On a lighter, happier note, I had a great time last weekend!:)
Last Friday after class, Mark, Len, Lorenzo, Ricky and I went to Bahay ng Alumni to watch Hale in concert. Finally! I had passed up too many chances to watch the-band-that-helped-me-fall-in-love-again (Hah! Betcha didn't know that.), plus I haven't been to a concert in such a looooong time, that I can't let this pass me by again.
We decided to eat at Chocolate Kiss before going to the concert. It was just above the concert venue so it seemed convenient. Not so, as the place was packed to the brim that night. So many had turned up at Chokiss, but was it to eat or to lean over the balcony railing and watch?
Hmm, time wasted waiting for a table: 20 minutes. No matter. UP bands were still playing anyway. We got a table several songs later. Good enough. Still got time to eat before Hale pops out at 11 pm, according to Len. All good.
Caesar's Salad, Chicken a la Kiev, iced tea and my bebe beside me. Ah, this is the life. Mark experimented with some beef dish. Len contented herself with ordering cake and running out the restaurant every now and then to check the bands. Lorenzo ordered more than he can handle,:D and Ricky slowly but surely attacked his plate. I was famished; I ate with relish.
About an hour later, we walked out and quietly peered at the band playing in the hall below. We still haven't bought our tickets. Oh, but where are the ticket-sellers? I pretended to ask myself. We decided they were nowhere to be found, so we just stood there, free-riders all. Yes, bad indeed.
When the guard finally realized we were opportunists (ouch), he shooed us away, and we ended up on the other side Bahay ng Alumni, peering over the balcony, watching bands play, free-riders still. Nyehehe. Very bad.
Half expecting karma to roll by on a giant wheel and flatten our shameless souls out, I watched the concert. Watched and complained (tsk3, the nerve. Very bad indeed.). I don't really like it when concert organizers intersperse bands on the main lineup with other, hmm, minor bands. No offense to fledgling musical groups. I mean, I strongly support OPM, and cheer on whenever I see promising local artists. I go by my principle of buying only original albums - IF they're by local groups (otherwise, kudos to piracy! hehe). Okay lang din yung front acts, for their exposure, at okay na rin yung pasingit-singit minsan sa gitna ng concert, pero OA talaga pag marami na. OA. Lalo na pag walang kwenta. True, there is an abundance of good, independent, undiscovered bands and singers out there, but the one playing in front was not one of them. Salindiwa was pure torture, man. Torture. Useless band. I'm sorry. I'm sure glad I didn't pay.
Kainis din yung mga hosts. I felt sorry for them in a way. It was their job to talk, who could blame them if nobody wanted to listen?
Anyway, we stood there, sat sometimes, wanted to sleep through the other performances, couldn't, settled on the railings, and waited.
Past 11. The guard was walking towards us again, and I could feel a battle of wills emerging. Mark was all set to kill the guy--in his world where he is an assasin, of course.
Minutes to Hale. The guard approached us. I knew it. As much as I wanted to be bad at that very moment, I knew I had no right, so we went down like he told us to. In my mind I was digging for a perfect justification as to why we were where we were. Pero wala talagang lusot. Left and right, organizers were shoving us in the direction far, far away from Hale.
I was ready to concede, admit to our sin of not looking for the ticket sellers. But no. No no no no. This was not gonna happen. I didn't stay out this late to stare at the walls of the makeshift backstage just because nobody sold or asked for our tickets. I stood there, feeling a tantrum about to explode.
Ah, there it was.
"I cannot believe this! This is not happening. I managed to watch an F4 concert (and everybody knows the hell I went through for that) tapos Hale hindi ko mapapanood?!?!" Yep, like a bratty child I was wailing.
While I was behaving like a lunatic I caught a glimpse of a guy on the floor, silently fixing his stuff, drinking bottled water. Looks familar. Looks strangely, famously familiar. My vision suddenly expanded and I noticed every little detail around me, realizing at the same instant that I was, true enough, in the BACKSTAGE. Dingdingding. I whirled around and dragged Len to the wall. As I did, I caught Mark and Ricky snickering, and I knew my life was over.
BecauseShetLensiChampyungleadsingernyungnasalikodnatin!NakauposasahigIcannotbelievethisnarinigkayayungmgapinagsasasabinatin?omigosh!
I clung to her arm for dear life and stomped--as quietly as I could do that--over to Mark and Ricky. Such utter humiliation. And nobody even told us! Nobody pinched us or slapped or hissed at us to keep our voices and embarrassment level down. Horrible.
Down to the size of an ant, I scampered to the stairs and sat stoically. What was I to do? I wanted to get Champ's autograph, what was I to say? Hey Champ you're great I just pulled my most shameful brat act two feet away from you and hey can I get your signature? And by the way you write beautiful songs. Aaauuughh.
He was standing already, guitar in hand, leaning on the wall. Dammit!
12.02 am. Still on the stairs. I showed bebe the time, and we quietly acknowledged the one month that flew by. Mwah baby!;p But I'll die if I spend our first month listening to mere echoes of a concert.
Shrieks. Thunderous clapping. They were out of our sight and on the stage.
WAAAAAAHH!!!
Mark stood up and strode to spot where the band stood moments before they went up. He talked to an organizer, went back and led us all through the crowd. I can't remember what he told the organizer. All I know was that minutes later I found myself just a few meters from the stage, watching Hale live for the first time, in my baby's arms, all my worries gone.
Whew.
"Ok bang pang-1st monthsary?" bebe asked. Smile. Yup baby, 'tis good enough.:D
Postscript. Weird, I'm both slightly ashamed and proud of what we've done, but overall I'm just really happy. Hehe. Happy one month baby!
Monday, August 08, 2005
JUST ARGH
This is NOT a good day.
I wake up early because I have to go to Pateros to get data for our workshop. I want to get there and finish everything before lunch so I can have the afternoon off. Mark texts just as he's about to leave for Manila, and I go take a shower, trying to figure out how to get to Pateros without a car.
Do I leave immediately after getting dressed? No. After breakfast? No. After late riser Ivan has woken up? No. Instead, I sit on the couch waiting AGAIN for Mama to finish getting dressed and fixing her stuff and doing Just. Everything. Imaginable. For the life of me I don't know why I still wait for her even though I know I'd be sitting for an hour or more doing nothing, just watching time slip away. Maybe this is really all my fault, coz I could have up and walked out the house and left on my own. But I didn't. Sometimes I do hate it that I'm such a lazy brat. AAAARRGH.
So we leave the house at 10 am. It takes us 15-20 minutes to get to the Caltex station near Bicutan where my mom drops me off. I hurry out the car and slam the door with all my frustration, and wait fora cab. And then I realize I just might be wasting my time here. By my calculations, IF I'm lucky to get a cab in the next ten minutes, I would arrive in Pateros just after 11. And since in government lunchtime unofficially begins at 11:30, I would have less than 40 minutes to go to five offices, get the data and interview the staff before they lock up their offices and leave me hanging until 1:30, which in government is the unofficial end of lunchbreak. AAAARGGHH.
So with all bitterness, regret and mounting fury I walk away from Caltex and walk to SM, where I decide to spend the next two and a half hours still waiting. Pateros will be dealt with after lunch.
On my way I man from a truck whistles at me. Whistles and honks his horn. ARRRGGGHHH. F*ck you asshole! Why does the male population insist on retaining their cavemen instincts? Haven't they evolved yet?!?! I'm wearing jeans and shirt and covered up in a jacket, for crying out loud. Women are beautiful creatures, yes, but even if I'm dressed in the tiniest skirt with the appeal of a sex goddess, that does not justify such retarded behavior. Do they expect us to feel good about being gawked at?!?! It was all I could do to keep myself from fishing out a coin and throwing it at the guy's face.
Three steps later, I catch the whiff and wake of a garbage truck that just finished collecting garbage meters from where I was. I look down and see bits of wet trash and maggots crawling near my feet. AAAAARRRGGGHHHHH.
Move on Lara. Just maggots. I walk up the overpass that crosses the entry to the Skyway, instead of just dodging passing cars (because I'm trying to be a good citizen). But the feeling of goodwill that would have compensated for the crap of the last 30 minutes quickly disappear as soon as I hear a PLOP and a SPLASH. I look down and see my umbrella, seconds ago nestled in my bag, now lying in a puddle at the overpass landing. I attempt to pick it up, but it's just too goddam...WET. Worse, my pants are wet from the impact. I can just imagine all the germs seeping into my legs. I know, praning na kung praning, but I hate the feeling of unidentified wet. I look at the umbrella for three seconds, and decide to leave it lying. Defeated, I walk away, willing myself not to feel sentimental about a stupid umbrella that isn't even mine. But see, it was just only recently that I made it a habit to bring an umbrella, and I can't help but feel sad. AAAARRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH.
So with all my morning spirit practically gone I trudge to SM, shell out money and sink into a flimsy chair at Netopia. I slam on the keys hoping they absorb my anger. Two hours left until my next hurdle. Unless this computer store suddenly blows up and flings my remains all over the third floor. Now that will definitely spoil my mood.
I wake up early because I have to go to Pateros to get data for our workshop. I want to get there and finish everything before lunch so I can have the afternoon off. Mark texts just as he's about to leave for Manila, and I go take a shower, trying to figure out how to get to Pateros without a car.
