because there is only so much one can say and i dont know how to begin,

let me start by giving you a news report.

Out of the forty six, fourteen were women, most of whom were sexually molested before they were killed. Out of the forty six, twelve were journalists. On a personal note, three of the forty six victims carried my mother’s maiden name, all three distant relatives my family and i will never get to meet.

According to this article,GMA seeks for swift justice (cue raised eyebrows), and that there will be no “sacred cows” in the investigation. Somehow I know there will be more sacrificial lambs.

*

and from every dead child a rifle with eyes,
and from every crime bullets are born
which will one day find
the bull’s eye of your hearts.

And you’ll ask: why doesn’t his poetry
speak of dreams and leaves
and the great volcanoes of his native land?

Come and see the blood in the streets.
Come and see
The blood in the streets.
Come and see the blood
In the streets!
–from I Explain a Few Things, Pablo Neruda

For Machew, on his birthday

in retrospect, I can still trace back the exact moment I decided to give you my guitar. remember that night we went out–just the three of us, you, me, and Zia–to the art-o-matic exhibit? i wanted to take a break from packing, zia was just restless and i think you were kind of sad; what better way to spend a slow evening than to make fun of hipsters and emo-artistes, then? and so we did.

christina had just left for china, and it was obvious that you were missing her. we passed by a painting of a cherry. ‘this reminds me of her’, you said, and you asked me to take a picture of it.

hi, christina.

so anyway. we made heart signs and struck aiza seguerra poses all evening, hamming it up next to almost every single piece of art, partly because we tried to cheer you up, but mostly because we are KAPALMUX personified. people looked at us like we were crazeh, but i didn’t care. there is strength in threes–as well as in being a minority in HipsterLand. and when the museum was closed we all walked home, slightly buzzed & still exhilarated by our shameless exhibitions of uncoolness.

that was when a strange, but slightly touching moment transpired: you started singing “moon river”, dedicated it to C., and we all crossed our fingers and hoped that although she was probably in jetlagging in class or eating congee somewhere, she would somehow feel the Mancini Magic we were creating on that summer night, and be comforted.

i think z. must have said something about how music was so much better before, and talked about showboat and old man river for the millionth time; i really don’t remember. at that time, you see, all i could think of was: omg machew should serenade christina coz you know, every pinoy boy in luv needs the tools to perfect the art of the harana and the secret ingredient to make this ingenious gold-star worthy plan come to fruition, mary margaret, is YOUR GUITAR.

this was my lightbulb moment.

(oh. a parenthetical note, lest i disingenuously play up the spark of altruism spurred by those beers: leaving it behind also seemed like a good idea at that time because, well, my suitcases already weighed like they were full of rocks.)

so that was The Plan, machew. i remember teaching you how to play the easiest chord in the world & and brushing off your anxiety about being left handed; kurt cobain & paul mcartney were lefties, man. we agreed that it would be awesome if you learned how to play in your eyez, because although lloyd dobbler is, and forever shall be a cutie-pie, i also believe this to be true:

a guy with a bowler hat and a guitar is ten times cooler than a kid in a trench coat and a boombox.

so. what am i saying, already? i mean, aside from happy birthday?
okay, here goes:

learn that mothafawkin song already, machew.

here’s to minor chords,
mags

p.s.
oh, and as a bonus, an awesome poem:

For Shiela who wants to learn to play
Patrick Rosal

The bottom end’s a little shallow
and you might need to shim the bridge
to hush the fifth-fret buzz. The action’s low
and the neck, a tad warped, but I swear,
this thing sings. For ten years,
I’ve accompanied lovers, convicts, and children
with this guitar, bought it with my last
hundred bucks, fifty more perhaps
than it was worth that day.
I just wanted to touch nylon again,
to play the way my Uncle Eli used to,
‘til cancer mugged him for his lungs. He sang, Sheila,
and the guitar did too. And that kind of singing
was like eleven acres of sky to a nine-year-old kid
terrified of a 50 mile-per-hour hard ball.
The summer my father came back
from burying his mother in the Philippines,
he told my brother and me, the two oblong
boxes he pulled off the luggage conveyor
were ours. Once home, we pried the cardboard
apart, tearing the packing tape
and snapping the industrial staples
loose with our bare hands. I ran my fingers
slow around the slick soundhole edge.
I stuck my nose into the strings to smell
the jackfruit wood stewing inside
and when I pulled my face away,
the instrument made its first silken hum.
I don’t know if you believe in time
the way I do, but when history touches us
it’s like hearing a skinny uncle sing
with a cigarette dangling from his lips
without one note of misery in his dying,
and the guitar he’s holding is yours.
You might not understand the words sailing
past you, but one day, years later, on a drive back
to Rockland maybe, where an old woman
scolded you as a child or kissed the small bones
of your shoulders, you may find yourself
singing, out of nowhere, that tune. I mean to say,
I never thanked my father for that first guitar.
I smashed it in a tantrum against my heel
and didn’t own another until this one.
I should warn you, every guitar has its ghosts,
and they’ll ask you whom you love and how much.
As for learning. your hands are going to ache
a little while, but one day, when the chords come easy,
the guitar will whisper to you some old secret.
Whisper back. The most beautiful intervals are ancient
and imperfect. They will teach you to love
something so deep, you will want
nothing better than to give it all away.

thank you, brian k vaughan. thank you. FOR CUTTING MY HEART OUT WITH A SPOON.

“you’ll be fine, ‘rick.

just go there

and get your heart broken in,

so it’ll be ready when you really need it”

my thoughts on y: the last man’s whys & wherefores: best appreciated with a stack of kleenex and a bottle of bourbon.

we interrupt this weather forecast with a few reminders.

“Prayer was never meant to be magic,” Mother said.

“Then why bother with it?” Suzy scowled.

“Because it’s an act of love,” Mother said.

-Madeleine L’Engle, A Ring of Endless Light

Many waters cannot quench love,
neither can the floods drown it.
(Song of Solomon VIII ,7)

Photos taken from here.

2 letters: one from my sister, the other from your best friend.

Dear Alexis,

I did not have the pleasure of calling you my friend. You were my brother’s friend and by the time you came into his life I was finishing up with medical school and had my sights set on the Everest (so I thought at the time) that was the USMLEs. You were at best, an acquaintance. The longest amount of time I got to spend with you was that one time that you stayed for dinner at our house. I was impressed because my Mom cooked steak for you–Aha , I thought, “she must like him because she got the steak out” . She really did like you by the way, whenever Chris would tell her about having to stay somewhere late, she would stop fussing if she knew that you would be there too.

I never called you friend and yet I feel as if we were unspoken buddies, linked by bond of family. I say this because you certainly were like a brother to my brother. I still remember him telling me how he had met this really cool guy from UAAP who loved all the same things that he loved–obscure indie films and all. I also remember what you said to me during that dinner–something about convincing Chris to make movies again. You were not making fun or making sipsip . You truly meant what you said. At that time I was a little wary of some of the people surrounding my brother. Some of them were, for lack of a better word, plastic. You struck me as a refreshingly earnest, authentic person and I was so happy knowing that someone like you would always have my brother’s back.

It has been 24 hours since your death and this feeling like a snake in my stomach is growing stronger. C. S Lewis wrote that he never knew that grief felt so much like fear and I know exactly what he means. After my father died, I had recurrent anxiety attacks regarding my loved ones’ safety . I would find myself repeating the phrase “lightning does not strike the same place twice ” over and over again. It was my way of coping with the fear that death was going to touch my family again . And yet death has struck again in a horrible, disgusting fashion that makes me question my belief in the good of humanity. Why do the gentlest souls always seem to be taken with such violence?

