I've transferred to

http://maneattraction.livejournal.com

Same attraction, just a different address.

I'll see you there!

ayayayayay

It's only seven o'clock and it seems that I'm calling it a day already. This morning, everything was just moving in a fast-paced conduct. I was rushing to and from my room after realizing that it's was ten o'clock already when I woke up. 8:30 am-12:00 pm was the scheduled time for our comm pre-enlistment. Waking up at 10 am? That just meant goodbye to the advertising classes I planned on getting. I'll say hello to them next semester then.

And I was not wrong. 2 of the 3 ad classes were closed. And the one left with Ma'am Diyco had conflicted with my comm research class (which, by the way, won't be taught by the teacher whom I wanted to get as well). So, what was I to do then? I had to take classes outside the advertising track! Goodness gracious great balls of fire...

However, I was able to get into Elements of Screen Art with Father Nick Cruz, S.J., and Film Production: The Short Film with Quark Henares... and escaped the spraynetted hair and scarlet lips of Ma'am Diyco.

So, it seems like I'm a prod student this semester. Hay nako, this better be fun!

You might be thinking why the hell didn't I set my alarm clock so I could have woken up earlier.
I did. But sleeping at 6 am editing some video work took my tired body too long in dreamland. What's worse was that before leaving at 10:45, something came up in the video and I had to fix it, of course!

I got to school at 11: 45-- just in time to be the very last communication major to enlist.

Am I bored or am I bored?

what a click on the mouse at 3 in the morning can do.

Nine months in expectant agony, and a lifetime of an unpaid career harder than any job could offer...

And it's all because of love.

Happy Mother's Day Mama, and to all your mommies, my dear friends!

Speechless

I hate myself for missing the May 8 deadline for this post.

Nevertheless...

before yesterday ended, I’d want you all to know that I was happy. Very, that is…

Thank you motherdear and papa and Krisha.

Thank you guys...you know who you are.

And thank you to you...

*bow*

squiddy

I've been barking all day like a dog and sneezing like a muffler, but there are just some things that make me smile after.

Thanks Prime! Take care in the Middle East.

uptightness shet... you just get tired of it

...

The building. The caption. The prayer. The whole of itself. It kept on seeping through my mind, and I could think straight once again. Talking freely and honestly to my blockmate helped out a lot. I told the truth. As always, the truth hurts. When I had undergo a blood testing at 5 years old, the nurse couldn’t find the right vain to get blood with the prickly needle. Once. Twice. Thrice. In and out, the needle went through my skin. The inside of a hospital creates an artificial barred enclosure; just appropriate for interrogation. I’ve been under male nurses taking my blood sample. Men I won’t be able to pick out of a line-up. In the emergency room, I just sat. Erect; trying to be strong. But that moment when I was 5, I wasn’t. I just cried because of that nurse who cannot bury the needle on the right vein. I am relieved when a female nurse or doctor would do the procedure. A woman cannot hurt, would not deliberately take from me, nor inflict pain.

running after eternal sunshine

Random thoughts, for Valentines day, 2004. The day's a holiday invented by greeting card companies, to make people feel like crap. I ditched work today. Took a train out to Montauk. I don't know why. I'm not an impulsive person. I guess I just woke up in a funk this morning...

just shoes

I got all the shoes that caught my fancy.

I got the red sparkly one...

..the pink chunky one...
...the flat bown one...
.....the polka-dotted one..

but they could only do so much.

They'll forever be just shoes, after all.

The Night After

That night, I had situated myself on the chair where it all began and grew along. As usual, I kept on looking at the big round clock. It was, as I charily laid eyes on the ticking hands, half past six. Before, it seemed like a mundane task sitting on that same chair. Click. Click. Click. There was the murmur of the wheezy air-conditioner, followed by a slamming of the two doors. Yet the view was somehow divergent from the past. Well, there were more round tables now. Suppressing a yawn, I hinted a smile.. Had I had been off somewhere, in a cutthroat world of people battling suppression and refutation, trying to cadge clarity from obscurity? The decision was, perhaps, certain, but it wasn’t my idea in the first place. Definitely not at all. And, thirty minutes have passed once again.

Ang Alaga

This is a delayed post.. I just miss the days I spent in Beijing last week. Beijing 4303 and 4306, to be exact. To reiterate tinapay, here are just some of the things that still make me laugh about that trip with Drew, Fidz, Tina, Tessa and Martin:)

-Road trip with pao, ate jam, janice, tito manny and miss joy.. ahahahahahahahahaha
-Agreeing to walk at 2 in the morning to Edinburgh to fetch Fidz kahit takot na takot na kami
-El hombre... thanks Drew for taking the shot :)
-Ang galit na galit na ano
-Tequito the Hot Chick
-Ice plant na inakala naming Fontana, hindi pala, and which is a great location for a shoot, by the way!
-"May mga namamatay kaya sa ice plant?"
-Nepo Mall
-My poker victory bwaha!
-The non existent Cafe Cabana (hahaha! right, Tina!)
-Martin: "Boss, wala ba kayong sounds? Ang tahimik eh."
Waiter: "Sige po, ser."
*after 5 mins... a song plays in the background.."Pasko naaaaa..sinta koooo" well not really hahaha, but it was a Christmas song*

Tessa and Martin

-Heart to heart conversations with Drew

-Monopoly or Uno Stacko? Ano ba talaga?!
-Prison Break (Drew said maganda raw. After 30 minutes, tulog na kami)
-Flying moths
-"Hoy gumising na kayo. May bombang nakita sa Fontana, kailangan na natin mag evacuate!"
-"a cup in hand...."
-Fidel's talking bilbil

And of course there was Fidzie's Pochero and Sisig (yummyness is..) and Hazel (tata..tata...tata..)

with Hazel and Tinapay

Come with come with! :))

Pics by Drew

Rumampa, We Like! (Boredomnessing again)

After that, Drew and I went to Jelly's fashion show in Makati. It was like one big soiree. I saw familiar faces from highschool classmates, English blockmates, to LSGH boys whom we interacted with back in 2nd year highschool. It was a fun night. THough we only really watched when it was the fashion part. Other than that, we were outside. Too bad Tinapay and Fidel weren't able to make it.

Jelly, Drew, Kat

We didn't know that we unconsciously sat on the VIP chairs near the stage.

Rampa na

Pics by Drew

hopeful

"They say they built the train tracks over the Alps between Vienna and Venice before there was a train that could make the trip; they built it anyway. They knew one day, the train would come. Any arbitrary turn along the way and I would be elsewhere. I would be different."
-Under the Tuscan Sun

Derailed

I just got my dose of knack today. Aside from hurting my wrists for an afternoon of playing some tunes with the ivories, there was 21 Grams. It was raw yet warm, honest yet deceitful, bleeding yet patched up. Form and content wise, I liked it. You see with the trend in films today, everything’s becoming open-ended; you can have your own say about it. You can be an ingénue, a film critique, or just plain deadma about it.

The summer bug has hit me once again. Idle hours at home just seem to bring us back to memory lane no matter how we resist not to be taken. Some might find it sweet; some would just find it bitter. Some rekindle how friendships were formed; some just find nostalgia and the friendships, gone, as someone said to me. Some find the path back home like a picnic; some, like me, would just mutter, “That ship has sailed”. Sometimes, I wish it were faster than a ship; maybe a train, running at full speed toward non-existent tracks up ahead. While everyone wouldn’t want to be left behind, I sometimes wish to be one of those who misses the last ride, and just escape the ill fate awaiting me. However, sometimes, we couldn’t resist joining in. And upon realizing what we’ve done, and knowing the train might head straight for the cliff, we then try to create tracks and hope for survival. Yes, we do sometimes miss the cliff. But, we only get derailed. Derailed, and derailed, and derailed…waiting for what seems like an open-ended film. Only you can know how and where you will end up.

"derailment"

Rantings

It’s funny how we’ve always taken our own emotions for granted. It seems like technology, you know. We only see it and question it when something goes wrong; when the microwave stops working; when the electric fan makes weird sounds; when the convoluted circuits of the heart break down.

Yes, it is. It is a complicated system of human emotions. We play the roles of repair men sometimes. However, we cannot play its role when it is our selves that need it.

Some people are just plain frightened to even show these emotions. And they end up kaput and wrecked in the end; unfixable, hopeless. Shame, oh what a shame. You could have at least tried. In the end, what is left are just the bitter and harsh excesses of yesterday, seemingly like cigarette ashes that have been excreted by a once lighted cigarette.

Do you see how powerful these emotions are? They can be uplifting. They can be torturous. They can make you not give anything, because nothing is left to be given. They can paralyze you for you’ve held on too long; and now, your grip limp.

Sometimes too, maybe, people just have obsessions. They like to be hated. By giving students’ non-objective essays zeros. Fucking zeros. Yeah that’s great. I get to release my fucking emotions coz of that.

My dad just told me yesterday how my reaction to things are always like “who cares?” He asked me why I always seem like a non-conformist. Why do I always restrict my emotions as just those of my own- in my own world? I can’t say why, for I still ask: who cares?

Advertisement! Don’t forget the AVO!!!


Jelly! Hahaha upos ba? why won’t you be there! You have no reason to be like upos. You are still aflame and you will never be dead and gray.

"dimensione"

Bargains of the So-called Wordsmiths

*okay, pardon me...i just can't get it over with. read on, will you?*

Bargains of the So-called Wordsmiths

Babae, Binoga sa keps, one major tabloid’s headline yells in a ferociously appealing way. It screams READ ME! all the way into my backseat window as a sweaty man, clad in a light blue polo shirt which, I assume, is a jeepney driver, reads by the rowdy street of the Marikina Public Market. He is in an obvious enthusiasm, lifting every damp grey sheet.

