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...
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
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. |
Sunday, February 27, 2005
PISS AROUND YOUR CAVE, WOULD YA?
What does it take to follow a simple rule?
This evening, my mother's brother and uncle were on their way to our house for a visit. They were stopped at the gate of the subdivision. This was only natural, since the association has a rule that non-residents, who have to car stickers, would not be allowed entry into the village without surrendering their ID, and the guard would have to know where they are going. In some cases, the guard calls the resident's house for confirmation.
Some (okay, most) of my relatives have huge egos, which get even more inflated with alcohol. Unfortunately, they had just come from a party. So in less then a minute my uncle--and his uncle--were making a scene at the village gate, cursing the hapless guard, causing traffic and compelling the president of the homeowners' association to step out of his house.
To top it off, my mom's uncle told the guard in a threatening manner, "Waray-waray ako. 'Pag gumalaw ka, gagalaw din ako." Had this been a line a satirical film, it would have been tongue-in-cheek funny, but alas, this was real life.
Huffing and puffing my semi-drunk relatives arrived at the house. What makes it all worse is that my mom is actually an officer of the homeowners' association, and was active in the implementation of the no-sticker, no-entry policy.
Why can't people just follow rules? Why can't they just let the guard do his fucking inane job, and get on with life? Do they need to get their egos stroked every now and then by guards whose main job is to just look at windshields for the goddam stickers?? What do the guards care if one is the wife of the brother of the resident? For chrissakes, it was the right thing to do. Why are we still living in the dark ages?!
Aaah, men are still animals, after all. Animals with territories to define, defend and protect. Their caves and forest clearings and little holes in the tree trunk.
Animal psychologists have found that animals have what they call a critical distance. It's that area where animal has suddenly crossed the boundary over to an another animal's territory or "personal space". At that point neither is sure whether to stay still, attack or leave.
Same goes for humans. Not just egos, but everything, including love. You know what we usually say in critical moments when we don't know what to do? Fight or flight. They got that from studying birds, which take immediate flight upon sensing an attack. Flight is what most members of the animal kingdom do (except maybe my tito).
Flight. To quote an anthropologist, "it's the basic mechanism for survival." Hmm. Makes sense.
Hay. Millennia after our departure from monkeyland, and we're still like the rest of 'em.
This evening, my mother's brother and uncle were on their way to our house for a visit. They were stopped at the gate of the subdivision. This was only natural, since the association has a rule that non-residents, who have to car stickers, would not be allowed entry into the village without surrendering their ID, and the guard would have to know where they are going. In some cases, the guard calls the resident's house for confirmation.
Some (okay, most) of my relatives have huge egos, which get even more inflated with alcohol. Unfortunately, they had just come from a party. So in less then a minute my uncle--and his uncle--were making a scene at the village gate, cursing the hapless guard, causing traffic and compelling the president of the homeowners' association to step out of his house.
To top it off, my mom's uncle told the guard in a threatening manner, "Waray-waray ako. 'Pag gumalaw ka, gagalaw din ako." Had this been a line a satirical film, it would have been tongue-in-cheek funny, but alas, this was real life.
Huffing and puffing my semi-drunk relatives arrived at the house. What makes it all worse is that my mom is actually an officer of the homeowners' association, and was active in the implementation of the no-sticker, no-entry policy.
Why can't people just follow rules? Why can't they just let the guard do his fucking inane job, and get on with life? Do they need to get their egos stroked every now and then by guards whose main job is to just look at windshields for the goddam stickers?? What do the guards care if one is the wife of the brother of the resident? For chrissakes, it was the right thing to do. Why are we still living in the dark ages?!
Aaah, men are still animals, after all. Animals with territories to define, defend and protect. Their caves and forest clearings and little holes in the tree trunk.
Animal psychologists have found that animals have what they call a critical distance. It's that area where animal has suddenly crossed the boundary over to an another animal's territory or "personal space". At that point neither is sure whether to stay still, attack or leave.
Same goes for humans. Not just egos, but everything, including love. You know what we usually say in critical moments when we don't know what to do? Fight or flight. They got that from studying birds, which take immediate flight upon sensing an attack. Flight is what most members of the animal kingdom do (except maybe my tito).
