painted faces

Speak to me, world. でも、。。。

2012-01-25T01:05:00.000-08:00

くだらないことをいわないで.

Birthday message to self

2012-01-08T04:00:00.000-08:00

One week in advance.

“I hope you will have a wonderful year, that you'll dream dangerously and outrageously, that you'll make something that didn't exist before you made it, that you will be loved and that you will be liked, and that you will have people to love and to like in return. And, most importantly (because I think there should be more kindness and more wisdom in the world right now), that you will, when you need to be, be wise, and that you will always be kind.”
― Neil Gaiman

Why?

2011-12-20T18:34:00.000-08:00

Let me sound so naive and idealistic here, but why does pain have to happen? Is it necessary for you to learn things? Why can't the world, or the person, just give you a dossier of information with the following items:

Scope, limitations, and period of interaction
Things you are recommended to do
Things I might possibly do
Things which would happen if you go beyond the given scope and limitations
Things you are not allowed to do; Ramifications of
Things you ought to learn from the interaction
Things you may learn if you violate the scope and limitations and perform the prohibited acts

That way, you can just read and be informed about it. Better yet, it scares you enough to not even go through any interaction at all.

Cowardly, yes. But when you wake up in the morning with heartache and a wounded pride tugging at every crook of your body, you would wish you had gotten your copy of the dossier too.

Up yours.

2011-12-16T02:06:00.000-08:00

A: I apologize for the cold behavior.

B: Thank you. But "I apologize for being an arse/prick" would have been better.

Impasse

2011-11-25T01:52:00.000-08:00

Locked.

In the moment between past and future - not present, but beyond it. Or even over it. But not anywhere else, either.

Bound.

By limitations. Of time. And circumstance. (And everything seems familiar again.) Ask not. Want not. Just stay.

Tired.

And unmoving. There are choices, yes, but nowhere to go. But this. This.

Stuck.

As life happened. Happens. Stuck. With a hot-wired brain working on overtime.

Wanting.

To deal. To crave but give in. To be silent and pray. To listen. To remain.

Confused.

But will remain. The same.

Kumamoto and Aso-san: coming together

2011-11-14T04:45:00.000-08:00

Back in June, while I was trying to plan my life, I got the wonderful idea to climb Mt. Aso. Also known as Aso-san to the Japanese people, it is the largest volcano in Japan and is one of the biggest calderas (of about 120km in circumference) in the whole world. Like most of my plans, though, I didn't really expect it to come to fruition, due to one (almost always lame) reason or another.

The book I never even opened (nor had to open)

And then I came to Japan.

My first month in Japan was spent trying to settle in, figuring out how to juggle my studies and social life, and eating at wonderful places around town. Aso-san, as the destination of choice, was replaced by Dazaifu, which was a much closer and cheaper alternative. And Dazaifu, in turn, was shelved due to one lame reason after another.

On the early evening of 12 November 2011, however, I got a harebrained idea of going to Kumamoto, a city in Kumamoto prefecture in Kyushu Island, about 2 hours away by bus from Fukuoka. I told a handful of new friends about it, but I only got two "possible" companions. One was not sure and she'd have to get back to me on it and the other one actually thought it was a good idea. This friend, Ryan (not his real name), informed me at 7pm that his friend, Marshall (also not his real name) has also been wanting to go to Kumamoto AND THEN climb Mt. Aso. At first I was hesitant to go. Kumamoto is a "safe" plan since I can just visit temples, gardens, and museums. But Mt. Aso -- yes, my "June plan" -- teased the chicken in me since I haven't actually done hardcore climbing before (climbing a hill in Can-ayan, Bukidnon did not count since its difficulty level was like 0.5 in a scale of 1-10, 10 being the most difficult) and I did not know what to expect.

When I pressed him for details on Marshall's plans, however, Ryan could not give me anything since he was already on his way out to go to a bar with a bunch of our other classmates. He just informed me that Marshall wanted to meet at the city proper (yeah, my place is kinda in the other side of the river) at 9am the next day. Bozo. So I was left to ponder on the Kumamoto-Aso plans alone.

It was at around 10pm that I decided to go with Marshall's plans and extend my trip to Aso-san. But, I couldn't very well Marshall about it 'cause I didn't have his contact details. Smart. So I partially packed my bag - "partially", since I did not want to fully disappoint myself in case I chicken out the next day or fail to wake up or Marshall leaves without me and I'd be so confused that I'd end up in another city or wherever. Just for the heck of it, I messaged Ryan about my plan to join Marshall so he can relay the information accordingly.

No answer.

Small steps, big dreams

I woke up at 7:30 and dressed up in the laziest fashion ever. Then I checked my messages. No answer from Ryan. Ooh boy. So he was not able to relay my message to Marshall then. I had to look up the directions to Kumamoto online via the link another friend sent me before. At least not all would be lost, I thought to myself. I can just walk around Kumamoto.

I rushed down at 8am to catch the bus to Tenjin, praying all the while that I'd bump into Marshall somewhere there. When I got to the bus stop however, Ryan was there - decked in pink, as usual - looking very sick and ... drunk? Apparently he got back home 2 hours (or less) before, from a night of partying, slept (crashed was more like it), woke up at 7:50, and decided to follow Marshall and me around. This was getting more hilarous than I had expected it to be. So, hating to prick his giddy-drunk bubble, I let him yak on and on in the bus about how marvelous life is and how exciting the trip is gonna be since the three of us have not known each other for long and we don't know each other's travel behavior.

I was mighty relieved, nonetheless, that someone was actually coming along with me. Even if we don't end up seeing Marshall (Ryan ALSO did not have his contact details. Pretty smart, eh?), at least there'd be two of us looking like idiots lost in a prefecture we've never been in before.

We grabbed a quick breakfast in Tenjin, with Ryan still quite the happy drunk, and went to the post office where buses come and go and ... ta-da! Marshall was there, reading, and obviously waiting for us to pop out of thin air. And so... the adventure (mad dashes, and all) begun.

Strange band, but a band nonetheless

*To be continued*

Attack

2011-11-05T09:21:00.000-07:00

Strings. White. Definiteness. Life.

Autumn. Trees. Leaves. Falling slowly. Reddish-brown against the pavement.

Changes. Clouds. Cold. Night. Solitude. Raindrops. Silence. Deafening silence. Lights. Darkness. Lights. Blindness. Ignorance. Uncertainty. Irrelevance. Timelessness. Truth.

Indefiniteness. Impermanence. Sunsets. Seasons. Snowflakes. Frost and mistletoes. Wistfulness. Could've-beens. Should've beens. Words unsaid. Pills untaken. Quick hello's. Quicker goodbyes. A single tear. One last hurt.

A white flag. An easy surrender.

A broken thread.

On the Sticks - 2

2011-10-17T00:30:00.000-07:00

You can make things simpler. You just got to move.

It's one of those days when your stomach feels queasy but you haven't actually eaten something funny. Everything around you seems in place and fuss-free: the weather is nice - neither too hot nor too cold; there are no crowds to squeeze through nor escape from; and there are no apparent points which compell you to act in a prescribed manner.

But, somehow, you are not comforted. Something is amiss, though you cannot categorically identify it. It may be on the tip of your tongue, but you can't seem to spit it out.

Maybe it's the obsessive-compulsive need to make things perfect according to your unrealistic standards. Maybe it's due to the fact that living alone is an altogether new territory and you are between two roads at present: one which delights in the idea of being free from anyone and everyone who has ever known you, and the other which is still quite dazed by how apparently alone you are.

Maybe it's just a flu virus waiting to happen.

Or just stay still. Most amazing results are arrived at by inaction.

It's confusing, though you can't really figure out what it is you are confused about. But then again, maybe "confused" is not the proper term and "overwhelmed" is.

So you sit a little corner - not really apart from the world that surrounds you, but not entirely within easy reach either - and just let yourself be overcome by anything and everything: stress, weariness, momentary detachment

Deadlines and academic load, expectations, personal standards, chores which you have never been expected to do in your entire life

The need to get out and get lost, the need to just sit in the middle of the pavement and be in everybody else's path

Lust, "love" (in an ironic sense)

everything and maybe anything at all.

Saturdate

2011-08-20T20:46:00.000-07:00

Today, my dad and I went on a date. He wanted to watch movies - note the plural form- and I wanted to eat. So to the mall we went.

Surveying the movies being shown, we trimmed our list to the following: Crazy Stupid Love (with Steve Carell), Conan The Barbarian, Cowboys vs. Aliens, and The Rise of the Planet of the Apes. It was a no-brainer: of course we chose Cowboys vs. Aliens since it had the "biggest" stars (my dad's basis for choosing).

My dad is a lover of Hollywood superstars and upon finding out that this movie, which reeked of sci-fi tales, had Harrison Ford and Daniel Craig in it, he chucked his anti-sci-fi principles out the window and lobbied for Cowboy vs. Aliens. I was more than happy to oblige, as I had just decided then that it was the only movie in the list we COULD watch together without me flinching at any given time.

You see, I WANTED to watch Crazy Stupid Love as I think Steve Carell is just hilarious but the movie poster showed a pair of nice legs spread apart in front of the movir's main man. From the poster alone, I could foresee scenes with nudity, although I was pretty sure those scenes would have a punchline somewhere. There would be scantily clad women. There'd be a lot of kissing. And I'd be squirming in my seat with my dad tsk-tsking away beside me.

I remember the time I watched "Shakespeare in Love" with my dad anad my late uncle. They were trying to cover my eyes when Gwyneth Paltrow and Ralph Feinnes were getting it on while exchanging literary quotes. After that first rather intimate scene, they'd tell me to cover my eyes whenever the two actors would do. So much as look at each other. Needless to say, we did not get to finish the entire movie. Yeah. We walked out on Gwyneth.

Then we watched Brokeback Mountain. that was fairly recent - heck, I was already in my twenties then. My uncle, God bless his soul, was already amongst the angels then. So, my dad and I watched with my nephew, who's about 7 years or so older than me. When Anne Hathaway's boobs came dangling before Jake Gylenhall's adorable face, my dad bolted out of his seat and declared the movie to be ugly and downright improper. Again, we walked out. This time, it was while Anne was busy riding Jake - not the horse, but Jake.

That was why I didn't fight for Crazy Stupid Love. As for Conan the Barbarian, well, we know Conan. But the the actor playing Conan and the actress playing his love interest (there's bound to be a love interest) were not on my dad's list of watchable actors. In fact, he has never heard of them. With that, we flushed Conan's movie down the loo.

The second Apes movie got included in the short list just because it was the only other 'safe' movie to watch. Also, it had James Franco and my dad liked him in Spiderman. But it was a movie about apes and we really didn't want to watch that.

So, Cowboys vs. Aliens it was. And, although it was a wee bit disgruntling to reconcile two 'worlds' - the Old West and the technologically advanced Aliens - I found the movie highly entertaining. (This is a mighty significant compliment coming from a woman who has always despised sci-fi films and who has never really liked Daniel Craig.)

I went inside the movie house without any expectations: hey, I was only obliging my dad. But throughout the movie, I was snickering at the sheer idiocy of the spoiled Percy and racking my brains for what could possibly be the next scene. Nevermind the loose ends.

Daniel Craig was such a badass in the movie - well, save for his moments of weakness towards all things female and beautiful (sheesh) that I'm now on the brink of considering a change of heart. He was believable as a memory-impaired cowboy with an oddly modern bracelet on his arm.

As for that weird bracelet, how come other aliens did not have that? Was that only reserved for the Dr. Frankenstein-alien? Also, how come Olivia Wilde (man, she was scorching) knew how to figure it out, so much that she even got to turn it to a bomb of sorts? She was from another planet (or something) and either she was very intelligent or that alien bracelet thing was standard issue in all worlds but the Old West's Earth.

How did she manage to resurrect from dead? Jeez, the movie expected viewers to just accept all happenings without raising ny eyebrows, as if we all knew the reasons behind every mystical or weird thing. This was its major flaw, in my opinion. They could have had Oilvia Wilde's character explain herself and her origins more - what her powers, if any, were, how she knew Daniel's character was THE cowboy at first glance, where she got the human body to hide her true form with, blah blah blah - but of course, the bonfire chatter was kept to the minimum.

Amid all these questions and curiosities, still, the movie did not fail to entertain. My dad, who would normally punctuate every other scene with questions on why a scene happened, or why the actor was shitting in his pants,so to speak, was silent all through out, save for some guffaws at specific scenes. He also did not ask his usual clarificatory questions after the movie (or maybe that was because he was rushing to get his ticket to Crazy Stupid Love - which he was watching by himself right after Cowboys vs. Aliens - and the movie was beginning 10 minutes after Cowboys ended).

Oh, and my dad hated Crazy Stupid Love. He said he should have watched Conan the Barbarian instead.

On the Sticks - 1

2011-07-29T01:12:00.000-07:00

And so it is, just like you said it would be, life goes easy on me.
Most of the time.

The silence is deafening. Never you mind the pitter-patter of the rain on the sill and against the closed windows. Never you mind the voices, beats, and crackling sounds continuously being emitted by the decade-old speaker I've inherited from this apartment's former tenants: the silence overpowers us all.

One stick. Two sticks. Three. One pack almost gone, but I can still taste cinnamon on my tongue. A faint vanilla scent is still on my skin, on my hands, on my shirt. You and your vanilla scent. The pillows, I bet they still smell of you.

And so it is, the shorter story;
No love, no glory; no hero in her sky.

They're all that's left. You took away all there is to take. Except for these cigarettes. Except for the sheets you hated so much because they make you scratch your skin all night and you wake up with red, red arms. And thighs.

You picked them, you know. I had chosen the plain blue, green, and white plaid. You found them to be boring so you got those swirly violet and grey - no indigo and ash, you had called them, as if there could be some marked difference between those colors - sheets instead. It's your fault you spent most nights scratching and most mornings complaining. It's your fault.

How dare you leave these sheets behind.

I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes...

Four sticks. Four cigarette butts on the desk. You even took my ashtray with you. I loved that ashtray. I had gotten that at a second hand store in Peru two years ago - that morning when I found myself so disoriented that I could not find my way back to the motel and instead I ended up at that alley. You had rescued me. You had found me as if I had a homing device around my ankle. You had seen me looking at that ashtray while you asked me what I was doing out of bed at 9:30 AM and how long I was out. So you bought that ashtray for me when I could not say a word. That ashtray, with your money.

Even so, that ashtray was supposed to be mine.

And so it is, just like you said it should be: we'll both forget the breeze.
Most of the time.

Whoever put that idea in your head must be shot. In the head. Through the heart. And through both soles of the feet.

Aren't you already living your life? If not, then what have you been doing all along? Whose life did you steal? Whose body is that? What have you been doing all this time -- sleepwalking?

And so it is: the colder water,
the blower's daughter, the pupil in denial.

