'Cause I Just Set Them Up To Knock Them Down

Angelo Umengan

4I

Tulong Dunong Output

I. The Experience

Reuben and I were initially late for the arranged time of home visitations, which was nine o’clock in the morning. Both of us were confused because the Tulong Dunong Manual specifically recommended the time “noon onwards”, so as to not disturb any Sunday morning rituals the families might have had, like chores or going to mass. Nevertheless we arrived there a few minutes past eleven, and saw most of our classmates hanging out beside San Roque E.S. already done with their visitation. Reuben and I asked questions as to where our partners are. Our classmates said that they, Banjo and Jaime, got tired of waiting for us and went with the home visits. With that knowledge I suggested that we should ask some of the other TD kids loitering about for directions.

In no time at all we managed to map out Elline’s (the first TD kid I was supposed to visit) house, and so we decided to start from there. My other TD kid, Danielle, was there, and wanted to join us in visiting the others. I talked to Elline’s grandmother for a bit about Elline’s performance in school and their religious rituals. After that she and Elline jumped into their version of the Ondoy phenomenon. Reuben and I listened intently, and after a few moments were out of there, politely declining an offer to each lunch with them. Before we left, Elline told us the directions to the first TD kid Reuben was supposed to visit.

After visiting Reuben’s TD kid we decided to go back to Elline’s quaint complex, where she and Danielle were outside of. I asked her once more for directions, this time Angelu’s (my second TD kid visitee) house. She and Danielle came with us this time, and we came by a fairly large complex. Danielle however went around it and towards the back, where there was this ramshackle yet livable space. It was cozy, and the walls were smoothed with cement. It was a break actually, from the searing heat outside, since the cemented living room retained a cool temperature.

We met Angelu’s mother Merly then, who took a break from laundry duty to entertain us. I did the same thing with Angelu’s mother as I did with Elline’s grandmother. After telling her of Angelu’s performance in school, I opted for making them (Angelu, Elline, Danielle and Merly) laugh with jokes about Jaime’s visiting with four other people (namely Fritz, Kevin S., Justin S. and Acha) instead of asking the personal question of how Angelu’s father passed away.

After that did we set off towards Reuben’s second TD kid, Claudine, who lived behind the Purefoods factory nearby. Her mother was surprisingly beautiful (I envied her skin) and young, and he had a lot to tell about Ondoy. We enjoyed that visit particularly because her story was in-depth and personal, and yet she managed to narrate it to us half-jokingly and lightly. We had fun during the visits, and not once did I or Reuben complain. We even passed Rhiczel’s house and said hi, and also Sam and Kenneth while we were on the tricycle.

II. Reflection

I did not expect myself to be okay about it all. I mean, I knew that my standards in life are not very high, and that I can lower myself down simply because I’ve been there, but still I was surprised by my being cool with the conditions of the visitations. The smells and sounds I didn’t mind, nor the stark contrast between the people in that rural community and the people I pass in Eastwood or Shang. Reuben and I had to be careful with our words, our actions and our behavior in general, for the Philippine people in general had a very linear opinion of homosexuals. Not only that, but they were also uncomfortable with us, because of their knowledge that we were “economically inclined”. Nevertheless, being homosexual made it much, much easier to talk to the elders and the kids. The experience reminded me on humbling myself and being modest towards anything. It also motivated me to work harder for my future, and made me hope that someday maybe, I could help people in these situations.

III. Prayer

Almighty Father,

We humbly thank you for giving us the opportunity to rid ourselves of any indulgences and material time to experience what it was like in Marikina, particularly around San Roque Elementary School. Please guide them and nurture them so that they can continue on in life with bounty and happiness. Please help them with their troubles and assist them during trying times. I ask that you teach us the value of serenity, temperance, and justice, so that we can someday make a difference and help others in need like you always have, Amen.

September 26

So, since we have Physics this year instead of Chemistry (it switched with sophomore year), I get to make a not-state-of-the-art fully-operating balloon car. For those unfamiliar with the experiment, it's a car made out of recycled material and propelled by an inflated balloon deflating. Balloon car.

I made my first one out of the first thing my hand could reach--thick cardboard. I cut out one panel to be the base, roughly 4 1/2 inches in width and 6 1/2 in length, and attached that to a vertical piece of cardboard with the same dimensions, where I would punch a hole and insert the balloon into. The wheels were made of compact discs glued to bottle caps, and the two axles were barbecue sticks thrust into holes in the bottle caps. It was all going according to plan, until testing day at school.