Flight. To quote an anthropologist, "it's the basic mechanism for survival." Hmm. Makes sense.
Hay. Millennia after our departure from monkeyland, and we're still like the rest of 'em.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
ABC 123
It's a pity Filipinos are not a thinking people. I hope nobody gets mad at me for saying so. I don't mean to malign my fellowmen. But I've noticed it, especially when I read, hear, watch about other peoples. We're not like the Germans who constantly,incessantly think and build, or the French who constantly create, or Japanese who constantly question.
It's not entirely economic. No, because the workers in Britain and the poorest of the poor in Prague are able to create masterpieces and generate works of genius.
It's language. Filipinos are linguistically unsophisticated.
Language is a very powerful tool. It is essential not only in the expression of thought, but in the very formation of thought. We fail terribly in this department.
I was in the MRT early this morning, and all around me were Pinoys - office workers, businesspeople, students. I wondered, what are they thinking? Are they processing anything at all? Can they? Can we? Can they ascribe proper words to the sensations that make up their experiences? Are they able to translate the jumble of brain activity into something "concrete", like words? Are they able to string these words into something comprehensible and cohesive? Or do these words just swirl like soup in their heads? Are they thinking as they sit there, or do they just...sit there?
Maybe my undergrad professor was right, that we live in--that we are--a somnambulistic society. Zombies. No, not really numb because we don't understand numbness; we have never been the opposite of numb. We're sleepwalkers, trudging aimlessly like sheep.
For a people with "high literacy rates", I think we're pretty stupid. Again, I hope no one gets mad. The problem is that we cannot seem to grasp language, English OR Filipino, much less use use it to our advantage or realize its role in our personal, cognitive development. We are unable to develop our use of both languages. One (English) is hopelessly corrupted, the other (Filipino) has been shelved in the past and ignored. What remains is dull residue, floating somewhere in between, neither here nor there. It has been excruciating listening to some of my classmates (most of them professionals) as they struggle to find the right words just to answer a really simple question. Sorry if I sound elitist, I don't mean to be. But language is very basic, and the fact people in their 30s and 40s with stable jobs and important positions cannot crystallize their thoughts is hard to fathom. Hey. I'm not perfect, either. I'm just as guilty. I've been realizing that I, too, have a considerable degree of inadequacy, language-wise. The same goes for math, which is also a language, as well as its applications in logic, physics and other sciences.
Could my former boss be right, too? That we are churning out a generation of mediocre citizens? People who no longer question, who have no ability to define and describe themselves and their environment, people who are stuck inside their own daily cycles with nary a thought as to why they are where they are.
We whine that we are poor and lacking in opportunities. Maybe so. But getting a job is not the answer. It is not even the beginning.
For how can we begin to move towards development whenmost of us cannot even begin to define development? How can anyone assess and plan for the future of cities when he cannot even describe his city?
There has to be a way out of this. There is an urgent need for some form of intellectual ferment in this country. Otherwise, there is no other way for us but to spiral down to decay and self-destruction.
It's not entirely economic. No, because the workers in Britain and the poorest of the poor in Prague are able to create masterpieces and generate works of genius.
It's language. Filipinos are linguistically unsophisticated.
Language is a very powerful tool. It is essential not only in the expression of thought, but in the very formation of thought. We fail terribly in this department.
I was in the MRT early this morning, and all around me were Pinoys - office workers, businesspeople, students. I wondered, what are they thinking? Are they processing anything at all? Can they? Can we? Can they ascribe proper words to the sensations that make up their experiences? Are they able to translate the jumble of brain activity into something "concrete", like words? Are they able to string these words into something comprehensible and cohesive? Or do these words just swirl like soup in their heads? Are they thinking as they sit there, or do they just...sit there?
Maybe my undergrad professor was right, that we live in--that we are--a somnambulistic society. Zombies. No, not really numb because we don't understand numbness; we have never been the opposite of numb. We're sleepwalkers, trudging aimlessly like sheep.