The London sky is as bleak as usual. Nothing ever changes in this side of the world. Well, they do: from one shade of grey to another. From the lightest smoke to a cloudy black. And on those nights that the stars actually appeared, you would point out the constellations and I would listen, not really making out the shapes, not really caring if what you say were actually true. You talked a lot; you filled the silence. You were my laughter.

That ashtray should have stayed mine. These sheets should have been wrapped around your legs now. Those things should have stayed together.

I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes...

I can't take my mind...

My mind...my mind...

Off you.

'Til I find somebody new.

Of homecomings. And then some.

2011-07-14T05:41:00.000-07:00

The day's over. The sun is out and has been since oh, more than 3 hours ago. It's getting closer and closer to midnight but I'm still stuck halfway to my destination, halfway out of my yesterday.

That's my current pseudo-profound, if not "trying-hard" state, attempting to make 'stuck-at-the-airport' sound as poetic as it possibly could. (Which is to say, not at all. Not tonight. Not ever.)

Airports are sui generis, though at present I'm not completely sure if I'm doing the words justice. (Heck, the words just sound right that's why I used them as such.) Yes, airports are public places. Yes, they conform to the usual foundations required of buildings. Yes, they accommodate heavy foot traffic.

But, though they belong to a particular territorial jurisdiction, they seem not to be part of that geological area at all. They're the launching pads of heartaches. They're gigantic keys to the future. They're temporary shelters to the wandering few, and a given inevitablity for the pro's. They're there. And then they're not. You appreciate their architecture. And then you forget all about them once you leave the tarmac. Or at least up until your return, but by then, you'd most likely be feeling the rush of homecoming that airports and their magnificent or appaling facilities would just be a fly on the ends of your hair.

You may be there, but you're just passing through. Much like everyone else.

Much like everyone else, I'm in my own little bubble. I'm here, typing away on my iPad, trying to seem as if 'passing through airport' is just second nature. I am trying to look like those frequent flyers, minus the beige trenchcoats, the briefcase, and the Financial Times tucked under their armpits. I try to look busy and unaffected by the numerous strangers sharing the humongous boarding area with me. I try to look unconcerned as the person beside me talks on and on to (probably) his girlfriend over the phone. (Geez, they've been on the phone for so long now. Seems that they don't run out of conversational topics. Good for them. Hell. Good for them.)

So, back at the airport and I'm zoning in at the fact that I'm here and I'm thinking too much, rationalizing things too much. Those are my tendencies - and what dangerous tendencies they are.

2 hours of sleep last night and almost a whole day spent shuffling around, talking to people, and thinking (out loud and otherwise). That's after a delayed early morning flight. And now, I'm here. I'm stuck at the airport cause my flight is delayed.

I wonder what others are thinking about as they pass through this airport with me.

I wonder if they have blogs to go home to whenever the world forces them to pause for a while and just... sit still and give in to their demonic tendencies.

Or maybe it's just me, since I do not have a warm body to talk to.

In any case, I'm going home. No, wait. I am home. I'm back. I'm blogging.

Vengeful thoughts

2011-05-01T18:49:00.000-07:00

Oooh. I can't wait for that day when you will finally shut up and watch in utter horror as the whole world mock you. They will finally expose you for the fraud and airhead that you are, AND not be preempted by politeness and social grace to keep that to themselves. Banners will be hung on terraces, bridges, and tall buildings announcing your countless acts of sheer stupidity and thoughtless gall. Your family can do nothing but bow their heads in shame for your existence.

Oooh. Just you wait. That will come. And I will be in one of the balconies, looking down at you, clapping my hands together in a bored but mocking salute to your worth as a live creature of the Earth. And in 3 minutes, I'll retire to my suite and bask in the glory that will never be yours.

Oooh. Exciting.

I ran. I wheezed. And I finished!

2011-03-21T23:58:00.001-07:00

Bounce back, Japan!

2011-03-14T01:42:00.000-07:00

You are known for your resilience.
You have survived the A-bombs, hundreds, if not thousands of earthquakes, economic upheavals.

Now it's time to rebuild.
And I believe you, of all nations, can do it.

Thank You

2011-02-09T19:21:00.000-08:00

Last week, I received one of the best news in my life: a provisional acceptance letter from Kyushu University in Japan. I was bursting out of my seams! Term starts in October, the Faculty Director said. They would need my answer within the month plus an obligatory interview with the Japanese Government. It was crazy!

I dragged my dad, who was here in the Metro for a visit, to my room, made him sat down on my ergonomic chair, told him to breathe in, and out - just breathe in and out. It was only when my dad got pretty impatient that I directed his attention to the provisional letter of acceptance from the Graduate School of Law's Faculty Director.

1 minute. 2 minutes. (Hey, pops! React already!) 3 minutes. (The letter IS NOT that long!) 4...

And finally, my dad laughed and shook his head. I asked him if he's so proud of me that he can't talk but he laughed at me some more.

We had late-night dessert and he tried to keep me from jumping up and down. This was after I've properly announced the news to the Boy, Nicona (who was with Jenesaisquois - whattahorriblylongandcomplicated name - at that time), 10, Soldier, and GS. (I was pretty pissed since all but the Boy sounded deflated when I told them that no, I wasn't gonna be tying the knot (or rope?) anytime soon but will be pursuing further studies abroad.)

Next morning, pops woke me up at 10 am (which was good because he normally wakes me up at 7 am even during weekends) and asked me if I got to sleep at all. Ha-ha. (I had trouble sleeping since I kept waking up in the middle of the night, wondering what I'd bring and how I'd draft my LL.M thesis. But I wasn't going to admit that to him. No no no.)

My dad went out to go shopping and then - when he was no longer face-to-face with me - texted me saying he's mighty proud. Of me. Yay.

For this, I have to thank Someone who made this all possible. Without him, I couldn't have achieved this. Nothing could've had happened. So, to the Great Architect, thank you from the bottom of my hypothalamus (and, okay, my heart even though you did not really mean for the heart to be capable of that).

I offer you this good song aptly entitled "Thank You" from your other daughter, Dido:

My tea's gone cold, I'm wondering why
I got out of bed at all
The morning rain clouds up my window
and I can't see at all
And even if I could it'd all be grey,
but your picture on my wall
It reminds me that it's not so bad,
it's not so bad

I drank too much last night, got bills to pay,
my head just feels in pain
I missed the bus and there'll be hell today,
I'm late for work again
And even if I'm there, they'll all imply
that I might not last the day
And then you call me and it's not so bad,
it's not so bad and

I want to thank you
for giving me the best day of my life
Oh just to be with you
is having the best day of my life

Push the door, I'm home at last
and I'm soaking through and through
Then you hand me a towel
and all I see is you
And even if my house falls down,
I wouldn't have a clue
Because you're near me and

I want to thank you
for giving me the best day of my life
Oh just to be with you
is having the best day of my life

I got lost in the song. Somewhere there.

2011-01-31T23:17:00.000-08:00

Beautiful and Bittersweet Honesty: Chris Medina with The Script's "Breakeven"

2011-01-30T16:37:00.000-08:00

Chris Medina was one of the American Idol 2011 hopefuls in Milwaukee. He was an ordinary-looking guy but, I find him to be one with an extraordinary heart. When he first walked into the room, I knew he had a story to tell, thanks to the sudden change of background music (from upbeat to a poignant melody) and from Ryan Seacrest's introduction. Another one of their usual sad stories, I thought.

I was wrong, however. His was not the usual sad story, played up to beg for television watchers' sympathy from all over the world. Chris did not cry while telling his story. He did not even hiccup. Yes, his tone was somber but he had this air of quiet dignity and he seemed like he resigned himself to his chosen fate - willingly. Knowingly. It seemed as if he knew he wouldn't be happy doing otherwise.

My heart went out to him and his girlfriend, Juliana Ramos. Though people played clips of his audition over and over again, posting it in their Facebook walls, emailing everybody they can think of, I chose not to click Play again. I didn't have to. Honestly, I had only seen his audition part once - on T.V. I knew I couldn't bear watching it again, not because it was sappy or what, but because I knew his story by heart already.

Until now, I can hear his song, his rendition of "Breakeven". The song, for me encapsulated the pain of breaking up and how one heart suffers more than the other. If I can juxtapose the lyrics to Chris' and Juliana's circumstances, the result of the juxtaposition would be very moving. Although the couple did not, in fact, break up, I could imagine the pain both are feeling: Chris may feel helpless, seeing Juliana in such a state. Juliana may feel that she is holding Chris back. The lyrics of "Breakeven" is beautiful and straightforward, just as how I perceive Chris to be.

I can remember how Juliana's' shoulders shook as she found out her boyfriend got a golden ticket and how devoted Chris was (and still is) to her.

I remember. And hopefully, I will take the memory with me until I myself wither away. I hope to share Chris' story with others and warm a heart or two.

Chris and Juliana are two people who give us all hope. Their story shows us that there is still such a thing as unconditional love in this world.

Chris Medina and Juliana Ramos
(Picture courtesy of Juliana's facebook group page "For Juliana".)

Now, I share with you an article written by RX 93.1 jock, Chico Garcia, in his blog yesterday, 30 January 2011. For the article itself, you can visit http://chicogarcia.wordpress.com/.

"Chris Medina"

I know his story has already been bled dry in the media, but there’s something about his story that really hit home for me. It’s safe to say that I already know when a segment in American Idol is about to pull the emotional strings like a puppeteer would his marionette. The sappy maudlin melody comes in, the camera shots are in slow motion, and you know they’re about to highlight a part of the contestant’s story to tug at your heart strings. Maybe it’s a sick baby or relative, or a rejected child out for his parent’s approval, or a dead loved one, anything at all to elicit a tear or two. Although this segment had all the hallmarks of the usual Idol sob story, something about Chris’ story rang genuinely clarion. Here was the guy walking the walk even before he had the chance to talk the talk. Everyone makes their wedding vows with such determination and conviction, only to flout some of the most basic like fidelity, for instance. And here comes a guy who stood by his girl, even if on the surface, she’s but a shell of her former self. Their ordeal is tough to watch in a less than 5 minute segment, but these people are permanent residents in the story we merely visited.

Isn’t this what we’re all looking for? Stripped of the romance and the fairytale embellishments and the wine and roses, you look for someone who’d walk down the road of life with you. Not just in those grand gestures, but in the everyday grind, and especially during the moments of ugliness and despair. They showed a video of his proposal to her (I think she worked for Starbucks) with videos and lights flashing from cameras. Nice, right? But he was also there for her when no one was there to witness, to celebrate, to commiserate. I’m sure there were many times when it was just him and her, or at least what seemed like what was left of her, and he stayed.

When old couples say that the fiery storm of passion will eventually die and will be replaced instead by much smaller, much quieter steady flame, many singles protest, insisting they want a relationship that will rage on for the rest of their union. It’s hard to explain how it’s not the same, but it’s not necessarily less. Arguably it’s superior on many counts. Ask your parents (if they’re in a successful long-term marriage) or any couple who’ve survived the ravages of the years, and you’ll get the same sentiment. It’s this quiet simmer that makes you stay when all the attractive raiment have been stripped away, when all is left is the barest of souls, the very essence of the person you’ve chosen to love. So it wouldn’t matter if they’re older, or uglier, or fatter, or sick, or disabled, or a mere shadow of their former glorious selves, it doesn’t matter because what you love is beyond reach of the unkind years. It would be untouched by age or disease.

It makes me wax philosophical because he lives what many merely aspire for. We get to eat popcorn as we watch his tale like a movie, and when it’s done, we go back to our lives, none the worse for wear. They on the other hand, don’t get to leave; they are the movie. And when Chris finally sang his audition piece, it was the coup de grace. He sang The Script’s “Breakeven”. Of course the song was about how, in break-ups, hearts don’t break even. But Chris singing it brings it to a whole new level. In their situation, their hearts don’t break even as well. His heart breaks seeing what his loved one is going through. His heart breaks not knowing if he’ll ever get back the version of the girl he’s loved with all his heart. His heart breaks choosing between another less complicated life and staying because he can’t leave when she needs him the most. Her heart breaks putting her man through all this. Her heart breaks seeing the difficulty he’s going though as he puts up with challenges in her life. Her heart breaks thinking if she’s depriving him of a happier life elsewhere.

You can tell it hit a raw nerve. It’s the aspect of love at it’s most unattractive, but at the same time it’s love at it’s most unadulterated. I don’t know if Chris will coast to the finals on the wings of his story, but his tale will stick with me for a long time. If I can do that for someone, or if I’ve found someone who’ll do that for me, I’d consider myself mighty blessed.
__________

My fellow blogger, Jenesaisquoi of http://passingmoment.blogspot.com/, has the following take on this:

   "Yeah the love story, real life "fairy(?) tale is indeed quite an exquisite picture to imagine. A good dose for all the hopefuls (aren't we all? or maybe it's just me). I searched through my comment in one of [Nicona]'s entries [in her blog http://kstwilightzone.blogspot.com/], and since the thought (or my take that is) still has not changed on the matter, here goes-
   'i like the idea of falling in love. falling in love however is different from being in a relationship.
   'but of course we do love dramas, well preferably those with happy endings or witty lines to go with them.
   i guess we wouldn't really be able to know how beautiful our own love stories can be, in real life - because simply, they're not fiction. or that, we are too glued to finding fiction (or the ones we read in fiction? or the ones we think others share and we dont'? [sic]) in real life.'
   "If I may add, I'm all for love (like songs go), but I don't think it's like putting up with the mediocrity of relationships if we think we are not having the kind of relationship we idealized. If truly, love is there, we strive to make our relationship ideal, and in the process - appreciate and - idealized what we have. Our own version of sacrifices - petty fights including - are comparable to those in [Nicona]'s kdramas. Or maybe it's just me talking :)"

[Blog/bloggers' references and translation supplied.]

Socially inept and lost

2011-01-30T06:52:00.000-08:00

Socially awkward is not something my friends would describe me. When I told them I thought of myself as such, they would either throw their heads back with laughter or vehemently insist I was wrong. But, seriously, I am.

I can do small talk, yes. But after 10 minutes, I'd start to doze off (while keeping both my eyes at least partially open). Sometimes, I tend to just count the pores on the other person's nose - which is not very helpful in my effort to carry on with the conversation. Those are practically the beat things I could do. Oftentimes, I would blurt out a taboo line, an exaggerated statement, or something utterly senseless - with no ill intentions, no. But only with the desire to keep the other person interested with our little chat or with me.

Oftentimes, specially in big groups, I just listen just so I can save face. When the group is composed of girls, I'm on my guard. Girls tend to dislike me. I can honestly say I understand them.

I would dislike myself if I weren't, well, me.

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

It just occurred to me that if I'd eve figure in an accident, the police will have a hard time contacting the people who are supposed to be contacted and get the message across. If not that, well, at least I would have a hard time getting someone to come to my bedside - in the hospital or in the morgue.

