in transit

Damsel in distress

2010-09-20T14:36:00.003+08:00

Conflicted. I'm still trying to figure things out, particularly what the subject of conflict is. I don't know why I don't know.

I suppose I know.

What weighs more: fighting for what you know to be true, your belief, your reality -- or your responsibility for another person's feelings, particularly as they fight for their truth, their belief, their reality?

The conflict is borne of the fact that your truths don't match.

It's not so bad, if you were only friends. Friends disagree all the time about what they want and don't want in their lives. But what if your life is his life, and vice versa?

In preserving someone because they are fragile, you expose your own vulnerability. Then you realize that you, too, need saving.

Because it could actually be true: giving someone life can lead to your own (slow) death.

muni-muni

2010-06-15T13:41:00.003+08:00

I got what I wanted, finally. What I waited for, for a very long time.

I’ve just been transferred to a position that gives due respect to the professional title I hold: environmental planner. I should feel happy and, after years of unending patience, maybe even vindicated.

But honestly, I can't say that I’m satisfied.

I wanted this, yes – three years ago. Things change in three years. The deepest shift being this: in my heart I know that it’s no longer my dream to be employed by an international firm with “pedigree” and a long history of success that I can count on; to stay here until retirement; to find professional pride and fulfilment in being one of the many wheels that keep this train chugging along.

Not that there’s anything wrong with it. Many people would love to do what I do, for all the right reasons. I can’t judge. Some people I admire and look up to have worked for this company longer than I have been alive, and it doesn’t seem like they’re complaining.

But see, they’re not me.

Am I too proud to say that I have bigger dreams than that? I don’t think so. What I feel is the strong belief that it can be done.

I’ve asked myself over and over if I deserve that bigger dream. I’ve doubted myself countless times.

But I’m over all the doubting now. I know I can do it. Actually I am already doing it, working towards that vision, albeit in small doses. As time goes by I feel more and more responsible to make the dream grow, to give it life. I need to keep that commitment not just for myself, but for others, and for the deeper “why” that I hold closest to my heart.

My only question is timing.

How much longer can I wait? Financial responsibilities, monthly bills, family obligations that I haven’t even begun to meet… Realizing the dream means giving up stability, possibly losing money, probably depending on already overstretched parents, making other people worry about my welfare. Is it irresponsible to “run from safety” now?

Or is it irresponsible not to?

blues-y

2009-10-15T10:38:00.005+08:00

I want to spend my birthday alone this year. By that I mean a lot of time away from family, friends, loved one. I will be a stranger among strangers, hiding away in anonymity (as if hahabulin ng paparazzi haha).

I think I need this – to feel a sense of independence, to know for sure that I can be who I am without the usual people around me. To be honest, I’ve been craving for this for years. This desire to break away. I get it at random moments. I vividly remember a time when I was sitting in a jeepney on Buendia, and I wanted to literally fly through the window and just go far, far away. Of course I was stuck between office workers and men in sando until I alighted in front of RCBC, but I will never forget that feeling. That was me, on a cliff, wanting desperately – excitedly – to fly off the edge.

It's not that I'm unhappy. I actually find it hard to accept that at almost 27 years old and nearly married, I’m still looking for that part of myself that the universe hasn’t bestowed on me yet. I'm already so blessed, what is there to pine for? But I think I have to face the fact that the search for myself isn't over. I think I have to live with it, and keep moving forward.

these dreams

2009-10-15T09:53:00.003+08:00

I had a dream last night, about J. Or I think that’s who it was, because it didn’t really look like him. But I know what I felt: “this is my ex.” Maybe the guy in the dream was a consolidation of all my past…men. Except that I only had one official past, and the others were just figments of my overactive imagination. But still.

I digress. It was a strange dream, like all dreams I have about my past in general (and there are quite a few).

We were in a public place. A bar? A party? Maybe. There were friends around. M was there, too, but on the other side of the room. Meanwhile, J sat across from me at a counter. So yeah maybe this was at a bar. Which is weird because I haven’t been to one in very a long time.

We were talking, and I felt like he was a friend. Completely benign. Completely genuine. And like friends who are close to you, he held my hand while we were talking.

I didn’t think anything of it until it was pointed out to me by another person in the group. I thought, “what’s the big deal?”

I retracted my hand anyway.

The next scene found me in a separate room (still at the party?) with M. Only he didn’t look exactly like M, but sort of him plus Rob that cutie guy from the current season Pinoy Big Brother. But I knew it was him and I knew we were okay.

Then I woke up.

I’m not sure what it means. I’ve just about given up trying to explain my dreams. I never really get anywhere. I just know that my sanity, reason, morality and basic sense go flying out the window every time.

Or maybe I should just stop watching PBB.

***
In other news, absence does make the heart grow fonder. I missed blogspot!

pathways

2009-06-25T00:11:00.002+08:00

One more time (sorry Blogger, I've been neglecting you):

Pathways.

the best way to learn is to teach.

2009-05-14T00:02:00.005+08:00

What a week this has been. To think it's only Wednesday.

Deadlines and missed deadlines, unexpected meetings, absences, doctor's visit, laaaaaaaaaate nights.

PLUS...I gave my first ever academic (?) lecture a couple of days ago. Yep. Me. Together with two colleagues, I've been asked to give a short (uber mega condensed) course on urban and regional planning to a group of architects. The very first lecture was one of the most nerve-wracking, stressful things I have ever done. It did not help that those architects are Mark's officemates. Talk about pressure.

But this -- teaching, that is -- is unequivocally also one of the most fulfilling endeavors I have ever undertaken. I've always (and often secretly) wanted to be a teacher. The problem was that I have always been the shy one, which everybody mistook for snobbish, sorry. I did try out, once upon a naive time, but I failed miserably because I could not get my words out.

Years later, I'm finding out how...easy it could be. Not a walk in a park, to be sure, just easy in the sense that it could come so naturally. I'm actually surprised, because sometimes at home I can't even get a word in edgewise -- especially with mama! Tonight was Lecture/Module 2, and it took a bit longer to finish (Planning Theory, what do you expect?), but I'm getting and more comfortable. Can't wait for the next one.

Len's right, it's like a drug. One of the best parts is thinking of ways to make the sessions interesting and fun. That and seeing people engaged in discussion, participating, learning from one another. I really think that I thrive in an environment of constant learning, so to be able to facilitate that kind of activity is heaven for me.

If the universe permits, I would love to be able to do this for the rest of my life. Hear me out, U. :)

come on over

2009-04-24T10:10:00.002+08:00

My few fans, hop on over to my wedding/whatever blog and my "serious" blog for more thrills.

No, I am not leaving blogger - I hold this sanctuary near and dear to my heart - but Wordpress works better in the office (hooray for wasted corporate hours) and it's kinda cool (blogger admin please don't delete my account or give me a virus out of spite, for I do love you). Anyhow, I might be cross-posting my entries, as soon as I know how (wonder when that will be, nuninu)

For "protected" posts, I'll give out the passwords when I'm ready. ;)

See you there. You know you love me. xoxo

Eraserheads: The Final Set

2009-03-09T11:35:00.006+08:00

Impromptu. AS IN. Really wasn’t supposed to go anymore. A few days ago we had decided that if we didn’t get free passes to the concert, we would go to Intramuros instead for the World War II commemoration at Fort Santiago. Not sure why, maybe coz I felt like I couldn’t accept anything less than front row after the last concert hahaha, or nagi-guilty ako about the expenses. Plus the Intramuros event sounded really good (picnic and music and exhibits and such – geekdom yeesss. And Carlos Celdran was going to be there!).

By lunchtime Saturday, I had informed my friends that I couldn’t get the free tickets. So I thought that was that.

At 7pm, Mark and I were hanging out at PICC after a busy day of wedding preps (booked caterer and bridal car yey). Mark suddenly said, “Tara nood tayo.”

Who was I to object? Hahahaha. So calls were made, an ecstatic Camille was whisked to MOA by clueless Tito Sel (sikat ba yang Eheads na yan?”), and 10 minutes later I still could not believe we were driving to MOA. The traffic! The people! Will we make it? The countdown, we’re going to miss the first song! Whhhyyyyy did we decide to do this? Gaaaaah. On our way we got texts and calls from Len (already inside, dami na tao), Rhea (dining with Ajeet at Icebergs, already bought tickets), and Cherry (nagpapabili ng tickets, still in Cavite en route to Manila!). Was unable to contact Shiva, until finally I got through and learned she was in the theater watching Watchmen. Whuut?

I was in line for tickets at 15 past 7. Had them in my hands at 8:30. Soooooo many (restless) people were still queuing. All I could think was, malas. They were going to miss at least the first half. I sprinted to the concert grounds where Mark and Camille were waiting, outside Silver A. I learned I had already missed the first three songs. Bwiset. Get in, get in!

Then boom. Sea of people. You know when you’re assaulted by this mélange of sounds and sights and smells and you just go, whoa. But hey, this was it, we had to dive in. Grabe. Ang LAPIT namin - sa screen, hahahahaha! This was definitely not SVIP. Boo. I couldn’t even see the goddamn stage. Just people people people everywhere. We squeezed in, found a spot right beneath the screen (stiff neck ito), and stood our ground for the next two hours.

The vibe was definitely different – eons away – from the last concert. The last was so extremely tension-filled, everyone was holding their breath. This time, the four guys onstage seemed to tell us, hey, just chill.

And we did. We just enjoyed watching them have fun up there. They carried the mood throughout. It was so light and laidback I felt like I was at the UP Fair, kicking back and relishing the moment. When they went back after the encore performance and sang three more songs "for the road" everyone was like, "orayt, let's rock on." So relaxed. Good times.

The way they performed was also not just an acknowledgment of what they were as Ehaads, but of who they are now. Marcus taking the mic with his fun rendition of Huwag Mo Nang Itanong, and Raimund completely filling the stage for three songs (hmm, did not like his Alkohol as much), and all the other moments that made them shine individually that night told us that each of them has a full, complete life beyond the Eheads, and they look like they’re enjoying it. So should we.

And Ely and Raimund singing together, man…there is a friendship there, a bond, some form of connection or whatever you wish to call it - something that will endure, despite the difficult times, going separate ways, and the obvious fact that they can’t share a stage longer than two hours. Such a thrill. What a statement.

I felt so happy for them, for finally accepting that Eheads indeed was and still is part of history – Ely declaring “We are the Eraserheads” was truly a pivotal moment – and for embracing the love that their fans continue to give them. More importantly, for they way they’ve matured and moved forward and, even more importantly, for loving music the way they do.

It was a bittersweet symphony, an apt ending to a beautiful chapter in our interwoven, music-filled lives. Now it's time to flip the page.

I think that The Final Set was a lesson for all of us: to love them as Eheads, yes, but also to accept the journey that they are on today. It’s the same one we’re taking I guess, because we can’t be 15 forever. We’re all growing up, all moving on somehow, and coming into our own. It’s comforting to know we will always have their music – past, present, future – to take with us on the road. The Eheads will, after all, live forever.

...magkahawak ang ating kamay at walang kamalay-malay, na tinuruan mo ang puso ko na umibig nang tunay...

Parallel Universe 2

2008-12-17T14:47:00.002+08:00

I guess what makes The Office work is that it’s so real. I keep saying this. Not because it’s made ‘documentary’ style, but because it is founded on some very basic, palpable truths.

Every office around the world is different. But somehow, the show managed to touch on what was the same. The writers based some of their stories on their experiences working for General Electric, and right there you can be sure that they didn’t just dream up the scenarios.

We’ve always known that commonplace is often funnier than complicated plotlines. Sometimes even Friends writers forgot this, and they ended up with an exhausting 30 minutes about Ross and his stupid monkey. The Office’s premises can be outrageous and amplified sometimes, but they get away with it because they treat it so matter-of-factly.

Funny is everyday life, seen from a certain vantage point (a single camera with great zoom, perhaps?). Funny is catching people’s reactions after an officemate’s emotional outburst. Not all reactions consist of an exaggerated frozen gape while the studio audience laughs. No one does that in real life anyway especially when a furrowed brow would be sufficient.

Everyday life is sad, poignant, heartwarming, bittersweet, awkward, sincere, and so many other things. The show captures this range of emotions so beautifully in such a simple way: just by watching the characters. In the foreground, background, to the side, wherever they are. They don’t even need to speak – because in reality sometimes our words belie how we really feel. The show understands that the devil is in the detail, and that the whole weight of an emotion can be seen literally in the blink of an eye, or a quiet sigh or a pause between sentences. The show delivers these subtleties and nuances perfectly. Props also to the actors who truly understand the material they’re working with. The characters of The Office are so well developed that during shooting the actors do their own stuff in the background for hours, with the single camera catching them only once in while, and they never miss a beat.

What can I say? I love the show. If you haven’t seen it then go grab a DVD. That’s what she said.

Parallel Universe

2008-12-17T10:30:00.005+08:00

Last weekend, my Kris KringleMommy/Daddy (Secret Santa) gave me Seasons 1-3 of The Office (US). I haven’t slept since then. Solb na ako ngayong Pasko.

There are very few TV sitcoms that catch my attention. I grew up watching Friends and Cheers, so my standards have always been high hahaha. Comedy I think is the hardest to do; the writers have to be consistently brilliant. More than that, they have to know the difference between brilliant and crazy stupid. There’s a very thin line. If you don’t see that, you start to become self-absorbed, and the show basically implodes. I stopped watching Ally McBeal when its writers crossed that line.

That said, The Office is a brilliant show. I had my doubts when it first came out, seeing that the original UK version was so widely successful. But this tiny show about a mid-sized paper company in Scranton, Pennsylvania shines all the way through, from Michael Scott’s antics, Pam and Jim’s romance, Dwight’s sucking up, and even Angela’s turtlenecks. I tried to catch as much as I could on cable, but until last weekend I hadn’t been able to watch the episodes in the right succession.

(This is going to be a long entry with at least two parts, so be prepared.)

One of the very few reasons why I go to work day in and day out is that I find highly entertaining the obvious parallelisms about my office and The Office. It amuses me no end. Sometime I catch myself smirking at the thought, only there’s no camera to look at when I do it, like Jim often does. I’m surveying my desk now and seeing Dwight’s bobble heads in the form of my miniature Cinderella statue, an elephant keychain, an Irishman magnet, a Matchbox Beetle and a stuffed Funshine Bear. My phone is a Cisco (imagine how thrilled I was when our MIS first brought the phones in. I have to say, though, it’s not the easiest thing to navigate. Pam’s a whiz at transferring calls).

I work for a branch of a multi-office company. With more than 70 offices worldwide, we’re a little bigger than Dunder Mifflin’s Northeast US-based company. But the structure is the same: regional office composed of a few local staff and headed by a local guy, once-in-a-blue-moon visits from corporate executives with whom we have conflicting views on how business is run, and very little budget. Our former receptionist had a secret office romance with one of our business development guys – I say former because they got married and left the country (wonder if that will happen to PB&J*). I have an officemate who pulls pranks on co-workers a lot, except he’s not tall and cute like Jim (hah! Sorry friend!). My cube mates and I play rock-paper-scissors, and whoever loses makes orange juice for the winner. I have become an expert OJ maker. We bet a lot over inane things like Tagalog-English translations and Harry Potter trivia. The loser usually serves the winner snacks for an entire week or buys coffee at Starbucks, except we don’t call it ‘Bucks like Michael Scott** does.

The layout of our office makes us open for attack by our boss. By attack I mean the way Michael swaggers in and makes pointless announcements to the entire staff in his booming voice. Most of the time he gets blank looks and the occasional “Uhh, okay.”

My desk faces a corner, so whenever our boss comes over, I always jump out of my skin because he surprises me from behind. I’m too lazy to swivel my chair to face him, so when we talk it’s like I’m talking to my PC monitor. Lack of respect? Possibly. He doesn’t seem to mind talking to the back of my head.

Sexism, racism, ageism and all kinds of bigotry? Check. Asshole boss who likes to crack humorless jokes, tells stripper and mistress stories at a table full of women and talks crass all the effin time? Check. The uptight accountant/admin officer who acts like a Nazi? Oh, and the boss who gets told off by bigger bosses from the head office, and takes it out on his staff like an immature, selfish, ignorant child. Or the staff who look at each other knowingly when the boss speaks nonsense, and afterward in a subtle, inside-joke way puts him in his place via a small remark and eye-rolling. Or the motivational meetings and workshops that take up the whole afternoon, and the expensive office dinners even when the entire company is in the process of downsizing.

