Bar Exam Memoirs

Just recently, my nephew unintentionally broke my pink 14″ Hanabishi electric fan.  The fan is eight years old and has undergone three repairs to date.  And while people could convince me to discard it and get a new one, I just don’t have the heart.  Who would have thought that an ordinary electric fan has sentimental value.  But it does.  It was the electric fan I used to survive the heat, eight summers ago, while I was reviewing for the bar exams. That time in my life was momentous.  It was like all roads led to those fateful four Sundays in September 2000 and that pink electric fan kept me company through six months of rigorous and nerve-wrecking preparations.     So do forgive me if I can’t let go.  Not yet.

It’s every law graduate’s dream to pass the bar because honestly, your law degree is basically useless unless you become a lawyer.  Perhaps no one can really fully grasp the pain and difficulty of taking the bar exams except a fellow examinee.  To say it was difficult is actually an understatement.  You invest blood, sweat and tears with all the studying you have to do.  Include heavy doses of anxiety and all theother shit and you find yourself on the brink of a nervous breakdown.

The waiting will equally kill you especially in the weeks leading to the release of the results.  Good thing I was employed at that time, at least, I was able to immerse myself in work.   For my batch of bar examinees, the results came at the skirts of Edsa II.  I remember I was a wreck around March but by the end of April, I hardly cared what the results were.  All the waiting made me numb.   

The release of the results after Labor Day was expected but still felt like a surprise.  Weeks before, rumors were spreading of a 25% passing rate.  During my time 4,698 took the bar exams.   A 25% passing rate  would mean 1,174 would pass.  As a graduate of one of the top law schools, I did the math and concluded that I had a good chance of passing. 

May 2 came.  There I  was going about my business, working on a contract review, when a former classmate SMS-ed me.  I remember the message on my Nokia 5110 quite well:  SC en banc deliberations done.  20% passing rate (It turned out it was 20.84%).  Decoding started.  My hope dwindled a little but nevertheless there was a part of me that kept the faith.  I still felt I belonged to those 900 or so successful examinees. 

I remember clocking out around 7:00 pm and walking from my office to my friend Marivic’s office at Robinson’s Corporate Tower where she was working overtime, hoping to access the results from the SC Website on her computer.  I did not have the guts to go to the Supreme Court and hustle my way through a crowd of examinees.  I tried to convince myself that with the Internet who needs to go to Padre Faura? But who was I kidding?  I was simply too scared to let my classmates see me in case I failed.

It was already past 8 pm and still no results were posted on the website.  I was a nervous wreck, not to mention so hungry since I haven’t eaten anything since I forcefully fed myself during lunch.  Marivic convinced me to have dinner at Jollibee,Galleria.  I remember ordering Chickenjoy and tried to eat but the food tasted like paper in my mouth even if in reality Chickenjoy is supposed to taste like heaven.  In the midst of trying to finish the meal, my trusty Nokia 5110 beeped. It was an SMS from my friend and schoolmate, who was a batch below me.  Since he was not classmate, I was oblivious of what his message would be.  Without warning, I pressed the button to reveal the mesage.  The message had three words.  Three words that changed my life forever.

Pumasa ka, congrats.  

I let out a shriek and showed the text to Marivic.  She screamed as well and we hug one another as we both jumped up and down.  The people at Jollibee were looking at us curiously but I didn’t care. I just passed the bar exams.  

I called up the bearer of good news.  It turned out he was at the Supreme Court and he had a copy of the list in his freakin’ hand.  I asked him to repeat my name over and over again. It sounded like sheer poetry.

Miraculously, the Chickenjoy never tasted so good.  After the meal, Marivic and I went to her office so I could call my family.  It was my dad who answered the phone. He was so relaxed in hearing the good news.  My mom, on the other hand, was so emotional, I could hear her crying.

Although I knew I already passed, I just had to see my name for myself.  I took a cab ride to the Supreme Court.  It was already pass 9 pm but still a lot of people were still there. I saw a lot of my classmates who also passed and we hugged and cried in that magical moment of triumph.   That was indeed one of the happiest moments of my life.  