When it was my turn, the car moved a grand total of 2 inches, stopped, and then rolled back and passed the starting point. Since My score = distance travelled, I got a score of -1 meter. Joy.

So back to the drawing board. Apparently cardboard was too heavy, and that coupled with the little Snoopy doll the car had to carry, well, it couldn't meet the criteria. I tore apart the failed experiment and began anew, trying to make it as light as possible. And woe behold, I made another car with its skeleton out of barbecue sticks. It was genius. It travelled at least 12 meters.

I was really confident with my work the next day, right until at that point when during English class, my friend-whom-I'm only-pretending-to-be-friends-with-because-it's-convenient-and-not-doing-so-could-possibly-ruin-my-social-life played with my car, and inadvertently(or at least I thought it was an accident) dropped it. The axle snapped and the wheels separated. Physics was the next subject.

So I sukily tried to do damage control, bitching internally at that god-forsaken, bitchy, social climbing scum. He didn't even say sorry. Yes, he's a he.

So while I glared daggers at his pathetic excuse for a balloon car I was frantically fixing my axle, subtitituting a rubber band for glue to prevent the axle from swiveling left and right. That didn't do any good, and I failed that experiment.

And I swore to the Lucifer and Satan and Belial and Asmodeus and what other demon there is in the seven layers of hell, that I was going to get revenge.

A/N:
This is an attempt at besting Skitty. 
This is so Twilight-y, it sickens me.
Watch out. Ta.

The Situation

Tom idly sat on the windowsill, looking at the looming clouds, heavy and dark, just about ready to pour. He could feel the pressure it was exerting, even from his small yet tidy room on the third floor of their newly acquired house in Whitehorse.

Quiet, sane Whitehorse. Tom had no idea he was even Canadian.

He and his parental units, he jokingly, sadly called them, had moved there, for his father lost his job to recession, and he had ancestral roots in the cold community. Deemed worthy of a position, a small office uptown found his father a deskjob as assistant to one government-run police slash detective station, handling the sudden wave of criminal activity in the capital.

The last person who had the job had been enlisted as a deputy, out there handling wrongdoers, and all his father had to do was sort through criminal files, reports, and data. Not an easy job to do, his father reprimanded when Tom questioned its credibility, huffing and slamming the door shut as he left for work.

Whatever, Tom thought sullenly, just as long as it puts meat on the table. His mother watched the tirade with as much emotion she could muster, which was, to some extent, better than a just-painted drying wall. For one, her left brow twitched.

They arrived two days prior, and a day before school started. Yes, since his grandfather's trust tuition cannot be put anywhere else but a school, he was enrolled to the nearest high school, FH Collins Secondary school. Documents were signed, monetary checks transferred, and school materials bought.

Despite being early September, Whitehorse proved to be quite a frigid terror. The transition from warm, sunny Florida to Yukon, Canada was so instantaneous that he would have had a heart attack from the sudden temperature change, exaggeratedly speaking. He heard that Whitehorse had the best liveable climate in Canada, which he thought made the trouble of buying insulation a moot point. 

This explained his wearing a thin sweater over a dress shirt as his father drove the rental moving truck, his mother trailing behind in their van, a decision he regretted the moment he stepped off the truck and its heater.

An icy gust bit its welcome as his father ordered him to unload. It was so cold that he expected the population would be inside nursing cocoa or coffee mugs near their chests, next to an open fire and under a blanket. Instead, people were walking around the neighborhood, a small village extension of the town called Riverdale, out and about, busy with chores, or just enjoying Labour Day.

He wasn't overreacting. He was just damn freezing.

Tom's enough, his father said when his mother asked about moving helpers. The youth spent the day going back and forth between the cabin and truck, carrying stuff from things as light as vases and lamps, to furniture and crates.

Tom wasn't in anyway physically attributed. He was clever though, and, to his father's surprise did he unload everything in the truck. His father, mystified, nodded imperceptibly and went to his business of fixing the living room and kitchen, while his mother decorated them. He was relieved of a heavy task, a relief to his frozen and exhausted limbs, and was allowed to refurbish everything in his room in the cabin, next to the attic.

