finding cain

Eugene Silva was born and raised in Tanauan, Batangas, the youngest of five siblings in an upper middle-class family. He went to the Philippine Science High School and then U.P., where he intended to major in applied physics. Eugene is around 5'9, with dark sad eyes, a small birthmark on his nape, and wavy hair half covering his ears. He's six years younger than I am and he has this serious look on his face, but he's really a humorous guy who always takes time to talk to everyone he encounters. I first met Eugene when I was working at Runway Productions, an events management company filled with hot biracial women. "This is f*cking brilliant – why on earth didn't I do this before," he whispered in my ear while taking photos of Michiko, a gorgeous half-Japanese model he was attracted to. I used to supply Mich with weed and hash. She grew up in Boston and was a funny lap dancer, but that's another story. Although the idea of becoming a physicist intere...

In 2004, a young journalist named Christine Robles traveled to northern Luzon to live with the Aetas of Zambales for a month. Her assignment was in a forest near Pundaquit in San Antonio, which can be reached only through hours of walking from the town proper. Pundaquit is a small fishing village known for its calm and pristine beaches; and being within a three-hour-travel proximity from Manila made the coastal town a favorite spot for nature lovers and intrepid travelers.    The Aetas are generally less than five feet tall, broad headed, with kinky hair, big round eyes and dark skin. Many of them have held on to their ancestral customs. Like most indigenous groups, the Aetas were hardworking folks with almost no cash income. The men hunt, gather, farm or trade for a living. The women were skillful in weaving. They have a vast knowledge of not only the edible fauna in the forest but also of over a hundred medicinal plants and their applications. They worship Apo Namalyari, ...

When I was eleven years old, I stole a book at a bookstore. In those days, only a few shops were using concealed magnetic or RFID anti-theft devices so I managed to take the paperback with ease. Why did I do it? Simple, because I was a kid and my mother had no money.    The book was an illustrated edition of J. M. Barrie's Peter and Wendy . The film Hook , starring Robin Williams, Julia Roberts and Dustin Hoffman, was huge at that time and I so badly wanted to be part of the Lost Boys. My mother did not notice the book until I was at home reading it. She did not confiscate it, but I was grounded for a week. Grounding was pretty useless because I was an introvert and my room was full of reading materials: books, comics, and even pornographic magazines .    When finally I was freed, I went to my friend Larry and told him how I got grounded. We played basketball for two hours and watched Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure  while eating sandwiches. Larry had be...

Kim wanted Italian, so we went to a place called Afrique’s. This was in Iloilo, a city I know nothing about. We ordered our Sicilian pasta, a seafood pizza, some garlic bread, and a pitcher of cucumber cooler from a fine looking waitress, and while waiting for them to arrive, I went out for a quick smoke.    It was a long day for the both of us. We were bone tired after sixteen straight hours of repacking and distribution of relief goods to victims of Typhoon Yolanda. Iloilo City was one of the provinces that was most affected by the tropical cyclone, and with the help from our employer, the LGUs, courageous volunteers and generous partners, we were able to distribute relief packs and conduct medical missions to the affected areas.    Kim was nine years younger than I. She wore a light green spaghetti strap tank top, some cut off jean shorts, and a pair of flip-flops. There were no rings or bracelets on her hands. Her skin was lightly tanned and her silky black...

Not so long ago, I went for a drink in a small pub in Ortigas. I had second thoughts about entering the establishment when I noticed there were so many "hipsters" inside: men with ironic beard and pretentious hairstyles dressed in rolled up chinos and check shirts; women in vintage sundresses, skinny jeans, and acid wash denim cutoff shorts; actors and models trying to look hip; and a bunch of call center agents who wanted to get drunk before they start their graveyard shifts. There was this famous guitarist at one table, with shock of white hair, who had enchanted c olegialas with his fretboard skills during the 80s. I saw a radio DJ  holding a cat, and an ex-MTV VJ smoking pot at the far corner of the bar.    The place was cozy. It had all the looks and class of an upscale hangout, but the energy and vibe of a local tavern. The walls were decorated with faux abstract paintings, and a very old grand piano lent the space a vintage, rustic feel.    It was...

When I was ten I stole a few dirty magazines from my father’s closet. I found copies of Hustler , Penthouse , High Society , Playboy , Juggs , and Mayfair neatly stacked inside the unlocked cubbyhole. I picked up a Hustler, with a picture of a voluptuous woman wearing only suspenders and started leafing through it. After looking at a few pages, I took half of the stash and brought them inside my room. I don’t know whether I was already bound to like brunettes (and Asian women) with huge tits, but, as it turns out, I do.    As the days went on, I started to realize why other people were addicted to these publications. I learned about the babysitters of Fort Knox, the wraparound and other crazy sex positions, the communist sex spies, Prince's wild fantasies, Hitler's shocking sex life, and the hidden hookers of Capitol Hill. I also found out that the Pope had a thing for Valley girls; women in the 80s wore high heels and bow ties to bed; and Manila was the sin capital of the...

In 2001, my dear friend Rebecca was traveling in Bicol with her band mates doing acoustic type performances in college campuses, town squares and bars — anywhere they could earn P2000 each plus enough gas money to get to the next province in her rickety maroon pickup. That trip ended in disaster when the four-wheeler that the 22-year-old musician had been driving came to a halt in a southbound lane in Nabua, Camarines Sur and was rear-ended by a huge delivery truck. The five members of the band were taken to a nearby hospital, where Rebecca was pronounced dead shortly after the 3:30 a.m. crash. Three weeks before she died, I was fortunate enough to have brunch with Becky and her cousin Ray. We watched Pulp Fiction on VHS, talked about music and ate lasagna at her parents' house. A few hours after her death, Ray called me on the phone. Ray, as tough a man as you'll ever meet, was crying. I knew instantly what that meant, but I had no idea how to respond. Becky was born in ...

On a rainy evening in Baguio City, my wife and I went out of our claustrophobic hotel room to see About Time , a good-natured fantasy romance written and directed by Richard Curtis. We had just finished having sex and there was nothing else to do so we decided to hit the cinema. We sat somewhere in the center, about midway up. I was quite tired and not really into these kinds of films, but after hearing Tim Lake's first lines, my eyes became glued to the screen. "I always knew we were a fairly odd family. First there was me. Too tall, too skinny, too orange. My mum was lovely, but not like other mums. There was something solid about her. Something rectangular, busy and unsentimental. Her fashion icon was the queen. Dad, well, he was more normal. He always seemed to have time on his hands. After giving up teaching university students on his 50th birthday, he was eternally available for a leisurely chat or to let me win at table tennis. And then there was mum's b...

It was ten o'clock on a hot Friday evening in early August of 2013. Around 30 people gathered inside a coffee shop in Batangas, sipping a variety of blends while listening to the resident three-piece band. Uncle Rhett's was a cozy place. The living room-like atmosphere with big comfy couches and dim lighting was much different than your usual cafe. Some were there to work on their theses and school projects. Some were present to enjoy the music, relax a little, and hang out with friends. But for my close friend Brittany, that Friday night at Uncle Rhett's was a special one. She sat there patiently, waiting for someone. At around eight thirty, she noticed a man outside, and she knew right away it was Edward. The old guy gave her a weak hug.  Britt invited him in, ordered him a cup of cappuccino and chatted him up. She was more than a little nervous, but she had to do it. It was the first time she had met her father. Edward was tall, clean-shaven, and he had a high-bri...