2048: Play it When You're Late

Image from gotgame.com

Jigsaw Meets Sudoku

Game Review By Joey D. Bidan Jr.

            Ever since Sudoku became a household name as the ultimate brain game, there are other number games that attempt to modify the rules, gameplay and design of Sudoku to keep up with its worldwide popularity. The Japanese were still the ones who were good at inventing such games. For instance, “Kakuro” and “Hitori” where in the Philippines, people like me loved playing them to kill time. If you haven’t heard of them yet and you want a few unique variations in the monotonous “number arrangement” scheme in your favorite Sudoku, better go check them out Kakuro has a math twist and Hitori is simple logic. They’re both available now in iOS and Android.

Image from play.google,com

            Speaking of Android, the latest craze in the smartphone community is “2048” (no, not the hotel room number) which I call as “the moving Sudoku”. For dummies who are still unaware of its existence, imagine a Sudoku board with its mini boxes but instead of writing down numbers in fixed positions inside them, you get the ability to push, pull or swipe them all around the board whichever direction you want (up, down, left, or right and no, you can’t move them in diagonals).

Image from geekswithjuniors.com

            You should’ve pictured it out by now why I called it as a “moving Sudoku” because for me, that’s how the gameplay really feels. It’s only similar to Sudoku at a glance but the rules to “survive” the game are different. The mechanics? Swipe the board so that the numbered (and colored) squares move altogether in the direction you chose. Numbers that are beside each other and the same combine into one (just like piling plates of the same sizes) such that 2 and 2 becomes 4, 4 and 4 becomes 8 and so on until it accumulates to a single square of 2048 and/or beyond (hence the name of the game). Pretty simple huh? But what happens to numbers that are not alike? Of course, they pile on top of each other to consume the empty unnumbered spaces on your board. And you don’t want that to happen since every time you swipe (regardless of direction), a single square of either 2 or 4 will appear. These new squares will keep on showing up and if you fail to combine more squares as you can to make more empty squares for them, you’ll run out of chance to move any square at all – an obvious Game Over!

            My strategy is to organize the numbers in such a way that it will be easy for me to add up those new numbers that appear until they pile into bigger ones. The way I do this is to make sure the biggest numbers are on top so I could freely move and add up the smaller ones below them.

            There are other variations to 2048 like “2 in 1” and “Threes!” which they say are more challenging since you have to pair a 1 and 2 first before starting to combine from 3’s, 9’s going up. There is also a version with an “undo” button so you could go back in time and reverse your mistake for a nonstop million points game! Whatever it is, 2048 will surely challenge your focus but not as much as “Flappybird” to make you throw your phone to pieces. It’s just the perfect time-killer.

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They're Coming!

Also on Wattpad


A Short Story by Joey Bidan

Anarchy. The first week after the world's worst typhoon of all time struck the province, Leyte was destroyed; Tacloban is a total chaos- a hopeless city without laws. Everyone is a criminal. Everyone is scared.

 

image from ink361.com

                Palo is a town a few kilometers just next to downtown Tacloban. I lived there particularly near the historical area where General McArthur landed during World War II which is now in ruins after the storm. But never mind that, I'm not at home anyway. I'm busy.

                "...Alex!" somebody called me and I turned to see it's my elder bro, Kuya Anton. "Help me here. This one's too heavy!"

                 In the dim light of the Robinson's mall, I ran to help him carry some sort of a giant speaker into the push cart that is already fully loaded.

                "You really think we need this thing?" I asked him as I'm catching my breath. "We never know when the lights are coming back."

                "Never mind that!" He said smiling as he picked objects on the floor to the cart. "Mano Jun and his pedicab could have unlimited trips to Palo and carry everything here. Just do your thing and think of the future, ok?"

                So that's how we spent the whole day and no, we're technically not shopping since everything we take are for free. At that time, I didn't even know it was called "looting" - a once in a lifetime opportunity. (And ironically, Mano Jun our pedicab guy is a policeman in civilian's clothes for heaven's sake!) We stopped at 8pm when it's already dark and scary and; when somebody's screaming "rape!" and "help!" at some corner of the mall. We got home and were amazed at how it turned into some sort of museum when we're supposed to just take food.

