My Consoling Asylum

If you like Lord of the Rings, The Chronicles of Narnia and Harry Potter series, then you might consider this upcoming movie a big hit. New Line Cinema features this fantastic work of Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials, where The Golden Compass is the first in the trilogy. The other titles are The Amber Spyglass and The Subtle Knife.

Looking back to my past and installing a roving eye up through the recent years, there was and is hardly ever a single classroom that I can designate as real heaven. Mischiefs, both diminutive and large, mostly furtive, occur in a moment and another. Students unwillingly listen to, or more appropriate to say willfully ignore, the teacher's discussion. Every so often a teacher is backstabbed in ways students most likely have fun doing, criticized when a mistake is noticed and is laughed secretly at it. And these events happen as normal elements in classrooms.

Another normal component of classroom monkey business, though graver than those previously presented, is cheating. Another one is what Filipino's call "kodigo". Observed more thoroughly during quizzes than in exams, cheating transpires almost everyday. It has rather become a fashion in today's schools, more likely in high school and college. Kodigo, although still is a form of cheating, otherwise, slithers more in exams and is noted less likely during quizzes.

By the dictionary, cheating, in classroom setting, is to break rules to gain advantage. Meanwhile, kodigo in English is code, like Kodigo ni Maragtas (Code of Maragtas), yet in Filipino vocabulary, kodigo is a cheating device or paraphernalia, something written on paper, in chairs and sometimes on skin to be reminded of assumed-to-come-out facts. Let us take these two terms separately.

I would like to congratulate you if, all in your life, you have not cheated once. I cheated (let us focus in classroom view) and cheated a little more, and that made me a normal student---or so thought an acquaintance of mine. I am no angel, and what is wrong with that? I had constructed kodigos, nothing to be ashame of.

It has occured to me as to which of the two is more evil. Is cheating, that thing when you ask or clandestinely poke your classmate for the answer or when you sneakily look over your classmate's examination paper, graver than making kodigos? Or otherwise?

As for me, kodigo is more illegal. This dubious activity is solely confined to yourself (that is, selfishness), although sometimes it can proceed to the cheating proper, which makes it worse as committed is another illegal act. It is like taking an exam with open notes, thus erasing the real aim of the exam, that is to evaluate how much one has learned. The very feeling that you do the kodigo for yourself wields more guilt.

Cheating, on the other hand, is subtler than the previous one. It is a collaborative effort and the guilt is lighter, as you share all the blame once you are all caught. Some teachers do even understand why their students cheat, and I am afraid that they did the same matter back in their studentry years. They even go out of the classrooms to let the examinees have the time moment to cheat---I had proven that many times, a cheater I was! One thing more, cheating has become so rampant that it is has rather become so normal. It is everywhere!

For some, cheating is way to survival, especially to those deprived of the relative intelligence. There is even a humorous line that says "better cheat than to repeat". But for the highly cerebrals, who are purely competitive, it is a way of keeping up to the top that cheating is now viewed as more frequently done by the achievers. The truth is that almost everyone does, only these achievers are noticed and accused, and when they get that it is a sad thing because people think he is on top because merely of cheating.

I have always been an achiever as a student and had formally and officially known cheating when I stepped into high school. But it really does not mean that cheating is a sole way to get every subject aced, it is only an amplifier to achieving success. I can rely on my unaided intelligence but I know I can do more if I cheated.

I am not in any way writing this to promote cheating or the making of kodigos but to lay the these pillars of dishonesty that students are careening into in their everyday scholastic lives, and to examine which one is worse.

They say cheating is not bad, until you are caught. Our very own conscience will strive to bear searing thoughts, though, and even if we aren't caught, there is someone who always sees what we do. It is okay to cheat, but do not do it frequently for heaven's sake!

The Filipino blood has to be the best in the brood! Despite the variety of adversities that tightly grip us all, we remained firm, valiant and hopeful, and when tried with daunting circumstances we face them with boldness. Our ancestors resisted the colonial forces that infiltrated our land and the surging of the people’s true power had been the inspiration of a giant country’s people power too. These are just two examples of how brave we are.

