Soul Brand New

When did Zero become perfect?

2008-12-29T22:05:00.003+08:00

I don’t remember how, but a while ago I happened upon blogs, owned by a number of girls all over the world, devoted to getting thin and skinny. I browsed through these pages and almost all entries talk about their everyday struggle for the scale streaks to keep on moving to the left.

I honestly thought it was a big bunch of crap. I mean, I’m guilty, I do have an entire entry about wanting to cast off a bit of my weight, or more than a bit maybe. Or I did make remarks about it in some of my entries. But to commit a whole blog account for just that doesn’t make any sense to me. They have to be downright insane to not do anything else but to obsess on losing pounds every single day.

I do understand there are a lot of blogs dedicated entirely to cooking, or fashion, or photography, or driving (?) even, but this thing’s different. I almost laughed when I saw these stuffs. Almost, because I didn’t. I realized that it is more alarming than funny. I find these girls miserable and it’s sad. These girls’ lives are seriously squandered.

I’m lucky I’m not that crazy. I am never really a fan of women with stick-thin bodies. Oh I hear you all say, “..just because you cannot have it”, I know, I know. Exactly, that’s why. Haha! But really, I never wanted a Runway body. An Underwear body, anyhow, I do prefer. Haha! Please don’t argue when I say Victoria’s Secret models are way hotter than Versace models. I mean, though some VS models do Versace too, they’re more appetizing and healthier I shall say when they do VS, with a little meat here and there. Hmm, sorry about the sidetrack but you do get my point about those pathetic women, right?

Why do I write?

2008-12-28T10:12:00.004+08:00

For my hundredth blog entry, I planned to make a list of a hundred reasons why I write. As expected, I could not think of that many reasons. I think I stopped before I even reached number ten. How pathetic that is. But just when I was about to slash this entry out, I stumbled upon this.

And my hundred reasons narrowed down into one.

Why do I write?

Because apparently, my drawing sucks.

Christmas Special

2008-12-26T10:54:00.005+08:00

It's one day past Christmas Day. I spent the whole of it swimming in my bed. I didn't even bug myself to jump into a balmy, refreshing shower. Of course I didn’t plan on blurting that one out. The point is, I just waited for that day to be over. And now that it is, it’s just another day that I am likely to forget. Or not, since I didn’t even wash myself up and I looked grubby and grimy all day long.

The Noche Buena, however, was a happy one. Of course, that’s when the gift-giving happens. But I wasn’t at all excited about all the wrapped gifts with my name on them. I was a thousand more thrilled about seeing my family opened my gifts for them. This year, I really took time to shop presents for them. And I gave so much thought on each present. I was deliberating with myself whether to give this or that because I didn’t want to give just for the sake of giving. That’s just not me. So anyway, I was relieved and delighted that everyone liked my gifts. It made everything so worth it. And I’m sure I’ll be doing this every year from now on.

He loves his Barney too much.

He takes it with him wherever he goes now.

Now this one's just too pricey not to like. Haha!

As for myself, well, for the past few years I stopped doing Christmas wishlists. Because, one, I don’t almost always get them. I’d be so lucky if I’d get one or two out of ten. And two, because I stopped seeing Christmas as an excuse to be materialistic and bratty. I’m just too old for that.

This year though, I got the biggest and greatest gift there could possibly be. Well, it’s not only for me but for everyone. My sister’s delivered the most gigantic and unexpected news, to say the least – she’s two-month pregnant with her third child. She said that the Chinese calendar says it would be a baby girl. Or she likes to believe so, and we do too. In case, it would be my very first niece. Oh good Lord, you just don’t know how depressing it is to just look out for toy guns and cars and basketball with the colors blue and black and red. I am just so happy the section for little girls’ toys won’t be restricted anymore and shopping for my pamangkins would be a lot more pleasurable.

Happy Holidays, everyone!

The Hills Rumination

2008-10-15T13:23:00.004+08:00

(another late post)

Another rainy day at home means getting stuck in bed, having all the sleep the semester deprived me of, and forcing my lids to open up when they start to feel so heavy for being shut for too long. That’s when boredom starts to disturb me. I like doing nothing. I like staring at nothing. But sometimes, I do it too much that it gets tiring too. And my first option: pirated DVDs of my favourite TV series.

That’s what exactly happened to me yesterday until earlier today. The only difference is, instead of playing DVDs of my most trusted selection of series, I opted to try something else. I had long been meaning to watch The Hills, and yesterday, I was able to buy the first three seasons of it.

At first it could be really boring, monotonous. It even put me to sleep after watching the first few episodes. But after waking up again, I decided to just pick up. And then, it turned out to be interesting, and well, it was good. I mean, I still wouldn’t line it up with Grey’s, OTH, and others, it wouldn’t even fall into my Top 5, but I definitely am buying the next season and I’ll catch up with the happenings.

So anyway, this entry’s not meant to do a review of The Hills, or whatsoever. I just realised something about me while I was watching it.

I thought that I am similar to Lauren in one way particularly – I am in no control of reminding and instructing my friends when it comes to matters of the heart, and I do it overly.

I was not like this then. I was always the one who would tell my friend that despite the guy’s offensiveness, it was okay as long as she was happy with him. And that I was just as happy as she was. And when I said that, a hundred times, I was never pretending; every word I said was pulled out fresh from the bottom of my heart. I was always the first one to defend her when people constantly told her what a fool she was for hurting herself.

But now, a few years later, I turned into someone to oppose friends who become excessively giving, without getting a bit of what they deserve. Whenever a friend comes to me and tells me how stupid she has just been, I tactlessly underscore her being stupid for the wrong person, for the wrong reasons. I heartlessly tell her that doing another act of self-sacrifice will just leave her damaged as a person. I lectured and instruct that I sometimes step out of the line. I become irritating already for giving unsolicited advices.

What caused this change in me? It’s finding true love.

It wasn’t that easy, finding my true love. I stumbled upon a couple of, I don’t know how I should call them now, wrong persons I shall say. In one way or another, I lost fragments of myself. I had a great deal of time misspent. And I also had my share of ridiculous acts of misconstrued love. Despite those, I am intact, I am whole. Because I understood that there was such thing as enough. I was a few steps away from the line, good thing that I was brave enough to refuse to stay unsighted. Otherwise, I would have never seen it, and it could have been difficult to pull myself back.

This is the reason why I sometimes appear all-knowing. I am just willing to see for people who decline to see. My careless talking is ironically a caution for my friends who are almost stepping off the line. I get very scared, because I have seen people who hastily walked past the line and they ended up not having that one thing they thought was worth everything. They ended up being insecure and doubtful. They ended up being the least of what they were then. And I wouldn’t want my friends to be one of them, ever.

Now that I found my one true love, I speak with authority. Not because I am arrogant or because I fail to understand. But because I have finally known how exactly every woman is supposed to be treated, and what exactly she deserves.

I wish writing this would make me feel a little better.

2008-10-08T14:11:00.003+08:00

Having new friends is good. But not having been able to keep the old ones is, I don’t know, how do I even put it? Unacceptable. Perhaps.

I could not even count and name all the friends I had for the whole twenty years of my life. You can tell, I had plenty of them. But how many among them have I been keeping in touch with? If keeping in touch is exchanging a few text messages once in a couple of weeks, or not forgetting to send birthday greetings on Friendster, then I guess I am keeping in touch. But if it means taking a minute to call and check how they are doing every once in a while, or if it means having to actually free myself to run to their places and personally greet them on their birthdays, then go ahead and curse me. I think I am keeping in touch with nobody. I guess that makes me the least perfect friend, not even a good friend. Give me something not worse than a bad friend, but less than a good friend. I fall somewhere in between that. If you probably ask one of my good old friends on how much of a friend I am, she would probably tell you, ‘sakto lang’. God, ‘sakto lang’ is never good, right? It feels so awful but it’s no one else’s fault, just mine.

A friend of mine is currently going through one of the worsts you could imagine. I didn’t know about it until recently. The thing is, she wasn’t the one who told me and I am not allowed to tell my friend or anyone else that I know something. It’s sad because she is a great friend to me, she is actually one of my best friends and she’s not telling me anything. But the sadder part is, I could not be there for her, help her carry her luggage.

I tried several times to get her to talk to me about what she’s going through, but she said nothing. She pretended to be okay. It hurts because I know that I would understand, and I would support her no matter what, and she could hang on to me all the way. But it hurts more that, through the years, it didn’t seem like I would. Because I stopped being a good friend when we reached the end of something and the start of another thing. We parted ways. I could have left her the assurance that the sudden change would not alter our friendship; that our bodies may have gone so far away from each other but my presence would always be felt. I could have. But I didn’t.

Everyday, I think about her. Everyday, I think about how I could have made her feel much better. If only I kept in touch. If only I bothered to check on her. If only I have been a good friend, the best friend that I used to be.

I don’t want to make the same mistake again. I have such great friends and I want to be as great as they already are. I want to be someone they can run to, someone they will call first. Not only through lucky and happy times, but also when the going gets tough.

As to my friend, I wish the ‘better late then never’ applies. To rescuing our friendship. To my being there for you. Just please let me be a friend to you this time. Let me be there for you.

Traffic News

2008-10-08T13:58:00.005+08:00

I’ve been running away from writing for weeks now. In my previous entries, I was telling about how much I had wanted to go back to writing, but after a little while, I was nowhere in sight again. I’ve been avoiding writing as if it’s some kind of plague. Not that I lack the time because I actually have plenty of it. It wasn’t also a writer’s block, definitely not. Neither did my appetite for public writing die out.

Maybe, because I was pretty sure that I would just madden myself by filling my entries up with stories about annoying people, things, and what-have-yous; or maybe, I was just stopping myself from further ruminations while I write, because in the end I would just realize what a wasted man I am; or maybe, I was just musing on whether I should go back to livejournal for the one silly reason that I miss those delightful emoticons, or transfer to wordpress cause it breathes some classiness and style for me, or just stay for the my old entries’ sake even if blogspot’s already boring me.

Or maybe, because of all these reasons. Oh, kill me. I am over-analyzing again. Whatever the reason of my sudden, and over again and again halt is, I’m happy that writing this f*cked up entry has somewhat made my day. Talk about writing as therapeutic.

Whether the red light has shut down for good or not, I cannot tell and I cannot promise. But while the green light is brightly flashing, then I wish to be charged of over speeding.

Lesson Learned

2008-08-23T09:53:00.003+08:00

(Written on August 21)

Today, I woke up an hour before my 7:30 AM class. I woke up but I didn’t get up. Without having second thoughts, I dozed off again, knowingly skipping class. I skipped class for no reason at all. It was neither body soreness, nor sleep deprivation, and definitely not morning sickness. I just felt like sleeping a little longer.

I know karma comes around, but I didn’t know it could come back to me that fast. Just a couple of hours later, I found out that our professor gave a quiz. I didn’t feel too bad about it though. I might get a zero even if I was there. What really shook me was the dream I had when I chose to sleep instead. It was nightmare!

I was eyebrowless because somebody shaved my eyebrows while I was sleeping! That dream stirred me up. I woke up in horror and looked at the mirror near me. It was really funny, but creepy too.

This is how I would look like if I was eyebrowless. Ha! Ha! Ooooooogly!

This should serve me a lesson. Now, I promise to never miss out on class just to sleep. I might lose my two front teeth the next time. Tsk.

Exactly

2008-08-22T20:29:00.002+08:00

This is how the entire course of a life can be changed - by doing nothing. On Chesil Beach, he could have called out to FLorence, he could have gone after her. He did not know, or would not have cared to know, that as she ran away from him, certain in distress that she was about to lose him, she had never loved him more, or more hopelessly, and that the sound of his voice would have been a delivernace, and she would have turned back. Instead, he stood in cold and righteous silence in the summer's dusk, watching her hurry along the shore, the sound of her difficult progress lost to the breaking of small waves, until she was a blurred, receding point against the immense straight road of shingle gleaming in the pallid light.
-On Chesil Beach

Ian McEwan says it all.

Book Review: A Thousand Splendid Suns

2008-08-20T12:02:00.003+08:00

Just as good (this good) as the Kite Runner. It talks about the cruelties of war to the women of Afghanistan.

Hosseini writes in a way that triggers empathy from the readers. You would not help but feel terror and detestation because of what they do to the Afghan women. He vividly describes how, if you are a woman who lived in Afghanistan, it would be much better to be lifeless than live in a pitiless world.

He reveals the hell that these women had lived in by narrating the two tales of two women, Mariam and Laila, and how their lives intersect. Mariam and Laila are two different women, yet both experienced how the world in war could be so unkind.

This is very carefully-made, I shall say. Unlike the first book, this has no unnecessary coincidences. Just factual and straight.

Read it! Read it!

Lifetime Warrantee

2008-08-19T10:22:00.002+08:00

While walking on the way to the dorm with Bene one late afternoon, we harked back to the days, err, nights actually, when saying goodnight was the most dreadful time of the day.

I remember we would see each other after our classes, eat together somewhere I had not tried the food yet, walk around the park, and all these while talking non-stop. We would do these without feeling even a shred of drowsiness and weariness. But of course, we couldn’t sleep in the streets together so we would also need to get home and call it a night.

He would bring me to the dorm, but when we would get close to it, when we could already see the lights, we would slow down, both of us wishing that time would stop. And when we would reach the gates of the dorm, we would bargain and ask for a little longer time together. We would sit alongside the streets, gazing at the moon, and seeing patterns of the stars with our hands clamped and my head on his shoulder. We would stay like this for a couple more minutes before parting ways (for a night) and saying our goodnights. Still, unwillingly.

After two years, the scene isn’t that picture perfect anymore. No more sitting on the streets, no more contemplating on the beauty of the universe. There are still the reluctant goodnights, but nevertheless, we no longer welcome the dawn outside the hushed and silent streets.

The scene may have changed but it doesn’t mean that we’ve gotten ahead of the can’t-get-enough-of-you stage. No, definitely not. It’s just that, we have gained the assurance that every tomorrow-morning, it will still be us. Nothing will change, well, only better. We are guaranteed that we will only love each other more, every waking day.

You see, letting a moon pass isn’t that bad. Because there are still many moons for us to see. Missing on the stars isn’t bad, even. Because for the rest of the nights of our lives, we would be lying under the same stars and seeing the same patterns.

Fieldtrips, Anyone?

2008-08-19T10:17:00.003+08:00

Fieldtrips are my happiest memories of gradeschool. I was such a happy grade-schooler whenever there were fieldtrips. I would always have my own countdown before the big day and the very night before it was one sleepless night. I was too excited picturing the places we would see. And I was scared that I wouldn’t wake up and the bus would leave me.

I never skipped one, I remember. And I hated going with chaperons. Good thing, my parents were too busy then to make a living. I would buy a bunch of baon but soon go home with almost half of it untouched. During the first part of my grade school, I wanted to occupy any seat in front. But later on, when I was inseparable with my friends, we would have a sit at the back of the bus. Also, I bought my own camera just so I could use it on a field trip when I was in Grade 5.

My favourite places to see were recreation parks and resorts. We had a trip to Enchanted Kingdom twice, to Splash Island, and to Crystal Spring (which I think is deserted now). I didn’t like watching plays then; it was hard to ponder on them when you see a lot of things you were not used to seeing. And I hated museums. I didn’t like looking at artifacts, and I found it stupid whenever we were supposed to fall in line to see them. Nonetheless, I particularly liked the Wax Museum, which was really cool.

In high school, on the other hand, we didn’t have a lot of them. Fieldtrips were once in a blue moon and they were rather called educational trips. The school didn’t really entertain stuffs that are non-academic. Whatever. But even if our hardly-any trips were foolish and the least amusing, I would kill just to join in.

Now in college, fieldtrips, for me, no longer spell f-u-n. They are such a total waste of time and money. I missed on that Ilocos trip, and I won’t care to join the Banahaw trip, and still, I wouldn’t feel defeated at all. And I wouldn’t envy my classmates even if they would say how fun it was. God, would it be fun to have a long drive without even having someone to talk to? Well, someone you like, for that matter. Would it be fun to stroll around museums alone while keeping all your stupid thoughts all by yourself? And now, it isn’t that easy to find friends in people you see three hours a week, that is, if you always show up in your classes. So I guess, more than time and cash, fieldtrips are all about the company.

Family Man

2008-08-15T15:22:00.002+08:00

I should be studying for my unpredictable long exam, but I’m here instead – in front of my shambolic laptop, doing something that could wait. My neurons are probably rejoicing and relishing the long, peaceful hours.

I was trying to concentrate on macroeconomic indicators and budget deficit, really. But I just couldn’t snub my excitement on writing this entry. I keep on thinking about my professor who will be, by the way, giving this unpredictable exam tomorrow. Oh God, exams in economics can be so obscure and complicated. So anyway, yes, I am thinking about him, of course, not in a malicious kind of way. I am thinking about how much I do respect and admire him. Again, not in an indecent kind of way. It’s not even a petty crush, no, not something like that. Don’t get me wrong. It’s just plain admiration.

What I am so proud of in my three long years here in UP is coming across, in one way or another, professors and instructors who, in one way or another, I have admired and respected. Professors who, despite the low-pay, stay in the university for they find reward in sharing a chunk of their knowledge to their students; professors who can unconsciously make their students develop both terror and liking toward them; and professors who can hypnotize the students from the moment they utter their first word up to the last.

However, the reason why I admire this particular professor is different from what I stated above. Not that he isn’t any of those. He has actually achieved a lot, and he is definitely someone to look up to in his field. Even if he does not follow the syllabus, and even if he has countless side comments when we try to discuss, at the end of the day, I learn more than what is written in the book (which he authored, by the way).