I remember seeing a classmate who landed on the top ten.  We hugged one another in joy after which we joined three other classmates and chatted away.  A photographer then approached us and asked if my classmate was one of the bar topnnotchers.  My classmate nodded in reply.  The photographer then asked if he could take our picture and like excited ninnies, we gamely posed.  He asked us to make the number one sign with our fingers and he took the snapshot with his trusted Canon camera.  I remember looking at the man’s ID and saw the words “Western Police Dsitrict”, indicating that the man had a police beat.  I even kidded him if our picture would appear on those “WANTED” posters.   

Our picture ended up on the backcover of an afternoon tabloid.  One of my classmates, who appeared in the photo with me (there were five of us in all), SMS-ed me: Yung mga mukha natin nasa People’s Tonight.  I immediately went outside my office,  walked to a nearby corner and bought a copy from a sidewalk vendor.  I glanced at the back story and saw our picture gracing the page.  How’s that for posterity?  I even called up another classmate who was in the photo too but talked to the maid.  As my classmate was asleep, I just left a message for him to buy the newspaper.  The maid informed me that her Kuya already bought twenty copies of it.  Lol.

Those were indeed happy memories. Seven years have passed and I still remember those moments quite well. 

I just read in the Supreme Court website that the results of the 2007 Bar Exams is slated to be released tomorrow, March 28, 2008 or on Saturday, March 29.  I have an inkling that it will be tomorrow.  Call it women’s intuition.  I am hoping that a close friend of mine will pass.  Oh please God.  He really derserves it.  He’s a good man, Lord.  I’m also rooting for a fellow officemate.   I hope they would get to experience the joy of passing.  The joy in being the person of the moment.  The poignant emotion of being truly blessed.

Passing the bar is not just the culmination of the journey of becoming a lawyer. It’s more than that.  It’s the triumph of those who dreamed, believed in that dream, and who worked hard to reach it.  It’s a testimony of diligence and faith.

It’s actually, A TRIUMPH OF THE SPIRIT.   

Darkly Dreaming of Dexter

I have to confess I have this certain fascination for fictional serial killers.  I remember being quite awed by Hannibal Lecter in the movie Silence of the Lambs. The way he stared at Agent Starling sent chills up my spine. Also,  I was quite enamored with Francis Dolarhyde in Red Dragon, more so because Ralph Fiennes acted out Dolarhyde’s torment between falling in love and his homicidal nature so well that I too was torn whether to sympathize with him or be afraid.  

Thus it was not surprising when my younger sister told me about a serial killer who murders serial killers.  A light bulb of interest instantly lit, my eyes widening and my lips pursed as I say "Oooooh!"  I took a mental note to find a copy on DVD and indulge in a Dexter marathon.

Dexter was  based on the novels Darkly Dreaming Dexter and Dearly Devoted Dexter by Jeff Lindsay.  It tells the story of a blood spatter analyst for the Miami police who has a secret life as a serial killer.  His victims are primarily serial killers and like the usual serialist, he keeps trophies of his victims in the form of glass slides with a drop of blood of each victim. How cool is that: handy, creative although risky, DNA-wise.  I would not spoil those who want to watch the series. All I can say, it is truly worthy of your time especially to those who enjoy murder and suspense. 

The series is dark. Dexter is dark.  The first season will take you into the depths of  Dexter’s mind as he struggles between his need to kill and trying to achieve some sense of normalcy in his life.  He is brilliant, deceptive, precise, calculating and unbelievably charming.   I feel quite drawn to Dexter. Owe it to Michael C. Hall’s amazing portrayal of this character.  My fascination is further heightened by the fact that Michael C. Hall has a boyish, handsome look to die for and piercing eyes, which he uses quite remarkably in conveying the intricacies that is Dexter Morgan. 