Do I leave immediately after getting dressed? No. After breakfast? No. After late riser Ivan has woken up? No. Instead, I sit on the couch waiting AGAIN for Mama to finish getting dressed and fixing her stuff and doing Just. Everything. Imaginable. For the life of me I don't know why I still wait for her even though I know I'd be sitting for an hour or more doing nothing, just watching time slip away. Maybe this is really all my fault, coz I could have up and walked out the house and left on my own. But I didn't. Sometimes I do hate it that I'm such a lazy brat. AAAARRGH.
So we leave the house at 10 am. It takes us 15-20 minutes to get to the Caltex station near Bicutan where my mom drops me off. I hurry out the car and slam the door with all my frustration, and wait fora cab. And then I realize I just might be wasting my time here. By my calculations, IF I'm lucky to get a cab in the next ten minutes, I would arrive in Pateros just after 11. And since in government lunchtime unofficially begins at 11:30, I would have less than 40 minutes to go to five offices, get the data and interview the staff before they lock up their offices and leave me hanging until 1:30, which in government is the unofficial end of lunchbreak. AAAARGGHH.
So with all bitterness, regret and mounting fury I walk away from Caltex and walk to SM, where I decide to spend the next two and a half hours still waiting. Pateros will be dealt with after lunch.
On my way I man from a truck whistles at me. Whistles and honks his horn. ARRRGGGHHH. F*ck you asshole! Why does the male population insist on retaining their cavemen instincts? Haven't they evolved yet?!?! I'm wearing jeans and shirt and covered up in a jacket, for crying out loud. Women are beautiful creatures, yes, but even if I'm dressed in the tiniest skirt with the appeal of a sex goddess, that does not justify such retarded behavior. Do they expect us to feel good about being gawked at?!?! It was all I could do to keep myself from fishing out a coin and throwing it at the guy's face.
Three steps later, I catch the whiff and wake of a garbage truck that just finished collecting garbage meters from where I was. I look down and see bits of wet trash and maggots crawling near my feet. AAAAARRRGGGHHHHH.
Move on Lara. Just maggots. I walk up the overpass that crosses the entry to the Skyway, instead of just dodging passing cars (because I'm trying to be a good citizen). But the feeling of goodwill that would have compensated for the crap of the last 30 minutes quickly disappear as soon as I hear a PLOP and a SPLASH. I look down and see my umbrella, seconds ago nestled in my bag, now lying in a puddle at the overpass landing. I attempt to pick it up, but it's just too goddam...WET. Worse, my pants are wet from the impact. I can just imagine all the germs seeping into my legs. I know, praning na kung praning, but I hate the feeling of unidentified wet. I look at the umbrella for three seconds, and decide to leave it lying. Defeated, I walk away, willing myself not to feel sentimental about a stupid umbrella that isn't even mine. But see, it was just only recently that I made it a habit to bring an umbrella, and I can't help but feel sad. AAAARRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH.
So with all my morning spirit practically gone I trudge to SM, shell out money and sink into a flimsy chair at Netopia. I slam on the keys hoping they absorb my anger. Two hours left until my next hurdle. Unless this computer store suddenly blows up and flings my remains all over the third floor. Now that will definitely spoil my mood.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
COULDN'T HAVE SAID IT BETTER MYSELF
Power to the People
by Conrado de Quiros (There's the Rub, PDI)
A FRIEND told me she had a conversation with a Malaysian recently, and her Malaysian friend teased her: "Why don't you just scrap elections altogether since they don't seem to work for you anyway?" My friend laughed at the joke, but was quite bothered by it. It did seem, she told me, that we were becoming something of a joke for our leaders having short shelf lives.
This reminded me again of a story an American friend, a journalist, told me some years back. This really happened, she assured me. On a trip to the hinterlands of Cambodia, she asked an old woman what she thought of a coming election. The old woman answered: "What can I say? We're having another one again. That means the last one didn't work."
I personally am not bothered by comments about this country making a joke out of its institutions. Or about us having developed a bloodlust we mount king-hunts, or queen-hunts, at every turn. At the very least, who the hell cares what others think of us? At the end of the day we, and not they, will have to live with the consequences of our actions, or the lack of them. Indeed, who the hell cares about the opinion of people who would do well to discover People Power themselves and oust leaders who rule with an iron fist and stay for as long as they want? And send opponents to jail on trumped-up charges, as Mahathir did to Anwar Ibrahim.
But it's more than that. What's weird about the perception, local or foreign, about this country making a travesty of its elections or its institutions is that the campaign to oust President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo is in fact a staunch defense of this country's institutions, chief of them its elections. The campaign to oust Ms Arroyo is not a throwback to the move to oust Joseph Estrada, it is a throwback to the move to oust Marcos. Its only resemblance to the oust-Estrada campaign is that Ms Arroyo is accused as well of plunging the country into a gangster's paradise, one ruled by gambling lords, including her son, Mikey, and by people who like to murder journalists. Lest we forget, this country has become the second most corrupt in Asia and the most dangerous place for journalists in the world. That's worse than Estrada.
But the move to oust Ms Arroyo resembles the move to oust Ferdinand Marcos and not Estrada because of one fundamental thing. It is a move to oust a president who is not the president at all. The only one who can demand with any credibility that this country respect its institutions, chief of them elections, is Estrada -- and he does so to this day. He was at least clearly, decidedly, overwhelmingly elected President of the Philippines. Neither Marcos nor Gloria was, or is. Marcos at least after martial law: He was elected twice before that. After martial law, Marcos ruled by force; before martial law, Ms Arroyo rules by farce. Marcos ruled by decree, Ms Arroyo rules by Garci. Law was the last thing Marcos had on his side, but it was the first thing he kept invoking. So does Gloria. God must truly be merciful to be sparing with his thunderbolts.
To oust Ms Arroyo is to defend this country's democratic institutions, it is to defend the sacredness of its elections. It is to affirm in the most forceful way that no one is above the law, no one may mess around with the elections-much less so in the brazen way Ms Arroyo did with Garci -- and get away with it.
Indeed, even if Ms Arroyo had been voted into power, what of it? If she had committed the same crime as Estrada -- and her descent into ignominy has been arguably faster and steeper-then she deserves the same fate as Estrada.
So what if we have People Power III and IV and V and VI? If that is what it will take to stop candidates from raping the electoral will, then by all means let us have them. If that is what it will take to prevent public officials from pillaging the country's wealth, then by all means let us have them. If that is what it will take to remove every last scoundrel and every last act of villainy in public office, then by all means let us have them. People Power is the last resort of the poor and oppressed in this country. It is their only means of redress. It is their only source of restorative justice. This is a country where the media are routinely ignored and their members routinely decimated when they pry too deeply. This is a country where the courts are owned by the rich and powerful, and decisions are auctioned to the highest bidder. This is a country where the law enforcers are the law-breakers, where the lawmakers are the ass-lickers, where the leaders and their coteries are gangsters.
This is a country in fact where the only choices given to the citizens are to leave it or fight to reclaim it. I leave those who leave it to justify it -- to themselves as much as to others. I choose to fight.
In the profoundest sense of things, People Power is the staunchest defense of the institutions of democracy there is. It is not a genie that can be summoned at will from a magic lamp, and those who imagine it to be are free to come here and try it. The only occasions when People Power arose in this country were when the democratic institutions became so perverted, so removed from the public weal -- when the law has become an instrument of injustice in the hands of tyrants, when the courts have become an instrument of oppression in the hands of a Mafia, when elections have become a weapon to bludgeon the sovereign will in the hands of Gloria -- that there was no recourse but to move to cleanse them, to rise to restore them.
What are our institutions but the physical emanations or tangible embodiments of our democratic will? And what is People Power but the direct expression or restorative intervention of our sovereign will?
by Conrado de Quiros (There's the Rub, PDI)
A FRIEND told me she had a conversation with a Malaysian recently, and her Malaysian friend teased her: "Why don't you just scrap elections altogether since they don't seem to work for you anyway?" My friend laughed at the joke, but was quite bothered by it. It did seem, she told me, that we were becoming something of a joke for our leaders having short shelf lives.
This reminded me again of a story an American friend, a journalist, told me some years back. This really happened, she assured me. On a trip to the hinterlands of Cambodia, she asked an old woman what she thought of a coming election. The old woman answered: "What can I say? We're having another one again. That means the last one didn't work."
I personally am not bothered by comments about this country making a joke out of its institutions. Or about us having developed a bloodlust we mount king-hunts, or queen-hunts, at every turn. At the very least, who the hell cares what others think of us? At the end of the day we, and not they, will have to live with the consequences of our actions, or the lack of them. Indeed, who the hell cares about the opinion of people who would do well to discover People Power themselves and oust leaders who rule with an iron fist and stay for as long as they want? And send opponents to jail on trumped-up charges, as Mahathir did to Anwar Ibrahim.
But it's more than that. What's weird about the perception, local or foreign, about this country making a travesty of its elections or its institutions is that the campaign to oust President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo is in fact a staunch defense of this country's institutions, chief of them its elections. The campaign to oust Ms Arroyo is not a throwback to the move to oust Joseph Estrada, it is a throwback to the move to oust Marcos. Its only resemblance to the oust-Estrada campaign is that Ms Arroyo is accused as well of plunging the country into a gangster's paradise, one ruled by gambling lords, including her son, Mikey, and by people who like to murder journalists. Lest we forget, this country has become the second most corrupt in Asia and the most dangerous place for journalists in the world. That's worse than Estrada.