But what really sets him apart from others is his stirring love for his family and how he is so up-front about it. In fact, his side comments would always be about his wife whom he met in the university and whose tax only amounts to his salary, his daughter who he doesn’t see everyday anymore because she studies in med school but who constantly calls, and his younger daughter who sobbed to death to him when she learned that she didn’t pass the UPCAT but whom he consoled until she was put in the waitlist and was admitted eventually. He would talk about how he would make ways so his family could tag along when he would attend seminars and conferences in the different places around the country. He would lecture us on how one should only love one person and should stick with him/her even when misfortune crops up. He would talk about how he and his wife agreed then that one of them would teach in the university so their children’s college education would be guaranteed if they would pass. Imagine paying a beer worth of tuition fee every sem!

He’s like that.

He is, in fact, a bragger. He brags about his feats in the field. He brags about being in UP, and LB for that matter. Lastly, he brags about his family, more than anything else. For this, I know he is worthy of my (and anyone else’s) praise.

Book Review: The Kite Runner

2008-08-13T12:42:00.004+08:00

‘For you, a thousand times over.’

This is the best book I have read in a long time. I actually feel kind of stupid and silly for joining the Twilight bandwagon. I should be reading books like this. Curling up with this good kind of book makes me less guilty for staying up late and delaying on working for my requirements.

Khlaed Hosseini is an expert in storytelling. He has the gift of mastering its art, and he uses up his gift well.

He is a sculptor of tales.

“The Kite Runner” is written in the first person, in the character of Amir, an Afghan boy who, when war started in Afghanistan, took off to America with his father but had to come back after a couple of decades for some unsolved business.

Several themes are stirred up to make a very compelling and riveting story. Unparalleled friendship, the charge of disloyalty, a son’s desire for his father’s sympathy, a father’s longing for his son, the price of guilt – all these and more make up the spellbinding twists and turns of the novel.

Another thing that makes him a first-rate author is that he is not only a sculptor of tales, but also a weaver of words. He uses all the right words and puts them all in the right places. It is amazing how I can create in mind what he has written on paper. The depiction, the sketches he gives are vivid and crystal-clear.

This leads to his other trick of making his readers develop an out of the ordinary connection to his characters. The first night I read this, I was almost halfway through. I decided to call it a night and doze off because tears were already rolling down my cheeks. It ‘s heartbreaking. I cried twice that night. Twice. It never happened before. It’s that heartbreaking. Heartbreaking but honest and powerful.

Actually, it took me months to turn the first page over even if The Boyfriend kept on telling me how good this book is. I was quite unsure whether a story set in Afghanistan would be the sort I’d like to read. But it tuned out that I would be very much interested on knowing and studying more of the Afghan culture. It changed my perceptions of Afghan people. It was revealed to me that the Afghans are the victims themselves, and they have long been struggling to win over the power and threats of violence.

It definitely is worthy of its bestseller stamp and Hosseini deserves all the credit having written such a moving and touching book. Now I can finally dig out my DVD and watch the movie. Although I am pretty sure that I will not be as happy with the movie as I am with the book. It would not be as great when some parts, no matter how little, were cut out.

Also, I started reading his second book, “A Thousand Splendid Suns”. According to reviews, this is even better than the Kite Runner. I am yet to discover. But now, I am not as hooked as I was with the kite runner. We’ll see:)

Meeting my Dilemma Head-On

2008-08-13T12:37:00.003+08:00

The thought of not being able to graduate on time never dawned on me. Until today.

So I was sitting on my DEVC199 class, the class wherein you are supposed to sort of defend your thesis proposal and eventually, your results, analysis, and interpretation. I was envious of my classmates who already had the itch to start gathering data and all. Though more than being envious, it alarmed me. And checking my Starbucks planner a while ago didn’t help either. I felt something solid and huge crashed me in the face. I rapidly weakened. I am just a month away from the deadline of the first draft of the manuscript!

I know there is no way I can be able to do that. There is no short cut to doing this final requirement to be a holder of a BS degree. Putting into consideration the complexity of my study, I know my expertise on cramming will never work for me. No, not this time.

Thinking of the many friends I have here who are a sem or two delayed almost calmed me. Almost. But in the end, panic won over me.

Mom, Dad...

They weren’t able to give me all the subjects I needed. And there were no available slots anymore.

I want to take extra courses. Perhaps, a language course. French? Spanish? Japanese? Or all three of them. It will extend my options. There will be more job opportunities for me.

They requested that I do further research on my study. They said it is a good one and they may be able to use the results.

I already gathered preliminary data from my respondents but when I went back to conduct the interviews, they changed their minds and turned me down. Then I had to start from scratch, make a new proposal.

My adviser flew abroad and won’t be coming back before the sem ends. I have no choice, I will have to wait until next sem.

Oh God, I can never put up with any of these lies. I can never cover up my negligence and irresponsibility. The guilt will be too heavy to endure.

The faults are all on me. I spent most of my time slacking off. I never consulted my adviser. The next thing I knew, I had barely one month to accomplish everything and I hadn’t even polished my proposal yet. I hadn’t replaced my theoretical framework. I hadn’t contacted my possible respondents. Concisely and briefly, I wasn’t really exerting effort at all. Not even an attempt.

No. I am never slipping these words off my mouth. Not in this lifetime, at least. Disappointing them is the last thing that I can stand doing to them. I know it is not as severe as confessing that I am two-months pregnant, but it is still shattering. Never have I felt pressure from them, when it comes to school. I guess, all along, they are confident that I would do great like I always did then. Attacking them with these words will be too difficult for them to absorb.

Extending one’s stay in the university is never a big deal. I have no statistics in hand to prove this. But my confidence level is high when I say that more than one-fourth of the population here does not have the chance to march for the very last time, on his supposedly graduation day, with his supposedly batch mates. This is not a very bad thing. It does not make someone less intelligent and less deserving. It does not make him less of a person.

The same goes with my case. I can accept that. I know it does not mean that I am not clever enough and I am not worthy enough. I know well that my parents will understand. They will be upset for a while, but they will understand. I know that they won’t question me, even. But what I can never live with, is denying them of doing something every parent dreams of – to march with his child, full of pride, on his Graduation Day.(And no, marching on April 2010 is never, ever an option)

So what do you say I should do? Well, yeah. I should pull up my butt now and start working.

Ugh! I know it is way easier said than done.

Enough, just do it, idiot!

Who? Me? Lovely?

2008-08-08T18:29:00.004+08:00

One thing I could not ever seem to master is the art of receiving compliments.

When I bump into someone I know and she says that my hair looks nice and my arms shrink (though this doesn’t happen at all), I think of the most appropriate response but end up saying suchlikes. I know there really is no need for deep thinking, and no need to exert one big Herculean effort, for the only two words to say is “thank you”. It’s just that, more often than not, sweet praises and flattering remarks do come in times when I feel so bad about myself; when I feel so beaten and I feel that on the outside, I look like a throwaway.

Today, I woke up with an aching body. My eyes had dark circles under them; my forehead sensed pain because of booming zits; my nose felt like it was twice bigger than it was the night before; my lips were so parched; my hair hurled all over the place; and my belly was bulging as if all the food I had eaten that night didn’t thaw out. I took a bath with the hope of feeling a little much better but it didn’t help. And since it’s Friday, I had run out of nice-looking clothes to wear. It was just one of those days - one of those days when I refuse to look in the mirror; one of those days when I disgust the glow of the morning sun. It was just one of those days when all I want to do is hide from the world, and bury myself under my sheet. But of course, I had to fight the feeling so I still went out. On my way to my first class, someone, who I barely know, made a quick remark and said that I looked ‘lovely’.

Oh God, no. Not this time. I panicked. I don’t know what happened afterwards. Maybe I started saying nonsense, or I stuttered. I have no idea. Thank you. Why is it so difficult to unfetter these two words? You may ask. Because people may not really mean it. Perhaps, it’s a reserve with their good-morning greeting. Oh, no. Not. I should not be suspicious of their sincerity. But, can you blame me? But then again, either way I should be saying these two words.

I misread them. Though I think they misread me too. They probably confuse my inability to accept compliments for my hasty bragging. I never want this to happen again, so I must learn to give these two short words off, in the quickest and the smoothest way possible. I must learn not to discount compliments.

To day, I realized that we, women, should never be too hard on ourselves to accept such a polite and enthusiastically given compliment graciously. Besides, very few things in life right now come in at no cost. Compliments are one of these. And what better way to appreciate but say thank you.

Another Rebisco Story

2008-08-06T14:43:00.004+08:00

So I am talking about Rebisco, again. Yes, the strawberry-flavoured, again. But this one makes more sense. Believe me.

Last night, just like each and every night, my roommate and I were talking about how the day went for us. As a rule, our chatting comes with munching basically anything that is, I may say, fit for man’s consumption. I wasn’t able to creep into our kitchen cabinets to get tuna, sardines, cereals, or even 3-in-1 coffee, so I was left with no other choice but that one strawberry-filled Rebisco sandwich.

That biscuit has its own tale that I involuntarily shared to my roommate. I won’t go into the details of the Rebisco story here.

Cutting it short, my heart was consistently pumping for that strawberry-filled biscuit before I went to my class yesterday. Disappointingly, there was none in the nearest store so I just tried to ignore the craving. But, since my attention span on that class is at its shortest, the Rebisco biscuit kept on distracting me. I don’t know what’s in it. It’s not like it’s orgasmic or something. But anyway, when the boyfriend met me after class, he had two of that biscuit on his hand.

When I shared this story, the complete version, to my roommate, she suddenly cried. Well, she was crying and laughing at the same time. When I asked her why she was crying, she just said, “Sana katulad din ni insert boyfriend’s name si Bene.”

Predictably, I thought of how lucky I really am to have him. Not like I never thought about it then. But when people see his worth too makes me think over and over what I did to deserve a man like him. He makes me happy, like that. That thing he did was nothing compared to all the other things he does for me. Seeing my roommate cry made me more grateful. Though I wish she will eventually find a man who will treat her the way she deserves to be treated, too.

My story ends here. But since the title says this is a story about Rebisco, I felt the need to go back to the biscuit thing. So here goes the ending...

Everyday, God gives me every reason to feel that I’m the luckiest girl on earth. The boyfriend’s like the strawberry-filled Rebisco – sweet and comforting. I should not be asking for more.

HAHA:D Now that’s corny.

Messed Up

2008-08-06T14:39:00.000+08:00

Hello! I am twenty and ought to graduate by the end of the school year, but, I haven’t the faintest idea of where I will be taking off next.

I know. I know. This isn’t the first entry dedicated to my confused and clueless self. But what the heck! I haven’t gotten ahead of tracing possible career paths and finding my own in of these.

When I was a lot younger, I thought people who are twenty were convinced and sure, by all means, of what they wanted and where they were going. But, now that I, myself, am twenty, I know that it’s nothing but a big, fat lie.

Write on Track

2008-07-31T16:37:00.001+08:00

I am writing again.

My original plan was to make a new blog account and once again have a fresh start. This blog has such some heavy history I would rather want to put behind.

It had started a clash, hurt the feelings and egos of a few, endangered a friendship, and roused people’s prejudices toward me. Now that I am writing again, may we be able to clear everything up, move on, and start from scratch. Even if traces remain, may bad history be, at long last, laid to rest.

I just could not give this up.

It had been a witness of too many random thoughts that got into my mind for a whole year and more. I know most are just worthless imaginings turned into pathetic attempts, but a few, I believe, are symptoms that I can have a beautiful mind, too. Those few most-valued pieces compensate the many hopeless entries I have in here. So I choose to stay.

I’m not expecting you to welcome me back with open arms, and that little grimace you just made is highly appreciated :D

COMEBACK

2008-07-31T16:35:00.000+08:00

People usually write because of either love, or the lack of it; and I am usually that who writes because of the first reason.

Today, upon reading a love letter, I realised how much I wanted to go back into writing. For the past four months or so, I am on blog-break. I had been ignoring my craving because of some reasons I am not quite sure of. I don’t know. The long break, probably, started when my last semester had gone all messy. And since then, I have not recovered yet, or at least, not until now.

So, I’m back on my feet. I am raring to go write again. Thanks to my inspiration, to my love:)

I know. This entry is not much of a good comeback. It's okay, I am re-learning and I am more than willing.

See you!

Gift Hunt

2008-05-15T00:15:00.003+08:00

Five years ago, I was in sophomore high school then, I received a gigantic stuffed toy from a guy whose name I prefer not to mention. It was wrapped in blue and white, and well, you guessed it right. Blue Magic (and Bear Hugs?) was very popular way back and almost all the girls were so crazy to receive a life-sized bear. I was one of those girls, and well, I got one. It wasn’t a bear though but a white rabbit. And apparently, it wasn’t life-size because rabbits are not supposed t be that big, right?

When I think about it now, I realise how silly that was – getting all delighted by a big, furry, creepy stuffed animal. And my goodness, I was just commuting every afternoon and that stupid guy made me drag that stupid gift all the way home. It was messing up with all the other passengers in the jeepney, so I was forced to take a trike for my second ride.

So anyway, a couple of years ago, I was trying to make my room a little more spacious and the first thing I disposed was that rabbit. Since then, I curse men who give stuffed toys to their ladies. I think men who prefer giving stuffed toys are either lazy and short of time to find a nice present or clueless who their ladies are.

Through the years, I have collected a lot of stuffed animals from people. They would always say that it was never easy to find me a decent gift because I already have a lot of everything (which I wish to invalidate), so perhaps that’s acceptable. Besides, it’s always the thought that counts. Still, from the beginning, I had already advised, or more of warned, my man never to give me one of those. And well, he adhered to my advice and he just always surprises me with what he has to give.

What he gives me reflects how much he knows me. Turns out he knows me upside down. His gifts always have a personal touch in them which makes them extra special. They aren’t something you could find somewhere, anywhere.

On the first occasion we shared, he gave me a scrapbook. Yes, he made a scrapbook with all these colours and cut-outs and glitters and embossed shapes. He pooled all our camera-captured memories and wrote what he was feeling with colored pens. Today, when I flip through every page of the scrapbook, everything becomes fresh to mind ad it feels just so good.

Just last week, during my twentieth birthday, I received another special gift from him. He made me a 30-minute presentation with video clips of my most treasured friends. He looked for all of them and set an appointment with them to have their videos taken (Note: They are no neighbours.). For some, he really convinced them to send him the video clips. He went beyond what I expected from him. The first time I watched it, I sobbed. I was happy that my friends squeezed that video thing into their schedules. But, I was happier that my man is just too amazing. For him to be able to do that, his love must be way more than enough. And it is amazing. His love is amazing.

Road Rage

2008-05-04T09:57:00.002+08:00

written last April 30, 2008

Don’t you just hate commuting?

For someone whose dad (or whose dad would always ask someone else to if he couldn’t) would always drive her to school, to the grocery store, to a friend’s house, or even to work, bus and jeepney rides are no fun. It’s not like I’m not used to going back and forth somewhere through public transportation, it’s just that it has been a long time since I had a 30-minute to an hour bus ride all by myself.

In less than two months time, it’ll be my fourth year in college, in LB, and I have commuted for not more than ten times only. And when I am there, I only live through almost four 5-minute jeepney rides a day. So you see, I am just kind of disoriented (or re-disoriented if there is such).

Lately, after work (as an intern), I have been commuting to our house, since my time of dismissal does not tie in with my dad's and my mom’s driver’s schedules. Just this afternoon, I hinted at a bus and it stopped 20 steps away from me. In my wanting to go home as early as possible, I walked the 20 steps and tramped up the bus. To my disappointment, all seats were occupied and a few more people were already standing. Again, I had no choice but to endure the muscle pain. But, that ride almost killed me. So I was almost enjoying the rumbling of the bus engines when another bus sped up and the two buses veered at each other. The passengers (and I, who was gripping really tight to the wing of the chair beside) were all in panic within a minute of the buses almost slamming into each other. The other bus took the lead and the drivers stopped acting like freaking madmen, at last. And so the stir among the passengers broke off. I thought I could already cool down until I saw a man checking out my behind. What the fuck was that?! Thank God, in a moment, I reached the terminal.

Yes, the terminal, which means I had to have another ride, a jeepney ride this time. So I thought the Bad Day part was over. I thought I would never have another encounter with ill-mannered people. But I proved myself wrong when the only passenger I was with handed me her fare, and I was sitting at the edge of the jeep, just right in front her!

These experiences I had are just few of the life-threatening and horrible experiences normal passengers witness every waking day of their lives. Every day, there are commuters who hurt themselves while they walk off the bus and the bus doesn’t even slow down; commuters who end up in the ER because of a drunk driver; commuters who are traumatized by the insults of drug addicts; commuters who <insert own experiences here>; and so on and so forth.

So, who hates commuting? I know, I do! The most reckless and the rudest people I have met in my life are the people I met in bus and jeepey rides.

All I Need is One in a Million

2008-04-24T23:48:00.003+08:00

I was uploading lots (and I mean lots) of photos of LB Times staff in my Multiply. All I could think of suddenly is all sunny and happy. Sir Harold might be right, after all. That after those months of toil and hard work, of swelling up of pimples and eyebags, of failing grades and excessive absences in all other subjects, we could only benefit and gain something greater from it. We certainly reaped what we sowed. Yes indeed, I hated and cursed a lot, but I loved and cherished more. The rage I kept and held on to everyday would not beat the true friends I made. That’s the best part of it all, actually. Of course I was able to practise what my instructors and professors preached all those years and learn more than I thought I could, but that’s just the best part of it all.

Now, we’ve churned out something that I know we are all proud of. Many thanks to our advisers who always believed that we could do better.

As much as I wanted to talk about all of the many experiences I had with LB Times, and the many people I built a connection with, I would like to stick to my real purpose of writing this entry (which obviously is not those mentioned above).

Above all, I am proud of my sweetie, for such a job well-done; and I am proud of myself too, because I know, somehow, I helped him. I have always believed in him and encouraged him.