After finishing the first season, I’m beginning to develop an affection for Dexter.   His story conveys how one comes to terms with his own dark side and accept it as part of human nature.  While I can’t say my dark side goes to the extent of having homicidal tendencies, nevertheless, Dexter  makes me examine the dark parts of my soul.  Dark tendencies which, like Dexter, we try to hide, to keep buried but they sometimes surface like a monster needing to be fed.  I find myself riding along his escapades, feeling relief when his need to kill is fulfilled and when he escapes getting caught.  I silently root for him but thanking at the same time that this is all fiction.  I mean, if Dexter were a real person, I might suddenly question my moral fiber. Lol.

I ‘m sure I’m not the only person out there who’s in love with Dexter. Any fan would admit that they’re dreaming about him and those enigmatic, menacing eyes. Is he sexy or what! He has that air of sexiness about him that you find yourself wanting to be with him, even if it means getting killed.  Again, thank goodness this is fiction! I wouldn’t dare have the hots for, let’s say, Jack the Ripper.  That’s plain sick.

I’m hooked! Time to get my hands on Season 2 before Dexter premieres its third season this September.  Until then, I’ll be watching reruns on my iPod, read Jeff Lindsay’s first Dexter novel and in the twisted recesses of my mind…

I’ll be darkly dreaming of him.  

Horizontally-Challenged

I stopped reading the  blog. While I still feel for the poor guy being swindled of his life savings by a former lover and sincerely hope and pray, he would get his money back, I have no taste for the hate that is festering in that blog.  I must admit I was quite entertained reading all the dirt about the elite at first but now I find myself cringing at the unpalatable insults and hateful words propagating in it.  It’s like finding yourself in front of a sea of hate, the waves touching the tips of your toes.  You feel a burning sensation making you cringe and wish you didn’t go near the shore in the first place.  

I was actually waiting for more dirt but was quite disappointed when he started slewing insults against one of his antagonists who is quite horizontally-challeged. He called her an "elephant", "wanted her roasted over an outdoor spit", among other things.  People at the comments section called her "baboy", "pig" and the f-word "fat".  

Ay, I don’t like na. 

Thumbs down people for hitting her for her looks. She may be the most hated person but insulting her size is a low blow and is a disservice to people who are overweight.  Great! Propagate the hate and the discrimination a little more, will you? Make us chubby people feel more inadequate in a world that glorifies the svelte frame. 

It’s at these times that I channel Miss Piggy,  that fabulous muppet with the gorgeous eyes, the shiny mane,  the classy demeanor and that all too powerful karate chop.  She makes her presence known and makes no apologies for the fact that she’s not thin.  She is beautiful in her own right.

I despise people who have called us horizontally-challenged vile names in the past.  I feel these people have  pea-sized hearts.   

Not to mention pea-sized brains.

Curse my actions, curse my guts and curse my morals. 

But leave my lovehandles out of it.  

Screwed

I’ve been staying up late since yesterday following a blog that’s been creating waves in the Internet. It’s a blog created by an Australian named Brian Gorrell who apparently was the former lover of a certain Filipino guy. I don’t know who the hell this person is, but from what I gathered from the blog, he is allegedly an unsuccesful restauranteur, a social climber, writer for the Philippine Star (which I don’t read) and who allegedly swindled $70,000 dollars from Brian, who is, by the way, HIV-positive. Allegedly involved in this infamous mayhem is a Filipnia socialite, who I barely remember. I’m sure people from the upper echeleons of Manila society and Embassy-trotting kids know them but if you’re from the government-legal-suburban -middle class world where I belong, you just raise your brow and shrug "Who the hell?". 

But the blog is akin Gossip Girl, only this is real, very real.  And like the typical Filipino, I can’t help but make "usisyoso", finding myself entertained by this tell-all blog.  Talk about airing dirty linen in cyberspace. Reading the blog is so irresistible.  It’s like taking a glimpse of Manila’s high society only to find out that they’re very much fucked up. Come to think of it, describing them as part of "high society" is very apt because allegedly they’re always "high" on coccaine and from the looks of it, so "high" on themselves too.  My favorite entry thus far is the one about how Brian always treats the ex-lover to lunch at Fridays.  Fridays is quite expensive ha, but when Brian suggested to go to Andok’s or Inasal, DJ refused, saying "He can’t be seen there". WHATTHEFUCKIN"HELL! Makes me want to laugh at all that superiority complex for an utter nobody.  

