PARA SA PAGBIBIGAY NG WALANG HUMPAY NA LIGAYA

I'm listening to Ultraelectromagmeticjam. Kinikilig ako!

I was about 13 or 14 when I first heard Eraserheads. I admit, it competed in my head with Backstreet Boys and *cough* The Moffatts. But the Eheads proved to be more enduring than any manufactured foreign band or a group of gangly kids with instruments. No one compared to the Eraserheads, in their ubiquity or in their musical genius. No one in his right mind would dare to think he could surpass their level.

Which is why Ultraelectromagneticjam is a highly ambitious undertaking. How would you do justice to an Eheads song? Would you retain the original flavor or make it your own? Would you want to do better than they did? But it's an exciting task as well, and I presume the artists who performed their songs in the album did it in a heartbeat, with honor and perhaps nervousness (which, unfortunately, were evident in some songs).

It was off to a good start with 6 cycle mind's cover of Alapaap. Tama ang timpla. But Paolo's version of Magasin is a TOTAL flop. It sounds so...calculated, unlike the Eheads' spontaneous, light treatment of the song. Paolo sounds so boring. No humor, no irony. What was he thinking? Did he even listen to the Eheads? What were they thinking getting him, anyway? I used to like Paolo, until I had enough of people ripping off other artists' songs. But even for a guy who does that for a living--like Paolo does--well, maybe it's time to change careers.

Len was right, Imago's Spoliarium is splendid. Raw and honest. They knew what they were singing about.

Barbie was alright in Overdrive, but it was obvious that she knew she was doing a cover of Eheads and wanted it to be perfect. And I don't really like South Border's take on With a Smile. Too South Border-ish. Or maybe it's because I love the song and just want it to stay the way it was.

Sugarfree rocks! Sobra. The band to reckon with. So mature and so childish. Galing nila sa Tikman.

Kitchie was too sexy and pa-cute for Ligaya. Not good, because it just doesn't fit the song. Sana ibalik niya yung dati niyang normal na boses. I like Isha's Torpedo, though. Where did this girl come from, anyway?

Orange and Lemons sounds like Orange and Lemons on Huwag Kang Matakot. Hmm, bagay din naman. But I was most surprised at Francis M's treatment of Superproxy. I actually like it, and I hate Francis M, so that says a lot. Pare Ko is more angry than frustrated when Sponge Cola sings it. But that's Sponge Cola, right? Ganda rin ng MYMP version ng Huwag Mo Nang Itanong. I don't like Cueshe's Hard to Believe, sorry. I'm starting to think those fundamentalists' opinions about them have some basis.

Astig yung Alcohol ng Radioactive Sago Project. Their confidence and style is amazingly sexy. Damn.

We've already heard Brownman Revival's version of Maling Akala, so we'll leave it at that. And the reviews were right, Huling El Bimbo was made for Rico J. Puno.

The tribute ends with all of them coming together to sing Para sa Masa. It was brilliant. So heartfelt and genuine; you know all the people singing the song are there because Eheads were a part of their lives. And that is what makes the album so great. It's full of nostalgia, respect and love. It was dedicated to those four guys who made our world more livable when we wanted to hate it, who understood our frustrations and poked fun at daily miseries. And when we sing with them we agree that, hey, everything's gonna be okay.

I love the album, kahit may sablay. It was a risk coming out with a tribute like this in the first place, so hats off to all who participated. The album brings back memories of when we were looking for ourselves and finding something to latch our unspoken desires and hopes onto. A decade after I hesitantly opened my eyes to the Eheads (and consequently Parokya and all good things Pinoy) and became conscious of the possibility and beauty of expression (my then timid soul was previously unaware of this), here I am again, enlivened and hopeful. Indeed, we have come full circle. After all the changes, journeys, and maturity of mind and spirit, we manage to find ourselves at the beginning, right where it all began. We see things differently now, and yet there's a familiar sensation, close to home. Fuzzy feeling (Where's the sunset? Moment ito, shet).

No one will sound exactly like the Eheads. No one would really want to anyway, for fear and respect. But any decent musical artist today will always, always acknowledge Eheads in their own albums. Ultraelectromagneticjam is, by far, the biggest acknowledgement we could give to the greatest contemporary Pinoy band that ever was.


Para sa Masa
Eraserheads

ito ay para sa mga masa
sa lahat ng nawalan ng pag-asa
sa lahat ng aming nakasama
sa lahat ng hirap at pagdurusa
naaalala niyo pa ba
binigyan namin kayo ng ligaya
ilang taon na rin ang lumipas
mga kulay ng mundo ay kumupas
marami na rin ang mga pagbabago
di maiiwasan pagkat tayo ay tao lamang
mapapatawad mo ba ako
kung hindi ko sinunod ang gusto mo
la la la la la la la la. . . . . .
pinilit kong iahon ka
ngunit ayaw mo namang sumama
ito ay para sa mga masa
sa lahat ng binaon ng sistema
sa lahat ng aming nakabarkada
sa lahat ng mahilig sa labsong at drama
sa lahat ng di marunong bumasa
sa lahat ng may problema sa skwela
sa lahat ng fans ni sharon cuneta
sa lahat ng may problema sa pera
sa lahat ng masa
huwag mong hayaang ganito
bigyan ang sarili ng respeto

EH

[] Hooray for me, I submitted my thesis outline yesterday! After a month of thinking, reading, writing and basically sitting on it, I just threw my hands up and gave the damned thing. I hope the admin contacts me soon to let me know who my adviser is. I can't believe I waited a month to pass an outline that I did in one sitting, a day before I passed it. I thought I could work out my entire proposal within the period, but alas, it was a futile attempt. Have to settle for the basics. I try to find consolation in the fact that it's only been a month, and that maybe I'm not as sluggish as I thought I was.

[] Christmas is nearly here. I hate the fact that I can't buy proper gifts for my friends. Sometimes the expression of thoughtfulness really is dictated by one's pockets. Hay. Oh well. That's life, have no right to complain, I'm alive and almost healthy, yadayada.

[] Why is my writing so lifeless?

[] I watched the first two episodes of Etheria and am slightly confused about the family tree of those blasted fairies. Somehow the aunts and uncles look younger than their nieces and nephews. Turns out Asval is one generation ahead of Cassiopea, who I previously thought was the oldest diwata existing in Encantadia. But hey, Dennis Trillo is hot, so it's all good.

In all, kudos to those talented people at GMA. They make a lot of people happy. Yes, even if it is just fantasy. Or maybe because it is fantasy. I will not go into a socio-political commentary about escapism vis-a-vis the real ills of the Filipino society. We all know that. I just wanna say they make good tv, and I congratulate them for making something that's actually worth looking forward to, amid all the Ok Fine Whatever and Kook Ka Lang nonsense.

[] I'm looking forward to seeing mahbebe tonight!

[] I miss Eljay and Che and Rhea and Amie and Marky Mark and Charvoix and Tincup and all the pretty people of Kule. People, hello.

[] Lately, I've been having little blasts from the past. It scares me a little. It's not the actual memories, it's the thinking about them that makes me a bit iffy. I mean, why? What's the point? I thought I was over my habit of dwelling. Maybe I need to be hit in the head.

[] My back hurts from typing. Baboosh.

Meenu's married! I was browsing through friendster in between thesis writing (had to say that so I wouldn't feel guilty). I saw her wedding pictures, and she looks so so SOOOOOOOO beautiful and regal. And they look so happy. I just can't believe she's married. Meenu! My seatmate in second year high school who taught me how to spell my name in Indian. We used to go to her house all the time and watch Kama Sutra (not all the time ;p) when her parents were out. We've lost touch over the years, but she'll always be Meenu. And now, well.

The other day I ran into another high school friend, lower batch. What caught me offguard (and caused me to stare for a second) was that she's pregnant. Eight months to be exact. I forgot to ask, but it might be a girl, because she was definitely "blooming." She, too, seemed pretty happy.

Wow. So many people my age, in my network (not necessarily first degree, but certainly closer than Kevin Bacon), are taking amazing these leaps and bounds. And I'm not just talking marriage and babies. The point is, I think they seem to know what they're doing. They are completely conscious of their choices. There seems to be no limit, and the only way is up and forward, whether it's work or family or both and more. When I was 16 I wondered where I would be in five or ten years. Back then we could only imagine, sometimes we didn't even know what to imagine. But in the haze of the unknown we always thought positive--our grad songs were testament to that. Seven years later here we are. Some of know where they're headed, some don't. But we push on, anyway. Making decisions and staying happy. I have to say I'm a little envious at their ability to be so...adult. Hehe. I mean that in a good way.:D

I read somewhere that there's no such thing as stagnant. Either you're gaining or you're slipping. Whatever the speed (mine is s-l-o-w right now haha), I'd like to believe we're all gaining.

WEEKEND HIGHS/LOWS

I went to the NU Rock Awards for the first time last Friday. I was excited because after all these years of wanting to go, I was finally there. I almost went last year, but there was supposed to be a typhoon. It rained last Friday, too, but I had alcohol and tissue with me--don't ask why--so I was fine. I waited for my tita--supplier of tickets--at the World Trade Center. Then I waited some more for Faw and Groo--the one who actually reminded me that the Awards were coming up when she asked for free tickete. And then waited some more for Ajeet, one of my few male rocker friends and NU DJ wannabe. And then waited a bit more for Mark, who came all the way from the other end of Buendia (wow layo, hehe).

