I LOVE MY ASIAN

Lovers in Paris will never be what Meteor Garden was. Or was to me. It doesn't have Lei, or those extremely heart-wrenching moments when your heart just wants to collapse and die.

But I liked Lovers in Paris, anyway. I like Ki-Joo's (Carlo) humor. There are less tears. And my heart actually goes out to Carlo. It even did a bit of that collapsing-dying bit during the ice cream scene by the fountain (not yet shown on local tv, watched it on vcd). I cried more than twice (nothing compared to the buckets I shed for Dao, Lei and Shancai, but still...).

It's a Cinderella story, that's for sure. Aren't they all? And I like it that way. Asian telenovelas are always like that. Maybe they should do a study on this phenomenon.

Now I can't say for certain if these shows are representative of the prevailing behavior in a particular society or they seek to dictate or influence future human behavior. It's a chicken-and-egg thing. But they do portray certain realities and truths, and however you look at it, it will always be a caricature of a people, a place and a general philosophy.

Given that, there are some differences between Western and Asian drama. Asian soaps have so much more pathos. Maybe that comes from our being "repressed" or whatever Americans like to call it, vis-a-vis their own "liberal" behavior. Asian soaps have a certain character, or at the very least, an ideal character. I watch Asian dramas, and then I watched two minutes of The Bold and the Beautiful, and all I can say is, eh? To me, what it all boils down to is that American soaps are just vicious and mean and full of mindless sex. It's amazing how Americans profess their love for one another after a couple of shags, and Asians can know in absolute certainty that they love a person by simply looking in his or her eyes or even being within an arm's length of the person. Carlo and Vivian kissed, what, twice during the entire series? And yet you can feel, yes, you feel the depth of their love. Dao was harsh and rough and there seemed to be no sexual chemistry between him and Shancai, but you know that Dao will kill and die for her. Meanwhile, Americans supposedly ooze with sexuality and sensuality, but they never seem to know the meaning of love. No, not in the way we know it, not in the way we dream of it.

I wonder how Westerners would react if Asian dramas are suddenly shown in their countries. I imagine they would be amazed. Curious? Revolted? Would they think we live in the stone ages? I think that's why they are attracted to Asian films like Crouching Tiger and others. There's a charm and a reality that is so distant from theirs. I bet they can't believe that it's grounded on reality.

I think a tiny part of them actually envies us (or other Asian countries at least, because everyone knows the Philippines is a wannabe Westerner). Either way I would love to hear what they think. And if they actually, truly like it? Well, that'll be the day.

In the meantime, I'd rather dance with Carlo to the tune of Moon River, or sit silently beside Hua Ze Lei the whole night, than get into bed with one of those silly schmucks from Days of Our Lives.

KING

In less than two hours FPJ's remains will be taken out of Sto. Domingo Church, and the march of millions to North Cemetery will begin. I ache to be there, in that church, with the rest of my campaign colleagues. I'm home because silly me, I wasn't wearing sneakers when i went out earlier, and I certainly cannot go there in stilettos, so I had to go home. And now it's too late to go out, all the roads congested with people waiting for tomorrow to begin.

It hurts to not be there, that I have to be honest about. FPJ is not just a movie actor. Not to me, not anymore. He's not just one of those famous people whose funeral I watch because it's something everyone talks about the next day. I haven't even watched any of his movies, never cared to.

This is personal.

People often ask me if I voted for FPJ in the last elections. And even if they don't, I know they are dying to ask. Even my close friends find it incredulous that I campaigned for the man, much less put him in my precious ballot.

Well I did. I voted for him. Actually, I did more than that.

I loved FPJ. I still do.

Not the weird, infatuated, romantic love. Of course not, hello. It is one of deepest respect--perhaps even reverence, admiration and affection. We cared for him, took care of him, followed him, guided him. We loved him. And he loved us back, more love than we thought would be possible between a boss and his staff, between people who had never even met until the first official day of the campaign (and that was already more than two months after the actual work had begun. I was already going into his head way before i actually saw his face).

It's one thing to look at FPJ, to see him on tv, to hear stories about him. But it's another to actually be with him, work with him, talk to him, and fight his fight.

I almost didn't want to do it. When I first learned who we were campaigning for, I wanted to resign from my job. I got home and wailed to my mom about the future of the country and how I didn't want to be a part of it. It was easy to scoff at him, knowing him only as an actor and Erap's friend (oh dear God not one of Erap's friends).

But then something told me to wait, and to give this person a chance.

I have no regrets. True, it was difficult at first. We were treading in unknown waters. No one knew what kind of man FPJ was (in the headquarters we called him RAP--Ronald Allan Poe--or Principal or, jokingly, Bitoy). I went to meetings half-amused, half-bewildered. I had to give credit to Sir Vince, who convinced us that everything was going to be okay.

Sir Vince was right. What I got from those months with FPJ, no one can ever take away from me. The frustrations, the pains, the hope and, most of all, the faith. The knowledge, in our heart of hearts, that we were fighting the good fight. It was the worst and the best of times, truly.

Through it all one man shone through. RAP was a simple man, a quiet man with essential values that fueled us all. Never had we encountered a man who was so compassionate and yet so firm about what he believed in. He knew right from wrong, and chose what was right--over and over and over again. Even when seasoned politicians said he was committing political suicide, even when he was being ridiculed and discriminated against, he stood by what he believed in, and preserved the person that he was and the cause that he was fighting for. He served as a beacon to all of us, giving strength to the weak and shaming the mighty.

RAP was an honorable man, a respectable man that I am privileged to have known. It's sad that very few people had the chance to get to know him. I only got a glimpse; how lucky his family and close friends must be. Trite as it may be, we are better people for having met him.

Even now, I don't think many people would understand why I voted for him, or why I fought vigorously for him. I don't expect them to. They used to ask, anong gagawin niya pag presidente na siya? May magagawa ba siya? That question never scared me. I answered with this: Merong magagawa, dahil nandun ako. Nandun kami. We will be there, and we will all help. The collective future begins with individual responsibility. Accountability. Pananagutan. As RAP used to say, with one finger pointed up, "pananagutan sa taas, and pananagutan sa inyo."

Simple. Honest. Genuine. And now gone.

I remember, during sorties, we used to stand up on the flatbed of the media truck directly in front of RAP's van. Amid the unending sea of people we danced to the jingles that played during the motorcade, trying to keep the energy up because we knew we all needed it. Once in a while we would glance behind us, and we could see that RAP was smiling, pointing to us, evidently amused by our antics. It was good to see that unguarded smile, knowing how tired he was from standing and shaking people's hands all day long (which left scars on his arms because people were literally clawing at each other--and at him--in the fight to get near). I wish I could do that little dance now and see RAP smile again.

He will be missed.

TATAY

I remember that day. I was on my way home from school. Tatay, my lolo on my mother's side, was very sick, he'd been so for some time. He had kidney problems and his condition had somehow worsened because of complications. At this point he could barely get out of his room. We visited him at our grandparents' house, which wasn't very far from ours.

Anyway, that afternoon while I was in the tricycle my mom texted and said maybe this was a good time to go there again. They were preparing to bring him to the hospital and it was best to have more people around to help. I was thinking the exact same thing. I was on my way already and I think I even texted my aunts about it.

The tricycle was about to turn the corner towards my grandparents' house. Suddenly something told me it shouldn't. The feeling was so strong I just couldn't ignore it. So I told the driver to go straight ahead instead and take the route towards our house.

But I wasn't really going home. After getting off I walked further, just three blocks from our house. I went to church.

It was a weekday, no one was there. This was the first time I went to church alone; I don't know why, but it felt so comforting. I went inside and knelt. I prayed for Tatay. I asked God to please take away his pain. He was in so much pain. I asked for forgiveness for being such a bad granddaughter.

Tatay and I were never really close. He was the patriarch of the family. He was everything the Garcia name stood for: pride, intelligence, control, reason, honor, dignity, family. He was a rock. A proud man, he always stood stood firm. His reasoning was beyond question. Everyone followed what he said. Not because they were scared--and they were--but beyond that, because he had their ultimate respect.

People turned to Tatay, and he never turned his back. He was the embodiment of strict compassion, if ever there is such (this was eventually softened by the next generation of Garcias). He was the one NPAs went to for help whenever they came down from the mountains. And he would help them, but it was clear that they would never touch his family or the people in their barrio. The buck stopped with him.

What I remember most about Tatay was when I was very small and had a very hard time finishing my meals. For me, it was a task that I found too taxing (I still think that way sometimes). So what he did was sit down beside me, for as long as it took me to finish eating my food. Sometimes it took me an hour, maybe more. He sat there patiently, just waiting for me.

Growing up, though, I never really appreciated him. He was too straight and narrow for me. He always said things that were meant to teach me how to be good and honorable, things that seemed too theoretical for me. I was just a kid after all and I was deeply irritated (which was a coverup for being overwhelmed) by his looming, overbearing presence. And I didn't like it that he had no tolerance for mediocrity. To him that was unacceptable. When you do less than what you are capable of, you would know his disappointment. It was as if you were marked for life. I felt it was so difficult to get redemption. So I did all that I can to stay away from him.

These things and more were racing through my mind as I knelt in church. I let all the memories of him and my family wash over me until I almost felt a ringing in my ears from all the activity in my head. My chest was about to burst. Before I got dizzy I opened my eyes and sat up.

I went out and walked all the way to my grandparents' house, which was also just a few blocks away on the other side of the church.

As I opened the gate I knew something was terribly wrong. Tatay was no longer there; he had been rushed--not brought, rushed--by my tita to the hospital just a minute or two before I got to the house. Nanay and a couple of other relatives were still there, and we all went to the hospital together.

In the emergency room I found my tita massaging Tatay's legs, mumbling something incomprehensible, asking Tatay if he wanted to drink his Ensure--knowing full well that Tatay could no longer respond. He was in a coma.