Funny, how my friends (and other people, though not to me) used to say that I should not be with someone smarter than I am; and knowing the jealous person that I was, I thought so too. But then, that exactly was what happened. I fell with someone who undeniably has the smarts.

Contrary to what people think, his being clever has only made our relationship more exciting. I learn so many things from him – things I had never even given thought about. He shares so much with me that I know have made me a much more grown person. He always keeps me amazed and interested. So whoever says that intellectual men are boring, well, not for me.

Never in our relationship did we allow competition to come between. When people say how good he is at something that I try to do also, I feel proud rather than envious. I never felt jealousy and insecurity, not a tinge. He, too, never ever made me feel so little. I never felt so stupid with him. He makes me see my abilities and makes me see that there are also things that I could do better than he could (like shopping and dressing up, kidding, haha).

Some may even wonder why I keep on writing when he, in fact, is the one who’s a pro on this. It’s because he, too, inspires me and encourages me. It’s because out of the many people who can have an access to this, I know he will be the only one left reading this :)

Rerouting? Not entirely.

2008-04-22T21:51:00.003+08:00

Today is my second day in IIRR as an intern, and I am already flooded with stack of papers to copy-edit. I am happy though. It feels great to be in someplace where people are actually familiar with what we are and what we do, as DevCom. It may not be the fanciest place to be, but I am having a blast, surely. I am constantly wedged to unfamiliar documents in my desk making my head aches and my eyes sore. But, at the end of the day, I still feel fulfilled than weary.

In no doubt, I have crafted a heart for DevCom. Its principles and values, I have learned by rote. Despite the fact that not many people recognize us, I am full of pride, knowing our influence and selfless intent.

But then, till now, I am still unsure whether this is the career for me. Sometimes, I still feel that there are other lines of work that I can be good at. I am going to discover that. I know I am still young to turn up other things that may allow me to pull off other forms of success and pleasure. But, by taking other routes, I will always bear in my heart everything DevCom has taught me. And I know, after everything, I will be led back to where I started, to where I have grown a healthy heart.

New Love, Young Love

2008-03-20T20:43:00.003+08:00

Upon catching up with what’s up and what’s hot on the big screen, I realized that my taste in movies have changed through time. I used to go for the teeny-flicks that are light to digest. However, lately, I’ve been so tied up with those that are for grown-ups and about grown-ups. I would, most of the time, catch myself picking a story about a marriage than about a new, young love on a stockpile of pirated dvds along the streets.

It’s maybe because I’ve been giving a lot of thought to the future, to my future. I like to think how it would be like to be married.

Growing up, I’ve seen my parents’ marriage as normal. I don’t remember waking up in the middle of the night to witness them yelling and screaming at each other. I don’t even remember my dad not coming home at night except on business trips. Sure, they have had misunderstandings but that’s pretty much it. I didn’t see them undergoing through a major mess.

Watching these movies about married people though (like Jane Austen’s Book Club, Feast of Love), I realized that marriage is not at all easy. Seeing my parents’ marriage as a success shouldn’t make me complacent that I would have a successful one too. It may be concealed to us, but they have had as well invested a great deal to stay together for 34 years now.

But then, as someone who likes to think fast forward time, I think I know exactly how to keep a marriage, and how to keep it burning. Feeling the same fervor to one person for years is no easy thing. It is not effortless too; you have to learn the trick. You have to preserve and keep doing the things that have always made you so hooked on each other. Yet, you should also learn and try new things together. Always renew a love that would make you feel young again, and you’ll realize you cannot get enough of each other.

I met him 1 year and 8 months ago. Since then, we see each other on a daily basis but the feeling just grows more and more intense day by day. The love always feels so new and young, and I know, for the following years, we will remain inseparable.

Short Notice

2008-03-20T20:41:00.001+08:00

This latest movie I watched, Dedication, really got me thinking.

I have a thing for writers in movies and even in books.

Writers are publicized as incredibly profound, interestingly sensitive, awkwardly mushy, and weirdly beautiful.

I have to attest that in real life, they are. Or at least, the one I got.=)

Keeping my Hopes Up-High

2008-03-17T09:30:00.001+08:00

Here’s to hoping that tomorrow when I wake up, the sun would finally shine upon me.

I have never been this stressed and exhausted my whole life. I have never been this occupied. My body and mind are both very much used up during the day and night, yet, there are still things left unfinished, left untouched even.

My eyes are wide open for, God knows how many days or weeks already. Tonight’s actually the first time of the week that I’ll be spending the night in my dorm room again. I am always either in the newsroom pressing my brain cells to come up with a decent lead for the feature article, or, I am in my classmate’s apartment and still discharging concerns and matters about having to publish our newspaper on time. And, the way we deal with the tension, which is eating non-stop, isn’t doing any good. I gained more than a couple of kilos. But of course, that should be the least of my worries now.

I feel terrible, up to the point of needing to shed some tears. Is it supposed to be this hard? I mean, does it really have to get to a point wherein I would be having no choice but to give up one thing for the other? I have deadlines to beat tomorrow. Sadly, I would not be able to pass the most important of all, which is one part of my thesis proposal. As much as I am willing to miss a few hours of sleep for that, I still would not be able to do it.

But then again, this entry is not supposed to be all rants and raves. Here’s still to hoping that tomorrow when I wake up, I’ll be in good sense again.

This too shall pass, and I’ll be forever carrying with me all the lessons learned during this roughest time (so far) of my life.

Wanna Switch Lives?

2008-02-11T15:42:00.000+08:00

I have been avoiding writing lately. I have been doing anything to get away from it. Writing has been the cause of my muddled life right now. Or perhaps, not writing it is.

Very soon, I am about to pass my Review of Related Literature, but I haven’t read any related literature yet, or any literature at all. I avoid libraries and reading rooms; they’re suffocating. Being in one makes me feel like I’m fenced in a dark, tiny, awful-smelling box. If it compares to the feeling of being trapped in a grand toy chest, then I could put up with it; I could probably bear trading my little world called coffee shop to spend some time exploring that toy chest.

My other problem is I haven’t the faintest itch to write my story for our biggest project in my major subject. I am to write something about climate change. Heck, it’s freakish. I have been thinking of a different angle to make it an attention-grabbing kind of article. How am I supposed to do that? Not a part of my interests leans into that or into anything like that. I have no other choice though. I need to do it, but I need to want to do it first.

I’m a year to getting hold of that college diploma. Everything should be in shipshape by now.

BUT NO.

One Take

2008-01-13T08:01:00.000+08:00

We are often asked whether we would accept if given a chance to turn back time, not that it is possible, but you know, just for the heck of it. Surprisingly, all the others would not bow to it. Whenever I read or hear such response, it makes me wonder because I am one of those few who would willingly agree to wind back in many points in time.

I would take all chances to ace that exam, to dump that guy, to accept that opportunity, to say that thing hanging on my mind, or to shut my mouth. I would erase everything undesirable and take in all the enviable. I would arrange all things to my advantage, and for the triumph of my life plans.

Did their lives turn out to be so perfect that they did not need to change a single thing? Or did their lives come out as how they wanted them to be even if they did not always do the right things?

Then, I guess I'm damned...and doomed.

I always wish life can be more like a movie. You know, because you can always go back to every scene and cut the unwanted, up to how many repetition is needed until a scene becomes flawless so it won’t do harm to the movie as a whole.

In real life, we can’t do that. The times passed can never be reclaimed. Sadly, I am living no movie, and I am living the real life instead. I have to make every scene clean and perfect the first time, or watch it passes right in from of me, faulty and flawed.

In real life, there’s no extra roll of film; we should learn the script, by heart.

Biggie Deal

2008-01-12T22:50:00.000+08:00

Weight has been really an unbelievably big deal for women. Blame it on the media; media is such a mind control.

I used to not give a shit to my weight. I did not care whether my uniforms would need repairs and adjustments due to some inches picked. I did not care whether people could see my flab shaking for my slightest moves like waving an arm or even lifting it. But now, I’m afraid I’m one of those women who are left with no other choice but resist the curse of being fat.

I still don’t want to be a Nicole Richie or an Olsen twin, but when family and friends start picking on my weight, I just get annoyed. Sometimes, even people I hardly know would detect that I have really reaped some pounds. How much more annoying is that?

I was miserable, that no Tyra Banks could make me feel pleased about myself, and my weight for the most part. So, I would start depriving and starving myself from the moment I wake up. Though, at the end of the day, I would dine all I want without caring whether I would gain twice as much.

Now, it gets me thinking. Do I feel miserable because I’m fat, or because people say I’m fat?

Speechless

2008-01-12T20:49:00.001+08:00

Finding myself in a situation wherein I am asked of what I think and feel about an issue and not giving any satisfactory answer is not funny anymore.

I know I do not own a superb and beautiful mind. But, there are a lot of things that keep on running, circling it, all the time. I always have my very own arguments about almost every issue. Then, when I am already asked, I cannot seem to articulate them. That’s why I end up emerging as one of those apathetic and spoon-fed people.

I cannot seem to give straight answers to people, yet it doesn’t mean that I am thoughtless and uninterested. I think I lack the skill of thought organization, thus I suck at word manipulation.

I need practice, a lot of it. Tsss.

Stuck on You

2008-01-12T20:44:00.000+08:00

In writing, when you start knowing and learning more, rereading your past pieces makes you feel like you are no more than a mediocre. You suddenly want to scrap them off and ask yourself why you have kept such poorly-written shits.

This is how I feel about this blog for the past weeks. I have long been thinking of posting an entry once again but scanning through my previous posts, I hear myself say, ‘I could have written this better.’, and, ‘I should have used this word than that one.’, and, ‘I can’t believe my mind had smoked out such idiotic and shallow thoughts’. Once again, I considered discarding this blog and start a bare and fresh one.

Good thing, I changed my mind. I am keeping this blog, not just to save myself from shame, though shame is such a heavy word. It’s also nice seeing me improve my writing, and even my thinking, overtime. Plus, I believe that learning how to write is never-ending. So instead of casting off old blogs and putting together new ones every now and then, I will just maintain this and laugh at myself every time I figure out how crappy my writings were.

And It Was All Yellow

2007-12-29T18:44:00.000+08:00

New Year.
New Layout.

My Roll of Excellent Reads

2007-12-29T17:57:00.000+08:00

Two days ago, we had our holidate at Paseo de Sta. Rosa. I decided on the date place, so, I had to consider of course my own convenience. As expected, I came first for it’s an hour and a half drive from my place, and a three-hour ride from his.

I thought of doing something prolific while waiting so I entered the bookstore, very predictable. I had a book in mind, The Master and Margarita. I read it in a magazine and added it in my list. I looked for it and was about to pay for it when I stumbled upon Lois Lowry’s Messenger. Of course, I put the other behind and paid for the last copy of the Messenger.

Reading the rundown and reviews about the book on its back cover, I had a feeling that reading it would draw out the same anticipation I was feeling while reading Lowry’s The Giver.

But then, he came sooner than later so I had to put the book out-of-the-way. Only last night did I finally have the chance to flick through it, and as estimated, I did not let loose of it, until the very last page.

The Giver is somewhat identical to Socrates’ (was it his?) conception of Utopia as printed in Plato's The Republic. In the book, the author demonstrates a believed to be perfect place, which she also emphasizes that could never exist.

In the Messenger, the author recounts the cruelty thundering back and forth due to the community’s greed and individual’s earthly desires. Yet, she stresses that there’s still hope despite harshness.

I greatly recommend these two books. And to those who do not have a Christmas present for me yet, try giving me the other book, Gathering Blue, and that would be highly appreciated. Hehe.

The Christmas Feel

2007-12-25T13:30:00.000+08:00

This year’s Christmas is the best of all, since that first one when I stopped being thrilled over big boxes under the lighted Christmas tree; when I stopped skipping from house to house with a tiny Disney bag across my body that matched up with my holiday dress, which I aimed to load up with brittle bills; and when people stopped being crazy about me as a little kid.

So really, Christmases are for kids only.

I stopped looking forward to the Christmas day since I am no longer getting cash or even a package from the elders. Plus, wearing brand news from head to foot is no longer necessary since shopping for new wardrobe is something I do weekly, and dressing up is a daily act.

But then, this year’s Christmas is certainly worth remembering, aside of course from the fact that I am this holiday’s dishwasher (since our helper sailed back to Mindanao and will be back next year) and babysitter (since my two nephews’ yayas had just left for their texmates-boyfriends).

Prior to this year’s, after Noche Buena at around 10 pm, we were dumped under our sheets already. But this Christmas is a little twisted, the good kind of twisted.

We attended the Mass at 7pm so the little kids would not doze off. We then had the traditional Noche Buena at our house with the whole family, with my siblings’ own families. We drank wine. We sang and danced the night away. We opened gifts. We took a lot of pictures. We were just laughing and sighing while waiting for the ticking of the clock that would declare that it was Christmas day already.

Christmases are for kids only.

Let me modify that, letting the words Christmases and kids stay in the sentence.

Kids make Christmases real Christmases. I thank my four nephews, our four little angels for bringing back the Christmas spirit, for bringing our family closer.

my brother's kids, Jm and Baby Rhon

my sister's Kuya Mylo

my sister's Baby Xavier

And I thank God for blessing me with a wonderful family.

Happy Christmas everyone;)

My Best Friend, Who Has Always Been

2007-12-23T21:28:00.000+08:00

Hunting down the friends left with me all through the years, I can, without a doubt, say that they are not so many. Sadly. Of course there’s no one else to point the finger at, but me. I tend to just be in sync with the rush of things. I find it hard to cling to something when I am swiftly surged away.

Gratefully, there’s this someone who remains at the top of the the-best list after all the many years that passed.

We are not the kind of best friends who enjoy a slumber party during weekends, who regularly have a trip to the movie house when the newest chick flick is shown, who exhaust our free time meeting up at the mall and giggle together inside the fitting rooms, who treat each other for ice cream once in a while. See, we are not the ordinary best friends you would run into.

We see each other at least once a year; we hardly ever exchange text messages. But, when we do, it feels as if no time was used up without one another’s presence. We never even update each other when we get together, yet, staying beside her feels like I have always been a part of her.

She never closed her doors for me, even if in times when she expected me to, I didn’t show up. Yet, when I find myself in her doorstep, I do not need to knock, for before I even lift a hand, she is already there, welcoming me with open arms.

I owe her the best friendship of my life.

The Paradox in Me

2007-12-22T23:25:00.000+08:00

One of the exercises we had in my Interpersonal Communication course last semester determined each one’s personality.

Phlegmatic, a Peaceful Phlegmatic is what I am. It said that I am more of a watcher and a listener and I seldom do the talking, which is more of a fact than not. I also do not have the tendency to give unsolicited advice to friends, which is a good thing. Nonetheless, here comes the weakest spot, it also said that I can be apathetic about a lot of issues and concerns. Guilty.

Another exercise revealed our conflict resolution styles, and surprisingly, mine is Competing.

It was surprising since it, in one way or another, goes against my Phlegmatic personality. But, I could not approve more. I become assertive when I feel the need to be. And when my competing side breaks the surface, my consideration of relationships draws near the ground . As long as I have arguments and justifications to present, I do not heed whoever I speak to.

I seldom speak, so whenever I do, it means that I can no longer keep up with the rush of brain waves and emotions. I seldom speak, so whenever I do, it must be something burning. I seldom speak, so whenever I do, I want to be heard and understood.

Others said that having two opposing natures is constructive. Though in my position, it is not always the case. There are times when these two natures with two voices rumble on at each other, and I am left disarmed and helpless.=s

A Pledge to My [hardly any] Readers

2007-12-22T23:23:00.000+08:00

Since I am aware that everything I write is being published in the www, through this site, guaranteed that I am giving other people the consent to react and comment on whatever I write.

I am responsible for whatever I write, and I am accountable for whatever upshot my writings can bring about.

Needing an Escape

2007-12-15T23:55:00.000+08:00

It’s mid-December and I only have one entry still.

My days are extremely occupied with works that should be dealt with first; and this is in-line with my attempt to do better this semester. Although as early as now, I am a bit off course already.

While my body is slowly wearing out, my mind never runs out of things to write about. Good thing, I scribble them down every time for fear that these thoughts would sneak out eventually.

I had a few shots of going into details and complicating them through this blog, but obviously, nothing’s a success.

Looking at my list of themes and topics to write about, I spotted something. Lately, I have been practicing a lot of hating.

Rude and offensive jeepney drivers, bad-mannered garage sale hunters, a friend turned arrogant and social-climber, a grammar error prone pretending to be smart and trying her hardest to be noticed, a self-seeking and ill-bred project head - are leading my list. I hate them so much that I wanted to write each an entry.

Hating is something I would never want to do everyday. It’s not something I do that I get pleasure from. I don’t want to hate, as much as possible. Or, I keep the hating to myself usually. Yet the part of me that is in-hate right now is blaring and screaming.

The hating is eating my whole body up. One of these days, I wish I can after all write them down, and hopefully, the hating will flee from my system.

Red and Green Gift Wrappers and Gold Ribbons

2007-12-07T11:37:00.000+08:00

As a small kid, I looked forward to the Christmas holidays because of the idea of Santa Claus. I too, like you, was tricked by my parents on believing that he was existing; and having a fireplace with a chimney in the house, which I later realized was fake, made it all seemed factual at that moment. I received the grandest gifts from Santa – Barbie dolls, Polly Pockets, Flying Dancers, pink bike, doll houses, and my favorite Junior Notebook, which I would be willing to swap over my laptop now. Hehe.

Not long after did I, like you too, uncovered the truth behind the big man with the white beard, who said nothing but ho-ho-ho, routing through chimneys at midnight, and putting each nice kid’s gift under the tree or on his bedside.

