.001-07:002021-09-16T05:17:31.386-07:00Happy 50th Greenpeace<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://web.archive.org/web/20051103152011/http://www.greenpeace.org/seasia/en/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="521" data-original-width="513" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBQ9ZUOrMDPBz8LTzCGJ1uLbbBGx8zdQ64VEnDH5aRK_LUg-Ywlm03wiGkcvs1J5V6QNFmUf7TDiIwYE0BgVtlLm15eK0l8KJ41lgVk_BNv0ckNj3hyCOitjhpgJ7maCfXBDSA-3O4SsQ/s320/242116921_10225066377104307_7370722194120781886_n.jpg" width="315" /></a></div><br />Sharing this <a href="https://web.archive.org/web/20051103152011/http://www.greenpeace.org/seasia/en/" target="_blank">screenshot of the Greenpeace Southeast Asia page from November 2005.</a> This was when I was doing digital campaign and editorial support for the Philippine leg of the<a href="https://web.archive.org/web/20060613193000/http://asiacleanenergy.org/" target="_blank"> Asia Clean Energy Tour </a>of the Rainbow Warrior 2 the Philippines. I got this from WayBackMachine it was apparently not archived under the new website, which I think is a shame because this was during a historical moment for the organization where an unfortunate accident was turned around because of the rapid response work that saw the organization owe up to its responsibility and bring word of it as soon as possible to the public in the days before social media.<p></p><p>My first year working for Greenpeace was life-changing as it coincided with the time that the organization was faced with the biggest organizational ecological flashpoint moments ranging from <a href="https://www.greenpeace.org/philippines/press/1126/greenpeace-statement-on-the-guimaras-oil-spill-incident/" target="_blank">oil</a> and <a href="https://www.greenpeace.to/publications/lafayette-mine-pollution.pdf" target="_blank">cyanide</a> spills; to <a href="https://www.philstar.com/nation/2005/11/27/308940/greenpeace-chr-investigate-assault" target="_blank">violent dispersals and arrests of our activists</a>; to having <a href="http://theguardian.com/environment/2005/nov/02/climatechange.climatechangeenvironment" target="_blank">our flagship run aground a UNESCO World Heritage site</a>.</p><p>Over the years the organization has changed from the one that I joined, but such is the case in all things.</p><p>In spite of that, I'm happy that they are still around and fighting the good fight. Happy 50th Greenpeace.</p>Chuck Baclagonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453853046034450720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-842086275358592997.post-41219279934718517472021-09-11T11:45:00.005-07:002021-09-12T04:21:56.055-07:00Impunity<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidP9V0hI5ZpZffp73C3JueS76TeP4qrqq_oKrwevrp7TMzoF5BFvnbcE92TPhKD8S7r3KBKfJWLRqMEMBd_BG74QRc4r1MS9R1KxPjdl5oN8yIsBr2ZrplLfLmT1mB5iBtFRReTWq2LD8/s656/images.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="656" data-original-width="468" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidP9V0hI5ZpZffp73C3JueS76TeP4qrqq_oKrwevrp7TMzoF5BFvnbcE92TPhKD8S7r3KBKfJWLRqMEMBd_BG74QRc4r1MS9R1KxPjdl5oN8yIsBr2ZrplLfLmT1mB5iBtFRReTWq2LD8/s320/images.jpeg" width="228" /></a></div><br />Sometimes God just likes to play god<p></p><p>He enjoys being beyond reproach.</p><p>He savors in His divine right to be unaccountable.</p><p><br /></p><p>Unlike the rest of us. Languishing in the misery of His benevolent choices.</p><p>"For my thoughts are not your thoughts,</p><p>neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord". (Isiah 55:8)</p><p>Jusko.</p>Chuck Baclagonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453853046034450720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-842086275358592997.post-58272312878588480672021-09-04T05:36:00.004-07:002021-09-16T05:19:36.800-07:00cold and alone<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiIyh97_ieQWPo1gXDaESXmBFm67QOa8wz_MczQjLiN9yuJhEyiEBjD2XcS9_EPZWirvUpWrIkAcua3KlOdMSH5qbu8IlHU1VqOeaYepMyKjVq8npdh3dtcuRGsM1W13pDUowCKX2D7D8/s854/604c6ac3-6b50-447e-8eec-4932b31b8b7f.thumbnail.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="854" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiIyh97_ieQWPo1gXDaESXmBFm67QOa8wz_MczQjLiN9yuJhEyiEBjD2XcS9_EPZWirvUpWrIkAcua3KlOdMSH5qbu8IlHU1VqOeaYepMyKjVq8npdh3dtcuRGsM1W13pDUowCKX2D7D8/s320/604c6ac3-6b50-447e-8eec-4932b31b8b7f.thumbnail.