For a people with "high literacy rates", I think we're pretty stupid. Again, I hope no one gets mad. The problem is that we cannot seem to grasp language, English OR Filipino, much less use use it to our advantage or realize its role in our personal, cognitive development. We are unable to develop our use of both languages. One (English) is hopelessly corrupted, the other (Filipino) has been shelved in the past and ignored. What remains is dull residue, floating somewhere in between, neither here nor there. It has been excruciating listening to some of my classmates (most of them professionals) as they struggle to find the right words just to answer a really simple question. Sorry if I sound elitist, I don't mean to be. But language is very basic, and the fact people in their 30s and 40s with stable jobs and important positions cannot crystallize their thoughts is hard to fathom. Hey. I'm not perfect, either. I'm just as guilty. I've been realizing that I, too, have a considerable degree of inadequacy, language-wise. The same goes for math, which is also a language, as well as its applications in logic, physics and other sciences.
Could my former boss be right, too? That we are churning out a generation of mediocre citizens? People who no longer question, who have no ability to define and describe themselves and their environment, people who are stuck inside their own daily cycles with nary a thought as to why they are where they are.
We whine that we are poor and lacking in opportunities. Maybe so. But getting a job is not the answer. It is not even the beginning.
For how can we begin to move towards development whenmost of us cannot even begin to define development? How can anyone assess and plan for the future of cities when he cannot even describe his city?
There has to be a way out of this. There is an urgent need for some form of intellectual ferment in this country. Otherwise, there is no other way for us but to spiral down to decay and self-destruction.
Friday, February 11, 2005
When I still had my p800 I used to jot down stuff, most of them pointless, hehe. I managed to retrieve some when I changed phones, but now I have nowhere else to put them. This is their orphanage for now, I guess.
***
come on, coax me.
attract me, entice me, convince me that it's going to be alright. tell me that the sun will shine, for both of us.fool me.
l will laugh at your bravery. i will be amused by your noble attempt.
go on. i will believe.
***
i knew what i had to do, since the very beginning. my heart has spoken to me.
but it has spoken many things, just as i know and feel many things. my heart is divided, its oneness challenged by a myriad desires--all true, all noble in honesty, all needing to be fulfilled for the sake of the lone self.
why must the road to peace be so troubled?
ah, but life is perfect. this i know, and all my hearts agree.
and so i dance merrily and sadly to the songs of joy and pain and confusion, knowing well that my spirit will transcend.
***
Movie night
my mind drifts
to you again
and again
within these hours of forgetting
in the dark you persist
in despair i take blame
angered by your trespass
silenced by my shame.
over now
the end begins
all is lostbut chaos
clandestine freedom
and you
only you
in the light i return
outside i breathe you in
and let you fill my head
no use pretendingfrom one dreamworld
to the next
i go
and everywhere
you are there
no happy endings
just you
only you
***
come on, coax me.
attract me, entice me, convince me that it's going to be alright. tell me that the sun will shine, for both of us.fool me.
l will laugh at your bravery. i will be amused by your noble attempt.
go on. i will believe.
***
i knew what i had to do, since the very beginning. my heart has spoken to me.
but it has spoken many things, just as i know and feel many things. my heart is divided, its oneness challenged by a myriad desires--all true, all noble in honesty, all needing to be fulfilled for the sake of the lone self.
why must the road to peace be so troubled?
ah, but life is perfect. this i know, and all my hearts agree.
and so i dance merrily and sadly to the songs of joy and pain and confusion, knowing well that my spirit will transcend.
***
Movie night
my mind drifts
to you again
and again
within these hours of forgetting
in the dark you persist
in despair i take blame
angered by your trespass
silenced by my shame.
over now
the end begins
all is lostbut chaos
clandestine freedom
and you
only you
in the light i return
outside i breathe you in
and let you fill my head
no use pretendingfrom one dreamworld
to the next
i go
and everywhere
you are there
no happy endings
just you
only you
Friday, February 04, 2005
LILIES
Been traipsing around cyberspace for the past two hours, visiting blogs of people I know and people I don't know and don't care about. Lazy day.
***
Sometimes I think I'm a fraud. I have this nagging feeling that I am not the person that everyone makes me out to be. And I mean EVERYONE, including my parents. I'm afraid they give me too much credit (but then again sometimes I think they give me too little. Labo mehn.)