Mama...Mama wasn't there yet. She was with a client that afternoon, and she was one of the last to arrive because she was one of the farthest from the hospital. Mama is a control freak and she was closest to Tatay. Because of this, I don't think she has fully forgiven or will ever fully forgive herself for not having gotten there earlier. A few days after the incident she suffered a stroke.

It's easy to figure out what happened next. Tatay's systems started to collapse, and after he was wheeled into a private room, the doctor advised us to call a priest. No one wanted to. But there was no beating around the bush, and we finally called the head of our parish. My Tatay deserved no less.

Before the night ended, the line went straight. Tatay had left. I guess God answered my prayers after all. He took away Tatay's pain.

My younger cousins were most affected. Camille cried and said she didn't even have the chance to talk to him and say thank you and sorry for all the wrong she had done him. I could've said the exact same thing, only I didn't because I was either too ashamed or too proud.

It was the darkest, most conflicted night for everyone. We were still in control, yes, as only Garcias could be. There was the funeral parlor to contact, burial rites to arrange, people to call. But there was something we couldn't get hold of. We couldn't stop him from dying. And we couldn't stop the tears.

---

It has been more than three years. Tatay's death changed us all. It threatened to shake the stability of the Garcias. Looking back, I realize that wasn't such a bad thing. It revealed something in each of us, a vulnerability, some rawness and truthfulness beneath our shells. Leave it to Tatay to destroy what he himself created. He was still in control after all.

We are all better off today, I think. The family he left behind is still a proud family, still compassionate, still ruled by reason. But his children make more mistakes now, old and wise though they are. They are less rigid, less controlled, more willing to get out of the box. And that's okay. In losing him, we are starting to find ourselves.

A pheonix can only rise from the ashes.

Happy birthday Tatay.

THERE IS LIGHT AFTER ALL

Gods do not do for men what men can do for themselves. --Athena, The Odyssey

When we want something, all the universe conspires in helping us to achieve it. -- The Alchemist

You just have to want it. --my ex

How much do you want it? -- me

And God said, "let there be light!" And there was light. -- Holy Bible

Just do it. -- Nike

Tama na yan, inuman na! --Parokya ni Edgar

IN A FUNK

How shitty is it when you want something and yet you know that you deserve something else? Worse, that what you deserve is far more or better than what you want? But you still want what you want.

Wanting less does not make you less. It just makes you a bit more honest. A bit sadder as well.

I am sad.

At the end of the day I chose to do the right thing. I know it was right. I did it to preserve myself, and to protect others. Maybe that was a bit too Messianic for me because no one asked for protection. But I am not blind or stupid, and I cannot bear to think that I may cause pain in others even in the most minute possible way.

So here I am, still good, still faithful to the promise of great and greater things. But a part of me aches to answer the what ifs. On the other hand, I know that life is what it is, no ifs or buts.

Life on the whole is fair, I still believe that. But sometimes the little situations that make up that whole are not. Like the one I am in.

It sucks.

I need tequila.

KAINIS

Something is strangely fucked up in this house today. It's like every particle that makes up this living space is filled with...irritants. I am annoyed at everything and everyone! I am deeply, inexplicably irritated, even as I sit here all by myself. Meanwhile, in the kitchen Ivan and Mama had just had an argument, and now they've both locked themselves up in their rooms. Lisa, the maid, is crying because my titas who are watching tv didn't turn the volume down and she couldn't hear the person she was talking to on the phone. And now it seems she has sworn not to call that person (ever) again. Turns out that person was the water delivery guy. Does that mean no showers tomorrow?

And freakin' Freaky Friday is playing on vcd/dvd again (Lindsay Lohan is Ivan's newest chick).

I hate this day. It's as if yesterday has carried over. Yesterday I went to school for my first day of the second semester. I arrived there an hour early because, well, when you live at the other end of the metropolis it's better to be early than late. So I got there, walked around a bit. I checked out the bulletin board. Once in a while they post job offers and schedules of seminars and workshops that I always take a note of but never attend. Before I turned the corner on the way to the tambayan I caught an announcement about classes that had been postponed. With a sinking feeling I scanned the poster, and sure enough, my class for that day was listed. I'm sorry, pero tangina. I came all the way from fucking Paranaque, and you tell me that the class is cancelled? You tell me NOW? When I'm already here?!?!

To make things worse, I was the only one there. Meaning it was I who called up my friends--who happen to be living in the same micro-climate as UP for chrissake--to tell them not to bother taking that, oh, five-minute jeep ride to school. And then I had to trudge off and go back to the mountains where I live.

Sure, the mountain part is an exaggeration, but isn't it very irritating all the same? The secretary could've picked up the phone and called us (they did it last sem). Or texted us. There had to be a reson they recorded our numbers. And hello. This is grad school. It's one class a day. Students usually have work before they go to school. They deserve to know these things at the proper time. I am not being a brat. I wasted money, wasted one day's worth of clothes, wasted one day's worth of exfoliation (okay, that's bratty). Point is, we deserved better than an announcement posted one hour before the class.

Aauugh!!! I couldn't contain myself and I just had to whine to Eug when he called (of course I was already in the jeepney on a noisy highway, so I couldn't hear half of what he was saying, which added to my annoyance), and to Tita Reg who really couldn't do anything but offer to watch a movie with me, which I couldn't do because I'm friggin broke.

And now, this. I am sometimes perplexed by the capacity of the mind to store negative energy.

Hay, kainis!

SEMI-CHARMED KIND OF DAY

Blew off my remaining money--not actually my money, but kickback from my tuition hahaha--yesterday on a couple of overpriced sandwiches, pizza, pasta and salad that I had been craving for at the Peninsula Manila. But it was well worth it because I was with two of my oldest and dearest friends, and the food was divine.

They arrived late, naturally, so breakfast turned out to be lunch. Shiva, who was wearing not black but black with yellow stars and star-shaped earrings (KL: you're starstudded!), was determined to finish off her penne. KL, fresh from work and armed with a swanky new phone (welcome to the Ericsson club!), downed her Club Pen sandwich and complained about her not-so-chilled juice. They both finished off my friench fries, which I learned were not made of potatoes (what a bummer). The very fattening salad dressing was very good on the leafy greens and the pizza was obviously good because Shiva took them all home.

Ah, I love them both. We truly deserve getting stuffed while listening to beautiful piano music. We are fabulous, yes we are.

Afterwards, Shiva and I watched a movie (KL had to go), whined about life over Bizu milkshake and carrot cake, and tried on ridiculously-priced shoes worth two years of UP education. At that point we resolved to be rich--without having to marry an old Chinese guy. Then we can Pen and Bizu and Jimmy Choo all we want, baby.

It was a weird realization, and probably coming from a skewed perspective. Funny how a certain environment modifies one's attitude. For one, I never wanted to be rich. It just isn't my thing. On the other hand, staring at a P24k price tag in a store accessible to a lot of people, I can now see that each person does indeed have the capacity to reach higher levels of financial freedom. And it doesn't necessarily mean we have to spend our riches on outrageous purchases. We can save the world, too. Okay, that's a stretch, but the point is, money isn't evil if you don't want it to be. If having money means making your grandmother or street children happy, how bad can it be, right?

I went home completely, utterly broke, but nevertheless satisfied. And perhaps a bit more motivated to become a millionaire before I turn 25.

CARPE DIEM

"I'll tell you a secret: the gods envy us. Because we're mortal. We're doomed. You are never more beautiful than you are today." -- Achilles, Troy

And that is why life is so utterly, frighteningly beautiful. Problem is, very few embrace their mortality. Most of us are helplessly confident about living forever, and forever scared of truly, truly living.

But those who seize the day, who make mistakes that bring about great triumphs, who do foolish things and get their hearts broken and live each emotion...those who know that each day may be their last day on earth, they are not afraid. They know the secret.

And the rest, gods of their own worlds, oh how they envy the descendants of Achilles.

(I'M A SUCKER FOR ) SILLY SURVEYS

You Are a Pundit Blogger!

Your blog is smart, insightful, and always a quality read. Truly appreciated by many, surpassed by only a few.

What kind of blogger are you?

LINGER

Online. Always online. Always there.

Can I not see you for a second? It's bad enough that you linger in my head like cigarette smoke. Do I really have to feel your presence every time I log on?

Dammit.

I know, I know, I should relish every moment, every emotion. Live life, right? Accept that I am so friggin' drawn to you it's beginning to sound hilarious. And because I'm so doggedly positive about my life now, it should be okay. But hey, sometimes it's just so...argh!

Like right now. It's nearly 3 am, for crying out loud. And you're still awake. Apparently, we're the only two people who are.

Like everyday. It just can't be, and yet you're there. You're just...there. Always.

What's the point?!? Is there a point?

"God doesn't give us what we don't need." So why are you here? Are you here so I can be with you? Or are you here so I can make the difficult choice NOT to (want to) be with you?

Times like this, I just shake my head and say, argh.

AJEET, EUG, GERRY AND CRISTY FERMIN

Tubig at Langis (SM and Ajeet)

Met up with Ajeet this afternoon at SM Bicutan (yep, that's right. Ajeet. SM. Wahaha.). He borrowed my tape recorder; he's going to make a demo tape because (drumroll) he's auditioning for a DJ job at NU. Woohoo! Go Ajeet. Basta greet mo ko on air 'pag DJ ka na.;)

While I was waiting for him I went to BioResearch and watched the store crew brush the puppies. They are ADORABLE. The puppies, I mean. I wanted to hug them all! I stood there saying "aaawwww" in my head the entire time, hehe. In an alternate universe, I think I'd find myself working at a pet store. Seriously.

Then I went to the department store and bought Meiji Black, one of the best dark chocolate brands I've tasted. Yum.

I walked around thinking of what else I could buy with my remaining 50 bucks. Normally I would walk to the nearest ATM and then make myself happy with a nice blouse, book, cd or whatever, but I just wiped out practically my entire bank account on my birrthday party (yes I paid for everything), so I'm trying to be a bit stingy. I think this will work for about a week.

