Whew. My work is done! Ladidadida. Hihihi. Haha, I sound like a nut.
Merry Christmas!
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Easy like a Sunday afternoon
Last Sunday we drove to KidzWorld in Dasmarinas, Cavite. A friend of ours helped organize a Christmas party for orphans called Save a Tree, Brighten Up a Day. We were to be "foster parents" for the event.
Len looked flustered at first because she was paired with a boy, instead of a girl as we had been told. We told her not to worry, most of the gifts Mark bought were unisex anyway - good job bebe!
My foster child was an 11-year-old girl named Roxane, who said she doesn't like watching pre-teens gyrating to the tune of My Humps (good girl!) and loves to have her photos taken with her friends and ka-loveteam (huh?).
In fact, they all wanted their photos taken. Our group of children and ates and kuyas were positively disruptive, taking funny pictures, being noisy and not minding the dance number on the stage (yes, the gyrating pre-teens). I won't be surprised if the organizers ban us from next year's party.
Mark, Len, Edison and I met up with Armand, Becca and their friends and officemates in Alabang. We pigged out at Total while waiting, and then I spotted this:
I love it! Love it love it love it. It's the exact color I would've used on our own Volkswagen if it had been given to me. Papa promised that it would be mine once he's had the chance to restore it. But alas, our old, beautiful Beetle is now rotting in some talyer, completely destroyed and unfit for use. Pure neglect. Heartbreaking. :(
I digress. We left Alabang two hours behind schedule and arrived in Cavite wary of the ominous clouds and steady drizzle.
Len looked flustered at first because she was paired with a boy, instead of a girl as we had been told. We told her not to worry, most of the gifts Mark bought were unisex anyway - good job bebe!
My foster child was an 11-year-old girl named Roxane, who said she doesn't like watching pre-teens gyrating to the tune of My Humps (good girl!) and loves to have her photos taken with her friends and ka-loveteam (huh?).
In fact, they all wanted their photos taken. Our group of children and ates and kuyas were positively disruptive, taking funny pictures, being noisy and not minding the dance number on the stage (yes, the gyrating pre-teens). I won't be surprised if the organizers ban us from next year's party.
The priest's sermon about the eagle and chicken somehow left the children confused, because when the emcee asked them after the Mass, "Ano'ng sabi ni Father, sino ang darating sa December 25?" most of them screamed, "si Santa Claus!" while others said "yung agila!" Hahaha, lost in translation perhaps?
Anyway, between that and the magic tricks, dancing, loads of picture-taking and Faith Cuneta singing Langit Ka, Lupa Ako (for the life of me I don't know the title of that song), we did have a lot of fun. It was one afternoon away from the toxicity and boredom of daily life, and into the world of smiles, honesty and hope.
It kind of makes me wonder though if maybe we had more fun than the children had. That one afternoon made us feel good, and slightly above our normal selves; it benefited us more than it did the kids, who probably have had numerous "foster parents" before. Why would we be any different? I pray they don't get cynical and think of our presence as a fleeting thing, one among many others that they have grown accustomed to but have made little impact on their lives. Because we don't want to be like that - cosmetic, temporary facelifts to a deep-seated problem. I'll be the first to admit that one afternoon of partying and giving gifts can't do that. Heck, not even an entire summer spent in the mountains with a community can help alleviate their situation.
My only consolation is that these little acts, when strung together, might make a difference. Moreover, each is a learning experience that musn't be taken for granted and that should lead to something more meaningful and sustainable. Otherwise, it's a futile, one-sided exercise.
On another note, driving home from Dasma was friggin scary, man. I thought Metro Manila would spared from Supertyphoon Seniang , but we caught part of its tail. It was raining nonstop that afternoon and well into the evening. It wasn't pa-cute rain either. We had to be extra alert because of poor visibility - Absolutely no streetlights! In the pouring rain!! What's that about? - and the occasional mini-tsunamis created by buses zooming past our helpless little sedan on those flooded roads. Plus I had to keep wiping the windshield because it was fogging like crazy. Very stressful. Good thing I don't have a license yet. We got home around 11pm, and didn't go to work the next day. Yeehaa.
It kind of makes me wonder though if maybe we had more fun than the children had. That one afternoon made us feel good, and slightly above our normal selves; it benefited us more than it did the kids, who probably have had numerous "foster parents" before. Why would we be any different? I pray they don't get cynical and think of our presence as a fleeting thing, one among many others that they have grown accustomed to but have made little impact on their lives. Because we don't want to be like that - cosmetic, temporary facelifts to a deep-seated problem. I'll be the first to admit that one afternoon of partying and giving gifts can't do that. Heck, not even an entire summer spent in the mountains with a community can help alleviate their situation.
My only consolation is that these little acts, when strung together, might make a difference. Moreover, each is a learning experience that musn't be taken for granted and that should lead to something more meaningful and sustainable. Otherwise, it's a futile, one-sided exercise.
On another note, driving home from Dasma was friggin scary, man. I thought Metro Manila would spared from Supertyphoon Seniang , but we caught part of its tail. It was raining nonstop that afternoon and well into the evening. It wasn't pa-cute rain either. We had to be extra alert because of poor visibility - Absolutely no streetlights! In the pouring rain!! What's that about? - and the occasional mini-tsunamis created by buses zooming past our helpless little sedan on those flooded roads. Plus I had to keep wiping the windshield because it was fogging like crazy. Very stressful. Good thing I don't have a license yet. We got home around 11pm, and didn't go to work the next day. Yeehaa.
***
This Sunday we'll be participating in a Gawad Kalinga Build in Quezon City. Those who are interested, please contact me.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
La lang
I read somewhere that nuclear power needn't be dangerous, as long as you use thorium instead of uranium. This way you won't be able to create plutonium (a byproduct of uranium), the material used for nuclear weapons. Thorium is much more abundant, and can even consume plutonium and uranium through its tested technologies, nipping in the bud any threat. Of course you can't tell that to countries who wanted, and probably still want the plutonium. Neither can you convince the rest of the world, who have developed an almost irreversible fear of anything nuclear. And so the fear persists.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
wounded
I like picking my skin. Scratching it. rolling my fingers over it to discover the tiny bumps, the imminent zits, the uneven skin - hell, whatever I can find. When I sense something unusual, I attack immediately. I am relentless, possessed by the uncontrollable urge to take it out, to break through the skin, cut it, scar it, wound myself. When the wound begins to heal, I touch it again, again and again, until I realize that I've wounded myself once more, on that very same spot. It happens everytime, to many spots, such that no wound completely heals, and I am eternally scarred.
I don't know why I like it. It's certainly not pretty. It's quite disgusting, actually. But I can't help myself. I look at the imperfections on my face, my body, everywhere...and I just want to erase them all from my sight. Right. Now. No waiting for medication, no desire to clean my hand, no caution or care for the consequences I already know by heart. Right now it's just me and my skin, battling it out.
So here's what I've learned: I hate pain, except when it's self-inflicted. Then it becomes this twisted story of purging that I seem to enjoy. True, it's not a very healthy way of dealing with one's flaws. Especially when one is actively seeking them out, searching for every little mistake in the tiniest crevices. And then plowing through in the most unforgiving and painful way.
But so far this is it. This is how I treat myself. This is how I hate myself.
I don't know why I like it. It's certainly not pretty. It's quite disgusting, actually. But I can't help myself. I look at the imperfections on my face, my body, everywhere...and I just want to erase them all from my sight. Right. Now. No waiting for medication, no desire to clean my hand, no caution or care for the consequences I already know by heart. Right now it's just me and my skin, battling it out.
So here's what I've learned: I hate pain, except when it's self-inflicted. Then it becomes this twisted story of purging that I seem to enjoy. True, it's not a very healthy way of dealing with one's flaws. Especially when one is actively seeking them out, searching for every little mistake in the tiniest crevices. And then plowing through in the most unforgiving and painful way.
But so far this is it. This is how I treat myself. This is how I hate myself.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Lacoste/James/Manny
Napatunayan ko na mas maganda talaga ang naka-bakcpack kesa sa shoulder bag. Lalo na 'pag tumatakbo ka palabas ng Gateway Mall papunta Cubao MRT station to catch the last train to Ayala station, and the last shuttle from Ayala to Bicutan.
Ang galing. Salamat Lindsay sa discounted price ng favorite bag ko ngayon.
***
Hindi ko type ang bagong James Bond movie. No glamor, no flair. Looks dirty, like a dark cop movie. Not that I LOVED the old Bond movies, some of them were pretty tacky, but at least Pierce Brosnan had the killer looks and attitude to carry them somehow. Craig David - oops, Daniel Craig pala! See? Forgettable - looks decidedly old and amateurish, not to mention painfully vulnerable (I think they wanted him to be that way. But an amateur James Bond? NO WAY. And he should never be vulnerable for more than five minutes.) Not even that pretty, conniving female character was enough to save Casino Royale, which is partly an attempt to turn the nearly dead poker craze/fad into more than two hours of flimsy story-telling.
What an agony to watch.
***
Nanalo si Manny Pacquiao! Woohoo! I'm no fan of boxing, I think it's a death sport and could possibly dumb a person down from all those brain-jarring punches (maybe), but man, Manny is Manny! Yebah! Erik Morales was the picture of defeat even before the match began, and more so when he was sitting knocked out and dizzy after only three rounds. I felt bad for him. But that's life. Go Manny! You can now finish your 10,000 sqm house on your two-hectare lot. As Mama asked, sinong architect kaya ang pumatol sa kanya? Well, money talks, Ma.
Ang galing. Salamat Lindsay sa discounted price ng favorite bag ko ngayon.
***
Hindi ko type ang bagong James Bond movie. No glamor, no flair. Looks dirty, like a dark cop movie. Not that I LOVED the old Bond movies, some of them were pretty tacky, but at least Pierce Brosnan had the killer looks and attitude to carry them somehow. Craig David - oops, Daniel Craig pala! See? Forgettable - looks decidedly old and amateurish, not to mention painfully vulnerable (I think they wanted him to be that way. But an amateur James Bond? NO WAY. And he should never be vulnerable for more than five minutes.) Not even that pretty, conniving female character was enough to save Casino Royale, which is partly an attempt to turn the nearly dead poker craze/fad into more than two hours of flimsy story-telling.
What an agony to watch.
***
Nanalo si Manny Pacquiao! Woohoo! I'm no fan of boxing, I think it's a death sport and could possibly dumb a person down from all those brain-jarring punches (maybe), but man, Manny is Manny! Yebah! Erik Morales was the picture of defeat even before the match began, and more so when he was sitting knocked out and dizzy after only three rounds. I felt bad for him. But that's life. Go Manny! You can now finish your 10,000 sqm house on your two-hectare lot. As Mama asked, sinong architect kaya ang pumatol sa kanya? Well, money talks, Ma.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Thankful
A series of recent events and conversations confirm that I'm one lucky girl.
Lucky because I am loved, and loved sincerely and seriously. Lucky because my boyfriend truly cares. When people ask (I don't know why they do), "sino ang swerte sa inyong dalawa?" I always answered haughtily, "Swerte siya sa akin." But I'm wrong. I truly am the luckier one. I'm an incorrigible brat who always has to have her way. I am selectively impatient, stubborn, proud, defensive. Drama queen, crybaby, the 24-year-old who still thinks she's the youngest child in the clan (everyone calls me baby so why not?). And he puts up with all of that. Which is not to say he doesn't try to influence me to be better. I've taken leaps and bounds since I met him and I can honestly say I'm a better person. But he doesn't deprive me of who I am or was or want to be.
Someone asked me what an ideal guy is, and I answered, someone who doesn't break your spirit. That's what he is. He doesn't think himself better than his partner, he never puts me down. He directs the typical male ego towards more productive things. He doesn't mess with the head or play with the heart.
Amid all the chaos in my life, he gives me peace.
Lucky because I am loved, and loved sincerely and seriously. Lucky because my boyfriend truly cares. When people ask (I don't know why they do), "sino ang swerte sa inyong dalawa?" I always answered haughtily, "Swerte siya sa akin." But I'm wrong. I truly am the luckier one. I'm an incorrigible brat who always has to have her way. I am selectively impatient, stubborn, proud, defensive. Drama queen, crybaby, the 24-year-old who still thinks she's the youngest child in the clan (everyone calls me baby so why not?). And he puts up with all of that. Which is not to say he doesn't try to influence me to be better. I've taken leaps and bounds since I met him and I can honestly say I'm a better person. But he doesn't deprive me of who I am or was or want to be.
Someone asked me what an ideal guy is, and I answered, someone who doesn't break your spirit. That's what he is. He doesn't think himself better than his partner, he never puts me down. He directs the typical male ego towards more productive things. He doesn't mess with the head or play with the heart.
Amid all the chaos in my life, he gives me peace.
Friday, November 03, 2006
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
I WONDER
if I could ever recover the 16-year-old, who was as wise as she was naive, who asked questions that mattered, who was not afraid because she did not know yet what fear meant.
It is not a longing for a past long gone, not really; 16 sucked too because I was gangly and clumsy. No, I miss the feeling that that time represents. I think the most glorious moment in any life is when one is standing at the threshold of a new world. Right now the world seems so old.
When I look at myself in the mirror, I notice the bits of me that are exposed, and bits that are covered up. It's the same as always I guess, just now I'm conscious of it. Consciousness is a killer. Every decision becomes consequential, each mistake more serious than the previous, and sillier than the next.
I am not depressed, okay. Just overly contemplative and a little bit trapped. I truly wish the sad words would stop.
***
Some time ago I wrote: The problem with waiting is that I'm fully conscious of it.
I philosophize the fact that I'm waiting for my wisdom to come. I may have lost it. Poetry. Irony. Magic. All I see are unifrom faces, dozens of them walking around in identical pin-striped suits and disheveled hair. It is a tiresome affair, sitting here and watching them. I'm sure they are more than their typical beige coats and perpetual pink blush. I know I am, even though I don't have a beige coat. So I don't understand why I'm so disappointed. Is everyone the same everywhere?
But I've been seeking something else, something I know now that I haven't found here, where I am.
Somewhere at the margin perhaps, a short distance away from this humdrum existence. A life of meaning, of movement. And I don't want to wait.
It is not a longing for a past long gone, not really; 16 sucked too because I was gangly and clumsy. No, I miss the feeling that that time represents. I think the most glorious moment in any life is when one is standing at the threshold of a new world. Right now the world seems so old.