Indeed, what runs in our blood is the burning flame spirit of courage, determination, fortitude, glory, intellect and talent. The Filipino force and excellence can’t be denied! From the prominent names who have had great contributions in the fields of entertainment, beauty, sports, among others, we cannot help but let pride sweep us. It is even said that Filipinos have already swarmed the world, from the classic domestic helpers to all-time big-times, just like these ones who made it to Hollywood. Let’s take a peek at them.

Typical that of rags-to-riches complex is Black Eyed Peas’ apl.de.ap (Allan Pineda Lindo). He was born to a Filipina and a U.S. serviceman stationed in Pampanga, Philippines, and the songs that he writes typically depict of his obstacles from the pitiable life in a farm in the Philippines to his dealing with obstacles, mainly culture shock, once moved to L.A. at age 14.

There is also Nicole Scherzinger, the lead eye-candy of the opulently vibrant Pussycat Dolls. Born in Hawaii to a Filipino father and Hawaiian/Russian mother, Nicole grew up with his Poland-born stepfather in Kentucky with her sister called Ke’ala. As a former member of American Popstars winners’ Eden Crush, Nicole has definitely got talent in singing and dancing.

And then there’s this teen role-model, who just recently may have tarnished her own image and Disney’s celebrated High School Musical by the leaking of her racy photos in the internet. But Vanessa Hudgens, of Irish-Filipino descent, still is the teenybopper heartthrob whom boys just love to love and girls just love to hate and envy. Still, she ranked seventh in Forbes list of "Young Hollywood’s Top-Earning Stars of 2006", sharing that of Daniel Radcliffe’s, Dakota Fanning’s and Lindsay Lohan’s rank space.

Yes, he can be every girl’s hero: with expressive eyes and sexy voice like that, who would resist Enrique Iglesia’s charming face? Born in Madrid to a successful Spanish singer of a father, Julio, and a beautiful Filipina socialite, Enrique is so proud of his being Filipino that he treasures his family so much and remains to be humble and approachable.

Billy Crawford has not only made name in Hollywood but also in Europe where his funky songs and electric dance maneuvers are a craze. Kudos to this Fil-Am!

Her beauty might as well have been one of those in Miss Universe 2007, but Vanessa Minnillo was already the bubbly host of that, and even regularly in MTV’s TRL. Born in the Philippines, Vanessa is a former Miss Teen USA.

Cassie won’t be forgotten in the list. This Filipino-American image of beauty surely has captivated us with her chart-ruling hits like "Me and You" and "Long Way to Go". And yes, she still has long way to go. Show the world what you got, Cass!

From the multi-platinum English girl band Sugababes, Mutya Buena has made it all the way to being solo. This singer/songwriter shows her musical prowess as being a "Real Girl" and surely she takes pride of being a real Filipino, or half- that is.

If you had watched 2006’s Take the Lead and guessed that the character Ramos has Pinoy blood in him, you are right! Dante Basco might be a troubled high-school student in the act but he sure is a fine, cool guy.

He is Adam Sandler’s friend, his manager is his brother and his mom’s a Filipina, and with further clues such as The Animal, The Hot Chick and Deuce Bigalow you can’t be mistaken if you had thought of the hilariously crazy guy, Rob Schneider.

And the long list goes on: There is Monique Lhuillier, designer of high-profile, Hollywood celebrity wedding gowns like that of Britney to K. Fed and Christine Baumgartner to Kevin Costner, and also has designed to Hollywood’s big stars; Jasmine Trias of American Idol; Paolo Montalban, who charmed his graces as the prince in the stage version of Cinderella (2001); Lou Diamond Phillips, who portrayed Ritchie Valens in 1987’s La Bamba; Natassia Malthe, the villainess Typhoid in Elektra (2005); Tia Carrere, Mike Myer’s sexy love interest in Wayne’s World (1992); Lalaine Vergara Paras, Lizzie McGuire’s best friend Miranda; and Lea Salonga, as the lead, Kim, in Miss Saigon and now as Fantine in Broadway’s Les Miserables.

And that’s just how proud we should be for being Filipinos, the mighty Malayan race, who would not let the giant trample us with indignation because despite political scandals and international controversies, we rise and stand out from the rest. So chin up!

Celebrities may have always been the topic about rumors, both nasty and complimentary, but how many times have you gossiped away today with your mischievous classmates, persons of envy, all-time and meantime enemies, good-for-nothing ex’s, scandalous neighbors or simply your faulty classroom instructors in it taking the spotlight? For the week, how many public and private lives do you suppose have you trodden on?