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="color: white;">Why do I even bother to share stories with someone who doesn't ask me how I am?</span><p></p><p><span style="color: white;">And in all of this, I've only been given explanations based on observations from afar</span></p><p><span style="color: white;">I'm finding it unfair that not once have I been approached by anyone to offer me anything</span></p><p><span style="color: white;">Only pleas for help, support, a listening ear, and advice for their personal crisis</span></p><p>I feel like a thread that's unraveling from its spool on its way to an inevitable end</p><div>And to the god in whom I find comfort in not existing.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks but no thanks.</div>Chuck Baclagonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453853046034450720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-842086275358592997.post-1118279911718299702021-08-24T08:00:00.007-07:002021-09-16T08:04:02.982-07:00protracted anxiety<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDJmcgAKkBe5Zsm55Fac-6GDcd9y5kdOuSPyhCgBuftfmwcH1A_PDxj6yuUpoi6FroE0HW-BBeO_MP2QhcpJwabkc4WK4UX2Lh3C59xx_KL_gA_yWQVAqjXD0sERaT6KgrnwfVO1sv4fk/s800/4483877435_f6de82ddce_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDJmcgAKkBe5Zsm55Fac-6GDcd9y5kdOuSPyhCgBuftfmwcH1A_PDxj6yuUpoi6FroE0HW-BBeO_MP2QhcpJwabkc4WK4UX2Lh3C59xx_KL_gA_yWQVAqjXD0sERaT6KgrnwfVO1sv4fk/s320/4483877435_f6de82ddce_c.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It feels really frustrating that this indefinite pause in my life is just an act of vacillating from one crisis to another with no end in sight.</span></p>Chuck Baclagonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453853046034450720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-842086275358592997.post-33853438665244294392021-07-28T11:54:00.004-07:002021-09-04T05:37:27.168-07:00a house is not a home<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAYQaHoYnd_6X-aPMejlxLWyseE1txqx-P-FZ4oYdiPU-xrIvf_-_L3wm3G8h88lkKeQDXXt8WsSQI6J50Pt9mQQNvTcVcfE5w1ZWCfoQ5u37EYRpHgxUfHszOQPfpXdGt2i-FbxYHMrI/s473/buckling-floor1-e1599102715544.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="339" data-original-width="473" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAYQaHoYnd_6X-aPMejlxLWyseE1txqx-P-FZ4oYdiPU-xrIvf_-_L3wm3G8h88lkKeQDXXt8WsSQI6J50Pt9mQQNvTcVcfE5w1ZWCfoQ5u37EYRpHgxUfHszOQPfpXdGt2i-FbxYHMrI/s320/buckling-floor1-e1599102715544.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> The word house is used to talk about a building made for people or a family to live in. The word home is used to talk about the family living in a house. They say a house is not a home. But as far as I am concerned now. I'd rather just have a house that's not deteriorating.<p></p>Chuck Baclagonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453853046034450720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-842086275358592997.post-65020073186353054202021-07-28T11:48:00.005-07:002021-09-04T05:38:56.255-07:00Pandemic Purgatory<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtOMTrfK1khZD-Y1y3d3sA3ETOqvCfDpgX2Y_o8j-zks50TeTa_e9MMFOgeNbPLDohGKMWUb9RVTrR25U7DKoo64mX_VJZIG3ijga9yKvr1AiNqc9VVlEB79Gk1XpECnvQRnvVKT-YUUw/s275/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtOMTrfK1khZD-Y1y3d3sA3ETOqvCfDpgX2Y_o8j-zks50TeTa_e9MMFOgeNbPLDohGKMWUb9RVTrR25U7DKoo64mX_VJZIG3ijga9yKvr1AiNqc9VVlEB79Gk1XpECnvQRnvVKT-YUUw/s0/images.jpeg" width="275" /></a></div><br />In the past few years, I've hated the weekends and the holidays. I can't feel the difference between those days and my regular working days. At least during working days, I can say to the people at home that I can't be disturbed, because I'm working. Fuck this life.<p></p>Chuck Baclagonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453853046034450720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-842086275358592997.post-36928073297567298162021-06-30T09:10:00.002-07:002021-09-04T05:40:15.999-07:00birthday bs<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1wofbc4hwC2vjUF4EiZVVOmfwPrAGz4xm5KsvThb5mK06JtoRbtavG_xAW-vdA6L4mK_YBuNs5nMuf3TObecGa534219rWJBVI1SDi5bUXiK8nb4VN8eccGNPhmmcL_1UlVlnCLnRrRE/s266/cake-birthday-candles-40th-260nw-330716840.