When I look at myself in the mirror, I notice the bits of me that are exposed, and bits that are covered up. It's the same as always I guess, just now I'm conscious of it. Consciousness is a killer. Every decision becomes consequential, each mistake more serious than the previous, and sillier than the next.
I am not depressed, okay. Just overly contemplative and a little bit trapped. I truly wish the sad words would stop.
***
Some time ago I wrote: The problem with waiting is that I'm fully conscious of it.
I philosophize the fact that I'm waiting for my wisdom to come. I may have lost it. Poetry. Irony. Magic. All I see are unifrom faces, dozens of them walking around in identical pin-striped suits and disheveled hair. It is a tiresome affair, sitting here and watching them. I'm sure they are more than their typical beige coats and perpetual pink blush. I know I am, even though I don't have a beige coat. So I don't understand why I'm so disappointed. Is everyone the same everywhere?
But I've been seeking something else, something I know now that I haven't found here, where I am.
Somewhere at the margin perhaps, a short distance away from this humdrum existence. A life of meaning, of movement. And I don't want to wait.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
happy birthday to meeeeeeeee
Female, 24, in a relationship.
Twenty fucken four!!! Seeing it actually took my breath away. Even friendster is against me now hmp. Haha.
I woke up to birthday messages, a couple of them possibly half-drunken, and a quick phone call from the bf, asking me what I wanted for breakfast. Yep, got my breakfast in bed! Well, actually no. When he arrived (three hours after he left home, wawa naman), I was already dressed. Just the same, it was very sweet. Mwahbebe!
I was late for work again, 19 minutes. Best time this week!
Received lovely, lovely Colombian roses from my tita. Kahelera ko na (raw) sina Kris at Boy who both order flowers from the same florist. Sikat for a day, what can I say.
Pigged out on pizza, cake and ice cream at the office. Blew a candle, just one, thank goodness.
Looking forward to this weekend! I predict we'll have a beautiful seafood lunch. Yummy.
So all in all, this hasn't been a bad day. It's not over yet, but I'm choosing not to allow anything or anyone to ruin it.
O sha, gotta go. More later.
Twenty fucken four!!! Seeing it actually took my breath away. Even friendster is against me now hmp. Haha.
I woke up to birthday messages, a couple of them possibly half-drunken, and a quick phone call from the bf, asking me what I wanted for breakfast. Yep, got my breakfast in bed! Well, actually no. When he arrived (three hours after he left home, wawa naman), I was already dressed. Just the same, it was very sweet. Mwahbebe!
I was late for work again, 19 minutes. Best time this week!
Received lovely, lovely Colombian roses from my tita. Kahelera ko na (raw) sina Kris at Boy who both order flowers from the same florist. Sikat for a day, what can I say.
Pigged out on pizza, cake and ice cream at the office. Blew a candle, just one, thank goodness.
Looking forward to this weekend! I predict we'll have a beautiful seafood lunch. Yummy.
So all in all, this hasn't been a bad day. It's not over yet, but I'm choosing not to allow anything or anyone to ruin it.
O sha, gotta go. More later.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
BLUES
I'd like to blame it on my birthday.
I feel uneasy. Here I go again.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I just feel so down. Pucha. I'm not depressed about gaining another year per se. I mean, at the end of te day who cares? Everyones grows old.
On one hand I'm happy. Got everything I want at this point in my life, really. But on the other hand, inside me is this...monster.
Shit.
I feel uneasy. Here I go again.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I just feel so down. Pucha. I'm not depressed about gaining another year per se. I mean, at the end of te day who cares? Everyones grows old.
On one hand I'm happy. Got everything I want at this point in my life, really. But on the other hand, inside me is this...monster.
Shit.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
i miss you old friend
could you fill me up again?
drown me in your magical waters
it's been a lifeless walk without you
the sky is dull and the wind is dry
the leaves no longer spark fire
under the ordinary sun
it is a heavy emptiness
holding each breath hoping to touch some mystery
there is none
no iridescence
no wonder
no wild secret to share
where are you my muse?
come back
save me
please
make me write again
could you fill me up again?
drown me in your magical waters
it's been a lifeless walk without you
the sky is dull and the wind is dry
the leaves no longer spark fire
under the ordinary sun
it is a heavy emptiness
holding each breath hoping to touch some mystery
there is none
no iridescence
no wonder
no wild secret to share
where are you my muse?
come back
save me
please
make me write again
Monday, September 25, 2006
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
SLIGHTLY REDUCED AND MILDLY AGITATED
I have two recent vivid memories of when I felt I was in a real fix. One was when we were finishing our first ever group project in grad school. We had been holed up in a classmate's house for nearly a week, and on the very last day, the day of submission, Murphy's Law struck and all hell broke loose. The computers weren't cooperating, the printers ran out of ink, the sun was setting. All I could think of was the deadline and how we could possibly beat it - or extend it. It didn't help that I had a groupmate who insisted on doing what I thought at the time was really petty and stupid, like cropping each image just so, and placing a blue border exactly right there. It was painstakingly slow and I wanted to bash him in the head with a vase. Couldn't he understand that the document just HAD TO GO? RIGHT NOW?? To top it off, Enya was blaring from the laptop's speakers. Enya with her slow, trance-like melodies. It was so ridiculous and surreal I had to fight the urge to laugh.
Another time I was doing another project, with almost the same set of people, about a topic I knew nothing about. As most of our time was spent trying to understand the subject matter, we were left with only a few precious hours to actually get the presentation and the document together. This time around we decided not to leave anything to chance. We had to get our numbers right, had to cross the t's and dot the i's. The entire class waited for about an hour until we finally arrived with our powerpoint presentation and identical petrified looks on our faces. Of course we sucked. And it was the worst feeling in the entire world to know that you should have done better. But oddly enough, I also felt comforted by the fact that I had done absolutely everything in my limited capacity so that our output could be granted some level of respectability. Yes, it wasn't good enough. But I know I did my best.
***
This morning, I was slightly (and so very politely) chastised by my big boss. Short story: we had a proposal due 5pm yesterday, and at 425 we were still binding the damned thing. The long version is that that moment was preceded by a long series of events, which included delays in technical inputs, costing and team selection, erratic coordination with the India office (the time difference is a killer), very bad English grammar by people who supposedly invented the fucking language, and every little thing that delayed the processing of the document.
Yes, of course there are no excuses. But I had just come out of an experience where one minute, seemingly insignificant detail i.e. not stamping "certified true copy" on a single page (within a document of a thousand pages) could spell the sordid death of a bid -- and the chance to get an $8.5 million-dollar contract. That's 425 million pesos. Taste the guilt.
So no, I don't like to take chances anymore, and you can't tell me to hurry up when I know the client won't be able to understand that paragraph in Section 4.9 because it does not make sense. I will sit there until it does.
Then again I'm not the boss.
The question is: quality or punctuality? There is no clear cut answer, except that you have to know your priorities. And they should be able to tell us those priorities right at the very start, not when they're all huffing and puffing one hour to the deadline. And it's really insulting when, in the aftermath, you're told that they weren't really batting for the win, that they just wanted to get out there and show something, and that we were too pricey for the client anyway. So what the hell was I developing zits for? I should have sent out the first draft with the word "effects" spelled as "affects". Shet.
***
No, I'm not sourgraping. Just realizing that we cannot have it all. Half the time we come out with such crap, half the time it ain't half as bad. I should know that by now. I'd really rather have it all, but I guess when push comes to shove you have to choose what's more important. I just thought I had it all figured out. Who knew a crossed t was just a blue border after all?
***
an aside: For some reason I have this bitter taste in my mouth and a sick feeling in my stomach. I'm now thinking of things I could've spent my time on. But that time's over. And now I have tons of pending work, non-job related work that means a lot to me personally but does not pay my phone bill. Ah, life.
Another time I was doing another project, with almost the same set of people, about a topic I knew nothing about. As most of our time was spent trying to understand the subject matter, we were left with only a few precious hours to actually get the presentation and the document together. This time around we decided not to leave anything to chance. We had to get our numbers right, had to cross the t's and dot the i's. The entire class waited for about an hour until we finally arrived with our powerpoint presentation and identical petrified looks on our faces. Of course we sucked. And it was the worst feeling in the entire world to know that you should have done better. But oddly enough, I also felt comforted by the fact that I had done absolutely everything in my limited capacity so that our output could be granted some level of respectability. Yes, it wasn't good enough. But I know I did my best.
***
This morning, I was slightly (and so very politely) chastised by my big boss. Short story: we had a proposal due 5pm yesterday, and at 425 we were still binding the damned thing. The long version is that that moment was preceded by a long series of events, which included delays in technical inputs, costing and team selection, erratic coordination with the India office (the time difference is a killer), very bad English grammar by people who supposedly invented the fucking language, and every little thing that delayed the processing of the document.
Yes, of course there are no excuses. But I had just come out of an experience where one minute, seemingly insignificant detail i.e. not stamping "certified true copy" on a single page (within a document of a thousand pages) could spell the sordid death of a bid -- and the chance to get an $8.5 million-dollar contract. That's 425 million pesos. Taste the guilt.
So no, I don't like to take chances anymore, and you can't tell me to hurry up when I know the client won't be able to understand that paragraph in Section 4.9 because it does not make sense. I will sit there until it does.
Then again I'm not the boss.
The question is: quality or punctuality? There is no clear cut answer, except that you have to know your priorities. And they should be able to tell us those priorities right at the very start, not when they're all huffing and puffing one hour to the deadline. And it's really insulting when, in the aftermath, you're told that they weren't really batting for the win, that they just wanted to get out there and show something, and that we were too pricey for the client anyway. So what the hell was I developing zits for? I should have sent out the first draft with the word "effects" spelled as "affects". Shet.
***
No, I'm not sourgraping. Just realizing that we cannot have it all. Half the time we come out with such crap, half the time it ain't half as bad. I should know that by now. I'd really rather have it all, but I guess when push comes to shove you have to choose what's more important. I just thought I had it all figured out. Who knew a crossed t was just a blue border after all?
***
an aside: For some reason I have this bitter taste in my mouth and a sick feeling in my stomach. I'm now thinking of things I could've spent my time on. But that time's over. And now I have tons of pending work, non-job related work that means a lot to me personally but does not pay my phone bill. Ah, life.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
IF YOU WANNA GO THROUGH MY ENTIRE DAY, GO AHEAD
There's no point to this entry. It's just one of those Saturdays, with a lot of little nothings.
I wake up trying to remember the things I need to do. Take-home work, thesis, overdue book, what else? Please don't rain too much today.
I try to listen to the rain. None. Good.
I hitch a ride with my dad to the MRT. Have to be in UP before lunch, because the Econ library closes at 12 on Saturdays (Econ people are clearly not book readers). I walk up the stairs. The queue wasn't long, points for MRT! I pass through the gates and chance upona billboard on the upper platform area. The picture has PGMA's huge smiling face (this is what greets passengers on their way to the trains every single day. Imagine that.) It also has a simple outline drawing of the MRT Line, telling me "You are here", and shows the other existing LRT lines and proposed LRT lines, and how they link up with this particular Line.
I work for a consultancy that specializes in infrastructure. We (well, the experts) built LRT2. And some of our partner firms in that project built LRT3 - MRT to everyone else. I ponder on that fact as I try to decipher the criss-crossing lines of the different LRTs in the billboard. Amazing. Transportation. How these blocks of cement and metal (and all the big and little things I don't understand) can carry people from Paranaque to Quezon City to Recto to Kamuning. I look around at people scurrying by, rushing to the trains, and wonder if they can see that, these huge arteries that carry our lifeblood all throughout the metropolis, every second of every day - unless there's a power outage or some other malfunction, then everyone takes the bus and road riots ensue.
What was I saying? Ah. For a brief moment I feel slightly proud of the people and entities who work to build trains and roads and bridges, even though in the actual fact I've never had anything to do with the design and construction of any piece of infrastructure.
I walk away from the billboard immersed in that thought, and go down the stairs to the platform.
Crap, the doors are closing. GMA and her stupid smiling face just made me late for my train. Oh wait here comes another. Is it me or are things working well today?
It takes me about 20 minutes to get from Taft to Quezon Ave, and I spend it listening to the Beatles . Good times, the 60s.
I board the jeep at the terminal beside Quezon Av station. A young boy sits in front, in his mother's lap, with his father in the driver seat. The father keeps on tickling him all throughout the ride, arousing fits of laughter and little legs flying over the dashboard. At Philcoa the boy straightens up and shouts joyously, "Ahh--UP, UP, UP, UP!" cajoling people to get in the jeep in the biggest voice his six-year-old body could muster. His parents laugh at his attempt. Of course this doesn't stop him from belting out once more. I don't feel sad like I usually feel when kids do what adults are supposed to do. Probably because this child isn't working, he isn't being abused (at least not today?). He's playing - the way young middle class children put on their daddies' ties and their mommies' heels, prancing around the carperted room until they trip over their grown-up costumes. For this one Saturday afternoon, I feel slightly...relieved.
I stop at the Econ building and run to the library, to be greeted by an irate librarian who huffs, "OVERDUE." So where's your fire huh, Ms Dragon? I pay the fine and leave immediately. I go to the SC to surf the net and wait for Mark. Lunch at Rodic's would be fabulous today. And it was. The hustle and bustle, the clanking of metal plates, the carinderia-style call-outs for food, and the air of 60 years of Rodic's history invade my senses. Then of course there's the yummy tapsilog. I eat and think, I want to write about this place. I will, I promise.
Later on, Mark and I pass by the "70% Sale" at ISSI before going to SURP. I mull over a pair of Lee jeans while Mark buys shoes. Hm, should I buy these jeans? They look like they fit, but do they? I'm not allowed to fit, so I stare at the thing for a good ten minutes. I finally ask Mark, and he asks back, "is it an immediate need? How many pants do you own?" Well, thanks a lot for the support, man. Parang linya ko ata yan. Tip: Never go to a sale with a man. He will crush your faith. They do not understand it. Yes we do know, sales are not really sales, they are schemes, and often end up ripping us off more than normal purchases do. I know I don't really need the jeans, and I know that logically I should not buy them because, personally, I need to know that they actually fir me, and there's no way of of knowing that here. I even know that it's not actually 70% off. But that is not the point of going to a sale. Going to a sale means feeling good about yourself. Period. Bah.