If indolence and gambling are said to be legacies we have taken from the Spaniards, is it right to say we also have been bequeathed with the powerful art of gossiping? We can’t really figure out where it’s come from, but what’s certain is that most of us fancy spreading rumors, whether or not they are true, and we take delight in doing it. So I say it bluntly—we love rumors.

Confirmed or not, stories about celebrities make them praised or detested by the people; either way they get more famous, whether they like the manner they get a bit more of it or not. But in our own domain—school, office, workplace— no one is a real celebrity, only known persons, but not only are these known individuals the victims of rumors but also those that are not.

Why are we really fond of tittle-tattles anyway? Why when we are secretly told with foul news about the people around us our tongues couldn’t help but itch with desires to convey it to our other acquaintances? And why, in devil’s pleasure, do we like adding another layer to the story-cake and sometimes make our own versions too, and worst we just create stories?

I myself am a gossip, if not for a day at least once a week, and I would so much revel if you admit that you are, too. Not that I am inviting you to join forces with me but to merely count who’s in, and maybe, just maybe, to come up with a reliable demographics showing how many are there self-confessed blabbermouths. Does that make you wince? Then you are guilty.

Time and again, our ears tingle once we hear a tad of unverified rumors and we can’t wait to gather the whole, whole story. The teller says, "I will tell you provided you won’t tell it to anybody" and the gossip-hungry listener replies, "Promise!" only to know that the listener later becomes the teller, telling exactly the same dialogue as the original teller’s. Typical, isn’t it? And as the impeccable nature of message relay applies, the story is further furnished with irrelevant, self-made data. Bad and sad, but the saddest thing is that when who makes a whole-fool tale about whom and make others believe that it’s true.

Plainly and apparently, all these boil down to vindictiveness and malevolence; if not consciously, we unknowingly beget shame for the quarries of these hearsays or should we want it to, we cause far more than shame. Are we really that relentless to hurt the people in our surrounds? No, as we are likely to answer, but every day shows we still settle on to doing the same deeds. It only goes to show that we are glad to spread the detrimental news about our fellows. Whether the rumors are true or not, it is still injustice to find schadenfreude in strewing somebody’s misfortunes and misdemeanors. Neither the public nor private lives of other people are to be rummaged of flaws and take it against them, for all we know nobody’s perfect. It is unjust to judge these persons from what we have head from others.

Gossips teach lessons, however, for both the gossiper and the gossiped one; for the former it is best to contemplate what these rumors can do to the victim, that it can ruin their lives, or perhaps more than that, and for the latter it is most excellent to refrain from doing any mischief and probably shun every bit of it.

If we don’t want these gossips, we should at all times try our best not to wallow in the mud of embarrassing misdeeds. Rumors won’t fly by if they are not partly or fully true; this is somewhat factual. So if one will just carefully watch over his actions, then he can’t be a subject of disdain. And if he is definitely not transgressing, he can’t be accused guilty.

So watch over your deeds, and the rumormongers may as well watch over their tongues, for they will tire talking the talk unless it’s really a talk. Confusing? It’s because only the gossips can understand this at once, and I congratulate you for not being one. And if you’re sharing your intimate and top-private secrets, certify that the one you’re sharing it to is trustworthy and ensure that no one’s eavesdropping nearby. Does that help?

“Walang kaibi-kaibigan, walang kamag-a-mag-anak…” were part of the words that remarkably spilled from his lips in one of his privileged speeches years back during his tumultuous reign as the president, and this line had long since gained fame, whereas hardly any word from me claimed any form of large-scale notoriety and that I am yet to produce myself a similar matter, hopefully.

I never knew there existed a name such as Joseph “Erap” Ejercito Estrada (and I am quite certain that he too does not know whether a nasty, common name like Caesar Balatero exists, not until he reads this anyway) until it popped into politics several years ago as the colossal votes of the masses enthroned him into presidency. Young as I was then, I never cared too much about the ever-dirty affairs of the politics, as much as I did not possess the slightest idea what his classic films were. And I am quite sure, yet again, that he did not care about my growing up, nor had expected I would actually grow up at all. Still young as I am now (and he is getting much older) I do not have the slightest tinge of sympathy and remorse for him at his current fate. I never really had developed any love for him since I do not know when.