I am an image. A vision of something, someone. A picture that floats out of the canvas, and you think, hey that's a waterlily, but when you look closer it's just thousands of little, individual strokes, and there's really no waterlily. Kind of like an impressionist painting. Funny, because I love Monet (especially his waterlily series).
People see me as this strong, positive character, and I don't blame them. Maybe I do come out that way, for one reason or another.
But they don't know the storms raging inside me. They don't know the battles I constantly wage with myself. Yes, they know my fears, because they are a reflection of their own, but no one knows where my fears are coming from.
And I am very afraid. And very weak. And no amount of reassurance or kindness or even tough love can change that at this point.
***
Sometimes I think I'm a fraud. I have this nagging feeling that I am not the person that everyone makes me out to be. And I mean EVERYONE, including my parents. I'm afraid they give me too much credit (but then again sometimes I think they give me too little. Labo mehn.)
I am an image. A vision of something, someone. A picture that floats out of the canvas, and you think, hey that's a waterlily, but when you look closer it's just thousands of little, individual strokes, and there's really no waterlily. Kind of like an impressionist painting. Funny, because I love Monet (especially his waterlily series).
People see me as this strong, positive character, and I don't blame them. Maybe I do come out that way, for one reason or another.
But they don't know the storms raging inside me. They don't know the battles I constantly wage with myself. Yes, they know my fears, because they are a reflection of their own, but no one knows where my fears are coming from.
And I am very afraid. And very weak. And no amount of reassurance or kindness or even tough love can change that at this point.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
LITTLE THINGS
I was riding the jeepney early yesterday morning, on my way to the MRT station. I was battling with my wet hair flying all over my face and, as always, worrying about another zit on my forehead. I turned my head and beside me was a man and his daughter of about five or six years old, sitting on his lap. And to their left, near the driver, was an old lady. Grayish hair, calloused hands, wrinkled face. She had a basket on her lap and a large plastic bag at her feet. They were all full of native delicacies. Tindera, I thought. She was most probably on her way to her usual spot in the palengke or on the sidewalk somewhere in Evangelista.
The old woman was looking out in front of her, her gaze locked in on an imaginary dot in space. She was too old to be carrying that big basket, but there was something about her, some strength, some determination. Or perhaps it was resignation. Whatever it was, it surely made her get up that morning--just like every morning--and take a jeepney to where she would ply her trade, which was basically just a bunch of puto seco and macaroons. I looked at her, and she was a superwoman.
I resolved to buy something from her that morning. Anything at all. I don't particularly like puto seco, but I figured I'd give it to one of those children I always see sleeping by the steps of the MRT station.
The jeep took a left turn to EDSA and I was still thinking of a good way to approach her. Dyahe e. The jeepney was full. How would I speak to her inconspicuously? I was still there, racking my brain and scolding myself for being so self-conscious, when the little child beside me tugged her father gently, and pointed to the basket.
His father looked. "Gusto mo?" he asked his daughter.
The little girl nodded and smiled.
"Alin diyan?" She pointed at something inside the basket. The old lady smiled at her and pulled a package out.
"Magkano ho?" asked the dad.
"Sampu lang," said the lola, and the man took out his wallet and paid.
"Salamat," The lady said. Turning to the child, she smiled again. "Buena mano ka," she said, her eyes crinkling. The child grinned even though I'm pretty sure she didn't know what that meant. Shortly after, the old lady alighted from the jeepney.
I wanted to cry. The child saved me. Stupid me and all of my 22 years; a five-year-old still had something to teach me. More than the shame I felt for not acting on what I had planned, I felt grateful to her for being the little child that she was. I swear she must have been the happiest kid that morning, getting goodies so early in the day. And yet, without her knowing it, she was also the bringer of joy. No one knows for sure how many more smiles she inadvertently caused that day, for the wheels are always turning and joy begets joy.
Little things.
***
I went to Quezon City Hall to meet with an architect for a class project. I was more than slightly irritated because my groupmates bailed on me, and I had to do the interview on my own. I was hurrying to the elevator when an old lady (I am a lola magnet) tapped me and said, "pahingi po ng tulong."
