Damn! I would have wanted to earn few bucks from Entrecard!

For instance, when the Bay Area earthquake happened in San Francisco, junaldpascua.info said this:

We are alerted with the news about the Bay Area Earthquake. This earthquake became very famous in the Internet today. Have you gathered enough details about it?

Then the blogger, Junald Pascua, asked his readers to “watch the full videos of Bay Area Earthquake at the URL below, just copy and paste the URL below to your address bar now.” The thing is, there is actually no link below the post, nor a video about the Bay Area Earthquake. What is below the post is Adsense. Thus, he is actually asking readers to click on his ads so he could earn. This is against Adsense policies. What a scam!

Here is another useless post about Audra McDonald:

Audra McDonald was very famous in the Internet today. She was actually nominated for NAACP awards. This is a very successful point of her career. Have you seen one of her videos lately? She was really amazing, watch it now at the link below! Watch the full videos of Audra McDonald at the URL below, just copy and paste the URL below to your address bar now.

Here is another one about Sen. Chris Dodd:

What’s the latest news about Chris Dodd? Have you heard him do his speech? Many have ben admiring him but the news announced that he will not be running again. Watch the full videos of Chris Dodd at the URL below, just copy and paste the URL below to your address bar now.

And another about Apocalypse Man on History Channel:

Want to watch the Apocalypse Man on History Channel? This will be a very amazing show about the great human history and living techniques. Many people are very excited to watch the show. Watch the full videos of Apocalypse Man History Channel at the URL below, just copy and paste the URL below to your address bar now.

See the trend of the kind of post you’d get from his blog? The words were simply repeated. Instead of giving you the information, he asks crazy questions without sense.

Junald Pascua is from Polomolok, South Cotabato, Philippines. He says in his profile: I am a teacher majoring in English and Math. I have my Math and English tutorials online. Writing in the web is also my part time job. I love computer related books and Internet programming. Most of my time is spent in writing, reading books of any kind, and most of all sharing information to others.

Junald Pascua is a teacher – a teacher spammer! Google Adsense should ban him.

A quick googling will reveal that a blog is the newest form of journalism with a reverse chronology, unfiltered content, comments, links, a relaxed attitude, and appropriated text. It is a short cut for a web log, a place where you can cover your own event and present it in an informal tone you want. A blog is your rants in a journal that is made public and readers post comments online.

I would have wanted a journal under lock and key much like the one I made when I was a toddler. I do not have any recollection as to where my highly confidential journal has been clandestinely resting now. Suspicion points though to one of the brown boxes mama piled for documents left untouched for years.

Mama is a hand that rocks the cradle with a magical prowess to discover hidden things, especially if they are of great concern – like love affairs or heartbreaks. The old journal contained all that, not to mention the day I lied about the big mirror I broke, or the money I unwearyingly saved for a trip to the city.

Before blogging became popular, I maintained a blue-covered journal that had every sweet and ghastly moment in it. The first page started with a warning “Please do not read” in big bold letters and in every page thereafter before every daily entry. This is to somehow scare infiltrators, e.g. housemates and friends, from breaking into my privacy and disclosing innermost thoughts not even my own shadow would like to recognize.

For many years, in all my travels in and out of the country, I scripted everything like a detailed story from a book.

It worked for months against all prying eyes. In some nights, I escaped from mom’s math and science tutorials so that I could spend time with my journal – writing equations of the heart and decoding the complex science of love.

I wrote, “My high school English teacher embarrassed me today. He said how could I be in the honor list when I cannot even correctly spell CREATE. I missed the last E just to be the first student to finish the essay.” I pondered deeply that night. Mom and Dad did not know. My journal did.

For years I haven’t asked mom of my journal’s whereabouts. I recalled I had the journal concealed under the bed covers before I left for college. No journal was found from then on. For weeks mom grinned like she had deciphered a code to Yamashita’s treasure. Each look was as mysterious as ever and I never asked.

In the advent of blogging, I feel I’d change my impression of journal writing. There is beauty in letting everyone know your private anticipations and imaginings! What excitement there can be to have your friends snigger at the running account of events happening in, on, to you! The good thing is, they can even be part of the tale you want to recoup, or moments you want to relive. How wonderful, isn’t it?

When the first posting showed online a year ago, I thought it was the beginning of revelations to come. Unlike the journal I had, my Composed Gentleman blog needs no warning or hiding from anyone. I comment about politics, careers, entertainment, books and even post interesting facts. Nobody tells me what to post, as I always believe, candor would be the best guide.