He comes from a wealthy and prominent family while I am from neither. His tag line then was “Erap para sa mahihirap” and he could have better had me as one of his beneficiaries, but too bad I was not. I thought that ought to make a prodigious change. He may be so damn richer than I but I am convinced I am more fearful of the laws of the land than he. He was an actor, and perhaps he was excellent at it, and I had only been to a stage play once, with a character that was almost as good as trifling. His places of living are in his mansions (pun intended) whereas I live in a hut-like house inhabited by scurrying mice and cockroaches. He is a father of which number I do not know, while, still, I do not know whether I can become a father come the time or would desire to be one; he is straight, I am gay, simply put, and just babysitting is but fine for me.

For the biggest part, he was the president of the Philippines, and I had only been a president in two organizations as far as my slightly oblivious memory would aid me. Yet he is rather less educated (and this would be the very first time I am sorry for him) and I confidently say I am more. Thanks to his political adviser/s who helped him dealt with international affairs, and also thanks to my past advisers who somehow planted in me this brand of boldness. His physique reminds me of a green, balloon-bellied, lucky charm frog figurine nipping a golden coin while I can only be reminded of my own stature of two things: a green lizard or the stick-like hangman. I am not sure how heavy he is physically; all I know is that I am emaciated and underweight but I have a perfectly fine gait anyway. I do not limp when I walk, and I do not babble almost incomprehensibly. He also has his fat mustache while I do not and I really wonder whether mustaches really ought to give extra pogi points. Picture-wise (above) he appears rather significantly laden with more than a handful of mundane concerns and worries, whereas adjacent to him is a guy whose snide smirk is as hell as sarcastic.

Now he is convicted with plunder and he must be grateful he is sentenced only that. In my coming years (that is, if they would), I will do well not to fall in similar situation and that if I built my many mansions I would take good care of each of them.

Perhaps, only a few things bind Erap and me in similarity, so few I thought they are negligible: he is a male, as well as I; his hair is black and so is mine; his family loves him so much, and mine to me; he eats thrice a day in the average, I eat the same; he micturates and defecates at his own will, and so do I, human as I am.

But the one greatest, undeniable thing that connects us is our both being Filipinos. Many Filipinos love Erap as much as most Filipinos do not. I am proud of being a Filipino, and he is too I guess, and that I love my countrymen. And from that, for the second time here, I feel sympathy for him.

He has already suffered much and I am not sure whether he deserves a pardon. Can’t he be forgiven? I always thought it is one of the virtues God taught us.

Anyway, I still look forward to the day Erap will be finally, fully freed, so that by then he can once again live his life in internal change (hopefully) and complete freedom, so that he will no longer be envious of my ever being so free. Or, at least, free to do good only…

Had he said, “’Wag ni’yo akong subukan!”? If he had, I guess I might have already crossed the line, have not I?

Oh yes, everyone becomes naughty sometimes, even Vanessa Hudgens herself, the Filipino-Irish-American teen actress who is no other than the lead starlet opposite the dainty Zac Efron in the most-loved High School Musical. Racy photos of her had leaked into the internet days back and although it had been on the news worldwide last September 6, 2007, no pictures of her nude photo had been shown (of course!), and by that everyone just went more curious.

The candid pictures were intended for her boyfriend Zac's eyes only, but if you're that voracious for the pic, then feast your eyes on this one (and only this one, okay?). Will it or will it not tarnish the trust teen fans have for the Disney musical? We will find out soon. But Vanessa already had apologized for the such foolishness.

Meanwhile, to redeem this role-model here from her self-injected indecency, here are two videos of songs that will be in High School Musical 2's OST. Don't stare too much at the pic, rather listen to the songs and watch the videos, I suggest...

What Time is It? is in this week's No. 2 spot at M.I.T. (Myx International Top) 20 countdown, while You are the Music in Me holds the number one spot.

Despite all of that, I am still proud of her. Go girl! Go Pinoy power! It is but okay to be naughty at times, don't worry, you're not alone, girl! LOL.

Since I was a child, my inkling of horror was only spawned by horror flicks like the then-prime "Shake, Rattle and Roll" series and of grim encounters of persons whom I know and not, their stories recounted to me by my fellow kids and some elder. I never fully considered those accounts though, as I had not come across them myself. And it remained that way for long, long years.

