Write on Track

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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.