I know there is no answer to this question. My soul is weary and old wounds in my heart have opened up. I have become very good at distancing myself from death and grief, it’s a trait we doctors need to survive. But for now, I will let my heart bleed for you , for the girl you love and for the people who love you (yes, I will use the present tense!). And I will call you friend.

Katie

EDIT:
A letter I would love to read to you in person by Chris Costello

Dear Alexis,

I’ve re-written this letter about a hundred times. I don’t know where to start. I don’t know how to start. So I’m going to do what I do best, which is ramble, and you’re going to do what you do best, which is listen, ok?

Everyone knows you as Alexis Tioseco, respected film critic, writer extraordinaire. I know you as Alexis Tioseco, my best friend. You know, the guy who can eat his weight in Boy Bawang. The guy who foolishly challenged me to a drink off one night and swore off alcohol forever as a result. The guy who kicked me out of his car once for being too touchy-feelly with my then girlfriend (I swear to God, that is a true story. I quote: “I’m not your driver, Chris. Get in the front seat or we’re not leaving.”) The guy who one night, while going through my phone, found an embarrassing picture I took of myself flexing my biceps in front of a mirror and then promptly forwarded it to everyone we know. (What. a. jerk.) The guy who demanded I quit my job in advertising because I was “supporting capitalism.” Wait a minute, why are we friends again?

Oh, that’s right. It’s cause you’re the guy who left class one day to hang with me while I was suffering through a really bad breakup. You’re the guy who suffered through countless conversations about comics and mainstream hollywood films with me (most definitely NOT your favorite topics in the world). You’re the guy who reinvigorated my love for film. The guy who knows exactly what to say to people who need cheering up, and actually mean it. The guy whose optimism and love for life result in countless hours of laughter. Seriously man, whenever I picture you in my head, you have some goofy grin on your face, like you’re keeping a funny secret to yourself. And you know what? You’re the guy who introduced me to Nika.

I swear, the two of you. Like peas in a very strange pod. You and Nika. Two sides of the same, bizarre coin. You two are so alike, yet so different, it’s mind boggling. Nika likes a good, strong glass of whiskey after a long day, while you rely on copious amounts of iced tea. NIka loves the beach and you’re really not one for swimming. Nika raves on and on about the benefits of organic vegetables while your own personal food pyramid is comprised of sisig, nachos , Margherita pizzas and buffalo wings. Yet the two of you are so amazing together, it hurts. I know this is cheesy as hell, but if there ever was a couple that completed each other, thats the two of you. I look at you both and I wish I was in on all your inside jokes, and your conversations about life, and debates about the current state of the Filipino film industry because the two of you are just so fascinating to be around.

I wish a lot of things were different. I wish you were still kicking everyone’s complacent asses and changing the face of the local film industry. I wish Nika and I could still share cigarette breaks and tease you about sleeping during movies. I wish I could finally change your mind about how awesome the Lord of the Rings trilogy actually is (because it is, dammit). But most of all, I wish you and Nika had your happy ending.

I saw you and Nika last during that surprise party you threw for her on Sunday. It was amazing. So many people were there, and Nika was radiant, glowing from the excitement of being able to talk to all her friends under one roof. I watched the two of you from afar, noticing how the two of you would make sure each and every person there was attended to. I’m very sorry man. We were all crowded into your living room on the second floor, and I was a little turned off by how hot the room was, despite the numerous electric fans. I made up some lame excuse about having to do some work and left the two of you. Please know, though. If I knew that that was the last time I was going to see you, I would’ve stayed till sunrise.

The Friday before that, Jen and I passed by the One School after a dessert break with Nika to pick you up. You told me you finally read a script I wrote and that you liked it, but you wanted to talk to me about it in detail some time. We made plans to meet up this week. We said our goodbyes, and before I left, I turned around because I heard Nika laugh at something you said. I saw you put your arm around her and the two of you got into your van. That is how I want to remember the two of you. Two silhouettes, laughing in the dark.

