Journal on the days before Manila trip

I'm back in Manila. Wow! Can't believe the relief from all the work related stress and fatigue. Nothing like seeing your own people and your little fave things in the place you call home! hmmmm.... it's like I'm settling into some inertia and there's absolutely nothing I so want to do about it. Good to be just lazing around and at night... well, partying in my own little asuwang way. hik hik hik hik!!!

Five days before I returned I was doing my fairy rounds in Paris. A group pandering to the sights and the little kids playing even in the late night hours in the city public square caught my attention, so young looking, so smooth skinned but I can smell their ages and I can seen through the lines of their cosmetic surgery.

Don't care really if it's because my profession is in the fashion industry or just my being asuwang - that makes me quite a super detector, detective, whatever.  They were old! And I overheard a man calling one of them, Your Majesty My Queen. Huh?  What are they doing traipsing in public places in indifferent France? They could be bombed to oblivion by terroristes and no one will pay attention!  Yikes!  Here they pay attention more to someone like me walking their streets and suddenly one or two will reach for my butt to pinch it. Yuck! But when an old man rolls in the street after losing his walking cane - even if the poor guy gets run over - no one really minds.

Everyone to their own business of pinching puwets in France and loving mistresses and girl friends, talking up to eternity about wine, politics, couture and revoluccion to the exclusion of everything else! C'est terrible!

The pretend young-at-hearts did not catch my fancy after my first glance and a little harmless ogling at their necks and skins, a little listening to the beat of their hearts and organs. These group must be eating human liver for breakfast! They had strong hearts and good blood flow.

I liked them already at that very instant. Supposed to leave them for my fated fairy rounds, but I heard them mention the magic word: "...Banignow ... (inaudible words) ... the one they call Pheenoy?  He's coming to us here. That's not the reason we're seeing each other today ... (inaudible words) ... 

Ooops! I nestled upon a really nice fashionable looking tree in keeping with my tastes and preferences and wanted to eavesdrop but they looked to be on their way to some meeting. Before finishing the kodaking with my cell phone I hurried on the way to catch up with my super sexy looking lolos and lolas.

Oops! so sorry about my fingers! :)

Hey! don't blame me if Eiffel looks like it fell [down].

I'm the flying photog what can I do?

At the end of the park near the Hôtel Pas de Calais, a not so really wonderful and class traveller's residence, the group settled and entered a big gleaming, black luxury coach that sped off in a jiffy.

At the address number 11 rue Berryer, not far from where we left, the pretend young-at-heart elderly alighted and entered a building with an imposing structure and a small sign that read Hôtel Salomon de Rothschild.

The hôtel otel appeared to be off limits and despite the aroma of too much food being prepared by the hôtel kitchen, I couldn't smell any large group of humans in the entire structure. Everyone inside aside form the old ones looked to me to be the hôtel staff.

Most were in uniforms anyway. I sensed that the group had taken their sweet time chatting, moving an inch at a time, about things I didn't comprehend and reached what seemed like a dining area. I landed upon a skylight or more aptly a roof window and had a good view of the room. It had a tastely name - Lounge of Honour.

A good number of hôtel otel personnel were in attendance for the elderly group that seemed to me to be like really venerable guests.

I so liked the that the ladies among the staff curtsied and the men bowed each time, so old-fashioned and so chevalier chic.

There was small talk and while I was contemplating suddenly of my upcoming trip back to the Philippines, I heard my brain radar sparking to attention once more.

Elderly Female (look-alike of Prince Charles' mom): "Banignow Akeenow, that idiot wants to be second timer head of that forsaken state."

Elderly Male: "What can you say, he's so unpopular with those rotten, dirt poor people being bled by chinamen, and now koreans, and malaysians-indonesians."

Elderly Female (she seemed to be steering all the talk): "Well, if its true tell him when he comes around to our town that he's a fumbling baboon for saying so. And we can't allow him to do that. Can you imagine how many nincompoops he hired to make deposits of hundreds of millions of dollars that I ordered stalled in my banks? That silly small brained boy does not know his marbles! Stealing even my donations to that damned science project called Yolanda. Good heavens!"

More Elderly Male (2): "God forbid we give him that second chance! Can you even nourish the thought that all the shiploads of canned goods my family gave to the victims kept appearing in malls and stores owned by chinaman friends of that numb-brained boy and his ugly sisters? Oh Lord, what has gotten into that little hideous thieving country! Very unsightly, mind! I vehemently would like to even oppose his stepping on our shores if it were all up to me! Shit!"

Elderly Female: "My dear Fabrizio and Sir Winfried, let him be on this trip to town. I was the one that invited him after all."

More Elderly Female: "We should've nevah have let that stupid fart sit in that country. Absolutely no pedigree. The mother was a cunt peddler - look at the sister - with an Elektra Complex, running around chasing old men's penises."