But the move to oust Ms Arroyo resembles the move to oust Ferdinand Marcos and not Estrada because of one fundamental thing. It is a move to oust a president who is not the president at all. The only one who can demand with any credibility that this country respect its institutions, chief of them elections, is Estrada -- and he does so to this day. He was at least clearly, decidedly, overwhelmingly elected President of the Philippines. Neither Marcos nor Gloria was, or is. Marcos at least after martial law: He was elected twice before that. After martial law, Marcos ruled by force; before martial law, Ms Arroyo rules by farce. Marcos ruled by decree, Ms Arroyo rules by Garci. Law was the last thing Marcos had on his side, but it was the first thing he kept invoking. So does Gloria. God must truly be merciful to be sparing with his thunderbolts.
To oust Ms Arroyo is to defend this country's democratic institutions, it is to defend the sacredness of its elections. It is to affirm in the most forceful way that no one is above the law, no one may mess around with the elections-much less so in the brazen way Ms Arroyo did with Garci -- and get away with it.
Indeed, even if Ms Arroyo had been voted into power, what of it? If she had committed the same crime as Estrada -- and her descent into ignominy has been arguably faster and steeper-then she deserves the same fate as Estrada.
So what if we have People Power III and IV and V and VI? If that is what it will take to stop candidates from raping the electoral will, then by all means let us have them. If that is what it will take to prevent public officials from pillaging the country's wealth, then by all means let us have them. If that is what it will take to remove every last scoundrel and every last act of villainy in public office, then by all means let us have them. People Power is the last resort of the poor and oppressed in this country. It is their only means of redress. It is their only source of restorative justice. This is a country where the media are routinely ignored and their members routinely decimated when they pry too deeply. This is a country where the courts are owned by the rich and powerful, and decisions are auctioned to the highest bidder. This is a country where the law enforcers are the law-breakers, where the lawmakers are the ass-lickers, where the leaders and their coteries are gangsters.
This is a country in fact where the only choices given to the citizens are to leave it or fight to reclaim it. I leave those who leave it to justify it -- to themselves as much as to others. I choose to fight.
In the profoundest sense of things, People Power is the staunchest defense of the institutions of democracy there is. It is not a genie that can be summoned at will from a magic lamp, and those who imagine it to be are free to come here and try it. The only occasions when People Power arose in this country were when the democratic institutions became so perverted, so removed from the public weal -- when the law has become an instrument of injustice in the hands of tyrants, when the courts have become an instrument of oppression in the hands of a Mafia, when elections have become a weapon to bludgeon the sovereign will in the hands of Gloria -- that there was no recourse but to move to cleanse them, to rise to restore them.
What are our institutions but the physical emanations or tangible embodiments of our democratic will? And what is People Power but the direct expression or restorative intervention of our sovereign will?
CELLPHONE SNIPPETS
I used to hate waiting (hmm, kinda profound, when you think about it). Senior year high school, my friends and I went stag to our grad ball and had the best time, and I was absolutely postitive that nothing could ruin my night. Until three hours later, when I was still at the hotel lobby (makeup, attitude and good mood gone), waiting for Mama to pick me up, or rather to wake up from her three-hour nap in the car, so she could pick me up. In a time when beepers reigned and landlines still had some use, I had nothing much to do but sit, wait, beep a hopelessly snoring mother, and write furiously on hotel tissue.
Okay, long intro. Just wanted to say thank goodness for mobile phones. Especially ones with large storage capacities and Notes feature. Because sometimes I just don't have tissue.
27 July
Jollibee
Market! Market!
alone, waiting for classmates en route to Pateros
Note 1
The problem with being socially aware is that it sometimes prevents you from doing or wanting something that, in the normal, ignorant plane of existence, you would naturally crave for. like living in a condo with all the creature comforts--in a land grabbed from the people by its very own goverment and sold for a ridiculously and dubiously low price to profit-hungry real estate giants.
How can one live peacefully amid such massive contradictions?
Postrcript. One could retaliate: well if you really had your mind and heart in the right place, you wouldn't even have to prevent yourself. You won't want it in the first place. Right?
Well, in a way, yes. But I'm not a hypocrite. I have my weaknesses. That Serendra being constructed right in front of Market!Market! is oh so tempting.
And yes, the government's rape of our land was orchestrated by that balding, bespectacled guy who JUST WON'T DIE. I hope somebody stuffs his tobacco up his ass so he'd blow up before he once again pulls the rug from under us, becomes Prime Minister and sells our country to the devil like he sold his soul. Whoa galit ata ako.
2
I don't want my future children to grow up in an environment where there is injustice, and find out that their parents are part of it in some way. I don't want to listen to their hearts breaking when they ask me why I did not do anything. I don't want to sigh and say to them, "anak, kayo na bahala, baguhin niyo ang dapat." No, I want to save them before they are born into the consciousness of this tired and sad world.
Parents shouldn't have to be the cause of their child's doubt and cynicism.
---
9 June
beach, Bay's Inn, Baler, Aurora
alone, waiting for everyone else to wake up and relishing the solitude
1
Waves rush to the shore with command and resolve. We are not to be dealt with lightly, they say. You obey, hearing their voice that crashes through and drowns your thoughts. There is peace in this surrender. Such peace. Such comfort, watching, feeling the waves and seeing God's hand. In this windy morning by the sea, life is perfect.
If I surrender to you now, would it be as beautiful? Would you hold me firmly as the waves do? Would you caress my soul in moments of quiet, like this? Would you declare your mighty presence to me? Would you feed my thirst for wonder? Would you be willing to crash into me, too, and surrender your strength? And would you be there to return, over and over again, tirelessly, with the same resolve and passion?
I will sit here, by the shore. I will hold your hand and embrace you as you come near. I will look at you and be forever amazed. And when you go, I will sit again, and wait. But tell me please, will you return?
2
The water curls and rises: anger building. Far away the water crashes from its height. Its greatness is terrifying. But nearing the shore--nearing me--it slowly subsides, its anger dissipating, until all that is left is the gentle foam that crawls towards my feet, as if to say, I am here, did you hear me cry?
I heard you. Come to me, I will run my fingers to sooth your pain.
Okay, long intro. Just wanted to say thank goodness for mobile phones. Especially ones with large storage capacities and Notes feature. Because sometimes I just don't have tissue.
27 July
Jollibee
Market! Market!
alone, waiting for classmates en route to Pateros
Note 1
The problem with being socially aware is that it sometimes prevents you from doing or wanting something that, in the normal, ignorant plane of existence, you would naturally crave for. like living in a condo with all the creature comforts--in a land grabbed from the people by its very own goverment and sold for a ridiculously and dubiously low price to profit-hungry real estate giants.
How can one live peacefully amid such massive contradictions?
Postrcript. One could retaliate: well if you really had your mind and heart in the right place, you wouldn't even have to prevent yourself. You won't want it in the first place. Right?
Well, in a way, yes. But I'm not a hypocrite. I have my weaknesses. That Serendra being constructed right in front of Market!Market! is oh so tempting.
And yes, the government's rape of our land was orchestrated by that balding, bespectacled guy who JUST WON'T DIE. I hope somebody stuffs his tobacco up his ass so he'd blow up before he once again pulls the rug from under us, becomes Prime Minister and sells our country to the devil like he sold his soul. Whoa galit ata ako.
2
I don't want my future children to grow up in an environment where there is injustice, and find out that their parents are part of it in some way. I don't want to listen to their hearts breaking when they ask me why I did not do anything. I don't want to sigh and say to them, "anak, kayo na bahala, baguhin niyo ang dapat." No, I want to save them before they are born into the consciousness of this tired and sad world.
Parents shouldn't have to be the cause of their child's doubt and cynicism.
---
9 June
beach, Bay's Inn, Baler, Aurora
alone, waiting for everyone else to wake up and relishing the solitude
1
Waves rush to the shore with command and resolve. We are not to be dealt with lightly, they say. You obey, hearing their voice that crashes through and drowns your thoughts. There is peace in this surrender. Such peace. Such comfort, watching, feeling the waves and seeing God's hand. In this windy morning by the sea, life is perfect.
If I surrender to you now, would it be as beautiful? Would you hold me firmly as the waves do? Would you caress my soul in moments of quiet, like this? Would you declare your mighty presence to me? Would you feed my thirst for wonder? Would you be willing to crash into me, too, and surrender your strength? And would you be there to return, over and over again, tirelessly, with the same resolve and passion?
I will sit here, by the shore. I will hold your hand and embrace you as you come near. I will look at you and be forever amazed. And when you go, I will sit again, and wait. But tell me please, will you return?
2
The water curls and rises: anger building. Far away the water crashes from its height. Its greatness is terrifying. But nearing the shore--nearing me--it slowly subsides, its anger dissipating, until all that is left is the gentle foam that crawls towards my feet, as if to say, I am here, did you hear me cry?
I heard you. Come to me, I will run my fingers to sooth your pain.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
NOTE TO THE CLUB
To answer Amie's question, er, demand...yes, Amietot, I am no longer the girl holding that SanMigLight for dear life at Giligan's. Hehehe. No longer torn, confused or in pain. I no longer have the questions I used to ask while carrying on my protracted emotional vacillation.