With the cast complete and the free tickets all gone (apologies to other friends, I am at the mercy of my tita. And you didn't ask.), we were all set to rock it out (jeez that was a corny line).

And did we? Hmm, let's see. It started ot alright. Bamboo performed with a bunch of soldiers. Cueshe was booed. There were more than a few dirty fingers in the air when Hale was nominated for an award. All the guys, including my boyfriend, probably had neck injuries trying to catch a glimpse of each sexy girl that walked up the stage. Phoemela Baranda looks sorta attractive naman pala in person. I ran into Shiva and other Scholasticans, which was cool. Luna has red hair now. I kept getting stepped on, and my jacket at one point got kicked around the floor. It was better off than Ajeet's handkerchief, which got all muddy (or was that some other icky substance?)

It was an educational night, for lack of a better term. I can't say it was a blast. Ajeet was the only one shouting woohoo to Orange and Lemons. Okay, okay, so O&L is mainstream and Hale is a "papogi" band. But what were the people there? Are they "pure" rockers? What is that, anyway? Most of the crowd was skater boy-type, to say the least. Just because you like Greyhoundz doesn't make you better than other people. Haha bitter. Nah, di naman masyado. To each his own, right?

There was a guy who emerged out of nowhere (probably just finished guzzling beer at the Red Horse kiosk) and asked me if I was just passing by (the spot where I had been obviously standing still). I said no. And then he said "ako kasi diyan e", and waited for me to take a step back. Why, does the six-square-inch floor space have your name on it in bright red paint?! This is a rock concert, not a movie theater. We don't get Sureseats. If you're gonna get snotty and high school-ish about it, why not ask your friends why they didn't "save" your spot? Push your way to the front for all I care, but don't be self-righteous. I muttered some retort, but stopped myelf before I got entangled in a brawl and shipped out by Security.

Anyway, that was that. We went home tired and slightly more philosophical. Rock does that sometimes.

The next day I watched the Exorcism of Emily Rose. That scene with her lying on the floor like she had just been given the Cruciatius Curse (tama ba spelling?)...scary pare. Buti na lang I went to Mass that afternoon haha.

And yesterday was spent in front of the TV while everyone else was, well, not home. Like they were exacting revenge on me.

Today...today I go back to the reality of my thesis. And thinking about the upcoming SURP Christmas Potluck Shebang (that's what I'll call it from now on).

By the way, I'm typing his entry on my brand new Toshiba Satellite laptop, which I got yesterday evening. What did I say? Ultracool gift to compensate. Nyahahahaha. Thank you, parents!

WITS' END

Universe, I implore you to be nice to me.

It has been nearly a month since I enrolled for what I fervently, fiercely hope to be my last term in graduate school. I took ony one subject: Thesis. This is it.

Man, oh man. To all those who are planning to earn a second or third degree, be forewarned. It's not as much of a breeze as we think it is. Well, for the first two or three semesters, sure. It's a snap, especially when you enjoy what you're doing (and I did). But come thesis time, you realize that it's not like your undergrad research when you can churn out your final draft overnight in the middle of a painful breakup and other social and academic glitches. No sir. This is serious. You do it like it matters--to the academe and the greater community. You think about it like it's going to make an impact on society, positive or negative. And you WANT it to make some impact, in some small, practical, significant way, otherwise it would be utterly pointless to even go through with it. You feel the pressure of wanting to make a concrete contribution to a cause, and not let the hardbound pages gather dust in the back of the library. You don't want it to be a waste of 200 sheets of paper and two bottles of ink.

I feel so strongly about this friggin thesis I think my head is going to pop. I've never been so serious--and helplessly IN DESPAIR--until now. I've never had my personal shortcomings so vividly brandished in front of me (by myself of course. So insecure, damn.). I'm so frustrated, afraid, lost, and yet strangely confident about what I want to happen. My hormones are going berserk.

I think I've picked an unbelievably difficult topic: Housing. It's very interesting, but extremely complicated. I've bumped into strangers in the library who, upon seeing the piles of books on my table, commented that they, too have been working on the same general topic, and have been at it for at least two years, with the end far from sight.

And it now seems to be true after all, that the more you read, the less you know. I have more questions and deadends now than answers.

Maybe I'm overdoing it. Overdoing it? But all I've done is think! And worry! I haven't even a proposal to show off! I spent this first month basically in confusion. What topic? What focus? How do I it? How do I prove my theory/wild guess? What's my conceptual framework (what direction do my stupid arrows go?!?!)? I made a promise to get my MA before I turn 24, how long will this goddam thesis take? And how much of my nonexistent money will I have to spend?

On a positive note, I have been inching my way towards a clearer concept of what really want to do. I've met very helpful people (in government, wow! Harhar) who were very encouraging (sabay sabi ng hija, mahirap ang gagawin mo. Wah. Thanks na rin.). I've got Mark to set my deadlines for me (none of which I've met so far hehe), and other friends that serve as my sounding board.

I will get through this. In the end, we all do (aka As if we have a choice). But the agony...argh.

I hope Santa gives me an ultracool present to compensate.

LADIDA

Yuck I hate it that all my recent posts sound depressing. Especially when I had the best surprise on the night of my birthday (haha kunek!). Yep, I got my suprise! It more than made up for all the crap that morning (which, as predicted, did not go well). Yay! Hehe. And I had a pretty good weekend.

But now I'm not so fine. Haha! Hay. Oh well, it's not me if I'm not emotionally confused and torn, let's just put it that way.:D

THE PITS

Why do not feel alright? I AM happy. But sometimes during the day I am suddenly jolted by the realization that something's missing. Yes yes yes yes. I'm griping about my life. Forgive me. I don't have money for a psychiatrist. I honestly think I'm borderline.

I think this mini-anxiety attack is triggered by the fact that I am presently jobless. Coupled with that is the fact that I recently demanded from my mom to the highest level that I could (meaning we had a fight) that I be given independence. Actually, I'm just thinking she understood it as independence. My exact words were "I want to be given the chance to define my life."

After that argument (which had to happen on my birthday, yey), I sensed that she backed off a bit. Or maybe just ignored me out of spite. Either way, I felt a certain aloneness. I asked for it, and I got it. It felt quite strange to say the least.

Anyway, since by all normal accounts a job is a very concrete measure of independence, I'm quite scared as well, seeing that I obviously have none. And if I should consider a job my ultimate yardstick (good thing I don't, not completely), this "defining life" shit is certainly backfiring, because truthfully, I'm STILL not sure what kind of specific job I would like to have.

Back to square one.

Very scary. Extremely painful.

I texted Rhea last night and asked her plainly, "masaya ka ba?" I wanted to find out, among other things, if stability is cause for happiness. It is not. I knew that already, I guess.

Haaaaaaay. I think one problem that is my fault completely, is that I am not looking as hard as I probably should. I'm not the type who walks down Ayala Avenue with copies of my CV and an umbrella, like my friends used to do (and bless them because they have jobs now). Either I'm too confident or I'm too afraid of rejection. I think it's the latter. Things had come too easy in the past, and now that they are not, I feel helpless.

I don't want to go back to my old life. How many times have I said this? This time I mean it. No more of the familiar, comfortable life I used to have, where lunches were signed for and I got what I wanted because I had my ID and I knew people (damn I sound like friggin Celine). I knew what power meant, but not from reading 48 Laws. I just knew. I saw both its beauty and brutality. And I've been running away since.

But at the same time I've been holding on. This I've come to realize, and I have to be honest with myself, otherwise I can't truly move on. Len was right when she said "wala ka naman ata talaga problema" at the time that I was telling them I wanted to leave but couldn't (during the first few weeks that I returned to my old job--which I've now left again, for the second time). Because if I wanted to leave then, I would have done so in an instant. But it felt so familiar, so natural. Instinctive. It was the best and the worst kind of fallback for a person like me.

But enough now. Enough. Truly, enough.

Maybe I do need this. I need to be scared. I need to not be on top of the game. I need to feel lost. I need to feel powerless.

NOT GOOD

I'm really not looking forward to my birthday this year. For some reason, I'm fearing it might be a blah birthday. For one, I couldn't really decide what kind of party to throw. Eat out? Where? When? Before or after my birthday (the first choice has gone pffft, as it is exactly two days before my day and nothing's happened yet)? Or, get drunk and crazy at home? Again, when? Do I invite pockets of friends or throw them all together? Who will be in charge of the mic when someone wants to vidoeke? Yes, I say it's a verb.

I think I've settled on the second option, maybe. Anyway, I admit I've gotten kinda tired of going crazy in bars. I miss "getting drunk" indoors and talking about life and love and jobs, or the lack thereof. Sheesh that sounds super boring haha. I guess I just miss the simple company of friends. The problem with that is logistics. But since my friends love me as they are supposed to,:) they wouldn't mind the excursion to my house, right? Riiight. We're actually all a bunch of brats, so I could understand.