The rest of my afternoon is spent at the SURP library, trying to lift my mood. I think I'm growing library roots, honestly.
I go to thesis consultation a little later, then off we go to Glorietta to watch Pirates of the Caribbean.
What a funny movie! Could not stop laughing. Can not. Hilarious story, funny characters. Gorgeous Orlando Bloom. After the movie I see a girl whip out her digicam and take a picture of a Pirates poster. I bet you she's zooming in on Orlando. But why would you endeavor to get a 2D copy of a 2D copy of a person? I'd shave off one degree of Kevin Bacon: Picture Version, and plot to get the whole tarpaulin instead. Unless it's a life-size standee of Kimi Raikkonnen, then I could have my picture taken with my arm woven through his cardboard arm. Which I have done by the way, in Duty Free. Hahahaha.
Anyway I go home still laughing at the running cage scene, and with a mental note to watch the first Pirates movie.
So that was my day. It was a good one. Yun lang.
I wake up trying to remember the things I need to do. Take-home work, thesis, overdue book, what else? Please don't rain too much today.
I try to listen to the rain. None. Good.
I hitch a ride with my dad to the MRT. Have to be in UP before lunch, because the Econ library closes at 12 on Saturdays (Econ people are clearly not book readers). I walk up the stairs. The queue wasn't long, points for MRT! I pass through the gates and chance upona billboard on the upper platform area. The picture has PGMA's huge smiling face (this is what greets passengers on their way to the trains every single day. Imagine that.) It also has a simple outline drawing of the MRT Line, telling me "You are here", and shows the other existing LRT lines and proposed LRT lines, and how they link up with this particular Line.
I work for a consultancy that specializes in infrastructure. We (well, the experts) built LRT2. And some of our partner firms in that project built LRT3 - MRT to everyone else. I ponder on that fact as I try to decipher the criss-crossing lines of the different LRTs in the billboard. Amazing. Transportation. How these blocks of cement and metal (and all the big and little things I don't understand) can carry people from Paranaque to Quezon City to Recto to Kamuning. I look around at people scurrying by, rushing to the trains, and wonder if they can see that, these huge arteries that carry our lifeblood all throughout the metropolis, every second of every day - unless there's a power outage or some other malfunction, then everyone takes the bus and road riots ensue.
What was I saying? Ah. For a brief moment I feel slightly proud of the people and entities who work to build trains and roads and bridges, even though in the actual fact I've never had anything to do with the design and construction of any piece of infrastructure.
I walk away from the billboard immersed in that thought, and go down the stairs to the platform.
Crap, the doors are closing. GMA and her stupid smiling face just made me late for my train. Oh wait here comes another. Is it me or are things working well today?
It takes me about 20 minutes to get from Taft to Quezon Ave, and I spend it listening to the Beatles . Good times, the 60s.
I board the jeep at the terminal beside Quezon Av station. A young boy sits in front, in his mother's lap, with his father in the driver seat. The father keeps on tickling him all throughout the ride, arousing fits of laughter and little legs flying over the dashboard. At Philcoa the boy straightens up and shouts joyously, "Ahh--UP, UP, UP, UP!" cajoling people to get in the jeep in the biggest voice his six-year-old body could muster. His parents laugh at his attempt. Of course this doesn't stop him from belting out once more. I don't feel sad like I usually feel when kids do what adults are supposed to do. Probably because this child isn't working, he isn't being abused (at least not today?). He's playing - the way young middle class children put on their daddies' ties and their mommies' heels, prancing around the carperted room until they trip over their grown-up costumes. For this one Saturday afternoon, I feel slightly...relieved.
I stop at the Econ building and run to the library, to be greeted by an irate librarian who huffs, "OVERDUE." So where's your fire huh, Ms Dragon? I pay the fine and leave immediately. I go to the SC to surf the net and wait for Mark. Lunch at Rodic's would be fabulous today. And it was. The hustle and bustle, the clanking of metal plates, the carinderia-style call-outs for food, and the air of 60 years of Rodic's history invade my senses. Then of course there's the yummy tapsilog. I eat and think, I want to write about this place. I will, I promise.
Later on, Mark and I pass by the "70% Sale" at ISSI before going to SURP. I mull over a pair of Lee jeans while Mark buys shoes. Hm, should I buy these jeans? They look like they fit, but do they? I'm not allowed to fit, so I stare at the thing for a good ten minutes. I finally ask Mark, and he asks back, "is it an immediate need? How many pants do you own?" Well, thanks a lot for the support, man. Parang linya ko ata yan. Tip: Never go to a sale with a man. He will crush your faith. They do not understand it. Yes we do know, sales are not really sales, they are schemes, and often end up ripping us off more than normal purchases do. I know I don't really need the jeans, and I know that logically I should not buy them because, personally, I need to know that they actually fir me, and there's no way of of knowing that here. I even know that it's not actually 70% off. But that is not the point of going to a sale. Going to a sale means feeling good about yourself. Period. Bah.
The rest of my afternoon is spent at the SURP library, trying to lift my mood. I think I'm growing library roots, honestly.
I go to thesis consultation a little later, then off we go to Glorietta to watch Pirates of the Caribbean.
What a funny movie! Could not stop laughing. Can not. Hilarious story, funny characters. Gorgeous Orlando Bloom. After the movie I see a girl whip out her digicam and take a picture of a Pirates poster. I bet you she's zooming in on Orlando. But why would you endeavor to get a 2D copy of a 2D copy of a person? I'd shave off one degree of Kevin Bacon: Picture Version, and plot to get the whole tarpaulin instead. Unless it's a life-size standee of Kimi Raikkonnen, then I could have my picture taken with my arm woven through his cardboard arm. Which I have done by the way, in Duty Free. Hahahaha.
Anyway I go home still laughing at the running cage scene, and with a mental note to watch the first Pirates movie.
So that was my day. It was a good one. Yun lang.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Saturday, July 08, 2006
WHO WILL SAVE MY SOUL?
If I could tell the world just one thing it would be, we're all okay...not to worry coz worry is wasteful and useless in times like these...I won't be made useless, I won't be idle with despair..
I remembered this song a couple of nights ago, lying in bed and feeling exactly that: idle with despair.
It has come down to this. That once again I question the purpose for and value of me being where I am. That the regrets I've been keeping at bay are suddenly creeping up. I had never been so desperate and internally out of control sitting at Starbucks sipping java chip, as I did early this week. I wanted to throw the chairs all over. It didn't help that the movement around me indicated the ever constant and steady: people walking hurriedly to work, that guy routinely ordering ham and cheese croissant like he does evey morning at 830, girl with uber straight hair and delicate face holding her morning cigarette. It's as though everything was working perfectly, except me. Of course inside these people, something else may be lurking, a criminal, or some insanity raring to burst out on that sunny-rainy morning. I hardly think so though. At that moment, it certainly felt like I was the only one helplessly struggling against the current, trapped in my little box full of mental toxin.
I'm clearly not stable. But hey, I've never been.
So what's the problem? The problem is What If. What if I hadn't taken on this job that I have now, and continued with my project work instead? What if I had spent my summer preparing for the board instead of, well, not preparing for the board and missing my chance to take it? What if I had stayed strictly on track instead of deviating from "the plan"? What if I had followed my heart and sought adventure and uncertainty, instead of falling back to what I thought was safe and familiar? Which turned out to be the opposite, by the way. What if everything was different?
Well, what if? I'm actually tired of asking this question, knowing that any response of any variation all boils down to "wala na akong magagawa, nangyari na" and "ang tigas kasi ng ulo ko."
And because matigas ang ulo ko, I've been igniting brain cells to bits overthinking the petty. I'm writing here when should be sleeping, thinking about the what ifs and their possible impacts on my future. The question moves to What Would Happen Then? and What Now? My head is running from Past to Future and back again at breakneck speed, spinning and falling at every turn.I am foolishly welcoming a head-on collision with the unstoppable and undeniable - time. Time has actually become a hazy concept, except for the very clear recollections of my personal mistakes and missteps. Time. You can never go back. You can never redo or undo. What did Rhea use to say, after everything fell to pieces? Don't look back. No regrets.
Regret is a nasty word. Regret clings to you like a leech, poisoning you little by little. It's a monster. Up until this point I have had a couple or so regrets: that I allowed myself to "fall in love" with a guy who ultimately broke my heart, that I didn't take Math seriously (I'm serious), and well, I can't think of anything else. In retrospect, of course, I wouldn't have changed a damned thing. Because getting hurt taught me a ton of things, like being a better partner and waiting for the right guy. Because being crappy at Math made me realize what I really wanted to do (and I'm not as bad at it as college made me out to be, promise! I actually like it, which is to say I appreciate the concept, just not the computations haha).
Anyway, looking back years after, I find that I have no regrets after all. Cliche as it may sound, those things in the past have made me a better person. Right up until the second half of this year at least.
Does this mean that the churning feeling in my tummy today will, years from now, be just a happy, nostalgic thought? Probably. Does this stop me from being miserable today? Hell no.
"You worry too much," says Mark. Yes, yes I do. I'm a worrywart. The worst, praning kind. And I've run out of good paintrushes so I can't paint to calm my nerves, much less save my remaining threads of sanity.
So I sing.
I remembered this song a couple of nights ago, lying in bed and feeling exactly that: idle with despair.
It has come down to this. That once again I question the purpose for and value of me being where I am. That the regrets I've been keeping at bay are suddenly creeping up. I had never been so desperate and internally out of control sitting at Starbucks sipping java chip, as I did early this week. I wanted to throw the chairs all over. It didn't help that the movement around me indicated the ever constant and steady: people walking hurriedly to work, that guy routinely ordering ham and cheese croissant like he does evey morning at 830, girl with uber straight hair and delicate face holding her morning cigarette. It's as though everything was working perfectly, except me. Of course inside these people, something else may be lurking, a criminal, or some insanity raring to burst out on that sunny-rainy morning. I hardly think so though. At that moment, it certainly felt like I was the only one helplessly struggling against the current, trapped in my little box full of mental toxin.
I'm clearly not stable. But hey, I've never been.
So what's the problem? The problem is What If. What if I hadn't taken on this job that I have now, and continued with my project work instead? What if I had spent my summer preparing for the board instead of, well, not preparing for the board and missing my chance to take it? What if I had stayed strictly on track instead of deviating from "the plan"? What if I had followed my heart and sought adventure and uncertainty, instead of falling back to what I thought was safe and familiar? Which turned out to be the opposite, by the way. What if everything was different?
Well, what if? I'm actually tired of asking this question, knowing that any response of any variation all boils down to "wala na akong magagawa, nangyari na" and "ang tigas kasi ng ulo ko."
And because matigas ang ulo ko, I've been igniting brain cells to bits overthinking the petty. I'm writing here when should be sleeping, thinking about the what ifs and their possible impacts on my future. The question moves to What Would Happen Then? and What Now? My head is running from Past to Future and back again at breakneck speed, spinning and falling at every turn.I am foolishly welcoming a head-on collision with the unstoppable and undeniable - time. Time has actually become a hazy concept, except for the very clear recollections of my personal mistakes and missteps. Time. You can never go back. You can never redo or undo. What did Rhea use to say, after everything fell to pieces? Don't look back. No regrets.
Regret is a nasty word. Regret clings to you like a leech, poisoning you little by little. It's a monster. Up until this point I have had a couple or so regrets: that I allowed myself to "fall in love" with a guy who ultimately broke my heart, that I didn't take Math seriously (I'm serious), and well, I can't think of anything else. In retrospect, of course, I wouldn't have changed a damned thing. Because getting hurt taught me a ton of things, like being a better partner and waiting for the right guy. Because being crappy at Math made me realize what I really wanted to do (and I'm not as bad at it as college made me out to be, promise! I actually like it, which is to say I appreciate the concept, just not the computations haha).
Anyway, looking back years after, I find that I have no regrets after all. Cliche as it may sound, those things in the past have made me a better person. Right up until the second half of this year at least.
Does this mean that the churning feeling in my tummy today will, years from now, be just a happy, nostalgic thought? Probably. Does this stop me from being miserable today? Hell no.
"You worry too much," says Mark. Yes, yes I do. I'm a worrywart. The worst, praning kind. And I've run out of good paintrushes so I can't paint to calm my nerves, much less save my remaining threads of sanity.
So I sing.
Hands (Jewel)
If I could tell the world just one thing It would be that we're all ok
And not to worry because worry is wasteful and useless in times like these
I will not be made useless
I won't be idle with despair
I will gather myself around my faith for light does the darkness most fear
My hands are small, I know, but they're not yours they are my own
but they're not yours they are my own
and I am never broken
Poverty stole your golden shoes but it didn't steal your laughter
And heartache came to visit me but i knew it wasn't ever after
We will fight, not out of spite for someone must stand up for what's right
cause where there's a man who has no voice there ours shall go singing
In the end only kindness matters
In the end only kindness matters
I will get down on my knees and I will pray
I will get down on my knees and I will pray
I will get down on my knees and I will pray
My hands are small, I know, but they're not yours they are my own
but they're not yours they are my own
and I am never broken
My hands are small, i know, but they're not yours they are my own
but they're not yours they are my own
and I am never broken
We are never broken
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's mind
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's heart
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's eyes
God's hands
We are God's hands
God's hands
We are God's hands
Monday, June 19, 2006
*SHRUGS SHOULDERS AND SIGHS*
Why do I continue to have this ambivalence towards my work? I don't know, I don't know.
Last Saturday a friend was telling me about a certain work prospect related to our field, and I had the sudden urge to drop everything and resign from my job. Mark gave me a random email address and told me to send my CV for a planning-related position, and I had to muster all my strength not to. I don't know why, don't know why.
Am I not satisfied? Am I not learning enough here? Is this boring me? I don't know, don't know.
Maybe it's this great big stormcloud of regret hanging over me. Things I could have done, things I wanted to do, what I could have accomplished had it not been for my current work. Promises broken, excuses made, a little dream I started to realize and suddenly gave up. And now I feel miserable one moment, accepting and docile the next. I know I should be happy with the decisions I've made. There are lessons to be learned, after all. But why does this nagging feeling persist? I'm starting to feel like a broken record, really. But I just can't shake it off. Why? Why??
Oh, you know the answer.
Last Saturday a friend was telling me about a certain work prospect related to our field, and I had the sudden urge to drop everything and resign from my job. Mark gave me a random email address and told me to send my CV for a planning-related position, and I had to muster all my strength not to. I don't know why, don't know why.