I have found my peace. My truth. Yebah, mabuhay si Larabebe.:D
When I dance again at Ice it will be sweet (wild, but sweet, haha), not frenzied and careless, and probably not with Charvie and Ajeet, nyehehe. When we have coffee at Starbucks at 1 am I will not feel lost. When we see each other again, it will STILL be a riot, but for less troubled reasons.
Pero Giligan's Club pa rin tayo shempre.;)
Miss you guys. Seryoso mga pips, kitakits.
I have found my peace. My truth. Yebah, mabuhay si Larabebe.:D
When I dance again at Ice it will be sweet (wild, but sweet, haha), not frenzied and careless, and probably not with Charvie and Ajeet, nyehehe. When we have coffee at Starbucks at 1 am I will not feel lost. When we see each other again, it will STILL be a riot, but for less troubled reasons.
Pero Giligan's Club pa rin tayo shempre.;)
Miss you guys. Seryoso mga pips, kitakits.
COPY PASTE
ohmygoodness I can't believe I'm down to one post a month. Is this me? After all that has happened to me and the world lately?! The political crisis alone (egad!) is practically begging for an blog entry. And yet no one has heard anything from Lara.
Not that I don't have anything to say. Lots, in fact. But maybe, just maybe, i'm tired of speaking out. Maybe, this one time, I just want to keeps things to myself and a few select people (so as to decrease the amount of energy spent vehemently debating and/or loudly agreeing). Maybe they've said all I wanted to say, and my two cents' worth ain't really much anymore in a mountain of cents that is this political pandemonium. Maybe I know too much--mostly bad--that if I say something it won't be without incriminating myself or people I used to care about. Maybe I'm scared of admitting I, too, have been a hypocrite. Maybe I've seen, no, touched the grime and grease that cover our "august halls and hollowed corridors", that I just want to puke. Been there, done that, said this, over and over and over. Damn I've spoken and written miles and miles of words these past few years, that maybe now I just want to say "I told you so."
Maybe I have little faith left. Or maybe I have much of it left still, and choose to believe in its transcending power.
Haaay. I don't know. I really don't. Is this growing up? Growing out of old habits? I still believe what I believe, God knows I do. But now I'd rather just, well, repost.
Not that I don't have anything to say. Lots, in fact. But maybe, just maybe, i'm tired of speaking out. Maybe, this one time, I just want to keeps things to myself and a few select people (so as to decrease the amount of energy spent vehemently debating and/or loudly agreeing). Maybe they've said all I wanted to say, and my two cents' worth ain't really much anymore in a mountain of cents that is this political pandemonium. Maybe I know too much--mostly bad--that if I say something it won't be without incriminating myself or people I used to care about. Maybe I'm scared of admitting I, too, have been a hypocrite. Maybe I've seen, no, touched the grime and grease that cover our "august halls and hollowed corridors", that I just want to puke. Been there, done that, said this, over and over and over. Damn I've spoken and written miles and miles of words these past few years, that maybe now I just want to say "I told you so."
Maybe I have little faith left. Or maybe I have much of it left still, and choose to believe in its transcending power.
Haaay. I don't know. I really don't. Is this growing up? Growing out of old habits? I still believe what I believe, God knows I do. But now I'd rather just, well, repost.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
LIGHT/WEIGHT
We are responsible for our own actions, no one else's.
We owe nothing to anyone
Our feelings and thoughts are our own, and we have no right or obligation whatsoever to impose upon anyone the consequences of such.
Ah, such poor justifications for your fear.
How can you not feel responsible when you hold the world of a person in your hands?
How can you lack the heart for those who offer theirs to you?
How can you be devoid of compassion for those who strip their souls bare before you, and hope that you feel what they feel?
Kundera is crying out now, saying that yes, we are responsible. And that the burden is not something we should refuse or ignore. Doing so would only destroy our very essence as human beings, and leave us with a hollow shell, floating about in utter pointlessness.
---
ALL I WANT
Toad the Wet Sprocket
Nothing's so loud
As hearing when we lie
The truth is not kind
And you've said neither am i
But the air outside so soft is saying everything
Everything
All I want is to feel this way
To be this close, to feel the same
All I want is to feel this way
The evening speaks, I feel it say...
Nothing's so cold
As closing the heart when all we need
Is to free the soul
But we wouldn't be that brave I know
And the air outside so soft, confessing everything
Everything
And it won't matter now
Whatever happens to me
Though the air speaks of all we'll never be
It won't trouble me
And it feels so close
Let it take me in
Let it hold me so
I can feel it say...
We owe nothing to anyone
Our feelings and thoughts are our own, and we have no right or obligation whatsoever to impose upon anyone the consequences of such.
Ah, such poor justifications for your fear.
How can you not feel responsible when you hold the world of a person in your hands?
How can you lack the heart for those who offer theirs to you?
How can you be devoid of compassion for those who strip their souls bare before you, and hope that you feel what they feel?
Kundera is crying out now, saying that yes, we are responsible. And that the burden is not something we should refuse or ignore. Doing so would only destroy our very essence as human beings, and leave us with a hollow shell, floating about in utter pointlessness.
---
ALL I WANT
Toad the Wet Sprocket
Nothing's so loud
As hearing when we lie
The truth is not kind
And you've said neither am i
But the air outside so soft is saying everything
Everything
All I want is to feel this way
To be this close, to feel the same
All I want is to feel this way
The evening speaks, I feel it say...
Nothing's so cold
As closing the heart when all we need
Is to free the soul
But we wouldn't be that brave I know
And the air outside so soft, confessing everything
Everything
And it won't matter now
Whatever happens to me
Though the air speaks of all we'll never be
It won't trouble me
And it feels so close
Let it take me in
Let it hold me so
I can feel it say...
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
LABO P'RE
I used to write poetry. Lots. Back when I was not old in spirit, I guess. But maybe that's no excuse.
I'd like to write one now. I'd like to read it out loud to someone, anyone. I miss lighting candles in the dark and communing with my titas and Neruda. I miss scribbling verses on the back pages of my notebooks, and hiding them in drawers so my mother won't be able to read them.
"Do not read poems to those who don't understand poetry," or something like that, said Greene in 48 Laws of Power. Sigh. I don't even know if I write good poetry.
Have I become a sad person? Not melancholy, not troubled or frustrated, but sad in a dull, plain way. I'd hate to think so. Especially now. Because Im quite happy now.
Langya Lara labo mo.
And why do I write such curt sentences? Is that a good thing or not?
Shit I don't make much sense, do I?
I'd like to write one now. I'd like to read it out loud to someone, anyone. I miss lighting candles in the dark and communing with my titas and Neruda. I miss scribbling verses on the back pages of my notebooks, and hiding them in drawers so my mother won't be able to read them.
"Do not read poems to those who don't understand poetry," or something like that, said Greene in 48 Laws of Power. Sigh. I don't even know if I write good poetry.
Have I become a sad person? Not melancholy, not troubled or frustrated, but sad in a dull, plain way. I'd hate to think so. Especially now. Because Im quite happy now.
Langya Lara labo mo.
And why do I write such curt sentences? Is that a good thing or not?
Shit I don't make much sense, do I?
Friday, June 17, 2005
BACK
More than a month without blogging. Aaack!
It's past five and I'm killing time before class starts. First class of the semester. Missed the first meeting, though; I was hidden somewhere in the mountains of the north for four days, teaching students how to fly like geese. Those who don't understand, sorry, hindi kayo AYOS, hehe.
Hmm, what to write? Event? Emotion? Thought? Nothing, really. I just like the feel of the keyboards when I tap them. And the clicking sound it quite comforting.
No, actually, I do have something to say. I just don't know what, exactly. Thoughts and emotions and events and an ocean of other stuff that I can't seem to make out in my head. To say I am at a crossroads, or confused, or mixed up, is superfluous. I am always like this. Hehe. It's a wonder I come up with coheremt sentences, if only to explain my utter incoherence.
But I am trying to get better at this introspection/self-discovery bit. I thought I had it down pat before. Turns out I know myself like I know ants. I don't.
Sigh.
Welcome, AY 2005-2006.
It's past five and I'm killing time before class starts. First class of the semester. Missed the first meeting, though; I was hidden somewhere in the mountains of the north for four days, teaching students how to fly like geese. Those who don't understand, sorry, hindi kayo AYOS, hehe.
Hmm, what to write? Event? Emotion? Thought? Nothing, really. I just like the feel of the keyboards when I tap them. And the clicking sound it quite comforting.
No, actually, I do have something to say. I just don't know what, exactly. Thoughts and emotions and events and an ocean of other stuff that I can't seem to make out in my head. To say I am at a crossroads, or confused, or mixed up, is superfluous. I am always like this. Hehe. It's a wonder I come up with coheremt sentences, if only to explain my utter incoherence.
But I am trying to get better at this introspection/self-discovery bit. I thought I had it down pat before. Turns out I know myself like I know ants. I don't.
Sigh.
Welcome, AY 2005-2006.
Saturday, April 30, 2005
CONSPIRACY
I was standing near the dining table yesterday, all set to go out. My tita walks in, looks at me in thoughtful silence.
"La," she starts.
"Ano?"
"Ba't wala ka pang boyfriend?"
I stare back at her, and then we both guffaw uncontrollably. What a way to start the day.