Haaaay. I really don't know what to do. Guys, help me, will ya? Since you've been asking bout it anyways, please gimme some ideas. Pleasepleaseplease. And hello clubbers and militant elitists, PLEASE reply asap!!! Where are you? Where are all of you? Are we getting old and is life becoming more and more unfair that we never get to see one another anymore? Save for those impromptu coffee meetings that rarely even happen, I haven't seen any of you in lightyears.:( Same goes to KL, Shivs et al. Good thing KL called and promised to treat me to lunch on Wednesday. YAY! SURPers, I'm fixing the sked. If my original plan doesn't push through, I'll have something for you after the 30th, which means next sem? Waaah. FANGS, I'll just go with the flow. I haven't told you guys yet, but I'll be happy to treat you on Kash's proposed November dinner date. Hmm, do you kiddos even read my blog? Hehe.

I'm on the brink of not throwing a bday bash at all. Ang gulo! And Mark would be at work the entire week, which doesn't help at all. But that's okay babe. Hehe. And to top it off, I'll be turning 23. That's two years before 25 (duh). Egad!!! I'm deathly afraid that I might suddenly make like Celine Lopez and prattle on about inane pre/post-quarter life, pseudo-existentialist angst triggered by a confusion over LV bags and Gucci leather and driven by a wannabe Upper East Side mentality. Speaking of Celine, I read another one of her articles. Lord help me. I thank heavens that whatever I do in life, whatever stupidity I find myself committing, I will never be quite like her. Or so Ajeet bash my head now with the heel of a Jimmy Choo shoe. Ha. Ha. Ha.

Waaaaah!

Haaay. Someone surprise me please. And surprise me good. I badly need it.

MURPHY, STAY AWAY!

Just when I was about to download the most important document I needed for my report on Friday--which of course I'm cramming for--the computer crashes, in this computer shop with bad keyboards and good 80s music (my only consolation).

Drat. My eyes are about to fall off their sockets from scanning through dozens of webpages and PDF files, and now this. By the way, I hate PDF files. Other people love it coz it looks so cool and easy to read, but no. Not if you have a slow computer that opens the file one page per minute. I like the good old HTML stuff where I can just block, copy and paste. Low-tech me can't even copy the stupid pdf files for crying out loud! Or maybe it's me who's stupid haha.

Whatever. I'm tired. Tired tired tired. I've spent this entire semester walking (exag!) throughout the entire metropolis (Pque-Pateros-QC-Makati-Paranaque in one afternoon, beat that), commuting, braving yucky, muddy streets in the rain and paying 50 pesos for internet. Because as luck would have it, I don't know how to drive, don't have money, my rubber shoes have (probably) holes in them already that I end up with wet socks and wet feet all the time, and my internet connection at home is busted for reasons that even my superior-IQ brother doesn't or is too lazy to find out.

Gaaaaaaark. Why is this not a good sem? For some reason, I just want it to END. Not that I don't like studying already, I do, and I like what I'm learning at this moment. It's just that, well, it seems that the past few months have been a lot of...work, and not the usual fun I used to experience. Weird, but compared to what I'm doing now, I actually miss spending an entire week at a classmate's house without an ounce of sleep just to finish a project, like I used to do last year. Weird. This sem just feels, er, sabog.

Am I losing passion? Goodness, I hope not. I love this life, this particular kind of life. I like the direction that I'm taking. I know where I want to go. Right?

For chrissakes I made a life plan, complete with a timeline (it was an class assignment!), long-term and short-term goals and, oddly enough, no contingency plan or alternatives (a big no-no for planners). I guess I just felt very confident about where I wanted to go. My professor will probably shove it in my face if he learns I'm not following it.

Okay he probably won't. But still.

And it's not that I'm unhappy or uninspired. I couldn't be happier or more inspired, in fact, and yet...goodness gracious WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!?

Maybe it's because I'm resisting. Maybe I should just let it all go, let it all slide. Time, ater all, is a "problem that solves itself." But it might solve itself after I get my grades, and that's not good. Haaaaay.

It shall all come to pass. It shall all come to pass.

Go on Lara, keep telling yourself that.

Well, naturally.

The Goddess of Roses and Love. You are a hopeless
romantic. Always optimistic and loving, you
have many friends and you are exceptionally
trustworthy. You are an innocent beauty.

Which gorgeous goddess are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

HAY NAKU

Sitting here at Redfox, I am struck by a sudden realization: that I might not be living a meaningful existence. At least not as I thought it to be. Something tells me I should stop looking at friendster profiles. I overdo it sometimes. Makes me question myself. Especially when I see that a lot of my friends are teachers.

Hay. Yun lang.

SOUNDTRACK

Has this ever happened to you? You're doing something extremely mundane, like watching the sky from inside the car, and you suddenly hear a song playing in your head. Like background music. And you smile a bit and thnk, perfect song.

Music is important. I have very poor memory, but I am amazed at the capacity of my brain to store songs. I think it's the same for most people. Songs have very good recall. I was taught that singing a church song is very powerful, because it is a prayer said twice over. A single song has a far greater ability to evoke emotion and thought than an entire book. A lot like poetry. Powerful, songs are. As Nick Hornby asked, "Do I listen to pop music because I'm sad, or am I sad because I listen to pop music?"

Milan Kundera said (can't get enough, he says a lot of things), and I paraphrase, our lives are like one giant composition. They are filled with different notes, melodies that give rhythm and definition to the persons that we are and will become. He does not mean this in exactly the same way I did with the background music bit. But it does make a lot of sense, and has parallel logic.

Each person has a story or, more aptly, a music sheet. He points this out in the context of two people meeting and finding each other, to give meaning to each other and share one life. It is at this point that their separate stories merge to form one great, harmonious song. And then you have the cliche, "making beautiful music together."

Anyway, if songs (the real ones, as in those you hear on the radio) are part of that story, as they most usually, inextricably are, then they are like the second voice to our life's melody. Physical manifestations of our metaphysical musical journey. Actual juxtaposed with the spiritual. That's why you have a song dedicated to your lover, friend, mother, a moment, an episode, a dream.

So whether you're staring out the window or crying your heart out over a lost love, music will inevitably be there, sometimes soft and soothing, other times loud, punctuating each heavy beat your heart makes. Calm, explosive, reassuring, confusing, enlightening, angry, sad, melancholy, peaceful. It is threaded into everying that you are, have been and could be. The soundtrack of your life. And when you look back at the moments grand and minute, you also hear your songs. We Will Rock You (Queen) - Grade 4 soccer kickball championship. Step By Step (New Kids on the Block) - Grade 5, barkada heyday. On Eagle's Wings, Light of a Million Mornings - Grade school graduation practice. Buloy and almost everything else by Parokya, Eheads and Alanis - 2nd Year (one of the best years of my high school life, first time I learned how to curse "properly" nyahaha). Angel Wings (class grad song), Ikaw Lamang, Ikaw Lang ang Mamahalin - 4th year (another of the best years of high school). Can't Fight This Feeling - When I thought I was falling in love for the first time (corny tsong!). Worlds Collide (Plumb), Waiting in Vain, Breakdown - First heartbreak.

The Terminal. 500 Miles. Honey. Gemini. Kahit pa. With a Smile. Engelbert Humperdink. Puff the Magic Dragon. Frank Sinatra. Michael Jacskon. Westlife. The Corrs. Freestyle. Heck, even F4.

We are all bursting in song. Music in motion.

Question, though. Is it wrong to be jealous of someone else's music?

We sometimes feel a sense of ownership over songs, don't we? True, we don't have a monopoly over music, but Ikaw Lamang will always be the property of 4H, St. Scho Batch '99. Sometimes When We Touch will be Mama's and Papa's forever.

MY song. YOUR song. OUR song.

Different songs mean different things to different people. And yet when you come across someone who gives meaning to the same song, albeit in another, perhaps completely different way, you stop and say, hey waitaminute. Especially if it means a lot to you, and you realize that it might also mean a lot, maybe so much more, to another.

AND YOU DON'T WANT IT TO. Because the song tells a story, not yours, but HIS or HER or THEIR story, deep and wonderful and courageous. And because you know so well the meaning of music and the beauty of a story, this particular story, you know just how perfect it is. And you're jealous (of a song!), just as we're sometimes jealous of someone's past, as if it's a phantom that will come out of the shadows to get us.

Thus, your selfish heart craves to pluck out and tear away the thread that makes up that song, to erase it from the tapestry of a person's life.

But you can't erase it. In fact, you don't want to, because the tapestry is so utterly beautiful. That single thread contributes to the whole, and you don't want to destroy the whole. You respect it and honor it. It is sacred, and you will do anything to preserve its beauty.

--

On my 16th birthday, Divina, one of my closest high school friends, gave me an compilation tape. An actual soundtrack.:) That was long, long ago, but I treasure that tape and keep it to this day. It reminds me of everything that I was back then, as a kid growing up and searching for herself, finding comfort and strength in the love and faith of a friend.

It has a song that I love. A part of my story.

And others' as well, for different and equally perfect reasons. And that's okay. I think.