Until recently...

It was initially a fine Friday, nothing to worry about. Harmless, really! There was nothing in the manner the clouds crawled sluggishly across the cerulean sky to insinuate that strange things, at least for me, would soon happen. Even the spur-of-the-moment studying for a quiz in my morning class did me so good and did not disappoint me one bit.

Yet as the day progressed on, the afternoon started to become unusually gloomy, not that I minded it. As if it were the first time I beheld such? I did not let it meddle with my pacing towards the publication office, nonetheless.

Dark clouds slowly began to overtake the once-blue skies; it breathed a threat of rain to come. And come, it did, bathing the Earthly things below. Cold air rushed everywhere and good thing I was already in the office, all dry and not even a wet stain of a single raindrop on my clothes, sitting in front of the machine and encoding some important matters.

After long hours of encoding articles for the publication, my best friend sent me a message to await her; their class ended at 8:30 PM. That did not bother me; it was good for I could have someone accompany me go home.

Several hours arrived, and it became darker outside, the rain still had not subsided, some blows of the cold wind giving me a chill. I was in my most serious disposition encoding the poems, only taking some minutes to hum along with the songs currently played on the Winamp. I was just still, and everything was just normal. Or so I thought. When...

WHAM! I jumped to my feet and I swore if I had cardio problems I would have died; my heart beat abnormally swift. There was a loud blow on the backmost of the office, somewhere in the sloping ceiling. For a minute or two I became timid. I turned my head, yet there was nothing in there that had fallen nor I saw any movements; the place seem untouched. This attenuated my suddenly startled emotion and I continued on my my tasks, disregarding what had just transpired.

I sang along a line in a song saying "...Baby not the usual, tonight we get the unpredictable..." when the staff's latest framed picture fell of the wall, causing the dysfunctional wall clock below it to drop too. The sound was not so loud though, yet very audible and startling. I stood up to replace them, inspecting what could have been the culprit of such plunge. "The nail may have not been hammered deep," I told myself, took comfort of that very thought and resumed my seat.

The next things were really very sudden and unpredictable and, for the most wicked part, uncontrollable. I had barely carried on with encoding and editing when the garbage bin rolled on its side with a thud, spewing the trashes inside it towards the two cabinets it faced, which doors then flapped in appalling frenzy. The sight of such not only gave me quick goose bumps but also utmost fright. I tore off to leave the room but the door raced to closed by itself and shut off with a hasty, loud click; it was locked! And no matter how hard I tried to pull it open, it would not. I had taken a fleeting glimpse at my wristwatch and it bore 8:00 PM, not yet till my best friend would arrive. I screamed, but the deafening drumming of the heavy raindrops on the rooftops seemed to drown my words.

And then suddenly, lights went off. I clicked the switch on, and on, but no response. I screamed even louder that I had almost screamed my lungs out. But everything just went more outrageous. One moment, with the faint light issued by the computer monitor, I saw the trashes flew towards the ceiling, dancing weirdly as they did. Next moment, the baseball bat beside the garbage bin rose in mid-air and swung to and fro. The next thing I witnessed in utter horror was a woman---so grotesque in appearance, her gray hairs billowing like smoke, her nose crooked, her dress tattered---who just appeared in thin air, grasping the bat's handle, smashing frantically the exquisite glass goblets first and second the cabinet's pane, spattering the shards almost everywhere, a sharp, large one flew towards me and as I shielded me from it my right arm got a horrible cut (it is now an ugly scar), blood trickling down on it.

I panicked, and perhaps more than that. The song streaming in the computer did not help either; it made the feeling even worse ("So the day when you've lost your self completely could be a night when your life ends"). I was already an inch closer to losing my self. Who would not anyway, when the ghastly woman advanced on me, her rotten fist clenching hard the bat, and as if I were the baseball, she positioned to whack me with it and...

The next thing I knew was I woke up to find the table's flower vase fell to my face, almost breaking my nose. I woke with a start in the office's long couch. I was still all alone in the office just like it had been when I was encoding. My wristwatch told me that it was still 4:30 in the afternoon, same day. I felt for blood in my face but there was not any, there were only few broken edges of the ceramic vase. All in the room appeared undisturbed either. It was a dream, a nightmare, the worst I ever had. I tried to calm myself, tried not to worry lest my co-writers will breeze in and find me so perturbed. It was all dream, and that was all through now.

