The Marocharim Experiment

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Archive for June, 2009

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Nicanor Perlas: Cooming Soon

Tuesday, June 30th, 2009

I’m not one to deprive anyone of a Presidential bid.  If you want to run for President, if you’re qualified, and if there’s no big political or legal issue surrounding your candidacy, then there’s no one stopping you from your campaign.  We’ve had someone promise each Filipino a million pesos, and we certainly have a fond memory for aspirants for national office  beheading chickens in public to exorcise the evils in Government.

I’m cool with that.  After all, come 2028, I’m eligible for the Presidency, assuming there will be elections and there will be no Charter Change.  The idea of the Marocharim for 2028 Presidential bid, after all, rests on things I think Filipinos need and appreciate: wage increases, low-cost high-quality housing, security of tenure in employment, free tuition, national healthcare, medical marijuana, abortion rights, the right to keep and bear arms, and State-sponsored (not subsidized, sponsored) pornography for everyone.

In 2010, you’ll have to settle for Nicanor Perlas: “the real substantive choice” for 2010.  Nicanor Perlas is… well, let’s allow his PR repapipz to handle it for us:

Perlas embodies an unusual combination of expertise and skills, essential to addressing the stark challenges and incredible opportunities facing the Philippines.  He has been called a “green warrior”, a “sage” “a true leader”, a “profound thinker”, a “man of action”, and a “practical visionary”.

Wow, and my Presidential campaign will involve things like, “portal to the infinite.”  Or “gateway to greatness.”  There’s “paragon of immortality” or “I’m Maro-Fuckin’-Charim and you are crap.”  Perlas trumps all that.  He’s the hero you never knew.  He’s the LOL of Philippine history.

Nicanor Perlas: the indirect visionary behind the Philippines’ involvement in APEC.  Nicanor Perlas: the inaugurator of significant national policies that affect the lives of Filipinos without ever being directly involved in politics.  Nicanor Perlas: the guy who graced important meetings with his mere presence and changed the whole system.  Nicanor Perlas: visionary dude who represents us in the UN, so into public service that celebrity and mentions in HEKASI trivia quizzes is completely beneath him.  Nicanor Perlas: winner of the Alternative Nobel Prize.

I’m not just saying that, this is all based from his qualifications.  Nicanor Perlas: where winnability is flawed because there’s more than one way to skin a cat, garbage in garbage out, new politics has an essence.  More than that, “winnability,” like the Earth, moves.

I’ve got three words for you.  Nicanor Perlas: BADASS.

Now that’s PR.

No big questions… except for a couple of things.  His blog…

And his cooments…

Are cooming soon!  I’m just nitpicking.  Yowzah.

cooming soon

I’m one to let his resumé and PR do the talking, for whatever it’s worth.  In a country where Presidentiables promise a million pesos and behead chickens and call COMELEC officials to protect their votes… well, you get it.

Posted in Politics | 23 Comments »

Death of a Pitchman (Billy Mays, 1958-2009)

Monday, June 29th, 2009

And when I saw that, I realized that selling was the greatest career a man could want.  What could be more satisfying than to be able to go, at the age of 84, into twenty or thirty different cities… and pick up a phone, and be remembered and loved and helped by so many different people?

- Willy Loman,
Death of a Salesman, Arthur Miller

In the grand scheme of things, few people will remember Billy Mays.  Not with the death of Michael Jackson, Farah Fawcett, and Mitsuharu Misawa spaced just weeks apart.  At least in this part of the world, Billy Mays is synonymous with 4 PM infomercials that people cannot use.  Never mind the venerable buckets of OxiClean or the spray-bottles of Simoniz; at least here, Billy Mays is that loud, boisterous man who pitched the Ultimate Ladder.

Loud.  Billy pulled no punches in selling the products, whether they’re as useful as OxiClean or as funny as Tool Bandit (a magnetic strap you wear around your arm to carry tools).  Boisterous.  Billy was the archetype of the annoying TV snake-oil salesman, although he did give Simoniz and Mighty Putty the thumbs-up that was his seal of approval.  Each and every product made its way out of the TV, and into department stores.

Did anyone buy an Ultimate Ladder?  I do not know; I’m sure that in the United States, where Billy Mays is known as the “King of Infomercials,” Billy sold more  buckets of OxiClean through 1-800 numbers flashing on your screen.  While TV shopping may be the boon of lazybones customers and the bane of many a channel-surfer, Billy Mays pitched.  And pitched.  He just kept pitching things that were supposed to make our life better.  The pitch became an art form, more than the science of citrus cleaners and the mechanics of all-in-one power tools.

Such was life before the Internet and affiliate advertising, and life after the days of the travelling salesman.  Billy Mays, along with other TV infomercial pitchmen, were somewhere in between; patient sellers of products that didn’t make life any different or revolutionary, just easier.  It wasn’t a hard sell, or deliberate false advertising.  It’s the way of “As Seen on TV” products: putting names and reputations on the line for everything.  Augers, kitchen tools, ladders, and just about everything Billy Mays pitched, he sold with gusto.

Never mind that it was an unholy hour for shopping, never mind that every plastic slicer you had never really worked, or that you had to pay extra for shipping and handling.  Never mind that Billy Mays annoyed or amused more than he sold, or that his excited sales pitches earned him as much ridicule as he earned respect.  Nope, he didn’t have to deliberately smash his car somewhere, like Willy did in Death of a Salesman. All he had to do was appear on our TV screens to pitch the latest innovation, raise his thumbs up in a seal of approval, and I bet you one customer is going to make a call to that 1-800 number.

In the play, Willy says, “You can’t eat the orange and throw the peel away.  A man is not a piece of fruit.”  Yet I guess he missed out on the fact that a man can always do with a bottle of Orange Glo.

