Synchronocity

Synchronicity is the experience of two or more events which are casually unrelated occurring together in a meaningful manner. In order to be synchronous, the events should be unlikely to occur together by random chance.


The concept does not question, or compete with, the notion of causality. Instead, it maintains that just as events may be grouped by cause, they may also be grouped by their meaning. Since meaning is a complex mental construction, subject to conscious and subconscious influence, not every correlation in the grouping of events by meaning needs to have an explanation in terms of cause and effect. (wikipedia)


Swiss master psychologist Carl Jung coined this now household friendly (well, at least in educated ones) word. To my humble mind, synchronicity is just "meaningful coincidence." Meaning, just two (2) or more things happening on or about the same time where in one's perception, all the events have a somewhat logical (or sometimes even fantastical) relationship.


MANGA TRIVIA: In 2002, manga author Itagaki Keisuke based one of the story arcs of "Baki The Search Of Our Strongest Hero" on the synchronicity theme, presenting a story in which five death row inmates escaped at the same time, in different countries, each after surviving his own execution. Each inmate went back to Japan at the same time to meet in the same place for the same objective. That is, of course, to find out "who is the strongest hero." To those who have read Baki, or watched the anime, you all know who's the strongest.

I call him "Andoy" like my great-grandfather

Three weeks ago today, at around 1:29 a.m., my son was born. I wept when I first saw him minutes after he came out of her mother's (my lovely wife's) womb. I think this is the second time in my life that I have shed tears for joy. The first time was when my ex-girlfriend walked down the aisle to meet me while I waited before the altar.

I named him (and my wife agreed) "Justis Andres." Justis, because when I was about 14 or 15 years young, I read in a MegadetH (80's-90's Bay Area Thrash Metal Band) cover sleeve that Dave Mustaine's (Megadeth Frontman/Guitarist extra-ordinaire) son is named Justis, and from that moment on, I have decided that I will name my future son "Justis". Andres, because my father's name is "Bonifacio." For those of you who might happen to read this who happen to be non-Filipino, or a non-fan of South-East Asian/Philippine Colonial History, "Andres Bonifacio" is a Filipino hero during the Filipino-Spanish war. Many consider him to be the bravest Filipino warrior-general during those times. Andres Bonifacio's like Leonidas, Geronimo, William Wallace, and maybe perhaps, Oliver Cromwell to some extent, except that he never gained true national power like Cromwell did. Like Leonidas, Bonifacio was betrayed by scum. Anyway.

I still get teary-eyed everytime I look at my son for more than a minute. He looks like a Million Bucks and more. Nevermind the things I do not have in life, which I thought I could not go on living without. My son is the proof that I have lived.

Don Justis Andres Garcia Y Rivera.

Looking through the eyes of Rufus Humphrey

To some, I may be born yesterday. Technically, I was born last week. That was the first time I watched sequential "Gossip girl" episodes. I survived life so far without ever seeing a single episode of "Grey's Anatomy" despite its infamy. But when by happenstance I came across Jessica Zafra's review of "Gossip girl," I knew I must get around seeing it sometime. Further, I had an educated hunch the show was going to be good since Ms. JZ in my book happens to be the Queen of all Cultural Snobs and she gave Gg (for brevity) a sort of a positive review in a major broadsheet. This last weekend, my lovely wife and my brother-in-law were watching a Gg DVD and I watched along. Unlike them, however, I still have to stop watching.

Now this peice is not going to be review on Gg--just watch the show and decide for yourselves as to whether or not the same is any good--but rather an in depth look into two of the peripheral characters in the persons of Rufus Humphrey and Lily Van der Woodsen.

Rufus is the father of Dan--who dated the lead, Serena Van der Woodsen--and Jenny, a.k.a. "Little J." Rufus is also the estranged husband of Alison, who is now living in Hudson, presumably getting fucked daily by his neighbor whom she met when she ran away from home under the pretense of moving out of the family environment in order to further cultivate her art as she is a painter. Finally, Rufus is the first great love of Lily Van der Woodsen, mother of Serena who had already married four times after she and Rufus broke up sometime in the early Eighties.

Rufus is a NYC small gallery owner by day and a songwriter/guitarist on the weekends. I have seen a fender Stratocaster, a Gibson Les Paul and a really cool, worn cherry Gibson ES135 which he actually played in gig in one of the episodes in season 1. He sends his son Dan and daughter Jenny to a geared-towards-Ivy League High School in Manhattan attended by kids coming from America's richest and most famous families, such as the Waldorfs, the Archibalds, the Richashell, the Whatelsehaveyous. How he does it? I don't know. He must sell a whole damn lot of those abstracts and hideous wrought-iron sculptures at his gallery. Well, you know the rich, they tend to actually buy all those stuff which ordinary people like you and me would just be satisfied by admiring them in museums and public art galleries. So the plot, while somewhat unlikely, is still plausible if you stretch your imagination a little bit.