In IDs, there's usually a slot where we'd put the person to be contacted in case of emergency. I usually put my father's details there. But while ahowering, I realized that if my father treats every call as he would treat mine - meaning, he wouldn't answer unless it's the person he would like to talk to at that moment, then I'd be waiting forever for the police to be able to inform him of my situation.

My cousin, the academician,and my niece, the dear one, would rush if ever they'd get the call but why would I inconvenience them with the designation? Plus, they have their own families to worry about. I'm just an extension of 'family', just another member of the clan. (Weirdly, this sentence led me to sing "just another woman in love, a kid out of school, lalalala" in my head.)

I would want to put the boy there but he would ask me why. And he'd say no. And he would not like the idea. (COMMENT MADE ON 2 MARCH 2010: I told him and it was okay. I think he loved the idea, even. Yay for me!)

Plus, I'm not sure if I'd even have a boy with me tomorrow or next week or next month, at least. As revealed above, I am senseless and awkward. Nobody would want that.

So I have to find somebody who will actually be there and who wouldn't grumble about the bother and whome I can pay back someday w/o any fear of actually hearing the favor done for me recounted to elicit guilt. I have to find aomeone who will not be thoroughly inconvenienced as, say, he/ she would have to catch a cab and pay expenses using the teeniest bit of savings he/she has.

But then, why would I want to inconvenience my friends when they have own lives? I wouldn't.

Maybe I should just leave that parf of the ID blank and go through the emergency alone, piting myself for being alone - if I would have the capacity or the conciousness to do so. Or maybe I could put my housenumber there and pray that my staff would be able to catch the words of the police and vice versa.

Bahala na.

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

People talk down to other people when the latter permit the former to. I joine the latter group. I'm weak and spineless. Apologetic is my middle name and I apologize for everything imaginable.

As all this is my fault, I shouldn't be blaming other people for making me feel small. I am small. I should just accept my fate and keep my silence. I'm tired.

Now, I'm hoping for numbness to finally take me in.

I need want you now!

2011-01-26T22:22:00.000-08:00

Browsing through the Net, I came across an article in theberry.com, which provided some pictures of interesting things that are "want-able"(desirable doesn't really fit), so to speak, but aren't exactly necessary. I couldn't help but ooh and aah over some things. If I had more than a fair share of resources, I'd definitely get the following:

And then I'd put golden eggs in the nest! Weee!

I hope they have some kind of a lock or a mechanism which prevents the two pieces from separating no matter how much you squirm (or something) while lying on it.

But I guess I'd have to spray alcohol or hand sanitizer on these hands all the time...

What? No "beau-tea"?

These benches will not just modernize the home but give it an environmental feel too!

I see a very loud-mouthed man who loves sweets.

And your ass will leave a permanent imprint.

These socks are made for walking, baby.

(NOTE: Pictures courtesy of www.theberry.com.)

Dog days are here.

2011-01-24T19:57:00.000-08:00

My dog is very sick
I called the doctor very quick.
"Doctor, doctor, will he die?"
"He may, my darling, so go on and cry."

Crossing my fingers that he will recover, live, and be healthy 'til old age takes him away to Doggie Heaven.

(Note: 3 month old Beagle pup has been vomiting since Sunday night. The vet has checked him and has provided proper medicines and food, as well as dextrose water, for him. I was told to just support him every step of the way and pray hard that he will respond positively to the medication.)

Stargirl

2011-01-19T19:13:00.000-08:00

There are days when I make do with what I can get my hands on, may it be a new book, an old one, a new show, an I-don't-know'how-long-it-has-been-there show, an old habit, a bad habit... And then are those days - when you discover something that changes you, either in a way or in every way.

A day which exemplifies the latter was the day I finally decided to read "Stargirl", which had been sitting unopened in my iPad for weeks now.

First few pages of "Stargirl" and I thought, "Well, this girl must be Sagittarius." And that's when I finally, finally appreciated the said astrological sign (by the way, when I first learned that the inclusion of a 13th astrological sign in the zodiac squad would result into my relinquishing my sea goat hooves and donning the lower body of a horse, I was mortified. Ready to curse the 13th sign - which I could not pronounce, much less remember - to oblivion. Prepared to swear off the Philippine Star's daily horoscope entirely. Well, not really, but you have to see what I mean.).

Stargirl. Susan. No, not Susan. She was never Susan nor Julia nor Ms. Caraway. She was Stargirl, and she made laughter so liberating and freedom, such a prize. And she made me realized I haven't been seeing the world at all; I have just been looking forward and going about it - not seeing, just looking straight at how I would like my days to end up.

I have forgotten to stop and smell the flowers - both literally and figuratively. It has just been a go-go-go ride. And it has been awful, though I had learned, since long ago, to dim the belching capacity this routine/life (whatever it is) has and just go with the verbal garbage and monstrous traffic, with the indifference and callous responses.

I didn't even bathe in the rain anymore, much less perform a dance number while it was storming - largely due to the press releases on the harmful toxins rain carries and the number of diseases you get if you wade through the puddles.

Suffice to say, "Stargirl" and Stargirl, herself, were welcome respites.

And, now, I share some of the lines therein with you:

"In that moonlit hour, I acquired a sense of the otherness of things. I liked the feeling the moonlight gave me, as if it wasn't the opposite of day, but its underside, its private side, when the fabulous purred on my snow-white sheet like some dark catacome in from the desert."

"She was illusive. She was today. She was tomorrow. She was the faintest scent of a cactus flower, the flitting shadow of an elf owl. We did not know what to make of her. In our minds we tried to pin her to a corkboard like a butterfly, but the pin merely went through and away she flew."

"When a stargirl cries, she sheds not tears but light."

“Nothing’s more fun than being carried away.”

"The trouble with miracles is, they don't last long."

"You’ll know her more by your questions than by her answers. Keep looking at her long enough. One day you might see someone you know."

"The earth is speaking to us, but we can't hear because of all the racket our senses are making. Sometimes we need to erase them, erase our senses. Then - maybe - the earth will touch us. The universe will speak. The stars will whisper."

"She was bendable light: she shone around every corner of my day."

"She might be pointing to a doorway, or a person, or the sky. But such things were so common to my eyes, so undistinguished, that they would register as "nothing" I walked in a gray world of nothing."

"“You know, there’s a place we all inhabit, but we don’t much think about it, we’re scarcely conscious of it, and it lasts for less than a minute a day….It's in the morning, for most of us. It's that time, those few seconds when we're coming out of sleep but we're not really awake yet. For those few seconds we're something more primitive than what we are about to become. We have just slept the sleep of out most distant ancestors, and something of them and their world still clings to us. For those few moments we are unformed, uncivilized. We are not the people we know as ourselves, but creatures more in tune with a tree than a keyboard. We are untitled, unnamed, natural, suspended between was and will be, the tadpole before the frog, the worm before the butterfly. We are for a few brief moments, anything and everything we could be. And then...and then -- ah -- we open our eyes and the day is before us and ... we become ourselves."

“I’m erased. I’m gone. I’m nothing. And then the world is free to flow into me like water into an empty bowl…. And… I see. I hear. But not with eyes and ears. I’m not outside my world anymore, and I’m not really inside it either. The thing is, there’s no difference between me and the universe. The boundary is gone. I am it and it is me. I am a stone, a cactus thorn. I am rain. I like that most of all, being rain.”

Curvaceous on Twitpic

2011-01-15T23:27:00.000-08:00

Curvaceous on Twitpic

My friend's guitar.

Dream On

2010-12-21T19:44:00.000-08:00

Had the a weird but interesting dream ever last night, due largely to the weird combination of people in it. It went like this:

Ms. X got excited when she heard Mr. Y was arriving from a not-so-far-away land. She went and visited Mr. Y at his house, which turned out to be just a major avenue from Ms. X's own real-life house. (Note: Ms. X doesn't really know where Mr. Y really lives in reality but that's neither here nor there.)

When she got there, she saw Mr. Y on a gurney, with a white blanket covering the lower portion of his body. Mr. Y was tired from the flight and Ms. X's heart did two things at once: jumped for joy at the sight of Mr. Y and broke down upon seeing him in that state.

Mr. Y held out his hand to Ms. X and Ms. X went to hold on to him and... GAH!

"Why are your fingers so short and stout?!? You're not that fat! So does that mean your thingamajig is also short and... well, icky-looking?!?", Ms. X exclaimed, probably because one loses one's tact in the dreamworld.

Mr. Y replied, "No. Just don't think about them too much and hold me. Once you hold me, everything will be okay. And if you kiss me, then my fingers would become long and beautiful and smooth and everything you want them to be. As well as another part-of-interest in my anatomy."

Comforted with these lines, Ms. X leaned down for a kiss and... blank. I couldn't remember if they kissed or not. But the next scene was as follows:

Four friends of Ms. X arrived. They were: Mr. C, the high school classmate; Ms. P, the childish friend, Ms. T, who just followed the others around and did not bother to utter a single word; and Ms. R, the hyper friend. They pulled Ms. X out of the kiss or whatever-it-was-that-wasn't-a-kiss and told her she'd be found if she's not careful.

Some people, according to the Friends, are arriving that day and Ms. X must hide. So off the Friends with Ms. X went - to the subway, where Ms. R confronted a Japanese looking ex boyfriend with a girl who looked like a tramp wearing a college uniform. Ms. X stopped the (emotionally) painful ordeal and led the rest through and out of the subway, plotting her next meeting with Mr. Y later that day.

She remembered they promised to meet at dawn. At the condo of Mr. Y. They will sleep together and snuggle in the morning until it will be time for them to part.

They will hide from everyone else.

And then sunshine broke through the windows.

Really. And the dream was over.

And, whuuutttt? The people in the dream did not know each other. Well, at least not the others. They only had Ms. X in common. And everything else was really fantastical.

But entertaining. Hmmm... Shriveled fingers and thingamajigs? *shudder* nightmare.

How bout a round of applause? A standing ovation?

2010-12-19T01:34:00.000-08:00

My life is one big performance.

No matter how sad the day gets, how broken and wounded I am, once the curtain opens and the orchestra plays, I have to smile and be perfect. Role-playing at its longest, I'd like to think of it. But the performance must be so great to fool the rest of the world, even my own self.

It all started when I was a little girl. I was compelled to act like a grown-up even when I was in kindergarten. They dressed me up in bigger girls' clothes and made me walk and talk like a grade schooler. I had to be perfect in elocution, in theater. I had to be responsible. No playing allowed, and so I didn't have a lot of friends. They forbid me to go out of our townhouse then. I could read as many books as I wanted. But I just wanted to play.

I also wanted to be my father's daughter. But as circumstances would have it, I wasnt fit to play that role.

And now, now that I've grown up, they expect me to play the happy, perfect lawyer. To borrow the words of someone, "wear your happy face. I do not want others to see your sad face." and it's playacting once more.

People aren't interested in my problems. Why would they be? But I had expected at least the closest people to me to be comforting, to hold my hand as I fight the forces which weigh me down. Instead, they tell me to put on a show so no one can see how scarred I really am.

They don't even ask me why. They just want me to cover things up.

Florence + The Machine - Dog Days Are Over (2010 Version)

2010-12-01T19:55:00.000-08:00

Yezzir!

Paint the wall Free

2010-11-25T06:18:00.001-08:00

Doors

2010-11-22T17:12:00.000-08:00

Slide and step inside
go through these japanese doors:
but none lies beyond.

Shelves!

2010-11-21T21:17:00.000-08:00

Hah. As promised, my things are now organized, thanks to my new shelves. =)

At the end of a bad, bad day, light will always shine through -- from the most unexpected places and sources.

2010-11-19T03:34:00.000-08:00

University of the Philippines, revisited

2010-11-16T17:47:00.000-08:00

I started to jog regularly, as part of my training program for The Bull Runner's second Dream Marathon. Sometimes, I run in Makati. Other times, I run in my head (especially during those days when the rain just won't stop).

UP naming mahal

But on the best days, I go back to my collegiate alma mater and join the other joggers, skaters, students, employees, and... just everybody, around the oval (or at UP's backstreets when I'm with another runner).

Off the trail

Shades of life

The campus still feels like home. Driving along University Avenue, towards the Oblation, you feel UP's arms welcoming you into its folds. I'd felt these arms even back when I was in grade school and passing through UP in my schoolbus.

And even when I've already graduated from the University, I always go back to walk...

Through the lagoon, to the unknown

think, pass the time...

Lovers

Picnic

and now, to run.

Run, blue-man! Run!

Hingal

My trail would frequently just be round the academic oval. Two times, for short runs. More, for longer ones. Although there would be times when I would stray from my usual path and go elsewhere - but still within the campus.

The Carillon

Peeking from behind

This time, though, I did not go as a runner. I went... to just walk, taking pictures whenever the light or scene interested me.

Paghabi

Leave your bikes behind

Sunset

Come away, come away...

Skipper

First taste: no aftertaste

2010-11-16T05:12:00.000-08:00

So this is how Manila (beer - light) tastes like...

Hide and Seek

2010-11-15T04:36:00.000-08:00

Cichlids are very interesting fish. They're active and colorful; you can spend hours just watching them and not get bored.

Problem is, they tend to fight with each other. A LOT. So at the end of a short period of time, you're left with the alpha male or female. And him/her alone.

I started with about 8 fish in a pretty big tank. Then I was down to 1.

Her name's Coldplay. And yes, she's yellow.

The Boi also had an aquarium filled with cichlids. Had is the operative word since he finally had it with his little kids behaving like they're on Survivor. So he gave his Alpha Male to me, with the hope that Coldplay, my Alpha Female, and his Alpha Male, which I had baptized Elvis, will bond over time.

But then Elvis, ever the shy kid, just spends his time hiding.

Ahh. Kids.

Filipino Pride!

2010-11-13T23:07:00.000-08:00

Bee Heroic

2010-11-11T21:07:00.000-08:00

Bumblebee

Metropolitan hero directs cars to go straight

2 sides

2010-11-10T22:15:00.001-08:00

2 sides.
Yin and yang.
The good, the bad.

Even the road to work
just cannot decide.

I might as well
plant my feet
squarely
on either divides.

Growing Up

2010-11-09T21:27:00.000-08:00

They pried the flip-flops
and sneakers
off my feet
and told me to look pretty.
The shoes pinch.

Flagged Down

2010-11-08T17:43:00.001-08:00

Series: Pic-a-Day

2010-11-08T16:42:00.000-08:00

My friend, Twyla and I agreed to post at least one photo a day starting... well, we were supposed to have started a couple of weeks ago. But of course, I've only come around to actually posting a photo (at least one) today.

Since I've been at the office since the crack of dawn, I decided to take a picture of my office room, or more specifically, my desk. Take note, we just moved from the previous office so my things are still a mess.

Also, the architect and his team still have not installed my sidetable, shelves, what-nots, so all my stuff are on my desk (save for some books and case binders which were on my visitor's chair, on the floor, and behind my chair.

Okay, so my shawl is draped over the back of my chair. (Hmm... I should have a coat hanger of sorts for my stuff.)