Perhaps the legacy of Billy Mays may be immortalized in pop-culture kitsch.  Yet there’s no mistaking that funny immortality: in a world of infomercials and pitchmen, whether it’s on TV or some basement at a mall, Billy Mays was the best.

* – Image sourced from DeadlyViper.org

Posted in Current | No Comments »

Like Ten Thousand Spoons

Monday, June 29th, 2009

A traffic jam when you’re already late
And a “No Smoking” sign on your cigarette break
It’s like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife
It’s meeting the man of my dreams, and meeting his beautiful wife.

- Alanis Morissette, “Ironic”
Jagged Little Pill, Maverick (1996) 

All of a sudden, things don’t make sense anymore from where I stand.  It’s a crazy world out there.

At the very least, I can blame it on something like aging.  The moons are approaching before I hit the big 2-4, and this isn’t just another one of those “manic Mondays.”  All of a sudden, my view of the world is getting more and more jaded.  People are not to be trusted, for the evil inherent in them.  The world is nothing more than an assemblage of deception.  The only vindication from all of this is pain and death, in the absence of anything more triumphant or optimistic.

That paragraph, summarized, is “Fuckin’ Monday.”

A friend of mine loses his job, and I’m unusually numb.  I got ditched on a date, and I’m not feeling a thing.  Father calls, and I respond nonchalantly.  The world is imploding all over me, and I don’t really care.

I mean, seriously, what’s the point?  There’s angst about nothing in particular, so there’s no way to channel it.  It takes an Alanis epigraph, and three paragraphs, for me to say, “Fuck this.”

Those two paragraphs, condensed, is “Fuck you.”

My way with words sometimes amazes me.  Then again, it can sometimes disgust me.  The reality sets in that I’m an idiosyncrasy on two legs, a conflicted machine with but three options: Abort, Retry, Fail.  To my credit, it’s always on “Retry.”  Where surrendering is not an option, there’s always the option to revise, rephrase, and do things all over again.  When somebody points it out, though, it hurts even more.  I’m blind to my own mistakes, so much so that I’m left high and dry looking for that error.

Then when you realize there’s pretty much nothing you can do about it, you just give up.  I’m the only person capable of hurting myself, and I’m pretty damn good at it.  Is it homesickness?  Is it heartache?  Perhaps frustration.  Maybe it’s just the feeling that I have to darken the shades of the black I wear, just so that something will stand out in a world of rainbows and happiness and joy.  Or lengthen my words and complicate my phrases, just so that I can capture the truth of the conflicted, complicated feelings I have inside.

At the very least I can start to be honest with myself and say that I’m a pained, tortured individual, lost in the search for affirmation.  That truth is somewhere out there.  That justice and vindication is so close.  Just so that I can start caring for myself for once, and stop hurting myself for things I can’t do anything about.

Pardon my rambling, all this shall pass.  I’m just using ten thousand spoons to say what I feel.  If I used a knife, this entry would have simply been: “Fuck this shit, screw it all.”

Sometimes, all it takes is a crapshoot to put things into perspective.

Posted in Personal | 2 Comments »

I Don’t Like The Drugs, But The Drugs Like Wallabies

Sunday, June 28th, 2009

Today on weird news: crop circles have been found in Tasmania.  The phenomenon didn’t prove the existence of advanced alien life-forms sending a message of universal peace, or the Tazmanian Devil.  Lara Giddings, deputy premier of Tasmania, was quoted by Reuters in saying that the  mysterious crop circles were caused by a bunch of wallabies who have been eating poppy seeds and hopping around in circles.  In case you don’t know, chemicals from poppy are used to make opium and morphine.

I’d do anything to see a stoned wallaby, or a drugged animal for that matter.  I’ve seen people do very weird things after consuming one too many space brownies or galaxy spaghetti.  The most I got to see of drugged animals was years ago, when I saw two neighborhood dogs run around in circles chasing each other after eating angel’s trumpet flowers (or some patch of hallucinogenic flowering plants of some sort).  It’s a rather amusing sight, although I turned away when they both grew erections and attempted to hump each other.

(Was Rocko ever drugged in “Rocko’s Modern Life?”  Rocko is a wallaby.)

It makes me remember that chapter in Pearl S. Buck’s The Good Earth, where Wang Lung bought the land of the House of Hwang for the price of opium.  It’s a very poignant reminder of the dangers of drug addiction – more than the confessional non-fiction misery literature books I’ve been collecting these days – but there’s nothing like the thought of a bunch of cute little marsupials running and jumping about fields of poppy seeds getting high.  Caught beneath a landslide in a champagne supernova in the sky, or something like that.

This is why I think the global war on drugs is an epic fail: the wallabies are on to us.  While we’ve been focusing on cocaine smuggling in Colombia and crystal meth “supermarkets” somewhere in Pasig, the wallabies have been gorging themselves on the very same seeds we use to decorate and flavor cupcakes with.  The marsupials have been robbing us blind, getting stoned, and running the largest poppy seed cartel in the animal kingdom.  Wallabies are more progressive than us, in terms of decriminalizing organic drug sources for recreational or medical purposes.  There they are getting whack, and here we are sponsoring basketball pa-liga with at least one team of neighborhood junkies doing it to pay for marijuana.  There they are hopping around in circles enjoying the freedom of Nature’s bounty, and here we are blaming Ecstasy for sex videos.

Yup, here’s an entire human population thinking that the crop circles in the poppy fields of Tasmania are caused by aliens.  Between happy wallabies running around in circles and people panicking about alien invasions, I could use some of those poppy seeds to make up my mind.