But seriously, if all what the blog is saying is true, then it just confirms that money can’t really buy happiness, decency or good breeding. It also teaches us a lesson that even the so-called stylish people can be swindlers and complete airheads. That wealth does not necessarily make you a better human being.  

It’s 2:00 am, still awake and trying to access the site for updates.  Tsk. Blogspot is down. I want more of this minor scandal (it’s not big as the NBN-ZTE) and the juicy infamy that goes with it.  It makes me a little thankful really, since after all, even if I’m quite poor by their standards…

I’m not as screwed  as they are.  

To Hendrich on His 9th Birthday

Dear Hendrich,

Today is your birthday.  You have been enriching our lives with your charm for nine years.  All nine years were filled with the fondest of memories, mostly happy and funny.  I can still remember the story when your mom was already into labor but she just had to pass by Jollibee and eat an order of two-piece Chickenjoy.  I remember seeing you for the first time, all small and fragile. I was the one who suggested to spell your name as "Hendrich" because "Hendrick" sounded a little tad jologs.

I remember when a few days into your life we would drum your cheeks with the tips of our fingers and say "Pa-pa-pa-pa-pa" because that made you smile. 

We used to dress you in different cotton sandos. There was Big Catch, NASA-Air, Bug’s Life, and Jologs and we would take your little fists and drum them on your tummy as we say the name of the t-shirt.  You would laugh every time.

I remember the sleepless nights when I rocked you to sleep because your mom was on the night shift.  We were like dancing cheek to cheek as I sway you in my arms to the tune of your breathing.  For such a little baby, you snored. 

I remember the two times you were hospitalized for illness.  Broke my heart.  Imagine what that did to your mom.  

I can still recall your first steps.  How your mom used to let you go and you wobbly run into my arms.  We were like ninnies watching your every move. We even watch you sleep.

I can still remember your first birthday when you were a little afraid of Grimace and that you slept through half of the party. 

I used to worry in your early years because you hardly spoke in complete words.  I didn’t know you’d be so talkative, you sometimes wear me out.

I’m glad you were there during some important times of my life like my graduation from law school and the last Sunday of the Bar exams. 

I remember that you were once obsessed with elevators, then the MRT, until you began your current love affair with airplanes.  

I’m so happy that even if I’m not your mom and that I did not contribute anything to your genetic make-up, you still take quite a number of traits after me like your chin and your penchant for drawing.

I am so glad I get to be your aunt. You brighten my day with your hugs and kisses. You have the power to make a tiring day go away. You’re such a sweet, sweet boy.

You may not know this, but our relationship is the closest thing to motherhood for me. 

How many times I say it, indeed time flies.  You’re really growing up right before my eyes.  I’m so happy I get to witness that every single day. I’m looking forward to seeing you grow older, even if it means  I get to age in the process. 

And so to my beloved Pamangkin, the one child I am totally crazy about, happy birthday! You are very much loved.

Hugs and Kisses,

Auntie Mcbeal 

No Space for Pettiness

There are times in my life when I really get fed up with the pettiness of my surroundings.  It’s absolutely frustrating when you try to be mature, be the better person yet still the stupidity around you does not stop. It progresses and pokes like an annoying fly that just won’t leave you alone.  I consider myself a very patient person, a person with a long long string of tolerance.  But there are times that my patience is running thin and I feel exhausted I am tempted to take the easy way out and bitch about it.  And it’s just sooooo easy to be mean.  It’s so easy and very tempting to stoop to that level and be as petty.    

It’s at these times I pray for God to lead me to the Christian path in dealing with this pettiness.  It is also the same time when I stop and count what I value most in life and the feelings of narrow-mindedness go away.  I value what every human being values: faith in God, loving family, great friends, important work and true happiness.  My heart is warmed by the fact that I have a family who loves me.  I have great friends who cherish me and value my friendship.  I am respected in my field of work.  I have achieved most of what I have strived for. And I feel that somehow, in my own way, I touch people’s lives.  I think about all these and all my anger and frustration melt away.  In the end,    I chastise myself for letting the little, petty things bother me.  Indeed, life is too valuable to let insignificant things take even a small space my consciousness.