The boss showing up at an after-office party to which he was intentionally not invited (you notice I make a lot of reference to the boss). The missent emails and careless comments about a gay officemate, emergency staff meetings about the broken printer and dirty toilet (conference room, everyone!), quitting your job and then returning, and your job being…just that. (Because right now, this is a job. If I advance any higher, this would be my career. And if this were my career, I'd have to throw myself in front of a train. - Jim Halpert)

I could go on and on and on, but it all comes down to one thing. The Office is very real. As real as the list of phone line extensions taped to your PC, and your pink and green Post-it notes. As real as carpal tunnel syndrome, extended coffee breaks and solitaire on a slow day. As real as the annoying sound of tapping computer keys when you have a headache, or your very strong urge to hurl a shoe at a certain office door. Now I see the sheer genius behind the show’s mockumentary style – no canned laughter, no background music save for a constantly ringing phone and the occasional office karaoke. No predictable puns or storylines (Did I wake up this morning thinking I’d be throwing together a bird funeral? You never can tell what your day here is gonna turn into. – Pam Beesly).

No frills. Just a regular day at The Office.

To be continued.

*PB&J aka Pam Beesly and Jim (Halpert), receptionist and sales associate, respectively. Also known as JAM (Jim+Pam). Jim hangs out at the reception desk all the time. I remember my officemate sitting by the reception desk all the time. I thought he was just bored. Well, that, too.

** Michael Scott, regional manager

THE MILLION HECTARE WALK 2008 - Haribon Foundation

2008-11-14T10:42:00.003+08:00

The Million Hectare Walk is an event which aims to raise funds through pledges. Every lap completed by a Walker is sponsored by family and friends’ pledges. Walkers can take the long route (1.5 km) or the short route (360 meters).

You are cordially invited to walk with us on November 16 Sunday at 6:00-11:00 am to help restore our natural forests. Join the Million Hectare Walk at the Ninoy Aquino Parks and Wildlife Center in Quezon City and support ROAD* to 2020 as we walk to generate pledges to raise awareness and resources to restore one million hectares of our natural forests using native tree species by year 2020. Form a team to walk together, enlist family members and friends, and solicit pledges to support your laps to raise funds to plant more native trees.

Registration fees per walker at P250 for kids and for Haribon Members, and P300 for non-members, will cover a t-shirt and bag. Pledges start at P75. To register and/or for details, please call 4211213 or 4244642, 09228159235 or 09228151942, or email act@haribon.org.ph.

Download forms:
Registration form
Pledge form

2008-11-10T19:57:00.001+08:00

Oh, and I might be bipolar.

another one of those nights

2008-11-10T19:54:00.001+08:00

If you're an Aries, never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever marry another Aries. Ever.

:D

2008-11-03T16:04:00.000+08:00

I had the best Halloween. Ever.

hay

2008-10-30T14:47:00.002+08:00

Bourdain in Manila. Why was Juday there?

He also went to Cebu. Prolly ate lechon.

They said he got drunk on San Mig. Hahaha.

The episode will air in Asia in 2010. Anubah. Thank god for youtube!

Tony

2008-10-30T14:32:00.002+08:00

Anthony Bourdain was in the Philippines last week.

Gaaaaaaaaaaaaah! I cannot believe I did not know this. I learned about it today when I checked Cafe Ysabel's website for their menus, and I saw a photo of him at the restaurant.

:(

dream sequence '08

2008-10-29T11:45:00.006+08:00

I was riding a jeepney on the SLEX service road, presumably on my way home. For some reason I was in a conversation with a stranger, and again for some unknown reason it was very clear to me that he was Atenean. Maybe a jock, not sure. He had a huge torso. Anyway, the jeep finally stopped, and I found myself at the lobby of my old school, UP Manila. It was suddenly raining, very hard. The rain looked like sheets of water falling from the dark sky. Was it nighttime? It was dark everywhere.

I wanted desperately to get a ride home. I needed to go upstairs – I don’t know why but this seemed the way out – but I was extremely afraid. Like there were ghosts waiting for me somewhere in the dark. I saw Ms Jing, one of our consultants, and asked her to come upstairs with me. We did, and again for some reason I ended up in a sort of bay area for vehicles. It was still dark and raining, A jeepney stopped by and I jumped in.

I arrived home, finally. I looked into my parents’ room and saw my brother sleeping face down on the pillows. I went into another room and saw Edward Norton, circa American History X. Muscles and tattoos and all. He looked like a live version of grayscale magazine print ad, meaning he was a glossy gray color. He was sitting on one of the two beds in the room, writing furiously in what looked like a journal. He was writing about his mentally challenged brother. I moved away from him and went to the bathroom. The toilet was full of rust, and there was no water and no tissue. I went back to Edward’s spot and saw his brother instead. He was reading Edward’s journal. I thought, yikes, busted.

At that point I think I woke up. Very physically tired, and puffy-eyed.

Obviously, my strange dreams are back.

Kainis. I don’t like these dreams of mine. They seem so senseless. The thing is they’re not. I believe they do mean something.

But I don’t have anyone to help me interpret them. So hello, internet. Yes, not very reliable, but neither are the books on dreams proliferating in stores nowadays. And I was curious and impatient. I wanted to be placated and humored.

Anyway, since there’s no way to have my dream “analyzed” without paying a fee (and I never would), I resorted to pulling out key concepts and browsing through the “dream dictionary” for available definitions (very scientific hahaha). Thus:

(from petrix.com)

Road. Achievement of something. Direction. Ask yourself about your life's path.

Stranger. Outsider. Unknown. Mystery needs to be revealed.

Dark. Mystery. The unknown and unformed. A place of fear or of potential. Difficulties ahead.

School. Discipline. Instruction. You have the skills to resolve a problem.

Rain. Release. Feelings are pouring down on you.

Stairs. Up or down. Aspirations. Looking to get to certain point against all opposition.

Fear. Unexpressed love. Self-doubts. Courage.

Ghost. Spiritual aspect of self. Memory. Past coming back. Beware of enemies.

Vehicles. Transportation. Movement. Looking for a medium to get where you want to be.

Home. Center of being. Spiritual self. Shelter. Basic need fulfilled. Happiness within the family.

Bed. Retreat from activity. Rest.

Brother. Fellowship. Expect quarrels. Masculine aspect of self.

Sleeping. Relaxation and rest. Unconsciousness. False security.

Back (because it was my brother's back I saw). Misfortune in life and will die in misery (whaaaaaat?). Unconscious.

Bedroom. Changes in own affairs. Concealment of family secrets.

Writing. Communication. Review of your feelings. Record of experience.

Reading. Learning. Information revealed. Escape from reality. Something burdens you.

Rust. Deterioration. Inactivity. Problems that need to be taken care before it's too late.

So how about that? Does it make sense now? Except for the bits on the jeepney being the specific vehicle, Ateneo, Ms Jing and Edward Norton, the explanations have frightening potential.

Also, I ran across another term and remembered I’ve had several dreams (not this particular dream, though) about making pupu.

Defecation. Elimination. Dumping, especially of garbage from the past.

It seems I do more work dealing with my “issues” in my dreams than in real life.

pm break

2008-10-27T17:20:00.002+08:00

16.27. I go to the office pantry to take a break from doing nothing. Iced coffee sounds nice. I check, no clean glasses. Ok, normal coffee then. ~~Black~~ No cream, lots of sugar. I sit on a stool by the window, enjoying the warm respite from my ultra-cold spot directly under the overhead AC. I look to my right, at the condiments all lined up neatly, courtesy of our utility guy who shares my surname. I think, given time, I could really finish that entire bottle of iodized salt.

Clouds move in and cover the light streaming into the window. An officemate walks in. “May tao (anyone inside)?” he asks, pointing to the bathroom beside the sink. I shake my head and smile. He goes in, probably wondering what I’m doing in the pantry. Because no one hangs out there alone unless he or she is waiting in line for the bathroom, right?

I say to myself, no one in this office really knows me. They “know” me – my name and what I do and the general perception of me, but not much else. They don’t know that I like to drink coffee ~~black~~ no cream with lots of sugar, or that I can spend an hour sitting and drinking coffee alone, staring at the sky. And surely they don’t know why.

There are probably two or three people here who do know me. They’re the only ones I’d actually consider inviting to my wedding. I think weddings not because I’m having one myself, but because as one grows older you realize it’s one of those events where you really think about who you want to surround yourself with, people who share your truest, deepest joy and understand the meaning of that special glitter in your eyes. Not just anyone. Not just because you’re obligated to tack that generic wedding invitation on the office bulletin board, and then guess who will actually be attending.

Two or three people are enough, maybe. But it goes to show how, despite the fun times, the laughter and the friendly bickering, talking about work and movies and politics, that the office is still such an impersonal, almost manufactured environment.

Except that I hear my officemate pissing in the bathroom, which is such a…personal matter.

Before he opens the door and is embarrassed at the sight of me, I stand up, place my cup in the sink and make my way through our red maze known as cubicles.

Back to my cold spot.

Back to looking like everyone else and thinking how f*cking delicious it would be to break free.

Who knows, maybe that’s what they’re thinking, too.

Homecomings, Conventions

2008-10-27T11:46:00.004+08:00

You know you’re getting old when you look forward to ballroom dancing at graduate school reunions. Which is exactly how I was at the UP-School of Urban and Regional Planning (UP-SURP) Grand Alumni Homecoming. Given that I only graduated last year and I'm *only* 26, I shouldn’t have been as excited as, say, EnP Ted Encarnacion, one of SURP’s first ever graduates (batch ’69). But I was excited. I couldn’t help it! I had a blast. It was fun seeing classmates, professors and older alumni let their hair down and get jiggy with it! From Dr Bravo’s dyosa look, Sir Mel Luna’s electric dancing, to Jed’s wavy Harry-Potter-just-fought-Voldemort hair, Cherry with San Mig in hand (classic!), and everyone else laughing and enjoying, well, it was worth the wait. Oh and let us not forget the biggest revelation that night. Edison can dance! And how! He can whip up a mean swing number, my goodness. We will never hire a DI again!

The Homecoming was such a success that when I told Sir Tomi (president of our Alumni Association), "see you next year!" he answered in his typical endearing, flamboyant way, "no, see you in December!" An Alumni Christmas party? Indeed, see you all then!

For me, the event started way before the night itself. A couple of months earlier, Prof Jimenez and, subsequently, Dr Bravo ‘commissioned’ EnPraxis to produce the souvenir program for the event. I thought it would be a snap since I’ve had long experience in layout and publication.

Well it was, kind of, it’s just that it coincided with another souvenir program we were doing -- this time for the Philippine Institute of Environmental Planners (PIEP) National Convention, which was held a week before the Homecoming. Not to mention the other pre-Convention preparations i.e. follow-up of speakers and invitations to participants; tarpaulin, ID and logo designs; convention kits; powerpoint presentations; venue checks and food-tasting; and I have to mention it’s a good thing Ma’am Liza listened when I told her to get rid of that nasty-ugly styrofoam PIEP seal! Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

Speaking of the Convention, that went down well, too. It was much better organized than the previous years' conventions (thanks in part to us hahaha), but it doesn't mean there weren't knots to be untied and kinks to be ironed out backstage. Photofinish pa rin in a way. But I'm glad the cool was kept. ;) We were happy to be there, if only to help take the load off Ma'am Liza and Ms Arlene.

I digress. So…between those two events, we were short of biting off more than we can chew. Before I knew it I was spending days in front of the computer, missing work and getting horribly sick. Not a day had passed after the Convention and we had already moved on to the next task. Two days before the Homecoming I was living off coffee and sleeping a mere 20 minutes. I also felt guilty for dragging Len, Chris, Edison, Vir and Lorenzo down this road with me hehe. Mark doesn’t count because he has no choice.

But I do think it paid off quite nicely. Like Len said, we have arrived (hmm, how many times have we arrived na ba? hahahahaha). It’s fun to be acknowledged for doing something nice. To be introduced to our peers in such a positive way. And the full-page ad in the Homecoming program sure doesn’t hurt hahaha. Ultimately, though, it feels great to have done something truly worthwhile, something you were passionate about and believed in. We do believe in our school and in our professional organization, and I’m glad we were able to contribute in some small way to the success of their much-awaited and labored-upon events.

I would do everything again in a heartbeat. But maybe not simultaneously! :o

*photos here. Len's takes on our fun "Oktoberfest" here.

random, but not really

2008-10-06T23:03:00.002+08:00

I am tired. Simply tired. The past month has not been good to me. As the days and weeks went by, I kept feeling more and more alone. Except for Mark, reasons to push myself to the limit and be better and hopeful have becme harder to find.

Or maybe that’s the problem. I’d pushed myself so much I actually fell off.

But I don’t believe that, really. I won’t make excuses for myself or anyone and say ‘oh I worked too hard, I just need to relax.’ Everybody works hard. Everyone gets sleepless nights. Everyone forgets to eat at some point in the day and struggles to remember which of the things on his/her list has not been done yet.

No. Because I can be physically exhausted, sure. But I know how it is to be tired in a good, delicious way, like when you sink into a couch and think to yourself, it was back-breaking but hey, I did good and it was all worth it.

It doesn’t feel that way now – you know, worth it. Instead, it just feels all kinds of defeated.

The problem, I think, is the steadily creeping disappointment.

See, I’m not the person who gets angry at life. I rarely even get mad at my boyfriend, or most people, for that matter. I can debate until your tongue falls off but anger isn’t generally part of my program. I don’t get nasty either. I don’t wish other people ill. I rarely hold grudges. I don’t fire off.

But I get disappointed. Which, I believe, is far worse than any other negative emotion. Worse because it arises from expectation, from hope and faith. Worse because it fills you to the core, seeping into every crevice in your body, and leaving you not boiling in fury, but rather stoned in silent sadness. It dulls you, presses you against the earth, renders you immovable and listless.

I don’t think words are even enough to express the heaviness that I’m carrying now, this palpable weight that is just dragging me down.

***

How and where I am now can be no farther from how and where I was one year ago. And not in a good way.

Was I wrong to stick it out the way I did? To be stubborn and believe blindly that it could be done? Or was my mother right all along?

***

Why do I feel disappointed? With what, or with whom?

I can’t answer that. All I know is that a part of me wants to run far away, to disappear and rebuild myself. To see if I have something else to offer. Because to be frank I’ve given it all I’ve got, and still I came up close to empty.

***

I still believe in the things I believe in. I just don’t know who else does.

the whole problem with science

2008-09-12T15:11:00.013+08:00

What physicists, religious critics and geeks like myself have been waiting for:

First beam in the LHC - accelerating science

A historic moment in the CERN Control Centre: the beam was successfully steered around the accelerator.

Geneva, 10 September 2008. The first beam in the Large Hadron Collider at CERN (European Organization for Nuclear Research) was successfully steered around the full 27 kilometres of the world’s most powerful particle accelerator at 10h28 this morning. This historic event marks a key moment in the transition from over two decades of preparation to a new era of scientific discovery.

“It’s a fantastic moment,” said LHC project leader Lyn Evans, “we can now look forward to a new era of understanding about the origins and evolution of the universe.”

Read the rest of the article here.

Now if you actually read the article and had a slight nosebleed, Calvin has a simpler, thoughtful take on things (click to enlarge):

More Calvin wisdom:

(Calvin is standing behind a box with “SCIENTIFIC NAMES: $1.00” written on it):

Hobbes: "Scientific names?"

Calvin: "Sure. Scientists think up all these cool, wacky theories, but then give them dull, unimaginative names. For instance, scientists think space is full of mysterious, invisible mass, so, what do they call it??? Dark matter! DUUHHHHHH!!! I tell you, there’s a fortune to be made here!"

---

Calvin: Sometimes I think the surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe is that none of it has tried to contact us.

Ah, I miss Calvin and Hobbes. Someone buy me the book collection please.