It isn’t so often that people start a revolution, no matter how some, especially those in the competitive world of the media or the press, crave for a kind of attention that a certain demography of the Philippine population— the masa— can give. That is why, they at least make a statement through scandals and intrigues, no matter how superficial and irrelevant they may seem to the degenerating economy of the country, needless to say, the morality of each and every one of us. Why, you may ask. Because it is so much easier. It is “shock therapy”, as Katrina Holigores, writer for the Inquirer, would call it. This is, more often than not, conveyed through the proliferation of obscene images displaying the more voluptuous half of the human race called women, and always, those big bold words screaming sex even before you actually distinguish what they really mean, just by feeling their vibe. As this frightening mannerism of tabloid writers continue to ingrain in the media an attitude of kalaswaan, moreover, a deterioration of literacy, by giving them a myriad of words such as binoga and keps, and sensationalised crime stories and even hoaxes, the question of censorship would always come into play.

Different types of people buy different newspapers. Broadsheets tend to be associated with the more educated profession, while the tabloids are associated with the traditional working class. Many see the media as a y-shaped path with two directions leading to oppositely situated worlds. While the current generation religiously lies on the plentiful information offered liberally by it, there still has been a big chunk of unmonitored, perhaps, uncensored, that is, material roaming this technological innovation. And often, though desirable for many, it is the least fixation that we should control our minds to get a hold off. As Dell Hymes’ article states,

The analysis must be made on the ground. We must know what patterns are in what contexts, and how, where, and when they come into play. The maximum
that "meaning is use" has new force when we seriously study the role of
semantic habits in behavior.

A good heading is very important because it is the first thing a reader looks at. It should be catchy, short and sharp. It should also give us a taste of the story so we know immediately what it is about. Tabloids usually use puns or play around with words. The myriad of images available in just one look has truly made living in the information age madly troublesome. Hence, this tends to expand our yearning for the rather destructive kind of entertainment, unmindful of its consequences and drawbacks. However, we, mere mortals who have our own make-up, which forms our uniqueness, seek a rather infinite array of gratifications, each for our choice of use. The media is not a hypodermic needle ready to inject the same information to the audience and receive a common feedback at the same time. And what does this entail? It only shows how the current generation’s mentality has moved to a level where there is an erosion of the ability to decipher the limits of entertainment, and amusement. And this involves those who don’t need it in the first place— the public majority who needs to be educated more rather than being offered such news. After all, who would not find anything not reprimanded by the law bad or illegal?

That is why, the description of semantic habits depends very much upon the presence of different situations, and as Hymes mentions, in dimensions of contrast. This study of meaning, more specifically, how such sensationalism in the tabloids triggers the consumers’ attention is very much mediated by the use of language. Because of this, a line separates the behavior of every group: those who read the broadsheets and those, like the jeepney driver, who enjoy the crude words of the media splattered in tabloids. Thus, the analysis of the role of speech in cognitive behavior leads into analysis of the ethnographic context of speech.

With the user of mass media, being pertained as a powerful figure that is in control, the use of language in print materials greatly affects the speech practices of these readers. It subtly highlights the division of the passive and active notion of audiences. And this entails the culture change and evolution among people. The power of the media is so strong that as long as people are not satisfied with what they have and as long as there are goals that need to be gratified, there would be more of binoga’s and keps proliferating in the unruly surreal landscape of the Philippines, making it even more uncontrollable and disorderly, God forbid. Nevertheless, is it still possible to say that this may only be due to having a basis, which is intrinsic, and permanent – needs? It is customary to have our own set of needs and the search to adhere to them. However, it focuses too much on the needs that users wish to be fulfilled, but rarely consider if they were, indeed, gratified in the proper manner. It does not give room to the fact that users may receive more, consciously or unconsciously, than what they primarily hoped for.

It is true that the aspect of culture change involves a deep sense of education and, with putting importance to proper language use, right choice of materials, and awareness of not only one’s self (by knowing the proper ways to gratify and answer our needs and wants) but of what one’s surroundings can offer the self. Along with this goal to fulfill one’s needs is a certain responsibility that demands knowing what language can present an individual, whether it is more than what he bargained for or not.

And as Fr. Bienvenido Nebres, SJ, once said, read where children can see you, and show them how you enjoy each page, each line, each word, because reading (whatever it is) is a legacy that should be passed. Does this include babae, binoga sa keps?

*now tell me, does this deserve a zero?*

"illusively in high spirits"

...

"I once feared that I'll get to the point when I'll be numb. I thought I have already been. But then, the more I hurt myself even more. Don't be fooled. The happiest face might be masking the most hurting heart.

For I am not numb, still." - Em

many more

"When the country needed national heroes, the Ateneo gave her the greatest of all..

When she needed revolutionay generals, she gave her some..

When she needed statesmen, trade unionists, and men who could show others how to die for their country--

she gave her many more."

- Raul Manglapuz

Hot chocolate.

The student/dreamer/skeptic/artsy fartsy me scampered with long and loud strides to the car this morning. Unlocking the driver’s door, I threw my bag and heavy folder over the passenger seat. As I started the engine to hum into life, I decided to turn the radio on. Thankfully, Radyo sais-trenta was on air. Coup. Erap. Dis oras ng gabi. Jinggoy. Etcetera, etcetera. For a while, I wondered on how much was somewhat being lost in the translation. It was around 6:50 in the morning, and for just some strange reason, leaving then for my 8:30 class was already behind schedule.

Seatbelt— check. Glasses— check. Aircon— check. T'ang T'ai-tsung and Boxer rebellion— check.

Classes on all levels are suspended, the reporter said— what?!

The heavens parted and the angels sang; the drums started beating and I started dancing; hala sige bira! Woohoo text text text!

My morning was spent then with pseudo Conrado de Quiros in Mcdo. That’s my dad, by the way, who looks like the writer. I was happy that I got to spend my morning with him, after his countless invites of me having breakfast with him. As usual, he buried himself in his daily broadsheet, and I too read my favorite book, which I haven’t touched for ages.

It was a pleasant sight, seeing people come, eat their muffins, and then, leave.

Pleasant.

The past week was full of pleasant things, I suppose.

And honestly, one of the pleasant things I enjoy is whenever I’m lost in translation— when things start to unfold their rawness because you can’t understand them, and you just keep on being cynical, and make your own assumptions. You try to connect things as though you put puzzle pieces together. From time to time, you get to think too much and in the end, what comes out from your acads-filled brain isn’t that bad after all. As any given day would never fail to give me something new to learn, whether it may be discovering that bisexuals are now being called bicurious individuals, or that Oprah’s topic this Sunday will be Brokeback Mountain, three things can happen when you learn something. First, you can always retain the information in your head because you have to (say, for a long test). Secondly, you keep it in your heart for the reason that it is something substantial and significant in your life. Lastly, there are those that just slip through your mind because they are just plainly irrelevant and uninteresting.

Occasionally, I feel that I am becoming a boarder in my own home. I wake up and leave early for school, come home at around 7 in the evening, eat, study, and sleep. I remember the famous line from Filipino movies whenever a couple fights when the husband cheats on his wife, and being the stereotypical wives some Filipinas are, they would say “O ano, aalis ka nanaman! Lagi ka nalang wala dito sa bahay! Ano ‘to? Boarding house?” Then I would laugh about it. Perhaps I am just exaggerating. However, there are times when I seem to miss my family despite us being under one roof. And so for a moment, I am, in one way or another, lost in my own house, trying to figure out how to get to the living room, unperturbed and without a bruise on the head from bumping on corners. How sad it is to become a foreigner in your own abode. Then maybe, being lost in your own “conversation” might not be pleasant at all.

Why? Because you try to reconnect.

You try to put the puzzle pieces back again.

And apparently, it just looks impossible.

Yet in spite of the occasional bumps and uncertainty that is all part of living on this side of the planet, you just have to hold on to the faith that you can actually do something to construct an alteration.

Conversations with papa are always a learning experience (sorry if I’m actually making you sound pretty ancient). Three days ago, we were caught up in a little tête-à-tête on the way to school about something I completely forgot about. All I could remember was how the question “what really are you learning in the Ateneo, Katrina Tan?” came up from him. Oprah, ikaw ba yan?

What really are you learning in the Ateneo, Katrina Tan?

It was easy to answer his question if you think about it. To be men for and with others can sum up everything Ateneo has been instilling on us. However, I could not answer him.

There I was, stuck in a vacuum.
Silenced.
Mentally blocked.

*long stillness*

I thought that maybe that was just some question that he suddenly thought of and decided to throw at his sleepy daughter to wake her up.

But before I opened door, he said,

“If you ask me what I have learned in the Ateneo, I’ve learned to give my life for my family first rather than fulfilling my own ambitions. And it was a call I could not refuse, for that sacrifice made me who I am right now.”

Everything seemed to reconnect upon hearing it from him. Everything became certain. I came to reconstruct an alteration. I came back to my right place. That was just an example of the second thing that happens whenever you learn something. For a moment, it was neither Oprah, nor pseudo Conrado who was talking.

It was he. Raw. Pure.

This morning, while I watched more people coming in, while some were paving their way through the exit door, there I was, finishing my cup of hot chocolate, unperturbed by the current around me.

It was just pleasant.

I can’t think why— for after all, I am home.

ang makapag-isip ba ng malayo sa ordinaryo?
UPOS by Katrina Tan



bagong telenobela? abangan.
Silent Dancer by Jelise Chung

ACIL's first communion ceremony for the children we teach in San Mateo, Escopa, Waterhole, and Constitution Hills.

White.

Ethereal beauty.

Flowing skirts.