So in the end, I  am sad for the person who does not have what I cherish most. However, I pity  the person more who has these things but are so blinded by pettiness that he/she lose sight of what really matters most.

Indeed life is too short to let pettiness get in the way of true happiness.  

Cartoon Heaven

Super Friends 

Okay, I must admit that Justice League sounds classier than the cheesy title, Super Friends.  But you have to admit the Super Friends looked better.  Plus, may Wonder Twins  ba ang Justice League with their space monkey Glick? And look! Even Aquaman flies.

I rest my case. 

Fraggle Rock and The Great Space Coaster

Well technically they’re not cartoons but  "muppet" shows.  But I always enjoyed both intros and for some reason Gary Gnu’s spiel of "No gnews is good gnews with Gary Gnu." keeps playing in my head.

Super 6

Here’s the Super 6 Cartoon I mentioned in my previous entry. I remember thinking that the opening theme sounded funny.  This cartoon is way old. Even before I was born.  Sixties ito! 

The Archies

I love the Archies.  I’ve searched Youtube and I can’t find the intro to the Bang Shang Lollapalooza show.  However, I found myself watching this segment of Sabrina The Teenage Witch.  I like Sabrina. She was pretty although her hair was white. Lol. May uban na.

Voltes V

Yes, I belonged to the Voltes V generation.  I watched this anime religiously when I was a kid.  I had a huge crush on Steve.  I even have the vinyl record of the Voltes V theme and I Want Father. I can still sing both themes by heart.Oh and I always wonder that with all the time they spent together, why Jamie never ended up with either Steve or Mark.  

Daimos

Richarddd!!!!

Erikaaaaa!!!!

Need I say more?

Take me back to my childhood please!

Thanks to agentx35, anarthaile, rstdot, 12TVcartoon, emmanoelle, cupidpinoi2k1 and t3knoid for uploading these gems on YouTube. 

Snippets of Childhood

I often wonder why some childhood memories remain embedded in my brain.  It’s quite a mystery as to what criteria the brain uses in locking away memories that will be forever remembered or letting other short term recollections trickle down to that world of oblivion.  True, there are milestones you just don’t forget: a birthday party, a graduation or any event of great importance.  What I wonder about are precise moments in my childhood which are quite ordinary, even mundane. Yet I still remember them with quite precise detail…

How To Get That Pan De Sal

I think I was in Grade One.  One morning my Lola sent me off to the neighborhood bakery right at the corner of Ligaya St. (where we used to live in Sta. Mesa) and Paltoc St. to buy three pesos worth of pan de sal.  Pan De Sal at that time was ten centavos each.  I remember the smell of fresh pan de sal quite vividly, feeling their warmth as I clutch the brown paper bag close to my chest.  While walking home, I tripped on a rock which almost send my little body falling off the pavement.  As a regained my balance, one piece of pan de sal flew from my arms and landed right smack into a "kanal".  I bent down staring intently at that piece of bread submerged in the dirty water, swimming among the mosquito larvae and dirty algae.  I somehow felt a sense of loss and was ACTUALLY contemplating how to get that piece.  It was seconds before I knew that no one would eat that piece even if I braved the germs to salvage it.  And so I walked home leaving that pan de sal in its watery grave.  

The Colgate Commercial

It was one morning. My twin sister and I sat on our orange upholstered sofa for our dose of Sesame Street.  My Uncle Edwin was cleaning the house, alternately sweeping and polishing the floor with a coconut husk.  A Colgate commercial comes on and I called out to my uncle to hand me the unopened box of Colgate. As the commercial played I held the Colgate up like the model in the ad.  Why did I do it?  Wala lang, feel ko lang.

Ms. Nagtalon’s Brown Floral Dress

On my first day of kindergarten, I thought that my teacher, Ms. Erlinda Nagtalon was the prettiest woman I had ever seen.  She was tall, with a curvy body and hair like Jaclyn Smith during her Charlie’s Angels days.  Back then, I dreamed of growing up to be as pretty as her.  