Ajeet finally arrived, saving me. Poor Ajeet, he looked like a fish out of water in SM.

I gave him the recorder and we went out immediately. Wanted to get home na rin coz I was starting to get hungry and was fighting every inch of my body that wanted to walk to Wendy's and order baked potato and bacon mushroom melt. Augh. Austerity measures.

---

3 Words: Palabra de Honor

I was on my way home from SM when I got a call from Eug. He said he was mad at me 'coz I got a 97 in our final exam (I didn't even know this) when I explicitly told him that I didn't study. Wahaha! I was laughing so hard inside the tricycle, the driver must have thought I was nuts. Eug said he will never believe anything I say anymore. Wala raw talaga ako palabra de honor, at yari daw ako sa mga groupmates namin, blah blah blah.

But I really didn't study! Ok, granted, I transferred the contents of our handouts to my notebook. But I don't even remember what I wrote! What I remember was that I was texting several people the morning before our exam because it was my birthday and friends were texting and calling to greet me. And believe me, I'd rather do that than study. I distinctly remember talking about siomai and men with Shiva at 3 in the morning (Men are chinese food. I am a pyrex dish. I deserve the best siomai in the world.), with unopened books and notes scattered around me.

But, oh well, I'll let Eug have his way, for now.:) Good thing I didn't make a bet with him about his exam. Otherwise, I'm dead.

---

I Partied Like It Was My Birthday!

Speaking of birthdays, I had fun this year with mine. Words can't even begin to describe. I treated my friends to dinner and drinks at Gerry's Grill. It was fantabulous! My high school barkada was there (nice to be called Supermodel Goddess Lara again after so many years, hehe!), Kule peeps [Mark! All the way from Pampanga baby, yeah. And Ajeet! After so many years of knowing each other, this is the first time he went to my party (his sis and I share the same birthday)], college blockmates (almost all of my Area Stud blockmates were there. Grabe, na-miss ko sila!), former officemates, grad school classmates, family. I'm so glad they were able to come.

Two important people were missing--KL and Shiva--but they more than made up for it with a video presentation that they made with Ivan (I have the best brother in the entire world). Imagine my surprise when I saw Ivan setting up the LCD projector right in the middle of Gerry's. And then the faces of my friends, family (Nanay Tanda!)...ah, it was the greatest birthday gift ever. I'll never forget it. And I saw Groo on the video! I wanted to invite her and Jo and the rest of Block 3 (my old Biology block), but I wasn't sure it would be possible. I heard Jo and Groo are not on speaking terms. That's sad because the three of us were very close back in college. We had this notebook we used to write on (which nobody else in my Bio barkada knew about, sorry, hehe). Everytime I would write on it or read their entries, I felt more complete. Even though I no longer saw them that much (because I shifted courses already), it still felt like they were there the whole time. Somewhere out there I had these two wonderful friends who were sharing their lives with me. Haay, I miss Jo and Groo.

On the whole, the party was all good. I'm so thankful to have seen them all. It's the greatest feeling in the world, to see the people you love get together and talk and eat and drink and just have fun. Even though I wasn't able to sit down with each of them longer than I wanted to, just looking at them made me really happy. That's what life is all about. People. Connection. Friendships. Love. It's just...beautiful. Beautiful.

After Gerry's I went to Greenbelt with Kule peeps. That's where the crazy fun began. My lips are sealed.;)

---

Bohemian Rhapsody

Papa just texted. Look him up daw sa society page ng Philippine Star. My dad in the society page?! As in Oh No It's Johnny? Wahaha! I wonder why. Anyway, Mama's going to meet him and Cristy (Fermin) at Greenbelt for dinner later. Mama and Cristy Fermin? Weird. And my friend texted the other day, Cristy greeted my dad daw on tv *scratch head*. I know Cristy idolized Papa way back in college--Mama said she used to follow him around school--but why the sudden rekindling of old ties? Why would she be having dinner with him now?

When I think about it, the lives my parents are living now are so far-removed from the kind of life they had 20 years ago. When my mom was my age, she worked for one of the most prominent public relations company 'round these parts. She dealt with the big people. She was interviewing national artists, famous actors, ambassadors. She was writing for newspapers, directing plays, staging exhibits at Remedios Circle, living the ultimate bohemian life. Gary V was a nobody, and Lea Salonga was just a kid singing Tomorrow to my mom over the phone. I had my little finger dipped in that life, too. I remember when I was 3, I was hanging out at my mom's office. They were assessing the prospects of a budding actress, and they thought she needed to spice up her name to make it more catchy. My mom's boss approached me, gave me 20 pesos and asked if I could loan my name to the wannabe actress. So I did. That's how Lara Melissa de Leon got her screen name.

And now...everything's different. I doubt if FPJ or Nora Aunor or Laurice Guillen still remembers Mama. But her stories remain, and they're funny and quaint--not to mention a world away. Like pages from a forgotten era. Like the painting Johnny Delgado made for her, which now hangs above the computer--a silent tribute to my parents' colorful past.

I wonder what would have happened if she stuck to that kind of life. Where would I be?

Sometimes Mama worries about me because I'm so carefree. I don't give shit even if I have no money left, I don't save as much as I should, I always say that I will never get rich because I don't really care and I believe there's something greater than that. I push for things that are ideal, lofty and not at all practical. Truth, beauty, freedom, love (shoutout to Moulin Rouge).

I don't think she realizes that I got that trait from her--or the person that she was before, when she was still young and crazy. Today, Mama and I are as different as night and day. But you know what, I have a strange feeling that we're so much more alike than even I would like to admit.

I wish Mama of 20 years ago would come out a bit more. I wonder if dinner with Cristy Fermin could help her with that. Hmm, doubtful.

MGA BATANG BIBO

This is the first time in a week that I've been in front of my own computer. That's because I haven't been home the entire week.

I just spent several long days and sleepless nights in the house of a classmate, finishing our final paper. Not since my Kule and OSEJA days have I been this bent on work. And even those uber ngarag episodes in the past lasted three days at most. But one week? Over a paper that's worth 30 (pala. I thought it was just 18.) points of my grade? Crazy.

Talk about determination. Labis-labis ang fighting (or competitive?!) spirit ng group. Bibo to the max!

I thought it was never going to end. Blame it on Murphy's Law. It was a good thing we had sufficient food, Eat Bulaga, Mulawin and humor to keep us sane (or barely there, which was good enough).

My lack of sleep has also taken its toll on my apparently sensitive face. Coincidentally, my derma called two days ago, asking when I would be paying them a visit. Hmp, fine, rub it in a little more.

Oh, I did go home Friday night, and held a party Saturday (another story). Then I left again for QC Sunday morning. That was it. Dang, I didn't even get to eat the pastries Luanne gave me for my birthday; when I got back yesterday, they were all gone.:(

But one thing's for sure. That paper we labored over is the best paper our professor will ever get from any grad school freshie or group of freshies. Hindi na ako magpapaka-humble. It's a damn good paper.

To top it off, I had a lot of fun with my groupmates. They are amazing! I'm learning so much, and not just about land use planning. Beyond the work, I'm thankful that I have new friends. I miss them already.

Oh well, the semester is finally over. It was a pretty good five months. I'd write about the entire thing here, but I'm so tired. Maybe tomorrow.

SEARCHING MY SOUL

I'm 22 today. I never thought I would reach this far. Haha, not that I thought I would die young, it's just that, four or six years ago, I felt I knew everything I had to know about life. Sometimes I think I was wiser when I was 16 than I am now (okay I'm harping on the younger days, a sign of aging).

And all I needed to know, I learned from Ally McBeal.

People used to say that if I were to become a lawyer, I would be exactly like her. Well, I won't be a lawyer, but I guess I still have a bit of Ally in me. I used to watch that show with pen and paper in hand, jotting down quotes. Talk about educational tv (or me in my dorky stage). Trite as it may sound, those McBealisms, Cageisms and Fishisms were my salvation. Ingrained in my mind like the mysteries of the Rosary are to some people (not me), they inevitably guided me through my quirky, serious, funny, melodramatic travails. Ally gave life to the thoughts I was afraid to say and the emotions I felt but didn't convey. I was glad to affirm them through her, even just to myself.

I've never shown my Ally quotes to anyone; they were my secret weapon for survival. But now I think it's time to share my little treasure. I am, after all, 22. And, looking back at all those years of trying to grow up and half forcibly making my way through this labyrinth, I think it's about time to say thank you to that little, neurotic voice inside my head, which sounds a lot like a naive Chicago lawyer dancing to Vonda Shepard's song as she waits for the love of her life.


Says Ally:

The real truth is that I probably don't want to be too happy or content, 'cause then what? I actually like the quest, the search. That's the fun. The more lost you are, the more you look forward to. What do you know, I'm having a great time and I don't even know it.

---

I think I need to believe that it works...love, partnership, the idea that when people come together, they stay together. I have to take that with me to bed, even if I have to go to bed alone.

Whoever said that plenty-of-fish-in-the-sea thing was lying. Sometimes there's only one fish.

---

We're allowed to believe in something we know does not exist.

What's so great about the real world, anyway?

---

Who says it has to be a man's world?

(I never thought it was.)
---

This isn't pain I'm feeling. It's nostalgia.

---

Sometimes the things we regret the most are the things we never do.

Sometimes when you hold out for eveything, you walk away with nothing.

---

I like being a mess. It's who I am.

Who wants to be balanced? Balance is overrated.

---

Georgia: What makes your problems bigger than everyody else's?!
Ally: They're mine.

(O, sino pang lalaban dito?)
---

Not all of the best lines came from Ally, though. On this note, I'd like to say, I miss John Cage!