                We could not sleep peacefully then, since the more supplies we got, the more intense the night becomes. The family's worried too much we got ourselves a weapon for each one of us. A hammer for Kuya Anton, kitchen knives for nanay, a rifle for tatay and i don't even know how to kill with a hacksaw. There was no law after the world's worst storm and we're preparing for house invaders like it's World War 3 or something.

image from thelakewoodscoop.com

                It's not just us. The whole province are being paranoid actually. News spread about desperate escaped prison convicts murdering people in their sleep; NPA rebels roaming around with rifles to ask for food and supplies with force; greedy akyat bahays and; even Aswangs? All throughout the night you could hear screaming and gunshots...and who could sleep with that?

                They're coming...

                It went on like that for two more nights and my eyebags are campingbags already. Our roof was partly torn off and I can't help to imagine someone's up there watching and waiting for me to sleep then attack. And tonight, it was 2 AM and I'm clutching on my stupid hacksaw as I stare at a lizard on the ceiling, waiting for another scratching noise on the roof.

                They're coming...

                Suddenly, i heard voices at the back of the house. Voices of men whispering in a dialect i never heard before. So I silently got out of bed holding on my hacksaw and slowly stood near the window to check who they are, when I heard people shouting outside the house. People are running at the streets and just like yesterday, floodlights and flashlights are criscrossing the sky from every window of every house. Another false alarm or did they catch somebody now?

                I followed Kuya Anton out of the house and there was nanay and tatay at our gate along with a crowd of shouting people. As we get nearer, I observed people are pointing and kicking at something...or someone in the middle of the crowd's circle. I don't know why my heart is thumping fast but it's probably because this is my first time. It was my first time to see an akyat bahay caught in the act.

                I caught a glimpse of the person and he was partly lying, naked on the pavement. His skin was as dark as the night and; hair curl as a grass. I looked again and saw that he's actually not naked. There's a piece of some sort of hanging cloth to hide his genitals and I realized it was probably a "bahag" worn by most indigenous tribes. Then I heard people shouting he's a Badjao. I asked Kuya Anton how Badjaos from Mindanao got here and he doesn't even know as well.

                People now stopped kicking the guy when the baranggay kagawads arrive for questioning. By that time, he was crying and holding his bleeding neck pleading mercy for his life. I gasped when I saw it's not physical injury but a gunshot wound and nobody even cared! There was so much blood I could smell metal in the air.

                "...ayaw kog patya migo (don't kill me friends)."

                "Why are you here?" The kagawad asked pulling stuffs and ATM cards inserted in his bahag.

                "...mangaplay kog trabaho bai (I was applying for a job)."

                "…in the middle of the night?" The kagawad waves the wallet and ATM cards on the guy’s face. "With these?"

                That probably made the crowd mad to kick him all over again, shouting and dragging him farther. I couldn't stand it anymore and got away from the crowd, tears swelling from my eyes. For crying out loud, will you take him to a doctor first and question him after? I thought.

                I don't know if I should feel pity or angry with that Badjao. Who am I to judge him? Is this how far a man will dare himself to do for survival? Is it really survival or greed? The man may be illiterate but he seems to know what ATM cards are worth. It's just so sad to think he doesn't know they're useless to him. Is he worse than us, educated people looting the mall shamelessly? In a land seemingly forsaken by the government, where there's no help or business or food, what should discriminated people like Badjaos do? It breaks my heart to think.

                Then alone in the street, I was shocked to see two young Badjaos in bahags going out of our own house. One of them was crying and the taller one reached and pulled him away from the lights. They stopped when they saw me. And in their sad eyes, without words I realized the akyat bahay the people apprehended was probably their father.

                I just stood there and watched them go. The next day, I heard the Badjao died in our baranggay hall.

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Wet People

 THE WET PEOPLE

  A SHORT STORY by Joey D. Bidan Jr.
  (Also on Wattpad)

image from: mansplatter.wordpress.com

  Rizal Park has been wet for a few hours after the rain and the mass at the temporarily built church has just ended. Fely took out her purse and waited for her husband. He was smiling at her as he guided their son out. She smiled back at them, happy to see them having fun in this beautiful Sunday morning.

  Her husband carried their son now and walked straight to the Rizal statue where a woman was overjoyed to meet them. Probably a friend Benjie had not mentioned yet, Fely thought. But still, why should he approach her first before me?

  Fely was walking towards them now when she saw Benjie pass Ryan from his arms to the lady's - who was complete a stranger. She stopped when she saw her baby Ryan kiss that lady and ask her to go home already. The lady said something back to her little boy and took Benjie's arm gently as they casually walk towards the park's gate.

  What in heaven's name are they doing? She thought. Is this some cruel joke acting like that in front of me, worse near the church right after the mass? Oh, the nerve of that woman! And Benjie! I could never forgive this insult!