Elderly Female: "Margarethe! Such language! Shut your trap!"

More Elderly Female: "And I just won't! Keep that monkey you invited away from me as far as far can be! I don't even want to see that beast's shadow!"

Demure Elderly: "And I heard right that the fellow is not heterosexual too! I guess I can invite him to my house Dear Elizabeth? Will you grant me that favour? I have pets male and female that are so in heat right now, I could use the service."

Elderly Female: "Damn that boy for the faux pas he's getting all of us into! And stop kidding here, we have important matters to discuss after dinner!"

Seductive Elderly Female: "Susan, what about the sister with Elektra Complex, will she fall for my thing? You know that I'm old too, but we just won't admit all of us here that we are! Ha ha ha ha ha!"

Elderly Female: "Hush, hush all of you, enough of that talk. Eat everyone. Dear Sir Rothschild, let the courses be served. Let's cross the bridge when we are about to tell that worm brain to get the hell out of office. He doesn't deserve more than a minute of our precious time."

Rothschild: "Ahem, yes Your Majesty. (Not looking at the staff, makes the order.) Oy, you heard Her Majesty, The Queen!"

Nearly every single one of the staff suddenly appeared like magic with platefuls of servings of this or that dish. Oooh! my mouth started to water.

So feeling too starved on top of that grandiose and pompous feast, I decided to go on the run for the rest of the night on my fairy rounds. I hoped to find a preggy little lady, instead of so many elderlies with quaint smooth skins and bad language to boot.

Now that I am back in Manila, I keep asking the question, what will happen to the Pnoy then when he meets his Makers?

Flying back to WestMind

It's been a long time since my foreign modeling trips and it's both good and not so good to be back in Mindanao. The good part is I am home once more; back to the places and food and things I sorely missed during the long years of flight out of the country. The bad part is, my home is a wreck. War visits. It's not my cup of tea because I like the finer things in this life, after all its all that we have. To have big trouble trampling all over your house is worrisome.

Everyone is staying at home scared shitless. They closed everything here in my beloved Zamboanga City; no banks, no shops; no schools; no public transport - air, land nor sea. But of course I don't mind since I do a little secret flying on my own.

There are the deceased in some places in WestMind that to me both look not too awful and those that looked very bad. These ones died either fighting for what they believe in or else just got swept by the tide towards the end.

What is the sense of all of this fighting? For nights I flew and flew over Davao, Zamboanga, then took detours to Cotabato, Sulu, Basilan and heard humans whispering: they'll (enemies of the current sitting overlord by the Pasig) bring damnation to that man. Surely they will.

Some of the elders in close huddle tell tales to each other over native spirits (mild alcoholic liquor made from coco), that it didn't pay to be deaf to Maas. Of course many people, including children know that to be the grandfatherly Nur Misuari; he used to be quite devilishly charming as a young man, but now he fits that monicker. I don't know how they coined that name for him, probably its the old Tausug way.

I guess this shedding of blood will not be all of it, that if no sensible intervention swoops into WestMind, certainly there will be generations that will pay for the terrible fiasco. When I passed by a collective of blond haired foreign soldiers, I overheard them saying, all they wanted was to build US bases in Gen San and the MILF to help them achieve that; now the damned Libyan trained Kumander Boy Thunder and his ilk are making serious attacks against innocents. Why not attack soldiers instead? Why hostage the unknowing residents of Santa Barbara and Santa Catalina, etcetera, etcetera? I wanted to get a delicious bite of not one but two, or three of these tasty looking guys right then and there. Very brave, them lot.

In Sulu, after my third fly-over, I noticed a familiar looking elderly guy from Metro Manila parties wearing a general's uniform of the MNLF talking to a young female warrior cleaning her high powered sniper rifle. He said, you know, I said goodbye to my family - except to my better half who went ahead of me - and  to my friends, to all my people in my office, last year in Manila when I was called to do my duty to the Bangsa Moro.

This is where my heart belongs. The struggle, the war, the battle is where my entire being wants to be. And my heart specially beats for you even on the very first night that we met. The female warrior looked up at the old general with fervently admiring eyes and a lust filled face. And she said, I have longed to serve with you even when I was a small girl and now that I am here, I am filled with boundless joy. I could only imagine what the long nights  at the battlefronts would lead them to.

Strange, how troubles bring two people like that together and breed a kind of chemistry as old as Adam and Eve. Perhaps despite that ugly charade of men and women to wage atrocities upon one another, pockets of benign affections can never be totally lost and crushed by evil warmongers.

If I can muster an army of asuwang (ghouls) in my own time, hopefully soon enough, I'd like us to cook and eat with relish all the bullshit merchants of death and devastation that are now ruining my beloved home.