Am I not satisfied? Am I not learning enough here? Is this boring me? I don't know, don't know.
Maybe it's this great big stormcloud of regret hanging over me. Things I could have done, things I wanted to do, what I could have accomplished had it not been for my current work. Promises broken, excuses made, a little dream I started to realize and suddenly gave up. And now I feel miserable one moment, accepting and docile the next. I know I should be happy with the decisions I've made. There are lessons to be learned, after all. But why does this nagging feeling persist? I'm starting to feel like a broken record, really. But I just can't shake it off. Why? Why??
Oh, you know the answer.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
NOTHING LIKE IT YET
I did it. Finally!
I climbed a mountain. Mt Gulugod Baboy in Anilao, to be exact.
This is a milestone , people. My theory about my parents is in shambles right now, but hey, better that than not being able to have this:
More kwento later. Right now I'm just savoring the hangover.
Friday, June 02, 2006
WHAT PAULA COLE SANG
Once in a while I get this feeling of restlessness. It's as though I want to run, to sprint away and just go. There's a pressure inside me waiting, just waiting.
I just learned that my old friend in the States is quitting her job and moving hundreds of miles to start a new life. Not that she's unhappy with what she has; on the contrary, I think she couldn't be happier right now. But she just felt she had to do it, to uproot herself and find a new place, to take on this adventure and give new and greater meaning to her life.
Naiinggit ako. Why couldn't I do that? Granted, she lives in a land where independence is widely encouraged, even forced. Her parents probably gave her the blessing to do whatever she wants to do. Mine, on the other hand, are determined to keep me strapped to the inside wall of our house, like a painting on display that they can examine whenever they felt the urge, and ignore when they're busy looking at a lamp near the couch. Ouf. No, they're not that bad. But it's not a very encouraging atmosphere either.
All my life I've sat, a good little pupil with her hands on her lap and her eyes looking straight ahead. The few times I've tried to break away ended in disaster, with me in the losing end of course. Recently though, I was "granted" some degree of freedom. I managed to cross a sea without them, on a non-school or -work related trip. And if I insist on going to Sagada, they'd probably allow me -- as long they have a copy of my complete and detailed itinerary, and with a semi-interrogation when I get back.
But to let me go? To send me off to a place with no certainty of transportation, food or lodging? To allow me to just be free and find my own way? No. In their hearts, probably never.
My brother is lucky he's now living in Cebu. Cebu! So far away! What a wonderful place to be in. Two nights ago he lost his celphone downtown. One on hand it's such a tragedy because there was so much more in that phone than mere contacts and text messages. There were ideas and concepts and various streaks of brilliance. On the other hand, it was probably cathartic. Now he has to start from scratch, quite literally. A totally new lease on life.
Meanwhile, I'm stuck here, with two celphones but no time, no money to spare and no one to go anywhere farther than QC with. I watch Travel and Living and dream of Italy. I book flights to places I won't go to and plan trips that never happen. Bleah.
But everyone says to wait. I've got a whole life ahead of me. Ok fine. But time is running so fast, you know? At least for me. Pretty soon I'll be 25, then 27, then 30, then no longer fit enough to climb a mountain or jump from a cliff. I just wish...haay, never mind.
I swear someday I'm gonna have my cake and eat it, too. But therein lies the problem. I want my cake now.
Aaaauuugghhhh.
I just learned that my old friend in the States is quitting her job and moving hundreds of miles to start a new life. Not that she's unhappy with what she has; on the contrary, I think she couldn't be happier right now. But she just felt she had to do it, to uproot herself and find a new place, to take on this adventure and give new and greater meaning to her life.
Naiinggit ako. Why couldn't I do that? Granted, she lives in a land where independence is widely encouraged, even forced. Her parents probably gave her the blessing to do whatever she wants to do. Mine, on the other hand, are determined to keep me strapped to the inside wall of our house, like a painting on display that they can examine whenever they felt the urge, and ignore when they're busy looking at a lamp near the couch. Ouf. No, they're not that bad. But it's not a very encouraging atmosphere either.
All my life I've sat, a good little pupil with her hands on her lap and her eyes looking straight ahead. The few times I've tried to break away ended in disaster, with me in the losing end of course. Recently though, I was "granted" some degree of freedom. I managed to cross a sea without them, on a non-school or -work related trip. And if I insist on going to Sagada, they'd probably allow me -- as long they have a copy of my complete and detailed itinerary, and with a semi-interrogation when I get back.
But to let me go? To send me off to a place with no certainty of transportation, food or lodging? To allow me to just be free and find my own way? No. In their hearts, probably never.
My brother is lucky he's now living in Cebu. Cebu! So far away! What a wonderful place to be in. Two nights ago he lost his celphone downtown. One on hand it's such a tragedy because there was so much more in that phone than mere contacts and text messages. There were ideas and concepts and various streaks of brilliance. On the other hand, it was probably cathartic. Now he has to start from scratch, quite literally. A totally new lease on life.
Meanwhile, I'm stuck here, with two celphones but no time, no money to spare and no one to go anywhere farther than QC with. I watch Travel and Living and dream of Italy. I book flights to places I won't go to and plan trips that never happen. Bleah.
But everyone says to wait. I've got a whole life ahead of me. Ok fine. But time is running so fast, you know? At least for me. Pretty soon I'll be 25, then 27, then 30, then no longer fit enough to climb a mountain or jump from a cliff. I just wish...haay, never mind.
I swear someday I'm gonna have my cake and eat it, too. But therein lies the problem. I want my cake now.
Aaaauuugghhhh.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
DECODED, FINALLY
I treated my family to Da Vinci Code last weekend. Yes, suckers we all are.
It was...okay. Just okay. I wasn't enthralled or shocked. In fact, I was rather underwhelmed (that girl in 10 Things: You can be overwhelmed, you can be underwhelmed, but can you just be...whelmed?).
Too much drama and kindergarten explaining, and too little thrill. I'm not saying this because I've read the book; I've read all Harry Potter books as well, and much as Harry is corny kidstuff, the book-to-film attempt of that one fared so much better than Ron Howard's limp endeavor, all things considered.
Sure, there was an extraordinary breadth of information to cram into two hours, but with faster and better storytelling they could've pulled it off. LOTR did. I mean, the Dan Brown's book reads like a script by itself, how could you go wrong? But they did. Watching the movie, you feel as if you're sitting at the edge of your seat - not with excitement but with impatience. Half the time, you are gripped by an intense desire to shout, "go, move the story along will ya?!" The other half is spent comparing the book to the movie. Not a good sign.
I dunno. Maybe it's just me. Hey, it wasn't that bad. You have to give them props for being brave enough to come out with a film version. I just wasn't as impressed as I thought I would be. Like one critic said, it lacked the riddle-solving, analytical approach that the book had. It fails to draw the viewer in to the chase. And that's where the excitement is, really. I would want to feel involved, not like an outsider watching several people run around like mad. Plus, the ending sucked for me. It was fine until the camera zoomed and went undergound to show Mary Magdalene's sarcophagus. I mean, hello. Can you spell overkill? A gazillion people have read the book, and even if they haven't, it wouldn't take a rocket scientist or even a college student to figure out what was inside the frickin *******. If the makers of the film had told the story properly (read: effectively) from the beginning, Langdon's kneeling down at the spot and the riddle being said in the background should have been more than enough to explain the significance of that scene. Duh. So much for mystery.
And that Bishop Aringarosa was such a distraction. I couldn't get Octo Octavian out of my mind. I kept waiting for tentacles to jump out his back and whack the other priests. No traces of them, however. Too bad. That would have been exciting.
It was...okay. Just okay. I wasn't enthralled or shocked. In fact, I was rather underwhelmed (that girl in 10 Things: You can be overwhelmed, you can be underwhelmed, but can you just be...whelmed?).
Too much drama and kindergarten explaining, and too little thrill. I'm not saying this because I've read the book; I've read all Harry Potter books as well, and much as Harry is corny kidstuff, the book-to-film attempt of that one fared so much better than Ron Howard's limp endeavor, all things considered.
Sure, there was an extraordinary breadth of information to cram into two hours, but with faster and better storytelling they could've pulled it off. LOTR did. I mean, the Dan Brown's book reads like a script by itself, how could you go wrong? But they did. Watching the movie, you feel as if you're sitting at the edge of your seat - not with excitement but with impatience. Half the time, you are gripped by an intense desire to shout, "go, move the story along will ya?!" The other half is spent comparing the book to the movie. Not a good sign.
I dunno. Maybe it's just me. Hey, it wasn't that bad. You have to give them props for being brave enough to come out with a film version. I just wasn't as impressed as I thought I would be. Like one critic said, it lacked the riddle-solving, analytical approach that the book had. It fails to draw the viewer in to the chase. And that's where the excitement is, really. I would want to feel involved, not like an outsider watching several people run around like mad. Plus, the ending sucked for me. It was fine until the camera zoomed and went undergound to show Mary Magdalene's sarcophagus. I mean, hello. Can you spell overkill? A gazillion people have read the book, and even if they haven't, it wouldn't take a rocket scientist or even a college student to figure out what was inside the frickin *******. If the makers of the film had told the story properly (read: effectively) from the beginning, Langdon's kneeling down at the spot and the riddle being said in the background should have been more than enough to explain the significance of that scene. Duh. So much for mystery.
And that Bishop Aringarosa was such a distraction. I couldn't get Octo Octavian out of my mind. I kept waiting for tentacles to jump out his back and whack the other priests. No traces of them, however. Too bad. That would have been exciting.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
We got a call from Iloilo this morning. My tito, papa's youngest brother, is dead. I don't know the details, but mama said he fell down the stairs as he was getting coffee. It was most probably a stroke.
I'm not very close to my dad's relatives, but there's something about this kind death that pulls you down. It shocks you. How could that happen? My tito was very strong, very alive. He had a loud voice and a confident gait. He was always nice to us. His daughters are adorable. For him to be snatched away so suddenly...it was just one morning. Like any other. My little cousins were probably still asleep. There's a level of disbelief that can't be diminished.
I hate for my death to be like a thief. I want to be able to say I love you to all the people I love. I want my family to know that no matter how grumpy I can get, I would still do anything for them. I want my friends to know that I appreciate them. I want my baby to know I will love him forever.
If I could tell everyone I know to take care, every single day, I would. I don't know if that would help, though. No one in this earth is big enough to question the motive of death, if there is one. Sure, science can always explain the causes. No one disputes that. But there is still a void that needs to be filled by something less mundane. If you believe in something greater than yourself, if you believe in the universe, you know there's a reason, and you understand that you are not in the position to doubt it.
---
Time and again, death teaches us what we've known all along but too often forget: that life is precious, life is a tiny wonder. It insists on being lived to the fullest, and we would do well to grant its request. Life is a whisper of something magical inside us, yet beyond us.
I think we're ready to go when we've "sucked the marrow of life," gone as far as we possibly can to reach an understanding of it, seen the magic and shared it as much as we can. Until then, we walk on.
I'm not very close to my dad's relatives, but there's something about this kind death that pulls you down. It shocks you. How could that happen? My tito was very strong, very alive. He had a loud voice and a confident gait. He was always nice to us. His daughters are adorable. For him to be snatched away so suddenly...it was just one morning. Like any other. My little cousins were probably still asleep. There's a level of disbelief that can't be diminished.
---
I want my death to be a slow one. Not to add agony or drama or whatever, but just so my loved ones and I know. I hate not knowing. I hate bad surprises. It's like coming home to a house in complete disarray. All you can do is look. You can't even utter the question "why?" It just is, and you know can't do anything about it. That's what keeps you dumbfounded.I hate for my death to be like a thief. I want to be able to say I love you to all the people I love. I want my family to know that no matter how grumpy I can get, I would still do anything for them. I want my friends to know that I appreciate them. I want my baby to know I will love him forever.
If I could tell everyone I know to take care, every single day, I would. I don't know if that would help, though. No one in this earth is big enough to question the motive of death, if there is one. Sure, science can always explain the causes. No one disputes that. But there is still a void that needs to be filled by something less mundane. If you believe in something greater than yourself, if you believe in the universe, you know there's a reason, and you understand that you are not in the position to doubt it.
---
Time and again, death teaches us what we've known all along but too often forget: that life is precious, life is a tiny wonder. It insists on being lived to the fullest, and we would do well to grant its request. Life is a whisper of something magical inside us, yet beyond us.
I think we're ready to go when we've "sucked the marrow of life," gone as far as we possibly can to reach an understanding of it, seen the magic and shared it as much as we can. Until then, we walk on.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
PRELUDE TO DISASTER
Thank Nokia for the radio feature on my phone. It keeps me from downing buckets of coffee and picking at my cuticles.
I'm booored. Besides mutilitating my fingers, I've taken to threading through my hair, looking for dead (well, double-dead) strands and plucking them out. Seriously. I've been doing it for days, it doesn't even hurt that much anymore. I've read and reread blog entries, searched names on Google, learned that Scott Moffatt has a new aldum out and that Bob and Clint live in Thailand now. Egad I'm regressing!
So this is corporate life huh. My back hurts from sitting in a chair pretending to be ergonomic, I got nowhere to eat (I'm deathly afraid of Jollijeep, especially since I was confined for typhoid fever not so long ago, and because I was raised praning), and it seems no one in our office takes merienda. I'm not a big rice eater but I do like merienda.
I know this griping will boomerang, probably next week when my boss returns from the hospital and swamps me with work. I predict that by then my life would spin out of control.
Loving life and getting it order are two different things. I hope the window of opportunity I have right now to "run around" won't haunt me in the future. Under normal circumstances this would be called "spreading myself too thin." The result could only be haphazard work.
Shit. I just realized the world could very well come crashing down, any moment now.
But I'm hungry na. The world will have to wait!
I'm booored. Besides mutilitating my fingers, I've taken to threading through my hair, looking for dead (well, double-dead) strands and plucking them out. Seriously. I've been doing it for days, it doesn't even hurt that much anymore. I've read and reread blog entries, searched names on Google, learned that Scott Moffatt has a new aldum out and that Bob and Clint live in Thailand now. Egad I'm regressing!
So this is corporate life huh. My back hurts from sitting in a chair pretending to be ergonomic, I got nowhere to eat (I'm deathly afraid of Jollijeep, especially since I was confined for typhoid fever not so long ago, and because I was raised praning), and it seems no one in our office takes merienda. I'm not a big rice eater but I do like merienda.