Now I don't really care too much about the main corny-ass teenybopper story, as I find it a cross between 90210 and Sex in the City, but strange as it may be, I have a long standing fascination in the City of New York and through the years, have developed a certain propensity of watching movies and TV shows set in the Big Apple. To me, NYC is the City of all Cities, and someday, I hope to visit and it and be a part of the audience for the Late Show if David Letterman is still alive or haven't retired. BTW, how old is DL today? A hundred and twelve? Anyway, The Humphreys live in Brooklyn while Van der Woodsens and the Waldorfs are from Uptown Manhattan. They are all, however "Upper Eastsiders."

While not actually portrayed or acted out in the series, Rufus in his youth got to know young Lily an fell in love like star crossed lovers not unlike Romeo and whatsherface. Nevertheles, fate is always never that kind. It is not clear on exactly how they broke up but it is pristine that the root was the immense gap between their families' fortunes vis-a-vis the lack thereof. Rufus is from a working class family, and Lily, is a Van der Woodsen--the kind of family whose children never have to manually toil to earn their daily bread, as their ancestors had secured their futures a long time ago. To my eyes, their relationship could have worked though, if only Rufus had more balls and Lily wasn't too much of a damsel. Perhps due to the shortcomings of their youth, what love they had failed to hold together their relationship.

Peculiar, however, is that even after more than seventeen (17) years, it is apparent that they still have some feeliings for each other. Is it true that a person's first great love never really dies? Who knows these things anyway? It's like asking why is sea water salty. In one episode, right after Rufus finally broke up with her slut of a wife Alison on Christmas day, no less, he called Lily while standing outside the courtyard of the Hotel(!) where the latter lived (while the snow was falling hard and the former was without a jacket) just to tell her he misses her. Unfortunately, Bart Bass (father of Chuck Bass, and major a-hole) on that exact moment was unvieling an engagement ring that makes that given by Jay-Z to Mariah look like a cheap wal-mart deal. A few days after that, Lily, having found out that Rufus and Alison had gone their separate ways (finally, for the love of God) agreed to run away with Rufus over the weekend and see what would happen if they try to rekindle what they had. But as sure as the taxi cabs in NYC are yellow and not red like in HK, that plan failed to push through. As Lily was packing, her daughter Serena caught her shining with an uncharacteristic glow in her face, and the former confessed to her daughter in not so many words that she's going away with Rufus. Serena pleaded cryingly to her mother that Dan (Humphrey) is the most important thing in her life and that she would rater have Chuck Bass as his step-brother than Dan, begging her mother not to do it (whatever it is) to her. There, Lily's decision was made. Lily arrived the place where they were supposed to meet but not as Lily but as the rich Mrs. Van der Woodsen who saw Rufus as poor Mr. Humphrey from the Bronx. When Rufus left, Lily stood there lone at the corner of 86th and 9th contemplating whether or not she made the same big mistake twice in her lifetime.

Rufus still loves Lily and vice-versa. Perhaps they have chosen not to be together so what they had can never be spoiled and ruined by the mundane realities of life. Maybe they have chosen to be friends because they are truly soul-mates and they know deep inside their hearts that nothing can take away their love for each other no matter how many marriages one goes through or how many neighbors will fuck their spouses. In one bizaare episode, Rufus was taken along Lily's wedding gown shopping trip. When the latter oppened the fitting room curtain, the star-crossed couples' eyes revealed what I have just written. Towards the close of the first season, it is revealed that Rufus and Lily made love the night before her wedding, prompting her to have to make a decision between him and Chuck's father. Rufus surprises Lily in the brides chamber and offers to call off the wedding. Lily tells Rufus she loves him and then walks down the aisle to marry Bart Ass, I mean, Bass.

You have just got to see Gg to believe it.

x o x o,

The Rainmaker

Expect nothing from nobody

"Pinocchio"

(original art by Enrico Mazzanti)

Every single person is a liar. Show me a man or a woman who hasn't lied to anybody he or she know and I'll show you a donkey with three (3) heads. So expect nothing from nobody. Expectations are the cause of disappointment which in turn, leads to hate. Try to keep your promises, but never believe in anyone else's. Belief is the path to ruin--in belief, there is lie.

Even the kindest man I know lies occassionaly. That's because lying is all too natural and the truth is rarer than diamonds. If you don't believe me, try going to Sierra Leone. Words are but a spit in the wind. It is the actions which define a man. Don Juan (de Marco) promised the moon to every lady he slept with, yet in the morning, even before the sun comes up, he's usually nowhere to be found. Promises are for fools. Sometimes, however, we are all fools. Perhaps the trick in life is not to be a fool all the time.

A day in the life of a lawyer in government service

A few weeks ago, while I was in the RTC (Regional Trial Court) library, I noticed a Soroptimist ( trans: really fuckin' old lady; a rich matron with a whole damn lot of expensive antique jewelry) mestiza making some sort of a ruckus with the librarians asking some stuff about a particular AM (Administrative Matter) SC (Supreme Court) Circular about TROs (Temporary Restraining Orders). I wasn't eavesdropping but I can't help but overhear the clanking of her gold bracelets and their loud hollers at each other even though they were just a couple of feet from each other. Funny how most women talk. They get excited easily over nothing and shout like their conversation partners are a mile or two away. HOY, ALAM MO BA SI ANO...YAKITY-YAKITY-YAK. My mother does it, my mother-in-law does it, and every broad I know does the same when they are above forty years of age. I'm not worried too much if my lovely wife does it too when we get old. I'd probably be partially deaf by then.