Read more about CERN and the Large Hadron Collider. Check out the video, too.

spiralling (to half a tablet, three times a day)

2008-09-12T11:50:00.001+08:00

I want to move. Far away, like to another country. For about six months, one year, tops. To study, work part-time, just be. I’ve been wanting to do this for as long as I can remember. And I want to do it before I get any older, get married, start a family, all that. You know, just do it, get it out of my system. Experience it without worrying about feeding children.

I think my family needs me here. Mama’s not well, never has been, really, it’s just becoming more and more obvious now – even she can’t hide it. Alex just got well. I’ve started a company here. After two years it’s still an infant, but hey Rome wasn’t built in a day. I want to start another business with my mother, who needs it more than I do on an emotional and psychological level. My brother’s just basically starting his career, and might need help in some areas of it. Mark’s here.

And oh, I have less than $700 to my name. That’s after five years of working. Can’t even buy a one-way plane ticket.

So these things are pulling my head in many different directions. And I’m just about to go crazy. Again. Hello Alprazolam.

today

2008-09-11T13:30:00.003+08:00

Surfed the net for pictures of Ellen and Portia’s exquisite wedding, and ended up at Joshua Radin’s website. He sang at the wedding a song called Today. Beautiful. So I listened to all of Joshua’s new songs and they’re all great. Mental note to search for his current and previous albums (oh my haven’t been to a music store in so long).

Anyway, now I’m a huge fan.

Pointless observation pala: All the celebrities and artists I like or whose work I admire, their names all start with J. John Cusack. Joshua Jackson. Jesse Bradford. Jude Law. And now Joshua Radin.

With the exception of Edward Norton. And Ellen. Whose names start with E. Hahaha! Told you, pointless.

Even in real life. My friends will know that the names of the people I used to like/love/hate (haha) all start with J or E. Mark’s nickname at home is Jomark by the way.

Hay walang kwenta ang post na ‘to hehe. Sakit pa ng tiyan ko huhu.

By Joshua Radin:

Vegetable Car

baby, you don't even know me but one day i'll get up the courage as you pass by you'll see baby, one look just might save me i need you to slow by the corner stop right in front of me till then i'll see you hopefully through i do, wish that you'd ask me to ride along it wouldn't be wrong to tell me more than i know about you she drives a vegetable car diesel mercedes green two-door i barely know who you are lisa loeb glasses i'd sure like to ask you to stay baby, i need you to save me the one thing that my heart requires is that you admire me till then i'll see you hopefully through i do, wish that you'd ask me to ride along it wouldn't be wrong to tell me more than i know about you she drives a vegetable car diesel mercedes green two-door i barely know who you are lisa loeb glasses i'd sure like to ask you to stay how do i know why the sight of you makes me weak each time i see you turn on to my street your hair is always up in a bun this girl's the one she drives a vegetable car diesel mercedes green two-door i barely know who you are lisa loeb glasses i'd sure like to ask you to stay don't go

walang aalis

2008-09-08T16:49:00.002+08:00

Found a comment on a recent article/post about the Eheads:

"we love the eraserheads. kahit ilan beses kayo bumalik at magdisband, may manonood pa rin sa inyo.

take your time. andito lang kaming lahat."

Aww.

083008 photos

2008-09-01T17:20:00.000+08:00

concert photos

waiting to exhale

2008-08-31T01:50:00.007+08:00

What do you do when you're extremely happy and at the same time heartbroken? I don't know. Don't know.

The much-awaited Eraserheads reunion concert ended for me, and I think for most of us, on such a strange note. Quite hard to explain. To say that the Eraserheads reunion concert was a rollercoaster ride is an understatement. The gamut of emotions felt last night cannot be fully expressed here.

I first got wind of the concert from my brother's friend Jaemark, whose blog I usually stalk. Apparently the rumors took a life of their own, mostly through the net, and the build-up was the most intense I have ever seen for any concert. More than talk and speculation, there was just so much emotion invested in this event. Simply because we're talking about the Eraserheads. The single most loved phenomenon in the local music industry of this generation. I was about 13 years old when the Eheads were peaking. I've never actually owned an Eheads CD, and until last night I had never been to any of their concerts. But I, like any other sane Pinoy of my age group, absolutely loved them. They are so much a part of contemporary culture , and their songs brought and continue to bring to life what we mortals only thought and felt. They truly are the soundtrack to our lives.

So there it was, for the past month this great big sleeping giant was slowly waking up. And after all that hoopla with Philip Morris, we learned that it was truly pushing through. I bought my tickets at Greenbelt 1 as soon as I could last Thursday. Psyched myself up (as if we could surpass the already immense excitement) by playing Eheads songs at work. Texted people I thought would be coming. I myself was going with Mark, Camille and Len, but I was hoping to meet others there as well (stretching my luck was more like it).

By Saturday we were all pumped up and ready to go. I went to SURP, after which I went back home to get the car, and fetched Camille who was at a fieldtrip in Manila. By this time Mark, Len and I had found ourselves stuck in traffic, under pouring rain, and constantly checking the radiator in fear of overheating.

"What else could go wrong?" was what we kept asking ourselves and each other. Which really meant, what could possibly go wrong during the concert? I mean, this was an Eheads concert, and an extraordinary one at that. Anything could happen. We were almost sure there would be a stampede. Or that the rains would transfer to Makati and drench us all.

But none of those happened. Instead, we were, as if by magic, given SVIP passes. Yessss! I never even thought there was something better than VIP. I said goodbye to my Patron tickets, and proceeded to grab free "pa-demure" sandwiches served on trays by waiters, plus drinks. SVIP - whatever it means - definitely rocks. Too bad I couldn't get Shiva in. Sowi. :(

When the band (are they still a band? they most definitely were tonight) came out after a riveting countdown, it was just...stunning. They looked so sharp, so present, so alive. They were together. Onstage. Singing songs as a band once again. For everyone there, this was a dream come true. This was history.

Len noticed Buddy taking several deep breaths right before they sang the first song, and we knew that they wanted this to work out perfectly. We all did.

It was perfect, really (they sang With A Smile, which basically made my night). It was going so well. Then Ely took a pause after Lightyears (tama ba?) and sat down on the floor. After that they went to intermission for more than thirty minutes, and never came back as a complete group. Instead, Ely's sister read a message saying his brother had been rushed to the hospital.

And then, just silence. Palpable silence, silence in our minds and hearts. It was as if reality had been yanked from underneath us and we were all suspended.

Like I said, anything could happen. Something was bound to happen, and we suspect everyone in the audience felt it right from the beginning. We sensed something was very wrong when Quark and Mich Dulce and everyone else in their, hmm, posse, started to leave. After that, the crew started packing the instruments.

We just didn't want to entertain the thought, I guess. Long after the announcement, we were still in various states of denial. We lingered at the venue for nearly an hour.

Later that night Len pointed out how this concert was, for her, supposed to bring closure to the Eheads saga, a definitive event that would tell us all where they stand, wherever that is.

But we didn't get that ending. That's how it felt for me, unfinished. Just like when they broke up. It was as if someone/something is telling us that there isn't any period to the story yet; wala pa ring tuldok, gustuhin man nating lahat para na rin sa kapanatagan ng loob. Pero wala eh. It's like we've been inhaling for such a long time, and we haven't let the air out yet.

Which is not to say we weren't content. The fact that they were standing onstage together was amazing already, and the 15 songs were more than enough. We didn't even expect them to perform for more than 45 minutes. First song pa lang, sulit na.

And that's the strange thing, this mixture of emotion. The highs and lows in a single blow.

More than anything, we pray for Ely's recovery. Last time I checked he was stable. Thank God. I heard they were set to do 30 songs, and according to Manong Railing (the burly male staff by the railing separating us from the stage) they were supposed to take breaks every 10th song, but Ely pushed it. His health finally gave in after the 15th song. Was thinking maybe he felt he had to push as far as he could, because the moment he stopped to rest, that would be the end of his night (but this is just me overanalyzing).

There's been a growing buzz (yep, this early) about a Part 2. But the producers and promoters haven't said whether or not this is possible. It would depend on a lot things, most of all Ely's health.

A continuation would be great, but that's in the future. Right now, all I know is that the Eheads have made history, and we're all still holding our breath.

083008

2008-08-28T15:02:00.003+08:00

'Nuff said.

Evan's A.R.K.

2008-08-26T15:45:00.005+08:00

I saw Evan Almighty this weekend, on HBO. I found Bruce Almighty just okay, so I wasn’t too excited about this.

I ended up watching Evan three times wehehe.

Sure, the movie reviews were almost all bad. And I didn’t like Lauren Graham at all (too bad because I’m a Gilmore Girls fan). But I loved it anyway. First of all, Steve Carell is absolutely hilarious. He has a humor that is totally irreverent and yet totally vulnerable. I love him. The fact that I haven’t found a DVD of The Office’s first season is driving me nuts.

Also, I like the movie’s themes, however scattered they may be at times. Congressman Evan Baxter wants to change the world (according to his winning campaign slogan). Who doesn’t? Even for marketing purposes, everyone wants to change the world.

Sometimes (most of the time?) we complain about not being given enough chances to do so. We make excuses for not doing the right things by saying we’re not given enough time, we’re not allowed to, we never had the opportunity. It’s easier that way. Easier to turn our backs and blame the world for not being nice enough.

We have to look further to see that opportunities abound, but not always given to us on a silver platter. God (Morgan Freeman) said, “If someone prays for patience, you think God gives them patience? Or does he give them the opportunity to be patient? If he prayed for courage, does God give him courage, or does he give him opportunities to be courageous? If someone prayed for the family to be closer, do you think God zaps them with warm fuzzy feelings, or does he give them opportunities to love each other?”

In the movie, Evan, like all of us, is given the opportunity to change the world. And what an opportunity it is. It isn't easy. It’s not like volunteering for Gawad Kalinga. God is making Evan do something crazy and unbelievable and stupid by today’s standards. Crazy and unbelievable because God doesn’t appear to people and send boxes of gopherwood (okay, maple and pine) and ancient tools to make an Ark!? And how the hell could anyone build it by himself? Stupid because granted the above were true, who would anyone even want to? Oh, but God does send the materials – and detailed instructions. And it takes all of Evan’s faith to follow Him, but he does.

That’s something. For me, that’s what movie is about. Faith despite our own doubts, despite fear of ridicule, despite abandonment. As God told Evan, “You fought me every step of the way, but you still did it.”

I found that line very striking. Maybe because I’ve had my own whopping share of doubts – about religion, God, doing things in God’s name, etc. My growing up years were a mishmash of internal tug-of-war and philosophical debates about religion and faith, religion vs. faith, blah blah blah. I feel like I’ve traveled through the ages in search of that truth, and I’m thankful that where I am now is truly a comfortable place, where I am at peace with the things I believe in, and the things that I do because of those beliefs. I still yawn whenever I’m inside our Church (old habits die hard I guess hehe) but I still like being a Catholic, however flawed I or my Church is. I incorporate my Catholicism into my multitude of beliefs about this universe and that higher power, which comes in many different forms and incarnations that are not altogether Catholic. This entry would not be enough to explain how I feel about my faith, which transcends religion, but I can relate to Evan because I also fought, every step of the way. And hey, like Evan, I’m still here.

Since the film is about changing the world, it’s also about, well, the world. Why it needs changing in the first place. The “a-ha” angle was of course, the environment: the impacts of market-oriented, corporation-backed onerous land use laws; encroaching on national parks for the sake of “development”; the simple act of ignorantly choosing endangered Amazonian cherry wood over plain maple. God showed Evan a lush natural landscape, then superimposed the high-end housing enclave he was living in to indicate what had been lost because of humans' ambitions. The Great Flood came, of course, from the poorly built man-made lake and dam above the suburb. Some of those touches of environmental awareness and sustainable development wisdom were a little too obvious, but they nonetheless made the little environmental planner in me do a little Evan dance.

I also like the fact the production itself was “environmentally-minded”, offsetting their carbon emissions by planting more than 2000 trees (one for each cast and crew member) near the site and using bikes instead of cars as transportation around the production site. Every little act counts, yes?

In fact, that’s also one of the film’s lessons. How do we change the world? One single Act of Random Kindness at a time.

No excuses, people. Because opportunities to Act are everywhere, for everyone. Asked why he thought God chose him, Evan answered honestly and correctly: “He chose all of us.”

---

Quotes:

Evan Baxter: [Looks into rearview, sees God who just appeared out of nowhere] AAGGGHHHHH! AAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!
God: [smiling] Let it out, son. It's the beginning of wisdom.

Joan Baxter: Honey, maybe God didn't mean a literal flood. Maybe he meant a flood of knowledge, or emotion, or awareness.
Evan Baxter: If that's true, I am going to be *so pissed*.

Evan Baxter: [on the ark, addressing a big crowd] People! The flood is imminent!
[everyone looks around, bewildered, and up at the sunny sky. Evan addresses the heavens]
Evan Baxter: Is it too much to ask for a LITTLE PRECIPITATION?

Ark Reporter: What makes you think God chose you?
Evan Baxter: He chose all of us.

God: Let me ask you something. If someone prays for patience, you think God gives them patience? Or does he give them the opportunity to be patient? If he prayed for courage, does God give him courage, or does he give him opportunities to be courageous? If someone prayed for the family to be closer, do you think God zaps them with warm fuzzy feelings, or does he give them opportunities to love each other?

God: How do we change the world?
Evan Baxter: One single act of random kindness at a time.
God: [spoken while writing A-R-K on ground with a stick] One Act, of, Random, Kindness.

[Rita voices her disbelieve in Evan's ark]
Rita: Look, I go to church every Sunday.
[Evan doesn't believe her]
Rita: Every "other" Sunday.
[Evan still doesn't believe her]
Rita: I've been to church!

Evan Baxter: Do I know you?
God: Not as much as I'd like.

God: One nation, under Me, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.
[looks over at Evan]
God: How long you wanna do this son? I've got all eternity.
Evan Baxter: [faints dead away]

Rita: The way things are going, if he gets any crazier, we might end up in the White House.

Ark Reporter: It's September 22nd and we're all still here...awkwarrrd!

mindcrap

2008-08-23T01:05:00.003+08:00

I recently looked around my room, surveying the mess that had accumulated over the past year. I began counting the bags that I saw.

When I reached 50, I stopped.

Fifty! More than that actually, because I lost count after 50. And that doesn't include the bags my mother and I share (sosyo).

Egads. How could a person own so many redundant things? This morning I resolutely pulled down several bags from the racks and threw them into a large paper bag. Time for some mid-year cleaning.

I retired a beat-up cotton bag from college, a flaking faux leather bag from 168, a very stained black bag from mama's friend, and some others I mustered enough strength to say goodbye to. I started to feel good after about 10 bags. Tomorrow I'll get back to the lot. Maybe I can manage to clean up my entire room, too (cross your fingers).

They say your room is a reflection of your state of mind. If this is so, then my head must be a complete and utter mess.

Here's the thing: I don't disagree. Which is somehow ironic because I pretty much have everything in life at the moment. Life's a blast. Things are going great.

Yet there's a queasy feeling I just can't let go of. Something at the pit of my stomach that just doesn't feel...right. I can't pinpoint what it is, what causes it and where it leads to. All I know is that it travels through my body and settles in my head, trumping my otherwise brilliant logic. It contradicts what could be a perfectly happy condition. It completely messes things up.

God, what is that? What is this illness, this...syndrome? I need to know because my head is this roomful of beautiful junk, and I think I may need to throw some stuff away. But what?

The Office: Bioman

2008-08-23T00:20:00.004+08:00

(warning: not very nice. may even be politically incorrect.)

Last week I was at the office quite early (coz I wanted to leave early haha). It was a nice morning, and I was feeling good. Because I was feeling good I turned on my PC and played my usual morning music.

"Excuse me."

I almost jumped out of my skin when I heard the voice. I looked behind me and saw one of our consultants, a thin-framed Brit with balding white hair and a light liver spots.

"Could you turn the music down?" he said, followed by "it sounds whiny" or some other indistinct mumbling.

Well hey there. Hey hey HEY. David Archuleta hadn't even gotten through his first verse yet. Okay granted, he's Archie and he does sound a bit whiny, but how could have thin-framed Brit possibly known that when he was sitting all the way on the other side of the office?? And the volume on my PC was at the lowest level. The lowest, because I hate loud music. Especially on such a nice morning.