After throwing memories in the trash, a scrapbook relaying his junior year in Florida, with his band of merry men, his circle of friends, a school yearbook, and photos, namely of his best friend in one, and himself with an arm wrapped over his ex-girlfriend's shoulders  in another. Memories which, hard as he tried to save, couldn't, for it hurt a lot to think about and despair was something he wasn't keen on feeling at the moment.

He was trying to be optimistic thinking this new school would be great, this new town would be awesome, this new life would be terrific.

The rain that fell from the other side of his window took those last shreds of hope with it, sealing a fate that he was sure would be the death of him.

--

The following morning was anything and everything but uneventful. Terrifiying, disparaging, eye-opening, infuriating, among other things.

Tom would never forget that moment when the antique vase Gaile Cooper, his mother, had fussed over and protected with her life (proven at one point in time when a burglar got into their house in Florida) flew across the room and hit its said maudlin owner on the head with a resounding crash, just as he was going down the stairs. The culprit: his father, John Cooper.

It would take about three men to stop his father's rampage if he were really drunk and if his blood pressure rose significantly. It just so happened that the situation filled both those conditions exactly, and Tom, lanky, not even equating to one man, was in the way.

Blood sprawled out onto the living room, coming from a crack on Mrs. Cooper's skull. Mr. Cooper's vision, clouded with rage, couldn't distinguish the dark crimson from the redwood paneling of the floor, and Mr. Cooper slipped as he charged towards Tom, giving his fifteen-year old son a head start. Tom ran towards the kitchen as his father recovered too quickly from the fall, but by then the teen had a knife firmly gripped.

What happened next was the most horrifying thing Tom had ever experienced, and the last one, at that.

His father had the hunting shotgun in his hands, and stormed through the kitchen like an enraged bull. Tom, thinking like it was now or never, jumped his father from behind and took a stab at Mr. Cooper's jugular. He fell dead in an instant, throwing the shotgun to the floor, which, to Tom's standard misfortune, hit the tile as it was pointing at him, the vibration tripping the trigger.

A/N:
This is an attempt at besting Skitty. 
This is so Twilight-y, it sickens me.
Watch out. Ta.

The Situation

Tom idly sat on the windowsill, looking at the looming clouds, heavy and dark, just about ready to pour. He could feel the pressure it was exerting, even from his small yet tidy room on the third floor of their newly acquired house in Whitehorse.

Quiet, sane Whitehorse. Tom had no idea he was even Canadian.

He and his parental units, he jokingly, sadly called them, had moved there, for his father lost his job to recession, and he had ancestral roots in the cold community. Deemed worthy of a position, a small office uptown found his father a deskjob as assistant to one government-run police slash detective station, handling the sudden wave of criminal activity in the capital.

The last person who had the job had been enlisted as a deputy, out there handling wrongdoers, and all his father had to do was sort through criminal files, reports, and data. Not an easy job to do, his father reprimanded when Tom questioned its credibility, huffing and slamming the door shut as he left for work.

Whatever, Tom thought sullenly, just as long as it puts meat on the table. His mother watched the tirade with as much emotion she could muster, which was, to some extent, better than a just-painted drying wall. For one, her left brow twitched.

They arrived two days prior, and a day before school started. Yes, since his grandfather's trust tuition cannot be put anywhere else but a school, he was enrolled to the nearest high school, FH Collins Secondary school. Documents were signed, monetary checks transferred, and school materials bought.

Despite being early September, Whitehorse proved to be quite a frigid terror. The transition from warm, sunny Florida to Yukon, Canada was so instantaneous that he would have had a heart attack from the sudden temperature change, exaggeratedly speaking. He heard that Whitehorse had the best liveable climate in Canada, which he thought made the trouble of buying insulation a moot point. 

This explained his wearing a thin sweater over a dress shirt as his father drove the rental moving truck, his mother trailing behind in their van, a decision he regretted the moment he stepped off the truck and its heater.

An icy gust bit its welcome as his father ordered him to unload. It was so cold that he expected the population would be inside nursing cocoa or coffee mugs near their chests, next to an open fire and under a blanket. Instead, people were walking around the neighborhood, a small village extension of the town called Riverdale, out and about, busy with chores, or just enjoying Labour Day.