Anxious feelings.

Pretty faces.

Bakit ganyan ang mukha ko?

At her destination her small foot hits the pavement, as she descends, twisting, so that she almost falls, but she must hurry, hurry, lest the men on the street sweep her up with their eyes, roll the choice remnants of her being between their teeth, hold her aloft and fling her down amid that great herd of naked creatures who smile at her knowingly, without shame...

"A Dream of Women", Lakambini Sitoy

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Just when you think that everything is falling out of place, you suddenly have an epiphany, like what i've just had.

Para nga namang ikaw ang nilikha ng mga alaalang ayaw mo nang maalala-- ng mga sinulat mo dati, ng mga inakala mong ikaw ang lumikha.

Pero hindi.Sabi nga ni Benilda Santos, kapag sumulat ka, ikaw ang nililikha.

Siguro, ito na nga ang epekto ng pagiging laging 'emo'. Nadadala mo ang pinaka mababaw na kaisipan "papalabas, sa sagadsarang inog ng mundo" (Fr. Villarin).

At langit ang epekto nito.

keeping my fingers crossed.

hoping this feeling will last.

it's just wonderful.

Minsan lang 'to.

Aside from the expected gifts, especially those in tiny red envelopes, we get during Christmas, what is just so nice about the holidays in the Philippines are the weeklooong celebrations we have in our and countless relatives' homes. Usually, the celebration goes all the way until New Year’s Day. And of course, when I say weeklong, I talk about the dangerous food that goes along with it. Nevertheless, there’s still the excusable excuse we usually say— “It’s Christmas anyway. Minsan minsan lang ‘to.”

However, wouldn't it be nicer if we get to share the presents and the season's spirit of giving with others, most especially with the victims of the Escopa fire last Dec. 25? Escopa is where we teach catechism in ACIL. Please please, if you want to donate anything, just tell me and I'll tell our officers about it. I believe the hundreds of families are currently staying at the barangay's covered courts, and they need help badly. Please also include them in your prayers. Thanks thanks so much.

**********************************************

Tan cousins..we don't look alike, do we?

James and Jacob here, with Tita Kat *ang kyu-cute!*

Elle belle! Cousins and nieces from motherdear's side.

The Night I Ate Too Much Mango Float...and Apple Pie

Quite the opposite of my last recent post, today, I am feeling very ecstatic of whatever had just happened and will about to happen. No, it's not like I've finally met the man of my dreams or whatever, but it's actually more than that. I've just suddenly realized after Nan has texted me a while ago that I shouldn't be too weary at all, as what my last recent post projected. I have the men and women I want to share my life with forever. Great friends who will always be my day-uppers and smile-inducers, if I may say so. They are those who will never mind if you're in an emo state while the others are drinking merrily and eating mango float and apple pie; those who are willing to bring you home when you live lightyears away from their homes; those will say "yes" to your invite despite a very short notice for the love of hanging out with you; those who will surprise you at home with a cute blue handbag as a gift, and will just find out that your'e not home-- but is still smiling after leaving the gift; those who won't mind if you are joking around "bisexually"; those who will ask you to go with them to the bathroom when they're drunk as hell; those who will watch gorry movies with you and find the chocochip cookies you give them very delicious..... I could go on and on but as the cliche goes, my lifetime wouldn't be enough to let me. Most important of all, those who'll just accept you as you.
As me.
As Kat.

What a great way to start the Christmas season.

Joyeux Noel everyone!

I Ask Myself for the Nth Time

The city lights were turned on.

Seemingly gleaming with the windows touched by the slight drizzle of the rain were red lights coming from the cars halted along the Marikina Bridge.

There I was stuck in traffic again— one occurrence I have always undergone every time I go home past 6 o'clock in the evening. I used to feel nostalgic every time I look blankly at the myriad of glaring lights on the street ahead of me while “spacing out”. Nevertheless, this time, I did not like it.

As I leaned my head on the headrest, I felt weak as I recalled what has happened in the past few days.

I am neither sure nor doubtful on what they imply still. It scares me— I am hanging in the middle.

In the past, I used to acquire joy from the littlest things. An ice cream cone, a melon shake, and some sweets. But this afternoon, a scoop of Chocolate marble from Fruits in Ice Cream didn’t satisfy me. Worse, I just felt it melt in my mouth for a short while, and *poof!* It has gone with the wind, or rather, with my saliva down my esophagus, just like that. Now I tell myself— perhaps, I have outgrown my fantasies and wings, and I’ve simply grown too old for tales of warriors and mermaids.

And why oh why does it seem too take so long when you are right in the middle of a quicksand, despite, ironically, the fact that time is fleeting so fast, seemingly as how life is precious as it is short?

To carry the question a little further, when the times we share with sadness are supposed to form a part of yesterday, why do they keep existing in the present? Silly, I know. For you, perhaps. Not for me. Because I am currently in a skeptical situation.

There has been a lot going on lately. For some cheerless reason, I'm not liking it. I am not selfishly talking about myself only, but of the people close to me as well. There is the inevitable question we ask: why? And certainly, there’s always a definite answer to it: Life is a constant change; life goes on.

Oddly and ironically, I would like to tell you a story. Three beasts attempted to taunt a young maiden. The first one wore an armor it thought to have belonged to a knight. It shined so bright that it almost covered his face with white light. The maiden thought it was too bright it hurt her eyes so she held herself back. The second one was as old as a rotting corpse, yet it liked to play with toys, still. The young maiden always played with him, but today, she got tired of it, she realized. Oh grow up, she said. The third one used to be a handsome beast. However, he liked spilling the beans in the jar. And today, he spilled the beans that the young maiden carefully put in the jar. The young maiden got so furious. However, being polished enough, she decided to keep her unruffled posture, smiled, and picked up the beans one by one again.

I kept on repeating the story in my mind as the car moved a few inches from the slippery concrete road. A faint smug formed on my face. There was a point I tried holding back a tear that was about to fall down my cheek.

Why is there so much holding back nowadays? I am not only talking about myself, here. And even the more I get buried deep into the quicksand knowing I am not the only one, but people around me who deserve the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

Before I knew it, I was standing at the front door. I was home once again.

I ask myself for the nth time: why is it when I am about to call it home, I would have to move along?

"A man tells his stories so many times that he becomes his stories. They live on after him. And in that way, he becomes immortal," from the movie Big Fish.

At some point in our lives, we might have thought, or at least, hoped, of having an existence of everlasting beauty, youthfulness, and a life never to be forgotten, for being a ghost of yesterday is one of the things we dread the most. But no matter how impossible it is to live forever physically, we, perhaps, can still turn this hope of immortality into reality through the fruitful memories we leave with the living.

ACIL's Centennial Celebration

me and bodi!


dar, aligs, me, and cor


"don't touch dar! he's mine!"


the girls and maggie


Bodi's love triangle hahaha!


si bodi ang gwapo!!


At syempre, walang nang tatalo pa sa date ko!

I could have been up there now watching over you.

I am glad that right at this moment, I am writing this for you to read. That means, I'm still alive. I just came from a car accident. I was in shock a while ago because the impact was just too strong. I was on my way home passing along my usual shortcut near Loyola Memorial Park (doesn't this mean something?). A bike was infront of me, so obviously, I had to slow down. Now, there is this sharp curve in that area, that implies to every car that passes there to slow down. That is what i did. I even stopped, and not only slowed down. But there is this fast moving Kia Van that just suddenly appeared, without even thinking that there might be cars hidden behind that blind corner. Then all of a sudden, while my car was halted behind that corner, I just felt a loud bang on my left front side. My glasses popped out of my face, my bags at the backseat flew down the floor, and there I was, trying to recall what has just happened. I just suddenly felt my palm hurting because of the impact. All I could say right now is "THANKS SEATBELT". My head could have hit the steering wheel and I would be watching all of you now from up above. But, He gave me a second chance. Salamat Lord, Salamat.

Then the police came, both parties explained what happened. And of course, the driver kept on denying his fault. Nevertheless, all the investigators and traffic enforcers and policemen agreed with me. I was on the right side, the right way. I didn't swerve or anything, and how could he hit me then? He was just rushing so fast and carelessly that he caused the accident. The evidence and sketches can prove that. Now, my left signal light's broken, there's a dent on the left side, and my steering wheel is misaligned. Due to his reckless driving, he even hit my left wheel and made it "kaladkad" (sorry for the taglish terms) that's why it got misaligned.

Now, all I can say is that God really is beside me (us) alll the time, no matter what! This is my second life!!! I have to cherish it even more. With that, I get to see all of you for the rest of my life. I get to spendmore time with my loving family. Thanks papa for rescuing me!!! Love you!!! For mama who kept on checking on me as I drove to the Municipal hall after the accident to fix things up with the reckless van driver. and to trish and jonry who comforted me while I was still in shock. :-) Salamat! Mwah!!!

I bring to you Ignition Advertising. We decide. We do. We deliver.


yours truly as the Chief Executive of Creative Strategies and Integration of Ignition Advertising
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Last week, I was brought to place where I was afforded with a certain nostalgia. A place I dream of often. To this era called old hollywood. Of pearls... Of sleek black suits... Of great men and women... I couldn't ask for anything more.


The Old Hollywood Rock Glamour



Joyeux Noel! According Trish, greetings from Bulgaria.


Hollywood drama


"mirror mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?"


Do you have what it takes?


GQ mowdels


Jose Rizal and his women


Forever friends.
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Some outtakes and behind the scenes, and eat out's.:-)





with panday!


"oh my"


ilabas mo na!


wee!




------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"smooch!" 

 

just keep on guessing! 

"checking her out?" 

just speechless.... 

"love triangle."

