Category Archives: Worm Talk

By the Taal Lake

Trend Micro PH held its summer outing in 2018 at the Club Balai Isabel resort, which is situated near the popular Taal Lake.

A video souvenir:



Music from borrowed from The Everly Brothers’ “All I Have to Do is Dream.”

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Moving/Saving Mortal SocMed Thoughts to a Proper Space

Deleted but saved. This is too precious to just live within an IG Story lifespan.

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A Trip to Mariveles’ Five Fingers Cove in Bataan

A short vacation with my buddies took place last weekend, January 13-14, 2018. We have been planning the trip for over a month, and although my friends already gave their yeses prior to the date, I was skeptical about the actualization of the trip. You see, just like any other group of friends, trips tend to die when the set date gets closer. It could be just another “drawing, millennials and xennials call it nowadays, which is a noun that refers figuratively to planned but ultimately canceled outings by friends. To my delight, and surprise, the vacation trip materialized. We decided to go on the last minute to Mariveles’ Five Fingers Cove in Bataan. 

The photos speak for themselves. Five Fingers Cove is breathtaking.

From cliff diving and basking in the scenic views of  rock formations to tiptoeing on isles surrounded by sea hedgehogs and varieties of starfish and sea slaters, this sanctuary in Mariveles is heaven for city dwellers hungry for a relaxing weekend. Laki Beach, which was where we camped is amazing with its fine white sand.

The real star of this trip, however, is the fun moments I shared with friends. Here’s a nine-minute summary of our trip:

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The time was eight o’clock in the evening. I took a break from work, left the operations area, and headed to the office lounge where I rested my body on a couch positioned in front of a large window painting before me the city lights 12 floors down below. When I was working the first time here, that seemingly subtle but loud illuminance gave me joy. Hope, even. “Candles lighting my far-reaching vision”, I told myself.

How times have changed four years later. Now, the lights left me tearing up a bit. Not out of delight, unfortunately.

I found myself looking back at the days when I was six years old in the province. The soil where our military duplex house stood was dark and fertile, the mothers in the neighborhood including my Mama did their routinely sweeping of the fallen leaves from huge trees spread across the village in the afternoon, and my first-grade self watched his favorite cartoon with friends while my brother cooked rice that will be served for dinner.

Funny how things change.

Places obscure rise from the dead, living places run out of breath.

A New Year’s Resolution (Holiday Draft)

The December break has given me a lot of motivation to change things up this year. Every aspect of my life was put into a wringer in 2016, and the general consensus seems to echo the same sentiment. Social media friends and semi-funny memes think this year is a huge shitty asshole. That is not nice to look at.

I know how easy it is for anyone to sound dumb when they say shit like “things are gonna be better next year” and “excited for the new me in January.”  While the shallow representation of reinvention and change is easily distinguished among people, I realized that it should not be at all easily dismissed.

Having gone through partly self-inflicted difficult situations more than ever this year, it is always a one step forward when one is attempting to be better. I see no reason to channel hate and assholeness. You don’t kick someone down when they attempt to stand up after an embarrassing fall.

I was sharing the dining table with my parents and siblings a few days ago when I got a hold of a thought that triggered a decision to reestablish my ideologies, behavior, and goals that I project onto the world. Last year, because of an awful breakup, and personality clashes among the people I work with, my life has become more complicated. I barely had any reason to get off my bed and smell the coffee because I was filled with so much negativity.

Now back to dinner with the fam, the conversations about ironing out the messy atittudes among us and the unspoken “we will always have each other’s backs” as we feel everyone’s spirits (in silence found between eating, talking, and laughing) fueled my passion that I have to admit was nearing its death.

I can’t let the fuckups of the world lure me into missing out my true purpose in this life.

I can’t let these wonderful people down because they make me more than my struggles and heartaches.

I have to be better because making my loved ones, especially my dear parents, proud of seeing me do good is a payback for their love, understanding, and sacrifices even if they are not asking for anything in return.

I was reminded that it always feels good when you are not just living for yourself. So, yeah. Let’s do some changes, shall we.

A Hopeless Case of Cognitive Dissonance

I have come to feel comfortable in a place where I always rest my head on top of a rock that is rough around the edges and has a constantly switching temperature of cold and warm. A sanctuary where no matter how high or low the volumes of my inner battles are, it’s always quiet and dim. It’s where I force myself to think about the worst scenarios that could happen to me, and where I manipulate my thoughts into making my loved ones act in great sorrow for how the world has smacked the face of my half-baked perceptions about life.  