Posted in Stuff | No Comments »

This Vitwater, Whattan Effort

Sunday, June 28th, 2009

I’ve always had this theory that when you open up a hydrogen tank and an oxygen tank and have the chemicals mix together in a vat, you’ll have pure water.  It doesn’t work that way, I know.  You know?  Great!

The key to clean and healthy living is eight full glasses of water, but most people aren’t content with “just water.”  There’s ionized water, alkaline water, water sourced from the natural springs of Heaven-Knows-Where.  I wouldn’t be surprised about one day seeing water extracted from the blossoms of the jacaranda tree.  They found bubbly water somewhere in Italy, labeled it “San Pellegrino,” and it tastes no different from pitcher-water you get “free” from Starbucks.  Or bottled piss, for that matter; the next big wave in health-conscious products may involve urine therapy.

Enter Vitwater.  It’s not the first fortified water product on the market, and it’s definitely not the first product endorsed by Manny Pacquiao.  ”Vitamin-enhanced flavored water” makes me think of buying juice, if not for the fact that it is juice.  It detoxifies… just like water.  It quenches your thirst… just like water.  It’s liquid and based on two important chemical elements that make the world go round… just like water.  I could just as easily make painkiller water by crushing ibuprofen and acetaminophen and dissolving it in tap water and market it to children.  I’ll make millions out of wrist-slashing emo kids.

Nah, I wouldn’t make a blog post detailing the facts of water and the foibles of vitamin-enhanced products with no therapeutic claims.  The champions of Vitwater will probably find this post and give me grammatically-inconsistent e-mails and comments telling me that they’ll make it their life’s mission to out me and make me famous.

Everytime I buy Vitwater, I fight a battle that I cannot win.  Lots of people already have problems opening a bottle of Vitwater as it stands, but I can never open the damn thing.  I’ve tried it all: wrapping the cap with a handkerchief, slicing the seal-tabs (whatever they’re called) with the thinnest parts of my keys, banging the cap on a wall… but it never opens.  There was a time I was screaming and wincing in pain just opening the bottle, as the spurs in my wrists just grated together.  All I ever wanted was a damn drink, and the damn bottle had to subject me to torture.

So I go back to the 7-Eleven, ask the attendants to open the bottle for me, and they start using the shop’s knife.  I wonder how many people had to go back to the store to have their Vitwater bottles opened.

Heto na po bote nyo Ma’am… ay Sir, este, sorry po.  Ah, the travails of being a carpal tunnel syndrome-afflicted wimp, and being mistaken for a woman on top of that.

In the grand scheme of things, Vitwater is just juice.  For all that effort, I start guzzling it.  One, two, four, six gulps…

Bleh, I didn’t feel any better.  I think I’ll buy them hydrogen and oxygen tanks and make millions.  I’ll champion it.  Then I’ll go all over the Interwebs looking for bloggers who have a problem with my overpriced water, post grammatically-inconsistent comments on their blogs, and make it my life’s mission to out them and make them famous.

Until then, I think I’ll stick with the water dispenser.

* – Image from Jayvee Fernandez at abuggedlife.com

Posted in Stuff | 4 Comments »

Remember the Time (Michael Jackson, 1958-2009)

Saturday, June 27th, 2009

michael jackson

The worst way to begin this entry would be to say, “I was shocked with the death of Michael Jackson.”  Another bad way to begin this entry would be to say, “I grew up with the music of Michael Jackson.”  We’re all shocked with his death, and we all grew up with his music, and he is indeed the single most revolutionary performer this generation ever had.  By now, everyone made a tribute – obligatory as it may be – to the King of Pop and his untimely passing.  It’s not that I’m riding a bandwagon, but it does get me thinking: what is there left to be said about him?

My elementary school days were punctuated by the melodious vocals of Michael Jackson.  Those into modern dance moonwalked their way along the corridors.  The HIStory albums were the first to go in the record stores; this was the time when eight-track cassettes were slowly giving way to CDs.  Michael Jackson was so cool and modern, that it became hip to wear pants a little on the short side, just to show white socks inside black patent leather shoes.  Everyone back then was a Michael Jackson fan, never mind that most of us back then didn’t know that he was black.  Yet there was always the music of MJ.  We sang, we danced, we performed at class assemblies.

It took a while before Michael Jackson’s name became more important than the music and the performance.  Child abuse allegations, dangling babies over balconies, and his unusually pale color made MJ more of a caricature than a performer.  MJ lost fans.  The Walkmans and boomboxes (this was the 1990s, even then, we didn’t have iPods) gave way to music that would define the rest of our musical tastes.  The mere mention of Michael Jackson can conjure up derision and disdain, at least to the discriminating (in more ways than one) fans that we were.

We made more jokes about the King of Pop than listening to his music.  More musicians came to the fore.  MJ faded to the background.  The comeback was questioned; who would listen to Michael Jackson, except people who grew up with his music?  He was no longer as hip as he was before.  The larger-than-life figure, the immortal, was nothing more that a beat-up, washed-out, bankrupt artist who had nothing left but music once so regarded, but then now derided.

Then, Michael Jackson died.  No celebrity death generated more new listeners or restored the appreciation of legions of fans more than the King of Pop.  MJ’s comeback were the albums, the music videos, the songs, the anthologies that he made through his lifetime of music.  Beyond the caricatures and the allegations, one thing is certain.

We’ll all remember the music, and we’ll all remember the time.

Posted in Current | 6 Comments »

An Illumination

Saturday, June 27th, 2009

Under normal conditions, the research scientist is not an innovator but a solver of puzzles, and the puzzles upon which he concentrates are just those which he believes can be both stated and solved within the existing scientific tradition.

