DCFC in the flesh

A few years ago, I made a sweeping declaration: there are only two “living” bands that I would see live – Dashboard Confessional and Death Cab for Cutie. This year, the clouds above opened up (let out the Atlantic like the Translanticism song goes) and sent both Dashboard and Death Cab to the Philippines. On the same week! I swear that peeking through the silver linings, the gods are smiling down at me.

I rarely call myself a fan, but with Death Cab, I have no qualms with calling myself one. Back in college, writing/reading workshops would end with Trina’s carbonara shared in circles while we listen to Postal Service and Death Cab in ate Karize and Franco’s apartment. I remember treading the hilly way to the library and through the lines of What Sarah Said with Franco – deeming it too great to be sung, we recited it. One of the poems in my thesis was based on What Sarah Said, and another was written during a writing prompt spanning the length of the instrumentals to I Will Possess Your Heart. Death Cab is one of those bands I can listen to all day, and I remember doing just that until Chase has memorized the lines to Soul Meets Body. I am without a doubt, a fan.

Hence, dying almost as soon as Ben Gibbard went on stage. Despite this long entry, I am still at a loss for words and couldn’t possibly fully express what happened or how I felt during the concert, just that I was trembling the entire time (and I’m sure it wasn’t because the music was too loud). I hauled myself up on the railings, and was balancing on thin metal bars throughout the 2 hours of pure joy. We were among the first to enter the premise and this secured us a spot nearest the VIP section (only railings between us). I don’t care that I didn’t get near Ben Gibbard like I did with The Pains. I don’t care that there’s 40feet-worth of fans in heavy trance between us. Knowing that I was in the same room with his brilliance was enough to send me to tears. When I Will Follow You Into The Dark played, I exchanged with Ica and stood by ate Karize. She rested her head on my shoulder and I wrapped my arms around her and I really felt like crying. When they returned on stage for the encore, the entire stage was in darkness. A spotlight shone over the piano where Ben Gibbard played Transatlanticism (one of my absolute favorites) and I swear that at that moment, I knew that I couldn’t possibly be anywhere else.

None would give justice to how awesome this experience was, but I’m forever thankful that Steph managed to sneak in her camera to take these beautiful shots to remember this concert by:

I’m glad I didn’t get tickets to Cranberries and Taking Back Sunday just yet. I feel like I’m solved with Death Cab for now, like I’d get by without watching any more concerts for the next 20 years. Another sweeping declaration, people.

cure for the uninspired

Before 2011 ended, some friends from Pantas and I got together at Franco’s house (well at their guest house/hut) for overflowing drinks and pseudo-intellectual a.k.a. drunk conversations.

But what exactly happens when Pantas gets together?

Apart from Kevin and Biboy swearing they saw something (ufo?) plummeting from the heavens to a patch of foliage at Franco's backyard, there's also: drunk drinking (of Pen's twinkie boom which proved itself quite the backstabber come next morning); drunk game of I've never; drunk karaoke; drunk stargazing; drunk discussions while stargazing; drunk conversations on Walking on Alligators. Or, was it of the story Franco wrote in sophomore year?

Morning after: preparing breakfast in behalf of the hungover; how many girls does it take to cook french toasts? 3 – KJ, ate Krista and Cara; scrambled eggs and pancit canton to mimic early LB mornings; endless hangover (I'm lookin at you, Kevin).

I was inactive during my last year as a member of Pantas, and so was Biboy. The two of us conniving for a year-end Pantas get-together seems a bit sketchy from the get-go, but not only were we parched for good drinks, but also for good conversations. We were all in need of honest-to-goodness emotional and intellectual fill. This is a good enough bait to get everyone else to come.  Well, not really. I have a long list of people who I wanted to see but didn't make it. Those who came, however, seemed exactly like the only people I need.

I'll travel all the way to Antipolo for these people. Every weekend, if schedule allows. Everyday, if my liver can take that much drinking. But work will only allow us rare, random meet-ups such as this one. And this makes it even more special.

It's true what they say. Mornings at Franco's are enchanting. They'll last all day unnoticed.