You're looking at (L-R): landline, iMac (and behind my iMac, partly hidden are my makeup kit, charger pouch, toothpaste, toothbrush, mascara, my trusty Blackberry, hairbrush, notepads, flags, and calling cards), small bottle of lotion, mineral foundation, Nokia mobile phone, earphones, wireless keyboard, wireless mouse (which was mostly hidden by my coffee mug), coffee!!!, printer, eyeglasses case, omelet (in a clear microwavable container), stapler, pens/pencils/highlighters/post-its, cologne spray (which isn't at all visible in this pic), alcohol, and mints in a white plastic container.

(Just you wait when I get my shelves and sidetable. My desk would then be all cleared up. Hmmph!

after changes we are more or less the same

2010-09-27T23:15:00.000-07:00

There was something about today that called for some Simon & Garfunkel. I heeded the call and readied my playlist of their songs, as well as those as performed by other artists.

Here's one of the latter.

S&G's Sound of Silence, as performed by Yao Si Ting

Musings as i eat my mixed meat gyro

2010-09-23T20:08:00.000-07:00

The world is such a small place for us: we are connected to each other more closely than we could ever imagine.

But it is still a big, big world for travelers. And we long to make that connection with other people, like us or with those we think wew do not share any similarities with,sooner than later.

We long to experience those sights and sounds wwe just normally see on television or ad about in travelbooks, novels, or even in magazines.

And we long to befriend those from our cultures.

Ah. So much to see! So much to do! Let's start now, why don't we?

Walking Around Makati City at 6 AM

2010-09-21T17:39:00.000-07:00

When you're hounded by a thousand questions and distracted by a hundred visions, take a deep breath and go another way.

You might have worked too hard or ate too much junk food. You might have had more than your fair share of idle time, so much so that the novel in your head has grown more side stories than Steven Spielberg could ever direct in his lifetime. You might have slept more than you needed to.

Sleep is restful but your body can only take so much. You have to get up and go. (So, just get up and go.) Trod down that nearby but unknown path. Who knows, you might just step on a dime. Or a peso.

There is more to your life than just your comfortable routines. Change it up a bit. From the parking slot in the basement of your office building, you normally go up to your floor, unlock your office door, turn on all the lights, the air conditioning, and the water dispenser. You make your own coffee and spend the rest of the day in front of your iMac with all the documents you have to read and those you still have to write, neatly stacked on the left side of your desk. Everyday and always.

But today, get up and go. (Yes, just get up and go.)

Instead of immediately making your coffee, go down the elevator and walk around the central business district. Take the exit at the back of your building and walk towards the convenience store at the next corner. And pass it. Go to the bank a stone's throw from the store, stop, and look around you.

Breathe. It might not be as clean as the mountain air you love but it'll do. At 6AM, a breath of Makati Air will be just as fresh and sweet.

Put your hands in your dress pockets and amble about as if you're just a shadow along the sidewalk. Take notice of the people you see milling about: the call center agents who probably are on their coffeebreak, the security guards, the early birds like you who either have too much work to do in their respective offices or just do not want to stay home. They had chosen to have their lives revolve around their office spaces with the dream of realizing their dreams one day, or maybe with the hope of drowning out their glaring problems with family.

But not you. You're here because you had chosen to take a different path today. You had chosen to go the other way. You are here to walk.

Walking brings relief to a tired soul. It makes you smile in spite of all the questions in your head. You put a happy ending to your novel and maybe in time, you'd start a new one. But not now.

Now you're in cloud 9. Just at the intersection of Leviste and Sedeño, and going where the sidewalk leads you.

How very cynical.

2010-09-19T00:35:00.000-07:00

‎"He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong."
-W.H. Auden, Funeral Blues

But the first three lines are beautiful.

How To Be Alone

2010-09-13T21:41:00.000-07:00

Flashback

2010-09-10T08:06:00.000-07:00

I try to forget the cruelty, the vile deeds, the hypocrisy in your ways -- but reality's too sneaky: it comes up whenever we least expect it to.

At that one moment, I let my guard down and there, there it was. It crept into my head and ruined every chance I had of ending the night in peace.

Now, I am reminded of the way you hid things from us, your supposed family, your lies, your dastardly actions. You ruined things for me. You destroyed every respect I had for you: I could never look you in the eye again and say that you DO NOT creep me out, disgust me, or disappoint me. I could never take your words as truth ever again.

Everything you would say is presumed to be lies unless proven - by proof beyond reasonable doubt - otherwise.

And I am reminded of the parasites that cling to your every limb. Those who are just waiting for the dole out. And I plummet to an all-time low.

Yes, I may despise you for everything that you did and did not do to and for me. But, I tell you: I am not stupid enough to let go and waive my rights. It's not actually what you think.

I am proud to say that it is not the value of the rights I seek to fight for. It is deliverance for own self.

And I will bring you and the parasites around you your very own judgment.

So even if it irritates me, I will move in your midst to see to it that MY own ends meet. Revenge and the last laugh will be mine.

cold feet

2010-08-19T05:59:00.000-07:00

I will don my white dress tomorrow,
secretly, until the evening bell chimes
signaling the start of the ball.
I wonder if it will fit:
the couturier did not see
two peanut butter sandwiches a day coming
when she made the adjustments.

And I will have to walk
amid all the well-dressed people;
and in the bejeweled
dainty silver shoes I've hesitantly picked out,
I am bound to falter
and fall flat on my face
in front of two hundred or so guests,
more than half of whom
I do not really know.

Once it is all over,
I would have been seen by all of them
and the secret would be no more,
and the girl playing dress-up
in the white dress will be immortalized
in photographs, bound to haunt me
for the rest of my life.

Something is bound to go wrong.
But I must be careful
not to miss a step.

Dare.

2010-08-15T17:53:00.000-07:00

Step out
onto the concrete pavement,
with its tiny cracks figured about

as vines

beneath your boring, but proper shoes.
This is not Ireland
nor Africa,

not Japan

where you long to be at this moment.
This is your place in the world
and though you can escape it

for a time,

inevitability brings you back.
If you were only a daring gypsy,
you would have cleaned out your closet

and your life

a week ago
and floated towards the exciting unknown
and beyond

independence's doorstep.

Ah. If only you were that brave
and free-spirited.
But you let yourself

be shackled

onto tradition and culture,
onto the dregs of your roots that people call "family",
which you'd rather call

"forced history".

You know that if you take a moment to stand on the pavement
and feel the people and time go by,
your feet and conviction would take you

to where you long to be.

With a little money and big dreams,
both fanatical and highly plausible,
you can survive out there.

Better.

You will be happier.
So,
will you now

step out?

2010-08-15T07:12:00.000-07:00

If it were only as easy
as lighting a cigarette
puffing,
and letting the warmth
intoxicate you;
If it were only as wispy
as the smoke
that disappears
right before your very own
dazed eyes;

then it - and you -
would have been
very easy
to put
out.

Miles

2010-08-12T07:23:00.000-07:00

You bring colour to my world
even from far, far away;
unknowingly.

Why?

The Quiet World

2010-08-12T07:22:00.000-07:00

-Jeffrey McDaniel

In an effort to get people to look
into each other’s eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.

When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.

Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.

When she doesn’t respond,
I know she’s used up all her words,
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.

withdrawal

2010-08-12T04:21:00.000-07:00

Okay. After my last post, I realized I am too hooked on J-drama. Will cut off the programming starting this minute.

(As for Hiro.... he's not as easy to cut off. I must remember the following: he's married; he's a celebrity; he's miles and miles away; he doesn't and will never know I exist. Oh, and come on!!! I don't even crush on the celebrities in my own country!)

Okay. So henceforth, it will be a review of the corporate code, articles on asset protection trusts, reality shows, Oprah, maybe some un-addictive chick lits to bore myself to death, and ... some gym time.

Regular programming coming up!

Butler woes

2010-08-10T20:57:00.000-07:00

That's it?!? That's it?!? What?!?

You have got to be kidding me. That was supposed to be the "Last Kiss", as stated in the episode title? That was their first kiss! And, what? It's also supposed to be their last; otherwise, why would it be entitled "The Last Kiss"?!?

Last kiss as butler and his lady because thereafter they'll be kissing as lovers? Last kiss EVER because of the law? WHAT?!? What kind of ending is that?!?

Horrible! Terrible!

Can somebody kick some sense into the director/s and the screenwriter/s?!? I need a continuation, special episode, succeeding episode, part two, another ending ---- whatever they can give me ---- of Mei-chan no Shitsuji!

They could just make a special episode wherein Izumi, as the Lucia-sama, abolishes the rule against lady-butler relationships and so Mei-san and Rihito can have the usual blah-blah DEFINITE happy ending.

Ugh. That one kiss was simply NOT enough. Come on! I mean, COME ON! You can't do this to me! Give me a definite ending or else I will be painting all sorts of other endings in my head all day and all night! I don't want that! The world does not want that (butterfly effect, remember?)!

Gahd! She did not even get to close her eyes when the kiss happened! Another scene! Another chance! Another episode, at least!!!

I beg you... (I could do a rain dance... or a "give-me-another-episode-for-that-Japanese-drama dance". Anything!)

Or, you can just ship Rihito to me. With his butler's garb, or without. I'm not that picky.

communication

2010-06-20T04:27:00.000-07:00

Here's me talking to you. Here, where you couldn't blurrblurrblurr me when i start to reason out.

I don't mind it when you tell me my hair is ugly. Or that my dress is not in style. But why the double standards when I try to turn the tables on you?

You say it's because you're a man and I say, so what? Just because you're a man doesn't mean you can be a total slob and, much less, be a judge of what's ugly and what's hot on me.

You assume all things about me: that I think this and I think that. That my intention was this and my intention was that.

I don't even mind that you try to impress your thoughts upon me. I know you're just trying to help. But, please, give me room to have my own perceptions also. I am merely human. I have opinions about all sorts of things. And although you won't agree with most of them, they're my opinions nonetheless. I will ask for your opinions (and I do) when I feel you'd know better.

This does not mean I love you less. I'm just tired of just taking it all in without saying what I feel. I do not try to change you. Please do not try to change me also, not even my laughter.

This is me: I laugh out loud. I am very candid. I do not want to change or suppress my laughter because you think it is not a woman's laughter. Wake up. I am a woman, yet I have this big, hearty laugh.

I can't change everything you want me to change. And I do not want to.

I won't do everything you want me to do. I am not a dummy. Please respect that.

So when you start telling me I think this and that and that even though I'm saying this and that, what I really mean is this and that, then be prepared to be treated like that also. It's not fair that you are the only one who can do all these things and get away with it. We are equals. Please recognize that.

So, here's me, just telling you what's on my mind. Here, where you cannot interrupt me or make me feel guilty for thinking and saying all those things.

I hope someday soon you'd read this.

i put the cross on the roads

2010-06-17T00:37:00.000-07:00

I never believed one arrives at a crossroad by chance.

Our steps are our own. And even if we say that our eyes were blindfolded as we walked, it was still our choice to walk to whichever direction we did.

So let us not blame chance for confusing us. We brought this upon ourselves.

walk my thoughts

2010-06-03T23:10:00.000-07:00

I'm fascinated again with 9 Crimes.

I want a balloon.

The right time and THE right time

2010-06-03T07:28:00.000-07:00

The clock strikes 12. The alarm rings.

Lunch. Break-time. An excuse to leave your desk - legitimately.

Yet you sit there, unmoving, not waiting for anything at all. You're just... wondering at how much difference it can make. It. No one knows really what it is. For you, it is a lot of things. And a lot of things, converged at one place, at one time, can surely make a great difference.

People mill all around you. They oddly stare at you, wondering why you're left there, contemplating. The clock had struck 12 already, after all.

Yet you stay.

The clock strikes 12. The alarm rings.

Cinderella story. Curfew. Grounding opportunities when you're not home by then.

But that was past, and now, the party has just begun. You're a loser if you go home before then. So to save face, you endure a couple more minutes of grinding, loud music and rounds of tequila shots.

Does this bother you? No. Not quite. You just stare quietly ahead. Looking, but not really seeing the other people. Is it indifference or haughtiness, others ask. You know it may be both, but not quite both.

Time changes everything. And how difference time makes!

The clock has struck 12. It has set things and people into motion. But then again, it is not your clock.

So you stay.

the special days

2010-04-26T07:09:00.000-07:00

I got cast in a play, in the lead role of "The Pussycat". It was a big day for me: "The Owl" was supposed to kiss me in front of the whole world. I practiced day and night for this moment. I made sure to wear my pretty white and red dress under my paper pussycat costume. I perfected my crawl.

But you weren't there to applaud me.

I graduated from Kindergarten today, with a bunch of awards under my arms. I delivered a speech in front of the whole world, in a white satin dress my nanny and your secretary picked out. I even wore my hair down. For hours, I practiced my speech in front of the mirror, so that I would not choke on my lines. You would be proud, definitely.

But, oh, you weren't there.

I turned 10 today - I'm practically an adult! I'd been very good: performing exceptionally in my school work, talented to boot, and well-liked by my teachers (not exactly by my peers, but they do not give out the grades anyway so who cares?). You told my nanny to prepare a big bash at the school for me, just like the one I had last year, and the year before that, and the year before that... The principal even agreed to have classes suspended. I wondered what time you'd come.

But you couldn't make it. So you sent Jollibee instead.

I graduated from grade school today. Salutatorian. Impressive, huh? I got a lot of other awards too.

But I wasn't the valedictorian so only my cousin and his wife would attend the rites.

I graduated from high school today. I was the salutatorian, yet again. I was not expecting you so I invited my cousin instead. He showed up and was really proud of me.

You showed up, too, but you were still not happy since I was only the salutatorian. My cousin had persuaded you to come and since he's your favorite nephew, you came. But you left early - after you told me that second honors will never be good enough.

I graduated from college today. With no honors and only one medal. I invited my friends and my cousins and their families. I did not invite you at all. But my thesis partner did. Funny that you even showed up at all. You might be getting soft. I invited the one person I knew who'd annoy the hell out of you. And it worked. We did not talk the entire time. We did not even ride together - to my graduation and to the restaurant and back to our house. I pretended you were not there, except to pay the bill. You've been doing that to me ever since, haven't you?

And so, you were not there. Except to pay the bill.

I graduated from law school today! Such a great accomplishment on my part. I invited you since this was your dream for me. You debated with yourself rather endlessly on whether you'll attend or not. It was only a couple of days before the actual graduation day that you finally decided you would. It was on graduation day itself that I actually realized you really really would. And you were smiling this time, especially when you walked up the stage with "the person who had been with me through the best and worst days of my life for more than two years now".

It was the happiest day of my life, having the two of you on the stage with me.