Maybe, it’s funny for me to be forlorn over spilt milk. Come on. Is there really no sense in looking back and basking in the afterthought that I can still dignify, by dint of memory, even the foregone moments I once detested but now merrily summon. Like when …

… I graduated a notch lower from the honor roll after my lady adviser in sixth grade favored a classmate less deserving but much better-looking than I was (she never missed admiring his white-as-a-sheet shirt during classes).

… I became the talk of the school campus after my classmates learned I didn’t vote for my own party in the election for the student council in high school owing to a secret disagreement with our class leader’s platform.

… My mom figured in a verbal tussle with my Electronics teacher because she thought, like any mother who claimed to know better, I deserved a grade higher than 90 (someone else got 98, by the way).

… I saw big brother’s butt full of welts from grandpa’s leather belt, which only happens once in a blue moon, after I squeaked on a grave misdeed my brother and I promised each other to keep secret (sorry, bro, for my selfish breach of trust so I could be spared from grandpa’s fury).

… Papa bellowed so loud after I accidentally hit his crotch while executing a newly learned karate jab. How I weaseled away from the house, but failed to outrun a good spanking comeuppance.

… I joined a hometown amateur singing contest and lost. Eating humble pie wouldn’t have been a big deal if only it was not my little sister who won the first prize and my big brother finishing second best while I failed to get the nod of the judges for, at least, the best in attire or stage presence. If only Mom did not insist I sounded like the old Matt Monro!

… Trying to live up to my mom’s belief that I could sing, I fell flat on my face while performing during a PTA meeting even as I felt that the audience tried to cast a spell to pop me off the stage. Oh, if only the guitar wasn’t tuned so perfectly!

… I had to wake up at dawn to collect ripe mangoes fallen from the late-night frolic of bats only to find out that being delayed by a mere second of sleep meant going home empty-handed. Too late for me to realize that kids in the neighborhood also harbored my mango principle: “Sweetness is surely reaped from prompt sacrifice of early morning dreams.”

… I sent a playmate scurrying home in tears after hitting him with a stone from my slingshot. All the while, I thought my target was on cue only for sparrows and chickens I tried to shoo away from Grandpa’s rice fields.

There’s still a whole archive of memories about my boyhood misadventures. For now, I reserve the other stories for the times when my friends would be open enough to consider that recalling those “detestable” moments could be entertaining as well.

He is the composed gentleman. He is acutely aware that he is, at this moment, engaging in a world he never existed in so well. As you are about to read, he is on his way to dipping his toes into the relationship puddle after a significant bout of solitude.

It’s all because of Miss Eve. His heart has been lying dead for the past months. He could describe it as an organ that had lost its joie de vivre, the strength to possess that capacity to love. Yet, here comes Eve, pricks it with her smile and intoxicating giggles and a hip that sways to a rhythm she alone can create, and, without further elucidation, his heart realizes that there is life after death.

Therefore, as he sees it, it began for both of them. Him and Eve, the girl he secretly admires (or maybe salivates over is the right phrase) at the Student Union during lunchtime. In between the eating and the sipping is her face, beautifully carved at the forefront of his imagination whenever he fails to see her. But the times she is in, his world suddenly stops revolving and he thinks of a zillion what-ifs and how-tos. Her long, dark-brownish hair tempts him. Her round, stunningly-pretty eyes speak “come to me.” Every exquisite moment that goes by further consolidates her conquest over him.

He never made any authentic plan of finding her since he considers himself one of those individuals who finds pleasure living alone. Aloneness allows his artistic self to transpire. He is one guy who loves the fruit and the liberty of having no one to attend to in his life. However, there are flashing moments when the stillness and the breathing space that he wants could not just be purely his.

He never thought Eve could become his sweet Helen, who could push him to launch his thousand ideals to the extremities of nowhere. Eve is making him slowly surrender the sugary and harmless comfort of existing alone.

She is the reason of the engaging smile he wears and the benevolent mood he has each day. Honestly, it is hardly his doing to ask American girls for a date because he always falls short of the height requirement. Moreover, he isn’t a veteran when it comes to extracurricular rendezvous. Eve, though, makes him think otherwise.

The last time he saw her at the Student Union, she was with a guy. The incident left the composed gentleman standing motionless for some time. It was as if she just served him a whack full in the face. Oh yeah, so supersonic was the blow, so extreme, he heard the echo of it ping at the back of his head. But, as his heart strongly dictates, that would not stop him from falling for her.

He is not certain when or where their roads will finally, truly, entangle. He is very assured, though, Eve is going to arrive at a moment when she will feel her heart jumping purposely, crazily, to let him in.