I know this griping will boomerang, probably next week when my boss returns from the hospital and swamps me with work. I predict that by then my life would spin out of control.
Loving life and getting it order are two different things. I hope the window of opportunity I have right now to "run around" won't haunt me in the future. Under normal circumstances this would be called "spreading myself too thin." The result could only be haphazard work.
Shit. I just realized the world could very well come crashing down, any moment now.
But I'm hungry na. The world will have to wait!
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
SUNNY CLOUDY DAY
I am superwoman! I ran around Makati at lunchbreak today in my heels and floral blouse, split between two jobs, and with spare time to inhale a hotdog sandwich and give the bf a noontime kiss. Now I'm back in the office, contemplating on pushing through with a long-held plan that might hasten my professional development, or throw me down that chasm of shame which I've managed to avoid for at least a couple of years (whew). Last week I met with some old friends, albeit very briefly. Yesterday my adviser texted and recommended that I present my proposal at the forum on April 26. This weekend I'll be saving mangroves and wildlife in Puerto Galera, and next week I'll be in Davao slugging it out with DILG and LGU officials. Yeah baby this is it.
When your life (or a minute part of it) is laid out before you in full view, your lungs sort of expand, and you sense a prolonged tingle in your chest. It's a breathless instant, and suddenly you feel heady.
You want it all. Sure you do. You think, this is how's it's meant to be. You can see everything clearly. You mark your mental to-do list, each item checked with a flourish. You think, hey, my life plan seems to be working out after all.
Then you seriously hope that your resident creature of gloom doesn't stick its furry face out again and start gnawing at your insides, posioning you with self-doubt. No, no, because if it does you'd have to bring in Rainbow Brite and some of fhe Care Bears to wash away the darkness in the pit of your stomach. They'd be glad to oblige, they always are, but they're much too busy now with people who have real fears. So you shut up and prod on.
Are you still breathless? Or just tired and out of breath?
Sigh. See, I just rained on my own parade. Classic.
When your life (or a minute part of it) is laid out before you in full view, your lungs sort of expand, and you sense a prolonged tingle in your chest. It's a breathless instant, and suddenly you feel heady.
You want it all. Sure you do. You think, this is how's it's meant to be. You can see everything clearly. You mark your mental to-do list, each item checked with a flourish. You think, hey, my life plan seems to be working out after all.
Then you seriously hope that your resident creature of gloom doesn't stick its furry face out again and start gnawing at your insides, posioning you with self-doubt. No, no, because if it does you'd have to bring in Rainbow Brite and some of fhe Care Bears to wash away the darkness in the pit of your stomach. They'd be glad to oblige, they always are, but they're much too busy now with people who have real fears. So you shut up and prod on.
Are you still breathless? Or just tired and out of breath?
Sigh. See, I just rained on my own parade. Classic.
Monday, April 10, 2006
Today is my second (and a half) day at Halcrow Philippines. Yep, I got a job. I mean a second job, since I was already involved in the Planades project when I accepted Halcrow's offer . Now I don't really know which is my “primary” job at this point. Last week I was absent from Halcrow (for two and a half days!) because I had to go to Baguio for a Planades activity. I know, bad. But I already warned Halcrow about this, and they hired me anyway.
I must admit I’m enjoying Planades thoroughly. There's so much activity, and I like the people I'm working with (with the exception of some very annoying individuals. But what can I do, that's planning.) I have yet to be excited about my actual work at Halcrow. My direct boss is on sick leave--has been for over a week--which means there's very little for me to do except browse the company’s intranet and read company materials. I'm very interested in the company's profile and projects though, and I do hope that my being part of them in some small way would be an enriching experience. Plus, it's a British company, a fact that I absolutely luuuuv. Man, the British are fantastic. Love the accent, love their charmingly formal yet frank ways, love the humor. Love them. Plus, our regional planner--who's very nice and insists that I drop the "sir" when addressing him--is a town and country planner back in Britain. Akindred spirit. Love it.
My only problem is time. It's hard to juggle two companies when you're not the boss in either. You're answerable and accountable to both, and you go around thinking if you should be guilty or self-righteous about why you're prioritizing one over the other at any given moment. You have no excuse and double the responsibility. It's excruciating. But there's really nothing I can do. I guess they'll just have to live with it.
Whether it's Planades or Halcrow, I'm definitely off the couch and out of the house. For whatever it's worth, this is a good thing. I got a lot of flak from relatives who constantly asked what I was up to (read: are you still jobless?), and friends who thought one of the following: 1) I'm having the time of my life because I don't have to worry about work responsibilities 2) I'm secretly miserable and they're secretly sorry for me or 3) I'm a useless, broken cog in the wheel of society and they are secretly annoyed by the fact that I hadn't done anything about it.
Thing is, I don't care much for others' opinions of me when it comes to work. I'd rather be jobless than stuck in something for which I feel nothing but distinct abhorrence. However, for a time I did feel a sting of helplessness and impatience, one that emanated not from others, but from within. Interestingly, it was when I got over the hump and decided that worrying won't do me any good that the work started rolling in. I had to be okay first, before life could made things okay for me. I'm not sure if that makes sense. All I know is that positivity begets positivity. Also, that things come at the right time, at the right place. So no questions, and no room for doubt. Because the universe is perfect that way, and if we can't understand that, then we would be miserable.
I must admit I’m enjoying Planades thoroughly. There's so much activity, and I like the people I'm working with (with the exception of some very annoying individuals. But what can I do, that's planning.) I have yet to be excited about my actual work at Halcrow. My direct boss is on sick leave--has been for over a week--which means there's very little for me to do except browse the company’s intranet and read company materials. I'm very interested in the company's profile and projects though, and I do hope that my being part of them in some small way would be an enriching experience. Plus, it's a British company, a fact that I absolutely luuuuv. Man, the British are fantastic. Love the accent, love their charmingly formal yet frank ways, love the humor. Love them. Plus, our regional planner--who's very nice and insists that I drop the "sir" when addressing him--is a town and country planner back in Britain. Akindred spirit. Love it.
My only problem is time. It's hard to juggle two companies when you're not the boss in either. You're answerable and accountable to both, and you go around thinking if you should be guilty or self-righteous about why you're prioritizing one over the other at any given moment. You have no excuse and double the responsibility. It's excruciating. But there's really nothing I can do. I guess they'll just have to live with it.
Whether it's Planades or Halcrow, I'm definitely off the couch and out of the house. For whatever it's worth, this is a good thing. I got a lot of flak from relatives who constantly asked what I was up to (read: are you still jobless?), and friends who thought one of the following: 1) I'm having the time of my life because I don't have to worry about work responsibilities 2) I'm secretly miserable and they're secretly sorry for me or 3) I'm a useless, broken cog in the wheel of society and they are secretly annoyed by the fact that I hadn't done anything about it.
Thing is, I don't care much for others' opinions of me when it comes to work. I'd rather be jobless than stuck in something for which I feel nothing but distinct abhorrence. However, for a time I did feel a sting of helplessness and impatience, one that emanated not from others, but from within. Interestingly, it was when I got over the hump and decided that worrying won't do me any good that the work started rolling in. I had to be okay first, before life could made things okay for me. I'm not sure if that makes sense. All I know is that positivity begets positivity. Also, that things come at the right time, at the right place. So no questions, and no room for doubt. Because the universe is perfect that way, and if we can't understand that, then we would be miserable.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
ORAYT!!!
My adviser said the most magical words today: Okay na ang proposal mo.
Finally, after four months of exhausting my brain cells, mutilating my ego and punishing my body with bad diet and unkempt hair, I am done. Thank you to those who successfully dodged and deflected my channeled wrath, and deeper thanks to those who willingly absorbed it.
There's still the research forum, data collection and analysis and defense, so brace yourselves. In the meantime, hello summer!
Finally, after four months of exhausting my brain cells, mutilating my ego and punishing my body with bad diet and unkempt hair, I am done. Thank you to those who successfully dodged and deflected my channeled wrath, and deeper thanks to those who willingly absorbed it.
There's still the research forum, data collection and analysis and defense, so brace yourselves. In the meantime, hello summer!
Friday, March 24, 2006
MY LIFE ACCORDING TO MONKEYQUIZ.COM
| This Is My Life, Rated | |
| Life: |  6.8 |
| Mind: |  6.3 |
| Body: | 6.1 |
| Spirit: | 6.7 |
| Friends/Family: | 6.8 |
| Love: |  7.7 |
| Finance: |  4.2 |
| Take the Rate My Life Quiz | |
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
THE YANG TO MY YIN
I forget which is the "light" and "dark" of the two. No matter, they form the same whole, and are inextricably connected.
Just like our good days, which are always, always tempered by crappy days, the intensity of the latter exactly matching that of the former. Didn't we Librans always know it? Life is a balance.
So when you're extremely happy, at the back of your mind you should know that something might, nay, will go wrong, any day now. Haha, praning. Nah, it shouldn't stop you from being happy, but it helps you to not be blind. And when you're suddenly thrust into good ol' Murphy's vortex, fret not, because things will explode in flowers and sunshine soon enough. Promise.
I've been feeling pretty good the last couple of weeks. Maybe that's why the universe, having had enough of my smiling, gave me a hard shake yesterday. Can't say how, just that I was reminded once again of the reality that people can be truly evil, unkind and shamelessly dishonest. Blocked my sunshine out, that's for sure.
Here you are trying to be the best person you can be, and others will put you into positions of compromise and fear. Whatever hope you have for society and faith you have in the goodness of people will be challenged.
What will you do? When your confidence in this world is diminished, what will you do? Again, the choice between fight or flight. Fight and meet certain death, or leave and be saved, knowing that others will be left behind? And when your future dangles on a thread, held hostage by strangers who feel they can wield power over you, what will you do? Will you stand by your belief and risk losing everything, or will you succumb?
How does one survive? What of ourselves do we save and what are we willing to let go of, so we can honestly say that we lived our lives the best way we know how? How do we dance this sadistic dance of life, with all its beauty and ugliness, comfort and pain? Where every step is a step towards heaven AND hell?
Just like our good days, which are always, always tempered by crappy days, the intensity of the latter exactly matching that of the former. Didn't we Librans always know it? Life is a balance.
So when you're extremely happy, at the back of your mind you should know that something might, nay, will go wrong, any day now. Haha, praning. Nah, it shouldn't stop you from being happy, but it helps you to not be blind. And when you're suddenly thrust into good ol' Murphy's vortex, fret not, because things will explode in flowers and sunshine soon enough. Promise.
I've been feeling pretty good the last couple of weeks. Maybe that's why the universe, having had enough of my smiling, gave me a hard shake yesterday. Can't say how, just that I was reminded once again of the reality that people can be truly evil, unkind and shamelessly dishonest. Blocked my sunshine out, that's for sure.
Here you are trying to be the best person you can be, and others will put you into positions of compromise and fear. Whatever hope you have for society and faith you have in the goodness of people will be challenged.
What will you do? When your confidence in this world is diminished, what will you do? Again, the choice between fight or flight. Fight and meet certain death, or leave and be saved, knowing that others will be left behind? And when your future dangles on a thread, held hostage by strangers who feel they can wield power over you, what will you do? Will you stand by your belief and risk losing everything, or will you succumb?
How does one survive? What of ourselves do we save and what are we willing to let go of, so we can honestly say that we lived our lives the best way we know how? How do we dance this sadistic dance of life, with all its beauty and ugliness, comfort and pain? Where every step is a step towards heaven AND hell?
Saturday, March 11, 2006
MORNING AFTER
I attended my first Planades meeting yesterday (for those who don't know, it's the research arm of my grad school).
Yep, I'm working again! It's been roughly six months since I left Senate. Now my friend from that office is returning the dogs I had given him for his birthday (hmp!), and I don't know what the hell is going in Sen. Angara's life. You don't need to comprehend that last sentence. Suffice it to say that a lot has happened since I stopped going up that elevator to Rm 504, GSIS Bldg.
Anyhoo, I'm loving my life now. Like my ever wonderful thesis adviser said, it's time I got my feet wet in the planning profession. So yebah for me, I think I'm actually moving in the right direction.
As usual, I'm the youngest in the team. That makes me the most inexperienced. I'm trying not to put pressure on myself, but I hope I don't disappoint. My main objective is to not look stupid, hehe. Good thing I understood what was being discussed last night. I think. Whew.
I got home just in time for Princess Lulu and PBB. I'm starting to like Lulu, and PBB is both entertaining and slightly sick. Shucks am I turning into a Kapamilya? The horror!
I wanted to make an analysis of last night's episode of PBB (haha, adik talaga shyet), but I couldn't get past the Roxy-Bianca-Rico mess. *okay, those who don't watch PBB, skip this paragraph* There's so much to say, katamad to write it all down. But Big Bro is the man, yeah baby. Bianca was finally forced to look at her condition and examine her own character. And she came out all confused. Mature as she may seem, she still has a lot to learn, just like the rest of us. Can you taste the slight bitterness in my tongue? Haha, no naman. I think it's a good thing she went through that ordeal. At least she had the chance to gain a deeper understanding of herself.
Sometimes we need to be pushed to the corner so we can take stock of who we are, what we want, how much we want it and what we're willing to give up. We don't always come out unscathed. We dont have to.
Yun lang naman. Good morning!
Yep, I'm working again! It's been roughly six months since I left Senate. Now my friend from that office is returning the dogs I had given him for his birthday (hmp!), and I don't know what the hell is going in Sen. Angara's life. You don't need to comprehend that last sentence. Suffice it to say that a lot has happened since I stopped going up that elevator to Rm 504, GSIS Bldg.
Anyhoo, I'm loving my life now. Like my ever wonderful thesis adviser said, it's time I got my feet wet in the planning profession. So yebah for me, I think I'm actually moving in the right direction.
As usual, I'm the youngest in the team. That makes me the most inexperienced. I'm trying not to put pressure on myself, but I hope I don't disappoint. My main objective is to not look stupid, hehe. Good thing I understood what was being discussed last night. I think. Whew.
I got home just in time for Princess Lulu and PBB. I'm starting to like Lulu, and PBB is both entertaining and slightly sick. Shucks am I turning into a Kapamilya? The horror!