Not everything silver-lined is worth every hurdle and tear. But everything adorned with passion is.
























Now, will YOU retreat? Dream on.

"Puffs his last smoke, throws his cigarette on the ground and steps on it.
Walks along the street; farther away from the camera, farther away from his old self; his mind gone shattered and has fallen away in little pieces.
Has his last delusion: acts as if he is shooting someone with a machine gun as he imitates its sound, and falls down on the ground as if he was shot.
He then stands up, walks away normally, as if nothing happened."

End.

apir tayo! *wink*

ANNOYED.

Why is it that most of the time, we are being too restricted in doing the one thing that we enjoy doing, when those people who restrict you in doing so aren't actually affected and involved in the first place? Why is it that they just don't freakin' understand? Probably, they just don't have the same standards as you do. See, it can't be done that fast! Some even take years before they actually execute it and show it to others! A piece takes time before it can be seen as something beautiful! Again, why can't just some people understand! I'm just soooo annoyed at this moment...Ugh.

A little bit of kwento… Not really a substantial entry.

Dad: Hello?
Person: Hello, good evening po, may I please speak TO Kat?
Dad: Who is this?
Person: *toot* po.

And blah blah blah….

After a short while of talking on the phone, I finally said goodbye. I then told papa the reason person called was because he wanted to invite me out that night. And here’s what papa said:
“You’re going out with person? You’re going out with someone who says “speak to” and not “speak with”? You say talk to and speak WITH. Not speak to. *faint laugh*”

I was secretly laughing my heart out when I heard that. Oh daddy oh… Still a perfectionist and the most meticulous man I have ever known. And forever he will be.

By the way, I stayed at home that night and didn’t go because it was a little late already. And I could hear papa saying in his mind “Buti naman.” Haha.

Well, my sembreak’s “ok”. Ok in the sense that I am getting the much-needed sleep, I was deprived of when there were still classes. But now I think, I’m having an overdose of it already. OK rin ‘coz I’m doing what I love doing… (Find out when it’s finished) *wink*. Moreover, I have just been watching movies at home, which I didn’t get to do this past sem. However, I am feeling a little sad because my gorgeous blockmates have been flooding our egroups with their plans on having fun fun fun activities and I don’t think I can go with them. Poor me.

For some strange reason, someone once again asked me the other day how my life is. Then I kept on answering him the usual way I answer such fill-in-the-silence questions. I’m doing pretty well, I’m doing this and that, and so on. Then suddenly, another question popped out of his mouth, which rather freaked me out, make that irritated, every time I’m asked that question. “So, happy?” Fortunately, I was too tired to elaborate on my “Uhh, yah” answer, and I immediately changed the topic.

Months ago, someone also asked me that question- “Happy?” To cut a long story short, asking if someone is generally happy or not, just doesn’t apply for me. (Not that I am currently unhappy) One’s life can’t be happy or not in general because somehow, we’ll be riding the emotional rollercoaster every now and then. You might be crying over a snatched cell phone tonight, and tomorrow, you’ll realize that material things are temporary in this world and you’re lucky to not have been hurt by the stupid snatcher. You might be liking someone today and tomorrow, you’ll discover that that person’s not that worth it after all. You might be wearing orange pants today, and tomorrow, you’ll look at your pictures and say “Ugh, I wore that?!”

Perhaps, this is a healthy life. If there are no shortcomings in your life, then how will you experience happiness? If all you get is sadness, then that would be too miserable and I know, for sure, He never would want that to happen. So maybe, asking if someone’s having a normal life is better than asking, “Are you happy?”

By the way, Sir Marx’s (my very very good and favorite Fil 12 Prof) winning entry "BI", is posted here- http://www.geocities.com/icasocot/mlopez_bi.html (Just copy and paste it on your browser if clicking it is no use coz I don't know why the page won't show up when I use the link technique.)

“Hahanapin ang kiliti ng katawan. At magsisirko sila. Sabay na bubulusok. Lalangoy. Lilipad. Maingat na maingat na lilipad”

Bold. Daring. So now. Galing, Sir Marx!

"Quatro" 

Here's one artwork I've just made. This is what came out due to boredom. It's entitled "Taken In". 

a princessy moment!

Some girls just really deserve to be treated as princesses... happy birthday mimi :-)





while waiting for mimi to arrive:-)

...

so near...yet so far....

Will you?

Blazing the Visual Trail

Some years ago, the Philippine Movie Industry was situated in an era where directors like Lino Brocka and Ishmael Bernal shaped the form of movie making and turned it into what it was supposed to be—an art. According to many, when Brocka made “Maynila sa Kuko ng Liwanag”-1975 and Bernal, “Himala”-1982, called the second golden age of Philippine Cinema, after the first golden age in the 1950’s, they undoubtedly put the Philippines on equal footing with Korea and India, where the people favored local films over those made in Hollywood. Perhaps, in every field of creativity, not only in films, there is always room for improvement, as the cliché goes. Today, I’d say that the age of information is nearing its peak. From original Pinoy sitcoms- where Dolphy made his inauguration- to Mexican and Korean telenovelas, from “Aawitan Kita” to obscene music videos showcasing the more voluptuous half of the human race called women, from panahon pa ni kopong-kopong effects to state of the art technological break-throughs, there is no doubt that Philippine media has evolved. Evolved into what, you may ask. That, I’m not sure of, yet.

The media is not only meant for all comm majors to talk about. If there is one thing that'll never be passé , it's the media. For a friend of mine, media sucks. Perhaps it is true. We've become part of this deteriorating age of a dog-eat-dog society where media performs a big role in shaping our minds. Not too long ago, we were asked by our teacher in comm theory to write an essay about any lesson we've learned in her class. I remember saying there that at some point, they (the media and the people in it-these include the internet, mainly blogs, TV, radio, print) devoured the freedom like there was no tomorrow, bashing other people, seemingly condemning them with much intense scrutiny. In this age where technology can perform miracles in entertainment, where we look for needs and wants according to their capacity to entertain us, where morals are thrashed into oblivion just so we can get what we demand of in this buyer’s market of media, where everything, just involves consumer capitalism, even in the academics, where liberal education is dictated by money (God save us!), where the golden age of film making is simply deteriorating and becoming more and more like the filth of yesterday’s era, perhaps, Neil Postman is right. There is a future schlock, “a cultural condition characterized by the rapid erosion of collective intelligence”, unfolding before our very eyes. And yes, the law of gravity, “what goes up must come down”, might have always been true after all.

Then I ask my self. Can we really change the perspective of the media once we're there? We CAN. But it'll take a whole lifetime to do that. Not unless we change the perspective of the people. The masa.

We can even start now. At present, even my co-members in Lfc are really working their minds off in writing films, submitting concepts, and accepting roles. Now, does this give justice to the famous line "we are the future"? Perhaps, we are the future Lino's and Ishmael's, Quark's, Vilma's, Nora's, and Dolphy's. :))

Everything is becoming entertainment-oriented. Look at the political crisis going on. (But, that is another story.) It has come to a point where morals and ethics are sacrificed because of the kind of media we think is good for us. Where have our minds gone to? Let’s ask ourselves.

Do you think that despite the "hopelessness", there is still hope? Is the hope of thriving for a bright future far-fetched at this moment? How about the great writers out there who crawl their way up just to put the art in films?

Now, ask again. What has Philippine media evolved into? I’m afraid it’s something we need to work on. Fast.

ZSA ZSA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Zaturnaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

They keep me alive and going... Zsa zsa, ikaw rin!

SEVEN-eleven (huh?!hehe..)

Seven things that scare you:
1. to be a ghost of yesterday
2. Gliding and flying ipis-es
3. Death of a person I LOVE (that includes you!)
4. When all you’ve given results to nothing, and you’re left with just the memories of a wonderful past and never the present and what lies ahead
5. Dark and abandoned alleys, run-down storefronts and dark and dirty pockets in the city
6. Creepy crawlers (ants, bugs, leeches, centipedes, snakes, slugs, ticks EEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWW!!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?)
7. Goons/ goons-looking men

Seven things you like the most:
1. my prens
2. Fashion
3. kilig moments
4. Arts
5. The right people at the right time
6. Color pink
7. “Fair weathers and whimsical moments”

Seven important things in your room:
1. computer
2. Bed
3. Magazines
4. Books
5. Clothes
6. Phone
7. Pictures

Seven random facts about you:
1. I tend to think and ask too much… analyzing, weighing things out—call me a skeptic
2. I like pistachio ice cream
3. I love to smile at little things—I appreciate things easily
4. I like fashion and the arts (Oh and did I say I like fashion and the arts?)
5. I have an eye for vintage shops buried deep in the old streets of Manila
6. I love Bellini’s in shoe expo, cubao
7. I like chic finds- vintage or not

Seven things you plan to do before you die:
1. Be in the arms of the love of my life and children, to have a reunion with my friends
2. Serve the least and oppressed
3. Return the love ma and pa gave me all the years
4. Have my sister get cured so that she may hear completely (cochleal implant, whatever, by that time, technology would have found a way for her to hear COMPLETELY and NORMALLY)
5. Travel around the world
6. Be a fashion designer (Italy, here I come! New York, beware!), Creative director and art teacher
7. To have no regrets, and only get a hold of the happiness due to the fact that I’ve done everything I could and have shared this happiness with my family and friends, and to give everything back to Him, my One and Only.

Seven things you can do:
1. paint
2. Play “maalaala mo kaya” sad music on the piano while my blockmates emote in the background
3. Design clothes
4. Love unconditionally
5. Swim
6. Be “Superwoman” (“….Zaturnah! zsa zsa….”)
7. Mang-inis and mang-disappoint unconsciously, and I’ll just notice what the heck I’ve done when the person has gone away…

Seven things you can't do:
1. ride a bike
2. Concentrate at this moment
3. Seem to find the “something more”
4. Accept math as a lovable subject
5. Seem to find an answer to the questions I’m asking at this very moment
6. Think straight right now
7. Think of anything more to write.