"Ano ho?"
"Help..."
I stood there, staring at her for about three seconds, all the lectures I had given about (not) giving alms swirling in my head.
"Help," she repeated quietly, "I am poor, I am hungry..." In English 'to ha, mind you.
I made my decision. I took out my wallet and gave her 20 pesos. "Kain po kayo ha," I told her. We smiled furtively, and I went on my way.
First flashback while I was dealing with the lady by the elevator: freshman year in college. My new college buddies and I were eating at Wendy's in Taft. Suddenly this old, ragged woman comes in, goes to our table on the second floor and asks for money. Wala raw siyang pamasahe pauwi sa probinsya, etcetera. We really didn't know how to react. I wanted to give her something but my classmate told me not to because the lady was most likely part of a syndicate. So we just sat there, eating fries and BMM, as she continued to speak. Minutes later the Wendy's guard went up and drove the lady away. When she was gone, I broke down. I just cried and cried--at the hopelessness, the injustice, the fact that was put in a compromising position where I wanted to care but I knew it was wrong, the fact that I managed to put my emotions on the line for five stupid minutes.
Second flashback (sort of): A story in Archie comics. Betty was giving coins to a beggar, and Reggie reprimanded her, saying she'd been duped because the poor man would just waste it on beer anyway. Betty told Reggie that she'd rather be duped than go on thinking she had passed on a chance to help a man in real need. Later that day Reggie got himself in some real tight spots and ended up on the streets in the rain, with no money and no car. He was asking passersby to lend him a penny or nickel, so he can call his butler or someone. But no one would spare him a single cent, because he'd "just spend it on useless cigarettes or beer."
Those cents do matter, don't they, Reggie? Just like kindness. Little things.
***
I was on my way home one time. It had been a grueling morning, and I was sweating because the escalator at the MRT station was broken. I hurriedly wiped my face of un-ladylike sweat and jumped in the train, hoping to catch some artificial cool air. Two stations had gone by and I was happily daydreaming, and suddenly I realized that this woman in front of me was trying to catch my attention. I looked at her, she was pointing to parts of her face while looking intensely at mine. A wave of horror passed through me and I realized I had bits of tissue stuck to my face! I took out my mirror, plucked the bits away and thanked her. Damn 7-11 for selling such cheap tissue. But more than my embarrassment I was, again, filled with gratitude. Little things, indeed.
***
Later, on the bus (I take a lot of rides, don't I?), I was paying the kunduktor. I gave him my 20-peso bill and started rummaging inside my bag for my cellphone.
"ID." Huh? I looked up. The kunduktor was waiting expectantly.
"ID ko ho?" (Duh.)
"Oo." So I took out my wallet again and showed him, and for the first time in my 22-year-old life, I got a discount on my bus ride for being a student.
***
My brother has a running question. What makes us human? What separates us from other animals and, more significantly (as the future slowly becomes the present), artificial intelligence? It's not as easy to answer as most would think. There's a lot of philosophical analysis involved in it. Most people don't even know what artificial intelligence really is. They think Honda's mechanical pet dog is a form of AI.
But I digress. Dear brother, I have an answer, or part of it anyway. It's the little things. The tiny, seemingly insignificant things. It's buying puto seco, helping a stranger get rid of tissue on her face, checking for a student's ID, giving money away to a stranger even if you know it could be a total sham.
It is recognizing one's own existence, and thereby being aware also of the existence of others. It's stringing these realizations together in one entire experience, and attaching to them all that you know and all that you have known, for all of your life.
It is the sensation of everything around you--tasting its history, feeling its present and excitedly touching its future. It's reaching out, even if apprehensively.
Franz Kafka wrote a book called The Metamorphosis. It's about a man, Gregor, who was turned into a bug overnight (okay, be patient now). Don't ask why or how, no one needs to know. Point is, he wasn't "human" anymore. He had tiny insect legs, a hard shell, brown fluid oozing out his mouth. He was a detestable creature, the embodiment of all that I, for one, find repulsive. Kadiri to the max. His family tried to--but couldn't--understand him. They were repulsed by him. He started acting more and more like an insect, at least to their eyes. They perceived him to be non-human, period. Towards the end of the book, Gregor, frustrated by his predicament and resenting everything and everyone, heard his sister playing the violin. He was deeply touched. He felt the intense power of the music, and wove into that his entire life experience--as a brother, a son, a member of a family that he loved.