  But Ryan. Ryan my child. Where are they taking him? No. No!

  With a face turning red, Fely marched hard to the gate pushing people who are blocking her way as she saw Benjie about to open the black Toyota Innova car. Then she slapped him.

  "You shameless cheaters!" Fely said, breathing hard now. "Where are you taking my son?"

  "What are you--" her husband said with wide-opened eyes looking at her then to the woman.

  "--Mark, who is she?" the woman said shifting Ryan to her other arm. "What's going on?"

  Fely could not believe it. Their acting was so good! Right here in public, now that everybody is looking at them. Denying on my face like I dont exist, Fely thought. Like we never left home and attended mass together!

  "I don't care about you anymore Benjie" Fely said, tears streaming down her eyes. "But don't you dare take my son with your woman!"

  "Mommy I'm scared. Let's go home now." Ryan said to the woman's face then hugged her.

  Fely was surprised even her son denies her existence that fast. Embracing that stranger like she's the one who breastfed him since birth. Was this all Benjie's setup? She thought. Was my three-year-old brainwashed? Fely just placed her palm on her mouth in disbelief.

  Benjie was speechless and just hurriedly opened the car's door. The woman was about to go inside when Fely ran to her and managed to grab Ryan's jumper who just started to cry hard now. Benjie began pulling her away.

  "No! No! Don't you take my son! Ryaaan!" Fely was screaming as policemen were coming towards them. "Ryaaaannnnn!"

5 Days Later

  Detectives Melencio Yao and Gariano Marcos just got out of their patrolcar after parking it at a corner in Phase2B of the V&G Subdivison.

  "Have you heard of this 'Wet People' rumors going around lately?" Yao asked Marcos as the latter took out a pack of cigarettes. Both of them are looking at the Torrets Family's house. "You know. Dead people showing up after the flood; Jeepney drivers taking a ride for wet passengers who suddenly disappear night or day; employees seeing watery chairs, tables and typewriters of dead owners; soaking wet pale priests walking the streets--"

  "--and wet children playing with their toys? yeah, I heard a lot." Marcos lnterrupted, puffing his smoke now. "Most of my friends from, Tanauan, Palo and in San Jose share morbid tales like that. I still stick to good old 'to-see-is-to-believe' mentality."

  "And I've got a feeling you're about to prove that in this Torrets's Family case." Yao smiled to his partner as he knocked on the door.

  A few minutes after, in the Torrets Family Sala the detectives are sipping on their mugs of black coffee.

  "...as you know Mr. Torrets, your case is now closed. The lady now in our custody named Fely Dubasta who was and still claiming, you are her husband and your son is hers is suffering from Schizophrenia." Marcos was still explaining to the couple as he glanced to his partner Yao, who is still silently staring at the mirror for several minutes now.

  "...we went to her house at Brgy. Baras in Palo and found her TRUE husband and son who were Mr. Juanito Dubasta Senior and Junior---"

  "---so are they alright? Why were'nt they at the police station? Is Fely really crazy enough to confuse them with my family knowing that her husband and son are actually at home?" Mrs. Jane Torrets said, curious with the weird expression and behavior of the detectives.

  "Ma'am. As you know, Mr. Dubasta Senior and Junior are dead. We found their clothed skeletons still in their bed and our forensics team confirmed they drowned in the storm surge of the Yolanda Typhoon--"

  "--OH MY GOD!" Mrs. Torrets covered her mouth in shock as she sat back on the sofa.

  "...I could imagine the impact of her trauma... keeping their decomposing bodies still in her house...convincing herself they're still alive...OH GOD..." Mr. Torrets was staring at the floor in horror then stood up to walk slowly away towards the kitchen.

  An hour later, outside the house Detective Marcos is shaking Mrs. Torrets' hand. He glanced to the car and saw his partner pale as a chalk like he saw something scary.

  "You sure you don't want to stay for dinner with us?"

  "Nah sorry, maybe next time ma'am thanks for the time. I'll call you for a few more paperworks. I just gotta take my partner home."

  "Yeah. He sure looks like he's not feeling well. You guys take care."

  As Marcos went inside the car to start the engine he saw Yao shaking nervous, eyes bloodshot.

  "...the mirror." He was breathing hard now. "I saw then in the mirror..."

  Mrs. Torrets was in the kitchen pouring the last ounce of macaroni soup from the laddle to the bowl. She took the gloves and brought the bowl steaming to the dining room where her husband is telling a funny story to their son.