So I stopped getting thrilled towards the Santa Claus mystery, and started shifting my anticipation towards exchange gifts and kris kringles. However, no offense to the givers, but I really was never lucky on both. I did always get gifts I least expected I would get, and even gifts I never imagined one could get to give to a kid. I had a collection of socks, hankies, face towels, angel figurines, piggy banks, and foods. These may really be of earthly use, yet of course, no one could expect me to feel even a bit of delight upon opening them. All kids want stuffs of no earthly use at all. Same with others, I would want a toy for myself, even if it was a boy toy.

Fixating about what gifts to receive on Christmas was unhealthy, so I stopped. While growing up, I finally was able to grasp the idea that it is really better to give than to receive; and that became my new obsession.

Today, I am overjoyed when making the list of people I will get gifts for. I am overjoyed when shopping in malls and bazaars with the list in my one hand. I am overjoyed when wrapping those gifts with colorful papers and ribbons. All these, I gladly and contentedly do without minding what I will get in return, or whether I will get something in return.

In high school, I would wait the whole year for the Christmas Party. During Christmas parties, I would carry a couple of big paper bags crammed with gifts for friends. I would classroom-hop to give their presents with free big hugs. As I recall it today, the feeling was just irreplaceable.

However, I spotted that lately, my list has shrunk in. It is pretty disappointing and saddening because I aged and my list should be lengthier.

But then, at least I can get track of people who have really stayed with me through the years, people who have really kept in touch, and people who haven’t stopped caring. And I offer this Christmas to those people. I will seize this once a year chance to make them feel appreciated and loved.

To those who are new in my list, I wish that you allow me to put your names in there for all the Christmases that will still follow, and not just for this one Christmas in a lifetime.

Welcoming the New Year with My Newest Buddy

2007-11-30T17:19:00.000+08:00

During this season of the year, I assume, Starbucks’ sales is twofold higher than any other days.

I think I will be steering clear from indulging in Starbucks for quite a while. I just spent a couple of thousand to fill the promo card with 24 stickers (2 dozens of coffee). Oh, cut that; I actually spent a couple of couple of thousand, since my first promo card with 15 stickers on it was nowhere to be found.

This just proves that if I severely wanted something, I’d go for it. Even if sometimes, it means stepping out of the line. Which I know is not a very nice thing to do at all times.

The planner’s all worth it though. I promise never to abandon it, like what I did with this year’s planner. Tomorrow, I’m going to start using it. I’m going to start planning all the days ahead of me this coming year. And my planner will escort me, all the way.

My Years as a Martian

2007-11-28T11:55:00.000+08:00

Reading a friend’s entry dedicated to her best friend, whom she met in college, is a bit heartrending, for the sole reason that both of my best friends in college had left.

Really, I find it hard to mix out with people knowing how they perceive me. I am quite befuddled how I could give such not so affirmative impressions to people. I mean, I used to have a great deal of friends, without trying too hard. But then, now, I am the high maintenance, the detached and distant, the self-possessed, the oblivious, and even the overdressed sometimes. No matter how I wanted to overturn things, I just couldn’t. Proving to others that I’m like this or like that is not easy. How much more when I intend to prove that I’m not like this or not like that? It’s doubly exhausting.

I know, I’m not supposed to please them. Befriending and pleasing are two disparate terms, and the first one of course is the weightier. But then again, it’s hard to make someone my chum or buddy if he has defined notions about me, and does not even willing to grant me a chance to refute his image of me. I feel alienated most of the time.

It’s depressing how after three years, I have gained no more than borrowed friends whose affections ended with each class. It’s depressing how a semester and a friendship end at one fell swoop.

I miss the two best friends who know me as opposed to what people think. I miss being untroubled with them – doing my silly dance moves which they were trying to bop but they couldn’t, warping my face until I was no longer identifiable, making funny or blunt remarks that would shock but would make them chuckle eventually, and keeping them amused by doing tricks with the different parts of my body.

I miss being surrounded by people who do not only see me by the coating.

The One Soul

2007-11-21T23:20:00.000+08:00

Since, I think my eighteenth year on earth, I have been meeting a lot of new people. Yet, they don’t usually stay too long in my days and time.

Not that I never liked them, not that I let our differences impede.

If not, then why?

Have you ever experienced meeting a person whom you think would be someone great to fill in the rest empty rooms in your life, yet the more you know things about him, the more you hold back from making him a stable part of you?

I have, during many points in time.

Why?

Because the more I know about the so many things that have happened to him in the past, the more I know about the many people that have been significant to him since the beginning of time, the more I know about the changes he had been through all those times...the more I am convinced that I am no longer welcomed.

I have felt this, so many times. I have allowed a number of souls to just pass by.

But for once, I was able to keep a single soul.

Since our first meeting, he shared a million experiences and moments all throughout his existence that I have never witnessed, shared a million people I have never had a chance to cross paths with, shared a lot dimensions of himself I have not imagined he could be. Yet, never have I felt that I can never catch up and be within his circle of life-long companions.

It was just a single soul that I was able to keep, that I still keep, and I will forever keep. But then, I never felt sorry, for that one soul weighs way more than that of all the other souls that I just allowed to overtake me.

Happy one month baby, I love you=)

To give validity and justice to the previous entry...

2007-11-20T16:26:00.000+08:00

Perchance, some people think that writing as a profession is not suitable to be categorized in the other sort, the complicated sort. For some people, anyone who is educated enough can write. For others even, writing is like being a mailman or a cashier, when everything becomes a routine.

Let me falsify this, once and for all.

Many times in the past, I felt so small whenever I’m in a class where training biologists, physicists, mathematicians, and economists dominate. I used to think that the training I was going through could not match up to theirs. I used to think that what I would become in the future would seem so incompetent unlike what they would become.

But then, after a few years of experience and pondering, my views changed. Writing is no easy thing to do. To be a truly eligible writer, one has to go through a lot of complexities, perhaps the same as those who train to be a doctor.

Writer. Doctor. Writer. Doctor.

I am not trying to be humorous here, by comparing the work of a writer to that of a doctor.

Doctors save lives, change lives, and even take lives – that powerful. But, writers have that same power to save, change, and take lives, also.

Some would argue that doctors do such a rigid and tough job everyday, and writers don’t. At this point, I tell them that they shouldn’t take lightly what writers do.

Writers even think more than doctors do.

Here’s another argument I know would raise a lot of eyebrows. Still, I’m not taking it back.

Doctors do what they already know, and should know, by heart. They do what they have learned, what they should have learned along the way. On the other hand, the things that writers have learned all throughout their trainings would only serve as guides and would just help show directions to what they ought to do. Day after day, they start from scratch. Day after day, they press themselves to lift the lids on top of their heads, and whatever’s inside them should vary, day after day.

So whoever said that writing is easy, you might want to give yourself a chance to have second thoughts on that matter.

Mailman

2007-11-18T07:30:00.000+08:00

There was one scene that I remember surprisingly from a distant memory, and more surprisingly, which wasn’t my act. I was only a part of the innocent and unthinking audience. It’s a rare chance that I get to recall way too clearly an incident that had happened in my childhood days I had nothing to do with, so this is a shocker for me.

I just finished my first grade in school then; that must have been more than ten years ago. I turned up in my cousin’s pre-school graduation, just for the heck of it, in the same school that I was attending. Like any other kids, I could not stay still on my seat. My butt was itching to discharge itself from the stool. I wanted to go outside and buy myself one of those pink, fluffy cotton candies and double scoop ice cream outside. But being the behaved kid I was, I chose to wait a little longer.

It has been a tradition in Preparatory graduations that every kid is to go in front of the stage, stand at the center of it, introduce himself, followed by an “I want to be…someday”. So that was how it went. But then, everyone was alarmed when a kid, who I used to know by the way because we were service-mates, suddenly wriggled and brawled on the floor while howling when his turn came. When his parents and a couple of teachers went near him to calm him down, he howled harder and screamed that he wanted to be a mailman. Now that was some kind of a clowning. After the ceremony, we knew from his parents that they told him to say that he wanted to be an engineer, when what he really wanted to be was a mailman instead.

I did find it funny. But, when I think about it again now, I had the same dream when I was younger. Not the mailman thing, but the same sort, and not the other sort; the sort that you just get to do the same things every single day, repeat doing those every time, things that are of no complications but seem fun, at least that is what one thinks of them when he was younger.

A cashier - that was what I wanted to be. I thought punching items all day long was fun. However, as I grew older, I realized that it is not a very huge thing to do. It wouldn’t grant me honor and recognition. I would be no one.

As we age and change, our dreams change as well, from the least complicated to the most complicated. I wanted to be a mere cashier in a supermarket. Now, I choose to be someone, and by being a writer, I know I can be someone.

Wherever he is now, I am pretty certain that his dream changed too, into something bigger than becoming a mailman.

To Start Off my New Year's Resolution

2007-11-15T19:44:00.000+08:00

In UP, you don’t get to see the same faces day after day, sem after sem, year after year. You wouldn’t have constant companions right from the first hour up till the end hour of your class. Class after class, you deal with different people.

The harder part of all is coming into a class of diverse people; especially if it’s a GE class wherein every college and course, and every classification is represented. This is a challenge I have never come to wrestle.

When I was a freshman, I was very much intimidated to voice my opinions out thinking that those upperclass men knew better. I was extra panicky during exams thinking that I should study harder because those upperclass men were already accustomed with those notorious exams.

Come now, that I am already in my second sem as a junior, yet I still haven’t combat this feeling. I am still reluctant to speak up because of fear that those new freshmen would think how shallow my thoughts are, considering that it is now my third year in UP. I still get flustered before an exam thinking that I shouldn’t have a grade lower than theirs because they might think why I reached this year with a blunt head and an ineffective strategy.

I know, it is just plain paranoia. I never thought of people that way, and so why would they do?

Perhaps, all this time, I am just finding rational and logical excuses not to believe in myself, and ward myself off from exposing what I think I know.

I have this certain pessimism and spinelessness since, God knows when. I need to undress that self.

I’m gonna put that first in my New Year’s Resolution List. I need to say bye-bye to it.

Closet Meme

2007-11-11T18:30:00.000+08:00

The left side of my closet: All these are clothes that I still wear, I put all the others on sale, and gave the rest away.

The other half of the right part: Those are all dresses=)

I came across the most interesting survey=)

three random facts about my closet
>They squeak at full volume whenever I open them.
>They occupy an incredibly big space in my room.
>The stuffs inside are arranged, systematically.

three items I’ve never worn but still haven’t tossed
>A number of dresses, I am still waiting for special occasions.
>A pink corduroy pants, because I think my legs look tree trunks on them. Haha.
>A couple of new tops, just because they’re new.

three things I will never ever get rid off no matter how ugly they get
>My spaghetti straps, even if they get so ugly, I can still use them to layer my outfit.
>My rather expensive jackets, because they’re expensive.
>Perhaps my Chucks, I think they would never get out of style, or if they would, wait for a while and they’d be back.

three things I have a surprising number of
>Belts, I used to like wearing them. Although now, I don’t actually need them, I’ve gained so much.
>Shoes that I can never wear in elbi.
>Havaianas, but I promised myself never to buy a pair anymore. Twenty pairs is just too much.

three dominant colors in my wardrobe
>Blue
>Pink
>Green

three colors that are totally absent from my wardrobe
>None, I believe.
>I don’t have all shades of every color though.
>Haha.

three items that people wouldn’t expect to find in my closet
>A leather jacket, I couldn’t believe it myself too.
>Fur-lined sweatshirt from my aunt abroad.
>Loads of minis – skirts, shorts, sundresses.

three items that never fail to put me in a good mood when I wear them
>Any of my hoodies.
>Those whopping t-shirts I have for a decade, I feel comfortable sleeping with them on.
>My green and pink sundress, I feel so girly on it.

three items that made me go, “Oh Lord, what was I thinking?”
>A size smaller 3-inch red shoes I wore during my cousin’s debut, which killed my toenails. Haha.
>Skechers, eeww. I was planning to throw them away but I always forget.
>A fully sequined dress

Terrified

2007-11-10T20:42:00.000+08:00

...I am.

In four days’ time, I will give a salute to my sixth semester already.

Frankly, I am not very thrilled.

Yes, the unscathed books and the up-to-the-minute movies can be held accountable to my feeling sluggish. But more than that, I am really scared, because another semester means another pace towards the finish line. Consequently, reaching the finish line means starting a whole, new, different lap – more serious this time, because I should run as fast as I can, otherwise, I will be left behind, I will not survive - the lap, which I prefer to call the real world.

There were times when I was so eager thinking about the future – earning my own money, purchasing stuffs with that money, and learning strategies so that money will never be all wolfed up. This is the first concern – money.

However, a more important matter concerns me – my career. Wah, thoughts speed up my head now, lots of them, and that troubled me more, making it difficult for me to write them all down.

All I know is that, I am neither very smart nor talented. There are a lot of people who write better than I do, way better. So what I need is determination and hard work.

I am not afraid of a number of doors slamming in front of my face. What I am afraid of, is landing a job in a broadsheet, writing obituaries, all my life. I know I can do more than that.

But really, the process, the trail through to it, terrifies me, greatly. I think I need more time to prepare and set myself up.

When I go out, there in the real world, I want to be ready, I want to be sure. So perhaps it is still acceptable to feel terrified.

Principles To Master

2007-11-10T12:23:00.000+08:00

Taking the jump with him is something I was never wrong about. Aside from ending people’s speculations about why we were still unidentified, I also allowed myself to unearth new joys of having someone I can view the future with, in a more transparent version.

I thought the move I made would alter nothing at all, and I thought pretty right. Except that everything is a score higher. That is - the love of course, the sugariness, the effort, the spark, and all else nice and positive. Although we have not submitted ourselves yet to wearing matching outfits and I am sure we never will, calling him the boyfriend gives me a tingly feeling and other people seeing us gives me a different kind of delight, something that I had never felt before.

But of course, I know too that the step I made with him isn’t all about the upbeat feelings and the monthly celebration. It’s about obligations, compromise, and setting aside pride, too.

And I am confident to say that I am confident, about the whole US story.

Ever since I had enough understanding about relationships, I have always believed in the principle of Cost and Reward. It says that reward should still be greater than the cost. If one gets less than what he gives, then it can be grounds for terminating a relationship.

He has been the nicest boyfriend one can imagine. He is appreciative of every little thing I do. Doing little, beautiful things for him is a satisfaction because with him, I am never mistreated and I never felt neglected. Never did we do things or offer to do things for each other for the sake of filling our duties, but for the most part that it felt genuinely good, making each other happy.

Another principle I have learned along the way is that of Withdraw and Deposit.

Certainly, relationship is about both the nice stuffs and the crappy stuffs, the wonderful memories and the ones that are rather forgotten, the time together and the time needed to be apart.

Deposits are the beautiful times together while withdraws are the dreadful ones. The principle is that withdraws should not be even with the deposits or else, there would be a zero balance. Worse, if withdraws exceed the deposits, there would be a negative balance. And it would result to bankruptcy. I am also a fanatic of this principle.

And that is what we do now. We stopped bickering. We laugh our hearts out always instead. We create and collect a lot of great memories together and try to dodge from making memories we will soon choose not to remember.

Soon after, we will remember these great moments we have shared, while gawking at our reflections on the moon, counting airplanes that flutter, and shutting our eyes with ourselves folded around each other.

I love you.

This Is How I Spent My Sembreak

2007-11-07T10:22:00.000+08:00

Go out and whoop it up.
Taste the saltwater and feel the sand prickles my feet.
Run, work my body out, and let sweat rush.
Spot on bargains and rummage sales.

Huh! I just wish!

My sembreak, although not over yet, did not go exactly the way I thought and planned.

I spent my rather long break from school slumped in bed, staring at the rays entering through the window instead. It created a diagonal beam on the floor, with the shadow of swaying leaves on it. Beautiful, I thought, but all I could do was to stare. I missed out on the sun outside for how many days. I wasn’t able to enjoy it and feel it touching my skin. I was sick and pathetic. Maybe I was paying for the damages I had caused my body during the previous semester.

I had no other means to pursue my Plan A Combo, so I routed to Plan B Combo.

Bury myself to bed and doze all I want.
Grind my mind by reading a few books available.
Get hold of my favorite tv series on pirated dvds.
Check on movies that everybody had seen except me.

The dark circles under my eyes lightened a bit. I scored three novels from my book shelves. At long last, I chased the Gilmores although I am still a few steps behind, I started the new season of Grey’s Anatomy and Heroes, and I had my first favorite Koreanovela. Also, I poked around too many 12-in-one dvds. Not to mention the pleasure I took from eating left-overs and delivered orders.

I did not do exactly the way I thought and planned for the sembreak. But there always comes a second preference. Say it isn’t the best, yet you just have to make the best out of it.

To parcel it up, this year’s sembreak isn’t as bad as I deemed it is. It isn’t bad at all.

The Beginning of My Chronicle to Failure

2007-10-26T16:54:00.000+08:00

I wish words are like fart.

Realizing I have four unfinished entries (automatically) saved in the draft, I was convinced to finish them, one by one. But I didn’t know what I was doing. I couldn’t get my thoughts out of my head. Presently, I am completely lost with words , I am poor with words. Like what Holden, the famous character created by JD Salinger, always says, I lack precision of language. Now that is something I should securely clench. I cannot afford to totally lose it, not now. My future lies with words, with language. And here I am, not putting them into good use. And starting my sentences with and's and but's, again.

I think my head needs a little oiling right now.

Of Skittles and Suicides

2007-10-24T19:00:00.000+08:00

Skittles used to be my comfort food. It’s droll how I used to buy Skittles just to sort them by color, and when I’m through with the last bonbon, I start eating them, from those with the most color up to those with the fewest. Then, I would feel so much better.

If only other people can discover how a pack of Skittles can sidetrack their troubles, then maybe there would be less of them to commit suicide. Haha!

(orginal photo)

Lately, suicide is always the subject of my conversations with random people. We share stories about people who shot themselves, who hanged themselves, who poisoned themselves, and all means of ending their, I have no idea how miserable lives.