I'm as entitled to my happiness as you are to your misery. --Elaine to Ally

You cannot cure loneliness with a compact disc.--Richard Fish

The thing about hope is that people wish the opportunity never presents itself because then there's the possibility that that hope might be dashed. --John Cage

No second thoughts. When theere's two, there's three, then four, then you'll end up thinking forever. --Richard Fish

And last but not least:

If you play back your year and it doesn't bring you tears of either joy or sadness, consider the year wasted. --John Cage

Hmm, I've cried a lot this year, the past several years in fact. So I guess I'm having a pretty great life so far. :D

---

I'm not sixteen anymore. I've obviously covered far more ground than the tiny tv screen, and got to know people other than the fictional characters I met on primetime. I've encountered real people and real things that have made me who I am today. Ally will remain a voice in my head, just that.

But for all the things she said to me, I am deeply grateful. I believe her, just as she believes in all of us, and knows in her heart of hearts that one day, we will all have our happy endings.

And hey, at least I already know at 22 (or 16) what she discovered when she was 32. ;)

---

Searching My Soul

I've been down this road
Walking the line that's painted by pride
And I have made mistakes in my life
That I just can't hide

But I believe I am ready
For what love has bring
I've got myself together
Now I'm ready to sing

I've been searching my soul tonight
I know there's so much more to life
And I know can shine a light
To find my back home

THE QUESTION

When is right to be wrong?

Yep, it's the Lara question. I like to pop it from time to time. Some of my friends find it interesting. It's basically wordplay. It all boils down to definition. I say it's always a great opportunity to review our own perceptions of what is right and wrong, and what we mean by "when". It's a way to find out what people's limits are, and what they think as against what society thinks.

But this time, I'm not asking my friends. I'm not texting Rhea. I'm not walking down Faura St, contemplating about the lives of others.

I'm asking myself.

And hell, right now, I just don't know the answer.

BLOGGING BLUES

Nakakatawa ang mga tagboard ng blogs. Kasi halos lahat ng mga taong nagko-comment, pag ni-drag mo yung pointer sa name nila, agad mag-iilaw, senyales na may link sa sarili nilang blog. Ikaw naman, click ka para makapunta dun.

I guess it's because people, at one time or another, want to be known, to leave traces of themselves. We want people to go to our blogs and read our posts and make comments. We include our links in our email signatures and friendster accounts.

Pero minsan hindi ko alam kung alin ang mas maganda, yung may nakakabasa ng blog mo, o yung wala. A friend who's starting his own blog asked me recently kung ia-announce ba niya ang blog niya o magiging anonymous na lang siya. Sabi ko, depende sa kanya. At sa mga espesyal na siwasyon, depende rin sa content.

Gusto ba niyang malaman ng tao ang lahat ng saloobin niya? O sasabihin lang niya ang sa tingin niyang kakayaning basahin ng mga tao?

Para saan nga ba ang blog? Nag-blog ako kasi I wanted to write. I wanted to record my thoughts. Not really my daily activities, just thoughts. I wanted to be honest with myself. I also want my friends to know what I'm thinking.

I posted an entry about two days ago. It was short, honest. Too honest. I deleted it a few hours later. Napraning ako, feeling ko mababasa yung entry ng taong hindi dapat makabasa nun. E nakabalandra nga kasi sa email at friendster ko ang blog addy ko. Funny thing is, I chose to erase the entry, not my blog address. Tanginang vanity.

The problem with a lot of bloggers is that they become slaves to the people who read their blogs. Kagagaling ko lang sa blog ni lagsh; nag-quit na pala siya sa blogging. Gusto na niya i-separate ang blog persona niya sa tunay niyang pagkatao. Kasi hindi pala magkapareho.

Pucha, ayoko maging ganun. I want to write for myself.

Tatanggalin ko na siguro yung addy ko sa email and friendster.

Hmm, wait, isipin ko.

UNREQUITED

In the tradition of Amie's Unrequited Love Galore series (halatang suki ng blog ni Amie hehe), I found a song. I'm not familiar with the artist, but I heard it once on SCQ Reload (halata ring Hero groupie ako wehehe). I guess you could call it my own little Freudian slip of sorts:


Falling
(Keahiwai)

I wanna tell you baby
You're the one that Im thinking of
But your heart is still with her
And I think she's the one that you love
I only want you happy
Even if it's not with me
Maybe one day
You'll open up your eyes and you'll see

[Chorus]
That I think Im falling
Maybe I'm falling for you
Yeah I think Im falling
Baby Im falling for you

[Verse 2]
From the first time
You laid your lips on mine
It feels like the smile on my face
Will last till the end of time
But Im not so sure
That you're the one that I should pursue
My mind tells me no
But my heart only says that it's you

[Chorus]

Bridge:
Only time will tell
The mystery has yet to unfold
Who's gonna feel love's warmth
And the other left in the cold

[Chorus]
Yet still I'm falling
Maybe im falling for you
yeah I think Im falling
Baby I'm falling for you
That I think Im falling
Maybe I'm falling for you
yeah I think Im falling
Baby Im falling for you

Attraction is a dangerous thing. Very, very dangerous.

SIPA

For the first time in my life, I will admit that yes, I got drunk.

My classmates and I went out yesterday night, a sort of end-of-the-sem celeb. I had been looking forward to this and we had been bickering for nearly a month about where we were going. Makati is the safest place for me, but it was a lost cause because practically everyone lives in the QC area.

So we went to Congo Grill, somewhere in the dark corners of QC. A classmate and I had made a deal: whatever he drinks, I drink, and vice versa. It was a bet that I will not care to elaborate on, thank you very much.;) Suffice it to say that the game was on.

Now the thing about drinking is that you should never challenge anyone to a drinking match. I've always thought that drinking should be pleasant, easy, laid back. It's basically just a supplement for great conversation and a whole lot of fun on the dancefloor hehe.

But this time, it was different. My pride was at stake here, hahaha. We took turns choosing: He picked Strong Ice, we drank it straight. Fair enough. I ordered tequila and maybe another drink that I don't quite remember. Yummy. And then, he ordered Red Horse.

Pucha, nadali ako run. That did me in. I felt whoozy and pretty much out of sorts after that. When another classmate went to the bathroom, I joined her. Sure I could walk, after all the last thing I wanted to lose was my poise. In the bathroom, however, it was a different story altogether. I realized I lost it. Tangina, may amats ako. Matindi.

Worse, I did lose my poise sometime later. We were already outside, and I was still so dizzy I just had to squat on the pavement. Can you spell loser?! It was so funny because my classmates, who were all male, turned from guys into gentlemen in a split second, and moments later I was in the car, strapped in and ready to go. I don't even remember who fixed my seatbelt, got my jacket or held my hand. Daym.

Interestingly enough, I was pretty lucid on the way home. I even thought I was okay enough to get off in Makati and take a cab, but the classmate who was kind enough to give me a ride went on and took me to Paranaque, anyway. By the time I got home, I was sober. I woke up so early today, it's as if I never even drank.

But on the whole, last night was pretty damaging to my ego. To top it off, Eug is going to demand major payment.

Sigh. It's good to be 21 and old enough to drink, and bad to be 21 and old enough to drink.

Some things that hit me last night (other than the friggin Red Horse):

1) Red Horse sucks bigtime. I'd rather drink an entire bottle of Jose Cuervo.
2) You have to be sure you're in good hands. And I was.
3) Being drunk is still better than being sleepy. I could still count my bills and carry on a sensible conversation. When you're sleepy, you just...fall asleep.
4) Never ever take on a bet with a beer drinker if you don't like beer, or a shooter/cocktail person if that's not your thing. Hindi kayo talo.
5) Eat before you drink, even if you don't like sisig or kare-kare.

I know KL and Shiva are relishing this moment. =) However, I implore them not to make comments on the tagboard that will incriminate me in any way, especially concerning persons who should remain nameless at this point. They know what I mean, hehehe.

OFF THE CLIFF (to be or not to be part 2)

So I turned in my application and wasted the entire weekend before the demo. I was going back and forth my options, which were pretty easy to figure out: do it or not. But I was having such a hard time. Monday afternoon Ma'am Mateo texted me. She found out I applied and reminded me about the demo the next day. I didn't reply because I honestly didn't know what to do. Minutes later I got a phone call from DSS. Ate Julie 1 asked why I didn't reply to the text, and if I was indeed going to see them on Tuesday.

In every person's life there is at least one vulnerable moment. This was mine. I said yes. And from that moment on until 1 pm Tuesday, I was a total wreck.

I sometimes wonder why I freak out so bad when things like this happen. By things I mean those that I've wished for, my deepest desires. Grace said it's like jumping off a cliff; just look at the sunset and do it. For me it's like standing at the edge of a cliff, you don't know if you should jump or not.

The thing with dreams is that sometimes you just wish they don't come true, or don't have the potential for coming true. You'd rather keep them in that special place where everything is pure and golden. Reality bruises them and they die. I guess I was afraid to find out whether or not I could actually pull it off.

Shiva made sense, though, when she said she'd rather go through with it and find out if it works out. If it does, great. If it doesn't, then at least you know and you can move on, rather than waste your time on something that's probably not worth you time at all. There is always relief in knowing.

That thought gave me comfort, as I waited inside DSS the next day. It was a bummer right from the start; the two other applicants were extremely experienced, having taught for at least a decade. One was already a part-time teacher in UP who was basically going through the motions to become a full-time prof.

On the other hand, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. After all, I was there to live my dream, or at the very least to find out if I was meant for it. It was the worst and probably the best moment of my life thus far. I felt strangely calm.

And the teaching demo? Well, let's just say I've done better in my class reports.

I did a horrible job, honestly, and don't anyone try to convince me otherwise, because I was there, and I know. If I were an outsider watching it, I would have found it totally hilarious, embarrassing and endearing at the same time. This girl, young and naive, trying to be someone she's not prepared to be, looking both lost and reassured at the same time. Like that boy who sang Killing Me Softly in the movie/book About a Boy.