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="243" data-original-width="266" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1wofbc4hwC2vjUF4EiZVVOmfwPrAGz4xm5KsvThb5mK06JtoRbtavG_xAW-vdA6L4mK_YBuNs5nMuf3TObecGa534219rWJBVI1SDi5bUXiK8nb4VN8eccGNPhmmcL_1UlVlnCLnRrRE/s0/cake-birthday-candles-40th-260nw-330716840.jpeg" width="266" /></a></div><br />Four decades older. Several thousand Pesos poorer. None happier nor wiser. Happy birthday to me.<p></p>Chuck Baclagonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453853046034450720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-842086275358592997.post-34726665747043680332021-05-06T08:00:00.004-07:002021-05-06T08:04:34.016-07:00Mark Dela Cruz | Muni-Muni<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjohojJYJ7BlTQN-_Lipqh26dj-u3HhUyyJIClT4RKe5OfgUbtp53BjO1FuQdVZetuxWhy7ZXkTX1GSraIiVid-bW-b-pfYAsWZULYziax9YU5vyNDcu-R7QwHhgyqbR_G-pe0T38O4Ig4/s640/safe_image.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjohojJYJ7BlTQN-_Lipqh26dj-u3HhUyyJIClT4RKe5OfgUbtp53BjO1FuQdVZetuxWhy7ZXkTX1GSraIiVid-bW-b-pfYAsWZULYziax9YU5vyNDcu-R7QwHhgyqbR_G-pe0T38O4Ig4/s320/safe_image.jpeg" /></a></div><br /> Mark is someone I've known for more than a decade and it's a friendship that has span the transitions of platforms on the internet from Blogger, to Friendster, to MySpace, to Facebook and beyond. <div><br /></div><div>It is interesting though that as far as personal interactions I can remember not more than a dozen times when we were able to interact personally and its mostly at shows in San Pablo Laguna or when we shared the stage with his band Driveway to Driveway at Saguijo, AMOS Cafe and the short-lived Sazi's/Myric's in Malate with 2 of those venues already closing shop and Saguijo in an indefinite hiatus because of the pandemic I think personal interactions would be far from happening.<span><a name='more'></a></span><p></p><p>Beyond that, I have also been a fan of his work not only as a performer but also as a songwriter and musician that has stayed true to the DIY ethics of the punk and indie rock subculture that we both shared an affinity to.</p><iframe allow="encrypted-media" allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="380" src="https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/6jeVB3PM2YSnDksE7xYsad" width="300"></iframe><p>It's always a great feat to bear witness to his evolution as an artist through the years and it's the reason that I am always eager to learn about his new projects whenever he'd share them or whenever I would see them pop up on social media.</p><p>Muni-Muni is a great departure from the minimalist acoustic sound that he explored in Oblong, yet still harkens the catchy hooks and the heart on his sleeve honesty that has carried him throughout his decades-long musical journey.</p><p>The opening track SLEX jumpstarts the EP with the melodic kind of indie rock that I've always been fond of, it also reminds me of his other pieces of work from Boy Meats Girl and A Life Less Ordinary.</p><p>The synth parts on the second track, Tanong Mo Sa Buwan brings me back to the simpler years of 2007-2008 where like Mark's Oblong I explored the electronic music realm alongside Mark Redito's Cocolulu/Spazzkid, Sharen De Guzman's HappyBoy and Erick Fabian's Cerumentric through my lesser-known project Never Forget The Cause.</p><p>Maginhawa is a Tagalized re-imagining of Driveway-To-Driveway's Perfect Moment, that features Diego Mapa on guitar.</p><p>The EP closes with one of Mark's most musically sophisticated compositions Ikot Ng Mundo, whose lyrics offer careful reflection and hopeful consolation to life along with its ups and downs.</p><p>It's hard to imagine how much of the EP's instrumentation was done solo primarily due to the pandemic lockdowns. Equally surprising how much of it was done DIY at home using an IOS GarageBand app which in a way is also both a testament to the added ease of recent tech advancements in audio recording via mobile devices but the same time attests to Mark's evolution from recording acoustic songs and creating FL Studio loops that he mixed via a free download of Audacity software.