Inside that insect shell, through simple violin music and that little act of listening, he became more human than any other person in that room could possibly be. Gregor died the following morning, having grasped fully his own humanity.
***
Last week, I was in the car with a friend, on the way to Makati. We were somewhere on C5. Suddenly, he pointed to the window on my side. "Tingnan mo yung langit," he said. Rays of the afternoon sun were softly peeking through the clouds. "Parang sumisilip ang Diyos."
Little things.
The old woman was looking out in front of her, her gaze locked in on an imaginary dot in space. She was too old to be carrying that big basket, but there was something about her, some strength, some determination. Or perhaps it was resignation. Whatever it was, it surely made her get up that morning--just like every morning--and take a jeepney to where she would ply her trade, which was basically just a bunch of puto seco and macaroons. I looked at her, and she was a superwoman.
I resolved to buy something from her that morning. Anything at all. I don't particularly like puto seco, but I figured I'd give it to one of those children I always see sleeping by the steps of the MRT station.
The jeep took a left turn to EDSA and I was still thinking of a good way to approach her. Dyahe e. The jeepney was full. How would I speak to her inconspicuously? I was still there, racking my brain and scolding myself for being so self-conscious, when the little child beside me tugged her father gently, and pointed to the basket.
His father looked. "Gusto mo?" he asked his daughter.
The little girl nodded and smiled.
"Alin diyan?" She pointed at something inside the basket. The old lady smiled at her and pulled a package out.
"Magkano ho?" asked the dad.
"Sampu lang," said the lola, and the man took out his wallet and paid.
"Salamat," The lady said. Turning to the child, she smiled again. "Buena mano ka," she said, her eyes crinkling. The child grinned even though I'm pretty sure she didn't know what that meant. Shortly after, the old lady alighted from the jeepney.
I wanted to cry. The child saved me. Stupid me and all of my 22 years; a five-year-old still had something to teach me. More than the shame I felt for not acting on what I had planned, I felt grateful to her for being the little child that she was. I swear she must have been the happiest kid that morning, getting goodies so early in the day. And yet, without her knowing it, she was also the bringer of joy. No one knows for sure how many more smiles she inadvertently caused that day, for the wheels are always turning and joy begets joy.
Little things.
***
I went to Quezon City Hall to meet with an architect for a class project. I was more than slightly irritated because my groupmates bailed on me, and I had to do the interview on my own. I was hurrying to the elevator when an old lady (I am a lola magnet) tapped me and said, "pahingi po ng tulong."
"Ano ho?"
"Help..."
I stood there, staring at her for about three seconds, all the lectures I had given about (not) giving alms swirling in my head.
"Help," she repeated quietly, "I am poor, I am hungry..." In English 'to ha, mind you.
I made my decision. I took out my wallet and gave her 20 pesos. "Kain po kayo ha," I told her. We smiled furtively, and I went on my way.
First flashback while I was dealing with the lady by the elevator: freshman year in college. My new college buddies and I were eating at Wendy's in Taft. Suddenly this old, ragged woman comes in, goes to our table on the second floor and asks for money. Wala raw siyang pamasahe pauwi sa probinsya, etcetera. We really didn't know how to react. I wanted to give her something but my classmate told me not to because the lady was most likely part of a syndicate. So we just sat there, eating fries and BMM, as she continued to speak. Minutes later the Wendy's guard went up and drove the lady away. When she was gone, I broke down. I just cried and cried--at the hopelessness, the injustice, the fact that was put in a compromising position where I wanted to care but I knew it was wrong, the fact that I managed to put my emotions on the line for five stupid minutes.
Second flashback (sort of): A story in Archie comics. Betty was giving coins to a beggar, and Reggie reprimanded her, saying she'd been duped because the poor man would just waste it on beer anyway. Betty told Reggie that she'd rather be duped than go on thinking she had passed on a chance to help a man in real need. Later that day Reggie got himself in some real tight spots and ended up on the streets in the rain, with no money and no car. He was asking passersby to lend him a penny or nickel, so he can call his butler or someone. But no one would spare him a single cent, because he'd "just spend it on useless cigarettes or beer."