Seven things you say the most
1. Ah really?
2. Woah!
3. Yipee!
4. Whatever!?
5. Fart!
6. Goodness gracious great balls of fire!
7. Oh my gosh/ oh my

Seven things that attract you to the opposite sex:
1. Eyes/looks
(eye contact is a must! It shows sincerity.)
2. Sweetness
3. Intelligence (not just the academic aspect..)
4. Sense of humor
5. “Homey” feeling when you’re with that guy
6. Confidence (but not too much of it)
7. Hair (nice!)

Seven things you don’t like in the opposite sex
1. being disrespectful
2. Messy look
3. When he’s taking advantage of my kindness
4. When I am the only one who’s “making pasensya” nalang all the time
5. Lack of guts/confidence- the five letter word that starts with the letter T
6. being over-possessive
7. I guess that’s all

Seven celeb crushes (whether local or foreign):
1. Orlando Bloom
2. Diego Luna
3. Adrien Brody
4. Hayden Christensen
5. Stuart Townsend
6. That’s all

Seven people you want to see take this quiz:
you, you, you, you, you, you, and you. :-)

*sigh*

I've been dwelling too much on this thought. It's now time to shed it off my system. I've had enough of it... The burden has to be lifted away from my soul... And I will make it happen. I hope.

Friday, Saturday and Wednesday Addams

This was taken at Jelise's surprise birthday partehh at Jack's Loft...See how we love you dearie..:-) (Photo courtesy of Henny...hihi) And this was after our deadly Theo test....ngiiiii!




This was taken during our second-to-the-last NSTP insertion last Saturday. Oh how I love these children...simplicity babes na ito!!! (Thanks again Henny...hihi)





And these were taken at our very fun fun fun ACIL acquaintance partey!! Too bad some weren't able to make it...hmph! I came as Wednesday Addams..hihi (thanks sherwin for the pics hihi)

Spoofing It... Something Satirical to Offer...

Our Comm Seminar ad campaign.... hihihi



Am I getting this right? You didn't love your life before?

How about this one?

On the Verge of Giving Up...

The usual walk on the way to the car seemed to take forever this time. The wind brushed through my face, then my hair, and I felt its tingly touch on my watery eyes. Students pass by me, perhaps, annoyed by how slow I walk, and I didn't care. Sorry nalang sila, feel ko mag-emote ngayon! For a moment, I thought about who I am. It was something I couldn’t answer myself. Right then and there, I asked myself, was it Kat who was walking and not someone else who has evolved into someone, or worse, something else? That, I am not sure of, yet.

I felt silly. Why am I being so overemotional? Is this the kind of cultivation theory that the media is imposing on our delicate minds where the drama and lies are being punched onto our faces everyday? Did I feel like I was Anne Curtis in her famous kampanera show, even if I actually don’t watch it, while she was being treated rudely and offensively by her evil peers and kontrabidas? Did I feel like performing a soliloquy in the middle of the pathway and have the drivers waiting nearby watch the one man show of the century? Did I just dwell too much on the silver lining on the plate and all of a sudden, the plate breaks and here I am, broken and kaput together with it? Isn’t it funny? Just when you thought you have gotten a hold of the one big and delicious scoop of strawberry ice cream that you’ve been waiting for when you were young, everything seems to have melted down quickly and you are there left with just the cone.

Well, hello again to my blog. For some strange reason, I’ve avoided writing here. I’ve always told myself that I was busy and, perhaps, my blog can wait. But I guess, it has waited long enough. Apparently, I’ve come to discover that the famous saying “everything has a purpose” is true after all. The long wait signifies a denser and, maybe, more emotional entry than those I’ve written in the past—as if the long wait has planned all the sentiments to heap up for me to write a more personal note. Today, I am afraid to say that my emotional outcries are hovering to their peak. And there is a great need to let this out.

Again, I hate myself for crying while writing this. Others have known me to be very stern at times, masungit, bossy, dictating, demanding, name it! But they do not know that there is still a certain fragility inside me. I believe everyone has. Now, that you know, will you take advantage of it? *cry* Ugh come on, hanggang ngayon pa ba iyakin ako? For the past few days, I’ve been throwing the question “why?” to myself, to the people around me, and just recently, to Him. Why do I always have to multitask? Why do I have to struggle amidst the academic jungle by myself, and simultaneously surpass the more difficult tests of harder and vaguer subjects in life—the people around me, more specifically, the people I cherish the most and value as best friends? For a while, I’ve been confronted by people who just lost their faith. Am I turning into one of them, as well? No I am not. I choose not to. But, I do not fail to question. I have a lot of them. Often, countless. Just last night I was writing a reflection paper on the video we watched in psych about giving birth. I remember writing how I see a mother who brings forth life to the world in her own flesh and body as someone who takes the center stage in the drama of pain and struggle. But when she soon brings out the life, the baby, us, in her own womb, the stage becomes ours.

This is my stage, and I choose how to act in my own show. But what if my audience reacts the way I didn’t expect them to react? Will my show still go on? Will I continue to pretend that nothing is happening and thrash away these sentiments into oblivion? Will I continue to tread slowly, even slower just to show I am ok, when in fact, my legs are bruised and my heels are swollen? But I guess it’s true that, as a friend has just told me, friendships are valuable, but the degree of value depends on every person. I fail to convey the heartfelt thanks so often left unsaid from day to day for all the many things people around me have done and still do. I believe I have a “what else would I want?” life. The people I have right now could have just been common friends, and the life they have given me, an ordinary one! But for some strange reason, why am I being so affected? For a while, things have just been piling up. And perhaps, that’s the reason why.

I know God will not give me anything I can't handle. I just wish that He didn't trust me so much. (M.T.)

*aack naiiyak na naman ako..*

Gloria, it's not only you who is in deep shit...

We all are!

Still a Daddy's Girl

I was once labeled as a daddy’s girl. No boyfriend ‘til you’re 40 was a popular line from him, and perhaps, next was you’re very irresponsible!

Yet, who is this “daddy”? This query is simple to answer but, at the same time, very hard to elaborate on. I have always been his no. 1 fan. He is, after all, the man who has pairs of aviator sunglasses as his fashion statement. Bumble bee eyes, as I would always comment on him. Being hatid-sundo has been my trademark ever since I’ve taken a hold of life from my mother’s womb. A 94 in my report card has always driven me to sleep, or at least pretend to, early, so as not to be engulfed once again by his great-expectations-from-me litany (Well, at least, that’s supposed to be expected already from whom I look up to as a very intelligent dad). To make it simpler, I’ve always been under a very protective, well-driven, intelligent, loving and compassionate, responsible, and “who else would I want?” father. Too many times, I’ve hurt him. And too many times, he, too, has hurt me. But, is this all there is to this man in my life? A perfectionist, teacher, editor, 24/7 bodyguard, mentor, “driver” (well, at times nalang).. etc.? One who once said to mama, after learning he had a baby girl on the night of May 8, 1986, when all he wished for at first was a baby boy, “Girl ang baby natin. Kamukha ko.”? He could have just been a common father, and the life he has given me, an ordinary one! So you wanna know who he really is? To tell you honestly, even if I tell you through words who he really is, it is seemingly impossible for you to comprehend on whatever gushing of colorful vocabulary I disclose. Not unless you spend 19 years of existence with “The MAN”. I know you have your own “The MAN” too. So why not greet him a Happy Father’s Day tomorrow?

Feeling IRRITABLE and sad...

...........

.........

........

.......

......

.....

....

...sigh.

The Moods, The Celebrities, and The Future

I woke up this morning feeling not very well. My head hurt. My ears unaccustomed to the sound of Harry Potter II and NBA All Stars pc games, brought about by my little sister, again, invading my room and the computer desk. I looked at my palm and discovered it was 12:30 in the afternoon. Usually, when I sleep at 5 in the morning, I don’t get up until 2 in the afternoon. But today should be an exception since tomorrow, it’s hello school, goodbye summer sleepless nights.

As we all know, we are just as normal to be subjected to different tempers, as one teenage celebrity (note: CELEBRITIES) was asked what the capital of Egypt is, and answered “E!?!?”. So I went down, feeling irritable, and my mom asked me to eat something. However, I was just not in the mood to take in anything, so I just sat down and buried my head on the dining table. And my mom kept on telling me that I have to eat because I might not have energy for tomorrow and for the other days to come. For most of us, we always say, we have to prepare for the future. We work to earn money for the future. We should do well in our studies to have a good future. We do this and that, again, for a good future. We, the youth, are the future of this country. (Is there still future for this country, by the way?)

Among the many little things that make me smile are funny chat conversations that can go from talking about songs to download, nerds (yes, nerds.), why I still don’t have a boyfriend asked by a high school classmate, to more logical (or is that philosophical) ones like the one I had last night. Oh by the way, I find these funny because it’s just so amusing how we can come up with weird, but interesting conversations.

I was asked out of nowhere if I liked planning for the future. I always thought (note: thought) of how I will be living my life after college. I always dreamt of working first in an advertising company, and write for a magazine or a newspaper, and after having earned enough, I will study Fashion in Italy or New York, come back to the Philippines to be a Fashion designer, and go back to my ad company job, and maybe write occasionally. And I admit, I would like to have a good future. Who doesn’t, anyway?

