Since Feeling is First
E.E. Cummings
since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
- the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says
we are for each other; then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis
___________________________________________________
The Theory of Absence
By Dunya Mikhail
Translated by Elizabeth Winslow
The Hypothesis: I am tense and so are you.
We neither meet nor separate.
The desired result: We meet in the absence.
The proof: As tension turns people into arcs, we are two arcs.
We neither meet nor separate (the hypothesis)
so we must be parallel.
If two parallel lines are bisected by a third line
(in this case, the line of tension)
their corresponding angles must be equal (a geometrical theorem).
So we are congruent (because shapes are congruent
when their angles are equal)
and we form a circle (since the sum
of two congruent arcs
is a circle).
Therefore, we meet in the absence
(since the circumference of a circle
is the sum of contiguous points
which can each be considered
a point of contact).
___________________________________________________
A Boundless Moment
Robert Frost
He halted in the wind, and -- what was that
Far in the maples, pale, but not a ghost?
He stood there bringing March against his thought,
And yet too ready to believe the most.
"Oh, that's the Paradise-in-bloom," I said;
And truly it was fair enough for flowers
had we but in us to assume in march
Such white luxuriance of May for ours.
We stood a moment so in a strange world,
Myself as one his own pretense deceives;
And then I said the truth (and we moved on).
A young beech clinging to its last year's leaves.
Monday, April 27, 2009
a very creamy chocolate
they say chocolates are aphrodisiac. if you'll ask why a lover gives you a whole box, then at least now you know. 
a part-"Como Agua Para Chocolate" (Like Water for Chocolate) and part-"Dream of a Ridiculous Man", this screenplay of Joanne Harris's novel, "Chocolat" unleashes the roughness and sweetness of life through the story of an unmarried mother, Vianne Rocher (Juliette Binoche), whose wanderlust has blown her into a traditional French village set in a bygone era of innocence and simplicity, inadvertently awakening its sleeping desires and passion. by putting up a chocolate shop across the church, she found herself at the center of gossips as the neighborhood becomes curious of her resistance to follow the norms, as well as her refusal to attend mass.
traveling with her dead mother's ashes, Vianne darted into the lives of religious and conservative villagers who are either long-repressed or faithfully trying to keep up with the collectively-accepted form of morality, dictated by Comte Paul, the village head. played by Alfred Molina, 2005 MTV Movie Awards for Best Villain nominee for his portrayal of Doc Ock in Spiderman 2, the ever righteous and reserve Comte Paul, who's muddled by his own busted-up family affairs and constrained by the limits of what he knew was best for everyone, would do anything to keep the village's inherited pattern of thought, as he makes a slick villain of himself through exercising authoritative control over their new young parish priest, Pierre Henri (Hugh O'Conor), taking part as far as to edit or even write his sermons, and urging people to despise the threatening influence of the radical Vianne. people are compelled to confess and repent for the slightest offense, and even for their so-called "too much indulgence" in chocolates, as if it would contaminate their spirits.
the way the churchgoers passively abide by their traditional guiding principles reminds us of the dear Miss Maudie Atkinson in Harper Lee's "To Kill a Mockingbird" as she recounts to Scout Finch her observations of how people seem to live in a circus: "There are just some kind of men who - who're so busy worrying about the next world they've never learned to live in this one, and you can look down the street and see the results."
when Roux (the demigod Johnny Depp) and other gypsies—otherwise called pirates—sailed into the rivers of the village and found a good spot in its banks, Vianne forged friendship with them, which exasperated the comte and the townspeople. their ire called forth a protest against her and her chocolateria, as summarized in a pretext of the comte's ordinance, "Boycott Immorality." Roux, the only person whom Vianne fails to guess his favorite chocolate, offered to repair the chocolate shop's door, which is expressive of shielding Vianne from the persistent unjustified criticisms of the people who are reluctant to accept changes and new ideas.
as for me (yup, that's right, FOR ME; don't protest), any movie with Johnny Depp in it is a good film, though there was not enough of him in this story. working again with Director Lasse Hallstrom after "What's Eating Gilbert Grape", Depp exuded his distinguishing trait as an actor once more in this poetic story of people seeking acceptance and a sense of normality.
aside from the use of food as symbolic imagery, the story partly resembles "Como Agua Para Chocolate" in terms of magic realism, although in this movie, it is very lightly unfolded. at the same rate, Dostoyevsky's short story only does affect the screenplay throughout the entire extent of self-liberation. a traffic of thoughts is revealed to one's judgment, bordering feminism and Christianity.
"Chocolat" oozes in fragrance and sweetness with every delicate scene of melting and molding chocolates, and at the same time, this concoction of sweet tales about individuality, family, and coexistence has a fairy tale look and feel, and is narrated on a light, enchanting note. the peculiar thing about this, though, is the tralatitious spreading of chocolate syrup on every dish, as seen on the birthday of Vianne's landlady, who later on became her friend. spending the rest of the party on a decadent evening of dance at Roux's boat—a pre-taste of the fertility feast on the coming Easter Sunday—is not surprisingly bothersome for the comte and his followers, and which they also find extremely immoral. the viewer soon learns how strong his words impact his subordinates. however, in the attempt to topple down the chocolateria, the comte finds himself caught in a dilemma of his own cynicism and blinded by the same idea he is selling.
and although Vianne was only brought to that land by a sly northern wind, bearing her mother's kismet, dispensing ancient cacao remedies and traveling forever with the wind, she finds her roots in the village in an enchanting tale of standing up for one's belief and finally, the glorious feeling of being released.