I passed the bar today! We passed the bar today! After getting the news, I texted you. You called. I was smiling from ear to ear. But, wait... You had a disappointed tone. No, I did not top. No, this was not the official announcement yet. Yes, I'm sure I did not top or else they would have told me. Yes, I'm actually happy. Shouldn't we all be? *Click.*

No congratulations. Even up to this day. Passing was not enough to make you happy.

I'll take the oath on Wednesday. I have two tickets for you and your wife. Yes, the car's all set and the driver is as you requested. But, wait... Oh, the preparations are all for me. How sweet. So that I won't have to drive alone. 'Cause you can't come on Wednesday since you'll already be here on Tuesday for a meeting. Naturally, you can't stay for another day since it's campaign period. Of course, a board meeting is much more important than the oath taking of your only daughter who's going to be a lawyer now.

Of course, you wouldn't be here. Of course.

*Pause*

When the time comes for me to wed (if it ever does come), I would practice walking down the aisle by myself. When the time comes for me to give birth to my first, second, or even third child, I would not expect all of her granddads to be there, unless I'd want to wait for Hell to freeze over.

I'll build my own family and I promise to be there for my children during the good, better, best and bad, worse, and worst times of their lives (no, I would not deny my own future children of their parents). I will be happy with and among the people who would gladly be there for and with me. I will make these things (and more) happen. I will be.

Of course.
(I wouldn't have expected otherwise.)

crossroads

2010-03-28T06:35:00.001-07:00

i don't know what to do with my life.

oh no.

far from the edge

2010-03-14T20:34:00.000-07:00

The wait has been known to boggle the mind,
make everyone insane,
drive people to the edge -
or even off it.

Mercily,
my feet is still firmly planted
in the center of sanity.
I laugh more, yes,
but it is not one of despair
nor of lunacy.

I laugh of contentment,
though my situation is far
from perfection.
It just feels good to laugh
and live like life's a dream.

Rantings of the Employed

2010-03-07T22:36:00.000-08:00

A lot of people complain about their superiors - the latter's unreasonable tendencies and inconsiderate demands. They rant about how they are fed up with their jobs. They promise that they will definitely, definitely quit soon and look for other employment opportunities where they could spread their wings and fly and be happy and all sorts of crap.

Let me join that roster.

Yes, I hate my superiors. Don't get me wrong, though. I don't hate all of them but just a couple. And like most of dissatisfied employees (let me stress that I am not an employee, by the way), I claim to have valid reasons for my spite.

Let us discuss these superiors one by one.

Superior No. 1:Mr. Loveless North-South Pole
He calls in the wee hours of the morning and late at night to order you around. He does not have any inkling as to what "holy day of obligation", "family day", "rest day" mean. He believes that everyday must be devoted to his whims and wishes.

While it is completely valid to make someone under you to do a job or perform a task preferably within the bounds of that person's job description, that does not give the superior ultimate hold over his/her employee. Unfortunately, Mr. Loveless North-South Pole does not realize that.

He crosses every boundary available to mankind. He orders the office messenger to do personal chores for him. He does not care whether you are at the church on a Sunday (your rest day): you are to go to a particular office and guard the activities which are being done a mile or more away - and you have to do that without any telescopes or zooming contraptions at that. Once you point that measly fact out, you'd get a shout or two from him for your idiotic observation.

He makes you do everything he can think of, without regard as to what really is important and necessary. He expects you to be in two, three, or four places at the same time and if you even protest that splicing yourself will not be a very nice sight to behold, you will be treated to a scornful look and a high-pitched sermon about the important of being in two, three, four places at the same time. His word is the law. (Though it rarely ever makes sense. But that's just your opinion, so it doesn't count.)

Superior No. 2: Mr. Forgetful Breacher

Such an ordinary name for an extraordinarily forgetful man. Yes, he tends to forget things. Often. But, noticeably, he only forgets those items and details which would be beneficial to you and harmful or offensive to his cause. Yes, he wants to downplay your rights and establisheshis idea of howyour rights should be. He calls the shots. He makes your rights. He decides what is best for you. After all, he should know best, being the manager and all.

And he conveniently forgets your agreement. Yes, he is no man of his word. He denies you every point that you both have agreed upon. He denies the existence of any agreement whatsoever between the two of you. He breaches your contract by substituting his template of an agreement for the original contract. In the end, he will be thoroughly benefited. In the end, you are left clutching the remnants of your violated contract wondering what the hell happened and who the hell is this monstrous, wealthy but selfish person before you who is presently pretending you do not exist.

So these are the two monstrosities who are ruining my days and giving me cause to complain and rant and threaten to quit my work. (Oh, and they also fuel my desire to bitch-slap them to my heart's content.)

They are the reason why I do not enjoy working anymore. If not for the other inhabitants of our simple workplace, I would have done a Ruffa Gutierez. But unlike Ruffa G., I do not have the benefit of another employment offer, which will save my hide and ego.

So instead of going hungry and succumbing to mendicancy, I tolerate these vile prejudices against my persona. And I swear to myself that time will come when these monstrous superiors will kiss. my. feet.

Ode to Paranoia

2010-01-23T22:06:00.000-08:00

You hug me:
you want to stay.
I breathe in your intoxicating perfume:
I know it will stay in my system for a while,
for a while.

I'm fighting the urge to keep you -
you are bad for me
but I feel safer with you around.
You keep me safe;
you keep me sane

or insane? As I ponder,
you hug me some more.
Too tightly,
as if you are begging me
to listen to your logic.
And I am listening,
though you might be bad for me.

I fall silent
and inhale the reality you bring;
you loosen your hold and Hope springs.
You stand beside each other
and will me to choose.

And I can't.
It would have been easier
if one of you fought for me -
harder than the other.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

And I choose
neither
and both.
I hold my ground
and wait for reality.

two years

2009-05-19T08:13:00.000-07:00

Two years.

No, not really. More like one year eleven months and some days. But my thoughts are centered on that day, "two years" from now.

Two years. Not really a long time to wait for someone who had just spent about 21 tedious and not so tedious years of studying. Not really a difficult wait for someone who's supposed to be hell-bent on studying for four months and some days more. Two years until that fated day isn't as nerve-racking a wait than that for the dreaded results of the 2009 bar examinations. "Two years" is nothing, then.

Two years. If I had not looked for you tonight, I wouldn't have known I'd be waiting. For two years. You said you were old. But I see nothing of the years, just the little boy who sings me to sleep, the shy smile, the silent strength. I would not have seen the change: you cut your hair. I don't think much of it. I still see you, a couple of months before. Everything will be fine, I tell myself. Two years is enough time for your hair to grow back. To how things had been.

When I saw you tonight, I immediately felt guilty for being unfaithful to my books. The day pulled me into a haze and I couldn't focus. I did a lot; yet, I did nothing necessary. All throughout, I kept pushing your voice away. And to occupy my thoughts, I did everything and nothing. But dusk carried thoughts of you and your lines again. At least, I thought it did; it is just now that I realized, you and your lines were always with me, like a background melody to a poignant movie. That's why I looked for you.

When I found you, everything and nothing immediately shut down. And out. You reminded me of my purpose, my goal. And I refocused. Two years will do it for both of us. There's no escape for you; I call it a sacrifice, you call it your responsibility. A necessary two year break from the craziness. I think about it and realize: for two years, I'd only be able to think of you, hear memories of you. But not hear from you. (And I'd content myself with that, lest I hear from you and hear... pain.)

It won't be a difficult wait. I have enough of your laugh and your smile to last me through years and years. By the time that fated day comes, one year eleven months and some days from now, "two years" would have elapsed and we will be two changed persons. I will not promise to go looking for you that day. You may not arrive. But I, I will still be here wondering if there will be any certainty to our paths.

I wonder, will this necessary break build me a bridge to where you will be then? No answer for that. But I will do my end of the "two year responsibility". For myself and no one else.Two years, after all, is never a difficult wait for the impossible to happen.

This girl

2009-04-16T08:25:00.000-07:00

This girl is just one of those crazy girls who'd drive by you, throw a pie at your face, and apologize with a happy, happy laugh. And all you can do is shake your head and laugh in spite of your pie-smeared face. Yes, this girl likes her jokes and her pranks. She likes teasing you about anything, really. She's after your reaction, and not after any possible smugness a person might have after teasing another.

This girl likes her halo-halo dessert to have a sweet surprise under the shaved ice. She likes hanging out with those people she is comfortable with. She likes laughing out loud, throwing her head back when she does. Laugh. LAUGH. She has a big laugh. And she snickers at almost every imperceptible item in the world. She likes her happiness. She thrives in happiness.

But she also grows in her misery. She writes poetry and believes they ARE poetry. She would call them such, no matter what others might say. And though she'd claim others' perception of her doesn't matter, in truth, it does. But she'd laugh, still. Nothing ever goes wrong with laughter in your life.

This girl loves her freedom, but also yearns to be hugged tightly at night. She likes to have someone open the car door for her 'just because' and not just to prove that chivalry hasn't completely left the world. Yet. She appreciates it when a friend helps her with her gym bag or book bag or whatever big or bulky that she may be carrying. She likes her brunch to have fruits and pancakes and brewed coffee for good measure. She never puts sugar in her coffee and she'd rather have it black, although she'd settle for an instant 3-in-1 when that's the only thing available.

This girl also loves her lunch-outs with friends. One friend, two friends, more friends, it doesn't matter. The conversation will still be good. And conversations get better as the sun sets. Over dinner, the conversations take a lazy but comfortable toll. The talks are easy here. And with beer, wine, and good armchairs, conversations with good friends can never go wrong.

As with conversations with herself, she has that all the time. Yep, a monkey might call her crazy but hey, we need craziness in this life to survive. She's still planning to vandalize someday, nevermind if she does that alone. She wants to make her mark in the world - every big mark that she could ever make. And she wants to vandalize, not just because it's a mark, but because she wants to do something she has never done before, and one that she has already promised to do. A mark on a wall is just a start. She has more tricks and plans up her sleeve. This girl is just bidding her time. She's pacing herself.

This girl will surprise you: you'd think her absence would be a welcome respite. But you'd miss her, too. You just won't understand why.

Oh, but she runs! Not too long, not too far. But she runs while she can. She'd like to do it in the rain, across the freshly-mowed lawns. And when it'd finally be time for her to stop, she'd look back at the direction where she started her sprint and be amazed by the distance she had been able to cover. Yes, this girl would like that.

This girl gets tired, too. Well, she is tired. She wants to just withdraw and crawl under the covers, lie on her cold bed, while hugging her knees to her chest. She'd like to sleep soundly tonight: she had a good day and tomorrow, she'd have another. Possibly, an even better one.

And this girl is tired now. Although she still wants to write a few more paragraphs, her brain is slowly shutting down. A glass of milk and she's ready to call it a night. (And then she remembers an adventure she had just rejected. Yes, just an hour ago. All paths are adventures waiting to happen, you see, no matter how small and seemingly insignificant they seem to be.) She wonders. And she smiles: she made a good decision for a good day. She remembers to pace.

This girl says good night to jokes and pranks, good night to laughter and misery, lunches and conversations with her own self. For now, that is.

Tonight, it will just be this girl and her dreams.

105

2009-04-14T00:17:00.000-07:00

You have everything
in you.
Yes, you do.
Drinks and good time,
dirt and shame -
you're a conundrum
of trash and treasures
and you leave me
speechless,
wanting to close
my eyes,
so as not to see
your evil.

Often,
I walk past the threshold
and pray for enlightenment
along the way.
Other times,
I walk with acceptance:
you would be no different
from yesterday
and the day before,
save for maybe
a few more empty bottles
and silent protests
from the distressed sheets.

"Open the door",
you tell me.
I hear a wicked promise
of change;
I am drawn towards
a hopeful drama
of adventure.
I put my faith in
your promise
and prepare for something
magically neat.
But you,
you
you stay the same.

Ugh.

Wicked thoughts before retreating

2009-03-29T16:33:00.000-07:00

Probably a bad idea
but the possibility is daunting -
never could resist
challenges,
'specially those
that may have lasting aftereffects:
severe consequences
or the probability of damages
just seem to
work like trophies
and fresh bouquets.

Ha-ha.

2009-03-21T08:48:00.000-07:00

You look like you.
All dune and juniper branches.

You look like you.
I look like me.

And I walk past the Tombolo.
All the scratches in my history
I carry with me.
But here, there is no more familiarity.
Just the wistful terse bond
of strangers.

I take whatever is given me.

2009-03-13T18:02:00.000-07:00

I was there, wasn't I? I still am here, am I not?

If I'm needed, I go. I sit and listen and talk. I use the time you give me.

I become. I am there.

If I need, your time is not mine to ask for. Not even an hour. Minutes.

Just. What used to be.

Just. One.

And all is just in my head.

TAXonomy... err... taxation

2009-03-07T08:36:00.000-08:00

I read 78 pages worth of Tax Infos today - a far cry from my usual 15-pages/day-cause-I'm-so-sluggish quota. Didn't quite hit my projected 100page goal but that's gotta count for something.

Oh, and I watched Mulan, Stormbreaker, The Game Plan, and Catch and Release. Lovely.

It wasn't all sunshine, though. I slept around 5pm to 7pm. I woke up dead scared. It was the nightmare. If I remember correctly, I had a similar bad dream when I was in a somewhat like situation. And thereafter, I got really scared of sleeping alone. BMaybe it's one of my withdrawal symptoms. I used to cope by sleeping over at my friends' apartment. Now, I decided to just jump off the bed, check the room to see if any of the things that happened (or appeared) in the dream were true, turn on the tv (and, which, only bothered me more earlier since the movie channels were all showing horror flicks), and go downstairs to have dinner. I ate in silence and gobbled up some dark chocolate for good measure. Voila! I wasn't scared anymore.

Withdrawing... withdrawing... withdrawn.

Thinking of you

2009-03-02T08:44:00.000-08:00

I put my ipod on shuffle this morning, turned on the speakers and proceeded to have breakfast. Thinking of you.

I was catapulted into a contemplative stupor. Then another song I didn't want to hear came on. Just the strings. No words. Purely instrumental. But that other song, still. The odds.

I turned the ipod off, turned my laptop on, logged into imeem, and played a random song. I left it on and went to take a shower. Of course when the song I had chosen finished, imeem automatically chose another song to play. Thinking of you.

With shampoo on my hair and soap in my eyes, what could I do but shower and listen.

Good thing that when I finished, imeem was already playing something by Paramore.

I dressed up, turned my laptop off, got into the car, and turned the radio on. Thinking of you. WTF. And I mean, "What The (FRIGGIN') F*CK is wrong with the world today?

On the way home, I had the same story. No, it didn't play when I got into my car while still in the parking lot. But about 2 minutes away from my house, it did. I forced myself to listen.

Nobody would be thinking of me, I'm sure.

Katy Perry, I refuse to like your song.

Random Musings: Princess vs. Angel

2009-03-01T06:41:00.000-08:00

So I ask: what'd be better, to be someone's "princess" or someone's "angel"?

