Rambling thoughts 002
I always tell people to let the first draft simmer. But fuck it. We're singing.
“Are you…lipsyncing?!” my friend asked me while we were drinking in a bar on a Friday night. We’re kinda tipsy. I don’t remember the exact song. It is some generic OPM, a staple in karaokes that is so present everywhere, I didn’t really bother to remember the name of the song. Oh wait, it’s Jopay by Mayonnaise.
Anyway, he was amused and weirded out by this. “I can’t sing eh,” I told him. He laughed and agreed I am deaf tone. “That’s why we’re just enjoying the music because God didn’t bless us with the talent of singing,” he said. I laughed and continued drinking and just sat through the song. And the next song. And another one. And until we decided to wrap the night with one last Smirnoff, my go-to drink.
I’m scared of the following: snakes, disappointing other people, and people hearing my singing voice. I really hate hearing my voice. Back when I was a field reporter for a broadsheet newspaper, I cringe hearing my voice when I’m transcribing. When I was reviewing the Zoom records of my online classes, I endure my voice so much, I always take a break from exhaustion.
I have this vivid memory of singing the chorus of Jay-Z and Justin Timberlake’s Holy Grail in our classroom during a break. “Oh he’s singing with his normal voice,” my friend scoffed. I always sing in a comical manner. I guess it’s for compensation. I don’t know why I sang with my normal voice. Maybe I was really feeling that song (or I am still in my straight era charot). I guess my friend’s comment made my hatred a fact.
I was actually a choir member back in high school and I took pride in it. Holy shit, maybe I can actually sing? Our choir teacher heard my solo piece of Lupang Hinirang (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH) and she said “OK, you’re in!”. I was told that I am a baritone. I traveled an hour to the church in Sariaya to sing the songs of the Lord. I am a singer.
Come graduation practice, my choir teacher was assigning seats in our gymnasium based on our singing skills. The good ones get a specific seat in front. My best friend was on the first lane. I waited for five minutes to get my special seat. The front row was full. The second lane was also full. Third, fourth, fifth, also full. My choir teacher inspected us, the guys who are left standing. “Okay, the rest, just pick where you want to sit.” Oh. I am not a singer.
For the past ten years, I only sang at karaoke three times: Moi’s birthday, Clark’s despedida, my colleagues afternoon break. It took me some drinks to sing some songs at Moi’s birthday. Same thing at Clark’s despedida. My colleagues pressured me to sing or else they’ll give me extra work the next day. I chose Adele’s Make You Feel My Love. Ang kapal ng mukha ko. I sang Adele’s cover of the Bob Dylan classic. No one laughed. They’re just vibing. My late colleague (rest in peace) became sad. “Ano ba yan, Roy!” he said. “Ay sorry, kuya. Bat niyo kasi ako pinakanta,” I joked. But he wasn’t referring to my voice; He was sad because of the Adele ballad. To cheer things up, I sang a horrible cover of Paramore’s sonically upbeat (but lyrically depressing) Hard Times. We were vibing. No one gave a fuck of my screeching voice. Oh, the wonder of not lipsynching for a while.
********
I recently went to Art Fair Philippines and was in awe of the talent of the local and international artists featured. I’ve been an observer, a wallflower in the art community. I’m the quiet guy sipping wine or beer, examining the artworks, reading the exhibit notes, and eavesdropping on the conversations of the artists. They inspire me so much that I would ask myself: What am I doing? When am I going to step up and make something deeply from myself?
I am a writer.? I’ve been writing news stories for years. I write film reviews from time to time. J-school made me strive for decency in the standards of great writers in just a short amount of time. I always pressure myself of writing a good shitty first draft. This affected me from writing something aside from news stories.
I was supposed to write a review of Bones and All for Film Police Reviews. I already took down my notes on my Sticky Notes app until I accidentally deleted them. I guess that’s a sign from the Universe. But it’s not. I’m just a lazy, insecure fuck.
It’s been yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeears since I wrote a short story. I had ideas. I never fleshed them out. Guess the greatest stories of all time were never made. wink-wink. I am jealous of my friends for penning poems, writing interesting short stories, creating monologues. And I’m here, writing soulless news to pay the bills.
I asked my writer friends for some insights about the exercise of writing. They all say the same thing: Just write. It’s so easy to say but as an ESL speaker, I get so insecure of my command of the language. All my life, I was told that I always commit grammatical errors. I punish myself every time Grammarly puts a red line under some words. Fuck, it just did with the word “everytime” in the previous sentence.
Going back to my main point, I remember the artists’ conversations. What inspired them to do their works that are now sold to some millionaire art collectors? Are they driven by a dream? An inspiration by experience? A divine intervention? “I just grabbed the brush and continued,” one artist said.
Now, I’m here. Rambling. With red underlines scrambled in this post. Fuck it. I’m writing.
*****
I previously promised that I’m gonna write about my favorite albums and films of 2022. I just didn’t have the time for them, unfortunately. To be honest, I had an impostor syndrome while writing my favorite albums. How do I describe what I feel about these albums? I’m just a fan. I can’t really point out what made Beyonce’s vocalization great in Virgo’s Groove or how Bad Bunny made me feel like I’m at an energetic midnight party in Puerto Rico in El Apagón.
Anyway, here are my top albums of 2022:
Beyonce- RENAISSANCE
AOTY ROBBED AND I WILL SAY THAT ‘TILL THE DAY I DIE.
I’m going to let you have an embarrassing secret: Sometimes, when I’m alone in my room, I’m noguing to the chant of Heated.
Rina Sawayama - Hold the Girl
Indie pop girls are the best.
Carly Rae Jepsen - The Loneliest Time
See you in Wanderland, queen!
Rosalía - MOTOMAMI
PA TI. NA KI. CHICKEN TERIYAKI.
Harry Styles - Harry’s House
Okay, listen. This is not the AOTY but I can’t deny that I vibed with this album so hard for the first half of 2022.
The films, uhm, I still want to watch some that I haven’t seen. Maybe it’s coming?
If you reached the end of this post, thank you for suffering.
"I can’t really point out what made Beyonce’s vocalization great in Virgo’s Groove or how Bad Bunny made me feel like I’m at an energetic midnight party in Puerto Rico in El Apagón."
ok idk why but sometimes people (or atleast, i) really couldnt care less about what made beyonce's vocalization great or what it is that's so great abt bad bunny that made you feel that way. but as your reader i really enjoy reading about what YOU FEEL about the art that you like & cause i really appreciate your taste and im curious! like idc abt the artists, i already know they're good and they're doing their magic. like it's nice when you describe them as they are, but it's even better when u describe your own experience with their art! i think it would be really fun and interesting to read about how you feel and how you would describe it and i think that's something that's full of soul too
I feel the same insecurities with writing, but never thought u'd feel the same! I look up to u because ure doing stuff that u love (news reporting, teaching an art app class, reviewing stuff and u debated for so long too) and with passion pa. You've always been a writer to me even if you write souless news, even tho souless its hard to write and condense info to a few words tapos need pa may sources!!, ur tweets were some that I looked forward to seeing on my timeline bec of ur hot taKEs, and now I eagerly wait for ur substack posts! Hope u can find some comfort in that!!
Paguwi ko karaoke tau sans alcohol