Thursday, April 3, 2008
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
10 stuffs that make me happy
inspired by Marah's blog post (www.deepdiver10.multiply.com)
1. late night coffee time with my dad
2. getting decent grades
3. boxing
4. driving home sans the traffic
5. pasalubongs!
6. walking around (in the mall, in the park, around Malaybalay City, to the market in Baguio) with a good friend or two
7. random thoughtful text messages
8. post-it messages passed discreetly in class
9. pictures!
10. buffet dinners that include roast beef, minatamis na saging, chocolate fountain, rice pilaf, and beef kebab (almon marina style or something similar)with Carl
1. late night coffee time with my dad
2. getting decent grades
3. boxing
4. driving home sans the traffic
5. pasalubongs!
6. walking around (in the mall, in the park, around Malaybalay City, to the market in Baguio) with a good friend or two
7. random thoughtful text messages
8. post-it messages passed discreetly in class
9. pictures!
10. buffet dinners that include roast beef, minatamis na saging, chocolate fountain, rice pilaf, and beef kebab (almon marina style or something similar)with Carl
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Lines
Been a while since I last wrote an entry and now, I'm bursting with thoughts that I don't know what to write about!
Hence, I'm just going to write a bit about a lot. And, no, I'm not going to delve into my usual melodrama. (Thank heavens for small blessings, huh?)
1. Twyla passed the bar!
Finally, she'd have no more reason to space out and cry and space out again while uttering, "10 percent. 10 percent." as if she were hypnotized by some wicked shopping addict. My question is, will she go back to being... unreligious?
2. I'm into boxing!
Or at least, I was into boxing last month. I haven't gone back to the gym since ... March 19, I guess. I miss bugging the people there and complaining about such hard work.
3. Thank God I'm not a nurse!
I'm a bit scared of blood (geez, I even hate the sight of my own blood). I abhor physical pain. I have the urge to cry and run away just seeing someone sweat profusely because of pain (try watching their faces as they writhe in agony and you'll be traumatized).
And then Carl broke his leg. And now I have to watch him hop his way to wherever. And get him painkillers. And learn how to work a bandage. And force patience on myself.
Geez. The learning process never stops.
4. I'm going home to Bukidnon this summer!
Yeah. And work a bit. And do my thesis. And bask in the sun, breathe in some fresh air... *big grin*
5. I went to Bataan for the Holy Week.
And Subic.
And passed by Mt. Samat.
And when I got home, Carl and I tried the Magnolia Creamery along Aurora. (Try it! Delish!)
6. Finals! Finals!
And yet I'm blogging.
I don't care. I've had a long, terrible day and I. Need. Some. Rest.
7. I wanna do an entry on reminiscence:
about how life was when I was a toddler, high school days, college, early years in law school... Hmmm... I will. Soon.
8. Poker!
Hence, I'm just going to write a bit about a lot. And, no, I'm not going to delve into my usual melodrama. (Thank heavens for small blessings, huh?)
1. Twyla passed the bar!
Finally, she'd have no more reason to space out and cry and space out again while uttering, "10 percent. 10 percent." as if she were hypnotized by some wicked shopping addict. My question is, will she go back to being... unreligious?
2. I'm into boxing!
Or at least, I was into boxing last month. I haven't gone back to the gym since ... March 19, I guess. I miss bugging the people there and complaining about such hard work.
3. Thank God I'm not a nurse!
I'm a bit scared of blood (geez, I even hate the sight of my own blood). I abhor physical pain. I have the urge to cry and run away just seeing someone sweat profusely because of pain (try watching their faces as they writhe in agony and you'll be traumatized).
And then Carl broke his leg. And now I have to watch him hop his way to wherever. And get him painkillers. And learn how to work a bandage. And force patience on myself.
Geez. The learning process never stops.
4. I'm going home to Bukidnon this summer!
Yeah. And work a bit. And do my thesis. And bask in the sun, breathe in some fresh air... *big grin*
5. I went to Bataan for the Holy Week.
And Subic.
And passed by Mt. Samat.
And when I got home, Carl and I tried the Magnolia Creamery along Aurora. (Try it! Delish!)
6. Finals! Finals!
And yet I'm blogging.
I don't care. I've had a long, terrible day and I. Need. Some. Rest.
7. I wanna do an entry on reminiscence:
about how life was when I was a toddler, high school days, college, early years in law school... Hmmm... I will. Soon.
8. Poker!
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Big Words
It's practical to use big words if these big words really capture the idea you would want to relay. Some words, as we all should know, were crafted in order to fit an idea or more to a T. They ARE that idea represented in arbitrary symbols, vocal or otherwise.
Yet, there are times when we refrain to use these words and, instead, resort to words which do not really encapsulate the thoughts you would want to express but are rather "safer", in the sense that we think they would not compromise our pride and sense of self.
Insane? Maybe, but the practice is undeniable.
In order to salvage what's supposedly left of our pride, we resort to words which may denote ambiguity and vagueness, thus, wreaking havoc in the communication process. In order to "save ourselves", we build an opaque wall around us. The consequences? Our listeners, supposing they do listen, do not understand what we're getting at. They misunderstand or simply throw their hands up in utter frustration. Or they, themselves, resort to the substitutionary principle and junk the precise Big Words altogether as a defense. And the parties get nowhere.