  "Here's your favorite!" She said and was about to place the bowl to the table when she suddenly screamed, the glass bowl crashing loud on the floor. Her shout frightened her husband and her son who turned to her.

  In front of them is their reflection on the mirror. Right there, staring at her with bloodshot decomposing eyes is a tall man in torn blue shirt and beside him a boy with black lips carrying a ball. Father and son. Pale as a chalk. Dripping wet.

  Jane continued to shout, pointing at the mirror. But it was too late...

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Mang Pepito and The Stranger

A short story by Joey Bidan

 Once there was a tale told over the years when the Japanese just started coming in Leyte. And during this time in Isabel, there was a wide isolated farm owned by an old man named Mang Pepito.

  As the 42nd heir of this wide farm, it is his obligation to tend to it and take good care of the crops. Mang Pepito's parents died when he was just a youth of 14. He was about to run away and live his dream in the city but was forced to bury his parents and stay. He was bugged by his conscience to leave it and decided to continue the hundred-year legacy of preserving the farm.

  But he was alone and now a sickly 74-year-old. He never had a wife because he never even met a woman in that lonely place. And so how could he continue the farm's legacy if he could not have a son? How he wished he could have one to help him. Especially now that the monkeys are getting more and more.

   Monkeys are the major pest problem of his father and his ancestors who took care of the farm decades ago. Hundreds just come running in from the forest to steal corn, uproot sweet potatoes and cassava. His father and his ancestors before him all got tired of shooting them with shotguns just like him. They die, but they don't eat monkeys. Their dead bodies serving as fertilizers are not even enough to compensate for the crops they've been stealing and destroying.

  Then one hot afternoon, as he was sitting outside the house, Mang Pepito saw a man completely dressed all in brown. He finds the stranger funny and creepy at the same time. What, with his slant eyes and unusual accent who wouldn't get scared?

  The man came to him sweating as he carried his bayonet and speaking in a weird language Mang Pepito never heard before. But since the stranger was rubbing his neck, he got in the house and handed him over a mug of cold water from a jar. He understood the stranger was thirsty as he watched him drain the contents of the mug.

  The man was still uttering words Mang Pepito failed to comprehend like "Arigato" and "Gozaimas" over and over when suddenly, they stopped upon hearing the loud marching sounds coming from the forest. The army of monkeys were suddenly in the field, ripping the crops. Mang Pepito wasted no time to grab his shotgun, aimed and shot only a few of the invaders.

  Then came louder gunshots. Mang Pepito saw the man in brown uniform from behind him aiming and shooting perfect headshots. It took only six minutes for the monkeys to run away shrieking loudly and leaving behind more than fifty dead. He never saw someone shoot perfectly that fast even his father and grandfathers before him were no match to this stranger.

  Happy and amazed, they had dinner that night talking. Even though they don't understand each other's words, actions seem to make what they wanted to say to the other clear.

  The next morning, Mang Pepito saw Arigato stitching something like a fur to a noisy monkey. He was almost done when the monkeys started to march to the farm by the hundreds. It is only then Mang Pepito realized that Arigato stitched dog skin to a monkey.

  The Monkey wearing the newly stitched dog skin ran so fast it chased away the other monkeys who were all wondering why the dog could climb the trees with them. It is only then, that their invasion stopped once and for all.

  The Japanese soldier stayed and helped cultivate the farm. Later on, he married a Filipina from the city. When Mang Pepito died, he was happy to pass the farm to his newly-found son. As for the monkeys, it is still believed the dog-like monkey were still chasing them until now.

A Jolly Love (Jollibee Fastfood Crew Poem)

by Joey Bidan

Before I tell you a little secret of mine,

I'll ask you something, now I'm beyond holding time.

I've missed you a lot since I last clocked-in,

Did you as well missed my presence, where I once had been?

You were once a new trainee, and I'm mixing Iced Tea,

My heartbeat's in a hassle, when you looked back at me.

I don't need the sugar stockman, she's there you see,

Call me a fool but her smile's sweet enough for me.

All those time's we're talking, my heart's like PHA,

Like I'm trapped in the freezer shouting for help all day!

Have you noticed me shaking like I'm "over ice"?

Yet to see you laughing, makes me feel warm like wrapped rice.

It's hard to have the same breakout time with you,

And when you're there, you make me forget how to chew.

You're like my favorite "spag-rice", unlike half steak,

Makes me more satisfied all day, than HD for break.

How could I focus on my secondary duties,

When you're still prettier than all the counter cuties?

I only need one "E.R." to explain what's true-

My secondary shelf life will be meant for you...