Walking to the village gate, I then remember what a friend had told me the other day while we were waiting for the train. He mentioned my ex, and wondered why weren't together anymore (goodness it's been two years and they're still at it). He casually adds that I'm "girlfriend material". I don't know if I should be flattered or appalled. I'm leaning towards the latter. It just sounds weird. What is that, anyway? Girlfriend material. It's...unfair, somehow. Sabagay, meron din namang boyfriend material. Ah, the intricacies of male-female relationships.
Anyway, so I go to my dinner and drinking session (90 proof. Emerald St., Ortigas. Cheap beer. 80s music. Dead Poets Society on video. Gooood stuff.) with SURP people. At 3 am, I'm on my way home. My friend who took a cab with me suddenly asks, "wala bang nanliligaw sa 'yo ngayon?"
What is up? What, what, WHAT?
So now I'm wondering, do I really, actually want to have a boyfriend? At this point in my life? I feel like there's this wave, slowly building up, and I'm just staring at it, clueless, not knowing if I should run or just stand and wait for it to tumble over. I have this nagging suspicion that the universe is trying to tell me something. It's so Coelho. Sheesh.
To top it off, at the prodding of my brother, I took a test at OKCupid. My brother, of all people. But he wanted me to appreciate the "cleverness" of the test. Looked a lot like Quizilla to me. Anyway, got the results below:
The Window Shopper
Random Gentle Love Dreamer (RGLDf)
Loving, hopeful, open. Likely to carry on an romance from afar. You are The Window Shopper. You take love as opportunities come, which can lead to a high-anxiety, but high-flying romantic life. You're a genuinely sweet person, not saccharine at all, so it's likely that the relationships you have had and will have will be happy ones. You've had a fair amount of love experience for your age, and there'll be much more to come.
Part of why we know this is that, of all female types, you are the most prone to sudden, ferocious crushes. Your results indicate that you're especially capable of obsessing over a guy you just met. Obviously, passion like this makes for an intense existence. It can also make for soul-destroying letdowns.
Your ideal match is someone who'll love you back with equal fire, and someone you've grown to love slowly. A self-involved or pessimistic man is especially bad. Though you're drawn to them, avoid artists at all costs. ###
I love how the internet tries to dictate my future. Haha. By the way, the reading is not entirely true. I am not prone to sudden, ferocious crushes. I don't even know what the hell a crush is. But I am drawn to artists. And I am genuinely sweet. Shut up, this is MY blog.
I digress. Thing is, honestly, relationships scare me. Or they're starting to. I was all out with my last one, and now I'm...apprehensive. I'm now honest enough to say that. I mean, yes, I'm looking forward to meeting that best friend, that one person I can rely on and trust with my life and heart and all that jazz. I've said that more than once, and it's true. I have faith (and "anticipation is the purest form of pleasure"). But the reality of a relationship is actually kinda scary. I think because I don't want to make the same mistakes that I made in the past. I want the next one to be real, honest. And fun, dammit!:)
I had a dream recently. I was on a race track (F1, I believe, hehe), holding a guidebook or rulebook or some literature about racing. I wondered what it was about, coz I've never had a racetrack dream, if you know what I mean. A friend guessed that it meant I was running out of time and that I should probably speed up (she was pertaining to my love life, naturally). I joked that maybe I'm just running away from my past, haha.
But you know how it feels when you're running a race? All the adrenalin, and the insane determination to reach the finish line first? I get that feeling, too. And for the most part, it feels awesome. It's such an inspired run. Problem is, whenever I get very close to the chequered flag, I almost always begin to slow down, or worse, bail out completely. I don't just lose steam, I will myself to lose steam. I woke up from my dream with that exact same feeling.
I dunno, think all the disappointments in my past are causing this debilitating insecurity.
So maybe I don't want a relationship, maybe I do. Or maybe what the universe is telling me is simply to stop losing sleep over my dilemma and just run the race to see where it will take me.
I'm hoping for a podium finish. But there's no guarantee.
"La," she starts.
"Ano?"
"Ba't wala ka pang boyfriend?"
I stare back at her, and then we both guffaw uncontrollably. What a way to start the day.
Walking to the village gate, I then remember what a friend had told me the other day while we were waiting for the train. He mentioned my ex, and wondered why weren't together anymore (goodness it's been two years and they're still at it). He casually adds that I'm "girlfriend material". I don't know if I should be flattered or appalled. I'm leaning towards the latter. It just sounds weird. What is that, anyway? Girlfriend material. It's...unfair, somehow. Sabagay, meron din namang boyfriend material. Ah, the intricacies of male-female relationships.
Anyway, so I go to my dinner and drinking session (90 proof. Emerald St., Ortigas. Cheap beer. 80s music. Dead Poets Society on video. Gooood stuff.) with SURP people. At 3 am, I'm on my way home. My friend who took a cab with me suddenly asks, "wala bang nanliligaw sa 'yo ngayon?"
What is up? What, what, WHAT?
So now I'm wondering, do I really, actually want to have a boyfriend? At this point in my life? I feel like there's this wave, slowly building up, and I'm just staring at it, clueless, not knowing if I should run or just stand and wait for it to tumble over. I have this nagging suspicion that the universe is trying to tell me something. It's so Coelho. Sheesh.
To top it off, at the prodding of my brother, I took a test at OKCupid. My brother, of all people. But he wanted me to appreciate the "cleverness" of the test. Looked a lot like Quizilla to me. Anyway, got the results below:
The Window Shopper
Random Gentle Love Dreamer (RGLDf)
Loving, hopeful, open. Likely to carry on an romance from afar. You are The Window Shopper. You take love as opportunities come, which can lead to a high-anxiety, but high-flying romantic life. You're a genuinely sweet person, not saccharine at all, so it's likely that the relationships you have had and will have will be happy ones. You've had a fair amount of love experience for your age, and there'll be much more to come.
Part of why we know this is that, of all female types, you are the most prone to sudden, ferocious crushes. Your results indicate that you're especially capable of obsessing over a guy you just met. Obviously, passion like this makes for an intense existence. It can also make for soul-destroying letdowns.
Your ideal match is someone who'll love you back with equal fire, and someone you've grown to love slowly. A self-involved or pessimistic man is especially bad. Though you're drawn to them, avoid artists at all costs. ###
I love how the internet tries to dictate my future. Haha. By the way, the reading is not entirely true. I am not prone to sudden, ferocious crushes. I don't even know what the hell a crush is. But I am drawn to artists. And I am genuinely sweet. Shut up, this is MY blog.
I digress. Thing is, honestly, relationships scare me. Or they're starting to. I was all out with my last one, and now I'm...apprehensive. I'm now honest enough to say that. I mean, yes, I'm looking forward to meeting that best friend, that one person I can rely on and trust with my life and heart and all that jazz. I've said that more than once, and it's true. I have faith (and "anticipation is the purest form of pleasure"). But the reality of a relationship is actually kinda scary. I think because I don't want to make the same mistakes that I made in the past. I want the next one to be real, honest. And fun, dammit!:)
I had a dream recently. I was on a race track (F1, I believe, hehe), holding a guidebook or rulebook or some literature about racing. I wondered what it was about, coz I've never had a racetrack dream, if you know what I mean. A friend guessed that it meant I was running out of time and that I should probably speed up (she was pertaining to my love life, naturally). I joked that maybe I'm just running away from my past, haha.
But you know how it feels when you're running a race? All the adrenalin, and the insane determination to reach the finish line first? I get that feeling, too. And for the most part, it feels awesome. It's such an inspired run. Problem is, whenever I get very close to the chequered flag, I almost always begin to slow down, or worse, bail out completely. I don't just lose steam, I will myself to lose steam. I woke up from my dream with that exact same feeling.
I dunno, think all the disappointments in my past are causing this debilitating insecurity.
So maybe I don't want a relationship, maybe I do. Or maybe what the universe is telling me is simply to stop losing sleep over my dilemma and just run the race to see where it will take me.
I'm hoping for a podium finish. But there's no guarantee.
Thursday, April 21, 2005
I DON'T KNOW WHAT TITLE I SHOULD GIVE THIS POST. IT'S JUST BASICALLY A GOOD DAY. *SHRUG*
It's been a week since I had my refraction, and I still don't have my new glasses. Apparently, something was wrong with the choice of frames. My lenses will be too thick for them, so I have to pick new frames. Mama fetched me at the Senate this afternoon, and she brought with her some frames from her doctor friend.
This is a big problem for me. Me, Libran, indecisive, confused, torn. There is no way I can decide on another pair of glasses. I spent hours in the clinic just a week earlier looking over numerous frames, only to settle for the one my doctor picked for me. And now this?
Fine. I sat in the car clutching a mirror and two pairs of glasses (only? yay, big step!), with a pained looked.
"Asa'n si Wilford?" Mama asked. She asked if Wilf wanted to hitch a ride with us to Vito Cruz.
I called Wilford. Uuwi ka na ba? Oo. Nagpasundo ka ba? Oo. Ah..baba ka naman muna o, bilis! Bakit? Patulong sandali.
Haay, yes, I can be a brat, too.
Wilf went down, looking flustered and confused. I showed him my dilemma, and we stood at the Senate parking lot looking at the two pairs of glasses. I tried each one and forced him to assess, over and over and over again.