People would say that at one moment or another, we would really come to that point of thinking of putting an end to our lives.

My pseudo ex-boyfriend had a tendency to be suicidal, frightening, I know. But, my friend’s ex-boyfriend had a tendency to be suicidal and to be a murderer. Now, that was more frightening. And crazy.

I did think about it, years ago, when I was in high school. High school students always rebel against their parents; high school students always have their hearts fractured by high school jerks; high school students create inferiorities that will run through their systems. High school students are insecure, obsessed, and defenseless.

Actually, I didn’t really think of cutting the pounding, because every process and method I had in my head demands pain, and I mean physical pain. I just imagined myself suddenly vanishing from where I was. But then again, I knew they are nothing more than pure thoughts that would stay at the rear of my head and would not be able to come out. Whatever the reason of that idiotic thought, I don’t remember. I’m certain though that it wasn’t something foolish, but sure, shallow. All I could remember is that I had a fight with my dad, and he rarely gets furious toward me, and my mom was so angry too, and it was bad parenting right, because at least a parent should console the child. So imagine how I felt. I felt so bad, and I was so mad. So that was my story and the day after, everything around me was normal, I was in my most normal thinking, and I just laughed and concluded that I did have a tendency to be emo, silly-emo.

Apart from my failed attempt, I have heard a lot of stories. Sadly, some were successful, such an odd word for such context. What were they thinking? Bene and I already discussed this and we came up with an assumption that those people generally weren’t really thinking at all. Because if they were, where would they think they would go? What would they think could possibly happen to them? It is like jumping out of the fence not knowing what’s in store at the other side of it. We assumed that those who were really able to do it had clouded minds. They were full blown mad men. Having a rush of all unpleasant emotions and terrible sceneries in their heads, they had lost them all, they had lost control.

I know my life is so far from wretched if measured up to those who committed suicide. Still, who were they to decide to terminate something that they did not set up in the first place? Who were they to tell that their luggage were too weighty to carry so they would just throw them, and the backs and shoulders that would be carrying them were the backs and shoulders of people they left behind? Who were they to put across the meaning of love when their loss would torment their loved ones all their lives?

So, if you are one of the many people that stab to breathe their last every day, you might as well have second thoughts. Don’t be selfish. You should try to chew some Skittles instead.

Photographs in Black and White

2007-10-22T17:33:00.000+08:00

I decided to pamper myself with a manicure/pedicure before I temporarily leave Elbi (just because it’s much cheaper in there although it looked so steep). The manicurist/pedicurist, considering that all of them have a habit of throwing a lot of questions about you for the sake of talking to you although most of the time they don’t really wait for you to answer because they don’t care at all (woooh), asked me where I am from, whether I have siblings, how old they are, what my parents do. With every answer I was to give, she would say that I am a lucky, really, really lucky kid. It’s unanticipated that: one, she would really wait for what I would tell; two, how she thought I am a lucky kid.

People think I am lucky because I am the youngest among us four. I beg to disagree, and I beg to think the other way around. I have never felt fluky over that fact.

So what if I almost always get what I want? So do my siblings. It has nothing to do with me, being the youngest, but all of us have to work to get what we want. So what if I am almost always the hub of attraction? I never wanted every one to be always setting their eyes on me. Never.

People believe that these premises are, well, sound. They are not, for me.

When I was younger, I had always wanted to have a sister I could share a room with, I could do my homeworks with, and I could animatedly yak about my crushes and all with. I had always wanted a brother that would have my suitors scrutinized in high school, and who would just play as my bodyguard. I am more than grateful to have my siblings as my siblings; but you know, it was rather nice to think that we were really close, by age and space.

I don’t really understand why others do not understand that the youngest is the most inopportune because of the foremost reason that he would have the shortest time spent with his parents. Whenever I watch my parents playing with my nephews, my heart both patch up and break. It has been a pleasure watching my dad baby-talking with them, and cleaning up their gag, thinking how stiff he is with the adults. However, over-thinking and repeating this delightful picture in my head smashes my heart. I think and so much wish that my children will enjoy my parents’ lugging as much as my nephews do, because soon after, they will get older.

Now, I rarely see my bothers and sister. They have their own lives to live now. They have their own lives apart from mine. So, whenever I leaf through our family’s photo albums, I can’t help but be cheerless because I see weekends having picnic, driving to the city, or disappearing to the beach, and I just imagine, if I was born years earlier, then I could be there, in those photographs.

Boyfriend. Now That Sounds Better.

2007-10-21T18:32:00.000+08:00

It took us precisely a year and three months to move forward, to take a leap. I shall say, it's all worth it, the waiting and waiting a little more.

I'm not going to get into details. There was no candlelight dinner, no banner in helicopter up in the air, no whatsoever grand surprises. Firstly, because it was spontaneous, and I must say that the best things that have happened in my life so far were out of spontaneity. We were just having real serious, honest, and sincere talk – just one of those that we have as often as possible. However, that one was different, or at least it felt different. We remember how we started, how we grew in each other. We were laughing. We were, we were just feeling the best of feelings there are, when suddenly, he paused and popped the question. He did that a couple of times before but I didn't know why I couldn't have the courage to accept it, in spite of so much love I was feeling then. And then, finally, I was ready. I knew it, I said YES, and my tear ducts worked their way. Yes, I cried, a silent one. I cried, out of so much happiness, gratefulness, and overflowing love.

Perhaps, how we treat each other will change. Perhaps, not.
Perhaps, the time we spend together will change. Perhaps, not.
I am not really sure.
However, there is one thing I'm certain about,
that it feels just so right, that we are no longer unlabeled.

You know how coward I was, maybe, I still am. You know I have my doubts; I am no longer crowded with them, but maybe, there are still some. You know my weaknesses, you know them by heart. BUT, I will be the best that you deserve. Your intents, I've known them since then. They are nothing but pure and true. You have helped me to see how special I am, how beautiful I am, in all ways. You have never let me go during those times I did try to run away. When I am with you, I am happy, I am complete, I am loved. Thank you. I love you too.

(I can never ever put them (my feelings, inside, deep within) together and write them in here, or anywhere else.)

He Got Me, Then, He Had Me

2007-10-13T09:22:00.000+08:00

I try my hardest to write an entry about him. I just want one entry, just one; but I could not actually do it. I had few attempts though.

From time to time, I sit myself in the most relaxed position, with a pen and a paper, or my handyphone sometimes, or my laptop most of the time, and I begin to think about him. I concentrate. I don’t let other things bug me.

I start typing things about him, things that fascinate me, things that annoy the hell out of me even. Either way, I find it amazing; it amuses me, thinking about him. He’s just too lovely. So what I do is, I try enumerating things about him, things he does, that just get me. I start to list down his matchless ways of twisting me and making me thaw.

After all I have made the long list, I just scrap it off and see a bare plot again, just like what I did before writing this very sentence.

Why? Because no matter how long the list is, it can never be enough. It can never contain every single thing he does, every single thing he is. I don’t want to have a list that lacks a few, or I bet a lot why I just love him too dearly. That for me is inexcusable.

Describing him in one sitting isn’t enough; how much more within this pretty short entry that has on it only few beautiful words?

Whenever I figure out the many ways he does to make me feel so loved, I just fail, like right now. I cannot wholly tell about how lucky I am. As to what I said, the list will never be too long.

Just imagine someone who is patient enough to harass himself around flits/gays (btw, I have not a thing against them. I like them to be honest, more than I do with straight men, or women sometimes.) for an hour only to wait until your nails get done at the parlor. He’s that kind of guy.

Just imagine someone who travels extra miles to visit you when you get terribly sick, without him telling you. He’s that kind of guy.

You see, it’s the little and the grand things he does that constantly get me. In his every move, in his every word, in his every gulp of air, he says how much he loves me, and how much of a fool I am not to love him back.

Pinky Just Turned 18

2007-10-12T17:22:00.000+08:00

Whenever I go home for rather a longer break, the first thing I do, is to de-clutter.

My room is relatively small, overfed with a lot of things, small and big, most of them unnecessary actually. I throw them out every time, but they never seem to make the place a little more spacious.

A while ago, I just started to fix things up in my room. The first thing I always set up is my cabinet. Closets eat up almost every space I have but they are never enough to store my clothes and all. Again, I set aside clothes I don’t wear anymore. They are either having the so washed-out look, or they don’t fit perfectly anymore.

I wasn’t finished yet fixing up my closets when suddenly, I saw my really big stuffed toys above the cabinets. They irritated me and I wanted to get rid off them immediately. I looked for big boxes so I could put them all inside. I also put other unnecessary things that are supposed to spice up my room, like those kiddie figurines and all. After I had them all in the balikbayan boxes, I asked my mom to give them to whoever. The cute stuffed toys that were left (and they were really few), were positioned in a small holder now. Those stuffed toys above my bed were also thrown. I replaced them with some of my favorite books and just my lamp. I also replaced my pink hello kitty bed covers with the yellowish, brownish, cool comforters.

Then, I got knocked up. I’m a grown-up now; and at last, I am ready to act like one. I prefer beautiful things now, than cute ones.

I never really acted like a kid. I mean, I was never all giddy and vigorous, you know. I never touched things in houses of people we used to visit. My parents were never called in school because I pulled my classmates’ hair. Things like that, you see. I sit in school with my hands on my lap. I never rolled on floors when they wouldn’t buy me the toy I wanted. I was fit to wear the most-behaved badge. Perhaps, that was because I wasn’t used to deal with kids like me then. I was surrounded by a lot of old people, older people, I mean. I was the youngest in the family and I and my brother has an 8-year age gap. I didn’t really have somebody to play those Barbies with. So I matured earlier than most of them. I disposed my toys at an early age and started reading storybooks and played computer games.

However, I was still a kid then I know. I was carefree. I didn’t care so much about other people. I used to envy other kids who have this and that. I was a kid. I felt I was, not until recently, when I worry so much about what the future holds for me, when I worry too much on how I can make a lot of money soon, when I worry too much on graduating on time.

Now, I really feel I’m never a little girl anymore; and throwing those big, and cuddly animal stuffs is the first step. Plus, I also started digging those pointed, flashy, stilletos, and I say, they comfortably suit me.

Rule No. 1 - No Ranting - VIOLATED

2007-10-09T14:22:00.000+08:00

I barely have one week. Three days more, to be exact. Nothing like many times before, it’s not indolence that dashes through my system, but loss of nerve and panic. The unfinished businesses were firecrackerlike string inside my body. Their shrieks and screeches are unstoppable.

Every night, I get miserable with my eyes set on the mountain of those exercise sheets and handouts plunked on my table.

I have three more days to go; yet, it seems like the things I am supposed to do are never ending.

I have three more days to go; yet, I feel that three days is not enough to get them all done. Everyday, I wish that there are at least 25 hours in a day. I just could do so much during that extra hour.

And, since my blog has becoming a downright rantbox, I might as well say that my body is so much a burden already, literally. I’m heavier than ever. I actually do not care about the flab. I just hate that I cannot wear my pants anymore. I still can button them up, but these bonus inches keep on showing up. Last weekend, I dug up my biggie clothes hidden in the hindmost of my closets. I thought I would not wear them anymore, but I have them on me right now.

Dear Pinky,

Just carry on. In no time, you will find yourself under your thick sheet at home - asleep, ugly, and un-bathed, all day long, yet still feeling fresh and fluffy. About your weight problem, well, you probably know that sembreak will just worsen it. Haha! So just try not to splurge in Mango and PRP yet, for the hope of chewing those blubbers first. Anyhow, ukay-ukay finds are just as pretty, and a lot cheaper. Haha!

Morningscape

2007-10-06T11:39:00.000+08:00

I thought it was just one of the stupid mistakes I cause every once in a while; but, you said it is an attitude.

mistake and attitude

They are two entirely different things.

Mistakes are not as damaging as an attitude. Attitude can smash a person into pieces; and the other person as well.

How stupid of me to think that it was just a cheap mistake.

mistake and attitude

They are two entirely different things. But why is it so hard to tell?

Maybe, an attitude is made up of just a mistake – a mistake followed by another, then another, then another again – a mistake repeatedly done.

You probably didn’t know it, but it hurt me bigtime. Suddenly, I’m filled with doubts again - doubts, not about you, but on me, plainly. I thought I was doing things the way I’m supposed to, the way I planned, to keep you. Still, I was never better for you. I just thought I was.

I guess I can never be a keeper *cries*.

BitterSweet

2007-10-03T10:13:00.000+08:00

So, this is my shoulda-woulda-coulda entry for this semester. Yes, this is already a semestral theme that’s why I’m not shocked anymore. It’s just that, this time, it comes off too early. I used to do this thing after every semester. However, this time, it appears to me that I don’t have to wait a couple of weeks to tell.

Remember that all-essay exam I took that lasted for more than two hours? I aced it. I got a 1.0. I should be cheery, right? Well, I was, for a few minutes. Then, it hit me. It solidly slapped my face.

Rubbing off the stupid exam I had in Visual Design & Techniques, I just figured out that I topped all the other exams this sem. There was a hint of self-satisfaction, but then, after again of a few more minutes, it made a surprise rotation. I felt the other way around, I was displeased. I am still displeased.

Some people would think that I was all those times jokingly saying that I didn’t study as much as necessary. They would tell me to stop hoodwinking, which I am in every respect not guilty of.

Just so they would know, I think that leading an exam I didn’t well prepare for at all is not something to be proud of.

Upon cleaning up my muddled table, I browsed a Seventeen magazine that was seemingly screaming to get noticed. I came across an article featuring Mikaela Fudolig, the 16 year-old valedictorian from UP. I was too distracted to even have a moment to park myself and read her entire story. However, my eyes were glued to a pull-quote I should have long understood. It says, she says rather, “I think I did well in school because my parents focused on my study habits rather than my grades”.

Again, it slapped my face, this time, real harder.

I never mastered the art of studying. I never adopted study habits that I would be really stanch of. I violate every rule in the list of effective ways to study. I am a bad student.

I can not be a bad student if I choose to. I don’t know what’s lacking - time-management, self-control, motivation – yes to all, maybe; but, topping the list, I lack self confidence (now, I see the connection to the previous entry). An unexpected seamless exam followed by another should have made me believe in myself more. I should have stopped charging it to the lucky pen, or to the lucky date. An unbelievable title of a CS for a sem followed by another should not just be enjoyed, but maintained (too bad for me, no title to enjoy anymore).

As always, I would say again, this sem, I could have, I should have, I would have done better. I just know it. Next sem, I want to stop the drama. I have to push myself hard, harder.

I need to purge skepticism out of my system.

Facades

2007-09-30T13:58:00.000+08:00

I always make sure I walk with my head bumped up, and with my straight back. I always make sure my dress is neat and presentable, with all the colors blending well, and with my shoes matching my bag or accessories. I smile at everyone I know. I wave and say “hi”. I walk, I dress, I smile, I talk – smartly; and everyone assumes that I am equipped with all the confidence in the world. Well, guess what, you are absolutely wrong.

I studied in a private elementary school. There were not so many classmates. The people I was seeing in first grade were more or less the same people I graduated with. We were only 50, approximately. And so, transferring to a bigger high school with bigger populace wasn’t that easy. I entered high school with nine other sections in the batch, and graduated with only seven left, still, we were many.

In elementary, I was a consistent honor student. I was only competing with another student, who I say was the smarter one, and although, at the end, the more deserving dug it up. In high school, among the couple of hundreds of students, I got in the star section. Then, I knew I was smart.

In elementary, I was the EIC of the Marians’ Voice, the school paper. However, I didn’t know I could write because I was just appointed. In high school, I tried to be in the school paper, the Forum, though I wasn’t expecting of course. I thought I screwed up in the exam but when the announcement was made, there were only four freshmen who made it, four out of like, 50; and I was one of them. Then, I knew I could write.

In elementary, I would be forced by my teachers to join oration and declamation contests. I won all those times I participated in. Sometimes, I would be a second placer, and then one time, when we had to deliver our own speeches entitled My Family, My Home, I totally forgot my lines. Surprisingly, for the first time, I bagged the first place. In high school, we had this culminating activity for my Elective. We had to deliver an impromptu speech and my other classmates picked a topic on graduation, high school memories, and stuffs alike, and weirdly, mine was all about sex education. Surprisingly again, I came as the first placer. Then, I knew I could speak in public.

In elementary, I would not sit in the corner during PE classes. I was a ball player and I had my team won during the intramurals. In high school, I tried playing ball again. It was my lucky year, and I was the Rookie of the batch. Then, I knew I could play ball.

In elementary, my nun teachers would always appoint me as the leader in dance presentations. So during programs, mom didn’t have a hard time looking for her daughter and take a shot of her doing her moves because she was just there, in front, all the time. In high school, we had dancing as our PE, and that was when I was approached to join the squad. Then, I knew I could dance.

In elementary, I would see schoolmates outside the school, in church for example, and they would call me “Ate Pinky”. In high school, I ran for a position in the Student Body Organization. I was a junior then, my rival was a senior; but I won. Then, I knew I was popular.

I started in a small quarter and I outshined. From there, I shifted into a lot bigger one, and I still managed to outshine. You would think, armed with all these, I should have had all the confidence; but, when I entered college, I felt so small, again.

During all those years, in elementary and in high school, I was identified without even having to exert effort. I didn’t have to stand up for myself to let people know that I got, what I could do. I just let them notice it. Today’s a whole lot different thing. I have to stand up to be identified, which I just couldn’t do at all.

I knew I was smart; I knew I could write; I knew I could be a public speaker; I knew I could play ball; I knew could dance; I knew I was popular; but presently, what I don’t know is, if I am still all of those. I am afraid to even find out, because I might discover all the other ways around. If it happens, I just know that it’s too late to start again.