It was over as soon as it began. Sir Villegas didn't even ask any questions. Prof Sioco asked if I took up Dev Stud subjects. Ma'am Boncan asked if I was okay with teaching Philippine History. I stood there, trying to decipher their expressions. Not a clue. I thanked them, elaborately and from the bottom of my heart, and left.

What was a girl like me to do afterwards? Simple. I left the room, walked down the hall to the restroom, went inside a stall, slid down to the floor, and cried.

I cried because I was happy, depressed, content, frustrated, relieved, disappointed, thankful, grateful, jubilant. I cried because I had to empty out my soul, so I can fill it again.

It was complete surrender.

I had jumped off the cliff, just as Grace said. And in that moment I realized that, truly, there is nothing to lose. There is no shame, no blame. I know that my professors will still love me (hehe), and I will still believe in myself. I do not think that I am complete loser for messing up my demo. True, I wasn't happy with how I did it, but I was happy that I did it.

I wonder if they will call. But I'm not worried that they won't. Maybe I will be a teacher. Maybe I won't. Maybe I'll try again in the future and do better. Maybe I'll realize that it wasn't what I wanted after all. Whatever happens now, it will happen perfectly, and because it was meant for me.

It's all good.

TO BE OR NOT TO BE (part one)

Picture this: you are standing at the front of a room across the office of your old college department. Sitting before you are your former professors: one your favorite ever, the other your thesis adviser, another a part of that (in)famous group you like to call "The Triad." Other professors are there as well, about 10 in all. They are looking at you as you stand in front waiting for them to tell you when to begin. "O eto, galing sa atin 'to, produkto natin!" says one of them. They look at you and nod.

You are about to begin your teaching demo.

What do you do?? Well, if you ask me, I'd make a total fool of myself. Which is exactly what happened this afternoon.

But back to the beginning first. Yes, I applied for a teaching job at DSS. Grace, ever helpful and ever faithful, texted me about three weeks ago because she saw a poster somewhere in Diliman about DSS looking for an instructor. She knows it has always been my dream to teach, and it was for Area Studies, my old course. She told me to go for it, and that she'll get mad if I didn't.

I'm the kind of person who sometimes--okay, most of the time--needs to be pushed. Not coaxed, not encouraged, but pushed. It has always been difficult for me to go after my dreams (and I have several). They're just frustrations now, actually. It is an established fact that I am a coward when it comes to chasing my dream. I know what I want, but I just can't seem to make a go of it. Old little insecure me, I guess. So yes, I was a pushed a bit.

I am also an expert at procrastination. I can make up all the possible excuses for not doing what I'm supposed to do. I like to buy time, to push the moment away until it falls into oblivion.

I went to DSS a week after Grace texted. I wanted to know if there indeed was an opening. Walking down the 2nd floor of RH I saw Ma'am Mateo, our most loved professor in the entire world. I was about to to run up to her, knowing she would be delighted to see me. I mean, hey, this is my favorite professor, my mentor, my friend, the person I always put in the reference portion of my resume and never fail to greet happy birthday. Well, guess what. She didn't seem delighted at all. Instead of hugging me and asking how I was, as I was so convinced she would do, she just smiled and walked on. Hello?!? She hadn't seen me in ages! And she just smiled, quite absently. How sad is that?! I could feel my heart drop to the floor. I was shocked. Devastated.

And, of course, being me, I took it as a sign that maybe I wasn't meant to be there in the first place, and I definitely wasn't meant to be a teacher. I couldn't even go to DSS after that. I just sat on a bench, crushed. Sooo melodramatic. I whined to an old classmate over the phone. He promptly called up Ma'am Mateo, and learned that she had a problem at that time. A day later Ma'am Mateo texted him daw and told him to tell me "pasensya na."

I was guilty for feeling bad and being such a brat. But I couldn't help it. It took several people to convince me that, no, it wasn't a bad omen, that no, it didn't mean she doesn't know or care about me anymore, and that yes, I should still submit my application.

Fine. But I just couldn't let myself get away so easily. I succeeded in putting off another week, until finally, on the last day of application, I saved my resume and application letter in a diskette to be printed outisde and submitted, and asked my dad's driver to pick me up and take me to UPM and then to UPD (because I had a class afterwards). Driver arrives. I pull out the diskette. Voila, it's "broken." Naturally I call off the whole thing, tell the driver to go back to my dad, and climb up my brother's van, going directly to UPD. "Hindi naman sira a," brother tells me. "Eh, tanggal yung protective cover, yung nandun sa top part ng diskette," I defend. "Doesn't mean sira. Tsaka pwede mo namang i-save sa ibang diskette," he counters. "I know." Pause. "I am such a chicken." "Oo nga," he says.

When I got to Diliman, I tried to redeem myself and called up DSS to ask if it was okay to submit my application a day late. I was half hoping Ate Julie 1 would say no. She said yes, of course.

(to be continued)

SPLIT, BUT NOT REALLY

I just read my two previous posts. I realized they're as different as night and day. Hehe. Ah, the paradox of Lara. Always a vacillating persona. I'm a Libran, what do you expect?

I think, though, that the smiles far outnumber the tears. And even if they don't, it's still all good. As Shiva said, there's no other way but to be okay!

Besides, the day isn't so different from the night. True, there are some things you see only when there's light, and some things you notice only when it's dark. But they're all there, 24/7.

It's all a matter of timing, really.

HAPPY!

People have been asking me recently how I am, the usual kamusta and anong balita sa yo. For the longest time I thought that this was the hardest question to answer. It's a social question that people take for granted, I always used to say. Probably because I myself have found it very difficult to respond to. Every time I am asked that, I always stop to ponder, kamusta nga ba ako? And do they really want to know how I am? Then they'd better sit down with me for an hour or two so I can tell how I really am. We'll see if they can come up with other questions.

That was then. Now, when people text me or call me to say their hellos and I miss yous and kamusta ka na, isa lang ang sagot ko: eto, masaya. With an exclamation point. I never even skip a beat.

They find it incredulous. Me, no complaints, no misgivings, no musings about the struggle of life, no deep imaginings about the past and the future? Not possible.

Hey, I'm not perfect. Far from it. But I have learned a thing or two these past few months, lessons that changed me somewhat. It's only now that I realize just how much.

I learned that there is really no use stressing--about the lovelife you still don't have and the amazing guy who's either taken or gay, the fact that you can't drive, the perfect job that seems to elude you at the moment.

Life is fun. It doesn't take much to be happy. You can't and shouldn't worry about the things that you don't have. Because God gives you what you need when you need it.

I've learned that it's okay to lose the person you love, or to not be with the person you want to be with right now. You don't own anything or anyone and you have no right over any person, even if you like him, are drawn to him, or love him or her with all your heart.

Love isn't possession. Those who think it is do not truly love.

Love isn't exclusive. Anybody can love anyone, single, married, dead or alive, friend or stranger. I can love my dog just as much as I love my mother, and nobody has the right to question that love. Love is everywhere and can be found in anything and anyone.

Knowing this gives you freedom to love even more, without fear or inhibition. To love more fully each and every single day, because you know that there is a possibility, no matter how small, that one day it will all be gone. He might die, or leave you for another, or just move on. And you can't place blame on anyone. There is no one to blame.

I think I'm happy, truly happy, because I've learned fully the importance of acceptance, as well as letting go. And it's not just about love, lest people think I'm still hung up on my past failed relationship (please, that was the first dead weight I released, soo long ago).

It's about everything in life. Every little experience.

I'm thankful for my semi-bumhood. It was cathartic. Now I'm shedding my wrinkled skin, and I can breathe easier.

SHUTDOWN

There's an air of melancholy about me today. The past two days, actually. A heaviness has gripped me, from the top of my head down to my toes. I think I've turned catatonic.

Reality came in torrents yesterday, just like the sudden rain that fell in the afternoon. It flooded into my head, waves crashing into each other, numbing me.

For some bizarre reason, business of the past that I have definitely already gotten over suddenly threatened to return. Questions lingered and frustration quietly crept in, all veiled in gray. I could not react quickly to their siege, because I was hollow and pallid myself. We danced inside my head that sad, sad waltz, as I sat looking at the downpour.

Worse, questions about the future also wanted to be heard. I could not answer. Could not speak. Did not know.

So I turned it off, my mind.

Bittersweet Symphony
The Verve Pipe

'Cause it's a bittersweet symphony, this life
Try to make ends meet
You're a slave to money then you die
I'll take you down the only road I've ever been down
You know the one that takes you to the places where all the veins meet yeah,

No change, I can changeI can change, I can change
But I'm here in my mold
I am here in my mold
But I'm a million different people from one day to the next
I can't change my mold
No, no, no, no, no

Well I never pray
But tonight I'm on my knees yeah
I need to hear some sounds that recognize the pain in me, yeah
I let the melody shine, let it cleanse my mind, I feel free now
But the airways are clean and there's nobody singing to me now

No change, I can change
I can change, I can change
But I'm here in my mold
I am here in my mold

And I'm a million different people
from one day to the next
I can't change my mold
No, no, no, no, no
I can't change
I can't change

'Cause it's a bittersweet symphony, this life
Try to make ends meet
Try to find some money then you die
I'll take you down the only road I've ever been down
You know the one that takes you to the places where all the things meet yeah

You know I can change, I can change
I can change, I can change
But I'm here in my mold
I am here in my mold
And I'm a million different people
from one day to the next
I can't change my mold
No, no, no, no, no

I can't change my mold
no, no, no, no, no,
I can't change
Can't change my body,
no, no, no

I'll take you down the only road I've ever been down
I'll take you down the only road I've ever been down
Been down
Ever been down
Ever been down
Ever been down
Ever been down
Have you ever been down?
Have you've ever been down?

PERFECT

I watched all the catch-up episodes of the Amazing Race yesterday. It really is a great show. It is a perfect illustration of why most people choose life in mainstream society over that of a monk's or a Zen Bhuddist's.