Yes, a nightmare it was. But never had I noticed so quickly that the wound I acquired in the dream was exactly the same wound I instantly had on my arm in this real life, only that it did not bear any more pain. Most mystifying!

So then I thought that room was one place the undead are frequenting---just like some other rooms in the school, and just like most of the schools---and they assault through formidable dreams. They might occur as fantasy but they can sometimes be true...

And, sadly, in this case, it was all because of my profound whims, a figment of my very wild and trivial imagination...

Waaa! What a turmoil that would be if that befell. Manny surely is a champ but I doubt that he can knock out our nation's every, seemingly never-ending, problem. And I am not complaining about his being Kapuso. What the hell do I care? I admit I take pride in his winning the boxing title (what weight?). That has so much brought the country the glory, but I still am comfortable at Jose Rizal as our National Hero, although some say he should not be because of a bit of his foreign ancestry. But pen is still mightier than sword or, in this very case, fist. And what has the one-two punches got to do with uplifting the country's current economic situation? If only Manny would be any more generous to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, or jab the corrupt officials straight in the face then I guess that would be the time I might think twice of his being our national hero. (Er, the thought itself jabs me by the jaw...) But yes, don't worry. He won't be the one, and will never ever be. To the one who made this picture, my salute to him! Nice spoof!

I really love writing, any forms of it, although I did not know I could fall into such passion. I was admitted to a school publication at the age of 11 and had started writing since then. I remember the first poem I wrote was entitled "Kaibigan", which I submitted for the school paper alongside with some of my articles. Then the love for putting into words the thoughts I have spurted like a torrent. Although initially my affiliation was that of a Filipino (Tagalog) publication, I still submitted writings to the English pub counterpart, and it was not until college that I fully dedicated to writing in English. And have not I mentioned here that in one summer break from school I had composed more than a hundred poems, many of which I posted on online poetry sites and one poem entitled "You're My Bestfriend" was actually chosen by two different sites to be included in their book anthologies. How lovely would it have been if I had been able to purchase the book with my poem in it. The other site actually also included it in their audio recording, and I had been so keen to send the two sites back post mails of my permission. The next summer break I commenced on writing my novel, and only then had I learned to read a novel! ...

So what is this post about? Nothing so fanciable, really. Only that this should have been an entry to an online writing contest site. I really hurried on finishing the poem just so I can enter the contest, only to know that before you can participate you have to pay first. Holy cow! Well, the mechanics was to make a poem of any length and style incorporating in it a particular picture. So here was my best shot to supposedly covet the price. Grrr!

Last week when I was searching thru YouTube for some videos, I came across this one. I was really curious about it and when I saw this before my very eyes I can't help but be envious. This is such a very sweet gay video (and when I say gay I don't mean it is porno). This is about love, and how lovely it is be in-loved (right?). It brings me back the joyful memories that give warmth upon reminiscence, alongside the nasty memories that stab when recalled. But that was the past, and things have to move on, including I. I hate to say this but the video is killing me by the heart, and yet it is a marvel that I keep on watching this. Feast your eyes on this, and if you're offended by the video, you can simply stop watching.

For a seemingly structured gap of two years of waiting between each book's release since its fifth instalment, here comes the ultimate sequel to J.K. Rowling's famed Potter sentology, which by the title itself, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, is apparently the darkest among the seven, judging from the numerous deaths it presents in the running.

Only after a month when it was released last July 21, 2007 had I been able to pore on this 36-chapter, 608- (Bloomsbury) or 759-page (Scholastic) compelling work of literature, and I had been too keen to engross me in it for as short as 14 hours (excluding breaks and sleeps) or a day and a half from the time I commenced reading it, thereby enlisting my own self to the millions of fans (the reason it had an initial print run of 12 million copies) who dedicatedly perused it.

And how was it? Primarily, there is triumph, alongside casualties, romance, mysteries, revelation and, for the most expected part, thrilling adventure. The Dark Lord is meaner than ever, less merciful and helplessly more evil. He and his nasty minions, with Snape and Lestrange as his favorites, embark on thwarting the Order of the Phoenix's fetching and transporting of Harry from Privet Drive to The Burrow, or if any luckier, catch and kill Harry at once. But they fail, succeeding only with having killed two side characters in the process.