And he did. He was serious about it, too.
I do have the sweetest friends. :D
In the end, he chose the one I initially thought was boring, but he said was younger-looking. Mama said he had a point.
I took home both frames. I still haven't decided. HAHAHA. But thanks Wilf. You're the best.
----
Mama and I passed by HP on our way home. We bought junk food and a pair of slippers. We had coffee at Figaro, watched people for a while, and looked at some pearls. She bought me a pretty pearl bracelet (she's a very impulsive pearl buyer). Walking away from the store, she said, "sosyo tayo diyan ha. O permanent na ba sa 'yo yan?"
I actually liked the pearls she bought me. Permanent, of course!
What were we to do, then, but go back so she could buy her own, identical bracelet? Haay, Mama.
So we got our way with the pearls. On our way back to the car and looking at our bracelets--yes, we wore them immediately--I realized we suddenly have mother-and-daughter jewelry. First time.
Heehee, kilig.
This is a big problem for me. Me, Libran, indecisive, confused, torn. There is no way I can decide on another pair of glasses. I spent hours in the clinic just a week earlier looking over numerous frames, only to settle for the one my doctor picked for me. And now this?
Fine. I sat in the car clutching a mirror and two pairs of glasses (only? yay, big step!), with a pained looked.
"Asa'n si Wilford?" Mama asked. She asked if Wilf wanted to hitch a ride with us to Vito Cruz.
I called Wilford. Uuwi ka na ba? Oo. Nagpasundo ka ba? Oo. Ah..baba ka naman muna o, bilis! Bakit? Patulong sandali.
Haay, yes, I can be a brat, too.
Wilf went down, looking flustered and confused. I showed him my dilemma, and we stood at the Senate parking lot looking at the two pairs of glasses. I tried each one and forced him to assess, over and over and over again.
And he did. He was serious about it, too.
I do have the sweetest friends. :D
In the end, he chose the one I initially thought was boring, but he said was younger-looking. Mama said he had a point.
I took home both frames. I still haven't decided. HAHAHA. But thanks Wilf. You're the best.
----
Mama and I passed by HP on our way home. We bought junk food and a pair of slippers. We had coffee at Figaro, watched people for a while, and looked at some pearls. She bought me a pretty pearl bracelet (she's a very impulsive pearl buyer). Walking away from the store, she said, "sosyo tayo diyan ha. O permanent na ba sa 'yo yan?"
I actually liked the pearls she bought me. Permanent, of course!
What were we to do, then, but go back so she could buy her own, identical bracelet? Haay, Mama.
So we got our way with the pearls. On our way back to the car and looking at our bracelets--yes, we wore them immediately--I realized we suddenly have mother-and-daughter jewelry. First time.
Heehee, kilig.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Monday, April 18, 2005
RUNAWAY
I didn't go to work today. I have a runny nose and a bad stomach. It's an excuse but it's not.
I don't even want to explain myself. I'll probably finish this summer thing, and then I'm off. Back to reality. Back to real problems that need honest solutions.
---
I have a runny nose because I spent two days with my cousin who was sick.
Last weekend, all the three Houses (Rosary, Indonesia, Hillcrest) that make up the Family went to Laguna. The trip was off to a bad start. I woke up late last Saturday because I was out the previous night with Len and Bullet, and I was at Greenbelt until 3 a.m. slapping my arms (Makati isn't immune to mosquitoes, after all) and waiting for Ivan to fetch me. Ivan was up late, too, and had to pick up the Hillcrest House people, plus Hani and her relatives. We left Paranaque at 9, and a few minutes later Ivan had a flat tire. The drive to Sta. Cruz, Laguna was lightened somewhat by the presence of Samille, my two-year-old, sick cousin who kept shouting "Darna!" in the car. It was all good, until she vomited all over herself. To prevent her from crying, we had to entertain her by pointing to just about everything (Ricefields! Carabao! Umbrella with a girl!).
We picked up my tita in Sta. Cruz and we headed to our first destination, Majayjay Falls. Damn. It was a tough ride. Tough. Worse than Baguio. It didn't feel like Laguna at all. My mom is particularly freaked out by sharp curves and steep slopes, so it didn't help that she was the only one who knew how to drive in the car we were in (the others were in the other vehicles). It also didn't help that Ivan was driving like a maniac in front of us. He was hurrying because Hani had to be back in Manila by 8 to watch Kitchie Nadal. It was friggin 2 pm and we weren't halfway there yet! Anyway, I had to grab my seat just looking at the yellow van cutting its way through provincial traffic. Once, it ran through a rope stretched out on the road. Turns out people in the province do that, to stop cars so they can ask for donations or something. Ivan looked like he was about to punch someone. We thought he ran over a kid. Hay.
So we got to Majayjay, where the barangay hall was full of people with high-powered guns (NPA-infested area). We had lunch at the parking grounds. Sugpo, tapa, itlog na pula, ukoy, lechon, homemade sago't gulaman, saging. Hay.:) Solb na ko.
The actual falls was a "10-minute walk" away. 10 minutes to people in Majayjay is like "walking distance" to Len. You gotta re-adjust your definitions.
"Don't worry, it's worth it!" a guy who passed by called out, after seeing the look on our faces when he said "malayo pa ho." Well, it better be worth it.
And it was, thankfully. Majayjay is a beautiful place. Big boulders, clear water. The water fell down fast from the mountain to a shallow lake, and down again through rocks, forming a river. There was a lot of people, and we had to make do with a couple of boulders to set up our stuff. The water was uber cold, but felt good after a while. The place gives you the feeling that you're a nymph--or ant, whichever creature delights you--in this nice, wide, wonderful world. You can have everything you wish for, the world can do as it pleases with you and there will no abuse of any kind.
We left at about 6 pm. Ivan and Hani went back to Manila, the rest of us back to Sta. Cruz to my tita. I zonked out as soon as I touched the banig. No shower, no dinner. I woke up in the middle of the night to the voices of my relatives. They were arguing about Ivan's future, basically. I realized it was a "grown-up" conversation, and while I could've gotten up and joined in, I chose to be a kid and just lie there, pretending to be asleep. People argued, nothing was resolved. They got tired and finally went to bed. I wiped my tears and curled up.
When I woke up they were getting ready to go to Quezon. This was totally unplanned, and I had to be back in Manila to attend Sarah's McDo party. But since I was a "good" kid and I didn't have a car nor knew how to drive, I was stuck.
The trip to Quezon was hell. It was irritating enough that they were pushing to go there beyond normal reason and despite the sheer logistical difficulties, but the beach wasn't so nice, either. I waded in the waters to make my mother happy, and took pictures to keep myself entertained.
We finally got home at 10 pm, sweaty and dead tired. After a much-needed shower and dinner, I fell asleep again. I woke up today feeling the urgent need to take a dump. Must have been all the itlog na pula that I ate. In the toliet, I realized I had a runny nose.
I hate that. Sitting in the toliet with an aching tummy and a runny nose. It's the worst feeling in the world. And that's when I fell in love with the idea of not going to work. Nyahaha.
I don't even want to explain myself. I'll probably finish this summer thing, and then I'm off. Back to reality. Back to real problems that need honest solutions.
---
I have a runny nose because I spent two days with my cousin who was sick.
Last weekend, all the three Houses (Rosary, Indonesia, Hillcrest) that make up the Family went to Laguna. The trip was off to a bad start. I woke up late last Saturday because I was out the previous night with Len and Bullet, and I was at Greenbelt until 3 a.m. slapping my arms (Makati isn't immune to mosquitoes, after all) and waiting for Ivan to fetch me. Ivan was up late, too, and had to pick up the Hillcrest House people, plus Hani and her relatives. We left Paranaque at 9, and a few minutes later Ivan had a flat tire. The drive to Sta. Cruz, Laguna was lightened somewhat by the presence of Samille, my two-year-old, sick cousin who kept shouting "Darna!" in the car. It was all good, until she vomited all over herself. To prevent her from crying, we had to entertain her by pointing to just about everything (Ricefields! Carabao! Umbrella with a girl!).
We picked up my tita in Sta. Cruz and we headed to our first destination, Majayjay Falls. Damn. It was a tough ride. Tough. Worse than Baguio. It didn't feel like Laguna at all. My mom is particularly freaked out by sharp curves and steep slopes, so it didn't help that she was the only one who knew how to drive in the car we were in (the others were in the other vehicles). It also didn't help that Ivan was driving like a maniac in front of us. He was hurrying because Hani had to be back in Manila by 8 to watch Kitchie Nadal. It was friggin 2 pm and we weren't halfway there yet! Anyway, I had to grab my seat just looking at the yellow van cutting its way through provincial traffic. Once, it ran through a rope stretched out on the road. Turns out people in the province do that, to stop cars so they can ask for donations or something. Ivan looked like he was about to punch someone. We thought he ran over a kid. Hay.
So we got to Majayjay, where the barangay hall was full of people with high-powered guns (NPA-infested area). We had lunch at the parking grounds. Sugpo, tapa, itlog na pula, ukoy, lechon, homemade sago't gulaman, saging. Hay.:) Solb na ko.
The actual falls was a "10-minute walk" away. 10 minutes to people in Majayjay is like "walking distance" to Len. You gotta re-adjust your definitions.
"Don't worry, it's worth it!" a guy who passed by called out, after seeing the look on our faces when he said "malayo pa ho." Well, it better be worth it.