So, the stance and the posture, the moves, the attire you see – they are all facades. The real me is hiding, lacking all the self-esteem, yet, putting all the act together, faking them, just to get a day goes by. In reality, I feel so little, and I feel the world eating me up. I'm afraid. I'm afraid to start from the bottom of the barrel again.

Woot! Woot!

2007-09-28T13:39:00.000+08:00

Just because everyone's posting it, and well, just because I'm a UP student.

(I'm in a hurry and this is all I could write.)

Basta, it's hot. Haha=D

POP! Goes My Heart

2007-09-23T15:52:00.000+08:00

Oh, I hear Hugh Grant singing at the back of my head and that kind of makes it more difficult to write something about a complex being.

Today, I dedicate an entire blog entry to the man who has the biggest chunk of my heart – my DAD. As early as now, I am betting this entry would lack coherence and order. It’s not easy to single out the best words to describe and express appreciation for the best man.

So, where do I start? See, I got wedged already. Perhaps it’s best to put it this way.

Yes, I look a lot like my dad.

My dad is well-respected not only in his abode but in all places he goes. He has an innate elegance and grace.

He is intelligent and gifted. He knows almost everything there is to know about the country, about the world. I miss setting my insomniac brain to rest with a discussion with him about airplanes to political system. He has an excellent managerial skill, because he sees everything in its every angle. He sketches first, and sketches more, until he feels that it would have a booming end. He provokes people to keep working. He makes them listen and tag on what he says. He wants it flawless, and people make it flawless, because he says so. In short, my dad has a hypnotic effect on people.

My dad has a good taste in almost everything. Believe it or not, he didn’t need someone to rally around to build and rebuild our home over and over. Well, of course he didn’t get to do the hammering and the digging and the drilling and all, but the concept is all his. He knows exactly what he wants, and what he wants always results to good, beautiful things, like where I live. When it comes to clothing, my dad is trendy, for his age at least. He is a clean-looking, good-smelling and well-groomed man. He enjoys some good music too. I’m lucky when he’s in the mood for a Norah Jones or The Corrs beat during a long ride.

My dad has been the best, and will always be the best. He drives me to places all the time. So when he’s not driving me, then it’s a hint that I’m having my own schema. Oooh, the guilt launches again. He is willing to fetch me on a Friday and bring me back to elbi the next day. Whenever I go home on weekends, I always hit upon my favorite biscocho he buys, just for me. He is also the best shopping partner. Sometimes, when I have rambled in every store in the mall and haven’t found anything yet, he would hand me something he got beneath a pile of marked down wardrobe, and the next thing I know, it fits perfectly to me.

Being away from him makes me realize every now and then how much he loves me, how much he loves us. The thought of him sending me a text message with a call card pin number, with a love tatay in the closing, lets me loose a few cackles and melts my heart at the same time.

My dad really is irreplaceable. He has funny and irritating habits that I have come to love. These are big and little things that make him so different from others, different yet so lovable.

During my elementary and high school years, I would always come in late in activities, Holy Mass, and all kinds of programs there were. I was almost late during my elementary graduation. A couple of hours is sometimes insufficient for him to get ready. He spends the first thirty minutes of every day plucking those tiny hairs under his chin.

My dad, because of clearing out his ears with cotton buds every single day, have become a little deaf. He yells to everyone when he thought he is just normally talking. At night, I can hear the slamming, crashing, pounding, battering, and slamming in the movie he watches to think that their room is pretty far from mine.

He also likes to ask me to hand him something that lies just beside him, considering that I’m like, a meter away (for the sake of expression, I’m not really good with measurements).

When we go malling, he always does brisk walking. In just seconds, I and my mom can get lost.

He has some pronunciation defect. Haha! One time, we were eating at Jollibee and he ordered himself a garden salad. He complained to the waiter because he said there are no chicken stripes on it. Haha.

In the face of my dad’s peculiarities, he makes the best father there could be in the whole world.

He may be annoying when through his gawks, it’s as if he estimates my body weight index while I’m halfway through a slice of chocolate cake. He may be getting on my nerves whenever he jokes that there are already numbers stamped in my fingers when he hears me pressing my keypads non-stop. Even so, it feels so pleasing to hear him brag about me. More than that, it feels so wonderful to be never too old to be cuddled by him.

My dad taught me a bunch of things to know about practically, life. He taught me how to be giving, to be respectful, to be honest, to be loyal, to think critically. He is a good example of an open mind and a huge heart.

His love insinuates itself right into my heart.

And today, on his special day, I want to tell him that I do love him and I’ll make him the proudest dad.

Happy Birthday Tatay. I love you!

And I am certain, everybody else does.

A Little Catch-up with Current Issues + a Little Opinion

2007-09-15T10:06:00.000+08:00

Finally, after six long years, Erap was found guilty of plunder (but acquitted of perjury).

Honestly, unlike all the others, I didn’t loathe Erap to a great extent. Maybe I was one of those people who were easily dangled with charisma. Nevertheless, I am pleased with him being sentenced of reclusion perpetua.

Does this just support that the justice system in the country, despite being slow, is credible?

No, I still don’t think so.

How about the others? After Erap, who’s next? Or will there ever be a next?

This chapter may be now closed. It doesn’t mean they should put an end to it. I guess they should be starting a new chapter. How about all the other names that came out?

I commiserate with Erap. I still believe that there are more corrupt leaders out there. It just happened that they are more on the ball than Erap.

Systemone Protest

2007-09-15T09:27:00.000+08:00

I’m still smoldering with anger right now. I check my systemone account every now and then, and all I could see is the long list of sections I waitlisted to. Originally, they gave me three subjects only. Now, I have four. Should I be delighted? Because two of those four subjects are red marked, meaning, those get a probability to be dissolved.

No. I shouldn’t rejoice. I thought I’d graduate in UPLB without having a problem in getting subjects and all. Sorry, first time ko kase. Haha. For five semesters, I didn’t have any difficulty with this matter. So next semester, I would finally experience hopping to classrooms after classrooms, and line up with the other unfortunates, and look pitiful to be accepted in.

I wanted to blame it on the Stat1 I took in advance. Because of that, my plan of study wasn’t followed but then, it’s stupid. I sailed through it smoothly, so this as compensation is not so bad after all.

Still, I think systemone is a big failure.

I know my reaction’s too late. When everyone was enraged about it last semester and during the summer, today’s just my chance to react, violently.

Of Happiness and Nothing More

2007-09-14T08:28:00.000+08:00

One of the most effective means to ward off homesickness is being in places where you feel just so right.

Here in LB, I have a favorite. There’s this place where the smell of coffee is so compelling and its cup so lip smacking; where yellow lights and cozy interiors blend favorably; where I meet clever and amusing professors and other interesting people; where fond memories, intimate talks, and even worthless arguments with him take place; and also

…where I am able to ponder about life issues, usually, through people.

Just the other night, I was wondering why she, who makes everyone’s cup of coffee taste like no other (maybe because it’s served with TLC,hehe), is there in the first place. I’ve known long before that she had finished a degree in UP. Meaning, she could have been somewhere else, but she spends her every night there, mixing coffee and cream, making burgers and pastas – just like what we do in Burger Island, ha!ha! Anyone, even without a university diploma can do that, right?

I am chewing over this thing up till now. Is it by choice or is it because she has no choice at all?

If it’s the latter, my assumptions would be: first, it’s her family’s business and they think that it’d better if she’d be the one to take charge of it; two, she’s the slothful kind (just like me) who just wants to spend her days as a fetus in bed and for the sake of not being called unemployed, she would stir coffee in the evenings; three, well, I can’t think of anything else other than that.

If, on the other hand, it’s the other way around, then I should be inspired.

From this day on, I promise myself to only do things that will make me happy.

I will not mind if it’s way beyond what I know or what I can do. I will not mind even if initially, I lack the skills and knowledge. I will still do it.

Or

I will not mind even if that work will underrate my capabilities and brainpower. I will not mind if at any rate, my training in college will be frittered away. I will still do it.

Life is short (what a line, but who cares, it’s a fact). In the end, what you have got or what you have achieved won’t matter. Being happy is all that will count.

So whatever it takes, or whatever it doesn’t take, I’m permitting myself to be HAPPY=)

And I give the floor to Paulo Coelho

2007-09-11T13:20:00.000+08:00

This is one reflection you can read in his new book, Like the Flowing River. More than a teaser for you to buy the book, it just tells so much. It would make you sad for a moment, but would leave you hope the next. And yes, Coelho always makes us rethink about our lives, and what we do with it.

I was just planning to take salient points, but as usual, he makes sense of everything. It turned out that every single word he said is striking.

Reflection on 11 September 2001

Only now, a few years on, can I write about these events. I avoided writing about it at the time, to allow everyone to think about the consequences of the attacks in their own way.

It is always very hard to accept that a tragedy can, in some way, have positive results. As we gazed in horror at what looked more like a scene from a science fiction movie – the two towers crumbling and carrying thousands of people with them as they fell – we had two immediate responses: first, a sense of impotence and terror in the face of what was happening; second, a sense that the world would never be the same again.

The world will never be the same, it’s true; but, after this long period of reflection on what happened, is there still a sense that all those people died in vain? Or can something other than death, dust, and twisted steel be found beneath the rubble of the World Trade Center?

I believe that the life of every human being is, at some point, touched by tragedy. It could be destruction of a city, the death of a child, a baseless accusation, an illness that appears without warning and brings with it permanent disability. Life is a constant risk, and anyone who forgets this will be unprepared for the challenges that fate may have in store. Whenever we come face to face with that inevitable suffering, we are forced to try and make some sense of what is happening, to overcome our fear, and set about the process of rebuilding.

The first thing we must do when confronted by suffering and insecurity is to accept them for what they are. We cannot treat these feelings as if they had nothing to do with us, or transform them into a punishment that satisfies our eternal sense of guilt. In the rubble of the World Trade Center there were people like us, who felt secure or unhappy, fulfilled or still struggling to grow, with a family waiting for them at home, or driven to despair by the loneliness of the big city. They were American, English, German, Brazilian, Japanese; people from all corners of the globe, united by the common – and mysterious – fate of finding themselves, at around nine o’clock in the morning, in the same place, a place which for some, was pleasant and, for others, oppressive. When the two towers collapsed, not only those people died: we all died a little, and the whole world grew smaller.

When faced by a great loss, be it material, spiritual,, or psychological, we need to remember the great lessons taught to us by the wise: patience, and the certainty that everything in this life is temporary. From that point of view, let us take a new look at our values. If the world is not going to be a safe place again, at least not for many years, then why not take advantage of that sudden change, and spend our days doing the things we have always wanted to do, but for which we always lacked the courage? On the morning of 11 September 2001, how many people were in the World Trade Center against their will, following a career that didn’t really suit them, doing work they didn’t like, simply because it was a safe job and would guarantee them enough money for a pension in their old age?

That was the great change in the world, and those who were buried beneath the rubble of the two towers are now making us rethink our own lives and values. When the towers collapsed, they dragged down with them dreams and hopes; but they also opened up our own horizons, and allowed each of us to reflect upon the meaning of our lives.

According to a story told about events immediately after the bombing of Dresden, a man was walking past a plot of land covered in rubble when he saw three workmen.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

The first workman turned around and said: ‘Can’t you see? I’m shifting these stones!’

‘Can’t you see? I’m earning a wage!’ said the second workman.

‘Can’t you see? Said the third workman. ‘I’m rebuilding the cathedral!’

Although those three workmen were all engaged on the same task, only one had a sense of the real meaning of his life and his work. Let us hope that in the world that exists after 11 September 2001, each of us will prove able to lift ourselves out from beneath our own emotional rubble and rebuild the cathedral we always dreamed of, but never dared to create.

-Paulo Coelho

Like the Flowing River

What Type are You?

2007-09-07T14:06:00.000+08:00

Based on my too much people-watching, I came up with a conclusion that there are four types of people.

One: people you would like the very first time you see them, and still like them the next, and like them more when you get close to them.

Two: people you would hate during that first meeting of the eyes, but you would hope they would falsify that first impressions last, but guess what, they wouldn’t, so you would hate them bigtime.

Three: people you would like to befriend that very first time they flash their big smiles, but who you would loathe once you become friends, then regret having even to think they were nice.

Four: people you would hate the first for some unknown or known but petty reasons, but love the next, and as much as you would want to hate them all over, they were just so lovable to be disgusted.

Through my weighing up, I say that the least lucky of all are those that fit in the fourth category. For few people take the risk to catch a sight of what’s inside.

Out of Order

2007-09-04T15:31:00.000+08:00

The rants and raves that used to be occasional have become frequent.

I’m going nuts and it’s unhealthy. I’m mad and it’s scary. I’m afraid that I wake up one day feeling too much madness within me. Madness that must rupture or else I might end up committing suicide.

I’m bushed with all the pile of works coming in. I’m malfunctioning with all the unfinished works in front of my face, and all the others pending in. I couldn’t start a thing, consuming most of the time left deciding what should go first. I hate how they draw closer all at once.

I hate these loads of work I should be doing, the professors, the deadlines, the plays I never really intend to watch. I hate them.

But I hate myself more. I hate how negligent I’m becoming.

Cramming is something I’ve been doing since then but not being able to beat the deadlines is another thing. I always, always make sure I pass all requirements asked of me in due time. Despite all the time I was procrastinating, I thrived.

But this sem, I turned out to be so delinquent. I don’t even try sometimes. I always think of how one thing seems so difficult then, I get weak and fail to do it at the right time.

I hate that I’m starting to mislay that slight sanity I have.

I’m missing my goals. I’m missing my target.

What I need in my hands is that self-control. I need to hold it and maneuver it towards the aim.

Kapow!

2007-09-01T10:20:00.000+08:00

Sitting by the car window the other night, I had a lightbulb moment, again.

A freelance writer. That’s what I want to be. I want to be a freelance writer.

I don’t care if it sounds too amateurish or unprofessional but that is what I want to do when daylight opens my eyes in a place I don’t know anymore but pretty sure not my comfort zone.

I always want to write. I’m talking about my dismal dream again so please bear with me. And even if I know that it’s rather not grammatically nice and correct to start a sentence with a conjunction yet I always do, I still want to write. Such a loser.

However…

I don’t want to be pulled out from my bed early in the morning to bathe in cold water, so cold that my body freezes up. And after, be forced to eat even if my taste buds aren’t conditioned yet.

I don’t want to take the same route, ride the same bus, and see the same traffic lights day by day.

I don’t want strict deadlines that pressure me and make me buy all those anti-aging creams.

I don’t want to sit in front of the desktop eight hours or more a day, walked out when my shift ends with curved back due to soreness of the ass.

I don’t want a fiendish boss who calls as I take the way to my vacation to the countryside asking me to report to him right away.

I don’t want to sleep with ease every night since I don’t have to think what can possibly happen the next day. Because basically, every day is just like all the other days. Everything becomes a routine and there are no more bolts from the blue awaiting me.

And so…

Freelancing is what I will do.

That way, I can go to places, eat foods I haven’t tasted, and not sleep in my bed every time the night falls. I can meet different bosses and can actually quit if I feel like quitting. I can meet crowds from pole to pole. I have options – lots of them. And everything in fact is under my control. I can not work when I am too sluggish and when I am so ugly to go out and see the world/and for the world to see me. I can still do the things that I love apart from writing.

So I grow – not only as a trying hard writer, but as a person. And I will have much, much, more to write about.

It's her heart, I carry.

2007-08-30T10:52:00.000+08:00

I watched In Her Shoes for like, the fifth (?) round. It’s not usual that I watch a movie over and over again, even if it’s a favorite. Possibly, way back when there was minimal access to the latest flicks, and when there was not yet a so-many-in-one pirated DVDs outbreak.

But, save this one. I feel an urge to slouch in the cot and get my DVD wrapped with Cameron’s faces every so often.

Maybe because at some point, I feel like I am Maggie Feller (Cameron Diaz). So that makes my sister the Rosie Feller (Toni Collette).

I am no dumb. I would never be caught going through drawers after drawers to mooch some cash or worse, positioning myself for sex with a stranger in the bathroom. Oh please.

BUT, I have a great sister. That makes us comparable.

I have an intelligent sister who’s all about being responsible, all the time. She always nails it. She is way up there. And like Rosie, she has found her one true love and was able to marry him even if she was experiencing a mid-life crisis then. Though not so so-Rosie, my sister’s not a loser. She looks good (and hot) in a corporate suit and stilettos.

I have a great deal of praises to my one and only sister. I want to be like her and I’m pretty sure I can, or even get in her doorstep. Besides, I don’t have a defect like Maggie (She is dyslexic.) Though if I continue slacking for the next years or so, then, I might as well turn to be one unemployed little horror too.

So anyway, more than those similarities I and my sister have with the Fellers, the most significant is the special link that we have.

I and my sister have an out of the ordinary connection. Despite the age gap and her rare stopovers at our house, we remain tight. I always envied sisters who get to spend every single day with each other even if it means dealing with mood swings and stealing things from each other (which I and ate still do, haha) day after day. I always wish we could be like them.

Still, I am happy.

No matter how infrequent, it feels so good that we still share a chuckle or two.

And we still irritate each other - over a pretty pair of shoes.

“I carry your heart. I carry it in my heart” (ee cummings)

my sister with her first child

Pinky Has Been Tagged

2007-08-24T10:24:00.000+08:00

share 8 things that your readers don’t know about you.

Then at the end you tag 8 other bloggers to keep the fun going.
– Each blogger must post these rules first.
– Each blogger starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
– Bloggers that are tagged need to write on their own blog
about their eight things and post these rules.
– At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged
and list their names.
– Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

I honestly think LIZARDS are the ugliest creature. I hate cockroaches too, but not as much as I hate lizards. I can’t put myself to sleep when I see one in my ceiling. I always think it’s gonna fall and will be glued to my skin and can never be detached anymore.