I wanted to huff and puff, but instead I smiled through gritted teeth and took out my earphones. He should be lucky all he heard was Archie, because up next was Cookie belting out Billie Jean, and I'm sure ol' Brit would be tumbling his way to my cubicle to shush me if he heard that. Hmp. Stupid consultants.

A couple of days later I learned that he was shushing people from all corners of the office, people who not only were on the other end of the floor, but were also separated from him by actual, thick walls, and whose music was just as low as mine! Now, I'm all for some peace and quiet and respecting other people's peculiar working conditions, but man, he would come knocking and pointing out noise that no else hears. It's completely baffling. How does he do that?! Bionic ears, I tell you. I think he can hear a pin drop, literally. Must be excruciating. I imagine his entire body vibrating violently whenever he talks.

Hmm, maybe that's why he kept looking at us, everytime we gathered and discussed things at our common area. I thought he merely wanted "to belong". Now I think he wanted to kill us, but restrained himself and simply stared.

Or maybe his superhuman ears were internally bleeding. Must. Not. Smirk.

Shoutout from Paranakyu and its lovely environs

2008-08-21T15:09:00.001+08:00

Finally. Southerners represent!

http://southbound.ph

The Office

2008-08-01T08:43:00.002+08:00

Seeing that I, despite my declarations of freedom, won’t be leaving my day job anytime soon, I thought I’d take out the misery by writing about the daily happenings in my immediate 9am-6 pm environs, to be filed under ‘the office’ of course. Because sometimes life really is like a sitcom/mockumentary, and when you have your very own Michael Scott, you just can’t resist. I’m still looking for my Dwight Schrute.

Because right now, this is a job. If I advance any higher, this would be my career. And if this were my career, I'd have to throw myself in front of a train. - Jim Halpert

FINALLY!!!

2008-07-14T10:39:00.001+08:00

No longer just a theory, dizizit:

http://www.philstar.com/archives.php?aid=2008071263&type=2

See you all there!

lilypad

2008-06-20T15:54:00.001+08:00

http://vincent.callebaut.org/page1-img-lilypad.html

2008-06-11T12:37:00.002+08:00

There are things that make you really wonder about what life is about. I mean, really think. There is a moment, for example, when all the cliché, romanticized scenarios about suffering suddenly fall by the wayside, to reveal a blunt, ugly truth that cannot be shaken or fashioned to suit your current fascinations.

You see other people with a debilitating disease, or learn of someone’s sudden, tragic death, and you feel sorry for them while thanking the stars for how lucky you are. Then you move on. You never really get the full grasp of what it means until it hits close to home, to you or a close relative or a very dear friend. Then and only then will you be able to comprehend the incomprehensible. And it’s something that can hardly be explained, only felt and known.

You realize that things happen for no apparent reason other than the one you invent for yourself, in an attempt to fill the blackest void. You learn that pain can, in fact, be abysmal, endless, enduring.

And so can love.

Just when they thought he was out...

2008-05-09T16:06:00.006+08:00

...he pulls himself back in.

Ladies and gentlemen, Robert Downey Jr. is Iron Man.

Watch it.

Acknowledgement

2008-05-06T23:32:00.006+08:00

Wanted to post my 'thank yous' last October, but it seemed less momentous than doing it during graduation time. I also tried looking for my old blog where I posted my undergrad thesis acknowledgement but can't find it, the blog host no longer exists! :( I do seem to remember that I tweaked the text in that blog entry - I was coming out of a bad breakup so I deleted the line that had me thanking my ex, hahaha! If he's reading this, sorry. I think I did put it back in the actual thesis. Or maybe it was the other way around? Oh well, bygones. :p.

So, fast forward. Thank You, 2007/8 edition. No edits, promise. :)

My heartfelt thanks to:

My adviser, EnP Rosario Jimenez, whose enthusiasm, wisdom and kindness have given me the confidence to push forward and be a true advocate; my critic, Prof. Nic Del Castillo, for his insightful comments and suggestions; and my reader, Ms. Remy Amores, for her openness and encouragement.

Mr. Noel Cadorna, Ms. Whang Pacifico and the staff of Muntinlupa City’s Urban Poor Affairs Office; the residents of Esporlas Itaas and Hillsview, especially Mang Lope and Aling Aida; and all the people I spoke, worked and coordinated with during the course of my thesis.

All our professors at UP-SURP, whose individual and collective contributions to the planning field serve both as an inspiration and a challenge; indeed, my contemporaries and I are standing on the shoulders of giants.

Ate Luz Rivera, Ate Me-ann Esporas, Kuya Robbie Rodriguez and all the administrative and library staff of UP-SURP, whose tireless effort and patience keep students afloat.

UP-SURP as a whole, for opening my eyes and being the compelling, living, breathing environment that it is. It has been a witness to our yearnings and bold imaginings, we hope to return to it triumphant.

Dear friends Len and Edison, all my partners at EnPraxis and other co-SURPees with whom I now share common dreams and lasting friendships. From baby steps to giant leaps…onward to a genuine praxis of environmental planning!

Mark, my toughest critic and my most fervent cheerleader. Thanks for helping me keep my sanity – and for letting me be crazy when I need to be. Thanks for believing in me even when I refused to believe in myself. Thank you most of all for your love and commitment.

My family – my touchstone, my measure of goodness and integrity. I live and work by their example. Thanks to my brother Ivan, whose sheer genius inspired me throughout this work.

Last but not least, the Almighty, who makes everything possible.

Mabuhay and pag-asa ng bayan (2x)

2008-04-27T21:50:00.005+08:00

I made it a point to finish my graduate studies before 2008. I officially graduated last October. Actually it should have been much sooner than that, but as Life would rather have it, I didn’t. My friends and I experienced delays (what would grad school be without them?): thesis roadblocks – except Mark who finished his thesis in a record “less than” one year! and Vir who took the comprehensive exam instead of the thesis path – extra subjects, office work, plain procrastination (of which I am the queen), and other such reasons. It so happened then that the four of us – Len, Mark, Vir and I – would find ourselves marching together, among 4000+ other Centennial graduates of the University of the Philippines.

I should probably say that I’m too old for this. After all, I already attended my undergrad commencement exercises five years ago, how would this be any different? Truth be told it did feel a little bit silly, sitting beside 20-year-olds who were laughing at the guest speaker, repeating the words he was mispronouncing as if it made them feel better to know they could pronounce the word “privilege” better. It took all of my patience not to scold them for showing disrespect to the man on the stage, who is infinitely more distinguished and respectable than they are. I realized that the five-year difference between me and those kids does matter – maybe I’m more uptight now? Hahaha.

Then again I’m not yet too old. Not too old to feel happy and giddy and proud, standing beside my friends and colleagues and marking another milestone in our lives, on UP's 100th year no less. Not too old to appreciate the immense support of our professors and mentors/”surrogate parents” who guided us and showed us by example how we could help society as environmental planners. Not too old to feel the love of family and friends who saw our professional lives unfold. Not too old to express our gratitude and honor by actually finishing what we started. And definitely not yet too old to be running across the road in high heels and formal wear because we were late for our own graduation! Yes, the tunganga brigade strikes again! Much too much merrymaking – not to mention long speeches – at the UP School of Urban and Regional Planning Recognition Program (which ended 10 minutes before the university graduation), and our insistence on walking from UP-SURP to the UP Ampitheater (most sustainable form of transport eh hehe) meant that thousands of other graduates were already seated when we arrived huffing and puffing, trying to hide behind students we didn’t know and melting under the unbearable heat of the summer sun. It didn’t help that those around us were nicely made up and calmly fanning themselves. Not a strand of carefully curled hair out of place!

But all’s well that ends well. We had a blast throughout. I fumbled only a little (hehe) with my sablay, we didn’t forget to take photos of the UP@100 sign, and I felt great singing UP Naming Mahal once again – fist in the air and singing the last two lines as loudly as I could. Never too old for that. :)

photos at http://larababeh.multiply.com/photos

Special thanks to Edison, EnPraxis partner and official photographer/PA. Di bale, when your time comes to graduate, there'll be a minimum of four cameras pointed at you ;)

Life is nothing but the occasional burst of laughter rising above the interminable wail of grief

2008-04-16T15:28:00.003+08:00

The film Dedication is "about Henry, a misogynistic children's book author who is forced to work closely with a female illustrator instead of his long-time collaborator and only friend."

It was surprisingly pleasant. Hmm, it just now reminds me of Music and Lyrics in that girl broken by her teacher/lover meets a guy and works with him kind of way. Except 1) I honestly wasn't crazy about Music and Lyrics, 2) this is isn't all Drew Barrymore-y and it really isn't about the girl, and 3) Henry Roth isn't a washed out 80s bloke. He's just this neurotic guy who needs to pile up books on his chest while laying on the floor to keep himself sane. I guess I can relate better haha. Plus, Henry's got a cool, dead friend.

___________________

Henry: She deserves better than him.
Rudy Holt: Now you're talking.
Henry: Better than me, too.
Rudy Holt: Yeah, but she doesn't know that yet.

Henry: I've spent my whole life... wanting something... and doing my very best not to find it. Never even going near the places it might be... And suddenly, I've got the goddamn thing practically chained around my neck.
Lucy: What are you talking about?
Henry: You. You. You're the, you're the... You're, you're- you're the goddamn thing. Ahhh, uh. I mean... You're, you're. I can't describe you... uhh, I don't, I don't write that kind of shit, I write... You know, the people who write, who write the real books, the love books, and the poems, and even those stupid little fucking novels with the hunky assholes on the cover...
Lucy: Stop...
Henry: You know it? You know what I'm talking about? You know - you're like Princess shit! You know? Fairytales. You know what I'm saying? The million guys are after you and are blinded by your beauty kind of shit. Real big stuff. You know, that just - even, we got the dick that kidnaps you and sticks you in a cave and you're guarded by a five-headed dragon, you know and the tales of your plight are spread throughout the land and all the guys go and put on their shoes so they can see what's up and none of them have the balls to save her except for me. I would go through anything... for you. And still, there I was looking for a way not to see it. Anything. Money...
Lucy: You stupid idiot.
Henry: Yeah.

Lucy: Do you just genuinely dislike me, Henry?
Henry: A week ago, I didn't give a rat's ass about nebulas and now I can't get enough of them. Ok?
Lucy: Nebulae.
Henry: What?
Lucy: It's nebulae... not nebulas.
Henry: Ok, fine. I don't care about nebulas. You know accuse me of whatever you want, I'm probably guilty of it... contributing to global warming, and killing a squirrel once, and using the word retarded, and occasionally misinterpreted bigotry, but don't, don't... don't don't don't don't don't accuse me of not liking you. Ok?
Lucy: I understand.

Henry: I've never been good at finding things, I'm really good at losing things.

Henry: You'll be fine. We'll both be fine Rudy.
Rudy Holt: That's life Henry.
Henry: Yep.
Rudy Holt: You know what life is?
Henry: Life is a horrible little giggle in the midst of a forced death march towards hell.
Rudy Holt: No it isn't.
Henry: An interminable wail of grief...
Rudy Holt: No. Life is a single skip for joy.
Henry: I know.

summer song

2008-04-16T15:27:00.000+08:00

Eternity
Robbie Williams

Close your eyes so you don't feel them
They don't need to see you cry
I can't promise I will heal you
But if you want to I will try

Sing this summer serenade
The past is done, we've been betrayed
It's true
Some might say the truth will out
But I believe without a doubt
In you

You were there for summer dreaming
And you gave me what I need
And I hope you find your freedom
For eternity
For eternity

Yesterday when we were walking
You talked about your mom and dad
What they did that made you happy
What they did that made you sad

We sat and watched the sun go down
Then picked a star before we lost
The moon
Youth is wasted on the young
Before you know it's come and gone
Too soon

You were there for summer dreaming
And you gave me what I need
And I hope you find your freedom
For eternity
For eternity
For eternity

Sing this summer serenade
The past is done, we've been betrayed
It's true
Youth is wasted on the young
Before you know it's come and gone
Too soon

You were there for summer dreaming

Can’t believe I’m blogging about this, seeing that there are so many more relevant things to talk about and I’m so busy.

2008-03-26T11:41:00.003+08:00

I haven’t seen the episode yet and I’ve only read the reviews on the net (a lot of them not good), but I’ve got to say: Ramiele, why, why, WHY did you choose to sing the song that sealed Carrie Underwood’s fate as American Idol? Are you digging your own grave??

See, you DO NOT sing Heart’s Alone when even now people still remember it as Carrie’s most powerful, goosebump-worthy, true American Idol performance. No, no, no. Not even if you can do it better. Some people just have a stamp on certain songs, and Alone has Carrie’s name all over it.

Foolish, Ramiele.

You

2008-03-04T10:30:00.005+08:00

Because Of You
Kelly Clarkson

I will not make the same mistakes that you did
I will not let myself
Cause my heart so much misery
I will not break the way you did,
You fell so hard
I've learned the hard way
To never let it get that far

Because of you
I never stray too far from the sidewalk
Because of you
I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt
Because of you
I find it hard to trust not only me, but everyone around me
Because of you
I am afraid

I lose my way
And it's not too long before you point it out
I cannot cry
Because I know that's weakness in your eyes
I'm forced to fake
A smile, a laugh everyday of my life
My heart can't possibly break
When it wasn't even whole to start with

Because of you
I never stray too far from the sidewalk
Because of you
I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt
Because of you
I find it hard to trust not only me, but everyone around me
Because of you
I am afraid

I watched you die
I heard you cry every night in your sleep
I was so young
You should have known better than to lean on me
You never thought of anyone else
You just saw your pain
And now I cry in the middle of the night
For the same damn thing

Because of you
I never stray too far from the sidewalk
Because of you
I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt
Because of you
I try my hardest just to forget everything
Because of you
I don't know how to let anyone else in
Because of you
I'm ashamed of my life because it's empty
Because of you
I am afraid

Because of you
Because of you

That said, I do know that the solution lies within me.

who's the devil?

2008-02-19T10:17:00.003+08:00

I like hearing Mass at our church in the subdivision. Sure, the choir makes you want to scream in pain, and it can be very hot outside (always outside, because we're always late). The priest, Father Jun, is this flamboyant, motor-mouth man with gray hair and accents to rival Britney Spears' or a call center agent's. I swear. We used to wonder where he grew up. London? France? Texas? Then he spoke in his now famous sing-song Tagalog. Oh..kay. One Sunday he casually mentioned that he had studied all over Europe. A silent collective "aaaah" filled the church.

Father Jun is a fairly entertaining guy, albeit very talkative. He can speak so fast he says "bras and sisters" all the time (we've gotten tired of snickering). But then he mellows down when he wants to emphasize a point, and his voice reverberates throughout the halls in a shocking "LISTEN TO ME" way. His homilies are notoriously long.

But I like it. I like his homilies. I like Father Jun because, despite his semi-Liberace ways, he does a good job of explaining the Bible. He never takes the stories literally, and always takes time to let us digest the words and understand the context of the passages. He gives historical data, the times and places that made the events significant to the people back then, and discusses how they can be relevant to us today, if at all.

(Too often we assume and define things as they are without knowing their root. Believing in Jesus is not simple. The Christian religion rests on the Scripture. Words. Just words! But words that describe a life, a place and a time. I think it is crucial, in order to understand Jesus - or any person for that matter - to study the context within which his words were spoken, his actions taken. I tend to think the work of priests, ministers and masters of the Scriptures is quite tedious. They can’t just quote the Bible and say “it is so, so be it.” No, that would be completely irresponsible. The best theologians are the linguists, the historians, the ones who dig deep to understand the context, the environment. And if the rest of us are content that they do and we don’t, then we really are the blind followers that non-believers accuse us of being.)

About three weeks ago, Father Jun was talking about Jesus being tempted by the devil. He asked for a simple, “tagalog" (aka Espanol) translation of the word devil.

Demonyo? No.

Diablo?

Yes. He then explained where the word came from:

Devil = from the Latin diabolos.
Dia = through and through; across, from one end to the other (as in diameter).
Bolos = to throw across (root word of bola, ball).

(There you go, now we know where diabolical comes from.)