- Thomas Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions

It’s not as much Copernicus disproving Ptolemy’s model, or Einstein propounding the theory of relativity, but scientific revolutions are made of simpler stuff than just grand theories and impressive ideas.

Like writing, the advancement of science and technology requires humility.  Science is sold every day, whether it’s a new invention or a new innovation.  Those who do science and technology – and those who sell it – are wise enough to take a step back from the project, and to realize how every part of it fits in with the other.  The assembly of facts, whether mental or material, is shifting and moving.  Facts can be disputed, and technology is always tested.  Even cold, hard scientific facts – or marketing facts, for that matter – are tested in reality.

In science, the equivalent of a writer’s revision in a work is called a paradigm shift.  Indeed, that’s a very cool phrase to use.  It speaks to something dreamlike and revolutionary.  Enamored as we are with “paradigm shifts,” it is all too often not the discovery of something new or innovative that causes it, but that something in the existing paradigm is inadequate or proven wrong.  That humility, to me at least, is the hallmark of a true scientist: the willingness to subject a scientific idea or a product of technology to the rigors of criticism.

Scientists should be humble to open themselves up to the possibility of being wrong without destroying their confidence for their science.  Scientific facts and products of technology do not always start out right: the errors are fixed, the criticisms are addressed, the problems are resolved.  What’s wrong from the beginning becomes right at the end.  That’s why science is the journey itself, not a stopover.

Scientists have to be open to criticism.  Every now and then, scientists need to revise their science.  Science is about constant proof, to affirm that the facts that they are stand as the facts as they are.  We constantly hypothesize, test, and conclude whenever we do science, and explore the possibilities brought about by that science.

When the results of the experiment are proven wrong, the experiment is re-evaluated.  The experiment is performed again.  The scientist bends over backwards not just to be proven right, but also to prove the facts to stand the test of discovery, exploration, and the rigors of scientific inquiry.  It’s not just the confidence in the results of science, but the willingness to subject those results to scrutiny and criticism, and learning and applying those lessons.

That, I think, is what makes a scientist stand out.  In the end, the qualities that make a scientist stand out will affect the product.  Humility and openness will result in a superior product.  Before that product hits the shelves, it has to be tested, underwritten, proven, and affirmed in the same way as the science that made it happen.

Like a revision of a story, scientific “revision” requires humility.  If you’re humble enough to accept criticisms, to apply lessons from criticisms, and to stand by your work where your confidence demands it, is the hallmark of science and is the key to commercial success.  Before wearing your laurels, you must first make sure that your head sees things the way they stand, and not moving in revolutions up high in the clouds.

Only then will the scientist see the illumination that leads to enlightenment.

Written after reading the exchange at Smoke.ph.

Posted in Current | 8 Comments »

Story of Revision

Friday, June 26th, 2009

SDC10309Whatever I can call my “workspace” today is a mess of paper, computers, and manuscripts.  I still have a life, but when that life ends, I have to subject myself – only because of a compulsion – to revise my workshop entries.  They got me that far, so I guess I’ll have to go further.

Writing something requires so much discipline as it stands.  Revising it requires a lot more than just discipline, but humility as well.  You start by making marginal notes and criticisms for your own work, taking slow death from other people’s input, and come out with a resurrected output.

Like a phoenix from a pile of ashes… of course, that’s what they all say.  It’s one thing to talk about the importance of revising a story, but it’s another thing to actually do it.  A month into revising my story, the Word document stands as it is the day I came back from Dumaguete: blank.  Not that I didn’t get any work done, though.

It’s not just “editing,” but “revision:” a complete overhaul.  Here’s a bad Haruki Murakami rip-off to illustrate it:

Wordspacewordspacewordspace.  Monotthatwordbackspace.  Let’susethisandrevise.
Okaythatdidn’tworkdeletethesentence.  Wordspacewordspaceword…
Damnwrongspellinglet’skeeponrevising.
Thatsentencedidn’tworkokaylet’sdothisagain.  Spacedamnbackspacewordspaceword.
Revise.  Wordspacewordspace.  Thisfontsuckslet’schangeit.  Thatdidn’tmakesense.
Thisthoughtdoesn’tcoincidewiththatthought.  Thisshouldn’tbehere.  Eraseerasewordspace.
Wordspacewordspace.  Ohdamndeletesentence.  Wordspacewordspaceohcrap.
Let’sdothisrevisionsomeothertime.

After a month of revising a seven-page story, the blank Word document just stares at me.  I glare at the stupid document with the stare of an idiot.  The Quixotic struggle of windmills turned to woods makes me want to call Sancho and tell me to shoot this Cervantes wannabee dead.  I don’t know who’s winning the battle: the story, or the guy who wrote it.  The scribbles on the manuscript are there to guide me to rephrasing and restructuring sentences, fleshing out characters, concretizing themes.  It’s the kind of bending over backwards that would eventually give me the right to kiss my own story’s ass.

The stories I tell, if not good enough in form and technique, will not be read in a world of glittering vampires, bitchiness, profound realizations, and erotica.  What am I doing writing about the tired old stories of squatters?  Why should I even bother with the life of the outsourced Pinoy?  What am I doing wallowing in the misery of life, brooding about the human condition, writing about human adversity and the injustice of society?  Other people don’t, I do.  I can’t write well, so I guess I should prove that in the best way I know how: by trying my very best to write well.

That’s what revision is all about: asking the question “Why?” so many times until it reflects in your story.  It’s not just the grammar, the choice of words, or the spelling that someone corrects during a revision, but the story itself.

Even I’m starting to doubt it all.  Other people can do it, I can’t.  There just seems, at least to me, the urge  and fury to put so much effort into something that does not pay off.  Who cares?  Who reads?  What’s the point?