He wasn't overreacting. He was just damn freezing.

Tom's enough, his father said when his mother asked about moving helpers. The youth spent the day going back and forth between the cabin and truck, carrying stuff from things as light as vases and lamps, to furniture and crates.

Tom wasn't in anyway physically attributed. He was clever though, and, to his father's surprise did he unload everything in the truck. His father, mystified, nodded imperceptibly and went to his business of fixing the living room and kitchen, while his mother decorated them. He was relieved of a heavy task, a relief to his frozen and exhausted limbs, and was allowed to refurbish everything in his room in the cabin, next to the attic.

After throwing memories in the trash, a scrapbook relaying his junior year in Florida, with his band of merry men, his circle of friends, a school yearbook, and photos, namely of his best friend in one, and himself with an arm wrapped over his ex-girlfriend's shoulders  in another. Memories which, hard as he tried to save, couldn't, for it hurt a lot to think about and despair was something he wasn't keen on feeling at the moment.

He was trying to be optimistic thinking this new school would be great, this new town would be awesome, this new life would be terrific.

The rain that fell from the other side of his window took those last shreds of hope with it, sealing a fate that he was sure would be the death of him.

(Scratches temple)

Aha, yeah I decided to make this one of my home bases once more, since I abandoned one forum I'm connected with (Alex, hi) and I dunno if I should come back there, and because a friend actually uses this damn site, a friend which I actually see face to face from time and again (Skitty) so I at least have one constant companion in this place.

And should I post fics here? I dunno. Arnaud's fic was so unsucessful that I had to plunge my head into burning oil for it. And my mind's too preoccupied with miscellaneous things, anyway, like school, and games, and, well, school. And this girl from this book says that reading some works could not possibly affect someone's writing style permanently, a theory I'm adamant in ignoring, because every fic I've written was because of a fic I've read, so, it scares me to think I'm being to copy-cat-ish.

And so I end this transmission with a salute--this will be the first one to be seen in this new legacy, which hopefully will stay until college leaves me.

So, this looks dead-on like Francis from my fanfic "Are We Allowed To do This?".

Do you know how much it crushed my last shreds of hope when I saw in imdb that Taylor Lautner is sure to come back as Jacob Black in New Moon of the Twilight series? It tore at every fiber of my being like a mad harpist plucking at her harp with a rake.

Nah, it's alright.

I really, really, really wanted Steven Strait to replace Taylor in New Moon, since Jacob's going to grow in that book anyway, but nooo the casting director had to insist the characters not to change. It's alright though, Taylor Lautner has some potential. Hopefully he crops all that native american hair off, as said in the book. Maybe even a few styling here and there from the hair stylists. I dunno, I think he could pull it off. I just hope he doesn't disappoint me by ruining the fantabulous book character that is Jacob Black...

(Absentmindedly juggles three eggs)
So, what's with al these 'click my egg' and let it hatch and such? Isn't it one of those mutual friendship games where you're oging to have to have lotsa friends to click on your eggs for you until it hatches? What's so fulfilling about that? (drops an egg, stares at the yolk, ignores it) I mean, sure it's a dragon, wheeee, but how does it actually improve ones life when you have ten of those dragons, ice-breathing or periwinkle colored? (drops another egg) I just see it as a bit pointless and time wasting. If a charity or company donates a dollar or so for each virtual egg hatched, then it will be somehow worthwhile.

Author: Me, MichangelO, or Micharnaud
Title: Are We Allowed To Do This?
Pairing: Harry/Sirius/Remus, Harry/Charlie(temporary), Draco/OC
Rating: M, NC-17
Genre: Romance/General
Summary: What happens when two people are so deprived of sex
that they had to resort to doing it while there are teens around the house?
And how would a confused bespectacled boy handle it when he sees
his godfather and his former teacher doing it?
Link: Are We Allowed To Do This?

Author: me MichangelO(fanfiction.net) or Micharnaud
Title: I Swear, If You Laugh...
Pairing: HarryxDraco/Cedric/OC
Rating: M, NC-17
Genre: Romace/General
Summary: It's aptly named 'falling' in love because that's
how it is--as effortless and exhilarating as falling. But
sometimes, slip ups are made, and you just can't help falling
for more than one person. The new students stirs up competition,
and also hidden feelings.
Link: I swear if you Laugh...