Boy On A String

I would never fully understand the situation because I am not a member of any fraternity.

Ask any frat member and they would say that brotherhood is strong in their organization.

But since when has inflicting bodily harm to others become part and parcel of brotherhood and camaraderie?

Back in law school, I received offers from several fraternities. Their main come-on is "We're family."

But I already have one and my real family will never lay a hand on me.

Why would I let someone hurt me when my folks never resorted to violence in disciplining me.

The spokesperson for Lambda Rho Beta said that hazing is not part of their tradition.

Lawyers are indeed liars.

40 Days And 40 Nights

When I was little, Holy Week only meant one thing: boredom.

You are stuck at home with almost nothing to do.

Nothing good is on TV, unless you consider a marathon of 7th Heaven and religious movies starring Matt Ranillo III as pure bliss.

Raft3r’s family is Catholic. The rest of the clan is Iglesia ni Cristo (Church of Christ).

My cousins would often tease me that I would burn in hell for being different. I told them it didn’t matter. I had air conditioning.

As Raft3r grew older, the significance of Holy Week became more apparent.

While my cousins head to the beach on Black Friday, my little family spends the day in church.

I am, in no way, a religious freak. But I do believe in God.

Here is why:

Raft3r was in fifth grade. Because of a long break in school, we were assigned a book to read with a corresponding report to match.

A day before class, I haven’t even started reading.

It was Sunday night and I was in deep shit. Mom refused to help me out. She wanted to teach me a lesson. After all, I had a week to do the report.

Raft3r browsed through the book and thought it was mission impossible. I couldn’t read it in one sitting.

So, I made a deal with God.

I prayed with all my might and asked for a miracle. I begged The Big Man Above to give me enough time to do my report.

Raft3r woke up the next day to a surprising development.

My nanny said school has been cancelled because of rain. Raft3r was ecstatic! Indeed, it was a miracle from God.

I went through my day playing and only read half of the book.

The next day, Raft3r submitted an incomplete project.

My teacher had that disapproving look on her face when I turned in my assignment.

Raft3r disappointed God, as well.

And that wouldn't be the last time.

Insane In The Membrane

Here’s a tip for those who want to graduate with honors.

Do what Raft3r did. Pretend you’re extremely sick.

Backtrack to 1997. My class had one of those out of town class sessions.

During one of those bore me to death activities, Raft3r decided to create a scene. With my best friend as my accomplice, I decided to showcase my award winning thespian skills.

Everyone was required to share a secret with the group.

With tears in my eyes, I told them I had leukemia. 

Everyone was shocked. 

What was even more amazing was the fact I started sobbing uncontrollably.

It was so surreal. I even believed I was terminally ill.

Boy, did I get a lot of hugs and prayers that day.

Most importantly, the whole incident earned me an A+ for that college course.

Ain't life sweet?

Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning

It’s time to put on your toga.

March is the most awaited month for students.

Graduation is a good symbolism for change.

Fresh out of college, Raft3r entered law school. Four years later, he dropped out. It was the best decision ever.

My folks were deeply disappointed. But I stood my ground.

It was now or never.

Seven years later, most of Raft3r’s batch mates are practicing lawyers.

I am not one to be envious. While they write their legal drafts, Raft3r does his blog posts.

Guess who's the lucky one?

Someone To Watch Over Me

If Jodie Foster had an obsessed male fan by the name of John Hickley, Raft3r had a female stacker who shall remain nameless.

During my college internship, I met a pretty girl at the office where I worked temporarily.

Cute and all, Raft3r flirted with her. We started dating and an office romance blossomed.

When things started to get serious, I bailed out. 

All I was looking for was a summer fling. She wanted a commitment. That’s when the whole trouble started.

I stopped seeing her. On my end, all means of communication were cut. But she did not take no for an answer.

She would call my house and demand I speak with her. One conversation stood out the most. She wanted a strand of my hair for some voodoo bullshit.

She befriended my classmates and even dated some of them just to get back at me. She would make sure that my classmates would tell me that they dated her. I thought that was funny.

This went on for years.

When I went to law school, I thought it would be over. Wrong.

I ran into this guy who introduced himself as her boyfriend. The following day she called. Just to make a point, she requested her new boyfriend to enroll in my law school.

Raft3r knows how young love can make one do stupid and shallow things. 

After all, I was once a fool in love. But she definitely took top honors.

Home For The Holidays

The Holiday Season is the perfect time for reunions and get-togethers.

Raft3r must have gone to a million parties this month. But nothing beats having dinner with old friends.

I haven’t seen my grade school buddies in ages. So when they facebooked (Yes, it’s a verb now.) about meeting for dinner, I immediately said yes.

So there we were at Cyma’s. Raft3r was surrounded by familiar faces and loving it. These are the people I practically grew up with.

Over dinner, Raft3r was teased for being the only 5th grader to wear shorts in class. After downing a bottle of red wine, more roasting ensued.