The great thing about it is that it is set in the real world, unlike The Bachelor or For Love or Money or even Survivor. It isn't a caged-in existence. You go out and deal with real people, taxi drivers who won't accept dollars or airplanes that don't have free seats. Real situations, like getting touched in a crammed train or forgetting your bag where you kept your passports. Real choices, like choosing not to shave your head (because you're a model and a great head of hair is everything to you) or opting to take a bus over a cab. True, some situations are a bit amplified, but in that crazy race around the world, it's as real as real-life drama can possibly get.

We like that, drama. We like to feel as if we're reaching for something, to feel the highest high and the lowest low on our road to victory. We crave for the suspense, that moment when you choose one Detour over another, or overtaking another's car to get a clue.

We also like to feel like we've put a stamp on something, whether on our companions, our opponents, a place or ourselves. We want to leave marks. It's partly ego. Very few of us have overcome that aspect of existence. And you know what? We don't want to, because it somehow makes us feel good.

I don't know why. It's probably something that the human evolutionary process can explain. Some animals, in order to survive, stay still. Humans, on the other hand, stick out like a sore thumb. Even if we try to blend in, we don't. The cavemen never did blend in, and they always had to fight with lions and bears in order to survive. And they won, not only because of instinct, but because they were rational creatures, and could carve out cities from dust, build monuments in the sky, find a cure for TB. And it feels good. This is perhaps why the biocentric (as opposed to anthropocentric) perspective of ecology will never fully work. Humans are undeniably set apart from all others. We have what the rest don't have: free will. Consciousness. Choice. Reason. This is much a debacle as it is a gift. And as long as we are unable to go beyond that man-centered philosophy, we will continue to live the way we do.

More importantly, we actually like the struggle. We welcome the pain and the suffering, all the trials and roadblocks. Why? Because that is when we are able to assert our humanity. We push on and say hey, I am human and I will prevail. Even if I lose, I still win, because I defended my humanity against all those structures and standards (ironically, it was also humans that created those standards). You see it in their eyes, you see it in the way they look at each other, every time they reach a Pitstop, whether they were first or last.

We don't just stick out, we shine through. The human spirit shines through, most of all when it is pushed to the ground. It's like what Sam said in Lord of the Rings, "those were the stories that stay with you, that meant something, even if you're too small to understand." It is in this triumph of the spirit that redemption is justified.

It's in the tears, the smiles, the declarations of faith and loyalty in the hardest of times. It's when you find your one true love. It's when you are walking or doing something completely mundane, and you suddenly you feel a flash, a brightness that envelops you completely, and consumes you with the feeling that everything is one, and everything is absolutely PERFECT, so perfect you want to cry. That kind of communion happens only once in a while, especially for many of us who live in the city. That scarcity makes it all the more special. And us humans, well, we like things to be special. That's why we need churches and rituals and religion, even though we can arrive at perfection on our own.

We can't say if the lives most of us have today are any better than those lived in quiet isolation or in eternal oneness with nature and the universe. We all have our own ways of living. We can live like the monks and live perfectly. Or we can live as we do now, amid chaos and trial and error, and live perfectly as well.

MUTE

Why do we want to be saved?

People have a funny idea of redemption, a fantasy. It's like everything they've done all their lives is wrong, up until that moment, oh that blessed moment when everything is clear, when life suddenly sparkles, and they are saved. It is the harbinger of all the good and the beautiful, the beginning of the rest of our lives.

Why? What is the point of rescue? Are we all so miserable? Are we all so sad? Or do we create our own world of sadness, so we can anticipate joy or happiness--or our perception of it? What is happy, anyway? How do we know we are happy? How are we able to know our emotions in the first place?

Simple. We use words. We define. We describe. I am happy. I am angry. She is ugly.

But words are labels. Labels are attempts by humans to articulate the complex processes occuring in their brains, or soul, or whatever it is inside that we label as well. Yes, words are powerful, but they are limiting. There are only so many words in the dictionary. Simply put, the way most people see the world is determined by their vocabulary levels.

Life is but perception then, determined by our capacity to create and use words, induced by existing societal structures, imposed by millenia filled with previously articulated perceptions that reinforce present molds. Kitsch, as Kundera said. And so it is in this mirage, moving in unison to the beat of a colossal authority passed down through time, that we conceive of impending redemption, and excitedly await it in our pretense of blight and pain. Like waiting for love as we sit in a cafe sipping coffee, wondering if we will ever be "happy" despite all the tribulations in our life. Love--that sweet, sweet word--is our ultimate redemption.

But what if I tell you that everything is happiness, just as everything is sadness? That the filth under your shoe is as beautiful as Brad Pitt? That all our definitions can be washed away by the inherent fluidity of a universe, one that is unbridled by our flawed attempts at comprehension?

There is no happy, no sad, and therefore no redemption. We do not need to be saved, because there is nothing to be saved from. We simply are. We are skin, we are blood, we are emotion and thought. We are all of the world crammed together in, or rather flowing through one being, beyond all description. "Love" is simply a part of that pure truth that cradles us all, the truth that tells us that everything we could possibly crave for is already here, and has been here since the beginning of time. It is the truth that seeps in and saturates our entire being, melting all our perceptions--our illusions--and making us one with everything else.

But then we would have nothing to talk about. What a wordless world it would be. No contest, no questions, no whining. We would all be mute in our total understanding.

We would be like the monks in the mountains, never speaking, only knowing, in pure communion with absolutely everything, every photon in this boundless universe. Yes, even with you, as you sit in that cafe, sipping your coffee and wondering if you will ever be happy.

Para kay Amie

A friend wrote in her blog today about how much she misses kule. All the deadlines, harassment, pressures, infighting, paranoia, conflicts, sleepless nights. A non-Kule person reading this now would probably think, whaaat? She's crazy, who would miss that?!

We would. I would. At one point in each Kule alumnus/alumna's life, you can't help but look back. True, we moaned, whined, turned melodramatic, turned suicidal. But we went back to work the next day, and the next and the next. All of those crazy things were part of a life that we loved so unconditionally. It was an eternally natural high. We wouldn't trade it for anything.

It was a period that was so...rich, in all its pain and glory. Which I guess makes it painful to say goodbye to, especially if goodbyes are done violently, reluctantly, like some people I know. I personally left Kule with disappoinment and panghihinayang, but at least I had three previous years full of memories that were beautiful and that ultimately overshadowed the dark side. Others, mostly the newbies, didn't really have that. For some them, it was all bitterness and anger.

That is what saddens me most. Even now, I feel like I am partly to blame for their greatest disappointment. The unknown terrfifies me. What if? What if it had turned out differently? What if I had done more? We'll never know. At this point, nothing I do could ever retrieve what that last tumultuous year in Kule had taken away from them, all the things they had yet to discover and enjoy. All that we, the slightly older ones, wanted them so much to experience. All that Kule promised them. The burden will always be there, even though we know that all of these happened simply because they were meant to happen.

There's certainly no more turning back, and all that's left are memories. As sorry as I am, I only hope that what we went through--together and individually--in that final, fateful year was enough to help them discover themselves. Because what makes Kule truly memorable is when you leave, continue to live your life, and realize one day that what you are at present has been shaped by all those ONs, meetings, presswork, conversations, sleepless nights, debates, laughter and walking down Faura late at night. Even if those moments sum up only one grain in the sands of your lifetime. I hope with all my heart that that realization can make up for the what-could-have-been and the what-never-was.

-----

Amie, it doesn't have to end with simply remembering. If anything, that is where it begins. Pick up where you left off. Kule is not just the newsprint with the black and red ink. Kule is all of us--in motion, in transit.:) PADAYON.

CALIFORNIA MAKI, IT IS NOT

Big dinner tonight at home. Relatives who came here last week from the US for the grand fiesta in Gen. MacArthur (E. Samar) are leaving tomorrow, so my mom threw them a farewell dinner.

I like these people. They are so warm and they just love us to pieces, hehe. Okay they love my mom (everybody does), but the affection kind of overflows, and that's just dandy for me. These relatives are the kind that won't give you a hard time, and don't act all cocky and smug just because they live in another country now. They really are who they are and have fun being themselves and being with family. I grew up with a lot of my mom's relatives hanging around and it has always been like this. Food, music, dancing, lots of alcohol and laughter. Even if nobody has a single peso in their pockets, they always manage to have fun. It's a sweet, sweet life.

In the din of loud 60s music, with loads of crab, prawns and chicken on our plates, my grandmother's cousin invited me to go visit them in California. Said it would be really nice, their house is half-empty anyway, I would get to see Disneyland, visit relatives, maybe find a job and shuttle back and forth the two countries, etc. Uhh, well...hmm.

US isn't really on the top of my list of places to visit. Europe, yes (think Italy, Greece). The rest of Asia, definitely (I've been dying to go on an Asian tour). But the States? Not my favorite country. I don't really want to go into a detailed discussion on politics or economic exploitation or neo-imperialism, and I really don't want to draw any hasty generalizations, so let's just say I have my views. And it is such that my present social consciousness forbids me to further expand my American experience by actually settling there for a long period of time. No offense to my relatives and even my oldest friend who's living there (and, from what it seems, is enjoying her life there for all its ups and downs, which I think is fantastic), but it's just not for me.

Then again, it's just a vacation, right? What harm could it do?

So I'm thinking, maybe next summer. Just for a couple of weeks. What I really want to do is see Adeline, hehe. That would be such a thrill. I mean, it's been 11 years!!! Plus, I'd like to go the the Department of City and Regional Planning at UC Berkeley. Find out how the course is tackled in that part of the world, get insights, maybe sit in a class (hah, I wish). Sir Peter Hall, the author of a book I read for class recently, is a faculty there. It would be super cool to actually meet him.:)

-----

I just fininshed browsing through UC Berkeley's website. I looked at the admission requirements of international applicants to the graduate program. It required different levels of academic and professional accomplishment for different countries. Practically the entire world was listed there. Australia, Canada, Latin America, East European States, France, Ireland, Germany, Former Soviet Republics, India, Japan, Korea, Singapore, China, Hongkong, Tawian, Thailand...but wait, no Philippines?!