I miss you so much. So so much. The world is a much darker place without you and Nika in it.

I will end this letter with a goodbye, but I want you to know that the next time I see you, I’m just going to say a simple “hello.”

I love you, my brother, my sister.

Chris

Dirge without Music
Edna St. Vincent Millay

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains, — but the best is lost.

The answers quick & keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,
They are gone. They have gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

The Letter I Would Love to Read to you in Person by Alexis Tioseco
*****
I hardly ever got to see you the past two years, and it hurts me so that I never went out of my way to see you. The things we take for granted, I swear. You were always there, though, quietly encouraging Chris and me in your own indirect way (how many conversations did we have about Chris going back to film?); you even linked one of my entries on this blog towards the end in this entry of yours, and it still remains to be one of my most read posts. My facebook wall tells me these are the conversations we had — However brief these statements are, they already show just what a sweet eccentric lovable dork you were. Seemingly frail and unassuming, but what fire, what passion, what fearlessness you had. Oh, Alexis. You were one of the Good Ones.

Maggie Costello alexis tioseco! at kumusta ka naman? marunong ka na magtagalog? ha ha ha
September 3, 2007 at 2:58pm

Alexis Tioseco maggie costello!
wag mo ako iloko hija! o po. marunong na po ako.
pati bisaya bai. kaon na uy!
…
you are in washington?
September 3, 2007 at 10:42pm
Maggie Costello PO? diba mas matanda ka sa akin?

yes, i am in washington dc.
September 4, 2007 at 9:19pm

Alexis Tioseco older, yes, but don’t you know that one must treat margaret costello with the utmost respect lest they incur the wrath of her brother, christopher costello?!
September 15, 2007 at 4:16am ·

Maggie Costello har har. why in the world is everyone afraid of my brother? hello. he’s not THAT scary. mabait yun (hi chris)!

Alexis Tioseco maggie! check your mail! chris wrote you about a possible article for you to write hurry!
December 13, 2008 at 1:59am ·

Maggie Costello hey alexis, shit thanks man, i’m really honored–and i’m sorry if i cant give you a definite answer, but i’ll really try my best to make the deadline. i’m in the middle of finals week right now but i swear to god i will try! what time is the deadline?

December 14, 2008 at 8:33am
Alexis Tioseco hi maggie! \:D/ <–ym icon for hug.

its ok, thank you for the message. would it be possible if you have a few more days? i met erwin yesterday and i think it may still be possible to extend the deadline. whatchathink? also, message me your e-mail address! if you think you can do it with a few extra days i'll put erwin in touch with you.

understand completely about schoolwork and priorities
Maggie Costello yes, you’re the bestttttttttttt!!!! apir, apir!
December 15, 2008 at 11:29pm

saturday, 29 august 2009

my dear friend tor was the most beautiful bride. congratulations to the matheys!

you may kiss the bride

ferosha coutura

daddy's girl

friday, 28 august 2009

going down

shadows and stairs

old pictures from tita yiying's apartment

new yawk graffiti

eni and loi, during rehearsal at the chapel

btw, it was tor’s bday. unfortunately, the camera died so i didnt get anymore pictures.

thursday, 27 august 2009

new yawk

i spy a cutie pie

the pixies, woodstock. (hahahah naubusan ng creativity re. captioning)


growing old gracefully

switches & locks


SEXINEZZ. you’re welcome.

wednesday, 26 august 2007

one of my favorite couples in the world, carlos and ana. when we were in poland, he was running by proposal ideas with me; it was obvious he wanted everything to be perfect, and it was!

carlos finally proposed on sunday, and caught it on tape. CLICK!

my favorite married couple in the world, sarah upton and hazal yolga.

trying out a new pose.

james’ rockstar fez.

the can you feel the <3 tonight shot of the night: machew & xtina, listening to THEIR SONG.

WASTED.