In order to enjoy some piece and quiet while I research the latest jurisprudence on a particular kind of estafa, I approached the motley crew consisting of the two librarians and the nice old lady. Turned out that she was indeed looking for a relatively new SC AM/Circular concerning the issuance of TROs. Coincidentally, since I've passed the bar just last year, I still know some of the stuff I studied during my review. So I helped the matron and in effect, the librarians by pointing them to the right direction. At that point, I had no idea on who the old lady was and she was glad that a young lawyer in government service like me could help her get out of the bind she was in, whatever that is, I didn't bother to ask. So I got the books that I needed and headed back to the ratty old building which housed our ratty old office.

Just this morning, that same sparkling old lady opened the office door. She said, "Attorney, you're here pala."

Reflexively, I answered "Good Morning po. What can I do for you ma'am?" While at that particular moment having no goddam clue on who she was.

"You don't remember me no?" she said, looking through my eyes. I was never a good liar. At least to women.

"Of course I do po. We met in the library." That stream of information rushing through my brain serendepitously.

"Yes, thank you. You really helped me back then." It wasn't really much, I told her. I was just glad to help. The truth is, however, I just really wanted to make her shut the hell up back then.

Anyway, she was there, apparently to follow-up on a particular case filed in our sala. A Section 5. (Section 11 of Republic Act No. 9165; trans: drug trafficking) She's got a partial copy of the case record and told me that the accused is one of her care-takers in one of the real estate she owns. She said the man was wrongfully accused. They all think they are, I thought but didn't say. While I was going through the papers she brought along with her, and trying to explain to her in layman's language the status of the case, I noticed that my boss the Judge came out of the chambers and was looking at us.

"Ma'am, the judge is here." Almost instantaneously, she turned her back on me and approached my boss as if they were classmates in Kindergarten school. Relieved, I leaned on my comfortable desk chair and motioned to a stenographer for her to come to me.

"Do you know that old lady?" I asked.

"Attorney, I thought you knew her. You were talking to her as if you do." Answered Rina, one of our highly efficient yet still funny stenographers.

"No I don't. I was just being nice to her since I remember her from the library. You know I'm not good with names and faces." A lie. I wasn't being nice, I just wanted to make a good impression of myself with the library staff and make the old bag STFU.

"Well, she's one of the richest old ladies here in the City lang naman attorney. She's Dona Veronica...Vernie, her friends call her." Said Rina.

"Ohh, really." I answered while pretending not to care.

Then I found myself asking for the case records of that case and reviewed the same for a minute. I went inside the chambers and found the judge sitting in one of the visitor's chairs in front of his huge-assed mahogany desk while Vernie sat across him. The boss never does this unless the visitor is really fuckin' important. He doesn't even do it for the Mayor, other Judges, and even his good old childhood friend the postmaster. The boss was explaining the status of the case as I was trying to do a little while before as I handed him the case records opened to show his last order concerning this particular case. After a few sentences, and a little back-up from me, we conviced her that the accused is guaranteed a fair trial in our sala. Somewhat satisfied, the topic of the conversation was changed. After shooting some bull with the matron, concerning several charitable and social activities she spear-headed, the boss asked her how did she get to know me.

She related the library incident to my boss and made the impression that:

1. I was really nice and helpful; and

2. I am very intelligent.

According to her, other Clerks of Court don't know the law as well as I do. I saw that the judge believed her and I was trying my very best not too look too smug. That's one other thing I'm not too good at: appearing absolutely modest. I think I actually blushed, taking into consideration my unmistakingly kayumanggi skin tone. I was thinking "Not too bad, Jorge, not too bad at all."

Then, after shooting some more bull, and talking nonsense about other people who I don't really know too well or care about, I opened the chamber door as the boss had another appointment he can't afford to miss and it's my job to remind him about everything. She continued talking with the judge as we headed out to the main branch office when the boss surprisingly blurted out so that everyone there could hear, "Ah, you know, your documents are going to be in order, as it's gonna be handled by my Clerk of Court. When Jorge does the job, drafts of orders, resolutions, decisions...I don't even have to check it anymore." Wow.

Suddenly, my head, big as it already is, grew into about the circumference of one of Jupiter's moons. I didn't even know what those documents are going to be. I was just flustered by the fact that not only does my boss thinks I'm the best man he can have for the job, he deemed it wise to announce that fact in front of all my staff. Then I remembered that I haven't lit a cigarette since morning. I got out , escorted the rich old lady towards the building gate exit and had the best puffs I've had since I started this job.

Now I really believe that appearances are almost everything.