Yet even doubt has to wait.  Revising my story means I’ll have to revise myself as well.  The most self-destructive insecurity complex that I know of – mine – should not get in the way of the task at hand.  I need to have that kind of humility to accept the fact that no matter how bad I think I am, only I can make that revision.

Rephraserestructurefleshoutconcretize.  Breakdownrebuilddestroyconstructkillresurrect.  Those things can wait.

Posted in Personal | 4 Comments »

Lyrics Translations: Practice Makes (Not-So-) Perfect

Thursday, June 25th, 2009

OK, someone asked me to make lyrics translations.  That means I’m in the mood to practice… making… lyrics… translations.

I’m a bit bored this week, so I decided to translate songs along the immediate line of:

  • Crap
  • Things I feel like translating
  • Things that will earn me the ire of readers
  • More crap.

I should really consider, therefore, to look for people to sing these things.

TRANSLATION 1. For some absurd reason, this song became a certified dance hit.  I do not know why.  People line dance to bollocks like this.  Oh well, it’s translate-able.

May Sakit Na Puso Ko

“Achy Breaky Heart,” Billy Ray Cyrus

Sabihin sa mundo, di ‘kaw babae ko
Sunugin mo damit ko pag-alis
O sa iyong amiga, kung gano katanga
Tawanan mo ‘ko sa telepono

Aking mga kamay, sa telepono ilagay
Aking mga paa’y sa may sahig
O ang aking bibig, sabihin sa ‘king kamay
Na di maaabot ‘yong pag-ibig

Wag lang sa puso ko, may sakit na puso ko
Baka di maintindihan
At kung sa puso ko, may sakit na puso ko
Sumabog at magpakamatay

Ooooh…

Sabihin mo sa ‘yong ina, ‘ko’y nasa Pampanga
Pakagat na rin sa aso mo
Sa kuya mong astig, kamao sa ‘king bibig
Kung ayaw niya rin talaga sa ‘kin

Sa hipag mong si Bing, ako’y yong sumbungin
Alam kong ako ay OK lang
O sa mga mata ko, kung ano ang iniisip ko
Baka ako’y layasan din ngayon

Wag lang sa puso ko, may sakit na puso ko
Baka di maintindihan
At kung sa puso ko, may sakit na puso ko
Sumabog at magpakamatay
Ooooh…

Wag lang sa puso ko, may sakit na puso ko
Baka di maintindihan
At kung sa puso ko, may sakit na puso ko
Sumabog at magpakamatay

Ooooh…

TRANSLATION 2. I have absolutely no idea why I’m translating this song, or if it makes sense, or if there’s any justice in a translation for it.  Here we go.

Ako’y Manghahaplos Na

“I Touch Myself,” DiVinyls

Mahal ko sarili ko
Mahalin mo din ako
Kung ako’y nalulungkot
Sa ibabaw ka nga
Sa sarili’y naghahanap
Hanapin mo ako
Nakakalimutan
Ipaalala mo sa akin na

Di ko na kailangan ng iba
Pag ikaw ay naiisip
Ako’y manghahaplos na
Di ko na kailangan ng iba
Di na, di na, di na

Ikaw lamang ang nagpapasaya sa akin
Ikaw ang araw na saki’y nagpapakinang
Kung ika’y nariyan, ako’y napapatawa
Hangad ko lang mapasakin ka

Ipipikit ang mata ko
At makikita ka sa harap ko
Baka ako’y mamamatay
Kung di mo ko pansinin

Makikita ng baliw
Kung gaano kita kagusto
Ako’y luluhod sa harap mo
Gagawin lahat para sa iyo

Di ko na kailangan ng iba
Pag ikaw ay naiisip
Ako’y manghahaplos na
Di ko na kailangan ng iba
Di na, di na, di na

Mahal ko sarili ko
Sana mahalin mo rin ako
Kung ako’y nalulumbay
Sumiping ka na sa akin

Hinahanap sarili ko
Hanapin mo ako
Nakakalimutan ako
Ipaalala mo sa akin

Di ko na kailangan ng iba
Pag ikaw ay naiisip
Ako’y manghahaplos na
Di ko na kailangan ng iba
Di na, di na, di na

Di ko na kailangan ng iba
Pag ikaw ay naiisip
Ako’y manghahaplos na
Di ko na kailangan ng iba
Di na, di na, di na

TRANSLATION 3. I love this song; it brings back memories.  I guess that when you have a song that memorable, and if you’re Marocharim, the recourse would be to translate it.

Wag Kang Maharot, Kampupot

“Build Me Up, Buttercup,” The Foundations

Wag ka ngang maharot, (maharot) kampupot, giliw
Ako’y ibabagsak, (ibagsak) iyong iwawasak
At higit pa, (malala) di ka pa tatawag oh
Pangako mo, (pramis mo) mahal rin kita
Kailangan ka, (siya na nga) higit sa sinuman giliw
Ikaw na mula simula
Wag kang maharot (maharot) kampupot, huwag mo kong saktan

Alas-diyes, sabi mo, paulit-ulit pa to
Huli pa din, maghihintay pa rin (tara na)
Pagbukas ng pinto, di na matitiis to
Hindi ikaw, pumapalpak pa rin

Hey hey hey, aking giliw, sige na
Hey hey hey, konting oras, para ika’y mapaligaya
Hey hey hey, sa bahay lang ako
Maghihintay sa may telepono

Oooo-oo-oooh, oooh-oo-oooh

Wag ka ngang maharot, (maharot) kampupot, giliw
Ako’y ibabagsak, (ibagsak) iyong iwawasak
At higit pa, (malala) di ka pa tatawag oh
Pangako mo, (pramis mo) mahal rin kita
Kailangan ka, (siya na nga) higit sa sinuman giliw
Ikaw na mula simula
Wag kang maharot (maharot) kampupot, huwag mo kong saktan