It’s a home for a small candle that I sometimes light whenever I feel deserted by the beams of happiness that I inadvertently collect from people. It’s a friendly place that knows me, but will never tell the things that are right for me.

It’s a box of misery that will probably stay forever at a corner, but will not be thrown away because of its sentimental value. It feels like an excess in most occasions, and has a reputation of contaminating thoughts, but its companionship trumps the duration of every single identifiable emotion. It’s confusing, really, to determine whether it’s a décor hung for self-indulgence or an essential design functioning for balance. Its nature sounds overwrought, but it’s also probably just me pondering the entirety of something as simple as chipping your toe nails when they become long and disgusting, and thoroughly washing your hands with soap to remove the awful smelI off your already filthy hands.


Blurred by the Dampness of Naivety


It’s raining. The older siblings are at school and the boy is four years old. The dampness of everywhere translates to everything nice. The cushion is semi-comfortable. It’s cold and the blue blanket keeps his body warm. What he’s feeling is similar to the sensation you get when taking a piss. Electrifying. Sweet and almost like having mini-orgasms. He curls up with a pillow too big for him and dreams with his eyes as awake as his mother’s call for breakfast. Here’s what he’s seeing: an older man in a lab suit breathing in the smoke from apparatuses that are each filled with green and yellow liquid. There’s lots of boiling going on. He likes to watch grown-up scifi movies with his father and it’s probably where this alluvion came from. You know, from the scenes where men and women in white are busy solving the movies’ conundrums and mysteries. His father seems to enjoy it, and so he does too. It’s actually not determined what the man was up to, but the premise is the man and the room represent his idea of adult happiness. The man looks happy. That is him. Beguiled, he realizes it’s his first conscious attempt to form a dream.

Years pass, he wonders what happened to the boy whose mind walked through un-desentisised roads of big things and orgasmic possibilities. He is lost without any valid excuse, he is running with his feet swollen.

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The Bathroom Mirror

August 26, 2013

The day is fast-moving while my body is glued to bed. I would sleep the afternoon off if I could, but as usual, my consciousness is running in several places at once. So many things stealing my focus and too little energy to give a flying rat’s ass.  I have what you would call a day of severe unproductiveness. 

My brother’s footsteps disturbed my doozing at 3 AM. I am a light sleeper so the littlest noise could wake me no matter how tired I was before going to bed. I smelled alcohol and sweat stink. I didn’t bother to find out what was he up to. Instead, I closed my eyes and waited for the yawnings to come back. 

“Were you able to sleep?” My father stood at the doorstep of the room. 

It was around 7 in the morning. I wanted to smack him, but instead, I gave him no response. To be fair, he didn’t know that my precious sleep was just interrupted 4 hours ago.

I woke up feeling tired, exhausted and a little sad. Little by little, I feel like my body’s failing me. Or maybe that’s just me trying to amuse myself by giving color and drama to a day of mind-numbing blandness. Or maybe that’s really just the way it is. I am not sure anymore. When I went to the bathroom to take a piss, the mirror hanging on the wall gave me a sight of a person looking so lost and so unworthy of any positive adjectives. My eyes and its bags looked dead and my skin looked like it belonged to a 40-year-old traffic enforcer. I stared at the reflection for a couple of minutes, berating my exterior and imaginingly rubbing my eyes for clarity. Then I realized it’s an image that I’ve been seeing but afraid to acknowledge for quite some time now.

What am I doing to myself? When did I become so determined to take a rough but ultimately route-less road? Is it the day that’s messed up or is it me? These questions, though seemed out of place, started hitting me on the face and they suddenly felt crucially important.

I might be beginning to understand the reason for all these uneasy feelings in me. I hope I do. Thank you and fuck you, bathroom mirror. What that was is necessary. Now, I’m torn between going back to dry-humping my bed and going to church.

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Premature Stunt

This happened a month ago. I punctured a toothpick into the head of a white Marlboro cigarette. When I lit it up, the cigarette blazed like a volcano about to vomit lava. It felt wondrous, seeing a petty accomplishment thrive for a couple of minutes. It felt good thinking the toothpick made the taste better. When the cigarette breathed its last life, the excitement I had vanished with the air that sucked the life out of the stick that was my amusement for that short time in a cold and loud place with friends exhibiting emotions that I can’t tell if legitimate or not. The feeling was stupifying. Then I realized… It was probably time that I should stop duplicating the crazy times of my adolescence. Maybe it was time that I should stop misconstruing the concept of moving forward as a cliche for sentimental fuck-ups. Because, apparently, it’s not. Projecting an image of coolness with the inevitable admixture of immaturity isn’t gonna bring light to my already shady persona.

I should start acting my age.

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