Power of Two
Indigo Girls

Now the parking lot is empty
Everyone's gone someplace
I pick you up and in the trunk I've packed
A cooler and a 2-day suitcase
Cause there's a place we like to drive
Way out in the country
Five miles out of the city limit we're singing
And your hand's upon my knee

So we're okay
We're fine
Baby I'm here to stop your crying
Chase all the ghosts from your head
I'm stronger than the monster beneath your bed
Smarter than the tricks played on your heart
We'll look at them together then we'll take them apart
Adding up the total of a love that's true
Multiply life by the power of two

You know the things that I am afraid of
I’m not afraid to tell
And if we ever leave a legacy
It’s that we loved each other well
Cause I’ve seen the shadows of so many people
Trying on the treasures of youth
But a road that fancy and fast
Ends in a fatal crash
And I’m glad we got off
To tell you the truth

Cause we're okay
We're fine
Baby I'm here to stop your crying
Chase all the ghosts from your head
I'm stronger than the monster beneath your bed
Smarter than the tricks played on your heart
We'll look at them together then we'll take them apart
Adding up the total of a love that's true
Multiply life by the power of two

All the shiny little trinkets of temptation
(make new friends)
Something new instead of something old
(but keep the old)
All you gotta do is scratch beneath the surface
(but remember what is gold)
And it’s fools gold
(what is gold)
Fools gold
(what is gold)
Fools gold

Now we're talking about a difficult thing
And your eyes are getting wet
I took us for better and I took us for worse
Don’t you ever forget it
Now the steel bars between me and a promise
Suddenly bend with ease
The closer I'm bound in love to you
The closer I am to free

---

This isn't pain I'm feeling, it's nostalgia. -Ally McBeal

:(

Overheard from a kid in Pateros who saw me give my ID to the guard at Pateros Elementary School: Gusto ko rin mag-aral diyan. Kaya lang wala akong pera.

I told her, di naman kelangan maraming pera para mag-aral sa UP.

But I really wasn't sure. UP charges five times less than a private school, and that's one heck of a deal, but I did have to spend here and there. Nevertheless, I wanted to reassure her that money should be the least of a ten-year-old child's problems, especially when it concerns her education. My heart was again slowly breaking, as it had hours earlier when I was reviewing the data requirements I would need for our plan, and reading the Pateros CLUP. The CLUP told very little on education. Just broad strokes, motherhood statements, but not even budget allocation for school facilities or teacher training or stuff that really mattered. I consider this an atrocity.

I suddenly didn't know to do. It's like a wall, this system that we have to face. To even push for a single program that would make students think feels like moving heaven and earth. And listening to that child made me want to get into a fight with a teacher or principal or her parents, everyone and everything, her entire world that pushes her into believeing that she can't get to where she wants to be.

Reality bites me every single day, but it doesn't hurt as much as when it comes from a child.

A MONTH, A NIGHT

On a lighter, happier note, I had a great time last weekend!:)

Last Friday after class, Mark, Len, Lorenzo, Ricky and I went to Bahay ng Alumni to watch Hale in concert. Finally! I had passed up too many chances to watch the-band-that-helped-me-fall-in-love-again (Hah! Betcha didn't know that.), plus I haven't been to a concert in such a looooong time, that I can't let this pass me by again.

We decided to eat at Chocolate Kiss before going to the concert. It was just above the concert venue so it seemed convenient. Not so, as the place was packed to the brim that night. So many had turned up at Chokiss, but was it to eat or to lean over the balcony railing and watch?

Hmm, time wasted waiting for a table: 20 minutes. No matter. UP bands were still playing anyway. We got a table several songs later. Good enough. Still got time to eat before Hale pops out at 11 pm, according to Len. All good.

Caesar's Salad, Chicken a la Kiev, iced tea and my bebe beside me. Ah, this is the life. Mark experimented with some beef dish. Len contented herself with ordering cake and running out the restaurant every now and then to check the bands. Lorenzo ordered more than he can handle,:D and Ricky slowly but surely attacked his plate. I was famished; I ate with relish.

About an hour later, we walked out and quietly peered at the band playing in the hall below. We still haven't bought our tickets. Oh, but where are the ticket-sellers? I pretended to ask myself. We decided they were nowhere to be found, so we just stood there, free-riders all. Yes, bad indeed.

When the guard finally realized we were opportunists (ouch), he shooed us away, and we ended up on the other side Bahay ng Alumni, peering over the balcony, watching bands play, free-riders still. Nyehehe. Very bad.

Half expecting karma to roll by on a giant wheel and flatten our shameless souls out, I watched the concert. Watched and complained (tsk3, the nerve. Very bad indeed.). I don't really like it when concert organizers intersperse bands on the main lineup with other, hmm, minor bands. No offense to fledgling musical groups. I mean, I strongly support OPM, and cheer on whenever I see promising local artists. I go by my principle of buying only original albums - IF they're by local groups (otherwise, kudos to piracy! hehe). Okay lang din yung front acts, for their exposure, at okay na rin yung pasingit-singit minsan sa gitna ng concert, pero OA talaga pag marami na. OA. Lalo na pag walang kwenta. True, there is an abundance of good, independent, undiscovered bands and singers out there, but the one playing in front was not one of them. Salindiwa was pure torture, man. Torture. Useless band. I'm sorry. I'm sure glad I didn't pay.

Kainis din yung mga hosts. I felt sorry for them in a way. It was their job to talk, who could blame them if nobody wanted to listen?

Anyway, we stood there, sat sometimes, wanted to sleep through the other performances, couldn't, settled on the railings, and waited.

Past 11. The guard was walking towards us again, and I could feel a battle of wills emerging. Mark was all set to kill the guy--in his world where he is an assasin, of course.

Minutes to Hale. The guard approached us. I knew it. As much as I wanted to be bad at that very moment, I knew I had no right, so we went down like he told us to. In my mind I was digging for a perfect justification as to why we were where we were. Pero wala talagang lusot. Left and right, organizers were shoving us in the direction far, far away from Hale.

I was ready to concede, admit to our sin of not looking for the ticket sellers. But no. No no no no. This was not gonna happen. I didn't stay out this late to stare at the walls of the makeshift backstage just because nobody sold or asked for our tickets. I stood there, feeling a tantrum about to explode.

Ah, there it was.

"I cannot believe this! This is not happening. I managed to watch an F4 concert (and everybody knows the hell I went through for that) tapos Hale hindi ko mapapanood?!?!" Yep, like a bratty child I was wailing.

While I was behaving like a lunatic I caught a glimpse of a guy on the floor, silently fixing his stuff, drinking bottled water. Looks familar. Looks strangely, famously familiar. My vision suddenly expanded and I noticed every little detail around me, realizing at the same instant that I was, true enough, in the BACKSTAGE. Dingdingding. I whirled around and dragged Len to the wall. As I did, I caught Mark and Ricky snickering, and I knew my life was over.

BecauseShetLensiChampyungleadsingernyungnasalikodnatin!NakauposasahigIcannotbelievethisnarinigkayayungmgapinagsasasabinatin?omigosh!

I clung to her arm for dear life and stomped--as quietly as I could do that--over to Mark and Ricky. Such utter humiliation. And nobody even told us! Nobody pinched us or slapped or hissed at us to keep our voices and embarrassment level down. Horrible.

Down to the size of an ant, I scampered to the stairs and sat stoically. What was I to do? I wanted to get Champ's autograph, what was I to say? Hey Champ you're great I just pulled my most shameful brat act two feet away from you and hey can I get your signature? And by the way you write beautiful songs. Aaauuughh.

He was standing already, guitar in hand, leaning on the wall. Dammit!

12.02 am. Still on the stairs. I showed bebe the time, and we quietly acknowledged the one month that flew by. Mwah baby!;p But I'll die if I spend our first month listening to mere echoes of a concert.

Shrieks. Thunderous clapping. They were out of our sight and on the stage.

WAAAAAAHH!!!

Mark stood up and strode to spot where the band stood moments before they went up. He talked to an organizer, went back and led us all through the crowd. I can't remember what he told the organizer. All I know was that minutes later I found myself just a few meters from the stage, watching Hale live for the first time, in my baby's arms, all my worries gone.

Whew.

"Ok bang pang-1st monthsary?" bebe asked. Smile. Yup baby, 'tis good enough.:D


Postscript. Weird, I'm both slightly ashamed and proud of what we've done, but overall I'm just really happy. Hehe. Happy one month baby!

JUST ARGH

This is NOT a good day.

I wake up early because I have to go to Pateros to get data for our workshop. I want to get there and finish everything before lunch so I can have the afternoon off. Mark texts just as he's about to leave for Manila, and I go take a shower, trying to figure out how to get to Pateros without a car.

Do I leave immediately after getting dressed? No. After breakfast? No. After late riser Ivan has woken up? No. Instead, I sit on the couch waiting AGAIN for Mama to finish getting dressed and fixing her stuff and doing Just. Everything. Imaginable. For the life of me I don't know why I still wait for her even though I know I'd be sitting for an hour or more doing nothing, just watching time slip away. Maybe this is really all my fault, coz I could have up and walked out the house and left on my own. But I didn't. Sometimes I do hate it that I'm such a lazy brat. AAAARRGH.

So we leave the house at 10 am. It takes us 15-20 minutes to get to the Caltex station near Bicutan where my mom drops me off. I hurry out the car and slam the door with all my frustration, and wait fora cab. And then I realize I just might be wasting my time here. By my calculations, IF I'm lucky to get a cab in the next ten minutes, I would arrive in Pateros just after 11. And since in government lunchtime unofficially begins at 11:30, I would have less than 40 minutes to go to five offices, get the data and interview the staff before they lock up their offices and leave me hanging until 1:30, which in government is the unofficial end of lunchbreak. AAAARGGHH.