The devil then is one who throws across or apart. Causes a divide. Wreaks havoc by creating distance or, in a way, misunderstanding. Whoever or whatever disrupts peace and causes chaos is the devil’s work. And no, don’t think that the devil is a creature from your worst nightmare. I think “devil” is more of a concept rather than a horned fellow with bad teeth and a spiked tail. Devil, simply, is the opposite of peace: discord.

The priest also said the devil is the mother of all lies (or something like that). And it’s easy to be deceived by these lies. So beware of the messes created out of seeming righteousness or its defense. Be discerning.

---

I thought of that particular homily when I heard what Sec. Neri supposedly told Jun Lozada, that the president is "evil." Diabolical, indeed. Hahaha. Apologies if I have to place her in the same breath as Jesus.

---

Another etymological bit from that homily. The word repent is often associated with feeling or being sorry, remorseful, or even guilty because of some wrongdoing. And this is where, in the Bible as in our lives, we get lost in translation. The word rendered from the original text as the repent in English form is: metanoia (Greek) or Shuwb (Hebrew).

Meta = to change, to transcend, to move beyond
Noia = mind

Metanoia then means to change one’s mind. It is an act within oneself – decisive, definitive and empowering, rather than sorry, guilt-ridden, or embarrassed.

---

If there is anyone who I think has undergone metanoia, it might be Mr. Lozada. For all his tears and broken voice, I daresay he has made that transformation. I wonder when others will be as decisive or empowered as to truly repent. Because, as we realized long ago in this country of sinners, "I am sorry" just doesn't cut it.

financial freedom and such

2008-02-05T13:15:00.000+08:00

The key is not to live within or below your means, but to expand your means and live fully as you wish.

booster shot

2008-01-31T11:37:00.001+08:00

I was being a little vain and searched my name on Google (we all do that, admit it).

I found an article of mine, written almost a decade ago:

www.upm.edu.ph/manilakule/Webby_2k2/opinion/SMall_Price.htm

I can't help but smile. Young as I was, I actually had...opinions. Sometimes spot on, other times misplaced. But correctness doesn't matter much in retrospect - my Kule friends and I often laugh when we recall the things we'd written way back when. But I'm glad I had thoughts like these. Happy knowing I could believe with all my heart that my thoughts, the complex jumble in my head, actually had relevance. Happier that I had an avenue to express them.

There are moments when you feel truly, truly alive. Like you've been suddenly injected with with a potent dosage of life. Writing used to be that for me.

comfort in strangeness

2008-01-31T10:13:00.000+08:00

A man spoke to me out of the blue at the coffee shop this morning.

Yes it is strange, at least for me, in this city. In other countries this isn’t so unusual, strangers talk to me all the time at coffee shops and restaurants…but in Manila, the only strangers who approach me are those looking for directions or wanting charity. I am a magnet for those I tell you. But strangers queuing for coffee? Unlikely.

I was peering at the food display; the server had just told me they didn’t serve cream cheese anymore and I can’t eat bagel without cream cheese! I haven’t been here for some time and I guess things have changed. Anyway, I stood there for a few minutes feeling lost.

“Try the bacon twist,” said a voice behind me, “it’s very light.” It was a guy in an orange shirt. I told him what was taking me so long, and a short conversation about bread ensued. He asked if I minded him ordering first. I said I didn’t, so he called Rian the server and ordered his usual drink. I finally ordered a croissant and coffee to go, then we both went our separate ways.

I was about to cross the street, but stopped. I backtracked and re-entered Starbucks. I asked for a plate and sat at one of the tables outside.

For some reason that short, meaningless conversation made me want to stay. Not for anything else, but just to sit with these strangers who, like me, were simply minding their own business.

I love these moments. Moments when I am in my own world, thinking, observing, noticing the minute details of everyday life. Mornings when the air is not so stale, and people are still smiling, Me in my own little bubble of thought, but sitting among others with whom I feel some strange affinity with. Like the man three tables down, holding a cigarette in one hand and a pen in the other, looking around one minute and scribbling something on his notebook the next (just like me, except I don’t smoke). Or the lady with the nice makeup, just sitting, staring out, sipping drip coffee. Or the guy in the orange shirt, texting and waiting for his officemates. Or the middle-aged expat who always sits near the door and reads business news. We share glances sometimes, then go back to what we were doing.

Being alone together. It's a comfortable feeling. For thirty minutes or so, we, complete strangers, share this space. For thirty minutes or so, we are kindred.

I was shaken out of my reverie by a woman in a halter dress and flowing hair. Then I remembered. The last time she was here, I heard her cursing loudly and thought she was in a heated argument with someone. When I looked up, there was no one with her, no one at all, but she was screaming anyway. For a moment I thought she would lash out and throw paper cups at me.

Here she was again. She took a used cup, faced the guard and shouted curses at him. “Ayan ka naman…” says the exasperated guard, as she continued to throw expletives.

I stood up, feeling my morning bubble bursting.

Off to work then. See you tomorrow.

Fin

2008-01-23T11:39:00.000+08:00

And so it ends.

The final scene finds three friends talking to each other, ecstatic about a dream coming true, and bathed in the happy glow of love – both romantic and innocent, with the tiniest tinge of bittersweet.

That’s Dawson’s Creek for you. I remember the time I watched the finale on primetime tv. I hadn’t realized that it was actually the last episode; I had been spending the previous months ignoring the show because I thought it was going nowhere.

Watching entire series again on DVD, I knew I was right. The show didn’t seem to be going anywhere in its final season. The love triangle was still there, but wrung dry after almost six years. Some characters had stagnated, particularly Dawson. Kevin Williamson must have been tearing his hair out at how Dawson was progressively deteriorating. I mean the show was semi-autobiographical, after all. If he had stayed on instead of leaving after Season 2, would that have made any difference? Or is Kevin simply as boring as Dawson? Ah well, as Pacey always said, the issue is moot.

And Eddie…what a cardboard cutout. Bland to the point of puking.

The last two seasons really made no sense in terms of character and story development, except maybe for the sporadic sparks between Pacey and Joey - too few and far between to really keep us riveted for more than two episodes at a time - and Michelle Williams’ noteworthy performance. I like that girl. The rest was just fluff, fillers for the finale, which would have been more beautiful if the show actually ran until the year when the ending was set. I guess the producers had to settle for a fast forward, due mainly to the plummeting ratings. Too bad. DC could have done a “Friends” and lasted a decade. Friends had that sustainability factor that not a lot of shows have. I guess because they also dealt with stories that did not completely revolve around the characters or one single running theme all the time? They just went the flow, kind of the same way Seinfeld (the ultimate “sitcom about nothing”) did.

This was difficult to do with DC. DC was originally very focused; expansion meant veering away from the essence of the show: the coming of age of a boy and a girl sharing a bed in a small town, and the best friend who burst their bubble. Making it more complicated than it already would spell disaster, if done improperly. And that’s exactly what happened in Seasons 5 and 6. Too many new senseless subplots and secondary characters that had no real impact on the main cast. Audrey would have been enough, but no, they had to throw in Charlie and Eddie and CJ and other forgettables who ended up sleeping with half the cast. And yeah, their “it’s a small world after all” bit was getting too bizarre. Boston is way too big for 10 people to be playing sexual musical chairs all the time. Get a life, people.

It was so inconsistent, too. One episode it was Eddie, the next it was Pacey, the next it was Eddie again. Where was the protracted tension that made us fall in love, where was the sincerity? And why was Pacey making out with a chick barely three months after his devastating split with Joey? After two years of “True Love”, how can the writers tease us with anything less? Everyone was so out of character, it was as if the show had a mass layoff and the old writers were replaced by overexcited interns.

On the other hand, not deviating meant that DC would be trapped in its own story. So I guess they were just trying to evolve. But the attempts to add more layers to that story proved hugely unsuccessful, largely because the writers seemed to get lost and forget what they were writing about in the first place.

The only way out was to search through all the muck that had piled up, and go back to the heart of it all, the very reason Kevin Williamson created the show. It had to take Kevin himself to do that, too. Glad he went back to write the final two episodes.

That said, I love Dawson's Creek, flaws and all. I'm happy for all of them (sure, even Dawson). When I finally turned off my DVD player at 3am the other night, I was still crying. The following day I felt an unexpected void. Like something had been snatched away so suddenly. All over again I had that "it's finally ended, what now?" feeling. Even though I knew the end was coming and what exactly happened - down to the last spoken words - there I was the morning after, feeling somewhat lost, but also relieved. Glad it was over, but wanting it to continue. The answer was there, but so were questions. Wondering, but ultimately at peace.

But I guess that’s what stories do. No matter how many times you see, read or hear them, the experience never fully wears out. It takes you somewhere, every time. It brings you something new every time. An added meaning, a new realization, another snippet of life relived in memory.

That feeling stays, sometimes filling you up, other times receding to the subconscious. But it’s always there.

And thanks to bootleg DVDs, it can always be revisited. ;)

---

Speaking of Michelle Williams...may Heath Ledger rest in peace. So sad. :( Parang kelan lang yung 10 Things...hay.

Trip down the creek

2008-01-10T10:35:00.000+08:00

I haven’t been getting much sleep lately. Since late December last year, actually. The reason being that I’m in a massive Dawson’s Creek phase. And if you’re not a DC fan or haven’t watched a single episode, then I suggest you click the x button now.

Still here? Okidoks.

It started when I was searching youtube for a video of Carrie Underwood’s version of God Bless(ed) the Broken Road. Among the videos I found was a compilation of Pacey-Joey moments, set to the same song sung by its original singer, Rascal Flatts. Perfect. Perfect perfect song for them (later on I realized that the song was actually Joey and Dawson’s – it played in the background as they simultaneously realized their feelings at the end of Season 1. But I insist that it fits Pacey and Joey better :p).

Anyhow, I was hooked. Memories flooded in, and the quest for the perfect Christmas gift ensued. I egged Mark to get me the complete series. Being the good boyfriend that he is, he obliged and made several trips to Makati Cinema Square before finally getting a working 6-DVD set. Then during our office Christmas party, I won a portable DVD player. And this, my friends, was when my nostalgic, unstoppable spiral into the land of hyper-verbal, psychoanalytic teenagers officially began.

I’m halfway through the fourth season now, after crying a number of times in Season 3, which for me is probably the most heartwarming, optimistic season. Season 4, on the other hand, is the most heart-wrenching. The range of emotions is wider and more intense than in the previous seasons. It was in this, their senior year, when they actually grew up and faced the consequences of their decisions. And, as Jack aptly told Joey, “there are no right or wrong choices, just a bunch of choices.” Choices that had an impact on their lives in big ways. Getting together, drifting apart, letting go, holding on, ending. No other season after this (there were two more) had such…significance.

I also remember that it was this season when I started to really hate Joey. I just finished the episode where Pacey finds out that Joey lied to Dawson about her and Pacey having sex. For the life of me I couldn’t and still can’t find the reason for Joey’s inconsistency, for such an irrational response to Dawson’s question, which came from nothing but friendship. Dawson was finally accepting Joey being with Pacey, and now she hurls him off-track with such a lame lie. And she says she loves Pacey? Bah. I remember it was around this time when I decided that I would watch the show for Pacey and Pacey alone. Joey can go to hell and Dawson, well, Dawson was, at this point, pretty much irrelevant. Pacey had stolen the girl and the story from him just as Joshua Jackson stole the acting spotlight from James Van Der Beek.

Season 4 had the best and worst. One of the best episodes was, of course, the ski trip. Which made me hate the writers even more because how could they make Joey out be such an asshole after that episode? And the worst, the very worst episode of this season was the prom (Promicide). That just killed me. It killed everyone. I could imagine people standing up and walking out, or crying in anger.

Oh well, bygones. And I’m rambling.

I was telling a couple of friends yesterday how the finale of the series was set in 2008. At 25 years old, the main characters had finally gotten their acts together. The ending? Typically Dawson’s Creek – self-referential, analytical, eloquent, bittersweet.

People tend to underestimate the impact of DC on television and on my generation. DC has the distinction of ushering the new wave of teen-oriented shows post-90210. Its successors in one way or another attempted to imitate its wit, capacity for extended verbal sparring and ability to make its characters intelligent and normal at the same time. Nothing came close though. Not even The OC, with its endless barrage of monumental conflicts far more serious than those that were introduced in Dawson’s room and thereabouts.

See, it wasn’t the gravity of the circumstances or problems at hand, but how they were treated and addressed by the characters. The thing about DC is that they dealt with issues – whether mundane or earth-shattering – in an adult way, albeit in the body of teenagers and amid growth spurts and hormonal imbalances. It was both youthful and mature, and so the moments and lessons resonate, at least for me, even beyond my adolescence. In the case of life imitating art, I think the show helped polish (for better or for worse) my then burgeoning overanalytical, neurotic ways. It reinforced my excessively introspective takes on myself and my world. At the very least I found something I could identify with – growing up too fast, feeling old despite my lanky, obviously undeveloped body, the weight of real and imagined responsibilities on my shoulders, fear of failure and risk, and all that angst that was brought to life only in the mind. At the same time it helped me realize there were more important things than my ability to rationalize my existence and perspective – infinitely more important things like friendship, integrity, and unconditional love.

“I love you. I mean, I always – I have always, always loved you. But our timing has just never been right…I also want for you to be happy. It's really important for me that you be happy. So I want you to be with someone, whether it be Dawson or New York Guy or some man that you haven't even met yet. But I want you to be with someone who can be a part of the life that you want for yourself. I want you to be with someone who makes you feel like I feel when I'm with you. So, I guess the point to this long run-on sentence that's been the last 10 years of our lives is just that the simple act of being in love with you is enough for me. So you're off the hook.” - Pacey

Ah, yes, the love. It could fill up pages.

But let’s put that on hold for a while, perhaps until I finish the very last episode. Let’s just say that there was lot more going on in that little town called Capeside than sex, recklessness and self-awareness.

I was 15, I think, when I first met Dawson, Joey, Pacey and Jen. Ten years later I am, like them, 25 years old, and in some ways I do think I've gotten my act together. I feel like I grew up with them. And still growing up. I'm still discovering some of the lessons they've taught me. On the other hand, they will never really grow old for me.

If there's anything Dawson and I have in common, it's that we firmly, without any doubt, believe in happy endings. What makes them happy is not that the problem has been resolved and the story has come to a definite, cheery close. Far from it. Happy endings are transitions, pivotal moments that reinforce your faith in the belief that whatever happens from this point on, whatever problems may still arise (and they will, along with triumphs and everything in between), things are still going be alright. Because your life is a beautiful, amazing product of what has been, and a promise of what will be.

The credits may roll, but in many ways, the story has just begun.

“And now that this scared little girl no longer follows me wherever I go, I miss her. I do. 'Cause there are things I wanna tell her... to relax, to lighten up, that it is all going to be ok. I want her to know that meeting people who like you, who understand you, who actually accept you for who you are, will become an increasingly rare occurrence. Jen, Jack, Audrey, Andie, Pacey, and Dawson. These people who contributed to who I am, they are with me wherever I go, and as history gets rewritten in small ways with each passing day, my love for them only grows. Because the truth is... it was the best of times. Mistakes were made, hearts were broken, harsh lessons learned, but all of that has receded into fond memory now. How does it happen? Why are we so quick to forget the bad and romanticize the good? Maybe it's because we need to believe that the time we spent together actually meant something, that we were there for each other in a time in our lives that defined us all, a time in our lives that we will never forget. I can't swear this is exactly how it happened. But this is how it felt.” - Joey

Hay

2008-01-09T10:36:00.000+08:00

Was scanning the university website for updates on the Centennial celebration, and I found one of the most depressing holiday greetings ever (below). It attempts to be both optimistic and realistic, but the end result reeks of despair anyway.

---

Christmas Message to the UP Community

Monday, December 17, 2007
UP President Emerlinda R. Roman

The run-up to our Centennial celebrations has given us the opportunity to re-examine our record for the past 100 years and to reflect on what we hope to achieve in the next 100. That there have been problems is undeniable. But surely these are outweighed by our accomplishments. Though the University might be flawed—given that it is a human institution—it remains steadfast in its chosen role in shaping young minds for service to the nation. Despite the perceived negative trends of recent years—a lowering of academic standards, deteriorating security conditions, a creeping apathy and cynicism—it holds firmly to the principle that ideas have the power to influence national development, and continues to provide the environment that will enable these to flourish. No other institution sets such high goals for itself or comes closer to actually achieving them.

