tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143317222011-11-27T16:40:46.111-08:00Author's Note: The stories that follow are works of fiction. Any references to historical events; to real people, living or dead; or to real locales are intended to give the stories a sense of authenticity. Characters and their names, and the incidents where they appear are the product of the author's imagination, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental. Yeah, right. Dedicated to those who still remember.the jester-in-exilenoreply@blogger.comBlogger141100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14331722.post-1121321643839633962005-07-13T23:13:00.000-07:002006-12-03T03:40:41.484-08:00

you say you’ll give meeyes in a moon of blindnessa river in a time of drynessa harbor in the tempest…– U2, All I Want is You“You know what the worst part is?”“What?”“He promised that he’d never hurt me.”James pursed his lips. “Okay, let me play devil’s advocate a second. People get hurt all the time, especially if we’re talking about relationships.”“We’re talking friendship, James. We’ve been

Pierre Tito Gallanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14331722.post-1121321582183837842005-07-13T23:12:00.000-07:002006-12-03T03:41:00.332-08:00

“Hello, people. Long time, huh?”“Eric! S’up, pare!” Rod exclaimed, shaking hands with James’ older brother. “Kararating mo lang?”“Yup, just arrived,” he replied, hugging Ali in greeting then sitting between her and Laren, “just went home for a shower and a change.”“Bakasyon na ba?”“Nope… but I was able to get leave – a few days worth, which makes me here for all of two weeks. Damn near worked the

Pierre Tito Gallanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14331722.post-1121321524357573432005-07-13T23:11:00.000-07:002006-12-03T03:41:48.295-08:00

(first posted on http://www.peyups.com/article.khtml?sid=3273)Star of my life, to the stars thy face is turnedWould I were the heavens, staring back at theeWith ten thousand eyes.– Plato, from the epigrams dedicated to AsterYou told me once that you loved the night sky. You told me that you’re often thought of stars being coffee shops for angels, their own special tambayans, where they hang out

Pierre Tito Gallanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14331722.post-1121321461180856992005-07-13T23:10:00.000-07:002006-12-03T03:42:03.961-08:00

“Let me tell you a story,” Denise began, one late afternoon after enrollment. “I don’t know how it began, nor how it ended, but it’s still a story.”“Strange,” Laren replied, “but go ahead.”“Did you notice the girl who sits on that chair over there?”“Wala naman, ah,” Ray observed. Denise ignored him.“She showed up everyday, as punctual as a Swiss watch. At exactly two in the afternoon she’d come

Pierre Tito Gallanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14331722.post-1121321400752045552005-07-13T23:09:00.000-07:002006-12-03T03:42:36.550-08:00

Every group has a subgroup, every language has its slang or Cockney, or taglish, or whatever. You guys know why?We’re sure you’ll tell us, Kaye.Shut up, Laren. I mean, guys, look at us – our group, which is just a tiny subgroup of the whole youth group of Baguio, we have our own language, words we use that have meanings only to us. Why? It’s because within our group we’re all the same… and the

Pierre Tito Gallanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14331722.post-1121321349129536332005-07-13T23:08:00.000-07:002006-12-03T03:42:52.510-08:00

“It’s over, then,” Ramil said.Christine shook her head. “It doesn’t have to be. Please, Mil. Give me a chance. It won’t happen again.”“Won’t it?” The young man’s voice was icy in his formality. “Remember what we promised each other: we would follow the same rules. I never cheated on you. I was loyal."“How do I convince you that I’m sorry?”“I don’t know.”It was a study in contrasts: a young man in

Pierre Tito Gallanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14331722.post-1121321286148752772005-07-13T23:07:00.000-07:002006-12-03T03:43:33.932-08:00

Music is love in search of a word.– Sidney Lanier, The SymphonySeveral months had passed since the night Laren lost his journal, in a haze brought about by post-finals drinking in Fair Verona. His memory of the night was vague at best; the barkada said he kept nodding off as they had cup noodles after. Allen’s comment was, “Pare, it was meant to happen. Destiny lang yan.” Laren’s reply? “Pare,

Pierre Tito Gallanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14331722.post-1121321225086260722005-07-13T23:06:00.001-07:002006-12-03T03:43:48.803-08:00

“Hey, mister, watcha doin?”James looked up from the yellow legal pad he was scribbling on. A kid in blonde pigtails was staring up at him. In spite of his gloom, he managed a smile. “Well, little girl, I’m writing.”“A story?”“Well – yes.”“A fairy tale?”“Uh, sort of.”“Great! I love fairy tales! Could you read it to me?”“I don’t know if you’ll like it, little girl.”“I’m not little, I’m almost five.

Pierre Tito Gallanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14331722.post-1121321185499744692005-07-13T23:06:00.000-07:002006-12-03T03:44:21.086-08:00

‘cause I am barely breathing, and I can’t find the airdon’t know who I’m kidding, imagining you careand I can’t stand here waiting, a fool for another dayI don’t suppose it’s worth the price – the price we have to pay…– Duncan Sheik, Barely Breathing“When?”“Next month.”“That soon, huh.” Denise shivered underneath her jacket, even if the August afternoon was unusually warm. She avoided Sheila’s

Pierre Tito Gallanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14331722.post-1121321141225367732005-07-13T23:04:00.000-07:002006-12-03T03:44:34.018-08:00

“Uy, Laren, napapansin mo yung grupong yan? Lagi silang umo-order ng anim na kape, pero lima lang naman sila.”“Baka naman may isa sa kanila na dalawa ang iniinom.”“Hindi, a.”“Pa’no yung isang kape? Sayang yun, a.”“Wala. Iniiwan lang.”- Manang Arlene and Laren, one afternoon after midterm examsWhen the barkada was still new, long before they began calling themselves The Coffee Club, there was a

Pierre Tito Gallanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14331722.post-1121320605089556892005-07-13T22:51:00.000-07:002006-12-03T03:44:47.626-08:00

Strange how life parallels TV – sometimes even in the strangest of ways. I mean, I know that art imitates life, but motor sportsDamn. That’s an idea. What if I write inspirational books based on unlikely premises… The Gospel According to Formula One, Life is Harsh – How to Bite Back (The Wisdom of Stone Cold Steve Austin), Tombstones and Epitaphs – Sayings of the Undertaker, It’s an Askal’s Life

Pierre Tito Gallanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14331722.post-1121320239688520002005-07-13T22:49:00.000-07:002006-12-03T03:45:00.951-08:00

August 2000. A rainy evening in Baguio City finds a young man sipping his mug of coffee, his eyes drawn to the opposite balcony. From the threshold of Beans Café, he sees a couple of workmen heaving shelves out of a shop soon to close: TOSS, The One Stop Shop. A shop known to him and a few others, they who called themselves The Coffee Club and Los TOSStados, as The Tambayan.He sighs. The coffee

Pierre Tito Gallanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14331722.post-1121320165462688712005-07-13T22:47:00.000-07:002006-12-03T03:45:18.846-08:00

For those who still remember.

Pierre Tito Gallanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14331722.post-1121319970830042812005-07-13T22:42:00.000-07:002006-12-03T03:45:32.094-08:00

The stories that follow are works of fiction. Any references to historical events; to real people, living or dead; or to real locales are intended to give the stories a sense of authenticity. Characters and their names, and the incidents where they appear are the product of the author's imagination, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidentalYeah, right.jaime

Pierre Tito Gallanoreply@blogger.com0