Think Nike

I've come up with a to-do list. Needless to say, I haven't done anything (thanks to KL for pointing that out). I've added more, and the list is getting longer each day:

1. Take driving lessons.
2. Go to the gym.
3. Buy a bike (and go biking, of course).
4. Play badminton regularly (no, I'm not trying to be in. I just want to lose fat.).
5. Have a decent set of shelves made for my room so I can cram more of my stuff in. More importantly...
6. ...Clean my room!
7. Write a book.
8. Write to Adeline.
9. Undergo diamond peeling.
10. Buy new jeans.

And it goes on.

There are a lot of things I want to do, and not just what's on the list above. I mean with my life in general. But I never get around to doing most of them. It's only recently that I realized why.

I am afraid. I am a person who has been scared most of her life. Scared of failure perhaps.

When I was a child I never cared much about accomplishment or goals, not even academic excellence. I was never grade-conscious. I didn't care about report cards. And my parents didn't force me to care, either. Lucky for me I have good genes and didn't have to work too hard. I found school easy, and I got pretty good grades whether or not I studied.

But as I grew up, there were things that pushed me outside my zone of comfort. Like public speaking or debates. Or even simple voluntary recitation in class, which to my horror was actually necessary in high school and college. It was in these areas that I would sometimes fumble. I was afraid of asserting myself, of having to place myself in a position where I had to defend my stand to everyone. Afraid of letting others know what was in my mind, and risk dissent or conflict. That was scary. I was afraid to go forward and take the leap. I felt that if anything went wrong, I would never have the chance to correct it.

This is, of course, with the exception of a few things. One is writing. Writing for me before was very, very personal. I would never even let anyone else read my poems. But I've changed a lot now in that respect. I have Kule to thank for that. Getting published every two weeks kind of forces you to cast away your fear.

Second, love. I am not afraid to love. If there is one thing I could throw myself into, that's probably it. True, I've been burned, but that's okay. Love is far greater than I or anyone will ever be, and it's no longer a matter of fear; it's an issue of faith. I have faith.

The rest....aaugh.

Come to think of it, I'd probably be a good candidate for that show Starting Over (ETC), the one where a bunch of women live together in one house and fix their pathetic lives. My goal: Overcome my fears and go for it! Be confident! Seize the day! Live like there was no tomorrow! And don't rely on others to fulfill your responsibilities, do it on your own!

Yeah, yeah, yeah. The women in that show are lucky. They get to live in this controlled environment, do "assignments", get help from "life coaches", fulfill their goals and "graduate". That is if they don't get booted out first (happened once to a woman named Kimberlyn. Nobody really liked her from the start. She was..unpleasant to be with). The coaches insist that's it's really a microcosm of life. Trials, drama, friends, er, catfights? And, just as you discover tools for survival in the Starting Over House, so you do the same in the real world.

Na-ah. Nothing ever prepares you for real life. Whatever it is that you do, part of it is all...suntok sa buwan. Doesn't matter if you plan it or not. Planning is just a way to kill time, anyway, until the universe does what it wants to do with you (and yes, I am studying to be a professional planner).

But as my former professor and mentor always used to say, shoot for the moon. If you can't reach it, at least you'll land on one of the stars. Might as well, right? I wonder which one on my list of moons will I shoot for first. Or maybe I should stop wondering and Just Do It, right?

unhooked and in pieces

I should probably be getting my life together. It's been more than a month since my last official job. Although I don't think one can actually call it a job. It's more like an...experience, to put it mildly. Hmm, it's probably more like a slow burn meets action/drama/comedy movie playing in slow motion.

I guess that's part of the problem. This entire experience. This entire year that just passed. I'm not sure if it's too much, too soon, but I guess I just got tired. We all did, in that kind of work. I was so into it at first. Did my job with passion, with so much of my faith and trust. I trusted the people I worked with, trusted my boss and believed in the advocacies we were fighting for.

But, as with everything in politics, nothing is ever what it seems.

Now I didn't come into this blind or stupid. I knew there was something--many things--wrong in that cursed world. But I thought I could do something about it. Me, a 20-year-old fresh graduate. Such lofty ideas in my head. No, I wasn't blind. I was too ambitious for my own good.

At one point I learned that there are many ways of looking at our situation. Sir Alain once told us that, coming from the discipline of behavioral science, he sees it more as a case study. He used a scholarly eye, disinterested, detached. It was effective to an extent. It was a defense mechanism for when you didn't want to or couldn't move too much or couldn't do anything about the shit you find yourself in.

But that tactic, though useful, could only get you so far. And then you start to give in or give up.

I asked Wilford (an officemate and a good friend) once, last November when we were gearing up for the campaign, "Kakayanin ba ng sikmura mo?" He answered yes. I couldn't say the same for myself at that time. I had put in about five months' work into the office already when I asked that question, and yet I still asked.

Alas, kinaya ko. I promised myself, and made Wilford promise that by the end of the campaign, dapat buo pa ang pagkatao namin. That was all I wanted. I wanted to be whole. I wanted to come out of it still alive inside.

I learned a lot. Things I can't really express, can't tell anyone. I guess that's partly why I've been so quiet, why at one point I just abandoned blogging, why lately I've found it so hard to write or talk about things and thoughts and feelings. Even now I don't know if anyone can completely understand what I'm trying to say.

There are at least three reasons why I made it through. Wilford, Julie and Lloyd are those three reasons. We were the "youth team", thrown into the pit right out of college, so-called student leaders, and now strategists, spinners, executioners. We stood together, and fell as one. They will never probably never know the depth of my gratitude, but I will never forget them for the rest of my life. Ten, twenty years from now, we will look at each other and remember that one summer that shook us from our daydreams and changed the course of our lives.

Wilford is back in law school, away from politics and happier than ever. "Ayoko na dun, laglagan dun," he always says. Lloyd is a bum, a satisfied one, apparently. I reckon he will be a mayor someday (I'm sure he got great tips from the past campaign). Julie is in law school, too. Haven't heard from her in a while, but I'm sure she's fine. My brother who's her classmate said someone gave her a bunch of flowers in class recently. Ah, classic Julie.

We all got burned that summer, in varying degrees. We all put ourselves on the line, because we believed in something, or wanted to believe. More than that, we trusted the people who took us there. And we got burned. But we're better now because of it. Reputations stepped on, prejudices thrown our way, ridicule, disbelief, disappointment...these weren't the problems we faced, not really, even though a lot of people outside felt it was their obligation to weigh us down with all of that, like it's their right. But to us, those issues were ridiculously trivial. We knew better. It wasn't that.

The thing is, one cannot stand properly on shaky ground. Especially so if it is made out of lies and deceit. The soil cracks; the person gets disillusioned eventually. And it's not your average growing up my-professor-flunked-me-without-valid-reason-what-happened-to-due-process-and-academic-freedom kind of disillusion. Not even the I-thought-Communism-stood-for-something-great-why-did-they-allow-the-purge type. No, it was worse. I was disillusioned, every single fucking day, starting June 2003. It wasn't an electric shock treatment, not like having a gun to your head. It was more of a slow death. Torture. One minute you're gasping for air, the next it seems like you're being given a way out, a time to scream for help, a chance to walk out and leave. You want to. You think so. Or maybe not. Something pulls you back. Death becomes strangely attractive. You're caught in a spiral; you want out just as much as you want to hold on for dear life, even if it means holding on to death. You're hooked.

That was our battle. It was a battle of wits, of self-control. A war for inner peace in a time of tempest.

It's been more than a month. I've pulled the hooks out of my guts. But I can't walk straight just yet. There's a numbing pain that won't go away. I got out alive, I suppose, but as Wilford asked me shortly after his "role" in that summer experience was clearly defined by our immediate superior, "Pa'no pa ko magiging buo after this? Tangina."

Podium finish!

Two things made my weekend. First, UP won its latest UAAP game yesterday, its fourth consecutive win. YAY! That is amazing. Amazing. I've never been so excited. I never really paid attention to the UAAP, except for the cheerdance competition. But the UP Maroons have finally caught my attention. I hope their winning streak continues. I'll be there in the finals. UP Fight!

Second, Kimi Raikkonen won the Belgian Grand Prix. It's his first time to get the top spot this season. Finally! I have to say it's been a crappy year for McLaren, considering they did so well last year. Kimi has been to the podium only twice this year--the first time in Malaysia, and only in second place. Lots of difficulties. But they got it together this time. Kimi was smashing. He really deserved that win. Aww, my baby looked so cute during the post-race interview, heehee. Okay, before anyone dismisses my fondness for F1 racing as a superficial cute-guy-obsession, I have to make it clear that I do love F1, with or without the hotties. Kimi just makes it sweeter. Okay, Fernando Alonso (Renault), too, sometimes. But I'm forever loyal to the Ice Man.

There are four more GPs to go before the season ends. Michael Schumacher (and Ferrari) will obviously end up champion, but it'll still be exciting. I haven't seen as much F1 as I wanted this year, so I hope I get to watch the remaining races. My biggest wish is to be able to watch it live. There'll be one in Shanghai near the end of Septmeber and in Japan in October. Gosh, I wish someone would send me there. That would be the great birthday gift. That and a laptop.:)

From www.formula1.com:

The Ice Man returneth
Raikkonen halts the Ferrari train with superb win

Michael Schumacher clinches the 2004 title at Spa, but can't beat Kimi Raikkonen to the chequered flag after a highly eventful race.

Belgium has missed Formula One racing for the last two years – and Formula One racing has missed Belgium, too. An action packed Grand Prix showed just how thrilling racing at the Spa-Francorchamps circuit circuit can be.