Harry, with his fidelous friends Ron and Hermione, has to kick off on the task left to him by Dumbledore, whose death and personality is now somehow the irrespectful subject of an intruder-by-nature, tactless, known journalist's book of biography she entitles, "The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore", which creates a stir and doubt about him in the wizarding community and, at some point, in Harry himself, although reluctantly.

Scrimgeour, still the Minister for Magic, hands down some of Dumbledore's possession, whose esoterical uses grip the recipients by confusion, by virtue of Last Will and Testament, to Ron, who receives the Deluminator (Put-Outer) Dumbledore used in the streetlamps of Privet Drive sixteen years ago; to Hermione, a copy of "The Tales of Beetle the Bard", a collection of wizarding children's fairy tales; and to Harry the very Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match, and the Sword of Godric Gryffindor, which Scrimgeour does not give out just yet, with the conviction that it belongs to the Ministry as it is an important historical artefact.

Bill and Fleur's wedding takes place, but only next to Lupin and Tonk's, whose marriage is rather clandestine and immediate. Harry uses a Polyjuice Potion to disguise himself in the wedding as Ron's supposed cousin, and just as everyone revels in Bill and Fleur's union of hearts comes mayhem, by the intrusion of the Death Eaters.

But Harry is safe, thanks to quick-witted Hermione! With Ron, they fleetingly stay at a Muggle pub, only to know that moments later they are being followed by a number of Death Eaters. Although quite uncertain, they dwell in the old Order's headquarters, the security of which being excellently tightened, most especially against Snape, with comers to the place confronted first with a question of verification and taunted second with a horror-figure of Dumbledore before they can fully penetrate into the house, where the ungrateful, offensive house-elf, Kreacher, learns to respect and obey lightheartedly the three by their valued treatment of and, likewise, respect to him. There Harry finds out who RAB is, the arcane initials on the note left in the locket that cost Dumbledore's life, and this locket, most unluckily, had fallen to the hands, or neck rather, of the toad-like psychopath Dolores Umbridge. At this knowledge, Harry, Ron and Hermione infiltrate the Ministry, with the aid of prior careful investigations as to who customarily comes when and with Polyjuice Potions for most. Once there, Harry sees Moody's magical eye embedded in Umbridge's office door to spy on her employees, and he and Hermione witness the cruel handling of witches and wizards, whose bloodlines are suspected vague and questionable, by Umbridge and Yaxley (another Death Eater) carrying on the newly instituted Muggle-Born Registration Commission deeds. At the chance Harry gets by force the locket from Umbridge's neck, and when the Ministry key officials get a tip about the commotion in that particular hall, the situation worsens and the trio are nearly caught, leaving them not to stay again in Grimmauld Place but to go hiding in forests with charms and enchantments to protect themselves. Ron gets angry and impatient, and, sadly, leaves the two.

Hermione and Harry visit Godric's Hollow in an attempt to acquire helpful clues and answers as to where the other Horcruxes might be hidden and also to just linger for a moment in the place where a happier life could have been for Harry had his parents were not killed. In here, Harry's wand breaks when they are attacked by Nagini in one of the houses there, and they go back into hiding all the more. In their new refuge, Harry is tantalizingly visited by a mysterious Patronus in a form of a doe, and lured him to retrieve Godric's Sword, which Ron uses the moment he is back to destroy the locket Horcrux.

Their curiosity soon revolves around the Deathly Hallows, and what better way to gain more information about the matter than consulting experts on it, one of them is Luna's father, who becomes miserable by this time as afflicted by sorrow and has apparently made a 180-degree turn from his usual known occupation because of a certain circumstance. Positively, knowledge about the Deathly Hallows is obtained, thanks to him!

But alas! Harry, Ron and Hermione are captured by two Death Eaters wandering around the forest and they are brought to Malfoys' manor, where Harry and Ron join Luna, Griphook, Ollivander and Dean Thomas in the cellar while Hermione succumbs to Bellatrix's Cruciatus Curse. Dobby arrives with help and Wormtail faces his end. To retrieve Hermione from Lestrange, Dobby and Harry valiantly fight Narcissa, Bellatrix and Draco and has gotten the three's wands in the process.