So with all bitterness, regret and mounting fury I walk away from Caltex and walk to SM, where I decide to spend the next two and a half hours still waiting. Pateros will be dealt with after lunch.

On my way I man from a truck whistles at me. Whistles and honks his horn. ARRRGGGHHH. F*ck you asshole! Why does the male population insist on retaining their cavemen instincts? Haven't they evolved yet?!?! I'm wearing jeans and shirt and covered up in a jacket, for crying out loud. Women are beautiful creatures, yes, but even if I'm dressed in the tiniest skirt with the appeal of a sex goddess, that does not justify such retarded behavior. Do they expect us to feel good about being gawked at?!?! It was all I could do to keep myself from fishing out a coin and throwing it at the guy's face.

Three steps later, I catch the whiff and wake of a garbage truck that just finished collecting garbage meters from where I was. I look down and see bits of wet trash and maggots crawling near my feet. AAAAARRRGGGHHHHH.

Move on Lara. Just maggots. I walk up the overpass that crosses the entry to the Skyway, instead of just dodging passing cars (because I'm trying to be a good citizen). But the feeling of goodwill that would have compensated for the crap of the last 30 minutes quickly disappear as soon as I hear a PLOP and a SPLASH. I look down and see my umbrella, seconds ago nestled in my bag, now lying in a puddle at the overpass landing. I attempt to pick it up, but it's just too goddam...WET. Worse, my pants are wet from the impact. I can just imagine all the germs seeping into my legs. I know, praning na kung praning, but I hate the feeling of unidentified wet. I look at the umbrella for three seconds, and decide to leave it lying. Defeated, I walk away, willing myself not to feel sentimental about a stupid umbrella that isn't even mine. But see, it was just only recently that I made it a habit to bring an umbrella, and I can't help but feel sad. AAAARRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH.

So with all my morning spirit practically gone I trudge to SM, shell out money and sink into a flimsy chair at Netopia. I slam on the keys hoping they absorb my anger. Two hours left until my next hurdle. Unless this computer store suddenly blows up and flings my remains all over the third floor. Now that will definitely spoil my mood.

COULDN'T HAVE SAID IT BETTER MYSELF

Power to the People
by Conrado de Quiros (There's the Rub, PDI)

A FRIEND told me she had a conversation with a Malaysian recently, and her Malaysian friend teased her: "Why don't you just scrap elections altogether since they don't seem to work for you anyway?" My friend laughed at the joke, but was quite bothered by it. It did seem, she told me, that we were becoming something of a joke for our leaders having short shelf lives.

This reminded me again of a story an American friend, a journalist, told me some years back. This really happened, she assured me. On a trip to the hinterlands of Cambodia, she asked an old woman what she thought of a coming election. The old woman answered: "What can I say? We're having another one again. That means the last one didn't work."

I personally am not bothered by comments about this country making a joke out of its institutions. Or about us having developed a bloodlust we mount king-hunts, or queen-hunts, at every turn. At the very least, who the hell cares what others think of us? At the end of the day we, and not they, will have to live with the consequences of our actions, or the lack of them. Indeed, who the hell cares about the opinion of people who would do well to discover People Power themselves and oust leaders who rule with an iron fist and stay for as long as they want? And send opponents to jail on trumped-up charges, as Mahathir did to Anwar Ibrahim.
But it's more than that. What's weird about the perception, local or foreign, about this country making a travesty of its elections or its institutions is that the campaign to oust President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo is in fact a staunch defense of this country's institutions, chief of them its elections. The campaign to oust Ms Arroyo is not a throwback to the move to oust Joseph Estrada, it is a throwback to the move to oust Marcos. Its only resemblance to the oust-Estrada campaign is that Ms Arroyo is accused as well of plunging the country into a gangster's paradise, one ruled by gambling lords, including her son, Mikey, and by people who like to murder journalists. Lest we forget, this country has become the second most corrupt in Asia and the most dangerous place for journalists in the world. That's worse than Estrada.

But the move to oust Ms Arroyo resembles the move to oust Ferdinand Marcos and not Estrada because of one fundamental thing. It is a move to oust a president who is not the president at all. The only one who can demand with any credibility that this country respect its institutions, chief of them elections, is Estrada -- and he does so to this day. He was at least clearly, decidedly, overwhelmingly elected President of the Philippines. Neither Marcos nor Gloria was, or is. Marcos at least after martial law: He was elected twice before that. After martial law, Marcos ruled by force; before martial law, Ms Arroyo rules by farce. Marcos ruled by decree, Ms Arroyo rules by Garci. Law was the last thing Marcos had on his side, but it was the first thing he kept invoking. So does Gloria. God must truly be merciful to be sparing with his thunderbolts.

To oust Ms Arroyo is to defend this country's democratic institutions, it is to defend the sacredness of its elections. It is to affirm in the most forceful way that no one is above the law, no one may mess around with the elections-much less so in the brazen way Ms Arroyo did with Garci -- and get away with it.

Indeed, even if Ms Arroyo had been voted into power, what of it? If she had committed the same crime as Estrada -- and her descent into ignominy has been arguably faster and steeper-then she deserves the same fate as Estrada.

So what if we have People Power III and IV and V and VI? If that is what it will take to stop candidates from raping the electoral will, then by all means let us have them. If that is what it will take to prevent public officials from pillaging the country's wealth, then by all means let us have them. If that is what it will take to remove every last scoundrel and every last act of villainy in public office, then by all means let us have them. People Power is the last resort of the poor and oppressed in this country. It is their only means of redress. It is their only source of restorative justice. This is a country where the media are routinely ignored and their members routinely decimated when they pry too deeply. This is a country where the courts are owned by the rich and powerful, and decisions are auctioned to the highest bidder. This is a country where the law enforcers are the law-breakers, where the lawmakers are the ass-lickers, where the leaders and their coteries are gangsters.

This is a country in fact where the only choices given to the citizens are to leave it or fight to reclaim it. I leave those who leave it to justify it -- to themselves as much as to others. I choose to fight.

In the profoundest sense of things, People Power is the staunchest defense of the institutions of democracy there is. It is not a genie that can be summoned at will from a magic lamp, and those who imagine it to be are free to come here and try it. The only occasions when People Power arose in this country were when the democratic institutions became so perverted, so removed from the public weal -- when the law has become an instrument of injustice in the hands of tyrants, when the courts have become an instrument of oppression in the hands of a Mafia, when elections have become a weapon to bludgeon the sovereign will in the hands of Gloria -- that there was no recourse but to move to cleanse them, to rise to restore them.

What are our institutions but the physical emanations or tangible embodiments of our democratic will? And what is People Power but the direct expression or restorative intervention of our sovereign will?

CELLPHONE SNIPPETS

I used to hate waiting (hmm, kinda profound, when you think about it). Senior year high school, my friends and I went stag to our grad ball and had the best time, and I was absolutely postitive that nothing could ruin my night. Until three hours later, when I was still at the hotel lobby (makeup, attitude and good mood gone), waiting for Mama to pick me up, or rather to wake up from her three-hour nap in the car, so she could pick me up. In a time when beepers reigned and landlines still had some use, I had nothing much to do but sit, wait, beep a hopelessly snoring mother, and write furiously on hotel tissue.

Okay, long intro. Just wanted to say thank goodness for mobile phones. Especially ones with large storage capacities and Notes feature. Because sometimes I just don't have tissue.


27 July
Jollibee
Market! Market!
alone, waiting for classmates en route to Pateros

Note 1
The problem with being socially aware is that it sometimes prevents you from doing or wanting something that, in the normal, ignorant plane of existence, you would naturally crave for. like living in a condo with all the creature comforts--in a land grabbed from the people by its very own goverment and sold for a ridiculously and dubiously low price to profit-hungry real estate giants.

How can one live peacefully amid such massive contradictions?

Postrcript. One could retaliate: well if you really had your mind and heart in the right place, you wouldn't even have to prevent yourself. You won't want it in the first place. Right?

Well, in a way, yes. But I'm not a hypocrite. I have my weaknesses. That Serendra being constructed right in front of Market!Market! is oh so tempting.

And yes, the government's rape of our land was orchestrated by that balding, bespectacled guy who JUST WON'T DIE. I hope somebody stuffs his tobacco up his ass so he'd blow up before he once again pulls the rug from under us, becomes Prime Minister and sells our country to the devil like he sold his soul. Whoa galit ata ako.


2
I don't want my future children to grow up in an environment where there is injustice, and find out that their parents are part of it in some way. I don't want to listen to their hearts breaking when they ask me why I did not do anything. I don't want to sigh and say to them, "anak, kayo na bahala, baguhin niyo ang dapat." No, I want to save them before they are born into the consciousness of this tired and sad world.

Parents shouldn't have to be the cause of their child's doubt and cynicism.

---

9 June
beach, Bay's Inn, Baler, Aurora
alone, waiting for everyone else to wake up and relishing the solitude

1
Waves rush to the shore with command and resolve. We are not to be dealt with lightly, they say. You obey, hearing their voice that crashes through and drowns your thoughts. There is peace in this surrender. Such peace. Such comfort, watching, feeling the waves and seeing God's hand. In this windy morning by the sea, life is perfect.