I wanted to make an analysis of last night's episode of PBB (haha, adik talaga shyet), but I couldn't get past the Roxy-Bianca-Rico mess. *okay, those who don't watch PBB, skip this paragraph* There's so much to say, katamad to write it all down. But Big Bro is the man, yeah baby. Bianca was finally forced to look at her condition and examine her own character. And she came out all confused. Mature as she may seem, she still has a lot to learn, just like the rest of us. Can you taste the slight bitterness in my tongue? Haha, no naman. I think it's a good thing she went through that ordeal. At least she had the chance to gain a deeper understanding of herself.
Sometimes we need to be pushed to the corner so we can take stock of who we are, what we want, how much we want it and what we're willing to give up. We don't always come out unscathed. We dont have to.
Yun lang naman. Good morning!
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
TODAY...
...I learned that:
1. I can still wake up at 5 am.
2. Chickens can actually fly to the top of trees. I'm not kidding. I almost jumped when I heard the flapping of wings and saw poor leaves falling from our neighbor's tree. When I looked up, there were several chickens (hens? roosters?) perched on the higher branches. Okay maybe they didn't fly. Maybe they hopped. I wish I took a picture.
3. People, those I meet for the first time, and maybe acquaintances, will probably always see me as this confident, strong person. I just met a British guy (old, but cute accent) today who told me that he saw me as such. However, as my friends know, I totally am not. I don't know how people get that impression of me. It's not always good because sometimes I feel I have to live up to certain expectations, when really, I just want to hide.
4. I should really leave the world of writing and publishing behind. Completely. I think I made a declaration like this several months back. I tried to follow Len's advice, which was to pursue a career in our chosen field. But I got sidetracked for a brief moment. So now I'm making a reiteration. Haaay. As much I loved that life, it's just not..me, not anymore.
5. I still am a lucky girl. Always taken care of, always the baby. My lola went to our house yesterday to clean my closet. She hates seeing that hopeless, albeit colorful pile of clothes. She folded all my blouses and--get this--put them inside transparent plastic bags, two blouses per bag. Hmm, maybe it's to prevent me from pulling them out unceremoniously and then carelessly throwing them back in. So now, every time I get dressed, I have to untie the plastic bags and fish out the blouse. If I change my mind it will be another round of searching and untying. Dreadful. Now I actually have to think about what to wear before I open the closet. My, my, nanay is clever. I love her hehe.
6. I haven't satisfied my obsession with jackets in a long time. Now it's summer. Sheesh.
7. I really should do more. Because I want to live on my own, and when I do I want to have the skills necessary for me not to starve, and at the same time have clean clothes on my back and money in my pockets.
8. I am happy, after all.
1. I can still wake up at 5 am.
2. Chickens can actually fly to the top of trees. I'm not kidding. I almost jumped when I heard the flapping of wings and saw poor leaves falling from our neighbor's tree. When I looked up, there were several chickens (hens? roosters?) perched on the higher branches. Okay maybe they didn't fly. Maybe they hopped. I wish I took a picture.
3. People, those I meet for the first time, and maybe acquaintances, will probably always see me as this confident, strong person. I just met a British guy (old, but cute accent) today who told me that he saw me as such. However, as my friends know, I totally am not. I don't know how people get that impression of me. It's not always good because sometimes I feel I have to live up to certain expectations, when really, I just want to hide.
4. I should really leave the world of writing and publishing behind. Completely. I think I made a declaration like this several months back. I tried to follow Len's advice, which was to pursue a career in our chosen field. But I got sidetracked for a brief moment. So now I'm making a reiteration. Haaay. As much I loved that life, it's just not..me, not anymore.
5. I still am a lucky girl. Always taken care of, always the baby. My lola went to our house yesterday to clean my closet. She hates seeing that hopeless, albeit colorful pile of clothes. She folded all my blouses and--get this--put them inside transparent plastic bags, two blouses per bag. Hmm, maybe it's to prevent me from pulling them out unceremoniously and then carelessly throwing them back in. So now, every time I get dressed, I have to untie the plastic bags and fish out the blouse. If I change my mind it will be another round of searching and untying. Dreadful. Now I actually have to think about what to wear before I open the closet. My, my, nanay is clever. I love her hehe.
6. I haven't satisfied my obsession with jackets in a long time. Now it's summer. Sheesh.
7. I really should do more. Because I want to live on my own, and when I do I want to have the skills necessary for me not to starve, and at the same time have clean clothes on my back and money in my pockets.
8. I am happy, after all.
Monday, February 27, 2006
CIRCA 2006
During the impeachment fiasco last year I texted my mom. I asked her, when would people wake up and take notice of what was happening in the country? When will they take responsibility for themselves and their fellow Filipinos? And when will they learn to fight? She answered:
If a new Marcos era comes along. If rowdy, shameless students in Starbucks begin disappearing. If remains of noisy, brainless mediamen are found in shallow pits, if men in uniform begin barging into the homes of farmers, if fisherfolk tie dead soldiers in their boats and drag them around the bay area until their brains spill out to sea and before the eyes of townsmates. If women begin losing husbands and sons and daughters into the night. Just like in the Marcos era. Now? No.
The statement says a lot. Among other things, it speaks of disenchantment and the collective sentiment of a people who witnessed evil during Martial Law, our parents and relatives who are now both idealistic and cynical. It speaks of disgust about more recent political movements and conspiracies--from both ends of the spectrum--that have bastardized and abused the spirit of the original EDSA. It speaks of a people that will not move a muscle unless this spirit is GENUINELY alive, like it was back then when they were fighting a dictator. It speaks of pragmatism, too, and disgust at the crisis we have facing of late, a crisis that unfortunately for their trained eyes and experience still does not merit more than a conversation over dinner.
And maybe they're right. Why will I stand shoulder to shoulder with a politico who the next day will probably jump the fence to the other side? Or with others who nurse fragmented vested interests and carry hollow blocks in their backpacks to throw at the police who will quite naturally retaliate, thus triggering mayhem? Why will I still share hopes of freedom and integrity with those who have attempted time and again to topple past and present administrations, just so they could grab the power for themselves? Why will I believe Ramos, whose attempt at a military junta 20 years ago was the reason people flocked to EDSA anyway? Why will I put my beliefs on the line, only for them to be trampled upon by ill-meaning political elites who have shamelessly and self-righteously dictated out nation's destiny? Why will I want to be a party to this farce again, like I have unwittingly done many times in the past?
We will never have another EDSA, in the full sense of the word. That's what I realized. How quickly does hope fade in this day and age; Edsa Dos is now just a blurred memory. All I can remember now was Jim Paredes throwing out Zesto Juice to the crowds, and my friends and I sitting on the floor of Robinson's Galleria to while away the time. My whole heart was in it then, but why does it seem so distant now? For some reason I feel more strongly for the events of 1986, even though I was just three years old at that time. Today Edsa Dos, Tres, etc hold very little meaning, when I really think about it.
I feel like we're standing delicately on this slippery floor, and we're hopelessly tripping over ourselves. I remember a word used in one of our articles in Kule about the student council elections. Rigodon. Everybody changes places, but it's the same tiring dance.
On the other hand, we need to be alert. Because like I said before, history is still alive in the present, and we are living in what Renato Constantino calls the continuing past. We can't shake off the residue of Martial Law unless we truly learn from it. Truly. Until then, GMA will continue to make warrantless arrests, like Marcos did before. She will keep closing down media outfits, like Marcos did before. Politicians will continue to pillage and deceive and take people for the fools that they are, like so many before them have. In this kind of dynamic, we all lose, because we are all a part of the cycle, and without learning, there is no breaking the cycle. In 1986 and in the years that followed, we were given the power to exercise our freedom. This power is never more real than in our right to vote. But we have wasted and are still wasting that power. What a shame. We are a disgrace to the many who have died and sacrificed themselves so that we can enjoy our lattes and complain about the horrid political system today. This is coming from someone who had campaigned for an actor and seen the people gobble him up like a savior.
The celebration of EDSA at 20 is over. It began with the administration turning a blind eye to the entire thing. It escalated into an ironic deja vu of violence and curtailment of freedom. It ended numbly, with people teetering between apathy and alarm. In the aftermath was a stand-off between opposing factions of the Marines, and messages about impending riot that continue to circulate (Stay away daw from cell sites and government buildings tomorrow, the texts say). And through it all a blanket of uncertainty, covered by a wider and confusing blanket authority.
The celebration was, ultimately, a failure. A failure most especially in the hearts of our people. Our country indeed has come full circle, from that glorious February morning in 1986 to a shocking February day in 2006. And look at us now. We're still the same, only that we're allowed to grow our hair.
If a new Marcos era comes along. If rowdy, shameless students in Starbucks begin disappearing. If remains of noisy, brainless mediamen are found in shallow pits, if men in uniform begin barging into the homes of farmers, if fisherfolk tie dead soldiers in their boats and drag them around the bay area until their brains spill out to sea and before the eyes of townsmates. If women begin losing husbands and sons and daughters into the night. Just like in the Marcos era. Now? No.
The statement says a lot. Among other things, it speaks of disenchantment and the collective sentiment of a people who witnessed evil during Martial Law, our parents and relatives who are now both idealistic and cynical. It speaks of disgust about more recent political movements and conspiracies--from both ends of the spectrum--that have bastardized and abused the spirit of the original EDSA. It speaks of a people that will not move a muscle unless this spirit is GENUINELY alive, like it was back then when they were fighting a dictator. It speaks of pragmatism, too, and disgust at the crisis we have facing of late, a crisis that unfortunately for their trained eyes and experience still does not merit more than a conversation over dinner.
And maybe they're right. Why will I stand shoulder to shoulder with a politico who the next day will probably jump the fence to the other side? Or with others who nurse fragmented vested interests and carry hollow blocks in their backpacks to throw at the police who will quite naturally retaliate, thus triggering mayhem? Why will I still share hopes of freedom and integrity with those who have attempted time and again to topple past and present administrations, just so they could grab the power for themselves? Why will I believe Ramos, whose attempt at a military junta 20 years ago was the reason people flocked to EDSA anyway? Why will I put my beliefs on the line, only for them to be trampled upon by ill-meaning political elites who have shamelessly and self-righteously dictated out nation's destiny? Why will I want to be a party to this farce again, like I have unwittingly done many times in the past?
We will never have another EDSA, in the full sense of the word. That's what I realized. How quickly does hope fade in this day and age; Edsa Dos is now just a blurred memory. All I can remember now was Jim Paredes throwing out Zesto Juice to the crowds, and my friends and I sitting on the floor of Robinson's Galleria to while away the time. My whole heart was in it then, but why does it seem so distant now? For some reason I feel more strongly for the events of 1986, even though I was just three years old at that time. Today Edsa Dos, Tres, etc hold very little meaning, when I really think about it.
I feel like we're standing delicately on this slippery floor, and we're hopelessly tripping over ourselves. I remember a word used in one of our articles in Kule about the student council elections. Rigodon. Everybody changes places, but it's the same tiring dance.
On the other hand, we need to be alert. Because like I said before, history is still alive in the present, and we are living in what Renato Constantino calls the continuing past. We can't shake off the residue of Martial Law unless we truly learn from it. Truly. Until then, GMA will continue to make warrantless arrests, like Marcos did before. She will keep closing down media outfits, like Marcos did before. Politicians will continue to pillage and deceive and take people for the fools that they are, like so many before them have. In this kind of dynamic, we all lose, because we are all a part of the cycle, and without learning, there is no breaking the cycle. In 1986 and in the years that followed, we were given the power to exercise our freedom. This power is never more real than in our right to vote. But we have wasted and are still wasting that power. What a shame. We are a disgrace to the many who have died and sacrificed themselves so that we can enjoy our lattes and complain about the horrid political system today. This is coming from someone who had campaigned for an actor and seen the people gobble him up like a savior.
The celebration of EDSA at 20 is over. It began with the administration turning a blind eye to the entire thing. It escalated into an ironic deja vu of violence and curtailment of freedom. It ended numbly, with people teetering between apathy and alarm. In the aftermath was a stand-off between opposing factions of the Marines, and messages about impending riot that continue to circulate (Stay away daw from cell sites and government buildings tomorrow, the texts say). And through it all a blanket of uncertainty, covered by a wider and confusing blanket authority.
The celebration was, ultimately, a failure. A failure most especially in the hearts of our people. Our country indeed has come full circle, from that glorious February morning in 1986 to a shocking February day in 2006. And look at us now. We're still the same, only that we're allowed to grow our hair.
Friday, February 24, 2006
EDSA
A state of emergency is declared on the eve of the 20th annual celebration of our nation's emancipation from tyranny through people power. The order is given by someone who herself shot to presidency via similar means.
Go figure.
Go figure.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
LOST WORLD
I'm swinging between sleep and excitement. I hope I don't doze off while typing. Anyhoo.
I seem to have hit a brick wall yet again. I can't find a rock-solid, "valid" methodology for my thesis. I'm trying to take the radical path by using fuzzy cognitive mapping and some other graphic approaches. But apparently, no one, at least in this country as far as I know, has done FCM yet. This sucks, because I think it's a good method and it works in other countries that have used it in environmental planning and management. But as it is, in my position, it's extremely hard to justify.
Hmm. Truth be told, my school to me right now looms like a dinosaur. Not physically or spatially (it's a plain, gray, two-storey building with worn-out beams, located at the fringes of the university, and can be crossed from end to end in about ten steps. Hardly intimidating.) but in a temporal sense. It's--dare I say it--archaic. The weight of history and old, undying notions and philosophies falls heavily upon all who enter. The paradox is that everyone in there is supposedly looking towards the future. That is what we do, that it what the profession entails. Yet the pillars of learning, rooted deep in sentimentality, power and authority, are stuck hopelessly in the past. I am blessed to have come across teachers who managed to inspire and move me, and I am forever thankful to them for opening up my hapless mind, but something tells me that there's room for improvement. No, actually, a revolution.
Study calls upon us to be receptive, to be open to new ideas that abound in this great, big world, to imbibe those learnings and to grow through them. But if we sit and sip coffee all afternoon with colleagues, basking in the glory of perceived invincibility, impervious to the changes around us, then that's not gonna happen. It's a contradiction to the very principles we espouse.
Maybe that's why when people leave the school, they don't usually return, and they rarely give back. And so the beams continue to decay, the paint will eventually peel off, the walls will turn grayer and, apart from spurts of reminiscence that it ignites in people's memories, it remains still in the shadow.