Princess: "More precious." - from a source
Angel: "Angel? Why angel?" - from the same source

Princess -
Denotes a recipient of such tender care; someone a person would give the world to. Ships will be launched for a princess. Mountains will be moved. The best and most expensive flowers will be given to her. Knights, dukes, princes from all over the world will go high and low for her hand. The sight of her turns even the toughest men to putty. She need not raise her hand: others will do things for her.
She is that lady you open the car door for, that lady whose head you'd shield from the rain with your new trench coat. She is that special person you will proudly bring to a ball, with her hand resting ever so gently on your arm. She is that one woman you would give your whole heart and life to, without any hesitations nor questions.
Someone will take care of his princess. He'll love her so much and give her everything she wants, needs. He'll give her everything he can and so much more. He'll give her the world. Hell, he'll make her another world if she asks him to. The princess is the world. Sometimes, she weighs more than the world. When a man stands next to her, he'd feel so special and so proud. A princess would always treat her man royally, so much so that he'd feel like the most powerful human being to ever walk the planet, all because she'd look at him with those big, adoring eyes. He'd be happy with his princess by his side. And there'd be nothing else for him to ever wish for.

Angel -
Denotes a giver of light, blessings, and saving graces; someone who would give you the world. An angel guards you, guides you, and saves you from every peril imaginable. She would take a bullet for you, even if the bullet was aimed at your own stupidity. An angel will stand by and watch as knights, dukes, and princes from all over the world fight against each other for a princess' hand. Her heart will break while watching her dear knight, duke, or prince fight to his death for the princess' heart. But she would not stand between her man and the man's victory. She would support him every step of the way, listen to his cries of anguish and, finally, of victory.
She is that woman who will patiently wait for you whenever you're ready. Sometimes she'd wonder if you'd ever going to be ready, but still, she doesn't stop waiting. She is that woman who understands that you cannot bring her to fancy places. She silently wishes to be the princess, but she takes whatever is given to her. She knows her place, and tries to be content with it, if not at least try to remember that fact always.
She'll take care of her man, even if he is not hers or even if he never will be hers. She'll protect him and his world. Her tears will be worth more than all the planets combined but she'll bear them alone. For her, the world is complete, just as long as her knight, duke, or prince is happy. She'll be happy knowing that there would be nothing else that her man could ever wish for.

Help me.

2009-02-25T10:27:00.000-08:00

Help me lock away my heart. Hide the key. Don't give it back to me until I am up there, until my name is secure.

Remind me to close my tear ducts. Tell me whenever I need to hear it that tears are for sissies and that I am no sissy. I am that wall, that indifferent bitch you'd be afraid to mess around with.

Look me in the eyes and tell me all you see are my lenses. Touch my hand and remind me not to touch you or anyone else back. Touch me and feel my coldness. I am depositing all my warmth in a safety deposit box and giving it to you for safe-keeping. Keep it until it is well for me to have it back. Touch me then go.

Help me to not feel, to not care. I need to be numb; I need to forget the breeze for now. I need to close my eyes and lie.

...next to the mausoleum...

Help me play dead. I need to be... *lowers my eyes*

Help me.

Jamming it all up

2009-02-23T19:47:00.001-08:00

Got only one life to live. Hence, I'll do as much as I can during its duration.
Not do things indiscriminately, no. I'm much more classy than that. Do what I want. When I want. How. Why - and the answer to this is gonna be "because".

Of course, it's still going to be little ol' goody two shoes: me. Only with more spunk.

Jogger

2009-02-22T08:24:00.000-08:00

Ahh...

It feels good, just running without stopping. The breeze runs along with you and you hear the crunch-crunching of dried leaves and the snapping of twigs under your soles.

Your thoughts constantly flicker towards other images, other memories: those lines from a song you heard about 4 times before you left your house, images of someone laughing, of someone's back, the "high", the feel of...

And you run again. Ahh...

It feels good to be back.

(And you make it a point to always come back. The feeling is so wonderful that it makes sabbaticals worthwhile.)

What?

2009-02-21T21:06:00.000-08:00

I can sing?

I think so, too! haha

I say

2009-02-19T20:11:00.000-08:00

no more to masochistic adventures and "end-less" roads.

no more to hot, senseless pursuits, to one-sided devotions.

I am no saint. But I also don't want to be the losing sinner.

I was at home in that insane whirlwind but got scared of being spewed out a little too early.

to stay means to subject myself to whiplash.

to leave means I'd only have might-have-beens to look back at.

but there will never be might-have-beens, cause there never was.

"Whatta laugh." But I'm not laughing.

I wasn't supposed to think about this, but I am. I am drawing castles in the air.

the breeze chills me. And it reminds me of a faint perfume. Not mine. Never mine.

"Walk away?"

I wasn't supposed to be here in the first place. My own feet just thought wrong. Even my instincts failed me. My heart? Leave my heart out of this.

there isn't anything here for me to wait for. Not even hope for.

you have never been here with me.

your home was elsewhere, but I had the gall to think otherwise.

what I think must be said, but think otherwise.

"I know", but I don't really want to listen to words that would further crush my pride.

I could have been. I could be. But, no. My chances are frugal. Possibilities though endless, remain in my head.

you think this line of thought is inappropriate. I think it is only fitting.

"Walk away."

I say, I will.

---- And I will.

Assumptions are the mother of all fuck ups.

2009-02-12T06:06:00.000-08:00

Rant time, everyone.

1. Sucked in class today. So what else is new?

2. Was all set to go to this drinking thing. But my pals had to cancel since they have a previous engagement. Gah. I didn't want to go by myself. So I went home instead.

3. Was all set to go to this fun thing tomorrow but someone else made plans for me. Understandable. But I really wanted to go... :(

4. Got really hungry while driving home but then when I asked my yaya what's for dinner, she said she didn't cook since she assumed I was eating out since I had no class tomorrow. Gah. Sure. I will never tell her again that we wouldn't have classes the following day.

5. I'm blogging. I'm hungry. I don't want to go out and eat since I don't like eating out alone. Also, I don't want to have to open the gate myself and parking my car again later since my yaya would probably be sleeping in a matter of minutes. Yes, I've thought about having food delivered but then... I'm too pissed to eat now.

6. Someone came up to me earlier and asked if this person and I are now "officially together". I stared at her. I never thought that, at this point (a year has come and gone), "we" still wouldn't be "officially together". What was up with the question? Then I remembered. The person who asked is the "official" girl of a sibling of the person she was asking me about. Does this mean that for the siblings, the person she was referring to and I are still not "officially together"? Good Lord. I am unofficial.

7. *Read the title of this entry.*

8. *Read the title of this entry again and think of other possible reasons why I'm stressing on it.*

9. It has always been a bad, bad idea.

10. I'm all sober now and can see everything. I hope I won't get intoxicated again so as to not be up in Cloud 9 once more.

11. Sigh.

Hate mode. ON.

Hearts' Day

2009-02-09T08:32:00.000-08:00

Off to the flower district yet again to do some favors for people. Lovette (dry laugh).

I went there with three friends before and got so intense in finding the perfect bunch of liliums for a friend's girl that I forgot myself and asked the flowersellers there (the men) to help me find the foliage for my liliums. "Foliage". In the flower market. Smart. Sometimes I get so into it I forget to use the vernacular.

We made several trips to the flower market that week and then returned a few weeks thereafter for "special requests": anniversary, birthday, make-up-flowers, what-have-yous. I was all for the trip with my friends, who just followed me around as I haggled and wheedled my way into the Princess Irene tulip freezer. I liked visiting each and every supplier and comparing the wraps and ribbons. I'm all for unconventional arrangements: mixing goldenrod tulips with dark red berries, in lieu of grass (although no one has consented to that idea yet).

I've done orange Royal lilies with pink gerbera daisies, dark pink snapdragons, and lemon leaves. The requests involve the usual blooms: roses, a few tulips, mums. Twice, liliums were requested, but usually, people stick to roses, which is the Hearts' Day staple. I have yet to encounter someone who knows and would ask for Japanese irises with reticulatas. And when someone requests roses with flat ferns, I'd shake my head and make them see reason.

For one friend's bouquet, I had three liliums with carnations and accented the bouquet with Silver Dollar eucalyptus. They say eucalyptus has an aromatherapeutic effect. I wouldn't know. I've only held the bouquet for an hour or so, while holding other bouquets as well in the backseat.

The flower market also has the usual ferns and baby's breath available. Surprisingly, I saw some Japonicas once. But they don't have Magnolia Leaves, which I really like because although they, at first, look like the normal big green leaves, a day or two thereafter, they turn into this beautiful golden orange color, which reminds you of autumn, my favorite season. It would be nice to get a bouquet yellow or peach roses or tulips accented with gold-tipped pink carnations and Magnolia Leaves. (Would it be too pathetic to send one's self an anonymous bouquet of that sort?)

There was this other time when a friend of a friend needed to surprise his girl. This friend of a friend was in the province so he needed someone in the metropolis (where his girl was at that time) to find some nice mums and make his girl a sweet note, nevermind the fact that he wouldn't be able to sign his name on the note itself. Hey, the bouquet was pretty refreshing. And the note (fine, the poem) was smartly done, if I could say so myself. Twas worth the damned trip. I only wish I could have mixed yellow roses and white lilies, as well as wisteria (which is rarely available in the flower market) or Holly's ferns with those reddish-orange Italian mums. But, of course, there's the friend of a friend's budget to be respected. *sigh*

There was also a similar instance when a boyfriend of a good friend called me to ask if I could get his girlfriend, who was my thesis partner at that time, an ordinary bouquet of a dozen pink and red roses and a breakfast treat. Incidentally, the guy was in the States so he couldn't buy the items himself. And the girl was working at a call center (while we were still in college). Her "coffeebreak" was at 7:00 to 7:30am. I was a late sleeper and, thus, I tend to wake up really late, too.

Cursing time and friendship to oblivion (but not really meaning every word since I was pretty hyped about the surprise factor - I love sweet gestures and thoughtfulness), I woke up at 4:00am and headed to the flower market an hour thereafter, got a bunch of roses, arranged them and grabbed a bunch of balloons (cheesy, I know). I went to Starbucks (sorry! I was rushing and I didn't want to buy McDonald's stuff!), grabbed a non-fat extra hot Caramel Macchiatto, a whole wheat sandwich (I couldn't remember exactly what was in it), and a slice of cake. I rushed to Ortigas, smiled at the guard, ran into the building, went up to the 34th floor, to her desk, and gave my friend a big, big smile while holding her boyfriend's treats. She was so happy.

But, of course, there were times when I would just order something from the flower shop. I gave someone's aunt Hydrangea plants (yes, complete with the pot and the soil) once. She loved them so I guess potted plants, which you just grab from the flower shop, work, as well.

So it doesn't matter if you'd have to wake up early or if you have to brave the traffic on the way to the flower market and get lost while delivering those cheesy bouquets. It doesn't matter if you just buy and prepare the flowers (as opposed to receiving them for the most part). When you see the reaction of the girls, their wide-eyed smiles, and when you hear their squeals of delight (as well as the oohs and aahs of the people around them when they get their gifts), you'd also be happy in spite of yourself. You'd realize that even if the world is filled with hate and anger and poverty, there'd still be that one day in the year (at least one day, for that matter) when most people will strive to be thoughtful and sweet for that one special person. On that one special day. And you're happy since they're happy. On that one special day.

Well, at least you're supposed to be happy in spite of yourself. And, yeah, at least it's not supposed to matter. Supposedly. But it does, doesn't it? And you ask yourself, "Wait a minute. Why do I have to be the flower arranger?"

But you only get a big smile from the girl holding the big bouquet of flowers. Your flowers (or at least they were yours while you were still arranging them in time for delivery.)

A Valentine Note to (place your name here)

2009-02-07T08:27:00.000-08:00

I'd been staring at this screen for about 5 minutes before I could even begin to type this first sentence. It's not because I have absolutely nothing to say to you but because I don't know just where to begin. Like the motormouth that I am, I have a lot to say - stories to tell you (the chorale is working on an interesting piece and although we have yet to finish it, it has, I must say, come out rather well. I can't wait for the whole song to be finished), rantings to unearth and force out of myself just so I can hear your soothing words, questions to bug you about (do you...? did you...? why is the sky blue?), and truths to confess.

This note, or this blog rather, is too small a space to write down everything I want and need to say to you but I'd try. Frankly, I know I never would nor COULD, even if I wanted to, say everything I want and need to say outright. Social norms prevent me from doing such. Thus, here I am, resorting to explanations on why I couldn't type things as quickly and bluntly as I could. Here I am, resorting to tales and childish questions.

But this is all I could ever do.

It's going to be Valentine's soon enough, and although I don't really celebrate the occasion (I'd smirk and say with a patronizing tone, "Who does?!?" but of course, deep down, I'd also love to receive some flowers and girly whatnots, which never ever come, by the way), I'd take a big step forward and type embarrassing things in this "note". No, I don't have alcohol and circumstance to blame this on right now. I only have myself to claim all the credit for this stupid move. Consider this one of the dumbest moves I'm ever going to make.

Still, I don't know how to begin.

*takes a deep breath*

*prays for guidance*

*bites lower lip and curses her need to confess*

*imagines herself looking into (place your name here)'s eyes*

Crap.

Then again, scrap Valentine's, big leaps, and dumb moves. I'm keeping my pride. Or at least, what's left of it.

cantante

2009-02-06T03:57:00.000-08:00

I've been singing the whole day. Thus, my diaphragm is now begging for a reprieve from the high notes and cheesy lines. I've been singing so much that the words just come out automatically and my brain doesn't really register their meanings anymore. So while I take my break and let the others belt their intestines out, I step back and appraise the songs which are randomly popping into my brain right now as well as those songs which I had listened to and sung (or hummed) for the day.

Most songs tell the same, or at least similar, stories: love, love lost, love, and love lost again. Or sex. Sex with someone you love, sex with someone you're not sure you love, sex with someone who loves you, sex with someone you don't know. Mild sex, rough sex. Watching someone else have sex with someone else, promising to be the best sex partner another has ever had, promising to never have sex again. Promises, yes there are songs about them. Wedding promises, filial promises, broken promises. Promises in all colors.

Then there's death. Death of a loved one, death of the flowers you planted in your neighbors' backyard, death of a relationship, which then brings us back to the love song yet again.

But there are also songs about fights - between and among friends, families, lovers - and, of course, fights with one's conscience. Drugs and booze also make up a big chunk of song topics. Some songs recommend them, others put vices up on a pedestal and declare that they're the best "escape" one could ever have, or the best "friend" one could ever get, up until they crash their cars and enter the Golden Gates. Some songs say they're the bane of the world's existence and that kids should never use them. These songs are referred to by many as "preachy" songs. I wonder why.

Some songs are about bitterness and others are about finding something wonderful and amazing at the end of a rainbow. Ultimately, we are led back into love songs. Bitterness is an offshoot of love (lost). The discovery of something wonderful is often about love. So, love is often the deadend of most songs.