If I surrender to you now, would it be as beautiful? Would you hold me firmly as the waves do? Would you caress my soul in moments of quiet, like this? Would you declare your mighty presence to me? Would you feed my thirst for wonder? Would you be willing to crash into me, too, and surrender your strength? And would you be there to return, over and over again, tirelessly, with the same resolve and passion?

I will sit here, by the shore. I will hold your hand and embrace you as you come near. I will look at you and be forever amazed. And when you go, I will sit again, and wait. But tell me please, will you return?


2
The water curls and rises: anger building. Far away the water crashes from its height. Its greatness is terrifying. But nearing the shore--nearing me--it slowly subsides, its anger dissipating, until all that is left is the gentle foam that crawls towards my feet, as if to say, I am here, did you hear me cry?

I heard you. Come to me, I will run my fingers to sooth your pain.

NOTE TO THE CLUB

To answer Amie's question, er, demand...yes, Amietot, I am no longer the girl holding that SanMigLight for dear life at Giligan's. Hehehe. No longer torn, confused or in pain. I no longer have the questions I used to ask while carrying on my protracted emotional vacillation.

I have found my peace. My truth. Yebah, mabuhay si Larabebe.:D

When I dance again at Ice it will be sweet (wild, but sweet, haha), not frenzied and careless, and probably not with Charvie and Ajeet, nyehehe. When we have coffee at Starbucks at 1 am I will not feel lost. When we see each other again, it will STILL be a riot, but for less troubled reasons.

Pero Giligan's Club pa rin tayo shempre.;)

Miss you guys. Seryoso mga pips, kitakits.

COPY PASTE

ohmygoodness I can't believe I'm down to one post a month. Is this me? After all that has happened to me and the world lately?! The political crisis alone (egad!) is practically begging for an blog entry. And yet no one has heard anything from Lara.

Not that I don't have anything to say. Lots, in fact. But maybe, just maybe, i'm tired of speaking out. Maybe, this one time, I just want to keeps things to myself and a few select people (so as to decrease the amount of energy spent vehemently debating and/or loudly agreeing). Maybe they've said all I wanted to say, and my two cents' worth ain't really much anymore in a mountain of cents that is this political pandemonium. Maybe I know too much--mostly bad--that if I say something it won't be without incriminating myself or people I used to care about. Maybe I'm scared of admitting I, too, have been a hypocrite. Maybe I've seen, no, touched the grime and grease that cover our "august halls and hollowed corridors", that I just want to puke. Been there, done that, said this, over and over and over. Damn I've spoken and written miles and miles of words these past few years, that maybe now I just want to say "I told you so."

Maybe I have little faith left. Or maybe I have much of it left still, and choose to believe in its transcending power.

Haaay. I don't know. I really don't. Is this growing up? Growing out of old habits? I still believe what I believe, God knows I do. But now I'd rather just, well, repost.

LIGHT/WEIGHT

We are responsible for our own actions, no one else's.
We owe nothing to anyone
Our feelings and thoughts are our own, and we have no right or obligation whatsoever to impose upon anyone the consequences of such.

Ah, such poor justifications for your fear.
How can you not feel responsible when you hold the world of a person in your hands?
How can you lack the heart for those who offer theirs to you?
How can you be devoid of compassion for those who strip their souls bare before you, and hope that you feel what they feel?

Kundera is crying out now, saying that yes, we are responsible. And that the burden is not something we should refuse or ignore. Doing so would only destroy our very essence as human beings, and leave us with a hollow shell, floating about in utter pointlessness.

---

ALL I WANT
Toad the Wet Sprocket


Nothing's so loud
As hearing when we lie
The truth is not kind
And you've said neither am i
But the air outside so soft is saying everything
Everything

All I want is to feel this way
To be this close, to feel the same
All I want is to feel this way
The evening speaks, I feel it say...

Nothing's so cold
As closing the heart when all we need
Is to free the soul
But we wouldn't be that brave I know
And the air outside so soft, confessing everything
Everything

And it won't matter now
Whatever happens to me
Though the air speaks of all we'll never be
It won't trouble me

And it feels so close
Let it take me in
Let it hold me so
I can feel it say...

LABO P'RE

I used to write poetry. Lots. Back when I was not old in spirit, I guess. But maybe that's no excuse.

I'd like to write one now. I'd like to read it out loud to someone, anyone. I miss lighting candles in the dark and communing with my titas and Neruda. I miss scribbling verses on the back pages of my notebooks, and hiding them in drawers so my mother won't be able to read them.

"Do not read poems to those who don't understand poetry," or something like that, said Greene in 48 Laws of Power. Sigh. I don't even know if I write good poetry.

Have I become a sad person? Not melancholy, not troubled or frustrated, but sad in a dull, plain way. I'd hate to think so. Especially now. Because Im quite happy now.

Langya Lara labo mo.

And why do I write such curt sentences? Is that a good thing or not?

Shit I don't make much sense, do I?

BACK

More than a month without blogging. Aaack!

It's past five and I'm killing time before class starts. First class of the semester. Missed the first meeting, though; I was hidden somewhere in the mountains of the north for four days, teaching students how to fly like geese. Those who don't understand, sorry, hindi kayo AYOS, hehe.

Hmm, what to write? Event? Emotion? Thought? Nothing, really. I just like the feel of the keyboards when I tap them. And the clicking sound it quite comforting.

No, actually, I do have something to say. I just don't know what, exactly. Thoughts and emotions and events and an ocean of other stuff that I can't seem to make out in my head. To say I am at a crossroads, or confused, or mixed up, is superfluous. I am always like this. Hehe. It's a wonder I come up with coheremt sentences, if only to explain my utter incoherence.

But I am trying to get better at this introspection/self-discovery bit. I thought I had it down pat before. Turns out I know myself like I know ants. I don't.

Sigh.

Welcome, AY 2005-2006.

CONSPIRACY

I was standing near the dining table yesterday, all set to go out. My tita walks in, looks at me in thoughtful silence.
"La," she starts.
"Ano?"
"Ba't wala ka pang boyfriend?"

I stare back at her, and then we both guffaw uncontrollably. What a way to start the day.

Walking to the village gate, I then remember what a friend had told me the other day while we were waiting for the train. He mentioned my ex, and wondered why weren't together anymore (goodness it's been two years and they're still at it). He casually adds that I'm "girlfriend material". I don't know if I should be flattered or appalled. I'm leaning towards the latter. It just sounds weird. What is that, anyway? Girlfriend material. It's...unfair, somehow. Sabagay, meron din namang boyfriend material. Ah, the intricacies of male-female relationships.

Anyway, so I go to my dinner and drinking session (90 proof. Emerald St., Ortigas. Cheap beer. 80s music. Dead Poets Society on video. Gooood stuff.) with SURP people. At 3 am, I'm on my way home. My friend who took a cab with me suddenly asks, "wala bang nanliligaw sa 'yo ngayon?"

What is up? What, what, WHAT?

So now I'm wondering, do I really, actually want to have a boyfriend? At this point in my life? I feel like there's this wave, slowly building up, and I'm just staring at it, clueless, not knowing if I should run or just stand and wait for it to tumble over. I have this nagging suspicion that the universe is trying to tell me something. It's so Coelho. Sheesh.

To top it off, at the prodding of my brother, I took a test at OKCupid. My brother, of all people. But he wanted me to appreciate the "cleverness" of the test. Looked a lot like Quizilla to me. Anyway, got the results below:

The Window Shopper
Random Gentle Love Dreamer (RGLDf)

Loving, hopeful, open. Likely to carry on an romance from afar. You are The Window Shopper. You take love as opportunities come, which can lead to a high-anxiety, but high-flying romantic life. You're a genuinely sweet person, not saccharine at all, so it's likely that the relationships you have had and will have will be happy ones. You've had a fair amount of love experience for your age, and there'll be much more to come.

Part of why we know this is that, of all female types, you are the most prone to sudden, ferocious crushes. Your results indicate that you're especially capable of obsessing over a guy you just met. Obviously, passion like this makes for an intense existence. It can also make for soul-destroying letdowns.

Your ideal match is someone who'll love you back with equal fire, and someone you've grown to love slowly. A self-involved or pessimistic man is especially bad. Though you're drawn to them, avoid artists at all costs. ###


I love how the internet tries to dictate my future. Haha. By the way, the reading is not entirely true. I am not prone to sudden, ferocious crushes. I don't even know what the hell a crush is. But I am drawn to artists. And I am genuinely sweet. Shut up, this is MY blog.

I digress. Thing is, honestly, relationships scare me. Or they're starting to. I was all out with my last one, and now I'm...apprehensive. I'm now honest enough to say that. I mean, yes, I'm looking forward to meeting that best friend, that one person I can rely on and trust with my life and heart and all that jazz. I've said that more than once, and it's true. I have faith (and "anticipation is the purest form of pleasure"). But the reality of a relationship is actually kinda scary. I think because I don't want to make the same mistakes that I made in the past. I want the next one to be real, honest. And fun, dammit!:)

I had a dream recently. I was on a race track (F1, I believe, hehe), holding a guidebook or rulebook or some literature about racing. I wondered what it was about, coz I've never had a racetrack dream, if you know what I mean. A friend guessed that it meant I was running out of time and that I should probably speed up (she was pertaining to my love life, naturally). I joked that maybe I'm just running away from my past, haha.