Yet there is another touching death and a corresponding paying of respect. The trio learn about wandlore, how a wand changes its allegiance once it is won from its true owner, such fact answering so much about the Elder Wand, one of the three Deathly Hallows, which are collectively represented by an esoteric symbol of an upright triangle (the Invisibility Cloak) with a circle inside it (the Resurrection Stone) and a vertical line (the Elder Wand) that divides half of the triangle and circle.

In an attempt to obtain another Horcrux, our epic heroes enter Hogwarts and real adventure begins. Every underage student is told to evacuate, and the of-age given permission by McGonagall to take part in the imminent battle between them and the arriving Death Eaters. While battle commences at Hogwarts, with giants, centaurs and Acromantulas participating, Harry sees before his eyes how Nagini, by his master's bidding, ruthlessly killed Snape in the Shrieking Shack. When Voldemort and Nagini leaves Snape wring to death, and few seconds before he completely drifts into eternal flight, Snape gives Harry his swirls of memories, which Harry immediately bottles up and pours into the Pensieve moments later and learns about Snape's truest self, his concealed identity --- a complete revelation, a biting, touching verity.

Voldemort does not partake in the ongoing battle at the castle, and instead needs Harry to personally come to him, or more innocent, brave lives will be wasted if the battlers continue to resist him. And so Harry does the request, and the time the Dark Lord sets eye on him in the Forbidden Forest, he is cast with the Killing Curse.

Similar that of a dying person meeting God, Harry gets to have an intimate conversation with Dumbledore in a completely deserted (except for them), heaven-like King's Cross Station, and Harry is told that he is not dead and has to come back to life to finish the battle.

Convinced of the fact that Harry had already faced death, Voldemort announces marvelously loudly over Hogwarts and Hogsmeade that he has been victorious. He goes, together with his servants, to the Hogwarts to present the evidence of Harry's downfall, and everyone in the castle went teary-eyed. But what all of them do not know, excluding Narcissa, is that Harry is only playing dead and is just waiting for the rightest time to emerge. With the Cloak, he carefully gets out from the gargantuan arms of Hagrid who carried him up to the castle by Voldemort's command and surprises everybody by his sudden disappearance. And by this time, Neville has courageously slaughtered Nagini.

The battle then recommences: Hogwarts becomes a pool of confused spells soaring overhead hither and tither. Here casualties increase by number and when all the Death Eaters lay defeated, either dead or simply pinned down, including the eternal flight of Bellatix Lestrange, Voldemort faces Harry and casts Avade Kedavra while Harry the Disarming Charm. Their spells meet ferociously an unfortunately for Voldemort his spell rebounds and killed him --- something about the magic of love which he has never comprehended in all his living (or surviving) years.

So therein lies how the story runs. This is an engaging epic tale of love and hate, faith, loyalty and courage, and, best of all, magic. This a compelling read, a breathtaking travel and a very spectacular finale, leaving the readers in full relief, in overwhelming triumph and, perhaps, a bit of melancholy. Yet there is something to giggle and celebrate for in the end, nineteen years later, much like the wedding of Bill and Fleur, and also maybe that of Remus and Lupin. Sigh.

All in all, this is the best Harry Potter so far. We could only wish he does not say goodbye but even good things come to an end. Long live Harry Potter, and J.K. Rowling too!

Enter, dear visitors, but hey take heed
Unless you care, you cannot proceed
It is nothing but my humble blog
So drop your filthy shoes on the rug
Now you are clean, let us take the tour
Don't look for antiques for I am poor
What you will surely find out, instead
Are brilliant works of a witty head
Posted on this are my adventures
Whose beauty is at all exposures
As far as my cute eyes are concerned
They do nothing but make your hair burned
And my charming smile will melt your heart
It does magic too, it makes you smart
Alongside are poems so exquisite
Truly inspired and not obsolete
Or you can just sit back and relax
To savor some postings, not junk snacks
This will be my sort of diary
So read on, I'll update you daily
But that's if I'm online all the time
Then I can make all my postings prime
Now this genius brain has got to go
His sexy body's about to blow
(Free your dirty minds from malice, please
I'm not immoral and I don't striptease)
I know at this point you envy me
'Cause I'm enviable constantly
Almost perfect but not really quite
For my life is only black and white
Don't be surprise, or worse, don't you fret
Don't get me wrong, don't misinterpret
This is Zang and I am from Tagum
Welcoming y'all to my asylum.