Ika’y aking laruan pero baka ako’y iyong magustuhan
Basta sabihin mo (sige na)
Konting pakipot mo, ako’y nahuhumaling pa sa ‘yo
Kailangan din kita

Hey hey hey, aking giliw, sige na

Hey hey hey, konting oras, para ika’y mapaligaya
Hey hey hey, sa bahay lang ako
Maghihintay sa may telepono

Oooo-oo-oooh, oooh-oo-oooh

Wag ka ngang maharot, (maharot) kampupot, giliw
Ako’y ibabagsak, (ibagsak) iyong iwawasak
At higit pa, (malala) di ka pa tatawag oh
Pangako mo, (pramis mo) mahal rin kita
Kailangan ka, (siya na nga) higit sa sinuman giliw
Tanging ikaw kahit simula
Wag kang maharot (maharot) kampupot, huwag mo kong saktan

Oh kailangan kita, oh yeah, higit sa sinuman giliw
Tanging ikaw kahit simula
Wag kang maharot (maharot) kampupot, huwag mo kong saktan

TRANSLATION 4. They say that Filipino is a very gender-neutral language, so I guess that if you’re heartbroken, this song would probably look good on a Regine Velasquez album.  Although in the general scheme of lyrics translations, this made me laugh out loud.

Pangakong Nasira

“Broken Vow,” Lara Fabian

Pangalan niya
Sabihin mo
Hitsura niya
At lakad ninyo
Makita ang mukha
At maintindihan
Ang ating katapusan

Ulitin mo
Di marinig
Sumira sa tapat na pag-ibig
Kasama mo sa gabi
Habang ako ay mag-isa
Noong tayo pa’y naalala

Lumaya ka
Lipad ka na
Tanong pa rin, o bakit ba
Magparaya
Ngayong nahanap na
Kung paano itago ang
Pangakong nasira

Anong tinagong salita?
May kinimkim ka bang luha?
Ang haplos na pangako mo’y sa akin lang
Naglaho nang ako’y iwan

Lumaya ka
Lipad ka na
Tanong pa rin, o bakit ba
Magparaya
Ngayong nahanap na
Kung paano itago ang
Pangakong nasira

Pikit-mata
Panaginip ng tayong dalawa at nagising na
Kay dami pa sa buhay na di poot at pananadya
Ako’y pipikit na muli…

Ipaglilimos ang kaluluwa mahagkan ka lang muli
Sana di na to ang pangakong huli

Lumaya ka
Lipad ka na
Tanong pa rin, o bakit ba
Magparaya
Ngayong nahanap na
Kung paano itago ang
Pangakong nasira

TRANSLATION 5. I have translated this before somewhere in The (Original) Marocharim Experiment, but I’m sure it will probably be vastly improved with my 1337 skillz.

Jeepney

“Jeepney,” Spongecola

I alighted from the jeepney
There was a time we rode that, just you and me
There was a time your cheek was touching mine
Your cheek touching mine

Your hanky still is in my pocket
Your smell is still in every fold of it
Our laughter sounds so lusty
In the heat between you and me

But right here and now, it’s over
You’ve gone away, we’re not together

I still remember all the nights that we spent
Lying down, looking up at the heavens
I still remember all the nights that we spent
You and me in the rain

Color and hue of your smile
Strands of your hair blowin’ in the wind
The tenderness of your lips
Your tender lips

Your shadow from far away
I want to see it, wanna see it just today
Just to find an escape
From the chill

But right here and now, it’s over
You’ve gone away, we’re not together

I still remember all the nights that we spent
Lying down, looking up at the heavens
I still remember all the nights that we spent
You and me in the rain

But right here and now, it’s over
You’ve gone away, we’re not together

I still remember all the nights that we spent
Lying down, looking up at the heavens
I still remember all the nights that we spent
You and me in the rain

TRANSLATION 6.  I’ll probably get an ass-whooping for this (like from Flaircandy, for example), but I just feel psycho enough to translate it.  Huling Pantasya, FTW.

Mata Mo Sa Akin

“Eyes on Me,” Faye Wong

Awitin ko’y kinanta, sa entablado, o mag-isa
O aking salita, maririnig mo kaya
Ngumiti ka nga sa akin
Tunay ba, o panaginip lang
Nariyan ka lang sa may sulok
Ng munting bahay inuman

Huling gabing kasama ka, awiting luma, minsan pa
Huling gabi na nga ba to, baka oo, o hindi
Gusto ko iyong pamamaraan
Nahihiya ka ba sa mata mo sa akin
Hindi mo lang alam, mata ko’y nasa iyo

Andiyan ka lang pala, tinatago ng iyong mukha
Parang di ka nasasaktan, di ka minamahal
Para ba ako sa iyo, magaan na kurot pero sigurado
Kung ika’y magalit, alam kong di ako nananaginip

Hayaan mo ‘kong lumapit, lumapit na sa iyo
Para madama ko, bawat pintig ng iyong puso
Diyan ka lang hanggang ibulong ko
Ang payapang mata mo sa akin
Hindi mo lang alam, mata ko’y nasa iyo

Ibigay mo na rin, ang iyong pagmamahal
Ang luhang kinkimkim, sakit na pinipigil
Gusto kong malaman mo, higit ako sa damit at boses
Lumapit ka lang, alam mong di ka nananaginip

Andiyan ka lang pala, tinatago ng iyong mukha
Parang di ka nasasaktan, di ka minamahal
Para ba ako sa iyo, magaan na kurot pero sigurado
Kung ika’y magalit, alam kong di ako nananaginip

TRANSLATION 7.  Helga Weber asked me for a copy of “Shiny Red Balloon” by Barbie’s Cradle one time, so I guess it is but logical – at least in my world – to translate this thing anyhow.