I stayed in a convent-like when I was a freshman. We had a communal bathroom there and I used to take a bath for not more than 15 minutes. The culprit: at least 3 lizards watching me naked. Eew.

I feel extra beautiful when I wear my pretty, little undies. I don’t know why. It’s not like I reveal them or whatever. Well I guess it gives justice to what we say being beautiful is in the inside. Lol. And so, I wear them during the day and save my biggie, lola panties at night.

I never had any contact with my so-called first boyfriend. He wasn’t even able to come as close as 2 ft. We never held hands or anything.

I have a thing for nose (as in ilong). I think people with pretty noses are beautiful. Weird.

I used to text Magic 89.9 when I was first year high school (?) using all cellphone numbers in the house pretending to be different texters. Just to request one song over and over again – Cultured Pearls’ Not This Time. Now I remember, I miss the song.

Since I study in UP, I don’t experience wearing the same old uniform everyday. I’m not quite sure if it’s a good thing, but then, I try to take advantage of it.

Within one semester, I don’t wear the same top more than twice. But if it’s a favorite, then try thrice.

When I was younger (really younger), I used to pick those small hair in one part of my head. They were irritating. And so, I ended up being hairless on that part. I wore headband all the time to cover it.

I am a grammar freak. I’m so not OC, but when it comes to grammar, I am. I wonder where those barok people were during all those years their teachers discussed S-V agreement and sentence structures. So you people cannot actually use the excuse that you are not Communication students.

And I quote my Eng2 teacher, “How can you communicate what you know about engineering or sciences if you cannot even construct a simple sentence?” So those who degrade Communication students, boo-hoo you. (I’m not generalizing though. Not all Com students can do it the right way. And not all not Com students can’t.)

And please, Shift+F7 doesn’t work all the time. Make sure it’s not gonna jump out of the context. PS. I am not perfect, I know. At least I don’t patronize Akon for singing that “nobody wanna see us together, but it don’t matter …” hit.

I tag: Madel, Sam, Lar, Erika, Aimee, Cole, Patty, Karel

And I'm plunging my ego...

2007-08-23T20:31:00.000+08:00

Ok. So I admit. I feel bad about everything I said.

And I’m sorry – sincerely sorry.

I just feel for my friend, you know. We all do. And I know she couldn’t do anything more. We just presupposed, and I was being defensive, for everyone.

I’ve been there. I’ve been called a loser by someone who really had the least right to entitle me that way. They were a bunch of bitches who never stopped singing their own praises, and demeaning me. I assumed. I assumed everyone is like that.

Lastly, we never said anything mean about you. Well, not until that entry I wouldn’t even see if no one’s feeling was injured. And I was careless about my entry. And just so you know again, if there's someone who has been the nicest with you all this time. It's her.

I guess I owe you an apology.

And I am sorry.

Yes, let’s just move on with our lives already. And with all honesty, I don’t hold any grudge on you. After all, everyone just wants to be happy.

SIMPSONized

2007-08-22T20:37:00.000+08:00

Introducing...

Bene Simpson

Pinky Simpson

simpsonize yourself too:)

My Rainbow After the Rain. (now that's squashy, haha)

2007-08-22T12:18:00.000+08:00

I hate Tuesdays. I’m always worn out on Tuesdays. And yesterday was no difference. It was the worst maybe, next to that of last week.

I just had one of those exams that guarantee back-neck-head-butt ache --- an all essay exam worth a hundred points, which lasted for 2 ½ hours. That long, yet I still didn’t have the time to grammar/content-check it. It was an open-notes exam, but the stuffs I had with me gone all useless. I know I did poorly but that little patience that sprung out helped a lot. I hate it when I spend too much time answering exams so I am always one of those who hand the papers first to the teachers and find the way out. But yesterday, I tried hard not to ignore the bonus questions which would cost another 20-minute stay in the room.

I left the room frustrated.

But he was there, waiting for me patiently. In just a second, he sponged the pest away. In just a second.=)

The guy's got a girlfriend now.

2007-08-19T18:48:00.000+08:00

I had been away from home for just a week. The next thing I knew, he got himself a girlfriend already. Finally.

The 27 y/o boy, oops, man who spends his salary every month buying cds of wargames and pc accessories has a girlfriend now.

Maybe he’s taking things one at a time. He’s taking baby steps. Ooh. At least he’s starting to think about the future, the future that shall be really close. I hope.

Sooner or later, I wish he’ll move out. I will be glad. Everyone will, surely. It’s not too late to start off.

Besides, he doesn’t look that awful. Haha. No, he’s a heartbreaker.

And man, he’s a photographer.

And by the way, he’s my extremely annoying brother.

And boy, he is a 27y/o guy, who WAS single. Oh, WAS he!

You might as well try to be more humane.

2007-08-18T16:42:00.000+08:00

You are unbelievably pathetic.

You are pretty. Oh, let me take that back. Gorgeous, my dear. Perhaps, smart even.

But that doesn’t give you the authority to talk ill of other people. I may not be the best person to lecture on this. I have my own share of hate list too. But never did I cross the line. Never have I corrupted other people. Not at least through my shout-outs and blogs. You know, if there’s someone who should grow up, and get over something, it’s you. Definitely.

I took this risk. Whoever those might be that you were talking about, whether it was us or not, it’s not gonna change how condescending I think of you, we think of you.

And just so you know, we had not a thing against you. I even saw you as someone really admirable. But you triggered the disgust out off us. And now, when I look at your pretty portraits, I think twice. Because you are no more than an arrogant and conceited little person.

A Cup of Coffee. Plus one? For free?

2007-08-10T18:47:00.000+08:00

I am one lucky, happy Starbucks customer.

I didn’t know about their promo until this afternoon when my nanay and I went to Starbucks, Tagaytay.

It’s a random selection, said the barista. How cool is that? You’d be surprised when you get a receipt longer than anybody else.

I want to have my free coffee in Paseo de Sta. Rosa with Bene, while few drops of rain pour outside. Nobody said rainy days can never be sweet.=)

I - as a wife and a mom, in a log cabin. Now, that's perfect.

2007-08-10T13:06:00.000+08:00

Lately, I’ve been having frequent voyage to the future.

I was thinking of taking a break after graduation. Wow, now I’m talking about graduation, when I’m in the pinnacle of being a college student. Overwhelming. Well, anyway, yes, I was thinking of becoming impossibly lazy for an imprecise period of time after I receive my college diploma. I just wanted to take time to catch up on sleep, travel, read, watch tv, improve my driving – simply put, be an incredible bum, just to compensate all the distress I’m currently experiencing.

Last Monday, (or was it Tuesday, I don’t know), we were in Coffee Blends and all of a sudden, I tossed that thought from my head. Seeing the happily (I assume) married couple, and a vibrant and smart, curly-haired little girl (not their child though), I suddenly wanted to fast forward time and never waste a minute to fulfill my dream of becoming a parent and a wife. As of my career, I think I’m lost.

While he is not the boyfriend yet, I want him to be the man of course.

Being a mom has always been a dream. Although I don’t want to think about the part of really having a baby getting out off me. It’s really scary. I want two kids, a boy and a girl, with not much wide of the age gap. I will raise well-rounded kids – kids who will have piano, martial arts, ballet, or whatever classes they want, kids who will learn writing and reading at a very early age. I want them to grow with values and principles. I want them to be sensitive to the needs of other people and possess affection towards others. I will raise kids who will be faithful to Him.

I will be a loyal wife. I will never lose my interest in him.

And where will we live? I want a log cabin. Before, I wanted a brick-finishing house, like ours. But then, after browsing some magazines, and seeing few real log homes, suddenly I want one also.

Note: Sorry if the pictures became pixelated.

I want a cozy home. And I think yellow lights, glass windows, and white will go together in a log cabin.

Thinking about the future brings an unexplainable feeling of excitement. And it’s a good thing that now, little by little, what I want to do with my life is becoming less blurry.

So this is how the guilt feels.

2007-08-03T11:35:00.000+08:00

This is that one thing I’ve been dreading the most – hurting someone who least deserve it, by letting the monster out off me.

One minute I’m lovely – sweet, caring, and gentle- the minute after, I’m horrible – capricious, offensive, and rough.

Why do I keep on unlearning things?

Even I, feel confused with the way I act, with the way I (accidentally) hurt him, with the way I try to ruin our supposedly happy times.

And so suddenly, I just found myself crying out all the guilt inside. So many painful words slipped off my mouth, but I am really guilty inside. But then, the words still lost their balance. Why?

For that I hate myself.

And I hate myself more. Because after every twinge in the heart, and mind (and ego) I caused him, there he was, never allowing me to get out of his tight grip.

Guilty.

I whispered to the wind to sweep away my tears

2007-08-01T12:16:00.000+08:00

I found a sure way to fight off wretchedness, or perhaps, at least attack it.

Walking.

Last night, I walked and walked until I was drooping. I did care less about other people, jeepneys, and woofing dogs I passed by, or that passed me by.

I couldn’t say it gave me a feeling of relief but it spoiled the tears that wanted to pour its way down. And it’s so much better. I am finally regaining the ‘me’ I used to be – never a crybaby.

I am still not pleased with what is happening. But at any rate, there’s no need to plaster stinging eyes.

Of little nothings

2007-07-30T15:46:00.000+08:00

So, this is nothing of great significance – just updates and thoughts, nothing crazy also – only plain and random.

I’ve read Paulo Coelho’s The Witch of Portobello. And I still can’t get over it. This just adds up to his stunning success. His words never seem to stop running in my head. Let it be an excuse not to concentrate on other things where my future lolls. And now I’m interested about gypsies.

I’m sad Bene and I weren’t able to catch The Simpsons last weekend. =’s

We bought sneakers though. Haha!

I’m addicted to Torano’s Italian Soda, the kiwi flavor. I go to Ristretto more often now, just to have a sip. Though it tasted better the first time I bought one. Now, half of the glass is filled with ice. Still, I love it. It’s like drinking jelly ace. Haha. But then, Ristretto cannot take Coffe Blends’ space in my heart. I’d still choose white choco frappe over kiwi soda. Yum.

I’ve been having complicated temperament and he’s the one who suffers all the time. Maybe I’m just being stressed out everyday. Maybe because I exhaust all the energy I have everyday. Whatever the cause is, it’s not intentional. And I’m lucky for he’s the most patient man I know.

Aside from those, nothing new happens. Everyday is just like all the other days. I’m still not Miss Bright, just the second-rate like I’ve been all my life. But I still get to find joy from ordinary things, and it still makes me feel alive.

Some other things in my head fled. Someone’s peeking(^-*)

I just wanted to say something.

2007-07-22T12:55:00.000+08:00

I think I'm becoming less of a faddist. Is it a good thing? I'm not so sure. And I can't also tell if it's maturity.

Nonetheless, I'm taking time to know myself more.

2007-07-15T21:10:00.000+08:00

Tangina!

Nawawala ang flashdisk ko! For the third time.

Nandun ang buhay ko!

Shit!

Now, it's frustrating.

2007-07-15T10:49:00.000+08:00

If only I’ve read stacks, stacks, and more stacks of books when I was younger, then I’d probably be a way better writer today.

Excellent reading paves the way to excellent writing, I believe. Excellent reading matches up not only to the number of books one has read, but how one thinks critically, analyzing every word, phrase, sentence, and chapter. The writer does not give it all away. It’s like a secret ingredient of a recipe - what actually makes it taste exceptional is unknown. For what the writer, sometimes, tries to say lies beneath those words.

It’s depressing that children in this day and age lose interest in books. Xbox, online games, cell phones, and whatever technology introduces may be the grounds of their false acuities of what great literature is, and their unawareness to what literature brings. They might even just raise their eyebrows or put a frown on their faces when they hear Jane Austen, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Jonathan Swift, Edgar Allan Poe, Charles Dickens, Harper Lee, and other great classic authors, which some of whose works are made into films such as Pride and Prejudice. So it should be of no surprise if the generation after generation after ours becomes dumber.

Now that I’m expected to do tons of work every single day, I cannot put reading into place. My biggest adversary is time. Deadlines are villains that wouldn’t allow me to drink from these wellsprings of extra knowledge and eventually, wisdom. I thirst for literature but I can’t seem to find ways to load them up to fill the gaps in my head.

If only I could turn back time (what a chestnut!), I wouldn’t do much running and hopping in our backyard, I’d read more books - other than Sweet Valley Kids, or Goosebumps.

Then, I’d be probably writing this entry better.

I Have a Dream

2007-07-14T14:00:00.000+08:00

I had this exercise in Devc70, which is Interpersonal Communication, and you probably know what this first exercise was all about.

And you guessed it right. The rule: know thyself first.

We were asked to make:
-a dreambook
-a composition of the 20 things we believe in
-a eulogy
-a list of ten things we want to do before we die plus explanations

In two hours, I was able to finish everything. After all, I am of the same opinion that people’s favorite topic is themselves. It’s so easy to talk about ourselves, and more than ease, we find gratification in doing so. So whoever says men aren’t naturally egocentric and self-interested didn’t probably have the same project.

Going back to my story, so it wasn’t as hard work as I thought. Then again, not everything put in there was known to me. Some things were just actually revealed while doing those outputs.

And one thing I really must dream about is becoming a writer. What kind?

Definitely not a novelist because I don’t write much of a plot, I can’t. If I’d be a novelist, I wouldn’t sell because when your literature teacher asks you to make a book review, then you couldn’t write of anything in the climax part, because really, there’s none.

I can’t also write poems. The creative juices flowing through my body is limited. They’re not meant to write rhymes, and, metaphors, and all those figures of speech.

Working in mainstream isn’t also an option. I couldn’t handle the pressure gracefully. I hate deadlines and a rushed work isn’t my advantage. Not to mention the pay.

Writing for fashion magazines isn’t also a good choice. Maybe I’m disposed to fashion and style, places to shop, places to be, beautiful people, and everything, no matter how lame they are, the generation demands. But I’m pretty sure my inclination to these contrived representations of the society wouldn’t last long. And when I’m old already, what would I know?

I want to write and at the same time, use the values I learn in Devcom. But I don’t dream of writing for community newspapers and translating scientific articles into popular writing.

And then…I have a dream – a dream that no matter how ‘dreamful’ is, would serve as a drive for me to work hard, give something I am and I have out.

Something developmental is what I want.

Someday, I’m going to produce a Philippine version of the Reader’s Digest.

That, is my biggest dream.

All successful men and women are big dreamers. They imagine what their future
could be, ideal in every respect, and then they work everyday toward their
distant vision, that goal or purpose. –Brian Tracy

Fitness First. Err. Fatness First.

2007-07-08T11:49:00.000+08:00

For a week I’ve been trying to eat only these during lunch and dinner. Surprisingly, I never feel the need to shell off cash for a box of 6-pc nuggets or a cheeseburger meal. But on midnights, I find myself hitting upon something tasty and my roommate happens to have a big storage box -just about the size of my laundry box- of canned goods, noodles, biscuits, junks, and just about anything I would want to munch while going through my list of things-to-do-before-sleeping-that-shall-not-be-ignored. So there, I happily fill my stomach with whatever I feel, and wanting to discharge them after. No it’s not bulimia. Haha!

I’m not one of those girls who would starve to death to be stick-thin like those we see in ANTM, or just about anyone on tv. Sure, today’s clothes hang over girls like them, but I never want to be as scrawny and as bony. I just want to be fit and healthy.

But those kcal seem to show in every part of my body. I just need to shed off some pounds, maintain it, and work my body. I want to practice a healthy lifestyle.

So for a week or two, I’ll try to continue enjoying Nesvita yogurt (and a little bit of anything, remember, just a little bit) minus the delight midnight snacks bring.

Goodluck to me!

Suddenly, I was on blog-leave.

2007-07-08T09:52:00.000+08:00

It wasn't on purpose, you see.

I didn't want to abandon my blogs. This solely is the reason why I kept on forgetting my old blogs, and making new ones.

Yet again, this blog defeats its purpose.

I want a blog that is breathing.

I don't want to make a new one. So dear blog, repeat after me.
Inhale, Inhale
Exhale, Exhale
Inhale, Inhale
Exhale, Exhale
Inhale, Inhale
Exhale, Exhale...

I'm trying.

The Heart Leads Me Back

2007-06-22T19:48:00.000+08:00

And there will never be a time sauntering around the house in a whopping shirt and curl up in my bed to read a book or watch scores of tv series on pirated dvds.

I can already feel school works rushing in, eating most of my time, leaving me stressed and strained.

But being in my third year won’t just give me sleepless nights and feeling of soreness in the mornings. I’m also keyed up to learn and do things I’ve never done, and never thought I can do (but hopefully I can). My subjects are interesting though some are not in my line of aptitude. That means I have to work harder this time.

Work harder, you dim-witted!

Anyhow…I’m in elbi again. That’s something I’m cheerful about.

I missed my room in Westbrook and so I bought few beautiful things to zest it up a little. This is my favorite part actually – unpacking my clothes and positioning them in neat piles in the cabinets…putting off old bedsheets and putting in new ones…placing my little nothings in my new pretty boxes and my frills in the new rack I bought where I can put my earrings, bracelets and bangles, and necklaces without them being coiled with one another…disposing my folders after folders of handouts, readings, exams, and everything that I wish to forget and leave with the semester that passed…cleaning all drawers and putting my new notebooks, colored pens, markers, cute paper clips, and just everything I got from National Bookstore…designing my cork board and posting on it my schedule everyday which by the way I hate…and finally, turning the aircon and my lamp with a yellow light bulb on, with the scent of peppermint all over the room.

My mind is muddled right now. I seem to write in a disorganized manner. Tsk. I need to practice writing again. I need to.

What I’m just trying to say is that I missed elbi, and just about everything that comes with it.

I’m back to where my heart belongs.

Bumibida

2007-06-12T19:33:00.000+08:00

Though I heard few off-putting comments on Bob Ong’s sixth (and latest) labor, I still bought it. One thing, I wanted to know what made it so second-rate (for some, let me say) and second and most of all, I’m just a fan.