</p><p>On a personal, this EP also comes at a time of indescribable anxiety where I often find myself on the edge of losing hope in the many things that I hold dear ---but Mark's music and his itch for writing songs from the heart somehow give me that needed push to persevere out of the current historical and personal predicament that I find myself in.</p><p><br /></p><br /></div>Chuck Baclagonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453853046034450720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-842086275358592997.post-4691155837989630392021-03-26T09:33:00.001-07:002021-09-04T05:41:39.363-07:00apologies<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinOLjQ30c3gjcZAgq_p7WTOxKhNJPAZpc8aKDt76MSCDhmAuhAbvPlf2Eg-7iOiHEvsGAbsxTaoB6M1IqrgSGDFe2wZJj6EaRu4JSrKuDgGK7NSMqXt9jJ3W88Q5J075g9RpbCkF8_79U/s275/images+%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinOLjQ30c3gjcZAgq_p7WTOxKhNJPAZpc8aKDt76MSCDhmAuhAbvPlf2Eg-7iOiHEvsGAbsxTaoB6M1IqrgSGDFe2wZJj6EaRu4JSrKuDgGK7NSMqXt9jJ3W88Q5J075g9RpbCkF8_79U/s0/images+%25281%2529.jpeg" width="275" /></a></div><br /> I've been spending the past two weeks in bed.<p></p><p>The plague got me albeit, not fatally.</p><p>On the road to recovery, my heart aches.</p><p>Because it has also taken a toll on my loved ones.</p><p>Whose lives are on a sudden pause.</p><p>Whose lives I've put at risk.</p><p>I'm sorry.</p>Chuck Baclagonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453853046034450720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-842086275358592997.post-71743818240339456122021-03-16T09:35:00.002-07:002021-09-04T05:42:48.476-07:00despondence<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh32bxQU-zKhwQiZzHhyphenhyphenKhmNsDABrjPV3x5mIFQJHTBtiU-CHv7irt9X4_4Po_81N4p1flZYuHs91LZlzoryI6WABcwSL2Yn98sWTUcX_wtTGIyLFyR8o3tqu59lt88yN22jX7q2vKcNgA/s272/images+%25282%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="185" data-original-width="272" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh32bxQU-zKhwQiZzHhyphenhyphenKhmNsDABrjPV3x5mIFQJHTBtiU-CHv7irt9X4_4Po_81N4p1flZYuHs91LZlzoryI6WABcwSL2Yn98sWTUcX_wtTGIyLFyR8o3tqu59lt88yN22jX7q2vKcNgA/s0/images+%25282%2529.jpeg" width="272" /></a></div><br />I just got sick and I'm doing my best to isolate myself.<p></p><p>But I've already been living in isolation long before the pandemic lockdown.</p><p>The past few years have been my loneliest</p><p>And the pandemic, the omnipresence of social deterioration, and protractedness of it all</p><p>Just seems so overwhelming.</p><p>I can’t smile.</p><p>I’m numbed by cold inside and out.</p><p>I constantly feel alone in a world full of people</p><p>Cold and unfeeling</p><p>In a cold unfeeling world.</p>Chuck Baclagonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453853046034450720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-842086275358592997.post-29547910146825785672021-02-02T00:38:00.005-08:002021-09-04T05:56:01.610-07:00Too far gone<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg13xr6WxmE4ZuWeccr3FKZLLEvIETyQdR2T8d4ba36SsfmP9FzEgmj-AN9xUTXDhNaFN043cNLoKcv8_W_K8MNO6FVPait7uUeB2vZyE5xKXw8V1zgvKaOTNkq9Q2oXDjlH0o6tgmZKC8/s1350/feeling-lost1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1350" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg13xr6WxmE4ZuWeccr3FKZLLEvIETyQdR2T8d4ba36SsfmP9FzEgmj-AN9xUTXDhNaFN043cNLoKcv8_W_K8MNO6FVPait7uUeB2vZyE5xKXw8V1zgvKaOTNkq9Q2oXDjlH0o6tgmZKC8/s320/feeling-lost1.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> It doesn't matter<p></p><p>Which side of the door</p><p>I find myself in</p><p>I'd always end up </p><p>With a broken heart</p><p>All I got going</p><p>Is a song</p><p>In my head</p><span><a name='more'></a></span><p><br /></p><p>And a pocket </p><p>Full of nothing</p><p>Perpetually pissed and hoping </p><p>To seize the day</p><p>Away from this</p><p>Fucked up disposition</p><p>I just sigh and say:</p><p>"For fuck's sake"</p><p>If only patience </p><p>Had expiration dates</p><p>Am I too far gone?</p><p>Wishing that I was</p><p>As good at love</p><p>As I am at my work</p><div><br /></div>Chuck Baclagonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453853046034450720noreply@blogger.com0