They also recalled this incident where I brought a hot chick to a friend’s office. My friends kept asking what her name was. Raft3r couldn’t even remember.

Going down to memory lane is always fun and sometimes embarrassing.

All I can say is: “Thank God for growth.”

Remains Of The Day

This is Raft3r's last week in Baltimore. Finally.

Training is almost over. Graduation is tomorrow.

After three long and hard exams, Raft3r is finally getting a certificate of completion.

Friday is the last day. We will be packing all our training modules on that day. Raft3r will discretely insert a couple of his personal things in the training box. I’d do anything to save on luggage space.

Honestly, Raft3r can't wait to get outta here.

Try living here for three months and you'll know exactly what I'm talking about.

If our head quarter's somewhere in LA or NY, even DC, my stay would have been more eventful.

I'm not complaining, though. Nothing beats my one month stint in Majuro last May.

Raft3r is spending his last week in the States in California. I'm also visiting relatives in Vegas.

Of course, the highlight of this entire trip is my wife's concert on the 13th.

Raft3r can’t wait to show Janet some love.

A Few Good Men

Raft3r enjoys plane rides.

If I can do it everyday, I would. Jetlag is a word that does not exist in my vocabulary.

It would have been a hard pill to swallow if it was the opposite. My work entails a lot of traveling.

On my flight to Baltimore, the woman seated next to me was a pretty interesting character. I love talking to strangers. You should know that by now.

As it turned out, she’s an Alameda County lawyer. The conversation quickly revolved around law school and how it made both our lives miserable.

My mother would have been proud. I exchanged legal goobledegook with a trained professional.

The lawyer expressed her dismay that I dropped out of law school. Raft3r retaliated by declaring it was the decision I have made since switching to low fat milk.

Apparently, she specializes in probate proceedings. It’s the same subject Raft3r flunked in law school.

How's that for irony?

School Ties

It’s back to school for Raft3r.

Every morning at exactly half past seven, a bus picks me up from the hotel and takes me to the training center.

For 11 weeks, I have to learn and master six thick as a tree trunk modules. That entails reading. All these are in preparation for my new job.

Getting back in the swing of things ain’t easy. After all, Raft3r has not been in school in eight long years.

I have long abandoned the love for reading. Blame it on law school. Pre-law Raft3r frequented bookstores and purchased tons of books.

With all the readings I had to do for school, I lost interest in books all together. Suddenly, I had no urge to even browse through my non-fiction novels. Law school can do that to you.

Now back to Raft3r’s current predicament. I just passed my first exam. There are more to follow. Just staring at my modules makes me puke. I dunno how I can surpass this.

Money is always a good motivator.

My boss sums it up best: “Now, you actually get paid to go to school.”

Unwritten

Raft3r's handwriting is terrible.

In fact, I could put doctors to shame due to my deplorable handwriting. You do know what people say about their penmanship, right?

I would get deductions in my exams because of my poor handwriting. Law professors would often comment on my penmanship. My test booklets would often be annotated with "write legibly." So by now, I would pretty much assume I have made a strong case on how bad my handwriting is.

But that wasn’t always the case.

Back in grade school, my penmanship was impeccable.

I would get high grades on my writing class. My strokes were off the hook. Needless to say, I was often voted as class secretary because of my perfect handwriting. Teachers would ask me to write their lectures on the blackboard.

So what happened?

A jealous classmate declared, “You write like a girl.”

After knocking the wind out of him, I made some pretty drastic measures with the way I write. I intentionally made my handwriting more masculine by making it butt ugly.

Now I suffer the consequences. I can longer get back my beautiful handwriting. I’m stuck with something most people can’t bear reading. Masculinity has claimed another victim.

Post script: Much love to Passport #1 for the inspiration. You are my muse for this post.

Teaching Mrs. Tingle

My grade school music teacher scares the hell out of me.

To this day, just the thought of her brings back nightmares. Ask my classmates. Our music teacher was one hard pill to swallow.

I remember coming to music class every Wednesday afternoon with my heart beating crazy fast. Hearing my music teacher’s high strung voice was enough to send shivers down my spine.

Back then, I saw her as the Devil’s mistress. 

She would make us sing several Broadway tunes and the stomach turning Somewhere Out There. This last song was always done with a duet partner. Oh, the horror of it all.

What made it worst was when she would publicly humiliate you.

“You’re tone deaf! Sit down,” yelled the music teacher. 

To the delight of my classmates, I was the target of most of her outbursts. I would often come out of music class with my pants wet.

Fast forward to 2008, all the emotional abuse I received in music class has certainly paid off. 

I am now a karaoke champ. My rendition of the Air Supply classic All Out Of Love always scores a 100%!

Post script: Last I heard, our infamous grade school music teacher has moved to the Middle East and now terrorizes the kids there. Alarm Al-Qaeda.