Those cents do matter, don't they, Reggie? Just like kindness. Little things.
***
I was on my way home one time. It had been a grueling morning, and I was sweating because the escalator at the MRT station was broken. I hurriedly wiped my face of un-ladylike sweat and jumped in the train, hoping to catch some artificial cool air. Two stations had gone by and I was happily daydreaming, and suddenly I realized that this woman in front of me was trying to catch my attention. I looked at her, she was pointing to parts of her face while looking intensely at mine. A wave of horror passed through me and I realized I had bits of tissue stuck to my face! I took out my mirror, plucked the bits away and thanked her. Damn 7-11 for selling such cheap tissue. But more than my embarrassment I was, again, filled with gratitude. Little things, indeed.
***
Later, on the bus (I take a lot of rides, don't I?), I was paying the kunduktor. I gave him my 20-peso bill and started rummaging inside my bag for my cellphone.
"ID." Huh? I looked up. The kunduktor was waiting expectantly.
"ID ko ho?" (Duh.)
"Oo." So I took out my wallet again and showed him, and for the first time in my 22-year-old life, I got a discount on my bus ride for being a student.
***
My brother has a running question. What makes us human? What separates us from other animals and, more significantly (as the future slowly becomes the present), artificial intelligence? It's not as easy to answer as most would think. There's a lot of philosophical analysis involved in it. Most people don't even know what artificial intelligence really is. They think Honda's mechanical pet dog is a form of AI.
But I digress. Dear brother, I have an answer, or part of it anyway. It's the little things. The tiny, seemingly insignificant things. It's buying puto seco, helping a stranger get rid of tissue on her face, checking for a student's ID, giving money away to a stranger even if you know it could be a total sham.
It is recognizing one's own existence, and thereby being aware also of the existence of others. It's stringing these realizations together in one entire experience, and attaching to them all that you know and all that you have known, for all of your life.
It is the sensation of everything around you--tasting its history, feeling its present and excitedly touching its future. It's reaching out, even if apprehensively.
Franz Kafka wrote a book called The Metamorphosis. It's about a man, Gregor, who was turned into a bug overnight (okay, be patient now). Don't ask why or how, no one needs to know. Point is, he wasn't "human" anymore. He had tiny insect legs, a hard shell, brown fluid oozing out his mouth. He was a detestable creature, the embodiment of all that I, for one, find repulsive. Kadiri to the max. His family tried to--but couldn't--understand him. They were repulsed by him. He started acting more and more like an insect, at least to their eyes. They perceived him to be non-human, period. Towards the end of the book, Gregor, frustrated by his predicament and resenting everything and everyone, heard his sister playing the violin. He was deeply touched. He felt the intense power of the music, and wove into that his entire life experience--as a brother, a son, a member of a family that he loved.
Inside that insect shell, through simple violin music and that little act of listening, he became more human than any other person in that room could possibly be. Gregor died the following morning, having grasped fully his own humanity.
***
Last week, I was in the car with a friend, on the way to Makati. We were somewhere on C5. Suddenly, he pointed to the window on my side. "Tingnan mo yung langit," he said. Rays of the afternoon sun were softly peeking through the clouds. "Parang sumisilip ang Diyos."
Little things.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
MIDNIGHT SNACK
You know when you're walking down the hall from your room to the kitchen in the middle of the night when you want to secretly snack, and you bump into that bookcase or hall altar or some other hard furniture on the way? Ouch 'di 'ba? Kinda wakes you up. And you feel a bit stupid because the blasted thing has been there forever, but you always forget (coz you're so hungry!).
Well, this is one of those midnight waker-uppers. Just re-posting. Thanks rhea. :p
Do's and Don'ts
1. If a man wants you, nothing can keep him away. If he doesn't want you, nothing can make him stay.
2. Stop making excuses for a man and his behavior.
3. Allow your intuition (or spirit) to save you from heartache.
4. Stop trying to change yourselves for a relationship that's not meant to be.
5 . Slower is better.