So there is little cause for discouragement, let alone despair.

As 2007 draws to a close and we approach our centennial year, let us look to the future with confidence. We are unhampered by doubts about the importance of our mission or the honesty of our intentions. And we are rich in the most valuable of all resources: a high-powered, self-selected teaching faculty, composed of some of the country's most intelligent, imaginative, resourceful, and dedicated persons; a bright, curious, creative, immensely energetic, highly motivated studentry; and loyal, steady long-suffering support staff.

This alone should propel us closer to our dream of what our University should be.

I wish everyone a happy holiday season!

---

What a downer. Someone who thinks the past year was actually fine would suddenly have the weight of all of UP's problems on them. Just saying there is "little cause for discouragement" brings forth feelings of discouragement.

Never start what is supposed to be a positive message on a negative tone. It just runs on and covers the entire thing in disheartenment.

cubicle wisdom

2007-11-22T14:10:00.000+08:00

1. Do you love your work?

2. Does your work love you?

3. Do you love yourself?

Thanks Jaja. :)

The end

2007-11-21T11:48:00.000+08:00

I finally got to read the last and in my opinion best of the seven Harry Potter books. I couldn’t put it down. I couldn’t eat dinner because Harry was facing the battle at Hogwarts and I just had to know what happened.

I came out of it in a melancholy state, which, two days later, I still can’t shrug off. I don’t know. It seems sad that the series has ended. The finality has left a gaping hole that I did not realize or believe I would actually feel. I mean, so it’s a book. And it’s not as if the world didn’t know that the seventh would be the last. I guess in the end that a good thing. It makes it more believable to put a period to it (unlike the book series of my pre-teen years a.k.a Sweet Valley Twins/High/University, where school never seemed to end and only the characters’ appearances evolved depending on which artist drew the covers).

Still, you can get so attached to Harry after reading about him for so long, it’s hard to accept that the end has finally come. It’s probably the same with the other book series that I love, Anne of Green Gables (then Anne of Avonlea, and so forth), but I read those books when I was really young, when I didn’t know about attachment and goodbyes and letting go.

Haha drama.

But I’m happy too, because Harry finally got his happy ending (okay don’t you dare say I ruined the surprise because I’m probably the last person to have read this book). Yeah sure, I can detect the silliness in that statement. How can you be happy for a fictional character? But that’s the beauty of story-telling, eh? Granted, Rowling probably ripped some ideas off of other coming-of-age, follow-your-dream, good-versus-evil books, but you have to admit that this one definitely sticks, and not just because of the merchandise and marketing. Harry Potter is as real as any other kid with huge problems is. I daresay Harry is in everyone. And so is Hermione, Ron, Draco (maybe a little bit) and the new astig kid on the block, Neville. We felt the pain, longing, struggle, and now happiness.

And don’t we all dream of happiness? Of contentment? Hmm. See, this is why I think Rowling’s target market is actually my age group. People in their 20s to early 30s, torn between careers and principles and desires and responsibilities, wondering what to do and where to go. Harry was born in 1980, after all. How perfect, how relatable.

My only beef is that it tries (too) much to be contemporary. Ron says “effing” quite a lot (parents, you really shouldn’t have bought this for your kids). That made me laugh. Was it really necessary? How can you become classic and ageless if you use words popularized during the effing friendster era? Hay. Sabagay, the Elizabethan language is out of this world din naman. Wait, so if Harry was born in 1980, then the setting of the story would have been 1997. Did people say effing way back in 1997?

Anyway, so that’s it. The saga is over. No matter what critics (I was one of them) say about Harry, it has to be admitted that the book has made an indelible mark on the literature world and people in general.

Harry moved us, and that was enough to reinforce those timeless beliefs that make this world turn.

Boitday

2007-10-20T22:23:00.000+08:00

I turned 25 last Friday. Yey! I barely noticed it because my entire being was occupied by my thesis defense, which happened to be on the same day. More on this in another entry.

25. Nice number. Not as scary as I imagined it to be, actually. Mark says it's a good thing I had my quarterlife crisis when I was 23. This "pre-quarterlife" crisis culminated in an anxiety attack on the roofdeck of a building on Ayala Ave. It was lunchtime and I was crying and shaking and laughing, not knowing the reason why. Other people probably thought Mark and I were breaking up, or that I was a lunatic. Hee. Intermittently I would succumb to "episodes", which meant shopping for outrageous stuff that have (thankfully) stayed in the shadows of my closet ever since. I've been to the the doctor because of severe headaches which I thought were migraines, only to be prescribed anti-anxiety pills.

I must confess, I was scared. In one of my grad school classes, we were asked to come up with a "life plan." I took it way seriously, of course. It was the hardest assignment I had to do. I had to put down on paper what had only been swimming in my head, provide targets and timelines, present an appropriate approach and process. Plan my life? I could hardly make my bed in the morning. How do you plan for the uncertainty of everyday, for the inconsistencies of human behavior, for the unpredictable nature of human life? Is it really unpredictable or is that just an excuse? What is our purpose anyway? Why do even endeavor to do what we do? What the hell is the point when we can die the very next minute?? Ah, such is the paradox of planning. Which makes you realize that the question of planning - urban, regional, development, all kinds - lies at the heart of those philosophical questions you dare not ask. It's a great big can of worms. I opened the can and I was horrified - and equally excited.

Anyway, by the time 2007 rolled by, I managed to put those questions behind me, and I was finally fine. :)

Speaking of 2007, it has been a pretty darn good year so far. Traveled to three continents, passed (nay, aced! Hahaha.) the Board, finished my MA (although it's not over until the dean affixes his precious signature on my book. yikes.), and began realizing my (and my friends') vision for the future of environmental planning in the Philippines (naks). I've been faced with and still face big and small problems that I shall happily solve. I continue to have the wonderful, supportive loved ones who all mean the world to me.

They say it's not wise to make lists of things you have or still have to accomplish, so I'll stop here. I'm happy. I guess that sums it up. There is so much more to do, but there really is nothing I could ask for from the Universe, except to continue giving me strength to push on. I know my faith will move me.

Happy birthday to me!

ebb and flow

2007-10-04T15:32:00.000+08:00

24 September
I’ve never felt as professionally inadequate as I do now. And it’s not even my fault. I think.

Today we had the first of several de-briefings. I won't go into details so let's just say we totally fucked up. The CEO of the power company was there, the head of the environment and social division, and all the other bigwigs. By the middle of the presentation, you could actually taste the awkwardness. I sat there, tapping the laptop keyboard stoically, going back and forth the slides in a daze. Our team's presentor had apparenty switched the slides in his copy (which he was reading from his laptop) and did not inform us of the changes he made. And that was the least of our problems.

Our team is composed of people whose combined experience exceeds my grandmother's age. How could things go so wrong?

I don't know. Frankly, it doesn't even matter. The bottomline is that it was completely my fault. Because I am responsible for everything. Everything. Even the things that have nothing to do with me, but concern other people's personal flaws, personalities and idiosyncracies. Little whims like having their hair done in the middle of a busy day of report-writing (correct me if I'm wrong, but this is a totally alien concept for me; I'm a crammer, sure, but I don't prioritize pagtitina over a critical deadline.) Are they held accountable for their actions? Nooooooo. Of course not. Because I am.

Ay naku. Like my teammate said, tatanda ako rito.

25 September
Nakai Plateau, the soon-to-be reservoir of the dam, rests on the northeast side of Laos, near the border of Vietnam. It served as a convenient hideaway for Vietnamese soldiers in their war with the US in the 70s. Because of this, Laos, which had nothing to do with the war, is the most bombed country in history, host to more bombs that all the bombs used in World War II. This little known fact played in my mind as I walked around the resettlement area. Prior to construction of the new houses, the power company did an extensive ground survey for unexploded ordnance. Outside makeshift village offices hangs a poster showing a variety of bombs. The system goes: if a villager sees a suspicious-looking object on the ground, he/she checks the poster, fills out a form, deposits the form in a letterbox. A roving team checks the letterbox, and proceeds to retrieve the object.

I shuddered at the thought.

I had been touching the soil since I got here. It was powdery white – sand. Scattered around were stones that looked like those you find on beaches. Strange at first to find such soil so high above the ground – on a plateau, that is, until you realize that this spot has a past life: it was once part of the sea. The ebb and flow of tide over millions of years created this landscape, and now that the water has receded indefinitely, its remnants sit silently with rice fields and vegetable gardens. How wonderful this Earth is, that I get to stand on something that is the child of both land and water.

Then I remembered the bombs, and I quickly stood up.

Humans always seem to destroy the wonder of life.

28 September
Things are a bit better now. Crazy, but better. I feel like my purpose has been reinforced.

There are good things being done in this world. There are noble pursuits of goodness.

Yes, even those involving the World Bank.

notes from a country that is NOT Cambodia

2007-09-23T20:47:00.000+08:00

20 Sept
Two days ago I breezed through Bangkok and Nakhon Phanom, Thailand, before crossing the Mekong River to Lao People's Democratic Republic (Lao PDR), specifically the riverside town of Thakek, and inward to Gnommalat where I currently am.

Nakhon Phanom looks uncannily like Jaro, Iloilo on a lazy Sunday afternoon, or Lucena in Quezon, with far fewer cars. The streets are narrow but navigable and clean. The houses lining the streets are typically of town center flavor: on the ground floor stands a small neighborhood grocery or some local service – locksmith, seamstress and what-have-you, and a second storey presumably used for residence. Balconies are scattered here and there, in a type of architecture that appears to be authentic Thai. The corner shop is almost always a local drugstore. Nearby on the riverbank is a ten-floor hotel for visitors like me and others waiting for the ferry to Laos. In front of the hotel is a tiangge, where you can find used rubber shoes (ukay!), children’s toys and an assortment of street food such as dried squid, boiled eggs on a stick and chopped roasted chicken. A local Baclaran, if you may. To get to the tiangge you have to risk your life in a way, what with the speeding motorcycles criss-crossing the road. Not for the faint of heart.

Nakhon Phanom is rural – certainly not Bangkok – but you can’t mistake it for being backward. It moves in a pace that seems to satisfy its people, and does not compromise their quality of life. It seems to be a happy, bustling place that has nonetheless decided to remain laidback and easy.

21 Sept
Meanwhile, Thakek on the other side of the Mekong is…a forgotten place. On the riverbank is a small office where non-Asian foreigners, their long-sleeved dress shirts wet with sweat and suede shoes half covered in red mud, queue in front of a tiny office to get their visas on arrival.

The town isn’t rundown by any means, unlike the abused blighted sections of Manila. But the empty, dust-filled buildings tell a story, one of seeming disregard and possibly - dare I say it - helplessness.

Now though, Thakeklooks to be rebuilding itself. Or at least trying to. This rebuilding is brought about by the same thing that brought me here: the Nam Theun 2 Hydroelectric Project.

21 Sept
pm
Being a project manager, or pretending to be one, is pretty tough. Especially if you’re doing for the first time and you haven’t had any training whatsoever.

I’m not supposed to be here, not really. By some twist of fate, our original project manager for this project was pirated by our client’s contractor; I now deal with her from the other side of the negotiating table so to speak. And again, through sheer luck – or misfortune – the replacement manager gave birth just as we were about to embark on our first mission. So here I am, plucked from my desk job and thrown to this strange land. Not that I’m complaining. This is the kind of work environment I want to be in for the most part of my life. But the manner through which I got here is somewhat confusing. And greatly embarrassing at various points, given that I’m working with extremely experienced consultants (whose work I’ve actually used as reference in my graduate thesis and other papers), an international contractor and the Government of Lao, on a World Bank-funded, billion-dollar, high-profile project that has caught the ire of and been endlessly criticized by national governments and organizations the likes of International Rivers Network and no less than the UN Commission on Human Rights. I’m an inexperienced neophyte, so yeah, this is freaking me out a teensy bit.

23 Sept
I am dying of hunger here. The Laotian diet and I definitely do not mix. I’ve never seen so much fish and vegetables in my life! And the dishes are full of MSG, too. Dear lord I do not want to get cancer. Even the junkfood is a downer. For some reason the Pringles here are different from those back home. They’re thicker, smaller and rather tasteless.

As a result, I’ve been eating bread and feta cheese. Plus lots and lots of salad. And the occasional beef at the overpriced French restaurant near the staff houses. The other day we bought suha, lanzones (imported from Thailand) and melon, so that was good. But overall, I miss the gluttonous diet of Pinoys. Hay.

in between posts

2007-08-31T10:26:00.000+08:00

Have lots of other things to write about that I haven't had the time to post, but this, this can't wait because I feel my head is going to explode.

You know when you know that you've got your life together, that you couldn't ask for anything more, and that everything around you is positive and bright? You feel like you've got your pulse on the secret of the universe, and you float by knowing that things are going to be alright. And really, really it is some form of communion. One that indeed should be treated delicately because it is a relationship so precious and fragile.

And yet...it feels empty somehow.

The Unbearable Lightness of Being.

Lightness can be exhilirating, yes. But it can be excruciating, too. You have to experience it before you can admit it. Being weightless and formless sometimes makes us lose the touchstones and footholds in our lives, forming an existence that is far-removed and distant from the rest of the heavy world, which, in our highest of highs we can so wrongfully scorn. A life that is without consequence can become dangerously a life without responsibility, a guiltless existence centered on the "I".

I can't remember who said it, about choosing between a happy life and a meaningful life. To be happy means to live in the present. It is an extremely beautiful and enjoyable experience; it makes you feel that you can do everything you could ever dream of, and nothing, NOTHING can stand in your way. You just are. And you're happy.

A life that is meaningful, on the other hand, is when you worry about the past and the future, about impacts and consequences, about other people. There's a certain heaviness about it that can't be shaken off.

So which life would you choose?

I value lightness, that feeling of being present, of being one with every particle of the universe. I have shared and preached about how wonderful and liberating it can be.

But I have also come to value the chains that bind me to this wretched world. Strangely, those chains also give me a distinct, sometimes even sharper sense of freedom.

Now it can be told Part 2

2007-08-14T08:53:00.001+08:00

Okay, loooooong overdue continuation. Lots of stuff happening right now, my typing can't seem to keep up, so...ganito na lang.

Second day sucked bigtime. I didn't kill Mark, but I swore if I didn't pass I'd pin him down. Hehe.

Third day was alright. I finished before lunch I think, and waited for Edison to get out of the room (he did, about an hour later? Kamusta naman ang pag-maximize ng oras.). We took post-exam photos while waiting. I went back to work right after. How dull is that?

Friday, one day after the exam. To my chagrin, I realized I didn't feel relief at all at having finished the exam, but the sudden terror of waiting. If we were to believe PRC, the results would come out no later than two days after the exam. So would it be coming out today? Or tomorrow? Does the PRC issue results on weekends? Or would it come out on Monday? In that case, I'd be experiencing several more days of agony. Shet.

That evening Mark and I decided to watch a movie. For the life of me I can no longer remember what was playing, but I remember that near the end, I got a text from Chris saying "Congratz!"

I found myself shaking. I asked him, "totoo ba 'to?!" He replied, "Assuming...psychic ako a few seconds ago..."

Well thanks Chris, your reply left me completely befuddled!

At this point my head was spinning, and expanding so fast, all the air inside wanting to come up and out of the my scalp. It was ready to burst. Then came texts from Lorenzo and Agnes, and I wanted to get out of the cinema right then. But we finished the movie anyway.

After the movie I called up all concerned people to confirm or deny. Everyone seemed so sure, everyone except Len, Edison and me aka the exam takers. Vir was MIA.

But hey, they said so...right? So I hugged a gloating Mark ("Sabi ko naman papasa ka di ba. Tsk, pano ba yan, tama na naman ako...") and off we went to the church in Greenbelt, to say a little prayer of thanks.

Saturday, I woke up. With a nagging feeling.