I read it, while I was waiting for my dad to finish taking a bath and freshening up. Now you have an idea how long it takes for him to be prepared. But the book's really short anyway.

Some readers weren’t perhaps expecting that kind of tone from Bob Ong – weighty, in a serious manner. But what can I say, he remains one of my favorites. And it’s good that he can shift from one approach to another, and his style stays put – still showing facts of life. I’m just blown by his unique kind of wit, which you would still find in this new book. (Translation: Kahit seryoso, balahura pa rin si Bob Ong dito sa bago nyang libro. Hehe)

Kaya bili na. 100Php lang.

Another book I’m reading now, and I’m almost done with, is, “Memories of My Melancholy Whores.” I saw this book in Powerbooks months and months ago, but I didn’t have the money to buy it because they were selling them in hardbound costing almost 1K. So when I saw one softbound in Nat’l Bookstore, I chose to buy it over a piece of whatever.

Like what I said, I haven’t reached the end, but I do love it. Too much creative juices were secreted from Gabriel Marquez’s system while he was writing this one, I reckon. I adore him.

Masterpiece/s

2007-06-07T16:35:00.000+08:00

You are lucky if you meet that one friend who would be there, standing right there, by your side, sharing every moment with you – may it be splendid or shameful.

Luckier me! I didn’t find one, I got five!
Cheers to us all, and to our six (and still counting) years of friendship!

I'm a Proud Ukay-era!

2007-05-31T20:26:00.000+08:00

Each person should have a specialty. Each person must be good in one field, at the least. Or whatever, that is what everyone in this planet assumes.

In my eighteen years (and more) of wandering, I haven’t discerned that one thing I’m good at, that one thing I do best.

Unluckily, I cannot sing.
Unluckily, I cannot play an instrument.
Unluckily, I cannot paint, or even draw.
Unluckily, I cannot act.
Unluckily, I can never be tall and skinny. Thus, I cannot do the catwalk.
Unluckily, I cannot speak other languages other than Filipino and English (and Taglish).
Unluckily, I didn’t drink Promil and I was never one of those kids who can answer 562567 x 256736 in ten seconds, who can enumerate all the countries in the world and their capitals. (In short, I am never a dead kid)

I dance, but my skill isn’t borderless.
I write, but I’m a mediocre.
I play sports, but I can never be lined up with the real athletes.

Shame on me.

I have no mastery on anything.

That is what I thought.

Not until I opened my dressers this morning and found these. Now I know my expertise, and I’m proud of it. Few are blessed with the skill of finding pretty collections in the ukay-ukay. Haha! No kidding. My mom, sister, and aunt even ask me to find clothes for them. And I get so much praises for that.

Below are few of the many best ukay finds in my closets.

My sister often borrows this white blazer. It looks very glamorous but casual when worn with jeans and a long tube inside.

Look at the strap - it's twisted.

This is perfect when paired with skinny jeans

or tights. I like the color - very spring-y.

Originally, there were no sequins on the straps.

I just put them. Now I can wear them anytime

of the day. and night.

My mom put those two huge huge buttons but I

think it's better without them. I bought it because

of its really nice sides. But you can't see it in the picture.

one of my five maong minis -

four of which were bought in ukay

funky checkered pants

Unfortunately, I cannot wear it anymore. Fortunately,
because the size's too big for me already. Woah!
Haha! Duh! I bought it two years ago.

Ang nice diba? Hehe.

a knitted, whatever, bolero? Look, it's Giordano!

This sequined jacket is one of my favorites.

How I wish I could wear it more often in elbi *sigh*.

and my latest purchase - an A&F hoodie

----

This is also one of the perks of living in Tagaytay. You can find ukay-ukay everywhere.

Morning Madness

2007-05-30T09:39:00.001+08:00

Every once in a while, an unkind thought (and I truly pray it’d remain a thought) hunts me. No matter how I strive, it wouldn’t resign stalking me.

Now that I’m almost there, I’m having second thoughts whether I should continue walking through the track I took or if I should just go back and choose a whole, new, different path.

I feel that nothing will come off my writing - nothing good and great. Maybe my dream of becoming a writer is a little over the top and it’s unimaginable for me to get hold of it, or even get close to it. Maybe my pieces are merely for my personal growth and not for the whole world to see, to read, and to judge. Maybe I was born to do other things but sadly, not writing.

In less than a month, I will start doing both expert and man-in-the-street interviews, start going to places to get infos and do my researches, and start saying my hellos to heaps of paper works – again, all at the same time.

I’m not really sure if I’m all outfitted to once again encounter teachers who seem to get pleasure in butchering a piece. And no, it’s not an exaggeration. You should see our first drafts slaughtered, worse if also our second drafts.

I resolutely want this. But I’m not convinced if it wants me back as much.

Helpppp!

Daylight Rage

2007-05-29T14:35:00.000+08:00

Sometimes, it feels so easy to dislike people.

We were roving around Divisoria last week when we saw a baby, probably a one year old or two, sleeping in a carton along the street, unclothed and unprotected. Why on earth would his parents leave him there? Because they were working their asses off so they’d have something to eat? Well, they should be praying that their son was still breathing when they come back. That is, if they’d come back. Poor child. I felt pity towards the child, and disgust towards his parents. I wish I didn’t see it at all.

It was really hot that day and I could feel the heat of the sun stroking every part of my skin. How could a one minute walk cost a twenty pesos pedicab ride. I understand how the world is trampled for these people. And I am lucky I don’t have to lug that kind of load. But, I don’t think that would give justice to what they do, and to what they ask for what they do. (We rode the pedicab anyway. Hehe)

For one reason, we also went to Quiapo that same day. We were inside the building and we took the escalator. A Chinese woman kind of pushed me so she could walk through it. She’s probably a businesswoman (well, what else do those Chinese do here?) and I understand that every second of their time counts. But they are real insensible and numb. She should’ve used the stairs instead.

These pictures have been playing in my head since then. They are in despair we all know, but I still can’t help but feel detestation on them.

Am I being shallow?

P.S.

2007-05-23T18:13:00.000+08:00

Dear Brain

I take everything I said back. You do not need to wait until Thursday to feed yourself with whatever you deisre.

I do not know how you do it. But sometimes you just have your way of saving me. Just when I thought you've turned your back on me, you twist things downside up.

When I learned that I was in the exemption list, I thought about you more than anything else. How about an early treat? Haha! Oh well, we did it! And that is what matters.

I just can't believe it yet. Thank you partner.

Your Owner - who is oh so done with ranting.

Hate Notes

2007-05-22T19:35:00.000+08:00

Dear Brain

Why did you betray your poor owner?

What was happening to you when I needed you the most? I want to hate you now. You gave in to the distractions and I caught you in slumber a few times. I was trying my hardest to shake you off, but oh man, I could not ooze anything out from you. I had high hope that you would help me ace that exam. But after you failed to function, the chance of being exempted from the fearsome STAT1 Finals is no longer in my hands.

It is always the case so. The last days before being liberated from papers, exams, and gobs of whatever kind of requirement one could think of, you get so fevered about the thought of white sand beach and fruit shakes. You start to rebel by allowing sloth to set in. You tend to forget about doing what should be done, and think about missed tv series instead.

But then, it is never late to make it up to your owner, you know. I will take that finals on Thursday and please be patient enough to absorb whatever silly things I try to drop in. And be quick to release them when I need them already. So you see, if you think they are inane, let me just put them in for a short time, and by the time I need them, secrete them and never allow them to flow inside you again.

So please, cooperate ok? Don't go nuts. In a few days, you will be drowned in books you've been dying to read, and you will catch up with movies you've missed, or you can just snooze all you want. Just promise to do you work. Deal?

Your Owner

***

Dear Poor, Crazy, Lazy Owner

Honestly, you are not just fugly and fat. You are also crazy and lazy. It is quite not fair that I am the one blamed here. Oh, I take that back, it is totally unfair. You were doing nothing, just bumming around. Then you stuffed me up on the last minutes. Holy cow! You attempted to fill me up with your three long sheets of formulas, and expected me to memorize them in an hour. What were you thinking, crazy?! You know that my left side is a little bigger than the other. You should have not trusted me that much, dear.

Have you thought of how unbelievably abused and misused I am? And how you sometimes use me for the wrong reasons? Think about it! Yes, I sometimes shift to other thoughts – more fun and amusing. But I understand that school cannot be insignificant. And I still try my best. Even if most of the time, you do not.

So learn how to use me properly. And I will be faithful to you.

I will not malfunction on Thursday. Only if you guarantee to take me out to see the sunshine after everything is done. Deal?

Your Brain

Hey Big Brother, I'm Back!

2007-05-17T20:49:00.000+08:00

The more we know, the more we reject Him. The smarter we get, the more we neglect Him.

Why?

Perhaps because we fail to accept that there are things men cannot potentially do. We fail to accept that there is Someone Superior than anything else and anyone else. We become so full of ourselves and believe that we rank first.

When I entered college, I was appalled of how people in the outside (and real) world are. I was not surprised of their (and our) varied grassroots, and multifaceted way of life. I was anticipating and preparing myself for it since then. What I was not geared up for is the actuality that people have different, and most of the time, opposite beliefs about the Supreme Being. Some are even atheists, and agnostics. Yes, I have met some professors who are, and they would not allow students to talk about their faith. Their argument is, everybody should be sensitive of the reality that our beliefs may have an inverse relationship. I would accept their statement as valid. But there are also professors who are such that would try to influence students, whether explicitly or implicitly and students would, subconsciously or not, experience perplexity.

In all honesty, even my faith was challenged. Since I started schooling, I went to private sectorian schools. But when I studied in UP, wherein I had a taste of what the real world is, it's all different. People came to challenge me, to test my faith, to make me believe that what I believe in is nothing but pure state of the mind, and pushed me into the cognitive content of their own.

For a time, my faith reached its lowest point. I ignored and denied Him many times, not because I listened to them. My faith was never weakened by those who questioned it. All along, my faith was there but there was a feeling of unworthiness. My interaction with Him was in a halt because there were times when I chose other things over Him. But He never gave up on making me see how forgiving He truly is.

The biggest difference is, now, more than innate, faith becomes a choice.

And I choose to strengthen my faith. I choose to worship and communicate with Him again. Because everything I am, and everything I have now, I owe it to Big Brothr Up Stairs!

Alive

2007-05-14T18:55:00.001+08:00

[This entry is late already]

I received another wonderful birthday gift two days after. A best friend came over and made my day.

I am the one who used to have grand plans to surprise others, but I guess this is my lucky year. I remember saying how I hate being surprised, that I just want to be doing the surprises. But I have proven that it is partly a fallacy. Partly – because you could not still appreciate it from someone you dislike. I am positive the same goes for others.

On her fifteenth birthday, I showed up without prior notice. Four years later, she went all the way down to elbi and made me feel as if the day was an extension of my birthday. Proof of how our friendship grows old with our age.

Upon Cathy's surprise visit, I was able to do a sort of self-assessment. I came up with two important conclusions about myself:

One: I'd rather have few close friends who genuinely know me, and things related even if we don't speak to and see each other more often...than a bunch who calls in the middle of the night to have someone to share their beers with but does not know me in the deepest sense.

Two: I have come to love ELBI as much as where I grew up. Despite my crazy pattern of shopping and wanting of things superficial, things that extract posh and class, I still yearn for simplicity. I may fancy Havaianas, Starbucks, or anything in Ayala Malls, but in next to no time, I will stop craving for these things (perhaps not as much as I do now, really), and choose the happy yet simple life.

After all, I know myself. I am shallow. Material things may be making me happy at times. But people I love -like good friends- are those who constantly make me alive.

Candle Factory

2007-05-09T21:44:00.000+08:00

I was not feeling, even a smudge of thrill, days before my birthday. I was playing the whole i-dread-that-i-am-getting-older drama. The fact that I am now in my last ~teen year is scary. I’m getting close to experiencing the quarter-life crisis. I missed the days when everything was just really uncomplicated, when my life was always trouble-free. Turning a year older was putting me off perhaps because I knew how many times in my life I have been irresponsible. And it kind of shook me whether I can still reach something I’ve always wanted – that by the way I am not sure of. But anyway, that is what I WAS feeling. I felt birthday blues creeping in.

But as my big day was drawing closer, delight brimmed over my body overlying all the negative feelings. The feeling of being remembered by people I love and I care for, and even by people who just became a part of my life for the slightest time was unparalleled. But along with this, I felt a little bit of guilt because I couldn’t even remember theirs, or worse, I chose not to remember. And I am sincerely sorry. Friends and families, you know who you are. But you also know that I’ve always cared.

I thank everyone who granted a minute to greet me and wish me with just pure birthday bliss.

And I especially thank the people I was with yesterday. Though it was my first time to spend my birthday away from home, you were a family to me last night - and for always actually. Kathy, Bene…thank you.

Bene, thank you for the sweet surprise (and Kathy, for helping out). You are responsible for doing things in which I realize how much I am loved…every single day, all over again. And last night was in fact the first time I felt proud with a bouquet of beautiful flowers in my hands. I had always preferred not to be seen in public with that sight thinking people would tease me, even just in their heads. Hehe. But last night, it felt so right.

Thank you everyone.

And thanks to God Almighty for giving me another year to live to love.

PS. I’m a wibbly wobbly these days. So to all those who are waiting for a clean, good, fun celebration, better be free by the end of the month.=)

A funny message from a good friend thousands of miles away…

'papunta ako ng market kanina tas bigla akong may nakitang Candle Factory na nasusunog... hinde na nasave ng mga bumbero at ng mga workers yung factory kaya kumanta na lang sila ng "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" nung natapos na sila sinigaw ko "Pinky Parra"... hehehe... Happy Birthday pepay... :D' [Niel John]

Haha! Happy Birthday to ME!

It'll be fine if after a decade or so, I will never be a lawyer, or a writer, or a professor...

2007-05-04T15:31:00.001+08:00

All I want is
a loving and a faithful husband who prepares me breakfast in bed during weekends,
a charming son who does not feel mortified when kissed by his momma in front of his basketball team,
a sweet daughter who gives cards on special days, and
a cute baby who smiles whenever I check him on the crib.

It'll be fine if after a decade or so, I will never be a lawyer, or a writer, or a professor...
But I'll be the best wife and mother in the world.

I'm a cheeseball! Haha.

Photo Envy

2007-04-29T09:07:00.000+08:00

After peeping into some people's FLICKr account, I realized that I haven't took any pictures after taking up a Photography course.

And I miss it.

And I want a FLICKr account too.=)

Proud to be Pinoy...or Not

2007-04-28T13:41:00.000+08:00

Walang katulad ang pulitika sa Pilipinas. Nakakabilib talaga ang mga Pinoy, walang katulad.

“Kialala sya sa Makati dahil nandito sya for twenty one years. Ako, sikat ako sa buong Pilipinas, artista ako eh!” -Lito Lapid tungkol sa pagtakbo nyang mayor ng Makati City.

Sa lahat ng mga pulitikong artista, pinakanakakainis at pinakanakaka-HB si Lito Lapid.

Kung nag-iisip ka nga naman talaga, sasabihin mo ba yan? On national tv? Utang na loob!

Hindi naman talaga ako against sa mga artista na pumapasok sa pulitika. Medyo lang. Pero hindi ko naman nilalahat. Sa katunayan nga, gusto kong manalo si Ate Vi sa Vatangas.

Last semester, kumuha ako ng POSC10 para, wala lang, may alam ako sa pulitika at gobyerno sa bansa. Swerte ako, naging guro ko si Dr. Saniano. Kahit medyo nakakaantok ang boses nya, nakakagising naman ang mga facial expressions at body movements nya.Hehe. Buti na lang pinili kong gumising, madami talaga akong napulot sa kanya (kahit di ako nagsusulat sa dami ng sinasabi nya. Salamat na lang kay Ate Chel na nagpapahiram ng notes pag malapit na ang exams).

Pagkatapos ng kurso na yon, nasabi ko na bulok talaga ang Philippine Politics.

Ngayon, tumatakbong konsehal ang nanay ko dito sa Tagaytay. Pero hinde, hindi sya trapo. First time nga eh. At lalong hindi sya kurakot. Yun nga, trapo na din yung kurakot. Pero hindi sya one of them.

At eto na nga, ibang klase talaga ang mga Pinoy.

Umaga pa lang, may nambubulabog na sa bahay namin. Mga nagpapa-awa. Nanghihingi ng pambiling gamot kasi may sakit daw ang anak nila. Ang nanay ko naman, nagkataon na gising na at nagdidilig ng mga orchids nya, eh nagbigay nang kaunti. Hindi yun suhol. Hindi naman nya sinabing iboto sya eh.

Sa mga sumunod na araw, maraming ganitong instances.

May mga solicitation letters. Madami. Nanghihingi ng pera para makapagpatahi ng uniform para sa liga, pambili ng bola, o kahit ano lang.

Nakakatawa pa. May nagpunta sa bahay naming nanghihingi ng pamashe pauwi. Tinanong kung saan nakatira at kung saan uuwi, sa Tolentino daw. Kamon! 10 minutes lang yun simula dito sa bahay. Kamusta naman yun? Nagpunta sya dito para manghingi ng pamashe pauwi. Haha!

Nakakainis na. Nangaabuso kase. Kaya tuloy yung nanay ko nagtatago na minsan.

At take note, di pa naman nananalo ang nanay ko, tumatakbo pa lang.

At si kuya pa, palaging nagjo-joke. Tuwing may nagdo-doorbell, lalabas sya, pagpasok nya ulit, sasabihin nya, may naghahanap daw sa nanay ko, nanghihingi daw ng pangload. O kaya naman nanghihingi ng gamot...sa tagihawat. Hahaha! Syempre, joke lang nya yun.