6. Never live your life for a man before you find what makes you truly happy.
7. If a relationship ends because the man was not treating you as you deserve then heck no you can't "be friends." A friend wouldn't mistreat a friend.
8. Don't settle.
9. If you feel like he is stringing you along, then he probably is.
10. Don't stay because you think "it will get better." You'll be mad at yourself a year later for staying when things are not better.
11. The only person you can control in a relationship is you.
12 . Avoid men who've got a bunch of children by a bunch of different women. He didn't marry them when he got them pregnant, why would he treat you any differently?
13. Always have your own set of friends separate from his.
14 . Maintain boundaries in how a guy treats you. If something bothers you, speak up.
15. Never let a man know everything. He will use it against you later.
16. You cannot change a man's behavior. Change comes from within.
17. Don't EVER make him feel he is more important than you are... even if he has more education or has a better job.
18. Do not make him into a quasi-god. He is a man, nothing more and nothing less.
19. Never let a man define who you are.
20. Never borrow someone else's man.
21. If he cheated with you, he'll cheat on you.
22. A man will only treat you the way you ALLOW him to treat you.
23. All men are NOT dogs.
24. You should not be the one doing all the bending... compromise is a two way street.
25. You need time to heal between relationships.. there is nothing cute about baggage... deal with your issues before pursuing a new relationship.
26. You should never look for someone to COMPLETE you... a relationship consists of two WHOLE individuals... look for someone complimentary...not supplementary.
27. Dating is fun...even if he doesn't turn out to be Mr. Right.
28. Make him miss you sometimes...when a man always know where you are, and your always readily available to him - he takes it for granted.
29. Never move into his mother's house.
30. Never co-sign for a man. (Hallelujah, thank you Jesus!)
31. Don't fully commit to a man who doesn't give you everything that you need. Keep him in your radar but get to know others.
Well, this is one of those midnight waker-uppers. Just re-posting. Thanks rhea. :p
Do's and Don'ts
1. If a man wants you, nothing can keep him away. If he doesn't want you, nothing can make him stay.
2. Stop making excuses for a man and his behavior.
3. Allow your intuition (or spirit) to save you from heartache.
4. Stop trying to change yourselves for a relationship that's not meant to be.
5 . Slower is better.
6. Never live your life for a man before you find what makes you truly happy.
7. If a relationship ends because the man was not treating you as you deserve then heck no you can't "be friends." A friend wouldn't mistreat a friend.
8. Don't settle.
9. If you feel like he is stringing you along, then he probably is.
10. Don't stay because you think "it will get better." You'll be mad at yourself a year later for staying when things are not better.
11. The only person you can control in a relationship is you.
12 . Avoid men who've got a bunch of children by a bunch of different women. He didn't marry them when he got them pregnant, why would he treat you any differently?
13. Always have your own set of friends separate from his.
14 . Maintain boundaries in how a guy treats you. If something bothers you, speak up.
15. Never let a man know everything. He will use it against you later.
16. You cannot change a man's behavior. Change comes from within.
17. Don't EVER make him feel he is more important than you are... even if he has more education or has a better job.
18. Do not make him into a quasi-god. He is a man, nothing more and nothing less.
19. Never let a man define who you are.
20. Never borrow someone else's man.
21. If he cheated with you, he'll cheat on you.
22. A man will only treat you the way you ALLOW him to treat you.
23. All men are NOT dogs.
24. You should not be the one doing all the bending... compromise is a two way street.
25. You need time to heal between relationships.. there is nothing cute about baggage... deal with your issues before pursuing a new relationship.
26. You should never look for someone to COMPLETE you... a relationship consists of two WHOLE individuals... look for someone complimentary...not supplementary.
27. Dating is fun...even if he doesn't turn out to be Mr. Right.
28. Make him miss you sometimes...when a man always know where you are, and your always readily available to him - he takes it for granted.
29. Never move into his mother's house.
30. Never co-sign for a man. (Hallelujah, thank you Jesus!)
31. Don't fully commit to a man who doesn't give you everything that you need. Keep him in your radar but get to know others.
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