Did I really pass? I had no proof. No proof!! Just words from other people who reportedly saw the list. Trustworthy though they may be, what if they made the honest mistake of misreading someone else's name for mine?? (Although in hindsight this would be nearly impossible, no one else has my name. No one.) Gaaaark. I shot out of bed and texted Mark and Edison. Mark scolded me. Edison, who possesses almost the same level of paranoia as I, succeeded in easily feeding the fear. I persuaded him to pester the source of information - his professor, Dr Bravo. After much hemming and hawing, he asked the dreaded question. To which he finally got an answer, straight from the horse's mouth. Dr Bravo got the list from PRC itself.

The list from PRC can't be wrong, and a distinguished professor couldn't be rattling off names if they weren't actually there, so I guess it was time to truly celebrate. We rounded up the gang and met up at Glorietta for lunch and then some - which included wacky puzzle-solving (yes, for nerdoids like us this is fun), free coffee at Seattle's and a spontaneous trip to Manila Zoo! Good times. :)

Sunday, early morning I woke up to the sound of my ringing phone. It took several rings to realize that someone was actually calling me. Agnes. "Hello?" (uy bedroom voice).

"Cooongrraaaaaats!" she was squealing. "I'm proud of youuuuuu!" Huh?

"Huh?"

"Congrats! Top 2 ka!"

"Whaaaaat?"

"Top 2 kaaaaa!!!"

I leapt off the bed for the second time in three days and rushed out to buy a copy of Manila Bulletin (the only time this newspaper is actually worth its price), flipping through the pages until I found an almost inconspicuous article about a little known group of people dreaming to change the world (Huwaaaw pare hebigat).

The rest, of course, is history.

And no, I didn't deliver any speech. The #1 did, naturally, and he seemed nervous! To think he's been speaking in front of audiences for ages (he's one of our professors). It was adoringly cute. As for me, I said the opening prayer. I sped through it like the world was coming to an end and I had to get out fast. 30 seconds of fame/shame, basically.

***

So...thanks to all who were and continue to be with me in this amazing journey. Thanks to everyone who took those baby steps with me, and are poised to take gradually larger steps, leaps and bounds even, to where our collectve dream lies. To Mark, my baby, my infinite thanks are not enough. To Len, Edison and Vir, it's crazy to think how we've managed to hurdle this! Agnes (last year's topnotcher, by the way), you probably would never get to read this, but thanks for your openness and big heart, and for being a friend, after all. ;)

To Chris, Lorenzo, Bonets, and all the other SURPees out there, take the exam, when you can, despite your fears and with all the faith you can muster. Make the commitment. Live your passion.

Now it can be told

2007-07-03T14:32:00.000+08:00

Endless bloopers, food- and beer-laced (woohoo!) review sessions and a shouting match with Professional Regulation Commission (PRC) employees, and here we are. Full-fledged, licensed Environmental Planners. This year’s passers included, there are less than 620 EnPs in the entire Philippine archipelago. I am one of them. And yes, I understand if you don’t know what an Environmental Planner is. The answer is P.D. 1308.

I’m not sure if I should be proud of the fact that I’m one of the first few (waaw, pioneers) or sad that there are so few of us, especially when I believe our role is crucial – and I have to say all too often neglected in the face of ever-present selfish political and private interests and misguided policy and implementation – to national development.

I’ve never been a licensed anything before so that in itself is exciting for me. I’m not an architect or engineer. I don’t fall into any of the de-kahon categories of eligible EnP Board exam takers i.e Public Administration, Political Science, Economics, and the aforementioned professions. I had to spend half an hour explaining to the PRC evaluator that my undergraduate course (BA Social Science major in Area Studies) actually qualifies me to take the exam, and that I had completed all of my requirements for my MA in Urban and Regional Planning save for my thesis which is due for defense soon. He of course acted unconvinced. What is Area Studies and why does UP come up with such strange courses? he asked. Well how should I know?? I had to endure the PRC guy’s subtle put-down, and his offer of a bribe! Imagine that. He said since my application was “alanganin”, he would put in a good word for me with the Board of Environmental Planning as long as I provide him with copies of my reviewers – which he would undoubtedly sell to clueless students. I was taken aback and had to ask “manong, okay lang po ba yon?” to which he replied, “oo, ako bahala sa ‘yo.” The nerve! I felt deeply disappointed at the entire PRC, for putting my application and my chances of becoming a professional planner at the mercy of a single employee looking for an easy buck. I was enraged, but had to keep my cool and remained pe-tweetums until the very end.

Edison wasn't as placid. In typical Edison fashion, he engaged in an actual fight with a terribly uncourteous, unethical PRC employee who had the gall to shout at us in front of an auditorium full of applicants, walk out and then mutter "putangina mo" under his breath as we passed by - like the complete coward that he was, hiding behind his position.

No offense, but the PRC has got to be one of the most rotten government agencies I’ve ever dealt with. It’s not just the bribery, but the sheer disrespect for the applicants and people in general. The application process is completely demoralizing. You’d be down and out long before you even take your exam. I think they make it a point to dehumanize you. Wala lang, power tripping. They probably think they’ll feel better about their own crappy situation by haranguing and taking advantage of the applicants.

I digress. So I got through that application with more than a few upsets. But that was only the beginning. The greater burden, of course, was actually passing the exam. Indeed, the pressure was on.

I come from a family that doesn't take failure lightly. Thus was the rationale for my keeping the fact of the exam a secret. But really, how could you keep it a secret when your friends and fellow exam-takers spend weekends holed up in your house reading about Myrdal and pedo-ecological zones, and eating indescribable amounts of food? Ah yes, food. From Len's pretzels and leftover cake, Mark's E-Aji, UP's life-saving squidballs, down to Lisa's cooking, Mama's salt crackers and Vir's fantabulous meat-and-vegetable concoction, there was no shortage of things to put in our mouths when we could no longer remember the things we had read about 10 seconds past. If you ask me, it was the food that got us through. That and ice cold San Mig Lite.

And of course there were Mark's famous index cards full of environmental laws, which we tried so desperately to memorize. PD 1151. 1586. Art XII Sec 1. 7279. You wouldn't believe how many laws and regulations we have on planning and the environment. I swear nag-diarrhea ang utak ko. And guess what? Out of the hundreds of laws and statutes I flipped through, only two appeared on the exam. One section of the Constitution and the Hazardous Wastes Act (RA 6969. How can you not remember that?) Ay, I wanted to kill Mark.

But not as much as I wanted to kill him on the 2nd day of the exam. Which was when my ultimate blooper happened.

Wednesday, May 30, I woke up to a badass crazy churning stomach. Bad omen ye think? I popped two tablets of Kremil-S, drank two cups of hot tea and wobbled my way out of the house to the exam center at 630 am. I prayed so hard for the pain to go away, knowing that exam #2 was the toughest, and comprised the largest percentage of the total score. Hey, 45% is no joke.

I was feeling a little better as the exam started. I took out the calculator I borrowed from Mark (because my most favorite calculator, the one I'd used since high school, had gone missing) and turned it on.

On. ON. ON, I say!!

It just stared back at me. Dead.

I. Didn't. Have. A. Calculator. Me, who shuns anything Math-related as if it was a leper. Lara, who naturally flunked her Math17, the grade of which sits hauntingly at the very top of her Transcript of Records. This silly silly girl, who failed to check if the damned thing was working before she stashed it in her plastic envelope. Thoughts of population projections, teacher-student ratio, NPV, IRR and whatnot then filled my head.

Complete, utter, terror-filled panic.

Fuck it. I had to make a choice. So I straightened my shoulders and tapped Aldrin, asking if he had an extra calculator. None. I slipped out of the room and called my mother who had just driven away. None. I knocked on the other room and called Len and Edison, begging for an extra calculator. None. By then the proctor was asking me to turn off my celphone. Couldn't she see the desperation in my eyes? I explained my predicament, which she in turn announced to ALL the examinees, in the hopes that at least one extra calculator would turn up. None. At all? Not even the musical, blinking kind that kindergarten kids use? None??

She asked me what kind of batteries were in my calculator. I had to unscrew the back of the calculator (don't ask me where I got the screwdriver) to find out. AAs. Then she said the most miraculous thing: Okay, we'll buy the batteries.

There is compassion out there, after all.

30 minutes later the new batteries arrived and I sat there, pushing them in as I cursed my boyfriend (Nah, kidding. But I did want to wring his neck.). And...voila! It still. Wasn't. Working!!! Gaaaaaaaaarrrk!!!

To make the long story short, I ended up solving the equation manually. Take note, equation. Singular. Yes people. True to form, the exam had only one question that needed a calculator. All my wasted energy, half my spirit drained away in the first five minutes of that exam, violating one of Agnes's exam rules (wag gumawa ng eksena sa exam)...all of it - for one question. I didn't know whether to cry or laugh hysterically.

It didn't matter. In the end, the exam played its part to the hilt: it scared me to death.

---

Ang haba na nito. To be continued.

daydream believer

2007-04-27T15:02:00.000+08:00

Oh, I could hide 'neath the wings
Of the bluebird as she sings.
The six o'clock alarm would never ring.

But it rings and I rise,
Wipe the sleep out of my eyes.
My shavin' razor's cold and it stings.

Cheer up, Sleepy Jean.
Oh, what can it mean.
To a daydream believer
And a homecoming queen.

You once thought of me
As a white knight on a steed.
Now you know how happy I can be.

Oh, and our good times start and end
Without dollar one to spend.
But how much, baby, do we really need.

Cheer up, Sleepy Jean.
Oh, what can it mean.
To a daydream believer
And a homecoming queen.

through the fire

2007-04-26T16:58:00.000+08:00

I thought I'd elaborate on my previous post.

I am probably at one of the lowest points in my life. Sagad na sagad.

Unscientific and unsystematic. Those were his words. Sinong hindi manlulumo? One and a half years of work. One and a half years of sweat and tears, of uncertainty and hope, of desperation and a firm belief that "everything will be okay," of stressing and thinking and working my ass off. And what have these amounted to? Nothing, basically.

No encouragement from my adviser or support from friends can fill the void created by utter humiliation and a feeling of inadequacy, which has now returned in full, overwhelming force after a period of uncanny hiatus. As if it was just biding its time until I regained a little of my strength, so it could pull the rug from under me again.

I knew it was too good to be true, that confidence, that assurance I felt. Ah, self-doubt. Cunning little devil.

Now I can't even pick up the many million pieces of me strewn on the ground. I walked around listlessly yesterday, from the College of Architecture to Quezon Hall to god-knows-where, holding a lifeless umbrella with my lifeless hand, while tears flowed from my glazed eyes. Tiny parts of my soul fell with every step, as I realized that all my many million fears had finally come true.

Don't I deserve this degree? I think about it now, and it's easy to say yes, of course I do. I didn't feel the sheer joy of work for nothing. If I didn't deserve it, I wouldn't have gotten the nod of my professors at every turn I made, or the respect of other people for what I do or want to do. Right? This is my passion, my home, and if a degree is a small affirmation then I am going to get it, I deserve it.

But I don't know. Maybe I am a fraud, and I've fooled myself into believing I can be what I've wanted to be for three years running. Maybe everyone and everything around me are all part of this giant, magnificent farce set up to make me want something I cannot actually have. Mark says these thoughts are poison, termites that only need the tiniest crack in the wood to spread to unthinkable boundaries, and that I should stop feeding them.

But I am not as confident as he is, we both know that.

At the back of my mind I know things will turn out well in the end. Everything does. This is a challange, not a deadend. We are not given anything we can't handle and, as Shiva pointed out so long ago, God does not give us what we don't need. I also know that it's okay to inch along, as long as you're moving. Pero putangina, it's just so hard.

When I muster all the faith I've got in me, scraping the bottom of the barrel for hope and positivity, will that be enough? Or will I succumb to the same desolation I felt more than a year ago when I thought I was heading nowhere? How did I find my way back, anyway? I don't really remember, all I know is that I'm here now. I'm here, and all the little triumphs that punctuated my journey since then have now been run over by the same obstacle of a different face.

I honor my dragons, yes, but do I have the strength to face them, and walk away calmly after they've unleashed hell on me?

I have less than a month, barely four weeks to find out.

looking for the silver lining

2007-04-26T11:28:00.000+08:00

"We must honor our dragons, encourage them to be worthy destroyers, expect they'll strive to cut us down. It is their duty to ridicule us, it is their job to demean us, to force us if they can to stop being different! And when we walk our way no matter their fire and their fury, our dragons shrug when we're out of sight, return to their card-games philosophical: 'Ah well, we can't toast 'em all..." – Running from Safety, Richard Bach

2007-03-23T17:54:00.000+08:00

I'm so tired. Yun lang. God help me please. Pretty please.

London Part 2

2007-02-08T17:27:00.000+08:00

Blooper #1: I step off our car at the Ninoy Aquino International Airport and say goodbye to everyone. On the way in, the guard asks me what flight I'm on. Papa says the Emirates flight. I scream, "no! Lufthansa!" and start walking to the Lufthansa signboard. Then I stop dead, look at my ticket, turn back and smile. "Ay, oo, Emirates nga."

Blooper #2: I'm on the plane. I want to watch a dvd, or at least get my in-flight entertainment system to work. Trouble is, I can't find the lcd touch screen. It's usually nestled in the back of each seat (for the benefit of the one seated behind), but since I was in a row right beside the emergency exit, there was no passenger seat in front of me. So where could my screen be?? I look around, nonchalantly of course, until the person beside me pops his screen out from beside his seat. Oh, so there it is. Hmm, now how I do that? I start pulling at the thing, and pull and pull until it occurs to me that I might actually be damaging plane property. I stop, dejected. After which my seatmate gently leans over, pushes a button on my armrest, and out pops my screen.

Blooper#3: I walk out of my hotel in London to go to our office, which is less than five minutes away. I am damned sure I can do this, because I was just there last night. I had even walked around the block, trying to memorize the streets. So anyway, I'm outside the hotel, pondering on whether to turn right or left (people, this is the quickest indication of a person about to get into a mess). I turn right, and less than 10 steps on I immediately notice the fact the I can't recognize my surroundings. Yet I keep walking. Towards the other corner. Towards the main highway. I reach the corner and realize that I'm heading to the other side of town. But instead of turning straight back, I turn right again. I am, in effect, going around the entire block that covers not just my hotel, but another office building. I honestly can't understand why I continue walking even though I already know I'm going the wrong way. It's a lost-in-space moment, I guess. Five minutes turn into 20, and I arrive at the office with messy hair and numb feet.

Blooper# 4: I forget The List in my hotel room. The all-important list contains the names of market sector managers, technical directors and all the other people I need to talk to, the very reason I went to our London offiice. I only remember a couple of names, and they're not so important, so boohoo.

Blooper #5: Everyone knows this already. I get off the tour bus at Green Park after a morning of walking and touring. I'm quite confident that I know the area because I walked through it the previous night already (lesson: don't ever trust nighttime vision). I look for my landmark, the Ritz Hotel, because I know it's just off Piccadilly and quite near Oxford St, where I'm planning to go for some pasalubong shopping. Sure, I do find the Ritz. Unfortunately, it's the other side of the Ritz. I now wish I were playing Sims or using some 3-d animation software where I could tilt the structures and find the proper orientiation, but I can't. I'm just a small person between big buildings trying to find where the front door of the Ritz is. Pero puchangina, everthing looks THE SAME! So I walk. To wherever. And just walk. Like I said, it's alright to get lost. But why now when I've got four hours left to shop before I run to the airport? Buti na lang I walk by a flea market in front of a church (how Pinoy) and manage to buy amber trinkets that my mom wanted me to get. Then I remember I have another landmark I could use. Pret A Manger, that sandwich place I saw last night. So I walk walk walk. There it is! But then it doesn't look so familiar..Then it dawns on me. Well, more of I suddenly remember what Duncan said a few days ago, that Pret A Manger is everywhere, literally. There's probably one in every corner of London! A fucken 7-11 for sandwiches! By this time I am so depressed I just want to sit on the pavement. But I can't really do that because now I've only got three hours before ETD for Heathrow Airport. So I do what I should've done an hour ago: Ask. I run up to a guy cleaning the sidewalk and ask where Oxford St is. He points to the other direction, straight ahead. FINALLY. I walk and heave when I see "Oxford St" on a signpost. And then, the ultimate question (drumroll)...left or right?