But you know how it feels when you're running a race? All the adrenalin, and the insane determination to reach the finish line first? I get that feeling, too. And for the most part, it feels awesome. It's such an inspired run. Problem is, whenever I get very close to the chequered flag, I almost always begin to slow down, or worse, bail out completely. I don't just lose steam, I will myself to lose steam. I woke up from my dream with that exact same feeling.

I dunno, think all the disappointments in my past are causing this debilitating insecurity.

So maybe I don't want a relationship, maybe I do. Or maybe what the universe is telling me is simply to stop losing sleep over my dilemma and just run the race to see where it will take me.

I'm hoping for a podium finish. But there's no guarantee.

I DON'T KNOW WHAT TITLE I SHOULD GIVE THIS POST. IT'S JUST BASICALLY A GOOD DAY. *SHRUG*

It's been a week since I had my refraction, and I still don't have my new glasses. Apparently, something was wrong with the choice of frames. My lenses will be too thick for them, so I have to pick new frames. Mama fetched me at the Senate this afternoon, and she brought with her some frames from her doctor friend.

This is a big problem for me. Me, Libran, indecisive, confused, torn. There is no way I can decide on another pair of glasses. I spent hours in the clinic just a week earlier looking over numerous frames, only to settle for the one my doctor picked for me. And now this?

Fine. I sat in the car clutching a mirror and two pairs of glasses (only? yay, big step!), with a pained looked.

"Asa'n si Wilford?" Mama asked. She asked if Wilf wanted to hitch a ride with us to Vito Cruz.

I called Wilford. Uuwi ka na ba? Oo. Nagpasundo ka ba? Oo. Ah..baba ka naman muna o, bilis! Bakit? Patulong sandali.

Haay, yes, I can be a brat, too.

Wilf went down, looking flustered and confused. I showed him my dilemma, and we stood at the Senate parking lot looking at the two pairs of glasses. I tried each one and forced him to assess, over and over and over again.

And he did. He was serious about it, too.

I do have the sweetest friends. :D

In the end, he chose the one I initially thought was boring, but he said was younger-looking. Mama said he had a point.

I took home both frames. I still haven't decided. HAHAHA. But thanks Wilf. You're the best.


----


Mama and I passed by HP on our way home. We bought junk food and a pair of slippers. We had coffee at Figaro, watched people for a while, and looked at some pearls. She bought me a pretty pearl bracelet (she's a very impulsive pearl buyer). Walking away from the store, she said, "sosyo tayo diyan ha. O permanent na ba sa 'yo yan?"

I actually liked the pearls she bought me. Permanent, of course!

What were we to do, then, but go back so she could buy her own, identical bracelet? Haay, Mama.

So we got our way with the pearls. On our way back to the car and looking at our bracelets--yes, we wore them immediately--I realized we suddenly have mother-and-daughter jewelry. First time.

Heehee, kilig.

Hate. I've been saying that word a lot lately. Not a very nice word.

Loathe. Hmm, much better.

RUNAWAY

I didn't go to work today. I have a runny nose and a bad stomach. It's an excuse but it's not.

I don't even want to explain myself. I'll probably finish this summer thing, and then I'm off. Back to reality. Back to real problems that need honest solutions.

---

I have a runny nose because I spent two days with my cousin who was sick.

Last weekend, all the three Houses (Rosary, Indonesia, Hillcrest) that make up the Family went to Laguna. The trip was off to a bad start. I woke up late last Saturday because I was out the previous night with Len and Bullet, and I was at Greenbelt until 3 a.m. slapping my arms (Makati isn't immune to mosquitoes, after all) and waiting for Ivan to fetch me. Ivan was up late, too, and had to pick up the Hillcrest House people, plus Hani and her relatives. We left Paranaque at 9, and a few minutes later Ivan had a flat tire. The drive to Sta. Cruz, Laguna was lightened somewhat by the presence of Samille, my two-year-old, sick cousin who kept shouting "Darna!" in the car. It was all good, until she vomited all over herself. To prevent her from crying, we had to entertain her by pointing to just about everything (Ricefields! Carabao! Umbrella with a girl!).

We picked up my tita in Sta. Cruz and we headed to our first destination, Majayjay Falls. Damn. It was a tough ride. Tough. Worse than Baguio. It didn't feel like Laguna at all. My mom is particularly freaked out by sharp curves and steep slopes, so it didn't help that she was the only one who knew how to drive in the car we were in (the others were in the other vehicles). It also didn't help that Ivan was driving like a maniac in front of us. He was hurrying because Hani had to be back in Manila by 8 to watch Kitchie Nadal. It was friggin 2 pm and we weren't halfway there yet! Anyway, I had to grab my seat just looking at the yellow van cutting its way through provincial traffic. Once, it ran through a rope stretched out on the road. Turns out people in the province do that, to stop cars so they can ask for donations or something. Ivan looked like he was about to punch someone. We thought he ran over a kid. Hay.

So we got to Majayjay, where the barangay hall was full of people with high-powered guns (NPA-infested area). We had lunch at the parking grounds. Sugpo, tapa, itlog na pula, ukoy, lechon, homemade sago't gulaman, saging. Hay.:) Solb na ko.

The actual falls was a "10-minute walk" away. 10 minutes to people in Majayjay is like "walking distance" to Len. You gotta re-adjust your definitions.

"Don't worry, it's worth it!" a guy who passed by called out, after seeing the look on our faces when he said "malayo pa ho." Well, it better be worth it.

And it was, thankfully. Majayjay is a beautiful place. Big boulders, clear water. The water fell down fast from the mountain to a shallow lake, and down again through rocks, forming a river. There was a lot of people, and we had to make do with a couple of boulders to set up our stuff. The water was uber cold, but felt good after a while. The place gives you the feeling that you're a nymph--or ant, whichever creature delights you--in this nice, wide, wonderful world. You can have everything you wish for, the world can do as it pleases with you and there will no abuse of any kind.

We left at about 6 pm. Ivan and Hani went back to Manila, the rest of us back to Sta. Cruz to my tita. I zonked out as soon as I touched the banig. No shower, no dinner. I woke up in the middle of the night to the voices of my relatives. They were arguing about Ivan's future, basically. I realized it was a "grown-up" conversation, and while I could've gotten up and joined in, I chose to be a kid and just lie there, pretending to be asleep. People argued, nothing was resolved. They got tired and finally went to bed. I wiped my tears and curled up.

When I woke up they were getting ready to go to Quezon. This was totally unplanned, and I had to be back in Manila to attend Sarah's McDo party. But since I was a "good" kid and I didn't have a car nor knew how to drive, I was stuck.

The trip to Quezon was hell. It was irritating enough that they were pushing to go there beyond normal reason and despite the sheer logistical difficulties, but the beach wasn't so nice, either. I waded in the waters to make my mother happy, and took pictures to keep myself entertained.

We finally got home at 10 pm, sweaty and dead tired. After a much-needed shower and dinner, I fell asleep again. I woke up today feeling the urgent need to take a dump. Must have been all the itlog na pula that I ate. In the toliet, I realized I had a runny nose.

I hate that. Sitting in the toliet with an aching tummy and a runny nose. It's the worst feeling in the world. And that's when I fell in love with the idea of not going to work. Nyahaha.

CHOCOLATE-RESISTANT

I texted my professor today. Yep, that professor. Couldn't help it. Had to thank him for my fabulous grade (which kept me alive after yesterday's exhausting and disappointing site plan presentation).:P Thanked him, too, for inspiring his students to want to be good planners. "Don't stop teaching," I told him.

As if on cue, he said he'll be finishing his contract with SURP, which ends next year. After that, he's off "to find a better-paying job."

So much for inspiration. Sad, sad, sad. This is what UP gets for not taking care of its faculty. How many professors have I known to leave UP because of the exact same reason? Yes, yes, teaching is a vocation. How I wish I could say that to my professor but 1) that would be too preachy and 2) vocation shouldn't be as undignified as it is in this country's public school system.

It's just...I dunno, depressing. Ever since I interviewed one of my teachers about this problem years ago (right before he was pirated by DLSU and given thrice what he was getting in UP), I've always made it a point to tell good teachers that they are good, that they are worth more to their students than they think. Fine, it's not as if words can make up for the unjust pay, but I hoped, anyway. It's probably a futile attempt.

Haay, life.

---

I got on the wrong jeepney on the way home today. It took the FTI route, the one on the other, darker side of the highway, with all the junk and vulcanizing shops and hold-ups. Katakot. Kainis. I was so irritated and scared out of my wits that I had to pass by SM to buy chocolate, my standard upper. I managed to finish the entire bar halfway home; I was stuck in traffic because the road used as a shortcut by just about everyone in Paranaque, which is also the one I use everyday, is under construction at both ends at the same time. Hello.

And then when I got home, I opened the ref and, lo and behold, a box of chocolates sat inside, free for the taking, looking satisfied as it stared back at me.

Kainis.

Haay, life.

---

THOSE DAYS

There are good days, and then there are bad days. I've been having a bad day for the past three weeks.

I can't even begin to tell. I've lost count of the mishaps, I've lost track of the days and what happened in those days, what went wrong first, what went wrong next. They're all the same and can all be summed up in one word: hell.