However, when we dwell too much on the future, we forget the presence of the present, as what I’ve told my friend. We are too much drawn into thinking of having a future, when what we are doing, like in the government, might actually put this future we are thinking of to uncertainty. Moreover, we make it a point to think ten to twenty years from now, and do nothing at all right now. When in fact, as I agree very well with my friend, today is perfect, and tomorrow is uncertain.

I have heard a lot of stories from our former helpers who used to ask help from their former employer—may it be for their children’s tuition or everyday expenses due to the fact that for a family of 8 children, a monthly wage isn’t just enough. And often, their employer would answer, “Alam mo, meron din kaming mga anak na dapat pag-aralin. Sorry, pero kailangan niyong magtrabaho, gaya rin nang ginagawa namin para sa sariling future ng mga anak namin. Sorry nalang.”

And is this the kind of future they dream of—a bunch of “unworthy” men and women who have no right to, at least, have a good future, and have nothing at all, and a society where the rich get richer and the poor get poorer and illiteracy just top notches this surreal landscape? Is this the future where these people actually lead the way and leave the “not in their class, darling” sector behind? Again, as my friend put it, are we making the future an excuse to escape the present?

I’ve wondered often enough, despite the different sectors of society who have varying opinions on whether we still have hope or not for this country, most still get a hold of being hopeful despite the “hopelessness”. Most people still find the glass half full and not half empty. And life, itself, is a paradox.

Valuing the present, what is what you have and feel right now, is the most important thing to do. In doing so will we have the right and good future we all aim for. That’s why we pray “give us this day our daily bread” and not give us tomorrow our food for the coming days, etc. We don’t need to sugar coat words for the future to make them more digestible when all we do in the present might just make the future worse.

Just remember, today is perfect, and tomorrow is uncertain. Smile!

Riding With the Inevitable

Not merely a month has passed by and my cd writer combo has surrendered, with arms wide open, as it uttered, “suko na ‘ko”.

Anong suko ka na!

I had only used it twice to burn a couple of songs, and neither do I often use it to play vcd’s, dvd’s and audio cd’s. Well, these things just crash and are soon subject to the inevitable—change. Hence, who will I else go to, but to the healer of all computer ailments, the one with halo and wings, Andy, my technician.

So I said, it’s alright to brave the heavy traffic once again to have it replaced since I need help with my anti virus as well, which, mind you, hasn’t given me peace of mind while going online since I’m too afraid I might be attacked by a deadly virus, due to its very complicated 2005 internet security installation.

Last night, I received a text message from someone who said, “Hw r u n kt (even my name’s supposed to have its shortcut now?!)?”, which after having not replied to it, turned into something like, “ei, bz k b? wla lng, jaz wana ask hw ur dng (how am I what?!?) Hpe ur k.”. Right then and there, I admit, I was as thrilled as a psychotic serial killer ready to make my next kill of word killers. What would be more compelling enough for someone who greatly values the importance of correct grammar, pronunciation, and WORD SPELLING, to undeniably loathe this kind of attitude and people?! And to think, this is how SOME men actually ask or make pa-cute (if that's how they define pa cute through texting, well, it isn't for me.) to a girl. I am not in the business of throwing insults and questions to these men (and women). After all, it is their choice (to become more and more illiterate men and women who don’t even know how to spell ORANGE.) But what bothers me most is how we have changed into something alienated by the power of these texting mechanisms known as cell phones. (Or, perhaps, how SOME have turned into something unknown.) True enough, are we now too vulnerable like cd writer combos who are quickly drawn to change, and unlike these combos, for the worse?

This nostalgia for the old better days was soon paralleled by Cubao, as I passed by it after having my cd writer combo replaced and my anti virus finally installed. Farmer’s Market, COD Christmas doll shows, Fiesta Carnival, and the famous Araneta Coliseum—these are images that come to mind when we think of Cubao. True enough, Cubao affords me with a certain reminiscence that is quickly rubbed-off by the sight of smoke-belching jeepneys, big buses, run-down storefronts and strip joints. This was when I visited Cubao, the last time I ate at Bellini’s, Cubao’s best kept secret for Italian foodies like me. And yesterday, there seemed to be quite a change in sceneries, for while the last time visit of mine was rather serene and conservative, yesterday’s rather pulsating and loud—what with the place bursting with an array of food and café joints, catering to the mostly masa crowd. Perhaps, Cubao might have been striving to bring back old memories of it as when I was little. It is creating back its vibrancy to this other side of town where it was once changed into one big dirty pocket. For once, it has changed for the worse, and now, for the better and not the worst, thank God.

And I like those who maintained a positive and, perhaps, a better relationship with this surreal and changing landscape we are in. And to those who have taken advantage of change, and abused it, come on, it is not doing any better to your decaying minds and lowering I.Q.’s. Strive for a horse before fighting for a kitten. Mediocrity may just be the way for a fame and “wanna be like everyone” whore. I’ve said before in one of my early entries that I remember how we were taught to break the rules after learning them and, sometimes we tend to not break them but manipulate and murder them and worse, let ourselves to be done the same way.

So sometimes, it is taking the road less travelled, and pursuading others to ride with the inevitable for the better—and not subject oneself to the vulnerability of cd writers. You’ll never know, looking back at better days might just give you the push to have better tomorrows.

The Illusionado/Sometimes Skeptic Sometimes Not/Art and Fashion Junkie Has Found New Reasons To Raise Her Hands and Blurt Out "Hurray!"

The blur months have finally come to a halt. Busy happy days give me the energy rush. And I just can’t get enough of it.

Finally, after having my registration done and knowing how great my schedule is, doing tasks for upcoming events, knowing I’d be seeing the best of the bunch, and having sleepless nights (and I mean the more serious sleepless nights) again, I can feel the blood rushing into my nerves again and filling me with a certain kind of enthusiasm.

Goodbye blah days. Hello high spirited ones!!!

I can't believe I'm answering this.

1) Favorite days of the week?
* I love Mondays, Fridays and Sundays.

(2) Favorite sports to watch?
* Taekwondo, gymnastics, synchronized swimming, and ice skating.

(3) Favorite ice cream flavor?
* Pistachio and cookies and cream

(4) From whom did you get your last email?
* Tito Bets

(5) Which stores would you choose to maxout your credit card?
* If only I have one and money is not an option, I would choose mango, people are people, top shop and nine west.

(6) What do you do most often when youare bored?
* Read a magazine, watch a movie, or go online.

(7) Do you have a special someone?
* I have a lot.

(8) Do you smoke?
* No, I don’t.

(9) Do you drink?
* I don’t actually “DRINK”.

(10) Are you a player?
* I am a piano player.

(11) What is your favorite color?
* Fink!

(12) What is your favorite animal?
* Wabbits! And Hello Kitty!

(13) Do you go online a lot?
* Oh yes!

(14) Do you hate school?
* No, I don’t. As a matter of fact, I love school!

(15) Do you like to dance?
* At times, I do like to dance.

16) Do you like taking pictures?
* Definitely!

(17) Do you have a tan?
* I was born with one—my surname. Haha, seriously, yes I do, but it’s not that noticeable.

(18) How do you vent your anger?
* Through crying, calming down and talking to God.

(19) Do you daydream a lot?
* I think so.

(20) Are you rude?
* The word rude broadens out to different meanings. It can be being impolite, vulgar or appalling. But I’m not like any of those. ;)

(21) Describe your looks?
* I’m too lazy to do that. You have eyes to do that.

(22) Would you ever date someoneyounger than you?
* I actually prefer men older than me.

(23) Would you ever date someone olderthan you?
* Yes, but not too old.

(24) How many rings until you answer thephone?
* Usually, it takes me 3-4 rings.

(25) Do you look more like your mother orfather?
* Motherdear! But, when I have my “singkit days”, I look like papa.

(26) Do you cry a lot?
* No, I don’t.

(27) What do you like most about yourbody?
* I don’t really know, but many tell me that I should be thankful for being blessed by God. Waaaaaaaaaaah!?!?!?!?! Seriously, I am thankful that God gave me a normal body. I have all my senses and strong bones working.

(28) Is your best friend a criminal?
* No, she isn’t.

(29) Would you marry for money?
* No, I wouldn’t.

(30) When was the last time you cried inschool?
* When papa was in the hospital and I had to go to the hospital after school by myself. I kept on being teary eyed that day.

(31) What kind of music do you like?
* I am interested in any kind of music (pop, jazz, rnb, broadway, hangad songs, enya, a little of opm, beatles, instrumental, maroon 5, etc.)

(32) Do you like to party?
* I like going to parties, especially if I like the company. But I’m not a night life kind of girl, perhaps, once in a while will do. I’d rather stay home, relax, watch sex and the city or have a good read. :-)

Haberday!!!!!!!!!!!

Ok, greet my mom and little sister a happy birthday because it's their birthday today.

Happy Birthday ma and Krisha!

Dare to Bare the Real You

You Are Bold And Brave

But daring? Not usually? You tend to like to make calculated risks. So while you may not be base jumping any time soon... You are up for whatever's new and (a little) exciting!

How daring are you?

Trees, Firsts, and Fave Pastimes

“Who then are the real prostitutes if prostitution is defined as making money—perhaps lots of it—by doing something without conviction or morality? Look around you and you will find them everywhere under the guise of respectability, as statesmen, as men of the cloth, entrepreneurs, writers, oh so many journalists, and yes, even academics…” (“Ermita”, by F. Sionil Jose, p.80)

Far from the austere cuddle of the humid air downstairs and the hypnotic glare of the computer screen, I sank into the chilly room of my parents to once again bury my head on “Ermita”. My grip of the book was tight. I was excited on what will exercise my imagination in every page that I turned. I can say that this is the next book, written by a Filipino author, after “Without Seeing the Dawn” by Stevan Javellana, which I enjoy reading. It was a required reading in 1st yr. highschool, about a people who had shared together moments of joy and laughter, grief and tears, love, hatred, and passion, led by Carding, a farmer who became a soldier. Things were never the same again after the Japanese army came where the barrio died and its people’s lives were shattered. And the war brought about a misfortune so great for Carding that he lost not only the love and trust of his wife, but his life as well in the end.

