The Bangus Ultimatum

There was a recent blog flare-up in multiply. A U.P. Law student wrote that Cris Mendez is partly to blame for his death. The blog post has already been withdrawn from public access, but the Jester-in-Exile has a copy of the substantial parts.

The reasoning is akin to the doctrine of assumption of risk. In tort law, it is a defense that goes something like: “Plaintiff knew exactly what he was getting into, and willingly put himself in harm’s way”.

The theory makes sense in cases where human agency is not present, or is so diffuse so as to be negligible.

If I climb a mountain and I fall to my death, or if I handle a wild animal with no owner and get gored, these are valid cases of assumption of risk because no human agency is involved (except my own). It’s just the way mountains and wild animals are built, and since they’re not capable of legally recognizable agency, I assume the risk.

But human agency and choice is involved in hazing. Frats are not, and should not be automatically violent the way mountains are automatically tall and risky. At some point, specific persons, real individuals chose to adopt and maintain physical violence in hazing rituals. At some point individuals choose to “sell” the benefits of frats, and incentivize violent behavior within the organization (or at least, not disincentivize it enough).

This week, I’ve been obsessed with finishing a couple of petitions for annulment (of marriage). I’m hell-bent on filing them by February 14.

My friends think I’ve got something against Valentine’s Day. They’d be wrong. What I have is a deep and abiding hatred. A pathological, single-minded vendetta against that day.

I guess I owe you guys an explanation.

The story that The Four like peddling around law school was that I began February 14, 2006 eager to give flowers to a girl, and ended that day catatonic and watching Brokeback Mountain, and that no one really knows what happened in between. That is a lie. Because I know exactly what happened in between. I’ve never blogged about it, except maybe only to describe the consequences. Now, almost a year later, I think I’ve piled enough distance between myself and that day to write something.

The Girl. People who know me well wonder why I liked her in the first place. She didn’t care at all about politics. She loved reading romance novels and watching TV. And cooking. Someday she wants to earn enough money to buy all those pretty shoes. To be fair, I really don’t know her that well, so maybe this is just her public interface. All we ever had were a couple of conversations, and a card game during the block Christmas party. Looking back now, I think I liked her for what I thought she symbolized: That if maybe we got together, I can forget about all my little losing wars, and all the thousand little strings that bound me to a lifetime of picking up fights.

The Plan. All I wanted was to give her roses on Valentine’s Day. She’d be in law school, watching over her organization’s little flower booth. I figured I could pass by and give her the flowers. She didn’t have to say or do anything. A straightforward transaction. I’ve never been a fan of treating relationships like a game of Battleship - with hidden moves and incomplete information. I wear my heart on my sleeve - I wanted to tell her in clear terms that I liked her and that I’m not out to be her buddy.

The Turn. As bad luck would have it, the night before Valentine’s an over-eager classmate accidentally informed the girl of my little surprise. Next day, the girl skipped out on class and booth watching duty and asked one of her friends (let’s call her Friend A) to go shopping in Megamall. I’ve already ordered the flowers, and now they’d go to waste. Another friend (Friend B) and orgmate of hers volunteered to drive me to Megamall - the price of the flowers included a reasonable attempt at delivery, after all. What happened next went something like this:

Friend B(to girl, by text): Please stay in Megamall.

Girl: I’m about to go. Why are you going to Megamall?

Friend B: I need to give you something.

Girl: What is it? I really have to go. Are you going here with someone?

Friend B: In the parking lot already. Where are you?

Girl: If he’s with you, I’ll be angry at you, and I’m leaving.

Friend B(to me): I think you need to stay in the car. I’ll give these to her.

The Fall. She took the flowers and left. I remember sitting in that car, too stunned to say or do anything. It wasn’t the girl’s fault. She is just a child, when it comes to these things, and anyone should brace for disappointment when dealing with children. Friend A hitched a ride so she could give her boyfriend a Valentine’s gift. We had dinner with Julz and Kitch, and then we all watched Brokeback Mountain in Friend B’s condo unit. I barely spoke the whole time.

Julz: Dude, okay ka lang?

Me: I…

Julz: Grabe yung Brokeback ‘no?

Me: Nnnnhhh….

Julz: Okay lang yan. I’m sure na-appreciate nya yung flowers.

Me: I…

Julz: Ikaw naman kasi eh. Nood na lang tayo ng UP Fair.

Me: Neeehhh…

And then we all watched the UP Fair. Friend A and her boyfriend and Friend B and Julz and Kitch. I hated it. Hated the love songs. Hated the food. Hated the fucking lameass fortune tellers and magicians. After getting assurance that I could crawl back home, they dropped me off the footbridge in Philcoa. I saw their cars speed off, and then I convulsed and retched by the stairs. My brain was clicking on old subroutines, and my skin was wet with the fever sweat of memory. It was almost instinctual, to reach back. To the north. To the cliffs. To my cold and pale ghost lady. I was angry at her, for leaving me here crippled and alone. And then I was not angry, but just breathing in the steadily throbbing blank of sadness.