Blooper #6: I turn left. I get the same feeling I got when I turned right from my hotel before. Because alas, the shops are on the right side. So. Feet numb. Hair in disarray. Scarf undone and trailing behind. Jacket loosened and falling off. Bag heavy and, well, HEAVY. I walk into the first store I see, Marks & Spencer -- I find it odd, by the way, that I chance upon M&S just now because in London it's also like a 7-11 for clothes. I get in, look for the underwear section, and sit on the floor for a good 10 minutes. I grab all the cutesy undies I can find for my cousin, a couple of other items for the bf, and then trudge back to my hotel. I know perfectly where it is. I swear.

More to come.

London Part 1

2007-02-06T14:07:00.000+08:00

So nabura yung folder full of pictures sa flashdisk ko. It got replaced by an empty folder with an unreadable name. I have no idea how it happened. Crap.

But just so you know, I did have fun in London. I was there during the mildest winter London has had in 90 years. Whoa! I don't know if I should feel lucky about not freezing to death, or dismayed at the effects of global warming. Flowers were blooming where frost should've been! Squirrels were out, the grass was greener than ever (people were buying lawn mowers. In the middle of winter!). On one hand it led to higher yields from orchards and farms, but the disastrous effects of climate change apparent in animal and plant life cannot be ignored, either. Newborns could not cope with the "early spring" for example, and animals in hibernation could no longer, well, hibernate.

It was such a weird episode in London this time of year, and everyone noticed.

Anyway. I wonder how I could begin to describe the city that I'd only seen in postcards and read about in The History of the World and my grandmother's fascinating books on old royalty.

Hmm. Top of my head I'd say it's very quick, full of life, funny and quirky in some instances, heavy, dark and brooding in others.

But what really surprised me was how people treat the city with such...good-natured irreverence, if ever there is such. What can I say, it's the British humor I so love.

The urban landscape says it all. On one side of the River Thames stands the Westminster Abbey and Big Ben: large, historic, undeniably majestic. You can sense the weight of its presence, and the onus is upon you to pay respect. Meanwhile across the river, a stone's throw away, is the London Eye: cutting edge structure, modern steel and glass, and quite imposing as only a glorified ferris wheel can be. It evokes youthfulness, excitement and a bit of humor - right now one viewing pod is painted bright red, a funny aberration among the all-clear, space-age viewing pods.

Upon first glimpse you'd think, well this ain't right. How unbalanced, conflicting...disjointed. The Eye looks frivolous compared to the purposeful Abbey, and yet the Abbey looks a tad bit tired and boring amidst the flurry of activity on the other side of river. What kind of urbanity does this depict? Why, it's no better than the unplanned, incoherent cities of the Third World! I pointed this out to Duncan while walking along the river bank, and he made a remark that left me silent and thoughtful. He said, "well, that's the beauty of it you see." I strained. He continued. "What do you think would happen if we stopped building new structures? If we get stuck in the old and not move forward?" He almost questioned the rationale of leaving old things old and untouched. What I saw as a desecration of a glorious past, he saw as ever constant and positive movement.

I stopped and looked again at the London Eye and the Abbey. From an angle you can capture both in one frame of a photograph. Standing side by side, they were, indeed, beautiful - separately and together.

Cruising along River Thames you can see the same thing happening everywhere. Old buildings mixed with new, the former just as beautiful as the latter. The new Office of Mayor looks like it's been uprooted out of a Dubai location and transplanted onto the Thames riverbank. A few steps from that futuristic building is a replica of The Globe Theater (the original was destroyed), and the old pub where Shakespeare and friends used to drink themselves blind. It's open to this day.

In this city everything has a purpose. Duncan pointed out the pathway leading to Buckingham Palace. It's for the queen and dignitaries visiting the queen, "but it's also a road, it leads to places, so we use it." Nothing goes to waste, nothing is left unremembered, or taken for granted, or lost in vain. The old pathways work just as well as the new ones. Trains, built in the Victorian times, have been built to last and are still being used. They are very old, yes, but terribly on time (Proof? I missed my train by two seconds.). Even then, they are up for some refurbishment, so Transport for London is once again having them upgraded. Panels across the platforms are being stripped away, revealing old signage. They are again to be replaced to serve the present generation of commuters, like they have done so for more than a hundred years.

Everywhere something new is being built - as evidenced by the countless gantry cranes dotting the sky - and something old is being reused, refitted, reborn. Everyday. It never stops. The city is always in the making. And yet everywhere something old is being preserved or protected, from houses where poets once lived ("xxxx used to live here") to a memorial for the all the valuable things that England "nicked" from Egypt.

It's paradoxical, in a way. Tiny streets and big taxis, roadside parking and huge avenues. Extremely proper manners (no texting during meetings, no sir!) and loud, potbellied, thigh-slapping tour guides. But I think what Duncan was trying to say is that, whatever happens, London is ever alive in the present. And it is. It truly is a living, breathing history, one that has its pulse on the present and future.

By lunchtime on my last day, I finally got rid of all the preconceptions I had about London. Now all I had to do was find my way to shopping heaven. Or hell?

Tips from the land of fish and chips

2007-01-30T01:27:00.000+08:00

Things you come to know only in retrospect, when you're lying exhausted in a hotel room in a foreign land, specifically that kingdom where your fictional husband William lives:

1. Do not overpack. Wherever you are in the world, even in cold countries, travel light! One coat is enough, really. Really. I brought three, plus two jackets, two sets of gloves, one pashmina shawl, two scarves, two sweaters (oh sorry, jumper), and a cardigan. Hello 'di 'ba. My arms are wilting from the weight of it all. And because my hands are tied down by my bags, I can't take one decent picture. I blame Duncan, my English officemate/friend who told me to bring lots of clothes to layer, and of course myself for being my overpacking self hahaha.

2. Wear comfortable shoes. London is a city made for walking. They have cobble-stoned paths, small, winding streets and traffic lights that work. If your stilettos are made for sitting down and being pretty, you won't be able to handle this city. Low-heeled boots and and rubber shoes are the way to go.

3. Walk as fast as you can. And then faster. This ain't lazy Manila, baby. Duncan picked me up at the airport and just practically zipped away - with my amazingly huge luggage. I couldn't keep up! And I'm a relatively fast walker. I had to tell him to wait for me. Meanwhile, everyone was saying "excuse me" and passing me by. They aren't being rude, it's just the way they are. They walk fast because it's cold and they generate more body heat when they move quickly. In Manila, you move slower because you want to stay cool and keep the sweat at bay. Whatever works, right?

4. Look to your left. Oh wait, no. RIGHT. Look to your right. See, I almost got hit by a taxi.

5. Speaking of taxis, you can ask the cabbie anything. They know everything! In London, taxi and shuttle drivers are trained in a 14-week course, basically about how to be a good ambassador to all those entering the city. After completing the course they take an exam and, depending on their grade, get to drive for two or four years each time (or something like that). Coolness.

6. Don't be afraid to get lost. Everyone has the capacity to be nice, remember that. You can always ask for directions. Just don't forget #2.

7. Do drink beer. Yummy. On my first night I had a drink at Queens Head, a pub in Hammersmith, near my hotel. I had Indian pale ale (tastes a bit like San Mig), Guinness (black and thick and bitter), and another one can't remember. UK has a very high drinking rate, which they say is a problem, but with the number of pubs they have (I've seen at least three on one block alone), I reckon they'd rather get wasted that solve the problem. Fine by me. :)

8. Have someone around. I thought I'd be all alone on this trip. I was actually okay with that, until I got to the street and was completely overwhelmed. Strangeness is comforting, but sometimes it can be frustrating. Anyway, turns out I have a couple of relatives here (who I'll be meeting tomorrow night). I'm also meeting a friend of a friend, which is cool because I know he'll allow me to be the tourist that I absolutely want to be but won't be able to do alone because I'd look too silly. Hehe. Then of course I have my London-based officemates. Lovely.

Sorry

2007-01-24T11:28:00.000+08:00

Did I fail? As a cousin, an ate, did I fail?

I wanted to be with her that day. To tell her things are going to be okay, no matter what. That she needn't be scared, need not care what the outcome is, even though it might matter the world to the rest of the family.

Because fear and pressure drive us further down, this I know well. I wanted her to understand that she can step out of that, even for just a few hours.

I never knew if she was indeed afraid. Or how she felt at all that day. Didn't see her eyes. Wasn't able to catch her. I had. to go. to work. And I'll regret it, that choice I made, for the rest of my life.

right, left, justified

2007-01-19T09:09:00.000+08:00

I cried yesterday. As in hagulgol. I didn't expect to cry so hard. Buti na lang tulog na mga tao sa bahay.

I was watching the late night news and I couldn't control myself any longer. Then I texted my mom.

Me: Bakit keilangan basagin ang glass doors and windows at tutukan ng long arms ang mga anak ng dismissed Iloilo governor para lang mapaalis siya? It's becoming too insane. And heartbreaking.

Mama: I wanted to cry kaninang umaga nang mapanood ko. Nalulungkot ako. Gusto ko na lang magpayaman kung di pa huli ang lahat, kesa mag-practice. Di ko na mamukhaan ang itsura ng justice.

My mother is a lawyer. A good one with a compassionate heart and a good sense of justice (probably why she never became rich from lawyering). What she said made me sadder and mirrored my frustration. I wanted to ask, Martial Law na ba? But I already knew what her answer would be: No. Not yet, anyway.

Well it's pretty damn close.

Granted, Gov. Niel Tupas and others being suspended or dismissed did something wrong. At this point it's something difficult to ascertain, especially in light of the blatant political maneuvering that will climax on election day. But when you feign the attempt to correct these wrongs with an even greater wrong, whatever little credibility you claim you have goes kaput.

When we were in Iloilo last December my relatives asked my dad if he had any plans of running for office in Iloilo. They chided him, saying he better move quick because they've been seeing the FG and son Mikey Arroyo in the area lately, driving around, lingering. Rumors are the Arroyos are interested in asserting their Ilonggo-ness so they can take over that little corner of the archipelago, too. Regionalism can be so convenient.

And now this. Who wouldn't think it fishy for a public official to be convicted of and dismissed for a crime he wasn't even tried for? And with only a photocopy of the said order? Moro-moro na ito. It's not just in Iloilo. You'd be a moron not to see the same, exact thing happening all over the country. So far I think only Makati Mayor Jojo Binay has been spared because, hell, he's extremely powerful that way. Evicting him means crippling the business capital of the country. Binay knows that, so everyone else can go to hell.

***

Power. It's like vertigo, the way it was described in The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Looking down from high above, you know that falling will kill you, and you know better than to look down. Yet you are inexplicably attracted to the prospect of jumping. There's this strong force that sucks you in and threatens to throw you overboard. It's a moment of uncertainty and ambiguity, where lines are blurred and the abyss seems to closer to sky than you'd ever thnk.

Methinks practically all politicians suffer from that fatal attraction. On strange twilights I think even I feel it too, sometimes. Pretty scary, I tell you. Although I thnk I'd be a lousy politician; I'd be sobbing every 10 minutes and I won't last more than one term (if I finish one term at all) because I wouldn't know how to "protect" my position. I certainly wouldn't use force or harassment. Takot ko lang sa nanay ko, hahaha. Sometimes I wish all families had mothers like mine.

***

Minutes after the police assault at the Iloilo provincial capitol, a 60-day temporary restraining order on enforcement of the dismissal finally arrived. Public officials and employees present during the raid had been pleading with PNP to hold off and wait for the said TRO, but they did not listen. People had to suffer from physical attack and sheer terrorism from our national police before they were given what was due them. Funny how we risk life and limb, and maim and kill for our interests, for what we think is right.

What is right, anyway? In the plurality of today's world, it's hard to figure out. Who's to say if the DILG did the right thing in dismissing Gov Tupas and all other "offending public officials"? And in using M-16 armalites to do so? On the other hand, who's to say whether ot not the people who went on vigil for three nights and barricaded the capitol building with their bodies to protect their governor were right?

Perhaps it's easier to see what is honest. No matter what your personal truth is, if it is presented honestly, unveiled and sans deception - of others and of oneself, and even if you "lose", you will be justified.

what if

2007-01-11T08:56:00.000+08:00

Life truly is about choices. It isn't just the choice itself, but the moment that contains the act of choosing - that entire time-space experience, whether instantaneous or protracted - that aptly and sometimes harshly defines your life.

Who am I? Why am I here? Such difficult questions that have hounded humans since the beginning of time. The long, painstaking journey to such end has been heralded by philosophers, writers, artists, even mathematicians, and has driven countless people mad. This, the greatest journey of all, can be answered in a split-second.

Every time you make a decision, your entire life flashes before you - your past, present, future. Every choice is a shoutout, an affirmation of your entire being, a confirmation, sometimes denial, resistance, resignation. Whatever it is, it is trasmitted as an active feedback to the situation presented before you.

Moreover, while this feedback is often considered as an end unto itself (don't we always treat decisions with a sense of finality?), it is also a beginning. It is the link that keeps the wheels of your life turning, whether you are aware of it or not, whether you like or not. It is dynamic. This feedback is part of, in the words of Friedmann, a transaction. A continuous experience that has quality, body and texture. It is unique in all the world because you are unique in all the world. No one sees the universe like you do.

Shit, could it be the gap Ivan has been looking for in his theory? Double shit, this is what I've been saying in my thesis all along. :o

One big sigh

2006-12-20T15:58:00.000+08:00

Whew. My work is done! Ladidadida. Hihihi. Haha, I sound like a nut.

Merry Christmas!

Easy like a Sunday afternoon

2006-12-13T17:51:00.001+08:00

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.

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.

***

This Sunday we'll be participating in a Gawad Kalinga Build in Quezon City. Those who are interested, please contact me.

La lang

2006-12-12T08:44:00.000+08:00

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.

wounded

2006-12-05T17:42:00.000+08:00

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.

Lacoste/James/Manny

2006-11-20T13:02:00.000+08:00

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.

Thankful

2006-11-07T09:37:00.000+08:00

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.

2006-11-03T09:42:00.000+08:00

It's a new day, baby.

I WONDER

2006-10-25T23:12:00.000+08:00

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.

happy birthday to meeeeeeeee

2006-10-19T17:38:00.000+08:00

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.

BLUES

2006-10-18T17:49:00.000+08:00

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.

2006-10-12T15:57:00.000+08:00

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

SLAMMING MY HEAD ON MY CUBICLE DIVIDER

2006-09-25T12:26:00.000+08:00

Out, out, out. I wanna get oooooouuuuuuuttt.

SLIGHTLY REDUCED AND MILDLY AGITATED

2006-09-05T11:57:00.000+08:00

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.

IF YOU WANNA GO THROUGH MY ENTIRE DAY, GO AHEAD

2006-07-15T11:46:00.000+08:00

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.

OFFICE GOSSIP

2006-07-11T23:22:00.000+08:00

Vicious, vicious, vicious.

WHO WILL SAVE MY SOUL?

2006-07-08T01:01:00.000+08:00

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.

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

SHRUGS SHOULDERS AND SIGHS

2006-06-19T17:17:00.000+08:00

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.

NOTHING LIKE IT YET

2006-06-15T16:05:00.000+08:00

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.

WHAT PAULA COLE SANG

2006-06-02T09:53:00.000+08:00

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.

DECODED, FINALLY

2006-05-24T16:39:00.000+08:00

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.

2006-05-17T08:40:00.000+08:00

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 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.

PRELUDE TO DISASTER

2006-04-20T11:24:00.000+08:00

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!

SUNNY CLOUDY DAY

2006-04-19T13:23:00.000+08:00

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.

2006-04-10T16:23:00.000+08:00

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.

ORAYT!!!

2006-03-28T16:00:00.000+08:00

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!

MY LIFE ACCORDING TO MONKEYQUIZ.COM

2006-03-24T19:28:00.000+08:00

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

THE YANG TO MY YIN

2006-03-14T08:34:00.000+08:00

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?

MORNING AFTER

2006-03-11T08:14:00.000+08:00

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!

TODAY...

2006-03-01T14:32:00.000+08:00

...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.

CIRCA 2006

2006-02-27T13:08:00.000+08:00

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.

EDSA

2006-02-24T12:11:00.000+08:00

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.

LOST WORLD

2006-02-23T10:18:00.000+08:00

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.

SHINY HAPPY

2006-02-13T16:56:00.000+08:00

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