On the day of our Kindergarten graduation, she wore this long flowing brown dress, printed with flowers.  It was made of, what I later learned, silk and georgette, you know that sheer flowing textile of the 70s and 80s.  She was fully made up with her Jaclyn Smith hair cascading on her shoulders.  At that precise moment I wish I had that hair or was wearing the same dress.  

Instead I was wearing a pink dress that was short and starched, it itched. And my hair was a short, short bob.   

Chicken Dinner on a Garden Set

It was just the usual family dinner But I remember it vividly.  I was in Grade Three, it was a weekend.  I didn’t know what possessed my mom but she decided to have dinner al fresco on the garden set in the driveway.  We had fried chicken and rice.  I can still remember I ate a whole chicken leg and rice and finished them off with Coke. 

It was heaven.   

Siesta or Saturday Fun Machine

Saturday Fun Machine on RPN-9.  That was TV Heaven for a child of the 80s.  Imagine watching cartoons from 9am to 3 pm on a Saturday:  Fraggle Rock, Super Friends (Wonder Twins Power activate!), Yogi’s Space Race, Super Six, The Great Space Coaster, The Roman Holidays and my favorite..The Archies.

Back then I thought The Wonder Twins do more harm than good and I wished that Superman and Wonder Woman would hook up because they looked good together.    Roman Holidays was the Roman Age equivalent of The Flintstones and they had a pet lion named Brutus.  This was all shown in the morning and in the afternoon it would be The Archies (It’s the Bang-Shang Lalapalooza Show, with the incredible gang…The Archies!)  It was at this precise time that my mom would insist that we would have our siesta.  We needed the afternoon nap so that we would grow tall daw.  Whenever this happened, I always refused to sleep but my mom would threaten us with her slipper. I would then pretend to sleep, wait for my mom to doze off and then surreptitiously, I would slowly, carefully, silently creep to our 14-inch Sony Trinitron, turn it on and watch Saturday Fun Machine with the faintest volume.  

I did that almost every Saturday.  I chose Saturday Fun Machine over siesta.  And as a result I grew up to barely reaching five feet.  

Was it worth it? Sacrificing my growth spurt for cartoons?

Hell yeah!

Baby Love

I was thumbing my way through old photographs when I caught sight of this old snapshot of my nephew Hendrich when he was roughly six months old. A feeling of longing came over me.  I truly miss the days when he was a baby. Call me the 'Stage Aunt'  for all I care but wasn't he (well he still is) the cutest thing?  Look at those fat cheeks, the button nose and that toothless smile. Ugh! To die for! One look at the photo, you just want to bite those cheeks or shower them with pinches. They say that all babies are cute. Well, maybe.  But you have to admit that some babies exude a higher level of cuteness. My nephew was one of them.

Sometimes I wish babies stay babies a little longer.  Hendrich is turning nine next year. As he grows older, I find myself longing for those baby days when he had barely teeth, hair and hardly said a word.  Now he's a smart aleck, has already a curiosity for wordly things and grimaces when you ask for a kiss.  He still has that baby smell, but only in the mornings and after baths. And the look of innocence is slowly fading from those glorious eyes as he learns more about this world. The cliché is so heartbreakingly true: they do grow up so fast.

At least I have my memories. At least my mind can still recall that first word, first walk and all those cherished memories of my quasi-motherhood. In my eyes, he will always be adorably cute to the point of distraction.

Wonder if I'll be saying the same thing when he's almost six feet tall, with muscles and facial hair?

Oh well.  

Confessions of an APO Virgin

As a child of the 80s, I grew up on  Original Pilipino Music (OPM). I have quite a few hundred OPM songs in my iPod.  Most of them from the 70's and 80's and quite a handful from the 90s.  I believe that the best OPM songs were generally from 'my time'. (I'm not particularly fond of today's OPM. It must be my age.  In my opinion, most of them are poor rehashes of old songs and the rest, "noise"). I remember dedicating Dingdong Avanzado's Maghihintay Sa 'Yo to my first college crush (I cringe at the thought now. *shivers*)  Odette Quesada's Friend of Mine carries with it a heart tugging memory and Side A's Hold On  brings back a memorable birthday.  I remember a moment back in high school, my head resting against our old Toyota Corolla's window, feeling the cold breeze of the early morning air and listening to Sharon Cuneta's To Love Again on the radio. As you can see, OPM was very much a part of my youth, as New Wave and Funk.