This has been a tragic semester. I've cried over final papers, cursed silently at groupmates who JUST DON'T GET A CLUE, began to really hate someone who is so utterly insensitive, selfish and inconsiderate (I'm trying to figure out a way to avoid that person for the rest of my life). I've stayed at other people's houses for days straight, spent nights and middle-of-the-nights in the computer room of my school. Naturally, I also had to endure countless lectures on my being a babaeng kalye and kaladkarin from Kamag-anak Incorporated.

I've called my ex, for crying out loud, just so I could understand stupid, stupid STUPID regression. I've called other people's boyfiends, too. At this very moment Shiva's boyfriend, whom I've met only once and know as Leonard, Shiva's boyfriend (I know other stuff, too, but, well.), is at the City Planning and Development Office in Baguio City, getting data on vehicles, traffic, barangay population and the Athletic Bowl for me, for my final project which he knows nothing about. I'm freaking out and extremely calm at the same time because on one hand, nakakahiya talaga to ask someone who's miles and miles away to practically do your research for you because your groupmate wasn't able to do it, but on the other hand I know he's really, really nice and wouldn't mind doing it.

I've used up all my phone minutes calling everyone I know (and only slightly know). I've shunned my friends whose only crime is to find out if I'm still breathing, and snapped at my relatives because they were their usual insane selves, and for once I couldn't stand it.

In short, I let the crap of life get the best of me. And all for what? A bunch of unos I probably won't get? My becoming "very good at what I do?" Damn, I don't know that. I just wanna get through this.

So here I am now, listening to the Beatles' A Hard Day's Night (ek, how fitting). Ahh, thank the Beatles, Pablo Neruda and his poems read by beautiful voices on the Il Postino ST, Jason Mraz, Westlife and their attempts at Frank-hood, Michael Buble, No Doubt, Red Hot Chili Peppers and all the other musical artists who kept me awake in those nights of disquiet when I hated the world as I wrote my research proposal and dreamt of pushing my professor off the cliff.

HEROES

"I need to be heard.

I need to be heard because I have something to say."

Don't we all have something to say?

Some of us, though, feel that what we're saying is worth more. Worth being heard, or read, or seen.

We want to fight, to save people, to do what's "right".

We want to do that one great thing, make that brilliant contribution to humanity, feed others, feed ourselves.

We want to live forever.

And if we don't (because we can't), we want to leave something behind, for others to see, hear, read.

And the people of tomorrow will say, he did good. He did some good in this world.

We want to be heroes.

KULE

Yahoo! I finally have the computer all to myself, for at least an hour while my brother's gone.

Had coffee with LJ and Tincup yesterday. As always when I'm with Kule people, it was a blast. I'm so looking forward to this weekend when we get together in Bulacan. All hell will break loose, and I'm sure people will be laughing/arguing/crying/puking by the next morning.

Speaking of Kule, I just got a call from Bullet about P Kule, the new term, new EIC, etc. This is the third time someone has brought the topic up, the second that an invitation has been extended. I didn't know what to say to him. I really don't know what to do.

My time in Kule--any Kule--is over, I believe. Or is it?

Question: Do I want to help them? Yes I do. Is this the right way? I'm not sure.

LJ told me, "okay na yung legacy na iniwan mo...o gusto mo ba gumawa pa ulit?" He's right. So why am I even contemplating the idea?

Magulo sa Kule. Magulo ang Kule. Nakakapagod. Nakaka-drain. Given that, the iota of thought I'm putting into this can only be borne of one of two reasons: a) my undying Messiah complex or b) my ego. Two very wrong reasons to do a very right thing.

True, the prospect does give me a tiny fluttering feeling in the tummy. But I know more now. I'm wiser. I know that the incoming term is probably a fluke (but one that is very much welcome in my book). It is a crease in a long, straight line of Kule terms, much like Che's and LJ's, only that neither of them was a member of a frat or soro (we had the time of our lives being just Kule and nothing more, or less).

I know more than to immediately jump at the idea of trying to "bring about change". It is a difficult, uphill climb, one that I have already made during my time and am a bit reluctant to do again, no matter how enticing the challenge may seem.

I also know that fraternities are fraternities and brothers are brothers.

At any rate, I wish P Kule the very best of luck. As I've told Bullet, it's been needing a shake-up. I still believe that activism should not be exclusive. As Joy so succintly and aptly said one staff meet many years ago, hindi kinakahon ang aktibismo.

I remember the filename I used for those long, impassioned letters that I wrote during that turbulent time in Manila Kule: Redemption. For P Kule, it's a new term, a new chance, a new time, a new stab at redemption. I guess it's true, what the song said. Pana-panahon.

SEARCHING

Shine
Collective Soul

Give me a word
Give me a sign
Show me where to look
Tell what will I find?

Lay me on the ground
Fly me in the sky
Show me where to look
Tell me what will I find?

Oh, heaven let your light shine down

Love is in the water
Love is in the air
Show me where to go
Tell me will love be there?

Teach me how to speak
Teach me how to share
Teach me where to go
Tell me will love be there?

Oh, heaven let your light shine down

I’m going to let it shine
Heaven's little light gonna shine on me
Yea yea heavens little light gonna shine on me
It's gonna shine, shine on me
It's gonna shine, come on in shine

AAAARRRRGGGHHH

Len's right; feeling ko nabobobo na ako. I don't get regression analysis, okay? I never have. But I have to do it for this friggin project development class. If only I were friends with my ex, I'd make him do it for me, nyahaha. Auuggghhh.

At this point, I am a mish-mash of wrought nerves and burnt brain cells (do they burn? Don't think so. Ah, to hell.). And I'm supposed to be doing a million things this very second but what am I doing? Blogging. This is rebellion.

The sem is about to end and I can't even muster the strength to say "whew!" (hey, I just did). I am exhausted, doubly, because of my nature as a worrier. I know, I know, everything shall come to pass. But they haven't, you see, they're still here, waiting for me to let them pass.

What to do, what to do? I'm excited about next sem, freaking out about this sem, sad that I won't see him after this week (now that is a failure in planning, and Shiva will laugh and kill me at the same time for being such a wimp), happy knowing I'll get to see my friends this Saturday, frustrated that I slaved over my acads much more than I would have wanted and am supposed to, and yet fulfilled knowing I have learned a lot from slaving over my acads. Arrrgggh.

I just want to flop down and not move. Yes, flop down, if there is a term. I'm sure I'd make a flopping type of sound. Or a splat or splunk or something. I'm going crazy.

I KNEW IT

Forever confused talaga utak ko.

You Are 45% Left Brained, 55% Right Brained

The left side of your brain controls verbal ability, attention to detail, and reasoning. Left brained people are good at communication and persuading others. If you're left brained, you are likely good at math and logic. Your left brain prefers dogs, reading, and quiet. The right side of your brain is all about creativity and flexibility. Daring and intuitive, right brained people see the world in their unique way. If you're right brained, you likely have a talent for creative writing and art. Your right brain prefers day dreaming, philosophy, and sports.

Are You Right or Left Brained?

PISS AROUND YOUR CAVE, WOULD YA?

What does it take to follow a simple rule?

This evening, my mother's brother and uncle were on their way to our house for a visit. They were stopped at the gate of the subdivision. This was only natural, since the association has a rule that non-residents, who have to car stickers, would not be allowed entry into the village without surrendering their ID, and the guard would have to know where they are going. In some cases, the guard calls the resident's house for confirmation.

Some (okay, most) of my relatives have huge egos, which get even more inflated with alcohol. Unfortunately, they had just come from a party. So in less then a minute my uncle--and his uncle--were making a scene at the village gate, cursing the hapless guard, causing traffic and compelling the president of the homeowners' association to step out of his house.

To top it off, my mom's uncle told the guard in a threatening manner, "Waray-waray ako. 'Pag gumalaw ka, gagalaw din ako." Had this been a line a satirical film, it would have been tongue-in-cheek funny, but alas, this was real life.

Huffing and puffing my semi-drunk relatives arrived at the house. What makes it all worse is that my mom is actually an officer of the homeowners' association, and was active in the implementation of the no-sticker, no-entry policy.

Why can't people just follow rules? Why can't they just let the guard do his fucking inane job, and get on with life? Do they need to get their egos stroked every now and then by guards whose main job is to just look at windshields for the goddam stickers?? What do the guards care if one is the wife of the brother of the resident? For chrissakes, it was the right thing to do. Why are we still living in the dark ages?!

Aaah, men are still animals, after all. Animals with territories to define, defend and protect. Their caves and forest clearings and little holes in the tree trunk.

Animal psychologists have found that animals have what they call a critical distance. It's that area where animal has suddenly crossed the boundary over to an another animal's territory or "personal space". At that point neither is sure whether to stay still, attack or leave.

Same goes for humans. Not just egos, but everything, including love. You know what we usually say in critical moments when we don't know what to do? Fight or flight. They got that from studying birds, which take immediate flight upon sensing an attack. Flight is what most members of the animal kingdom do (except maybe my tito).

Flight. To quote an anthropologist, "it's the basic mechanism for survival." Hmm. Makes sense.

Hay. Millennia after our departure from monkeyland, and we're still like the rest of 'em.