Raikkonen emerged as victor after a classic Spa race, packed with action from start to finish. As is often the case in Belgium, the race featured a very high rate of attrition, with just 10 runners succeeding in making it to the chequered flag. A first-lap accident, initiated by Mark Webber’s Jaguar, took out no fewer than four runners: Webber himself, Sato, Bruni and Pantano.

Jarno Trulli, who had qualified in P1, dominated the early part of the race – with Michael Schumacher dropping back down the order after a hesitant start. Eventual winner Raikkonen was also involved in a first corner collision with Felipe Massa’s Sauber.

“The car felt really funny and I almost came in because I thought that something had broken at the rear,” he explained at the post-race press conference.

And Rubens Barrichello, who finished the race in third place, also had a coming-together with Webber, resulting in his being called back to the pits to have his rear wing replaced – rejoining in last place, and the safety car being deployed.

The race was packed with further incident, Alonso spinning out of the lead with what appeared to be a mechanical failure dropping oil onto his rear tyres on lap 11. Raikkonen, Montoya, Schumacher and then Pizzonia then took the lead in succession during the first series of pit stops – with Raikkonen emerging in P1 after Pizzonia made his first stop. On Lap 29 Jenson Button crashed out in spectacular style with an apparent rear tyre blow out at over 300 kph, which caused him to crash heavily with the luckless Zsolt Baumgartner – who he was lapping at the time. Fortunately both drivers were unhurt, while the safety car was deployed again for debris to be removed from the track.

Trulli was involved in a collision with Montoya after the Colombian made an overtaking attempt at the Bus Stop chicane, the Renault driver being dropped right down the order as a result. Pizzonia managed to overtake the pair of them as a result, only to later retire from P3 with suspected transmission failure.

And then David Coulthard, who had been battling his way back from last place after an early pitstop, ran into the back of Christian Klien and was forced to limp his way back to the pits minus his front wing and with bits of bodywork stuck to his rear wing - the safety car being deployed yet again - Klien survived to an eventual sixth place finish.

And special mention should be made of Ricardo Zonta, who in his second race drive for the Toyota team fought his way from final place at the start all the way up to fourth – from where he retired with mechanical failure after the final restart of the afternoon.

During all this Raikkonen kept up his dominance at the sharp end, although he lost his 10 second margin over Michael Schumacher after the final safety car period. He drove a calm, controlled race to a well-deserved victory. Schumacher came in second which, with Rubens Barrichello third, gave the German ace the points he needed to take his record-extending seventh Drivers’ Championship.

Barrichello’s third place strengthens his second-place in the Championship. Massa and Fisichella came in fourth and fifth, just reward for Sauber for strong performances all weekend. Coulthard recovered for seventh and Olivier Panis took the final championship point for Toyota.

labo

so they were right. you do have to be be careful what you wish for.

i just realized i was wrong when i said i liked being "slender". because a long time ago, i actually wished i weighed heavier. i remember, people around me were so busy trying to get thin (bernadette gerona, hindi ka mataba!). i, on the other hand, wanted to get fat ("buti ka pa nga may laman e, ako puro buto. sana tumaba na ako.").

well, i got what i wanted. now what?

sigh. the way of the world.

ohmygodiamgettingfat!

I am getting fat.

It's not just that I look fleshier, but I feel it. I feel fat, heavy, big. When I sit down I feel like my butt is all over the place.

I blame it all on the past elections. Haha. Really, I started gaining weight last summer, during the campaign. I just ate. And ate some more. We were holed up in this secret headquarters (our Batcave). We couldn't tell anybody where we were or what we were doing. Nobody knew, except the 30 people in that compact office. We were among ourselves, and apart from work, there was really nothing else but the tv, gossip, text twister and a supermarket around the corner. That's where we went when we wanted to escape the sheer insanity of the campaign and the monotony of a few uneventful afternoons. Food was basically our pastime (smoking, too, but I don't do that). I survived on chips, chocolate, Coke, Yellow Cab, Pizza Hut, 'Di Mark's, Kitaro (mmm, California maki), mais and squidballs, ensaymada, Dunkin Donuts and the ocassional beer, tequila and vodka ice.

And then there were the sorties. Ohmygod. Chowking's siopao (bola-bola) was a staple during the motorcades (it was difficult to break away from the convoy so we had little choice). The advance team kept on throwing siopao and Coke onto the moving van. What else were we to do but eat them? And when got so sick of the sioapao, we would survey the roads we were on and run to the nearest Andok's, buy lechon manok (two whole chickens, chopped of course), run back to the van (we were experts at running and traffic management because of all the motorcades), and eat. With bare hands. Gravy and all.

It was hilarious. And probably uncouth. But it got us through the day. And then, after each sortie, we would be soo exhausted the only thing we wanted to do was sit down, rest, and eat a good meal to relax our spirits and celebrate another successful day.

This went on for the entire summer. And now, months later, I still can't get out of the habit.

Okay, I don't run out of the car and buy Andok's lechon anymore. But I eat. I eat, and I eat a lot. It actually surprises people. It surpises me. I never thought my stomach had the capacity to store so much. And, dear God, I think of food. Something I never really did before.

I guess it's also because I stay home a lot now. I sleep a lot, stay in bed most of the time, munch on whatever food I find. I watch tv, which means a whole lot of cooking programs on the Lifestyle Network (love Molto Mario and Unwrapped).

Eat. Sleep. Go to the kitchen. Eat. Sleep.

The result? I no longer have a flat tummy (I didn't have "abs" but it was pretty darn flat). My hips are soo friggin wide I almost can't fit into my jeans. People say it's okay, at least I've developed "shape". Easy for them to say. I've always been slender, and I liked it that way goddamit.

Aaarrrggh! I'm so paranoid now, I feel like my tummy's getting more bloated everyday. Not that the paranoia changes anything. At midnight I still get the urge to go open the fridge, and my tita looks at me in amazement everytime I ask her if there's anything else to eat, 20 minutes after we've had lunch or dinner.

Shit, somebody help me!

fixed, for now

my blog is half fixed. but i lost the comments option. i really can't do anything about it now. i wrote to blogger already. anyway, it's not as if people will go on commenting about what i wrote. and besides. i'm so f*cking stressed over what my blog looks like, i never get around to writing. daym.


i am so not a techie. it never really bothered me before, but now it just sucks. as i used to say, don't jump if you don't know how to swim. sigh. but then, how else are you going to learn?


by the way, now ko lang nalaman galing pala sa ragnarok yung image sa blogskin ko. ang cutie pala ng characters dun, hehe.

power to pinoy rock!

MR. CLAY
Bamboo

Red sun dawn
Guns are drawn
Skull and bones
Beast of war
Father help me stop this

Rush of blood to the head
Look at you I see red
Start this game
I'll end it
By this hate that you help the world create
I've been sent, now repentI'm the war that comes to you
The plague that follows through

All by myself, I know that I stand here alone
All your lies they feed me
I'm stronger now, stronger now than I was before
There's no way you can hurt me
Move me
Stop me

Talk too much mutherfucker hush
You had your chance to change things
Move in the direction of right
Choose to set the bar
But then you had to pick a fight
So what's daddy done for you lately?
Brought you the throne
Like stealing candy from a baby
Line your pockets in mucho dinero
Paid in full with the blood of the people
So now you got the fires rockin', blood and hate
Then you got the people talking legacy
You will never be forgotten
Your place in history
A black mark in time, a black mark in time


Peace and flowers
Will kill the superpower
The fall of Rome is near
Can't you hear
It's been written, it's been said
The revelations I had read
The signs are here
Those days are over
Walk away from the line
For now is the time

Just got home from UP. It's been raining all day, and I'm glad that I have a good pair of sneakers, which I know now to be an essential part of a commuter's life.

Yep, me, commuter. I have been commuting from Parañaque to Diliman and back for nearly two months now. This is the first time I have actually commuted alone, using public vehicles other than a shuttle (which is basically like a schoolbus; you see the same people everyday) or a cab. Until now, I have never taken a bus alone to anywhere farther than Makati. I hate buses. I don't like going up the stairs of MRT or LRT. I hate EDSA (except the strip between Guadalupe and Buendia where the Yamaha billboard is). I hate commuting.

But here I am, going up and down the hills of Parañaque, crossing Pasig River, passing over the plains of Quezon City on my way to the forests of UP. My gawd, it's like a world away! And I have to do it practically everyday. I'm not a brat. I'm not maarte. I'm just not used to it. One of the reasons why I loved studying in UP Manila was because it was convenient; I pratically grew up in the area and it seemed like my second home, my turf. Moreover, I wasn't raised with the capacity to sit beside total strangers coming and going in dizzying succession, as in a bus. Also, I was taught never to lose consciousness--deliberately or not--anywhere outside of our home, so basically it's torture now whenever I go home from school and stare out the window for two hours like a zombie, fighting off sleep.

There's one consolation, though, to all this misery: I am thoroughly enjoying grad school. In fact, I'm having a blast.

I like my classes. I like my course. We apply the same approach as in my undergrad course so it isn't difficult to comprehend. Plus I like the fact that it's results-oriented. And I like the idea of reading, reading, reading. Hmm, okay, let's just say that I'm not complaining--yet. Oh, and my classmates rock! Don't forget that I always seem suplada to those who don't know me well, but these people are not sacred of me at all. Broke through the glass in an instant. Impressive. My classes are a mish-mash of a people from totally different fields--architects, engineers, sociologists, government workers, even a congressman--and when you put all these in one room, you're gonna have a pretty wacky three hours.

Haha, reading that last paragraph, I sound like such a geek. Oh well, I don't know, I'm just really having fun. Basta, gusto ko siya! I don't care what other people think. People were dubious about my undergrad course, too (soc sci major in area studies, para sa mga hindi nakakaalam), because they didn't know what it was or what it was for. But I loved it. Anyhow, I'm determined to make good of my time here as well. CS, no, US na ito, babeh! Hehe, as if.

At any rate, I guess school more than makes up for all that damned commuting.

Besides, this weekend I'm gonna start taking driving lessons, so it's all good.