Against All Odds

The odds to be unhappy in my December are 1 in 13. Or zero.

It’s my birth month.

Directing gigs.

Hosting gigs.

Bonuses.

It’s Mariah’s Season (and with her are new projects and surprises to boot).

Christmas Parties.

Reunions.

Christmas Day.

Anniversaries.

Film Fest.

Yearend Parties.

New Year’s Eve.

My closest friends’ and ex’s birth month too.

Yet 2016 amply mustered 13 universes of oppositeness to defy it.

In every single one of the possible universe of happiness.

There’s gotta be a pun or punchline somewhere awaiting a best time to desaturate the madness.

But till the last second, it stayed that way.

Deadpan.

More a punch than a lifeline.

In hindsight, ultimate question goes: was it the year’s fault?

Mystically, yes.

Realistically, no.

Happiness has ALWAYS been a human being’s choice.

Of himself or of others.

And I chose to misgive,

to lose,

to pass up,

to reject,

to snub,

to skip,

to ignore,

to be overshadowed,

to be rained on,

to oppugn,

to absent,

to detonate,

to slack up.

Painfully inexplicable, human nature is.

I tried but I didn’t prepare to lose so much.

Too paradoxical that to globalize the proportions of my own unhappiness, Mariah Carey can set the perspective to sum up my December 2016 in every perfect sense of its debacle. 

No, not that musical metaphor.

But THIS debacle:

Too painful to finish like my December.
But here we are. A new year ahead of us.

One ending in what many consider a lucky number.

Not my personal favorite but hopefully this number brings better odds.

2016's Sigh to 2017's Sign

I just finished playing my latest wallow song 

True Colors

when I looked up to this:

Maybe Branch and Poppy are talking me out of my 2016 blues.

That my woes could end up whoas.

Damn, Trolls.

War Dogs: A Movie about Bros, Rats

They won the resourcefulness war...and the war inside my heart too.
Simple moral: daig ng mabait ang magaling. 

Of course, anything with Miles Teller in it is 

sure to be starring an angel 

(Exactly! I hate that they villainized him in Divergent).

But I'd still prefer myself to be both.
Hard.

War Dogs. 

Fun movie about not making fun.

As for the rats in the title, well, 

Jonah Hill's line

"I live off the crumbs. I'm like a rat" serves as the DNA of the story.

TROLLOVE

In this world full of Branches, led by yours truly, I never thought this movie would bring out the Poppy in me.

Branch is the jaded one in this universe while Princess Poppy is, needless to say, the epitome of everything joyful.

You see, I never wanted to see this film Trolls. It didn't help that I'm not a fan of the doll line either. But one magical downloads day, last minute, Trolls popped up into my screen.

Told myself, why not?

In the middle of my annual Oscars marathon, gut feel led me to want some light stuff - stuff as possibly feel-good as, say, Trolls. 

Played it anyway.

Five minutes into the movie, I detected the silliness I anticipated it might be full of. If this weren't an animation, I'd call it cartoonized cannibalism.

Halfway through, I fell for Branch. The one who's practically me: jaded, cynical, persnickety. He was the ultimate setback in the mission to save the world or unleash happiness.

And then, out from behind, the story pivots to pack the emotional punch animated films warrant - one that screams aspirational all over. Boy did it wallop me hard. Straight to bully my tear ducts. 

ALAS! A flash flood of tears. All those bottled up inside me the whole, entire time of December in which special occasions deprived themselves to start with "happy" but with "mopey" in its stead.

I felt betrayed. By the heart walled up against any vulnerability.

If some have learned to grow inconspicuously jaded, hopeless romantics can never escape their little mushy selves in them.

This scene was that little mushy self:

So little yet so big on the heart. Unexpected tearjerker.

And while I never ever liked Phil Collins' schmaltzy hit True Colors, this was the very song that bullied my heart to finally let it out. Tucked in the dark corner of the bedroom, a crybaby let it all out like nobody's ever cried before.

True love seemed back. One tear at a time.
Seemed.

Gunning for the Kill

Never wanted a relationship. 

Love is giving someone a gun & trusting they won't pull the trigger. I shall keep that promise and NEVER give anyone the gun. 

Ever. 

Again. 

Even if a world of wealth, understanding, and unconditional happiness is promised. 

No. 

Never ever turn against your own promise. 

To keep your gun. 

To love yourself.

Contrary to what most believe, 

the gun is not a symbol of strength but of weakness. 

It is that which you rely on to protect you because you're scared not enough shields can protect you. The shields held up by our friends, neighbors, family...by anyone we love. 

A gun lies about in your private space. 

The same space you sleep in, 

you divulge and develop confidential information, 

you keep your family in, your darkest of secrets, 

your vulnerabilities. 

The gun has been there. 

Until someone breaks in to want to try it. 

Or test it. 

Or keep it. 

The last possibility being that situation that scares you the most. Because the gun is as much a key to your innermost core as it is to your very own destruction. 

But the new party is a welcome respite from all the uncertainties and apprehensions. 

He or she seems more than borrower of the gun; he or she could actually be THE gun. 

The one who can protect you. 

                   The one who can hold the shield in one hand, and the gun in the other. 

                  The one who will appear and promise to kill for you.

 

An insurance of all needs. Specially targeted to your needs. 

One thing we learn about insurance is that there lurk false ads. 

Keep in mind to never ever fall for a false advertisement. 

There are those who will say they can be trusted with your gun. 

But they're just anybody else. They're curious about the gun. 

So they do and say everything it takes to borrow it from you and eventually own it. Before you knew it, you're killed by your own gun. 

All because you thought the promises to handle it well, as "advertised," were for keeps. 

Think again. 

Using that thing above your heart. 

5/21

Hiatuthousand17

Resetting back to the time I was free of the shackles of drama. 
2016 forgot December. Off you all go then, December and Facebook. 

.

Warm & Fuzzy in this Cold December

Most would assume my most favorite Christmas song is Mariah's "All I Want For Christmas Is You."

NO. 

"Warm and Fuzzy" 

gets the most plays of them all. 

Familiar? 

Twas by that charming, little belter boy BILLY GILMAN back in 2000.

I always felt when Justin Bieber first came out, he was the rebellious version of Billy Gilman. And when Michael Bublé became popular, he's my missing Billy boy.

But he didn't march rebelliously out of the industry or grew missing. He's that Billy Gilman who just won 2nd place on The Voice (Season 11), and one who's so out & proud on Instagram posting couple pictures of he and his boyfriend Chris Meyer.

When I die, it's still Mariah's unreleased gem "There For Me" I want played aloud yet if the interment happens in December, it shall be Billy's "Warm and Fuzzy."

Last Gift

Much appreciated.