Prostitution is a word heading out to different angles and situations. Often, like sex, it is a topic that captures people’s attention, but is too delicate to converse about in public places. Neither it is a topic I talk about everyday, nor have written about in the past. But in “Ermita”, it is everywhere. It is what it’s about. Often, when we hear the word, Quezon Ave. comes into the picture with its ladies ready to be invited in cars of aging pomade smelling men, or its men ready to be invited in cars of matrons who are likely to pass as their mothers. Most of the time, we associate our memories with the “firsts” in our lives. Our first kiss, our first ride on the bump car, our first car bump, our first day in prep, our first time to taste beer (which was induced by our fathers), our first crush, our first time to be asked out on a date, etc. The problem that has got me thinking is how our lives are being interrupted by memories, moreover, by our firsts, just like the first time I was lifted up from a certain naivety that prostitutes aren’t only the men and women we see along Quezon Avenue. As what is stated above from “Ermita”, they can be everyone, even those you wouldn’t think would be one. They may be political prostitutes, as what we have in our government in herds. After all, as what Conrado de Quiros says, politics in this country is an engraved invitation to promiscuity, or as prostitution suggests, to selling oneself for gain. One may be unaware of it, just as how looking is different from seeing. A teacher in college once told us to recite a poem in class and tell what is so paradoxical about the poem. I chose “Trees” by Joyce Kilmer.

Trees

I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow ha lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

I said that we see trees as common figures. It gives us shade; we use it for furniture, paper; birds lay eggs on nests on top of it, etc. And, let us admit it, we do not marvel at it and touch it admiringly and say “Wow Lord, this tree is so wonderful, it just makes me speechless.” So I said that the paradox in it, with the line “Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree”, is that, we look at trees as trees only, never do we really see that behind a tree is Him, Who is the only One to provide us with such marvelous creations. The paradox in it is looking, but not actually seeing. And, mind you, these are two different things. And this teacher just shrieked out telling me in front of the class that “Trees” is such a stupid poem, that we should never read it again, and that there is nothing paradoxical about it. I just felt sad, not because he did this to me in front of the whole class, but how someone who teaches about paradox never sees within himself. The fact that he just looks at this poem as a stupid one and me, seeing it as way deeper than how simply it is written is paradox in the flesh.

Memories such as this crawl their way up to each of us seemingly reminding us that sometimes, life is not always what it seems. As the cliché goes, a glass may seem half full, yet half empty as well. Hard as we try to fend off these memories, such as how Ermi, the lead character in “Ermita”, tries to forget the way she was treated as a nobody by her own mother because she was just a product of an animal act done to her by a Japanese soldier, but leads her to become a high class prostitute, and make use of this as a means to destroy her own family, and to avenge herself, they still resurface—tomorrow, on the next week, month, forever. No matter how hard we attempt, and how old we become, these memories are never erased, only suppressed. They remain and loiter like anay lingering in putrefying wood, moving and surfacing above as they please. They are forever making dents in our delicate minds.

“Selling oneself for gain is the country's favorite pastime, texting is only second.” (CDQ)

Knowing I'm 19, Am I Too Old For My Age?

You Are 20 Years Old

20 Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

Now, why don't you check what age you act?

Fashion Frenzied: The Crazed, Dazed and Amazed by Fashion

I have been reading magazines for quite sometime now, and it was not long ago, while flipping through the pages of one, did I realize that Filipinos, nowadays, are more open-minded when it comes to dressing up. (Well, there are still the conservative ones.) Whether or not one’s personal style’s eccentric, avant garde, classic, or trendy, most people now prefer clothes far from the ordinary. Quality, exceptional design and interesting details are just some of the factors that women of fashion look for in clothes. These days, big fashion billboards advertising branded clothes have spread all over the metro. Perhaps, this is one of the reasons why fashion is fast becoming an object of importance. Now, not only women love the idea of fixing up or glamorizing the basic tee or pants, or choosing to wear stilettos over flats, but men, as well, now take time to pamper themselves in salons, and, choose and play up an outfit that best suits their personality. Thus, the sprouting of men called metrosexuals. But men need not be metrosexuals. Filipino males can finally understand the joy of shopping and dressing up. Clothing lines that specifically cater to the “other sex” have emerged leaving them with no excuse for having boring wardrobes.

From veteran designers like Inno Sotto and the late Joe Salazar, to the new and young designers, like Kate Torralba and Mitch Dulce, fashion on the runways have become more whimsical, expressive and at the same time remained classy and chic. Unlike in the fifties, where it is such a glamorous time and there is romance and a decadence to the way women dress, and they do not wear sneakers, both men and women of today are more adventurous, but still maintain their individualisms and own sophistications. Carrie Bradshaw, from the very popular, and not defunct, show, “Sex and the City”, perhaps, has influenced a lot of women with their “flipping through a magazine” concept of showing both high-end designers’ recent collections, and flea market finds to New York’s trendy and vintage haunts’ pieces, to dress up glamorously and expensively or, cheap but chic, as well. Manolos might have perhaps sold a large number of pairs of shoes after airing on TV. Nevertheless, not only rich men and women are joining the bandwagon of the enamoring fashion wonders. The masses, too, are. Whether one may be overdressed while donning big plastic chunky bangles, fishnet stockings, plastic pink diamond earrings, bright blouson, red blush, lots of mascara, gold lipstick, and violet nails in McDonald’s, or not, it is a way for that person to let out his or her personality, and creativity.

Everyone just seems to have their own passion and interest for fashion, whether or not their personal style depends on their age, the weather, a fashion trend, their stature, even the occasion. Anything can actually influence one’s personal style, thus making it a continuous study, just as how fashion keeps on evolving in a seemingly unending cycle.

I See, I Feel, I Have, I Adore, I Love

For you who, perhaps, think that it is, once again, a same-old-shit-different-day for me, who somehow could not find a word besides “boring” to describe my summer situation, you are unquestionably wrong.

When I was much younger, all I ever cared about was getting another Barbie doll in every special occasion that I underwent—may it be my first piano recital, my prep graduation (in which I also got sets of new of stationeries besides the beaming Ist Honor medal), or my birthday. My transformation from the day mama gave labor and I was gloriously lifted by the doctor directly out of her tummy, to the nineteen year-old girl that I am right now, was like the common turtle who made it to the black and white flag slowly, but surely. Today, my mind is filled up with more than Einstein could ever compute with his unbelievably boundless intelligence, or what my cousin who is just part of the director’s list (top 2% of those who passed the ACET) this coming school year could dig out of his seemingly surprising brain. And yes, it definitely goes beyond Barbies and stationeries.

Today, I celebrate a day of once again finding happiness in everything that
I see,
I feel,
I have,
I adore,
and, I love.

Someone always asks me how it feels to turn 17, 18, and this time, 19. I would always answer, “Umm, normal.”

“Is it really normal?”, I ask myself.

Many people in their just-turned-18 years couldn’t even pass a day of, perhaps, not reminding themselves that they are now adults, can go to jail, and more commonly, they have, with mouth wide open, arms spread to the hilt, “the freeeedooooom!”. You might say that I am different for not feeling or even thinking that way. Yes, I’ve thought of that, nevertheless, what I’ve always put to mind was how these two people in my life have raised me the way no one I ever imagined could. For someone who religiously eats oreos with milk, and has just been greeted at the tick of the clock at midnight ‘til the early morning a happy birthday by great friends Henny, Roy, Dominic, Karlo and Ryan, my life, perhaps, isn’t that normal after all. It is heavenly. Today, besides celebrating my birthday with my lola, I celebrate the day of my one ttvbf (true true verybest friend), fellow fashion lover, taga-gising sa umaga, hair-braider noong bata pa ako, taga-pigil gumimick (haha!), my “twin sister”, and the only one besides papa who would give her life for me and my little sister, Krisha, mama.



Mama, mommy, mom, ‘nay, ma, momsy, motherdear, madear, and whatever you call her, she deserves a kiss and an “I Love You” today, and everyday. (Kaya go na, don’t shy!)

Today, I mark the journey, my ride on a wave of change—a natural occasion we all submit ourselves into.

And as what I always say to myself, although I may not be 100% perfect compared to others, I still feel content with my achievements, and, the words and deeds lying deep in my soul that have made me inspire a lot of people. The important thing is that I know there’s still room for improvement and will strive hard to reach the standards of excellence in every endeavor that I partake in. Life is precious as it is short… that is why I am determined to make the most out of it to share with mama, papa, Krisha, my friends, and the rest of the world.


Now, I say,
"To move, to tread slowly, to come close, and to behold, I dare you. This is
my sparkle...
my spirit...
my existence...
my story."

I think I am enjoying my trip along memory lane this early morning, so maybe it would be much nicer to share it with you. Do you notice something familiar? See the background? Yes, it's Ateneo High School! Well, I guess I was born to be an Atenean! :-) *Boom-boom at 3 yrs. old.* 

It is 3:28 in the morning and clearly, I am not yet asleep as I am posting a little collage of my self's resemblance today and ten years ago. Now, do you see the resemblance (the pose and the attire *wink wink*)? Well, there are things that really choose to remain unchanged. :-) 

Beachin' the Night Away!

The best Candy Model (yeahba!) luau bunch doing the "1,2,3, pose!"

- Anj, Fidz, Aleesh, Pau, Roy, Ponso, and moi.