And it was, thankfully. Majayjay is a beautiful place. Big boulders, clear water. The water fell down fast from the mountain to a shallow lake, and down again through rocks, forming a river. There was a lot of people, and we had to make do with a couple of boulders to set up our stuff. The water was uber cold, but felt good after a while. The place gives you the feeling that you're a nymph--or ant, whichever creature delights you--in this nice, wide, wonderful world. You can have everything you wish for, the world can do as it pleases with you and there will no abuse of any kind.
We left at about 6 pm. Ivan and Hani went back to Manila, the rest of us back to Sta. Cruz to my tita. I zonked out as soon as I touched the banig. No shower, no dinner. I woke up in the middle of the night to the voices of my relatives. They were arguing about Ivan's future, basically. I realized it was a "grown-up" conversation, and while I could've gotten up and joined in, I chose to be a kid and just lie there, pretending to be asleep. People argued, nothing was resolved. They got tired and finally went to bed. I wiped my tears and curled up.
When I woke up they were getting ready to go to Quezon. This was totally unplanned, and I had to be back in Manila to attend Sarah's McDo party. But since I was a "good" kid and I didn't have a car nor knew how to drive, I was stuck.
The trip to Quezon was hell. It was irritating enough that they were pushing to go there beyond normal reason and despite the sheer logistical difficulties, but the beach wasn't so nice, either. I waded in the waters to make my mother happy, and took pictures to keep myself entertained.
We finally got home at 10 pm, sweaty and dead tired. After a much-needed shower and dinner, I fell asleep again. I woke up today feeling the urgent need to take a dump. Must have been all the itlog na pula that I ate. In the toliet, I realized I had a runny nose.
I hate that. Sitting in the toliet with an aching tummy and a runny nose. It's the worst feeling in the world. And that's when I fell in love with the idea of not going to work. Nyahaha.
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
CHOCOLATE-RESISTANT
I texted my professor today. Yep, that professor. Couldn't help it. Had to thank him for my fabulous grade (which kept me alive after yesterday's exhausting and disappointing site plan presentation).:P Thanked him, too, for inspiring his students to want to be good planners. "Don't stop teaching," I told him.
As if on cue, he said he'll be finishing his contract with SURP, which ends next year. After that, he's off "to find a better-paying job."
So much for inspiration. Sad, sad, sad. This is what UP gets for not taking care of its faculty. How many professors have I known to leave UP because of the exact same reason? Yes, yes, teaching is a vocation. How I wish I could say that to my professor but 1) that would be too preachy and 2) vocation shouldn't be as undignified as it is in this country's public school system.
It's just...I dunno, depressing. Ever since I interviewed one of my teachers about this problem years ago (right before he was pirated by DLSU and given thrice what he was getting in UP), I've always made it a point to tell good teachers that they are good, that they are worth more to their students than they think. Fine, it's not as if words can make up for the unjust pay, but I hoped, anyway. It's probably a futile attempt.
Haay, life.
---
I got on the wrong jeepney on the way home today. It took the FTI route, the one on the other, darker side of the highway, with all the junk and vulcanizing shops and hold-ups. Katakot. Kainis. I was so irritated and scared out of my wits that I had to pass by SM to buy chocolate, my standard upper. I managed to finish the entire bar halfway home; I was stuck in traffic because the road used as a shortcut by just about everyone in Paranaque, which is also the one I use everyday, is under construction at both ends at the same time. Hello.
And then when I got home, I opened the ref and, lo and behold, a box of chocolates sat inside, free for the taking, looking satisfied as it stared back at me.
Kainis.
Haay, life.
---
As if on cue, he said he'll be finishing his contract with SURP, which ends next year. After that, he's off "to find a better-paying job."
So much for inspiration. Sad, sad, sad. This is what UP gets for not taking care of its faculty. How many professors have I known to leave UP because of the exact same reason? Yes, yes, teaching is a vocation. How I wish I could say that to my professor but 1) that would be too preachy and 2) vocation shouldn't be as undignified as it is in this country's public school system.
It's just...I dunno, depressing. Ever since I interviewed one of my teachers about this problem years ago (right before he was pirated by DLSU and given thrice what he was getting in UP), I've always made it a point to tell good teachers that they are good, that they are worth more to their students than they think. Fine, it's not as if words can make up for the unjust pay, but I hoped, anyway. It's probably a futile attempt.
Haay, life.
---
I got on the wrong jeepney on the way home today. It took the FTI route, the one on the other, darker side of the highway, with all the junk and vulcanizing shops and hold-ups. Katakot. Kainis. I was so irritated and scared out of my wits that I had to pass by SM to buy chocolate, my standard upper. I managed to finish the entire bar halfway home; I was stuck in traffic because the road used as a shortcut by just about everyone in Paranaque, which is also the one I use everyday, is under construction at both ends at the same time. Hello.
And then when I got home, I opened the ref and, lo and behold, a box of chocolates sat inside, free for the taking, looking satisfied as it stared back at me.
Kainis.
Haay, life.
---
Friday, April 01, 2005
THOSE DAYS
There are good days, and then there are bad days. I've been having a bad day for the past three weeks.
I can't even begin to tell. I've lost count of the mishaps, I've lost track of the days and what happened in those days, what went wrong first, what went wrong next. They're all the same and can all be summed up in one word: hell.
This has been a tragic semester. I've cried over final papers, cursed silently at groupmates who JUST DON'T GET A CLUE, began to really hate someone who is so utterly insensitive, selfish and inconsiderate (I'm trying to figure out a way to avoid that person for the rest of my life). I've stayed at other people's houses for days straight, spent nights and middle-of-the-nights in the computer room of my school. Naturally, I also had to endure countless lectures on my being a babaeng kalye and kaladkarin from Kamag-anak Incorporated.
I've called my ex, for crying out loud, just so I could understand stupid, stupid STUPID regression. I've called other people's boyfiends, too. At this very moment Shiva's boyfriend, whom I've met only once and know as Leonard, Shiva's boyfriend (I know other stuff, too, but, well.), is at the City Planning and Development Office in Baguio City, getting data on vehicles, traffic, barangay population and the Athletic Bowl for me, for my final project which he knows nothing about. I'm freaking out and extremely calm at the same time because on one hand, nakakahiya talaga to ask someone who's miles and miles away to practically do your research for you because your groupmate wasn't able to do it, but on the other hand I know he's really, really nice and wouldn't mind doing it.
I've used up all my phone minutes calling everyone I know (and only slightly know). I've shunned my friends whose only crime is to find out if I'm still breathing, and snapped at my relatives because they were their usual insane selves, and for once I couldn't stand it.
In short, I let the crap of life get the best of me. And all for what? A bunch of unos I probably won't get? My becoming "very good at what I do?" Damn, I don't know that. I just wanna get through this.
So here I am now, listening to the Beatles' A Hard Day's Night (ek, how fitting). Ahh, thank the Beatles, Pablo Neruda and his poems read by beautiful voices on the Il Postino ST, Jason Mraz, Westlife and their attempts at Frank-hood, Michael Buble, No Doubt, Red Hot Chili Peppers and all the other musical artists who kept me awake in those nights of disquiet when I hated the world as I wrote my research proposal and dreamt of pushing my professor off the cliff.
I can't even begin to tell. I've lost count of the mishaps, I've lost track of the days and what happened in those days, what went wrong first, what went wrong next. They're all the same and can all be summed up in one word: hell.
This has been a tragic semester. I've cried over final papers, cursed silently at groupmates who JUST DON'T GET A CLUE, began to really hate someone who is so utterly insensitive, selfish and inconsiderate (I'm trying to figure out a way to avoid that person for the rest of my life). I've stayed at other people's houses for days straight, spent nights and middle-of-the-nights in the computer room of my school. Naturally, I also had to endure countless lectures on my being a babaeng kalye and kaladkarin from Kamag-anak Incorporated.
I've called my ex, for crying out loud, just so I could understand stupid, stupid STUPID regression. I've called other people's boyfiends, too. At this very moment Shiva's boyfriend, whom I've met only once and know as Leonard, Shiva's boyfriend (I know other stuff, too, but, well.), is at the City Planning and Development Office in Baguio City, getting data on vehicles, traffic, barangay population and the Athletic Bowl for me, for my final project which he knows nothing about. I'm freaking out and extremely calm at the same time because on one hand, nakakahiya talaga to ask someone who's miles and miles away to practically do your research for you because your groupmate wasn't able to do it, but on the other hand I know he's really, really nice and wouldn't mind doing it.
I've used up all my phone minutes calling everyone I know (and only slightly know). I've shunned my friends whose only crime is to find out if I'm still breathing, and snapped at my relatives because they were their usual insane selves, and for once I couldn't stand it.
In short, I let the crap of life get the best of me. And all for what? A bunch of unos I probably won't get? My becoming "very good at what I do?" Damn, I don't know that. I just wanna get through this.
So here I am now, listening to the Beatles' A Hard Day's Night (ek, how fitting). Ahh, thank the Beatles, Pablo Neruda and his poems read by beautiful voices on the Il Postino ST, Jason Mraz, Westlife and their attempts at Frank-hood, Michael Buble, No Doubt, Red Hot Chili Peppers and all the other musical artists who kept me awake in those nights of disquiet when I hated the world as I wrote my research proposal and dreamt of pushing my professor off the cliff.