Back when I was young, the radio was my friend.  I was on a limited allowance then, so collecting cassette tapes was out of the question. That's why my daily ration of music was provided courtesy of the radio. One of the fondest memories I had of my youth was listening to  OPM over the radio every June 12, Independence Day.  It was something I looked forward to,  a ritual that I went through every school year with my Sanyo mini-cassette player (with AM/FM radio and adorned with Little Twin Stars stickers). The radio played all day OPM while I sorted old socks and undies (determining what can still be used the following school year) or while I covered schoolbooks with plastic.  OPM kept me company during these mundane tasks.    I would sing along to those songs that I have learned by heart just by listening to them over the airwaves. 

Back then, the APO Hiking Society was one of my favorites.  I loved singing along while I listen to their songs.  Perhaps it was due to the songs' easy going melody.  It may also be due to those creative lyrics which are quite humorous, but nevertheless speak of moments in life that are so real.  Their songs remind me of one of those cool early Saturday mornings, me curling up in my bed, while the rain pitter patters on the roof. Their rhythm was so laid back and cool.  Their songs are so "sing-able", they feel your heart with cheer.    I remember gushing over my crushes to the tune of When I Met You, or wishing my name was Anna so that their song Anna was about me or reminiscing about close friends with Awit ng Barkada. There was a time I kind of pitied the guy in Pumapatak Na Naman ang Ulan because he had no money and he was incredibly bored. And I rolled my eyes at the guy in love with someone else's girlfriend in Mahirap Magmahal ng Syota ng Iba. I know most of their songs by heart that when I listen to them, they feel like family to me.

That's why I didn't hesitate when my twin sister asked me if I could join her in watching the APO Collection at the Music Museum.  She's more the APO fan since she bought the CDs and even has Danny Javier's autograph on one of them. (Bless her because those are her cds which I ripped to my iPod. )  I realized that it's about time I watch them live. Together with our closest buddy, Marivic, we trooped to the Music Museum to catch the first night of The APO Collection. 

To say we enjoyed the show is an understatement. It was a blast! No, it was more than a blast, it was so great it was catastrophic in a way.  For more than two hours, I was transformed to the days of my youth, I was in my teens again, sorting socks and listening to the radio.    I laughed, cried a little, and was totally awed at how talented they were and how effortlessly they entertained the audience.  I love their brand of intelligent spieling which today's singers do not have.  (Honestly, a lot of today's singers are talented, wag mo na lang pagsalitain.) Each number was a gem. Their performance is the epitome of what Filipino creativity truly is.  It was OPM at its finest. I especially enjoyed the part when they sang Panalangin and When I Met You.  I loved the spiel they made with Kabilugan ng Buwan and Awit ng Barkada (Amen to you, Mr. Javier!). Oh, and the Yesterday/Do-Re-Mi number was a riot!   Also, it was only with the APO where I enjoyed listening to folk songs and kundiman. They ended the concert with an encore of Batang-Bata Ka Pa.  As they sang their final number, I secretly  thanked them  for being  a part of  my younger years.  Their songs truly bring such warm memories that I shall treasure for the rest of my life.

During the concert,  they asked the audience as to who among them were watching the APO perform for the first time.  Naturally, we raised our hands. The APO called the first-timers, "APO Virgins".  I guess I am an APO virgin.  Who would have thought one's first time can be such an enjoyable and memorable experience.

And like any virgin who enjoyed her first time…

I just want to do it again (watch the APO, that is) , anytime soon.  

Photo from:  

The APO Hiking Society Official Website

Update: October 26, 2007…Just saw that the APO website has been updated.  This entry now appears on its home page. *giggles*