Oh what fun!

Models huddling and chillaxing

-Hens, Fidz, Anj-> the star hottie of the night, Aleesh, Moi, Roy, Ponso and Pau

Oh yes! Thizizit!

Treat Me Baby One More Time

“Love you na, miss you pa. Be my valentine! Dig mo ba?”

(…...then a loud burst of laughs and giggles that only mama and I could understand.)

That afternoon spent under the unyielding gape of the midday sun was a little bit different from my usual "bum-na-naman-ako-ngayon" day. Besides waking up at 1:45 in the afternoon after sleeping at 6:00 am the same day (rarr! Vampire, ikaw ba yan?!- as what I’ve been addressed to twice already by some friends), and getting online the most often that I’ve ever done so since my wonderful life of college began, having the net as my daily companion to beat the deadly punch of boredom in my face, and giving the paint brush and the ivory keys a rest, mama came into my room holding a quite aged box.

I was staring blankly at the Lifestyle section of the Inquirer’s thinking if I’ll read along, until she called me with a jumping tone of voice that made me...jump! She opened it with almost beaming with enthusiasm eyes, while laughing, and took out a piece of paper with hearts cut out from red art paper. It was, as well, full of coffee-like stains, like the box where it came from. And to my surprise, it was a Valentine’s card she gave to papa on February 14, 1987.

Oooh..I felt like putting on pencil cut pants/baston, an over-sized t-shirt with a psychedelic print, and spraying Aquanet to achieve sky-high bangs and stiff hair, and walking down the boulevard of the 80’s. And with softly handwritten letters, I saw the coolest words that I thought mama could ever write to papa, on Valentine’s Day, on the day when I was, perhaps, making the feeding bottle the love of my life, and on the day when I supposed my parents spoke with each other with decadence, conservativeness and a not-so-“cool” language (Well, I thought those words were really “cool” ;)).

So dig ko ba? Aba, dig na dig!

I rummaged through the box and had the feeling of surrender to, not only mama’s past, but mine, as well, as it also sheltered my baby and toddler pictures, pictures of my cousins, when having our hairs tied up to the side of our heads like distorted hair fountains top notched coolness , pictures of my very loved and missed lolo with his favorite apo, when I was still addressed to as Boom-Boom/Boomy (I don’t even know how that became my nick name until
now), the cards and letters I made for ma and pa, and more coffee-stained papers and pictures of the bygone days of big hairs and fishnets.

It has always intrigued me to learn about other people’s lives. It has always compelled me to be inquisitive, interested, and, perhaps, you might say, maarte in a harmless way, from the very least instance wherein I ask people why their status in YM is such, to the countless times I keep on asking mama what pair of earrings suits my top well, to the times wherein I get a notebook from the shelves of National Bookstore from the middle and innermost part (because I think that they are less touched by the other customers), to the same old excitement that fills me as I visit places such as Intramuros for an English essay once more.

Rummaging through my past was like discovering a place I’ve never been to before, strangely attracted to and enraptured by the evidences of antiquity that were once witnesses to the making of a history. Like visiting Intramuros the second time around for that essay, I remembered how I sat comfortably on my seat in a Chinese fine dining restaurant during papa’s birthday, putting my fingers on the icing of his black forest cake, as how I felt comfortably too on my seat, eating potato chips, as I eagerly awaited our arrival at the historic ruins of Intramuros the first time I went there on a field trip in Assumption.

Then I again thought that, maybe, I’ll never be complete now, I’ll never reach the future, if it weren’t for these pieces of treasures that are more enhanced by a greater feeling of awe and fascination that makes me pay closer attention to details. Some things are made to surprise us with greater surprises, while some are made to surprise with.. uh, more soiled ones instead, such as how the way I thought to merely view and enjoy the sights of Intramuros for the 2nd time, and maybe to smell the fresh sea breeze blowing in from the nearby Manila Bay which, however, turned out to be not fresh but rather foul and obnoxious. But, this time around, for the treasures I discovered, it was neither foul, nor obnoxious.


So getting my shield to protect my fragile state from boredom, I decided to incorporate these treasures into a…uh, well, kind of “gradeschoolish” (my friend’s term) way… a scrapbook!


There are things that one must let go off. These are those that are burdensome, as if putting them in a fire pit and letting them burn to eternity.

However, there are ones worth keeping—like memories of a love that both partners “dug”, and pictures that bring back loved people to life, seemingly of those strings of yearning, and something that already meant before.

And in doing so, perhaps, holds three things—that of acceptance, that of rekindling, and that of immortality. And when we add our own touch, we become part of a precious moment in time.

“Oh ano, dig mo rin?” or perhaps, "you dig it?"

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Damn Thrilling!

As my brains begin to leak out of my ears because of the sweaty squeeze of summer, I try to search for something in my room to get my hands onto and drive away my ill-tempered feeling at the moment. It is 2:22 in the morning, and I just cannot seem to lock my peepers and doze off to dreamland. Suddenly, this current state of my mind has afforded me with a certain nostalgia for the past, during the time I made my room, my solitary spot.

Moments in the morning are often like this. Amidst the busy and clamorous atmosphere of Falcon St., with the countless cars and screeching jeepney tires passing through the paved road, the high-sounding practices, or what I call, "jamming sessions" of our born-again church neighbor, the clattering sound made by the neighbor's maid sweeping their garage front while eyeing on the globe telecom technician who is currently fixing the "globe cabinet'' in front, and the uproarious barking of dogs, I am oblivious of all distractions, only savoring the serenity of my very own solitude--my room.

It is where I am right now, feeling irritably useless and tired of the usual objects of creativity, or at least getting ideas for me to be creative and productive inside this "paraisong parisukat"(how I miss that play I made with my very beautiful Ah-uno superstars..), that I've gotten a hold of since summer kicked off-- the drawing block on my desk, a bundle of water color tubes beside it, stacks of magazines adorning the antique wooden table, pocket books of sorts, the piano (well it's actually downstairs, nevertheless, I’ll include it anyway), computer, and movies of nothing else but my favorite ones.

Then to my surprise again, I just discovered myself being carried off to a line of thoughts in my seemingly not working mind...or, maybe not. I turned my computer on and remembered dear friends online early this evening, almost each with a link directing to their minds... the blog/online journal.

Just up to the moment that you are reading this, you might be thinking, "yep she's finally joined the bandwagon!"And I did. Now, having a site wherein your thoughts are very much availably uncensored and "published" to the world, and as what a friend has told me that “walang limits yan!”, I thought to myself, I think I’d be having a ball right here.

I suddenly remember an article that I’ve read in the newspaper, which said

“As a mere seconds-old member of the human race, we are immediately the subject of scrutiny. High hopes are thick for us to be alive, to be healthy and kicking, to possess ten fingers and toes, and to look like a damn cute baby. Soon, we are expected to walk a straight line, to stand on our own, and to utter a cool word that our parents can brag to their peers about.”

Then I realize, isn’t it that because of this, we are being induced to be ambitious and smart, just as how we’ve gotten into a good university of our choice and seemingly figure out the queer language of my mortal enemy--Math, and decipher just the right word to give the lit teacher a “kick-in-the-butt” in your essay and have a beaming A written on it, while simultaneously trying to surpass the more difficult tests of harder and vague subjects--the people around us?

More importantly, because of this, we try to find our comfort zones among the chic gangs, berks, posse, kada, sidekicks, chums, or whatever you want to call it, and the know-it-all dudes, at times letting ourselves to evolve into barred circles even if it means not subverting (I still remember this from a former teacher who just brings out the byotch in me) our twisted frame of mind due to the fear of being labeled as an outcast, epal, wannabe, 2nd rate trying hard copycat, gaya-gaya puto maya, exile, or worse, a ghost of yesterday.


And to add up to that, I have noticed that to be seen at the hip and happenin’ places, to look ddg(uh that’s drop dead gorgeous), to be in validation with the latest fads, and just to once again, be a descendant to the wide craze of the religion of coolness, that just happens to daze and amaze everyone, the “real world” is a matter of survival of the fittest, as the cliché goes. .

If we say that we are in a world where there are no limits at all, where fashion is allowed to reach the extremes of over and under dressing, yet one may still look ‘fab’ in the eyes of anyone, where countless watering holes are offered to ‘sosiyaleras and sosiyaleros’, where blogs are being a hit, knowing that in here, “there are no limits” (again), I come to dig out a line from my not so working brain as a student without summer classes, from the movie Almost Famous, which in fact, came out in, perhaps, in what you’re thinking as this deym article that I keep on mentioning, --“since when did we put such a high premium on being like everybody else?” And since when did we deem it necessary to be…. “so fetch!”-Mean Girls? Ladies and gentlemen, the paradox of life.

So I say, to hell with it. The gravity of words is power. Power to the people. Today, and perhaps, for the many days to come, the blog is my companion, my slave, my shock absorber, my creativity block, my limitless boundary. Scrutinize me. Go on and with your creative mind (I believe that everyone has one. They are just too afraid to heck use it. No limits, remember?), think the way you want to think of me. I remember how we were taught to break the rules after learning them. But of course, without reaching the bounds of evil, that is. This does not mean conforming to apathy. Rather, it is having the passion, the zest, for being a real person. Being limitless and, at the same time, bounded to the norms of good living. Being confident, but not too confident.

Remember that it is always superior to be a first-rate version of you than a second-grade version of somebody else. I know that it is hard take ourselves away from the barred circles, and grow out of image anxieties, but when we happen to get on our heels and finally do it, the first pant out of it is deym thrilling.

….now, I’ve, again, gone back to my solitary spot, yet with my brains now leaking out of my ears because of the sweaty squeeze of summer.