Friday, March 18, 2005
HEROES
"I need to be heard.
I need to be heard because I have something to say."
Don't we all have something to say?
Some of us, though, feel that what we're saying is worth more. Worth being heard, or read, or seen.
We want to fight, to save people, to do what's "right".
We want to do that one great thing, make that brilliant contribution to humanity, feed others, feed ourselves.
We want to live forever.
And if we don't (because we can't), we want to leave something behind, for others to see, hear, read.
And the people of tomorrow will say, he did good. He did some good in this world.
We want to be heroes.
I need to be heard because I have something to say."
Don't we all have something to say?
Some of us, though, feel that what we're saying is worth more. Worth being heard, or read, or seen.
We want to fight, to save people, to do what's "right".
We want to do that one great thing, make that brilliant contribution to humanity, feed others, feed ourselves.
We want to live forever.
And if we don't (because we can't), we want to leave something behind, for others to see, hear, read.
And the people of tomorrow will say, he did good. He did some good in this world.
We want to be heroes.
Thursday, March 17, 2005
KULE
Yahoo! I finally have the computer all to myself, for at least an hour while my brother's gone.
Had coffee with LJ and Tincup yesterday. As always when I'm with Kule people, it was a blast. I'm so looking forward to this weekend when we get together in Bulacan. All hell will break loose, and I'm sure people will be laughing/arguing/crying/puking by the next morning.
Speaking of Kule, I just got a call from Bullet about P Kule, the new term, new EIC, etc. This is the third time someone has brought the topic up, the second that an invitation has been extended. I didn't know what to say to him. I really don't know what to do.
My time in Kule--any Kule--is over, I believe. Or is it?
Question: Do I want to help them? Yes I do. Is this the right way? I'm not sure.
LJ told me, "okay na yung legacy na iniwan mo...o gusto mo ba gumawa pa ulit?" He's right. So why am I even contemplating the idea?
Magulo sa Kule. Magulo ang Kule. Nakakapagod. Nakaka-drain. Given that, the iota of thought I'm putting into this can only be borne of one of two reasons: a) my undying Messiah complex or b) my ego. Two very wrong reasons to do a very right thing.
True, the prospect does give me a tiny fluttering feeling in the tummy. But I know more now. I'm wiser. I know that the incoming term is probably a fluke (but one that is very much welcome in my book). It is a crease in a long, straight line of Kule terms, much like Che's and LJ's, only that neither of them was a member of a frat or soro (we had the time of our lives being just Kule and nothing more, or less).
I know more than to immediately jump at the idea of trying to "bring about change". It is a difficult, uphill climb, one that I have already made during my time and am a bit reluctant to do again, no matter how enticing the challenge may seem.
I also know that fraternities are fraternities and brothers are brothers.
At any rate, I wish P Kule the very best of luck. As I've told Bullet, it's been needing a shake-up. I still believe that activism should not be exclusive. As Joy so succintly and aptly said one staff meet many years ago, hindi kinakahon ang aktibismo.
I remember the filename I used for those long, impassioned letters that I wrote during that turbulent time in Manila Kule: Redemption. For P Kule, it's a new term, a new chance, a new time, a new stab at redemption. I guess it's true, what the song said. Pana-panahon.
Had coffee with LJ and Tincup yesterday. As always when I'm with Kule people, it was a blast. I'm so looking forward to this weekend when we get together in Bulacan. All hell will break loose, and I'm sure people will be laughing/arguing/crying/puking by the next morning.
Speaking of Kule, I just got a call from Bullet about P Kule, the new term, new EIC, etc. This is the third time someone has brought the topic up, the second that an invitation has been extended. I didn't know what to say to him. I really don't know what to do.
My time in Kule--any Kule--is over, I believe. Or is it?
Question: Do I want to help them? Yes I do. Is this the right way? I'm not sure.
LJ told me, "okay na yung legacy na iniwan mo...o gusto mo ba gumawa pa ulit?" He's right. So why am I even contemplating the idea?
Magulo sa Kule. Magulo ang Kule. Nakakapagod. Nakaka-drain. Given that, the iota of thought I'm putting into this can only be borne of one of two reasons: a) my undying Messiah complex or b) my ego. Two very wrong reasons to do a very right thing.
True, the prospect does give me a tiny fluttering feeling in the tummy. But I know more now. I'm wiser. I know that the incoming term is probably a fluke (but one that is very much welcome in my book). It is a crease in a long, straight line of Kule terms, much like Che's and LJ's, only that neither of them was a member of a frat or soro (we had the time of our lives being just Kule and nothing more, or less).
I know more than to immediately jump at the idea of trying to "bring about change". It is a difficult, uphill climb, one that I have already made during my time and am a bit reluctant to do again, no matter how enticing the challenge may seem.
I also know that fraternities are fraternities and brothers are brothers.
At any rate, I wish P Kule the very best of luck. As I've told Bullet, it's been needing a shake-up. I still believe that activism should not be exclusive. As Joy so succintly and aptly said one staff meet many years ago, hindi kinakahon ang aktibismo.
I remember the filename I used for those long, impassioned letters that I wrote during that turbulent time in Manila Kule: Redemption. For P Kule, it's a new term, a new chance, a new time, a new stab at redemption. I guess it's true, what the song said. Pana-panahon.
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
SEARCHING
Shine
Collective Soul
Give me a word
Give me a sign
Show me where to look
Tell what will I find?
Lay me on the ground
Fly me in the sky
Show me where to look
Tell me what will I find?
Oh, heaven let your light shine down
Love is in the water
Love is in the air
Show me where to go
Tell me will love be there?
Teach me how to speak
Teach me how to share
Teach me where to go
Tell me will love be there?
Oh, heaven let your light shine down
I’m going to let it shine
Heaven's little light gonna shine on me
Yea yea heavens little light gonna shine on me
It's gonna shine, shine on me
It's gonna shine, come on in shine
Collective Soul
Give me a word
Give me a sign
Show me where to look
Tell what will I find?
Lay me on the ground
Fly me in the sky
Show me where to look
Tell me what will I find?
Oh, heaven let your light shine down
Love is in the water
Love is in the air
Show me where to go
Tell me will love be there?
Teach me how to speak
Teach me how to share
Teach me where to go
Tell me will love be there?
Oh, heaven let your light shine down
I’m going to let it shine
Heaven's little light gonna shine on me
Yea yea heavens little light gonna shine on me
It's gonna shine, shine on me
It's gonna shine, come on in shine
AAAARRRRGGGHHH
Len's right; feeling ko nabobobo na ako. I don't get regression analysis, okay? I never have. But I have to do it for this friggin project development class. If only I were friends with my ex, I'd make him do it for me, nyahaha. Auuggghhh.
At this point, I am a mish-mash of wrought nerves and burnt brain cells (do they burn? Don't think so. Ah, to hell.). And I'm supposed to be doing a million things this very second but what am I doing? Blogging. This is rebellion.
The sem is about to end and I can't even muster the strength to say "whew!" (hey, I just did). I am exhausted, doubly, because of my nature as a worrier. I know, I know, everything shall come to pass. But they haven't, you see, they're still here, waiting for me to let them pass.
What to do, what to do? I'm excited about next sem, freaking out about this sem, sad that I won't see him after this week (now that is a failure in planning, and Shiva will laugh and kill me at the same time for being such a wimp), happy knowing I'll get to see my friends this Saturday, frustrated that I slaved over my acads much more than I would have wanted and am supposed to, and yet fulfilled knowing I have learned a lot from slaving over my acads. Arrrgggh.
I just want to flop down and not move. Yes, flop down, if there is a term. I'm sure I'd make a flopping type of sound. Or a splat or splunk or something. I'm going crazy.
At this point, I am a mish-mash of wrought nerves and burnt brain cells (do they burn? Don't think so. Ah, to hell.). And I'm supposed to be doing a million things this very second but what am I doing? Blogging. This is rebellion.
The sem is about to end and I can't even muster the strength to say "whew!" (hey, I just did). I am exhausted, doubly, because of my nature as a worrier. I know, I know, everything shall come to pass. But they haven't, you see, they're still here, waiting for me to let them pass.
What to do, what to do? I'm excited about next sem, freaking out about this sem, sad that I won't see him after this week (now that is a failure in planning, and Shiva will laugh and kill me at the same time for being such a wimp), happy knowing I'll get to see my friends this Saturday, frustrated that I slaved over my acads much more than I would have wanted and am supposed to, and yet fulfilled knowing I have learned a lot from slaving over my acads. Arrrgggh.
I just want to flop down and not move. Yes, flop down, if there is a term. I'm sure I'd make a flopping type of sound. Or a splat or splunk or something. I'm going crazy.
Friday, March 04, 2005
I KNEW IT
Forever confused talaga utak ko.
You Are 45% Left Brained, 55% Right Brained |
The left side of your brain controls verbal ability, attention to detail, and reasoning. Left brained people are good at communication and persuading others. If you're left brained, you are likely good at math and logic. Your left brain prefers dogs, reading, and quiet. The right side of your brain is all about creativity and flexibility. Daring and intuitive, right brained people see the world in their unique way. If you're right brained, you likely have a talent for creative writing and art. Your right brain prefers day dreaming, philosophy, and sports. |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)