Makintab na Pulang Lobo

“Shiny Red Balloon,” Barbie’s Cradle

Tinago ang pag-ibig sa aklat
Ito pala dinadamdam ng kaaway
Pana-panahon sa ‘king dibdib
Ako lang palang taga-tago

Baka ‘di totoo
Pag-ibig sa telebisyon
Sa ‘king imahinasyon
Kay hirap palang gawin
Laging sumasagabal
Makintab na pulang lobo
Lahat napapanis

Tinago ang pag-ibig sa aklat
Praktikal, di masamang bisyo
Pero baka ito’y makasakit pa
At magpaumanhin ang TV

Baka ‘di totoo
Pag-ibig sa telebisyon
Sa ‘king imahinasyon
Kay hirap palang gawin
Laging sumasagabal
Makintab na pulang lobo
Lahat napapanis

Tinago ang pag-ibig sa aklat
Partidang mahaba at mapag-isa
Pano ka nabuhay ng ganyan, o giliw?
Alam kong ganito

Baka ‘di totoo
Pag-ibig sa telebisyon
Sa ‘king imahinasyon
Kay hirap palang gawin
Laging sumasagabal
Makintab na pulang lobo
Lahat napapanis

Lahat napapanis

TRANSLATION 8.  Rain Contreras sent a heads-up on a recording of Nat “King” Cole singing a classic Pinoy hit, but the music legend said he didn’t know the words so he read/sang them.  Hmmm… it WILL sound like Britney, dude.

Because of You

“Dahil Sa Yo,” Pilita Corrales

In my life where there’s too much
The hardship and the pain
Of a heart in love
As if there’s no more heaven

And when I finally smile
You saved me from my sorrow
Only you, my love
Are my hope in my life

Because of you, I want to live my life
Because of you, ’till the day I die
You have to ask yourself
You love no one else
Ask my heart just this once
It’s only you that I love

Because of you, I became happy
I offer you, all the love that’s in me
If I am real and true
I’ll be a slave for you
Every moment of my life
Is because of you

Because of you, I want to live my life
Because of you, ’till the day I die
You have to ask yourself
You love no one else
Ask my heart just this once
It’s only you that I love

Because of you, I became happy
I offer you, all the love that’s in me
If I am real and true
I’ll be a slave for you
Every moment of my life
Is because of you

TRANSLATION 9.  I am one of the many fans of Avril Lavigne… without the audio.  In the spirit of that, here’s a lyrics translation take on one of the Avril music videos I like to watch the most.

Girlet

“Girlfriend,” Avril Lavigne

Hoy, hoy, ikaw, ayoko sa ‘yong girlet
Hindi pwede, kailangan mo ng iba
Hoy, hoy, ikaw, ako na lang ‘yong girlet

Hoy, how, ikaw, alam kong gusto mo sa kin
Hindi pwede, alam mong di siya sikreto
Hoy, hoy, ako na lang ‘yong girlet

Pwede ka, gusto kita, ang sarap-sarap mo
Iniisip ka bawat oras nalululong ako sa iyo
Di mo ba alam ang kayang gawin para maging OK ka?

Wag pakipot, akala mo ako’y maselan
At oo, ako’y putang-inang prinsesa
Alam kong gusto kita at ako’y tama

Siya ay, sobrang kever
Alam mong, ako’y mas swak sa iyo
Naisip ko, dapat maging tayo na
Yun ang pinag-uusapan nila

Hoy, hoy, ikaw, ayoko sa ‘yong girlet
Hindi pwede, kailangan mo ng iba
Hoy, hoy, ikaw, ako na lang ‘yong girlet

Hoy, how, ikaw, alam kong gusto mo sa kin
Hindi pwede, alam mong di siya sikreto
Hoy, hoy, ako na lang ‘yong girlet

Nakikita ko ang pagtingin mo sa ‘kin
At kung ikaw ay lumingon naiisip mo’y ako pa rin
Alam kong ako’y naiisip mo lagi’t-lagi

Halika na’t sabihin mo ang gusto kong marinig
Mabuti pa’t palayasin mo si chaka girlet
Wag mo nang sabihin ang pangalan niya

Siya ay, sobrang kever
Alam mong, ako’y mas swak sa iyo
Naisip ko, dapat maging tayo na
Yun ang pinag-uusapan nila

Hoy, hoy, ikaw, ayoko sa ‘yong girlet
Hindi pwede, kailangan mo ng iba
Hoy, hoy, ikaw, ako na lang ‘yong girlet

Hoy, how, ikaw, alam kong gusto mo sa kin
Hindi pwede, alam mong di siya sikreto
Hoy, hoy, ako na lang ‘yong girlet

Isang segundo lang balot ka na sa ‘king daliri
Kaya ko, at mas maganda pa ang gawa ko
Wala nang iba, kailan mo pa madarama
Sobra niyang tanga, ano bang nakain mo?

Isang segundo lang balot ka na sa ‘king daliri
Kaya ko, at mas maganda pa ang gawa ko
Wala nang iba, kailan mo pa madarama
Sobra niyang tanga, ano bang nakain mo?

Hoy, hoy, ikaw, ayoko sa ‘yong girlet
Hindi pwede, kailangan mo ng iba
Hoy, hoy, ikaw, ako na lang ‘yong girlet

Hoy, how, ikaw, alam kong gusto mo sa kin
Hindi pwede, alam mong di siya sikreto
Hoy, hoy, ako na lang ‘yong girlet

TRANSLATION 10. Time for a slashwrist/tambling translation.  Just for the hell of it, I’ll bend the rules a bit.