On principle, Big Words are heavy words. They are laden with meaning, which we usually just hide from everyone else for fear of persecution and even rejection. Fear. And instead of saving ourselves and our relationships, we destroy them because of our fear and defense mechanisms.
Don't misunderstand me. I, too, am a defensive coward. I would rather issue "safe", emotionally uncompromising words that make me appear cold and distant instead of saying what really goes on within me point blank.
But sometimes these Big Words do escape me and I feel lighter almost immediately thereafter. But just the reaction I get, or the consequences I face, because of these issuances is enough to mum me for a considerably long time. I go back to being a weaver of cold, unflinching lines and thrive within my opaque walls where no one else can hurt me. No one but myself.
Yet, there are times when we refrain to use these words and, instead, resort to words which do not really encapsulate the thoughts you would want to express but are rather "safer", in the sense that we think they would not compromise our pride and sense of self.
Insane? Maybe, but the practice is undeniable.
In order to salvage what's supposedly left of our pride, we resort to words which may denote ambiguity and vagueness, thus, wreaking havoc in the communication process. In order to "save ourselves", we build an opaque wall around us. The consequences? Our listeners, supposing they do listen, do not understand what we're getting at. They misunderstand or simply throw their hands up in utter frustration. Or they, themselves, resort to the substitutionary principle and junk the precise Big Words altogether as a defense. And the parties get nowhere.
On principle, Big Words are heavy words. They are laden with meaning, which we usually just hide from everyone else for fear of persecution and even rejection. Fear. And instead of saving ourselves and our relationships, we destroy them because of our fear and defense mechanisms.
Don't misunderstand me. I, too, am a defensive coward. I would rather issue "safe", emotionally uncompromising words that make me appear cold and distant instead of saying what really goes on within me point blank.
But sometimes these Big Words do escape me and I feel lighter almost immediately thereafter. But just the reaction I get, or the consequences I face, because of these issuances is enough to mum me for a considerably long time. I go back to being a weaver of cold, unflinching lines and thrive within my opaque walls where no one else can hurt me. No one but myself.
Friday, February 8, 2008
pokerface
Another attempt at writing a coherent and sensible post.
Another attempt at happiness and security. Stability. Comfort.
Another attempt. Wasted? Not certain as yet. But failed, absolutely.
The tears are raw but everything else is numb. My face has succumbed to an expressionless mask, tinged with ivory concealer and rosy-melon blush.
Failed. Failed.
And I stop for a moment to empty my mobile of its contents.
If only I could empty my mind of its thoughts as easily, I'd be at peace.
Another attempt at happiness and security. Stability. Comfort.
Another attempt. Wasted? Not certain as yet. But failed, absolutely.
The tears are raw but everything else is numb. My face has succumbed to an expressionless mask, tinged with ivory concealer and rosy-melon blush.
Failed. Failed.
And I stop for a moment to empty my mobile of its contents.
If only I could empty my mind of its thoughts as easily, I'd be at peace.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Writers' block.
Not everyone understands why we write. We, the nameless few who find solace in stringing thoughts and words along. We, the alleged artists, drama queens, cynics, and what-other-names we find ourselves branded with.
We have our blogs, leather-bound journals, bedroom walls, comfort room tiles, desks...
Not everyone would call them poetry. They'd be vandalism, doodles, nonsensical and almost always useless lines - the kind that wouldn't put food in one's mouth (au contraire, poems, articles, short stories, and other works may leave you with a bundle of cash), which would not help alleviate our country's economic and political suffering.
I understand their opinions. Not everyone can appreciate writings of the non-academic, non-news reporting kind about either the extraordinary or the mundane that do not really make the headlines. Not everyone can understand poetry: how it can release our anger and passion, how the sometimes grammatically incomplete sentences can convey the deepest tears, how the words can somehow soothe a weary heart.
Not all of us are well-known prolific writers or best-selling novelists. But that doesn't mean we can't try our hand in writing our poetry.
Let us, the nameless in the literary world, write. On our blogs and little pocket diaries. Without fear of mockery and belittling. We don't seek to please everybody, not even our very own readers, if we do have some. We write, because not doing so, would cut off our thoughts, our breaths, our very own lives.
We have our blogs, leather-bound journals, bedroom walls, comfort room tiles, desks...
Not everyone would call them poetry. They'd be vandalism, doodles, nonsensical and almost always useless lines - the kind that wouldn't put food in one's mouth (au contraire, poems, articles, short stories, and other works may leave you with a bundle of cash), which would not help alleviate our country's economic and political suffering.
I understand their opinions. Not everyone can appreciate writings of the non-academic, non-news reporting kind about either the extraordinary or the mundane that do not really make the headlines. Not everyone can understand poetry: how it can release our anger and passion, how the sometimes grammatically incomplete sentences can convey the deepest tears, how the words can somehow soothe a weary heart.
Not all of us are well-known prolific writers or best-selling novelists. But that doesn't mean we can't try our hand in writing our poetry.
Let us, the nameless in the literary world, write. On our blogs and little pocket diaries. Without fear of mockery and belittling. We don't seek to please everybody, not even our very own readers, if we do have some. We write, because not doing so, would cut off our thoughts, our breaths, our very own lives.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Why.
Sometimes you can never get enough of the word, "why".
Why.
The reason. The impertinence. The confrontation. The defense. The secret.
The unknown.
Why?
Why.
The reason. The impertinence. The confrontation. The defense. The secret.
The unknown.
Why?
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