I seem to have hit a brick wall yet again. I can't find a rock-solid, "valid" methodology for my thesis. I'm trying to take the radical path by using fuzzy cognitive mapping and some other graphic approaches. But apparently, no one, at least in this country as far as I know, has done FCM yet. This sucks, because I think it's a good method and it works in other countries that have used it in environmental planning and management. But as it is, in my position, it's extremely hard to justify.
Hmm. Truth be told, my school to me right now looms like a dinosaur. Not physically or spatially (it's a plain, gray, two-storey building with worn-out beams, located at the fringes of the university, and can be crossed from end to end in about ten steps. Hardly intimidating.) but in a temporal sense. It's--dare I say it--archaic. The weight of history and old, undying notions and philosophies falls heavily upon all who enter. The paradox is that everyone in there is supposedly looking towards the future. That is what we do, that it what the profession entails. Yet the pillars of learning, rooted deep in sentimentality, power and authority, are stuck hopelessly in the past. I am blessed to have come across teachers who managed to inspire and move me, and I am forever thankful to them for opening up my hapless mind, but something tells me that there's room for improvement. No, actually, a revolution.
Study calls upon us to be receptive, to be open to new ideas that abound in this great, big world, to imbibe those learnings and to grow through them. But if we sit and sip coffee all afternoon with colleagues, basking in the glory of perceived invincibility, impervious to the changes around us, then that's not gonna happen. It's a contradiction to the very principles we espouse.
Maybe that's why when people leave the school, they don't usually return, and they rarely give back. And so the beams continue to decay, the paint will eventually peel off, the walls will turn grayer and, apart from spurts of reminiscence that it ignites in people's memories, it remains still in the shadow.
Monday, February 13, 2006
SHINY HAPPY
I saw Grosse Pointe Blank again on cable. I never tire of that movie. John Cusack will always hold a special place in my heart. Hihihi.
It's got a slammin soundtrack, too.
I Can See Clearly Now
I can see clearly now, the rain is gone,
I can see all obstacles in my way
Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind
It’s gonna be a bright, bright
Sun-shiny day
I think I can make it now, the pain is gone
All of the bad feelings have disappeared
Here is the rainbow I’ve been prayin' for
It’s gonna be a bright, bright
Sun-shiny day
Look all around, there’s nothin' but blue skies
Look straight ahead, nothin' but blue skies
I can see clearly now, the rain is gone,
I can see all obstacles in my way
Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind
It’s gonna be a bright, bright
Sun-shiny day
It's got a slammin soundtrack, too.
I Can See Clearly Now
I can see clearly now, the rain is gone,
I can see all obstacles in my way
Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind
It’s gonna be a bright, bright
Sun-shiny day
I think I can make it now, the pain is gone
All of the bad feelings have disappeared
Here is the rainbow I’ve been prayin' for
It’s gonna be a bright, bright
Sun-shiny day
Look all around, there’s nothin' but blue skies
Look straight ahead, nothin' but blue skies
I can see clearly now, the rain is gone,
I can see all obstacles in my way
Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind
It’s gonna be a bright, bright
Sun-shiny day
Thursday, February 09, 2006
IYAK, TAWA, IYAK
It hasn't been five days since I was in a jeep somewhere in Makati feeling like the entire sky was collapsing on me. Every step I took was a mixture of frustration, sadness and fear. I desperately wanted out, I wanted to run away as fast and as hard I as I could, to physically feel each molecule of despair slide off my body. I couldn't, so I just had to push on, ever so slowly. But the tears fell anyway (in McDo of all places).
That was before today. Today my thesis adsiver said I have a "good concept." WOOHOO! Finally I feel like I'm getting somewhere. Rejoice, rejoice!
Haaaaaaaaaaaay. Feeling ko nabunutan ako ng tinik. I just have to beef up my methodology and add visuals to my conceptual framework (good ol' meister mark pointed it out even before Ma'am Jimenez read my proposal. Yes, yes, magaling ka na.). Basta, happy. I've never been so relieved. After all the confusion and sleepless nights, wondering if I even had a point to make, in the endless sea of points that experts have already made about the Philippine housing problem, this is just sweet.
Except that my feet hurt so much now from all the walking I did today. I wonder why my right leg feels so much heavier than my left. Don't I walk straight?
Anyway, I'm home and resting. No more research for today. Yipee. Kick back and surf the tube baby.
Caught part of the Grammy Awards. Kelly Clarkson won for best pop vocal. Over Gwen Stefani, Sheryl Crow, Fiona Apple and Paul McCartney. Huwaaat? Change channels.
Hmm. I have to say, iyakin talaga mga artista. It's a built-in feature. Hardwired for heightened emotional outbursts. I mean, okay, so Christian Vasquez cried on his birthday coz he misses his kids. The next minute everyone was in hagulgol mode. And it's not just coz they're inside the House and they know people are watching--that was First Season--this time they just, well, overflowed. They cried because they felt like crying. It's just the way they are. Even Budoy of Junior Kilat cried his heart out. He explained the advertisement he hung on his shirt for a show that his artist friend is doing, and lamented the fact that many good Filipino artists are struggling to survive, people who don't get noticed but won't give up and compromise their craft. And he bawled his eyes out for those people. I was genuinely touched.
For those who don't get, this is about Pinoy Big Brother Celebrity Edition. Haha! Gawd am I PBB addict? Egad. But it is amusing to watch these "celebrities". Except for that Angela person who's just so prissy and overbearing, and Gretchen who does nothing but karate-kick and karate-punch the air. Enough already, it ain't cute no more. Man oh man, Keanna has gigantic boobs. I mean really big. Way to go mr. plastic surgeon whoever you are, but didn't you overdo it a bit? And hey, my legs are nicer than Bianca's, harhar. I used to watch her brother religiously on Breakfast (Studio 23). Always woke up early, groggily turning on the tv to see him say good morning. Talk about loser. Anyway.
Why is Rustom sooo thin?
I have no idea who will win this season. I'm not really rooting for anybody, it's just fun to watch them be silly and stupid and inane and some of the time sensible, too. But good lord why are conversations inside that house so utterly boring and pointless? Like that talk about people having eyes at the back of their heads (don't ask). It just dragged on and on and on and on. Have they nothing else interesting to talk about? Pardon? Oh, yes, looooove. In the next few days I think we'll witness the unraveling of (rx93.1's) Rico Suave's hush-hush past with singer Roxy aka Roxanne Barcelo (who has one song to her name), who incindentally is also a "housemate". *rub palms together and say ooooh*
Haha, I'm so pathetic. Well, it's this or being at my wits' end with my thesis. So forgive me for patronizing average endeavors from time to time, otherwise I'd be madder than I already am, and you don't really want that.
That was before today. Today my thesis adsiver said I have a "good concept." WOOHOO! Finally I feel like I'm getting somewhere. Rejoice, rejoice!
Haaaaaaaaaaaay. Feeling ko nabunutan ako ng tinik. I just have to beef up my methodology and add visuals to my conceptual framework (good ol' meister mark pointed it out even before Ma'am Jimenez read my proposal. Yes, yes, magaling ka na.). Basta, happy. I've never been so relieved. After all the confusion and sleepless nights, wondering if I even had a point to make, in the endless sea of points that experts have already made about the Philippine housing problem, this is just sweet.
Except that my feet hurt so much now from all the walking I did today. I wonder why my right leg feels so much heavier than my left. Don't I walk straight?
Anyway, I'm home and resting. No more research for today. Yipee. Kick back and surf the tube baby.
Caught part of the Grammy Awards. Kelly Clarkson won for best pop vocal. Over Gwen Stefani, Sheryl Crow, Fiona Apple and Paul McCartney. Huwaaat? Change channels.
Hmm. I have to say, iyakin talaga mga artista. It's a built-in feature. Hardwired for heightened emotional outbursts. I mean, okay, so Christian Vasquez cried on his birthday coz he misses his kids. The next minute everyone was in hagulgol mode. And it's not just coz they're inside the House and they know people are watching--that was First Season--this time they just, well, overflowed. They cried because they felt like crying. It's just the way they are. Even Budoy of Junior Kilat cried his heart out. He explained the advertisement he hung on his shirt for a show that his artist friend is doing, and lamented the fact that many good Filipino artists are struggling to survive, people who don't get noticed but won't give up and compromise their craft. And he bawled his eyes out for those people. I was genuinely touched.
For those who don't get, this is about Pinoy Big Brother Celebrity Edition. Haha! Gawd am I PBB addict? Egad. But it is amusing to watch these "celebrities". Except for that Angela person who's just so prissy and overbearing, and Gretchen who does nothing but karate-kick and karate-punch the air. Enough already, it ain't cute no more. Man oh man, Keanna has gigantic boobs. I mean really big. Way to go mr. plastic surgeon whoever you are, but didn't you overdo it a bit? And hey, my legs are nicer than Bianca's, harhar. I used to watch her brother religiously on Breakfast (Studio 23). Always woke up early, groggily turning on the tv to see him say good morning. Talk about loser. Anyway.
Why is Rustom sooo thin?
I have no idea who will win this season. I'm not really rooting for anybody, it's just fun to watch them be silly and stupid and inane and some of the time sensible, too. But good lord why are conversations inside that house so utterly boring and pointless? Like that talk about people having eyes at the back of their heads (don't ask). It just dragged on and on and on and on. Have they nothing else interesting to talk about? Pardon? Oh, yes, looooove. In the next few days I think we'll witness the unraveling of (rx93.1's) Rico Suave's hush-hush past with singer Roxy aka Roxanne Barcelo (who has one song to her name), who incindentally is also a "housemate". *rub palms together and say ooooh*
Haha, I'm so pathetic. Well, it's this or being at my wits' end with my thesis. So forgive me for patronizing average endeavors from time to time, otherwise I'd be madder than I already am, and you don't really want that.
Friday, February 03, 2006
IT'S THE HAIR
I got out of the house today (I am a caged animal, yes), in an attempt to shake off the blues. Walked around, had dinner, watched a movie. Squealing in the theater while Jen Aniston's character was being raped seemed to do the trick.
What in the world does that girl put in her hair? More than ten years I've been watching her, and I still don't know. It's beautiful, darn it. Always in place--each soft, silky strand--layered, wavy, straight, blond or with highlights or beautiful brown like she wore it in Derailed. Shit I'm lusting after Jennifer's hair.
Anyway, kudos to her. Although her last movie was bland and fluffy like chiffon cake (aaack I can't remember the title, it's that forgettable. I remember it's about a family controversy that was the basis for the movie The Graduate. And I remember her hair. Longer, flew around a lot. Oh got it: Rumor Has It), it's still all good. She has a movie being shown at the Sundance Festival and rumor has it (ha. ha. ha.) that it's good. So snaps for the brokenhearted. Well, not so much since Vince Vaughn arrived, who by the way is a good friend of Brad's. Brad, on the other, has recently acquired dad status. He has three children at last count, and Angelina said she plans to adopt a bunch more, and have more from her own womb. Cheaper by the dozen, Brad?
I am such a gossip whore.
And on that note, I bid good night.
What in the world does that girl put in her hair? More than ten years I've been watching her, and I still don't know. It's beautiful, darn it. Always in place--each soft, silky strand--layered, wavy, straight, blond or with highlights or beautiful brown like she wore it in Derailed. Shit I'm lusting after Jennifer's hair.
Anyway, kudos to her. Although her last movie was bland and fluffy like chiffon cake (aaack I can't remember the title, it's that forgettable. I remember it's about a family controversy that was the basis for the movie The Graduate. And I remember her hair. Longer, flew around a lot. Oh got it: Rumor Has It), it's still all good. She has a movie being shown at the Sundance Festival and rumor has it (ha. ha. ha.) that it's good. So snaps for the brokenhearted. Well, not so much since Vince Vaughn arrived, who by the way is a good friend of Brad's. Brad, on the other, has recently acquired dad status. He has three children at last count, and Angelina said she plans to adopt a bunch more, and have more from her own womb. Cheaper by the dozen, Brad?
I am such a gossip whore.
And on that note, I bid good night.
Monday, January 30, 2006
HOW BIZARRE, HOW BIZARRE
Monday again.
Got less than two weeks before a major deadline.
I wonder why I procrastinate so much. Is it genetic? Is it because I live far away, and when you're far from the hustle and bustle time moves a bit differently? Is it because the people around me (i.e. family) never (and I mean never) feel a sense of urgency?
Ah, the point of my thesis exactly. Hay.
----
Last Thursday, I went to school for thesis consultation. I, being myself, didn't have an umbrella and had to be content with a cute, little, useless jacket. I was walking hurriedly along E. Jacinto when
Guy: Miss--
Me: (What? What was that sound behind me?)
Guy: Miss..
Got less than two weeks before a major deadline.
I wonder why I procrastinate so much. Is it genetic? Is it because I live far away, and when you're far from the hustle and bustle time moves a bit differently? Is it because the people around me (i.e. family) never (and I mean never) feel a sense of urgency?
Ah, the point of my thesis exactly. Hay.
----
Last Thursday, I went to school for thesis consultation. I, being myself, didn't have an umbrella and had to be content with a cute, little, useless jacket. I was walking hurriedly along E. Jacinto when
Guy: Miss--
Me: (What? What was that sound behind me?)
Guy: Miss..
I turn around and see a somewhat normal-looking guy beside a vehicle parked on the street with flashing lights. Er, was he in trouble? Did he just run out of gas?
Me:
Guy: Hi. I was wondering if I could get your number.
Me: (Huwaaat?!) What?
Guy: (repeat)
Me: Huh? Why? (okay right here I could have said no, but I didn't realize what the proper response was for this kind of bizarre encounter)
Guy: I just think you're nice.
Me: (WTF??) And how (pray tell) did you know that?
Guy: Well, I saw you walking a while ago and I just thought you seemed nice. So I parked the car and waited for you to get here. I just want to get to know you.
GOOD GRIEF. Of all the pick-up lines, man...I wanted to say sorry, I'm taken, and have it done with. But that wasn't really the point. There is no instance in my life, given any civil status, wherein I would actually give out personal information to possibly crazy people like the one in front of me. What a relief that I was just several steps away from our building. Besides, he could've made a jackass retort along the lines of "I wasn't looking to be your boyfriend I just want to get to know you so you needn't be so praning or prissy," which would have enraged me, thereby lengthening our pointless conversation in the middle of the street, which would get me even more wet because hell, it was raining. If he thought I was so nice he should have given me a friggin umbrella. So
Me: Sorry, I don't give my number to strangers.