And even if the theme goes on, over and over: a repeated litany of feelings and all supposedly uncanny emotions, these songs still sell.

I wonder, if we write songs about other things, not the aforementioned topics, would the singles still sell?

Right.

2009-02-05T17:53:00.000-08:00

I'm having the time of my life here - in a way. It's just right. :)

I suck.

2009-02-03T10:02:00.000-08:00

Not literally, no.

In the Messy Corners of my Mind

2009-01-31T04:46:00.000-08:00

Shame on me.

I didn't think. Hell, I don't think.
When I cook, I cook. I shove recipes aside. I heed no directions and instructional messages - helpful or otherwise, from good sources or not. I step into the kitchen, close my eyes as I tie my apron on, and feel. I mix whatever smells good and looks good to me. I pound and slice and mix some more.
And I know that the taste is just a bonus. It's the exhilaration I feel when I'm cooking that gets me going. The thrill. The adventure of looking through the cupboards and the fridge and just finding something interesting there. Interestingly mundane, maybe. But still interesting.
I love cooking. I love how it makes me "me".

I just won't think about it.

And I'd just go on. Mixing and slicing and pounding. Doing what I love best. I don't measure the salt as I go. I don't stick to exact lines and grams. I just laugh it off and hope for the best.
The dishes all contain a little of me - and I'm not talking about gross unsanitary things. I put myself into whatever I make - and yes, even if they don't really taste good in the end. That's exactly me.
So even if you find the meat a bit raw or the soup too bland, they contain my heart just the same. I never would have made them voluntarily, willingly, knowingly, if my heart wasn't in them.

It won't happen again.

I said I will give up cooking. That I will never ever cook a single dish again.
That was a lie.
How can I give up doing something which has become a part of me? Even, say for example, it was only my first time to cook yesterday, giving it up would be ultimately difficult. I'm counting months, days, minutes, of just being drawn to the kitchen, to the art of cooking. I am no artist but I feel like one when I'm in that zone.
Say, for months, days, minutes, I've wondered how it would feel like to step into the kitchen I've been dreaming of for years, and for almost every second thereof. I could not NOT want to visit it again and cook there again. I would. And I would want to spend every Sunday of my life in that kitchen. I would still want to cook and cook and cook some more.
Yes, even if I had already said that it won't happen again.

Soft as marshmallow, sweet as melon. Passionate as red wine.

What's with food and drinks? Unlike most women, I love to eat and I let myself eat. Of course, on a good day, I'd say no politely. At first. And then give in after a moment's insistence. It's a human weakness: hunger, thirst, they say. For a long time, I believed them.
But when I come across the most festive meal of my life, as yet, I can never view hunger and thirst as weaknesses or liabilities. I welcome them. I embrace them and let the longing encapsulate me. I fight against each pang of hunger, thinking about the calories and the hours on the treadmill. I resist the sway of liqueur, reminding myself that driving under the influence shall make my insurers not liable for any damage or loss whatsoever in case of an accident.
But then I go and take the first bite - not because I am human and, therefore, weak, but because I want to. And after the first bite, resistance will no longer be possible, especially when the first bite proves me right about this being the most festive and delicious meal I have had. As yet.
I don't blame the food decors and arrangements nor the chef. I take all the credit for having my fill. I'd like some more, but that would be gluttony.

And I know I have got to wait and work my ass off to slim down. I can't be greedy. I can't be selfish. Cooks should never be greedy and selfish and I want to be a good cook.

So this is how it feels to be home. Home away from home.

And I want to stay in this kitchen forever.

From www.youtube.com

2009-01-23T09:11:00.001-08:00

Dear Diary

2009-01-23T07:26:00.000-08:00

Dear Diary,

I saved the world today, and it felt good.

I woke up at 8am with birds chirping from somewhere near my window, stretched, went downstairs and grabbed myself some toast. The newspaper was already next to the cup of coffee my reliable housekeeper had made me. On the front page was Obama's picture, just like yesterday and the day before that.

I was reading my horoscope when it happened.

A raspy voice was cackling with glee. The hair on my nape stood and I paused, listening carefully. The voice was muttering to himself, in a sinister way.

"Red wire, white wire... 10 minutes will do. The MRT will be nothing but ashes. Ahh. Burnt corpses. Singed hair. Lovely. Good thing Ayala station is always overpopulated."

Everything happened in a flash. Or so it would seem to other people. For me, it's all in a day's work: ripping my "normal" clothes off my body (I can always go out and buy more clothes), running outside the house so I won't have to ruin my roof when I go while tugging on my super strength missile-proof skimpy black and red ensemble (yes, you'd call it costume or uniform or whathaveyou, I'd call it ensemble) and matching cape and mask (oh, and my knee-high boots of course!), staring up at the clear blue sky and zoom, zoom, zooming away to the scene of trouble.

I got to Ayala station even before the bastard finished taping the bomb onto one of the toilet bowls in the men's room. Just one quick kick was enough to do the job. Off to Mongolia he went. I wasn't too sure if he was conscious during his surprise flight but I sure hope he wasn't. It's always great to wake up in a different country altogether, without a clue as to what had happened hours, days, months, years (it depends on the force of the kick) ago. And of course, it's funny to think about the bastard's reaction when he finds out he wasn't in the Philippines anymore.

So I got down to business and carefully removed the unfinished bomb from the bowl. Phew! It stinks in the men's cr! Pigs.

There was no more need to look for some planet far, far away where I can detonate the bomb. My super zapping vanisher (low - power) was just right for that amateur bomb. One *pop* and, voila!, Makati was safe again.

In a flash, I was back at my breakfast table, my ensemble nowhere to be seen, and in its place was a blue and white polka dot pajama pair. Sipping my coffee, I started to read my horoscope in its entirety.

I saved the world today, and it felt good. It always does everyday.

SuperMe

musings

2009-01-15T08:21:00.000-08:00

What if the world wasn't ending
and we are given the choice
to go back -
2 years
3 years
or maybe even 6 years -
just go back
to how life once was
and relive our selves
starting at that selected point.
Would we dare
to look the other way
and choose to take the busy elevator
than the long, gray steps?
Would we dare to tell the joke
which seemed too bland
for everyone's tastes,
save for that of the insane?

What if the world was again
the one we once knew -
millions of seconds
of minutes
of hours ago -
and the choice is ours
to make and break.
Would we remain still
and unfazed by the chance
to weave our own tales?
Would we tread the same paths,
the same causes, the same days?
Or would we dare
to walk where we could not
had the present world went on,
where the answers would not have mattered,
where the questions would have been left

unsaid?

But the world is ending
slowly, even painfully
if you think about it too much.
And there is no more Time to go back to -
there is only Tomorrow and So On.
We can't erase the lines
defining our palms
nor evade the seasons yet to come.
We can only dream to be back there -
years
scores
eons ago -
only dream, and sigh,
and dream once again
to be younger and freer,
to have another chance
at our very own lives.
Dream, yes. And nothing more.

cheer up.

2009-01-11T06:55:00.000-08:00

*published with permission from both Friend and Higala*

Friend:So, why?
Higala: Because I can't go.
Friend: I dare not ask why.
Higala: I can't cope with the aftermath.
Friend: I'm sorry.
Higala: I believe in making things work. If you just continue holding on and making things work, it will work.
Friend: I dont know whether you are something amazing or just plain old fool. Perhaps both. Lagi ka sigurong mag isa nung bata ka. At nung lumalaki ka -
Higala: Kapag may kasama na ko, ayokong pakawalan.
Friend: Happiness is integral. Otherwise, you will have a patchwork relationship.
Higala: I want a stable relationship.
Friend: Stable, huh?
Higala: Ah... Love, love, love.
Friend: Perhaps there is still hope for jerks like us.
Higala: Of course. For jerks like you guys, there are fools like me.
Friend: What a pair that makes.

...
Friend: I hope you don't change that quick smiling attitude and cheerfulness despite agony which at times annoys, since i think the world needs more of that because we have grown to be more realistic.
Higala: SO, I'M NOT REALISTIC?!?
Friend: Realistic in the sense that we don't dare see whats beyond. We take things as [they are]. And perhaps the reason you smile and be happy and perky is because you see something more.
Higala: I dare not tell you but... I am near-sighted.

...
Higala: Thanks, Friend, for cheering me up.
Friend: No problem, your [j]ester is glad to be of service.
Higala: Wait. Knock knock.
Friend: What?
Higala: You're supposed to say, "who's there?"
Friend: Who's there?
Higala: Jester.
Friend: Jester who?
Higala: Jesterday. All my troubles seemed so far away...
Friend: *cricket*

Why do we drink beer?

2009-01-09T22:31:00.000-08:00

1. To socialize.

2. To make it look like we're socializing.

3. To prove we can.

4. Because beer's 'hot'. (Fine. It's usually cold. But it makes you seem hot.)

5. Because of the acquired taste (thanks to hops).

6. Because it relaxes us somehow and makes us sleep better (the latter part of the sentence I don't really agree with).

7. Because beer increases the amount of good cholesterol (HDL) into the bloodstream as well as helps decrease blood clots. (Go, Google it.)

8. Because it warms you up (this number is waaay different from statement 4).

9. Because you get to think more clearly. Trust me.

10. Because it justifies your being a show off. And your being passionate. And emo.

11. Because it allows you to be and everyone else will either forgive you for 'being' or not take your words and actions seriously. (And then you can rest knowing that they'd shrug everything off thereafter. )

12. Because we want beer. And more beer!

13. Peer pressure?

14. Because we'd like to be on the morning news: Minor arrested for DUI.

15. Because we'd like to experiment with tastes.

16. Because we'd like to see (and feel) the aftereffects.

17. Because we don't like the hangovers that hard liquor causes.

18. Because we're Pinoys and huge fans of Red Horse.

19. Because our fathers drink beer. And our forefathers did, too. And their forefathers. And their... zzz.

20. Because beer's fun!

21. Because we don't want to outlive our friends by being squeaky clean and vice-free.

22. Because we want to live crazily for the moment and wake up the next morning to tell the tale. Or to make sure everyone else does not (tell the tale).

23. Because it livens up the world, somehow. Everything's vivid and magical. And, in it, you can be so happy - yes, in that drunken stupor.

24. Because. Just because.

Wunderkind

2009-01-08T10:54:00.000-08:00

When you seek a place, a thing, a name,
When you try to gather all then sleep,
When you listen to every word, and sound, and grief,
When you're filled to the top and cannot breathe...

When you roam and wonder at the undiscovered sights,
When you cry and hunger for warmth and light,
When you kneel amid the thorns, amid the vines,
When you grope for understanding but are given a knife...

When you speak of tales, of wrath, of haste,
When you smile in pain and nod 'hello',
When you close your eyes and let the anger flow,
When you open your hand for a Touch you missed so...

... you wait for Magic to happen
and will Time to hold all Wonders.
That's when you realize you're perfect, but all alone:
and there's No One there to take in the Beauty with you.

February 10, 2006

blank stare

2009-01-08T08:33:00.000-08:00

Blank, yet again, but still I have the urge to pour out the deafening silence onto this canvas. And I realize the 'blank' state is only an armor I resort to when times get dire.

Thus, though I'd call it blankness or even apathy, in all actuality, I am not devoid of any emotions. I'd be irritable and angry, even bitter. I'd be depressed, the pathetic loser that I really am.

The blankness is just my friend - a blanket to ward off further damage to my shell.

[cursor]

Inside, I bleed.

personal ghosts

2009-01-08T08:10:00.000-08:00

No reasons, just what is:
I couldn't question the existence
nor do I want to - it just is.
The thoughts, the words
in my head or elsewhere
are.
They are.

Perhaps I know the why's
and the how's
but I choose to be ignorant.
After all,
only I know my truth.
Others can only guess.
You can only close your eyes
and wonder.

peanut butter-lover

2009-01-08T06:39:00.000-08:00

Joe Black: ...But Allison loves you?
Quince: [Quince nods yes between stifled sobs]
Joe Black: How do you know?
Quince: Because she knows the worst thing about me and it's okay.

Almost there.

2009-01-07T08:25:00.000-08:00

Browsing through my "parked quill", I saw an entry I had for June 23, 2005. The first line looked familiar, as well as the rest that flowed thereafter. I decided to update the last part, though, for Time's sake.

Additional note: I didn't just update the last part. I modified the entry from top to bottom, not completely but enough to change its feel.

I'm torn halfway between the gutter and the stars. To fall means to go back to certainty, with the stable pavement under my feet. To soar means to touch the sky, to lose myself in the process, and perhaps to realize there aren't enough comets for us all to call our own.

This is the farthest distance I've flown so far, not to mention the strangest route I've taken. Law is art and science fused, they say. Perhaps that is why I had thought I can just go halfway. I live for art; I'd rather die than study science. I had thought I would be torn halfway. But I've moved past the midpoint, just a short distance from the clearing.

In the course of three (yes, three) weeks, my then uneventful life experienced a lot of good times and enthusiasm, bringing back the bloom in my cheeks. And it was as if I were sixteen yet again. I gallivanted with countless of people who had been longing for a tease of the carefree life once more, and albeit temporarily. I've surrendered to sleepless nights due to booze, fun, and freedom. Letting my hair down, I engaged in unplanned conversations and trips, in adventures and misadventures.

And when I returned to the uneventful life I had, I was pleasantly surprised to find that I still had spontaneous bursts of energy and verve within me. Everything's fast-paced and monochromatic now, save for the ties and scarves and shawls worn by the expectant faces around me. But I still feel refreshed. I still have the urge to giggle at every unusually mundane sound.

And I realize that this is what I'd like to do (yes, 'this'). Though Code's pages mandate discipline, I choose to sway against necessity and imperativity. The right to expression. The freedom to be. And the choice is mine, as it had always been.

I've found my lines. I realized it as soon as I changed the title from "Halfway" to "Almost there."

You see, I don't search for my passion anymore. I make it - from scratch or otherwise.

Zero visibility

2009-01-03T02:44:00.000-08:00

Flights from Cagayan de Oro to Manila on January 3, 2009 were canceled due to the weather in Cagayan. Good thing the airlines got the stranded passengers a special flight for the next morning.
So, since I didn't want to sit through another road trip to and fro Bukidnon yet again, I opted to check in at Malberry Suites here in Cagayan de Oro.
And now I'm torn between "blankness" and bleakness.

Can't see the distance
can't look through the fog;
I try to live as the minutes tick by
and for these minutes
I'd be able to understand the hours.
My plane has landed
yet it can't take off again
and I wonder: should I stay
still, where my feet are stable
or try to fight the rough
inconstant winds.

(You give me the answer
but I shrug it off.
I've always wanted to make
all my flights work.)

Far, far away

2008-12-22T03:35:00.000-08:00

Off to Bukidnon for the holidays - a good two weeks. It's my second day here today. I had arrived yesterday. So soon for things to come crashing down on me.