Epilogue

Two weeks later, GMA declared a state of rebellion over the city, through PP 1017 - and got away with an undeclared, and therefore unreviewable martial law. We were rushing a memorandum of arguments to the Supreme Court. There were manifestoes and mindbombs to move. I hadn’t slept for days. In the middle of everything the girl finally gives me a reply, through text. She thanked me for the flowers, but made it clear that I wasn’t her type, and that they made her feel uncomfortable.

Well, what can you do?

I laughed. Hard and full and fresh, like the howling of a madman against the storm.

Thanks for the chocolatey treats. On good days, my life is spent looking at metaphorical trainwrecks. On bad days, it’s a major soul-sucking hole. So chocolate is always good.

I realize that it’s been a while since I wrote a Scaebolah column. I’ll do my best to concoct something soon.

“The era of procrastination, of half-measures, of soothing and baffling expedients, of delays, is coming to a close. In its place we are entering a period of consequences.”

- Winston Churchill

Yesterday I clocked in my first 10 KM day. I resolved at the beginning of the year, that I will run “to the point of collapse”. Prior to that promise my advance had been gradual, comfortable (even leisurely). I’ve pre-programmed the right distance, the right speed, for any given run.

Lately, I’ve chucked the whole plan and just started running based on an “asymptote to destruction” - I’ll just push it. Maybe it was because I read about this crazy person – who woke up one day and decided to just run, and find out for himself the outer limits of the human heart. Maybe I’ve crossed a point where I’ve grown tired of half-measures, of not knowing how deep and far I can go with my heart.

So I want to run, until my veins are flushed with acid and my legs give out. I want to love to the point of heartbreak. I want to fight to the extent that I will have true enemies. I want to speak so freely that I am called a fool .

That point of collapse - that singularity - is out there. Over the next bend. Just beyond the road. I’m going for it, and I hope to see a lot of you when I get there.

The Spirit answered not, but pointed onward with its hand.

‘You are about to show me shadows of the things that have not happened, but will happen in the time before us,’ Scrooge pursued. ‘Is that so, Spirit?’

The upper portion of the garment was contracted for an instant in its folds, as if the Spirit had inclined its head. That was the only answer he received.

Although well used to ghostly company by this time, Scrooge feared the silent shape so much that his legs trembled beneath him, and he found that he could hardly stand when he prepared to follow it. The Spirit pauses a moment, as observing his condition, and giving him time to recover.

But Scrooge was all the worse for this. It thrilled him with a vague uncertain horror, to know that behind the dusky shroud, there were ghostly eyes intently fixed upon him, while he, though he stretched his own to the utmost, could see nothing but a spectral hand and one great heap of black.

‘Ghost of the Future!’ he exclaimed, ‘I fear you more than any spectre I have seen. But as I know your purpose is to do me good, and as I hope to live to be another man from what I was, I am prepared to bear you company, and do it with a thankful heart. Will you not speak to me?’

It gave him no reply. The hand was pointed straight before them.

I’m back, just in time to post my traditional excerpt from A Christmas Carol. The text is already in the public domain, in formats ranging from html to audio. I don’t know why I’m such a sucker for this story (and its many adaptations). Maybe it’s “the lesson”, or the transformation at the end (spoiler alert!). I wish everyone good lessons and beneficial transformations. Minus the creepy ghosts.

A very merry Christmas to all!

Last week, The Four (or at least three of us) had their pictures taken for the grad yearbook. This was after we had our “creative shots” . Remir went for The Crow but ended up looking like Bollywood Clown with a Baseball Bat. I tried getting a CSI Lab Technician thing going but looked like Loser in a Lab Gown. And Julius - well, he tried shooting for Gangsta but  ended up looking like Ali G. Because that’s what we’re all about - falling far far short of the ideal. But hell, we’re having fun while doing so.

Thought it was too early to tell. But this here pretty much sums up ‘06 for me.

You Can’t Always Get What You Want

by the rolling stones

[chorus]
I saw her today at a reception
A glass of wine in her hand
I knew she would meet her connection
At her feet was her footloose man

No, you can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
And if you try sometime you find
You get what you need

I saw her today at the reception
A glass of wine in her hand
I knew she was gonna meet her connection
At her feet was her footloose man

You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes you might find
You get what you need

Oh yeah, hey hey hey, oh...

And I went down to the demonstration
To get my fair share of abuse
Singing, "We're gonna vent our frustration
If we don't we're gonna blow a 50-amp fuse"
Sing it to me now...

You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes well you just might find
You get what you need
Oh baby, yeah, yeah!

I went down to the Chelsea drugstore
To get your prescription filled
I was standing in line with Mr. Jimmy
And man, did he look pretty ill
We decided that we would have a soda
My favorite flavor, cherry red
I sung my song to Mr. Jimmy
Yeah, and he said one word to me, and that was "dead"
I said to him

You can't always get what you want, no!
You can't always get what you want (tell ya baby)
You can't always get what you want (no)
But if you try sometimes you just might find
You get what you need
Oh yes! Woo!

You get what you need--yeah, oh baby!
Oh yeah!

I saw her today at the reception
In her glass was a bleeding man
She was practiced at the art of deception
Well I could tell by her blood-stained hands

You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes you just might find
You just might find
You get what you need

You can't always get what you want (no, no baby)
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes you just might find
You just might find
You get what you need, ah yes...