Guy: (I can't seem to get your drift coz maybe I'm just that stupid). Please...blahblahblah
Me: Sorry. And I really need to go now. Hay. (Can't you see the exasperation level rising?? And is that really an expectant look in your eyes? Are you one of those psychopaths who would you turn dark and dangerous if I don't oblige? Yikes. I decide to do some steering. Hopefully not into a trap.) Hmm. Malay mo pag nakita mo uli ako mamaya, somewhere in the university (okay start praying for a non-serendipitous afternoon. Waaah!)
Guy: Well, I know we won't see each other anymore today (Yahoo! He ain't that dense after all!)
Me: (Oh. Boink.)
He proceeds to scribble his number on the back of a Mcdo coupon. He gives it to me and I shove it into my back pocket.
Walk away girl, run, fast!
Fritz/Bong: Where are you going? Gusto mo hatid na kita?
Aaaaaarrrrgggghhh! As if I would climb into the car of some freakazoid whose name could be Fritz or Bong or, in his case, both. Do I really look that vulnerable? Is it the blank yet slightly pained look on my face? That's not kidnap-me-innocence mister, that's thesis-induced confusion.
Me: No, thanks.
He gets into his car then cruises beside me while I scurry as fast as I can.
Fritz/Bong: Are you sure?
Me: Yes!
Fritz/Bong: Okay.
And it was with irritation and amusement that I went to my consultation.
But I wonder now, if I had been in a bar, single, dancing and drinking with my girlfriends, presumably looking fabulous (or fabulously drunk), and someone approached me to ask for my number, would I have given it? Would it be less...disgusting and strange? Would that kind of behavior pass, given that context?
Ah, the point of my thesis exactly. Although I can't really test that little hypothesis on myself. Haven't been to a bar in ages. AGES. I'm neither fabulous nor drunk. Just, well, nice, according to Fritz/Bong. Harhar. And I have a boyfriend who (thinks he) is Supahman.;)
Speaking of...Hey bebebe! Happy 7th! Mmmmwwwaaaaah! Sayang yung Mcdo coupon. BigMac ata yun. Kainin natin hehe. Mwah!
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Moon River
Moon river, wider than a mile
I'm crossing you in style someday
Old dream maker, you heartbreaker
Wherever you're going, I'm going your way
Two drifters off to see the world
There's such a lot of world to see
We're after the same rainbow's end
Waiting 'round the bend
My huckleberry friend
moon river and me
http://www.reelclassics.com/Audio_Video/Music7q/tiffanys_moonriver.mp3
Moon river, wider than a mile
I'm crossing you in style someday
Old dream maker, you heartbreaker
Wherever you're going, I'm going your way
Two drifters off to see the world
There's such a lot of world to see
We're after the same rainbow's end
Waiting 'round the bend
My huckleberry friend
moon river and me
http://www.reelclassics.com/Audio_Video/Music7q/tiffanys_moonriver.mp3
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
WE ALL LIVE IN A YELLOW SUBMARINE (Journey into the Wonderful World of Psychedelic Colors and Eternal Happiness, Part One)
Has anyone seen that animated film Yellow Submarine? Where the Beatles travel to Pepperland (and they go through so much trouble along the way)? I love Pepperland. It's a colorful place full of happy people, and all you really need to save the day is good music and love.
***
We woke up very early that morning to bring Ivan to the airport. He had to end his vacation prematurely so he could go home and catch a bus to Bicol to attend a wedding. Anyway, on our way back to the punong (fishpond in Ilonggo. Yes, our house in the province is in the middle of a giant fishpond. Childhood summers were spent eating bangus and crabs, fishing using our hands only and falling clumsily into those little homemade dams that control the water in the ponds.), we passed by a relative's house to have coffee. I was sleepy and when I closed the car door I slammed it right into my hip. Strike one. I knew it was not going to be a good day.
We made another stopover to check the bus schedules and make sure we won't be late, because Papa is a stickler for punctuality and I really didn't want to witness another spat between him and Mama. We went back home, showered, changed and set out to leave again. The bus pulls out at 1045, Papa said. But as soon as we arrived at the bus station, the bus started to leave. But it was only 1020! Papa approached the dispatcher and demanded to know why the bus left earlier than scheduled. The dispatcher insisted that the schedule was 1015, not 1045. No, Papa said, it's 1045, you wrote it down on a piece of paper and gave it to me earlier this morning (he said this in Ilonggo). Lara where's that piece of paper? Show it to him. Oh yes, that. I scrambled for it in my bag and hurriedly handed it over to them, giving full proof that indeed, the bus was set to leave at...1015.
Oookay. Major meltdown. Mama and I started to laugh at the mix-up (was that really bad? It was funny!). I guess that triggered someting in the dispatcher, and he started to lash out. Then he threw his folder and walked out. Hmm, he probably thought he could get back at us by pushing his I-am-the-dispatcher-here-you-have-no-right-to-question-me weight. And that made Papa angry all over again. "I have have been in public service for more than 20 years and I have never behaved the way you did just now, even with the most irate people who come to me. We acknowledged our mistake already. No matter how irrational people get, you should never respond that way, especially in this kind of job." Then he walked out and called the owner of the busline, who turns out is a friend of his.
Ayayay.
We finally got on the bus that leaves at 1145. I took the window seat. Thought it was a nice comfortable seat, until the little cockroachES came out from little nooks and crannies beside me. Yes, they are little creatures I could swat with the sole of my shoe or my tita's water bottle, but I am deathly afraid of cockroaches. Strike three.
I changed seats and we went chugging along the winding road to Aklan. Two hours into our trip I heard once more the already familiar sound of stones crunching beneath the bus tires, but this time I had the sense that something was wrong. I am not kidding. Seconds later and rank smell filled the bus, and we called the attention of the driver. The kunduktor turned of he airconditioning and opened some of the windows. We pulled over and they checked. Torn fanbelt. Strike four.
We arrived in Aklan all dusty and tired. We had to wait until they fixed the fanbelt or found another bus for us. They did, 30 minutes later, and we hurried to it. Much better bus actually, except that there were already people inside and we had to sit way in the back, which Mama hates. And it smelled like fish. Oh, and before that we nearly lost our bags during the bus transfer. Somebody mistook it for his own and dragged it away. Good thing he returned it to the station, where my tita was growing gradually hysterical by the minute.
Anyway, we sat for another one and a half hours, watching the rainclouds form ominously in the sky (why did we have to go in December, anyway??) and the waves rising and crashing into giants rocks below. Oy, the Jewish would say.
The wind was high in Caticlan, as expected. We made a run for the nearest ferry. It was COLD, and my already battered shawl (thanks Len!) was limp with defeat and resignation. And then, while we were waiting in line, boom! The lights went out. Blackout in Caticlan. Oh go ahead, spite us even more. Strike whatever, we're out of the game.
Boracay has got to be worth all this shit.
***
It's like Pepperland, only with prettier, sexier people. As soon as we got off the ferry boat and dug our slippers in the not-so-white sand, we knew: Bawal ang pangit sa Boracay.
***
Welcome to the land of bikinis and hot underage chicks sipping Singapore Sling in the arms of their equally hot men-props. Forget about work, forget about time, forget about absoutely everything and think happy, sexy thoughts. Happy, sexy thoughts...
***
We were billetted in a small hotel owned by Papa's college kabarkada. While the place directly fronted a 3-storey grocery and its adjadcent palengke, it was just a 3-minute walk to the Station 2 beach. Snaps for proximity. We stashed our things, exchanged niceties with the hotel owner and went to the beach via D*Mall. I have no idea why they made up such a jologs name, but it was a well-lit plaza full of restaurants and little shops and even a small ferris wheel. Weird. They couldn't decide where to eat; Papa wanted to eat at a Chinese resto, and this was unacceptable because one, I'm not fond of Chinese food and two, you don't go to Boracay to eat at Mongkok Noodles or whatever place that was, of which there are dozens of outlets in Metro Manila.
I left them and went straight to the beach. Aha. Nice. I convinced them to eat at Aria, this place right on the sand. The restaurant lays out banigs on the sand, places a low table in the middle, throws large, khaki cushions all around, lights a candle and voila, dinner by the beach. Neighboring restaurants all along that strip have similar strategies, but Aria has a lighter ambience. You can lie on the sand if you want and stare up at the coconut trees, or watch a peformance by some flame-twirlers (I don't know what to call them. They dip ropes gasoline, light them up and swirl them around in cirsle. It was fun for the first 15 minutes.). Plus I was intrigued by the fact that it's owned by that guy Elizalde who's the boyfriend of Bianca Araneta (and the cause of her currently bulging tummy). Wala lang, chismosa lang ako.
In fairness, Aria serves up yummy Italian food at reasonable prices. Good eats. I thought, hey, the night just might end well, after all.
***
***
We woke up very early that morning to bring Ivan to the airport. He had to end his vacation prematurely so he could go home and catch a bus to Bicol to attend a wedding. Anyway, on our way back to the punong (fishpond in Ilonggo. Yes, our house in the province is in the middle of a giant fishpond. Childhood summers were spent eating bangus and crabs, fishing using our hands only and falling clumsily into those little homemade dams that control the water in the ponds.), we passed by a relative's house to have coffee. I was sleepy and when I closed the car door I slammed it right into my hip. Strike one. I knew it was not going to be a good day.
We made another stopover to check the bus schedules and make sure we won't be late, because Papa is a stickler for punctuality and I really didn't want to witness another spat between him and Mama. We went back home, showered, changed and set out to leave again. The bus pulls out at 1045, Papa said. But as soon as we arrived at the bus station, the bus started to leave. But it was only 1020! Papa approached the dispatcher and demanded to know why the bus left earlier than scheduled. The dispatcher insisted that the schedule was 1015, not 1045. No, Papa said, it's 1045, you wrote it down on a piece of paper and gave it to me earlier this morning (he said this in Ilonggo). Lara where's that piece of paper? Show it to him. Oh yes, that. I scrambled for it in my bag and hurriedly handed it over to them, giving full proof that indeed, the bus was set to leave at...1015.
Oookay. Major meltdown. Mama and I started to laugh at the mix-up (was that really bad? It was funny!). I guess that triggered someting in the dispatcher, and he started to lash out. Then he threw his folder and walked out. Hmm, he probably thought he could get back at us by pushing his I-am-the-dispatcher-here-you-have-no-right-to-question-me weight. And that made Papa angry all over again. "I have have been in public service for more than 20 years and I have never behaved the way you did just now, even with the most irate people who come to me. We acknowledged our mistake already. No matter how irrational people get, you should never respond that way, especially in this kind of job." Then he walked out and called the owner of the busline, who turns out is a friend of his.
Ayayay.
We finally got on the bus that leaves at 1145. I took the window seat. Thought it was a nice comfortable seat, until the little cockroachES came out from little nooks and crannies beside me. Yes, they are little creatures I could swat with the sole of my shoe or my tita's water bottle, but I am deathly afraid of cockroaches. Strike three.
I changed seats and we went chugging along the winding road to Aklan. Two hours into our trip I heard once more the already familiar sound of stones crunching beneath the bus tires, but this time I had the sense that something was wrong. I am not kidding. Seconds later and rank smell filled the bus, and we called the attention of the driver. The kunduktor turned of he airconditioning and opened some of the windows. We pulled over and they checked. Torn fanbelt. Strike four.
We arrived in Aklan all dusty and tired. We had to wait until they fixed the fanbelt or found another bus for us. They did, 30 minutes later, and we hurried to it. Much better bus actually, except that there were already people inside and we had to sit way in the back, which Mama hates. And it smelled like fish. Oh, and before that we nearly lost our bags during the bus transfer. Somebody mistook it for his own and dragged it away. Good thing he returned it to the station, where my tita was growing gradually hysterical by the minute.
Anyway, we sat for another one and a half hours, watching the rainclouds form ominously in the sky (why did we have to go in December, anyway??) and the waves rising and crashing into giants rocks below. Oy, the Jewish would say.
The wind was high in Caticlan, as expected. We made a run for the nearest ferry. It was COLD, and my already battered shawl (thanks Len!) was limp with defeat and resignation. And then, while we were waiting in line, boom! The lights went out. Blackout in Caticlan. Oh go ahead, spite us even more. Strike whatever, we're out of the game.
Boracay has got to be worth all this shit.
***
It's like Pepperland, only with prettier, sexier people. As soon as we got off the ferry boat and dug our slippers in the not-so-white sand, we knew: Bawal ang pangit sa Boracay.
***
Welcome to the land of bikinis and hot underage chicks sipping Singapore Sling in the arms of their equally hot men-props. Forget about work, forget about time, forget about absoutely everything and think happy, sexy thoughts. Happy, sexy thoughts...
***
We were billetted in a small hotel owned by Papa's college kabarkada. While the place directly fronted a 3-storey grocery and its adjadcent palengke, it was just a 3-minute walk to the Station 2 beach. Snaps for proximity. We stashed our things, exchanged niceties with the hotel owner and went to the beach via D*Mall. I have no idea why they made up such a jologs name, but it was a well-lit plaza full of restaurants and little shops and even a small ferris wheel. Weird. They couldn't decide where to eat; Papa wanted to eat at a Chinese resto, and this was unacceptable because one, I'm not fond of Chinese food and two, you don't go to Boracay to eat at Mongkok Noodles or whatever place that was, of which there are dozens of outlets in Metro Manila.
I left them and went straight to the beach. Aha. Nice. I convinced them to eat at Aria, this place right on the sand. The restaurant lays out banigs on the sand, places a low table in the middle, throws large, khaki cushions all around, lights a candle and voila, dinner by the beach. Neighboring restaurants all along that strip have similar strategies, but Aria has a lighter ambience. You can lie on the sand if you want and stare up at the coconut trees, or watch a peformance by some flame-twirlers (I don't know what to call them. They dip ropes gasoline, light them up and swirl them around in cirsle. It was fun for the first 15 minutes.). Plus I was intrigued by the fact that it's owned by that guy Elizalde who's the boyfriend of Bianca Araneta (and the cause of her currently bulging tummy). Wala lang, chismosa lang ako.
In fairness, Aria serves up yummy Italian food at reasonable prices. Good eats. I thought, hey, the night just might end well, after all.
***
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