Yesterday, he drove me to the airport. And I cried silently in the passenger seat. No, it wasn't just because I hated to be apart from him - although I did tell him that, to which he replied, "Para kang nananakal niyan." I strongly fought back an urge to snap at him and point out that I could never be described as one who suffocates or strangles her boyfriend, much less inhibit his actions.

I cried because things weren't going well. Our last week together before I left for my vacation was a stressful one. He had a lot of things to do, a lot of parties to attend and I was only invited to one of them - our block's Christmas party. So we didn't get to spend time together. Although I was awfully disappointed, I couldn't do anything. His busy schedule and top secret tasks, I've been trying to understand, rarely voicing - if ever - my opinions against them. That was his life, anyway. I had to accept that from day 1. I told him I was hurt because I had thought we'd be spending at the very least Saturday (my flight was on Sunday) together so I had made plans, made reservations, blocked off the day. But, no. Another party. To which he could not bring me. He told me off for being hurt. It was too much, he said. He was fed up. He was bringing me to the airport on Sunday, anyway, so what was I yakking about? And he brought up the "break up" idea, which numbed me. I didn't know wanting to spend time with someone before going away for the holidays was a bad idea. Never knew it was.

So I cried silently. He didn't say or do anything. He smoked and drove. Just smoked and drove. At one point, I reached out for his hand. He pulled it away from my touch. I couldn't even hold his hand anymore without pinning it down! And even if I did pin it down, he'd only yank it away again. A small act of rejection, like that, really does damage to one's spirits, as it did to mine.

i tried acting as though things were normal. I really did not want to have another row with him. Not when I was leaving him for two weeks. During the holidays. At the airport, I tried to hug him, but he opened his car door and went out. So I kissed him on the cheek. Luckily, he gave me a brief hug. He's not the PDA type. So I appreciated the gesture.

He texted me that day. I was so happy. Things were finally going smoothly. It must have been the distance factor. He realized he misses me now that we're not in the same region. He called me that night to say he's going out to play in the basketball championship and I wished him and his team well. I called him at two am to see how he was doing. He only got home and told me it was late. That we should sleep.

This morning, he wished me a good day. And I was so happy about it that I went to town with a smile plastered on my face. Late afternoon, I called him up to say hi. But after telling me about his fish, which took about 1 minute and 40 seconds, he hung up.

Now, he's online. I buzzed him. I sent him only about 5 messages, consisting of 6 words (so as not to make him think I'm pestering him), but he hasn't messaged back.

Now our life together as a couple, the conversations we have had, everything we've shared came flashing before me. And I realize that during our conversations, I couldn't really talk freely with him, save for the time when we had a bit too much to drink and he finally listened to what I have got to say without being sarcastic or without cutting me off in mid-thought. I am always cautious around him, so as not to start a fight.

Being miles away from him, I realize my "helplessness" in a way. I wouldn't know how he was, where he was. I couldn't ask - he would clearly blow his lid off and I wouldn't want that to happen. It's hard to be mad at a person who's so far, far away. It's harder to make amends with such person, considering the distance and that the only means of reaching him would be either through the phone or through email/ym and he could always dodge your messages. And its most difficult when you aren't sure whether the person you'd like to call and talk to feel the same - especially when his behavior toward you reflect otherwise.

Trust issues? I had trusted him. Had trusted. But the trust had flaked away when he betrayed it. Lord knows I had tried to rebuild it. Been trying. Now, as I think about it, I have no choice but to trust him, give him the benefit of the doubt. I am, after all far away from him. There's no use wasting energy being paranoid. Thus, however difficult it is to trust him and his words again, I have to do it. But, honestly, I am scared.

The fear is not just about what he can possibly do but also of what I am capable of doing. I know my college friends would say otherwise since I've always maintained a carefree, nonchalant attitude towards relationships, but, really, I am perpetually hoping for a lasting one. A happy one, where we both can thrive as individuals but still be delighted with each other's company. A relationship wherein we can depend on each other for comfort and conversation, wherein laughs are aplenty, and troubles - of course, there will always be trouble - are still surmountable.

I'm bound to be disappointed, what with this kind of hopeful stance. Sure, I let people think otherwise - that it's all in the bag, that I'm actually really glad to see people get out of my life. But, really, I hope for stability. Normalcy. Sanity.

This is not to say that I am completely dominated by my hidden idealism. I am, after all, a cynic also. Pessimistic about all things good happening to me, I numb myself. I will myself to become indifferent to anything which could encourage me to hope. That's why I keep my idealist self hidden. My indifferent shell protects me somehow. But sometimes, I crave for some of that sanity I hope for, that enthusiasm and verve that would make me feel human. I rarely experience that. Until now.

When I start to drift away to indifference, my idealist self reaches out for that someone who acts as an anchor to sanity. It's becoming a bad habit but... at this point, I am not altogether sure whether I should give him up and take the complete plunge into the uninviting numbness - which is at times broken by tears, anyway, but rarely by laughter - or bask in the comfort he surprisingly gives me, albeit unknowlingly, and be happy (both insanely and sanely) for a moment. You see, this happiness, however temporary, recharges my spirit. It's as if I can stomach an hour's worth of drive without breaking a tear and without snapping at anybody in anger. I'd have something to smile about. And something to ease my fears away.

Yes, even if I am, after all, far, far away.

Then again

2008-12-15T10:43:00.000-08:00

Oh, but it is so nice to dream...

Bye bye, fiction.

2008-12-05T06:31:00.000-08:00

Law school's assignments and readings have become a little more tedious; the classes have become so monotonous that my ears can't help but drown out class discussions and recitations. God help my grades, then.

When I'm in Veritas (our classroom which is located at the 4th floor of our school building), I often find myself staring out of the glass windows, that is, when the blinds aren't drawn. Otherwise, I'd just be staring at the wall behind the current professor's head and dream.

Hah! So times haven't really changed. I'm still physically present in class but my thoughts are elsewhere. I don't think it's normal since all my other classmates can thoroughly immerse themselves in the Rules of Court and what-nots. I, on the other hand, dream about actors, and singers, beaches, and Volkswagon autos, and musical compositions, and going to Ireland, and Korea, being swept off my feet by the perfect man ever, and... everything that I can never have and everything that can never happen to me, really.

*Sigh.* Just thinking about having to stop daydreaming and creating stories in my head depresses me. It's only in my head that "things" happen. The hopeless dreamer. Or hopeless romantic. Suit yourself. My classmate told me to stop reading novels and to stop watching movies or series which cater to the emotions. She said these catalysts will only make me idealistic and, obviously emotional. I got the impression that those "states of being" have to be avoided, just like the plague.

And I think to myself, wouldn't that be really hard - to be devoid of emotions, I mean, and to be so cynical that all you can see are the sharp angles and lines of everything around you? Angles, lines in all harshness. But with dreams, idealism, and a heart, I can play with these angles and lines and turn them into something fun and creative. Or something impossible. Fiction. Whatever you fancy. But still, the life is there. My life and my heart are there.

I don't want to live in a cold, indifferent world. But if I continue dreaming about impossible things, I'd find myself in a backwater town, hanging clothes early in the morning while whistling country tunes. But if I quit daydreaming, I'll turn into an unimaginative old prude who's as robotic as the Energizer bunny.

Daydreams lull me to sleep. They calm me somehow. They cheer me up when I'm down; they entertain me when there's nothing to do. They give me my healthy dose of sadness at times, even. But they also distract me like crazy, as if my brain is on daydream autopilot and there's nothing I can do but watch the images. And everything gets drowned out, even the important things. In that case, they blind me.

As anticlimactic as ever, I know now what to do: I have to let go. Grow up. Forget the fantastic stories in my head.

It's going to be a hard withdrawal issue. But I just have to deal with it.

Lightnings

2008-12-05T05:31:00.000-08:00

Looks up at the sky, waits for a meteor shower or something that will break the constant stillness, sighs in defeat.

So, the night is still still. I don't mind the cold - it's just a reminder that the holidays are coming. Soon, too soon. The year's about to end and here I am: still hoping, struggling against pragmatism, that lightning will strike, or at least that I'll come across some excitement somehow.

I really don't want to be stuck in a hustle-and-bustle world. I need excitement. I need fire. Magic. The real kind. I want to be swept off my feet. I want to run. Run free. I don't know why that phrase came up, I just feel like I have to run. Run free.

I want to have a reason to laugh out loud. Or just laugh out loud for no reason at all. But I also want someone to join me in the laughter. I want my lightning to strike now. I need it to strike now.

But there's a little pull inside my head, still. What if there's really no excitement to look forward to? What if life really was supposed to be constant and monotonous? What if I'm really supposed to be contented with... this stillness? And my constant yearning for "magic" and "the great relief" will only catapult me into despair - since those things will never come, anyway?

Gah. But I don't want to think about the possibility of magic not ever happening in my life. I just want it to happen. I want it to come and find me. And when it does, I'll take it from there. For now, I'm just wanting for it to happen. That's all.

Goong (Gung)

2008-12-03T08:59:00.000-08:00

I have just finished the whole "Goong" series (or "Princess Hours") and I have to say I didn't quite like the ending.

What the heck did BingungMama see in Shin?!? Fine, she's Shin's lawfully wedded wife and, yes, a divorce is so not doable for members of the Royal Family, but COME ON! If after 2.5million years, all of them gets to walk on earth again, she'd still like Shin? Is she blind? Retarded? A masochist?

Okay. So I favor Yul's character. There.

But what's there to like about Shin? Bullies might appeal to a lot of girls out there but, COME ON! A rock who likes a pretentious so-so ballerina against a sensitive man who knows how to treat his lady right? A fashionably-challenged phlegmatic-choleric man who wears pedal pushers with a coat versus a fun, independent ex-Prince who wears a Tiffany&Co. feather loop necklace - never mind if it's a bit feminine - and who has such a good voice (fine, so singing wasn't part of his role but he DOES have a great voice! p.s. was he the one who sang the theme song?). Isn't the better choice supposed to be obvious?

It's an old series, I know. But I discovered it only this week and I was hook for days. Now that I've finished the series, I don't have anything to do anymore (other than study). Oh, drat.

Off to find another addiction.

Bump ahead!

2008-11-03T08:06:00.000-08:00

After countless days' worth of soul-searching, after all the sins, after all the old-fashioned ways, I've come across a billboard made especially for me bearing the words: "Maybe you're not living it right!"

Wow. Maybe I'm not! Yes, that's probably it. I do not really seek contentment - to be content is to lose all passion. To be content is to whistle as you go to your medium-size desk at the office, which has a semi-tall pile of to-prepare papers for your boss and tell yourself, "Life can't get any better than this." To be content is to sit on the porch, sipping your lemonade on a hot day and watching the kids play on the lawn. Not that the latter isn't fun to do - IT IS FUN TO DO! - but if being content is to do that thing everyday, then I'd gladly welcome wishful thinking and more ambition.

I welcome passion. I crave it like a strawberry daiquiri. Like a soft Taco from Miggy's. Like buffalo wings and paella valenciana. Maybe that's why I've been so bored and restless throughout the semestral break. This is supposed to be my last sembreak before I get my Juris Doctor degree. I'm supposed to be going out and having so much fun that 10 years from now, I'll be looking back to this sembreak with a wistful smile, saying "My, my... Now that was such a fun time!"

Oh yes, I went to Boracay and stayed at a posh place. But I could have had more fun there. I could've done better.

Maybe I'm not drinking enough. Yeah. I should go out and party and dance like that time at Blue Onion - the last time I went there. Okay, I'm definitely drinking this week.

Maybe because I'm in law school and if I had an inkling of sense back in 2005, I wouldn't have enrolled in law school. I could have just followed what my impractical and frequently fickle-minded (if that is even a plausible description) heart wanted to do back then: go abroad and get a second degree or even master's in theater or literature or communications or international relations. Now, I'm stuck in law school and I have to love and learn every legal process that can save my future clients' asses from utter destruction. Or die trying.

Of course I want an escape! Unlike the other sane people in the law school, I am still dreaming about Prince Charming and how he's going to sweep me off my feet and whisk me away to a faraway land where he'd propose to me, we'd marry and have babies, and live happily ever after. And I won't ever gain a pound.

But seeing that such fantasies are far from appearing at my gate, I just feed myself with comical chick-literature by Sophie Kinsella and teenage vampire love stories by Stephenie Meyer. (Have suggestions, do share.)

In the chick-lit reading vice, I can honestly say I'm living it right. I like those books, however shallow, irritatingly dumb, hopelessly romantic, and anti-feminist they may be. And I'm reading them. For sembreak, at least. But in other life-aspects, I'm not so sure. I don't really do what I want to do.

I don't drink a lot for fear of getting drunk and crashing my car against something and, worse, killing other people in the process. That wouldn't do well for my potential legal career. And I'm scared of hangovers. I don't like having puke in my throat every 5 or so minutes. I don't like worshipping the toilet bowl for more than half of the day in an attempt to keep my bed and bedroom floor puke-free.

But I like cocktails and wines and tequilas and citrus-flavored daiquiris and, sometimes even beer. I like experimenting with drinks. I like trying new drinks everytime I go to a bar. I like how my tongue loosens up (although alcohol is really unnecessary) after 2 bottles/glasses/shots or something. I like dancing with friends and strangers (strange BUT HARMLESS AND GORGEOUS, and not to mention hygienic and well-groomed - is requiring an IQ of at least 160 pushing my luck? - men) and just.not.caring.at.all.

Oh I'm definitely going to a foreign country (out of Asia) and trying out the beer there. And the bars. And, ... *wicked smile*

This is not to say that in order to "live it right" one has to be a party-girl. Of course not. It's just one of the boxes in my should-have-done-this list. And I can still do it, mind you.

Living it right. For me, it just means living the way I want my life to be lived. By myself, of course. By thinking of other people, too, but not letting them dominate my choices. I should always do the "right" thing, but my morals are my own. I'm not saying that if one thinks murdering one's neighbors is morally good, one should do it. Duh-h-h. I'm not speaking for the murderers. Or the rapists. Or the super pious. Or even my neighbor, for that matter. I'm speaking for myself.

And partying/having a fun time out is just one of my many check-boxes. I don't want to reach 30 and regret not ever having done this and that. I've already destroyed a big chunk of my life for things I don't really care about. I've already gone to a tunnel I don't really like much.

The least I can do to help my sanity and to salvage my passion is to accomplish as many of my check-boxes as possible.

Propriety be damned.

brink

2008-10-29T08:06:00.000-07:00

I wonder
if you'll materialize before me - for me - soon
or if I'll fade into my dreams sooner.

escape to home

2008-10-17T22:50:00.000-07:00

... and when I plunge into the mundane,
you reappear, you pull me back;
and upon your touch, I succumb
to the dream that never left me --
not one second, though I'd been spending my conscious hours
walking the path that does not belong to my heart.

Upon your touch, I realize
you never left me --
not for a second -- and I,
I've always been yours.