Winner

“Jai Ho,” Pussycat Dolls

Winner, Winner…

Meron (meron)
Nginig (nginig)
Kung haplusin mo Ang Ilaw
Papainitin ka
Kukunin sa yo lahat
Sasabihin mo, Winner

Winner, Winner…

Meron (meron)
Lagnat (lagnat)
Tumataas parang sunog
Para sa ‘yo, gagawin lahat
Ika’y aking iaakyat, Winner

Sa akin, easy lang, easy lang
Sa akin, carry lang

Winner

Ang tunog ay kay bigat, kay bigat
Madarama…

Winner, ikaw ang dahilan ng aking paghinga
Winner, ikaw kung bakit ako naniniwala
Winner, ikaw ang aking kapalaran
Winner…

Winner

Wala nang makakapigil sa atin
Wala nang makakasingit pa sa atin
Kaya halina’t makisayaw sa akin
Winner

Huliin mo ako, huli, huli, halina’t huliin mo ako, gusto ko ngayon na
Alam kong ililigtas, ililigtas, ililigtas mo ako, kailangan kita
Ako’y sa ‘yo magpakailanman, ako ay susunod
Saan ka magpunta, di kita pakakawalan

Winner, winner

Takas (takas)
Palayo (palayo)
Idadala kita sa lugar
Pagnanasa nating dalawa
Di mawawala ang pag-asa (Winner)

Ikaw ay (ikaw ay)
Nadarama (nadarama)
Ko sa aking ugat
Ang puso ko’y tila dagat
Ako’y nagbago na ng tuluyan (Winner)

Hayaan mo lang masunog giliw
Hayaan mo lang dumating, Winner

Malalaman mo lang giliw
Isa lang ako sa marami

Winner, ikaw ang dahilan ng aking paghinga
Winner, ikaw kung bakit ako naniniwala
Winner, ikaw ang aking kapalaran
Winner…

Winner

Winner, Wala nang makakapigil sa atin
Winner, Wala nang makakasingit pa sa atin
Winner, Kaya halina’t makisayaw sa akin
Winner

Huliin mo ako, huli, huli, halina’t huliin mo ako, gusto ko ngayon na
Alam kong ililigtas, ililigtas, ililigtas mo ako, kailangan kita
Ako’y sa ‘yo magpakailanman, ako ay susunod
Saan ka magpunta, di kita pakakawalan

Kailangan kita, kaya natin, handa na ako, kaya heto na

Winner, ikaw ang dahilan ng aking paghinga
Winner, ikaw kung bakit ako naniniwala
Winner, ikaw ang aking kapalaran
Winner…

Winner

Winner, Wala nang makakapigil sa atin
Winner, Wala nang makakasingit pa sa atin
Winner, Kaya halina’t makisayaw sa akin
Winner

Winner

Baila baila, baila baila, baila baila

Winner!

Posted in Lyrics Translations | 4 Comments »

Everything Falls Into Place

Wednesday, June 24th, 2009

Everything falls into place.  There’s always a place for all shapes and sizes of things; it doesn’t matter if they’re on the straight and narrow, or the crooked and confusing, there’s always a place for everything.  You win some, you lose some, but you always move up a notch where everything’s faster, where every line is drawn for you.  You start off with nothing, and then you end up with a high score.

June may be a time for romance (wink wink), but this year, it’s the 25th anniversary of Tetris.

The gaming community is a collective not to be riled (the most gaming I do these days is Pokémon and the occasional rounds of fighting games at arcades), but it goes without saying that Tetris is a gamer’s game.  First developed in 1984 by Alexey Pajitnov, Dmitri Pavlovsky, and Vadim Gerasimov, Tetris was as simple as video games can get.  All you needed was to line up a bunch of different-shaped blocks into a row, the completed rows get eliminated, and you’re back in the game.  It’s simple, addictive, and we’re still playing the game (with the addition of frou-frou graphics and RPG elements) 25 years after it was first programmed.

You won’t see avid Tetris players in computer shops anymore (thanks to all this fan worship of Warcraft III and Left 4 Dead), and you certainly won’t see those 99-in-one “Brick Game” handheld Tetris machines where you play everything from speed Tetris to Tetris “racing games.”  Yet I guess that even in this day and age of cool-ass graphics and Facebook game alerts (seriously, I don’t wanna), there’s always room for the old stuff.

Everything falls into place.  Like blocks on a Tetris game, everything just keep falling into gaps, spaces, and for those used to it, every piece will fall into a snug fit between other pieces.  Suddenly, everything vanishes, and you start over.  It may seem to be over, but it never is… stupid crooked zig-zag thing!

As long as there’s a place for everything.  Happy birthday, Tetris!  I’ll play you again, as soon as I get you to work on this here computer.

those 99-in-one “Brick Game” handheld Tetris machines where you play everything from speed Tetris to Tetris “racing games.”  Yet I guess that even in this day and age of cool-ass graphics and almost every game in Facebook, there’s always room for the old stuff.
Everything falls into place.  Like blocks on a Tetris game, everything just keep falling into gaps, spaces, and for those used to it, every piece will fall into a snug fit between other pieces.  Suddenly, everything vanishes, and you start over.  It may seem to be over, but it never is…
As long as there’s a place for everything.  Happy birthday, Tetris!  I’ll play you again, as soon as I get you to work on this here computer.

* – Photo from “Tetris Story” by Vadim Gerasimov, one of the three pioneer developers of the original Tetris.  Thanks to Francis Acero for the tweet.

Posted in Stuff | 2 Comments »

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