Menthol-Guy

I couldn’t really work out a good title.

My Canon SX100 IS is just shelved somewhere. It’s a gift from my Mom three summers ago (I keep on ranting about my sister and two summers ago), though I hate to say I actually forced Mom to buy me one. She treats the purchase as something unpractical, among other reasons known to old people. The manual is technically overwhelming, mentioning apertures and focal lengths as if we all had our photography classes, but the experience of having such a “bridge camera”, as my friend puts it (for, he explained, it’s a hybrid between the normal point-and-shoot plus a number of awesome capabilities from the DSLR), is just an amazing ride, so to speak. (A ride, for chrissake.)

I got pissed off when I’ve already caused two pricey Energizer chargers to malfunction. Since then I had to subsist in using the disposable ones, though it’s a good thing Energizer now has their long-lasting lithiums. Anyway, I don’t have subjects to shoot, and I drool over bokeh features, so I want a DSLR. Having said about my Mom’s intolerance over expensive hobbies, well, she wouldn’t buy me one.

It’s just a craving. I know. The lenses and everything aren’t even portable compared to my SX100 IS; I could bring it to bars without even worrying about people who might crush it on their way to the dance floor or something. It’s ergonomic enough for such a powerful camera. Besides, I’m not, and am still thinking about taking pictures professionally (I don’t think I have the balls to publish this).

Last week, before it turns New Year (plus, my Dad bought me some fucking batteries), I’ve decided to revive my old flames with photography. I first shot the fireworks we had and thought of making a Project 365 as prestigious as this.

OF COURSE I’M KIDDING! Helga’s 365 is beyond me, though if you guys know any ideas about 365 (or Flickr users), share!

Mine wouldn’t have a theme, though. It would be as random as this blog. Plus I don’t have a program to edit my photos–I deleted my Adobe Photoshop long ago. It might be a plus for some people, though editing can really make final tweaks and adjustments on a picture before posting it on Flickr.

So here’s a sneak peek of my Project 365!

I’m trying to write my name. Turns out it’s a mirror image but who cares.

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Well, I’m enjoying my three-week break. (Yes, I’m still at it!) Though most of the times I’m stuck at home reading books (I’ve read three, but only finished one: “Catch” by Will Leitch, “Vintage Amis” by Martin Amis and “2003 Best Short Stories Collection” with Walter Mosley as the editor or something) and watching movies (”Jay” with Baron Geisler and Coco Martin–I didn’t like the film; and “Coraline”, a spooky animated film I’ll shelf next to Monster’s Inc. as one of the best in their genre ever, and–yeah–it’s based from a Neil Gaiman novel), I’m trying to get a lot of sleep from the past few months of… studying.

Vampire Weekend’s Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa captures the feeling of having a break. I don’t really care about the lyrics. (As a young girl / Louis Vuitton / And your mother / On a sandy lawn). It doesn’t have any relevance whatsoever; I just listen to it and I’m on my fucking sembreak.

It’s sad I’m not the kind of guy who goes to Boracay for sembreak. (Or to Anilao. Or to Anawangin Cove. Or to Sagada.) I just go out with my friends I haven’t seen for an entire semester: just eat, drink, play poker without the–how do you call it?–real bets like money. I catch up with their lives, and even catch wind of the lives of other High School people (most of them I didn’t care more than my toe or Math). Once a friend even had to show the yearbook, that yearbook, (expletive here!), which I designed.

Of course Dad and I are buddies again, if such thing exists between father-son relationships. I felt his desire to bridge the gap, to the point that he even brought me to the mall to buy new slippers (because they don’t last a year to me) and a polo I’ve been salivating to buy for months. We ate grass and silage at Pho Hoa (okay, that’s rude but I’m strictly not a fan of Chinese-Vietnamese food), and bought brie cheese and sausages and everything we both love to eat at the grocery.

Now I’m back, and I hope I could lay my fingers to blogging again, but this blog is becoming unsafe for me to harbor thoughts. That’s how I feel about this Menthol-Guy website.

Next week I’ll be exercising my being a prolific note-taker at school! I’m way too excited for next semester. A psychology class and a fucking critical writing class! How’s that! (Boo theater, though, it eats up nights just for production planning. Good thing our theater class isn’t about acting.)

PS: Why do I use parentheses all the time? Is this a mark of poor writing habits? A sign of tired and unstimulated compulsion to write?

Two balikbayan boxes arrived last Friday. Aside from plates and kitchen utensils, books of Didion and Schlink, they also sent me…

A shirt with Captain America in it.

Papyrus bookmarks (covered in plastic) from Egypt featuring a sneak peek of the Egyptian mythology and hieroglyphs.

160 personalized stickers with my name on it; the overall design is completely revolting, as if–no–it IS for nine year-olds.

“Well, your Mom left you when you were nine,” Dad said. He had sensed my point, since I, on the verge of rage, made a brief soliloquy (”Maybe she just got Alzheimer’s…”) about the reasons why my Mom sent it.

“Let’s have a quiz tomorrow! About the stickers! It’d be fun!” Dad said with excitement. We always make fun of things at the right time.

I was wondering why New York sent these things; it seems like a joke worth laughing at, but the mere form of a Balikbayan box–the solemnity, even, as we slashed away the masking tape that had sealed it–staves off anything as comical as a Captain America shirt.

It could be the recession. I imagine Mom traipsing through the SALE section of Target or TJ Maxx, finding for the right T-shirt to give little Kevin, and there it is! Radiating something iridiscent, something that tickles her eyes is a Captain America shirt. It will fit Kevin perfectly, she must have thought.

She must have been walking along Canal Street (she buys fresh prawns and roasted ducks there) when she stumbled upon El Fayrouz, an Egyptian bookmark stall, and she remembered little Kevin and the pile of books sitting besides him. She bought it even if the bookmark has Nefertiti on it.

Painfully so, she must have remembered little Kevin at some Christmas shop because they sell personalized stickers–and one of it has the name of her youngest little boy. “I am so much grateful you guys have Kevin stickers,” Mom exclaims with delight in the counter. “Really.”

These balikbayan boxes are sent to the wrong people–or at least, to the people they think they know. It might be safe to say that the distance between Mom and I has been highlighting our anonymities, that the former mother-son relationship has been turning out to be a relationship we have with strangers.

Maybe I should consider introducing myself again to my family in New York. I should start with “Hi, I’m Kevin, and I really love reading books but that, umm, it isn’t suffice to say that I also read comic books, because the thing is: I don’t. I like…” and maybe my introduction would last for a good thirty minutes, snobbing some comments and interruptions (I thought you like Nefertiti! Mom interjects), but would a thirty-minute speech be enough to close the distance and enrapture ourselves in the relationship we used to have?

After a couple of rendezvous-related arguments, a college friend and I agreed to stay for a couple of hours at Starbucks before going to the Fair. She brought out her homemade butterscotch while having Dunhill and iced coffee (mine’s a Dark Mocha Frappuccino) for company.

Instituto Cervantes is located at 855 T.M. Kalaw St. 1000 Ermita, Manila. As far as I know, you can get there through the LRT. United Nations station. The long lines buying tickets convinced us to get a cab instead–which is economically impractical.

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