"I think that we can't go around... measuring our goodness by what we don't do. By what we deny ourselves, what we resist, and who we exclude. I think... we've got to measure goodness by what we embrace, what we create... and who we include."- Pierre Henri
oftentimes, a movie with what seems to be a simple plot on the surface turns out to be something wonderful, and it's amazing how people can make sense so deep and philosophical with the use of sweet little things like chocolates. four out five stars for "Chocolat"!
*photo from The Reader's Eye
*my god, this has 913 words in it, and this is not required! (longer than what i passed in our Reviews class. haha!) :p
*oh well, i'm soooooooo bored...
sometimes it's also in the name
i have a theory. a very lame theory. for years i've been trying to formulate a fail-proof technique on how to gain favorable outcomes from almost everything i do, although i know things don't always come as planned and expected. i was just thinking, is there something in me that dictates what i would become, as well as the actual part of getting there? above all, i admit that the basic equation is effort plus a little luck plus what you know and who you know. but, could it be that it is also in the genes? zodiac signs? size and shape? color of the eyes? birthmarks? or even in names?
i can't help sharing my self-woven fact that the most successful people (here in the Philippines at the very least) have peculiar names or those that are sure to ring a bell on one's ears. of all the names i've heard, it is almost always true that either real strength or metaphoric rays is radiated through one's name. here, people with non-generic names, i think, have an inherent "plus 50 points" or bluntly said, are 50% ahead in terms of making and building a name.
in the literature and arts, we have Bienvenido Lumbera, Nicomedes Márquez Joaquin, Virgilio S. Almario, F. Sionil Jose, Mario Eric Gamalinda, Mauro Malang Santos, Juan Nakpil, Levi Celerio, Lucrecia Kasilag, Lino Brocka, and Ang Kiukok, to name a few. in politics, it is pretty obvious that their names are as strange as their personas. how these corrupt politicians kill and steal our money and come home to dine with their families at night is just bemusing! but, yes, their names are strange and they are famous.
my very lame theory was somehow supported by a blog i've seen on www.good.is, which is a well-substantiated explanation of how names eventually affect the lives of people in terms of their chosen careers, and i had a good laugh discovering that there are actually people whose names have amusing connections with their professions. read and find out if you are one.
What's in a name? Sometimes, a job
by Mark Peters
The Synchronous World of Aptronyms
Have you heard about the gardener named Alan Bloom or the defense attorney Scott Free? How about the brilliant professor of genetics, Dr. Murray Brilliant? Or the winner of the the Nez Perce County Fair hog-calling contest, Jolee Bacon?
Such perfect marriages of profession and handle sound like old-fashioned jokes from a paleo-comedic era.
Nuh-uh.
These kismetic combos of name and job are truth, not truthiness. Preposterously well-named people like Rita Book the librarian and Diane Berry the mortician have aptronyms—names that are particularly suited to a person’s profession. Folks have been wondering about “nominative determinism” and the “name-career hypothesis” for decades, and collecting the words also called aptonyms, jobonyms, namephreaks, perfect fit last names, and euonyms is a perennial hobby of word-herders.
The word aptronym dates back to at least 1925, and no less respectable a publication than New Scientist has been the home of much aptronym-discussing, though they prefer the term nominative determinism, a name for the phenomena that is both science-y and destiny-ish. In 1994, New Scientist introduced that term and discussed such cases as Dr. Misri (a depression-focused psychiatrist), R.A. Sparks (author of electronics textbooks), C.J. Berry (a make-your-own wine maven), and J. Angst, who co-wrote a book on bipolar disorder. Over the years, the letters page of New Scientist has been an ever-replenishing source of aptronyms, and I particularly enjoyed a 2005 issue that mentioned fish researchers Andrew Bass and Steven Haddock, as well as the journalist Elaine Lies, who probably does not agree that her aptronym is apt.
Timothy Noah of Slate—who lacks his own aptronym, unless he collects a metric ark-load of animals—is a top contender for collector laureate of the aptronym world, as his pieces have brought many to light. He’s collected dentists named Fear, Hurt, Toothman, Chu, Plack, and Puller, as well as an economist named Dollar, a gastroenterologist named Colon, a professor of religion named Godlove, an ophthalmologist named Blinder, and a urologist named Peters. (I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that…) Noah’s crowning glories are the discovery of sexual misconduct researcher Charol Shakeshaft and lawyer Sue Yoo, two professionals whose names must make their lives very interesting (and annoying).
For aptronym insight, you can’t do better than Verbie Prevost, literature professor and head of the English department at the University of Tennessee-Chattanooga, who I heard give a paper on this topic at the American Name Society conference a few months ago. As to whether or not the name influenced her, Verbie said her parents probably did not intend to steer their daughter toward an inevitable destiny as an English prof: “They were simply naming me after my grandmothers—Verbie for the maternal grandmother and Ann for the paternal one. I’m not sure it ever occurred to them to think about the connection even when I displayed an early interest in become a writer or an English teacher—as early as elementary school, in fact.”
In her paper, Verbie said that taunt-bearing schoolmates were equally uninterested in her name’s meaning: “I also do not really recall much reference being made to the aptronymic quality of my name during my K-12 school days, but then my classmates probably weren’t fully aware of my future plans. Instead, they primarily teased me about the unusualness of the name.” Admirably, Verbie has managed to not go bonkers from endless jokes about her name, like an old boyfriend who said her sister was named Nounie and another friend who calls Verbie’s children the pronouns.
You could say I have an aptronym, though it’s a bit of a stretch. As I’ve heard tell, my great-grandmother, who was more than a tad bonkers, wasn’t thrilled with the choice of Mark, saying, “What’s that? Like a mark on the wall?” (Guess she never heard of the Bible. Yeeps). But since making marks on paper is my favorite thing to do, even more than plowing through a bag of barbecue chips while watching about five episodes of The Shield in one sitting, the name does fit. I am a mark-er.
What about you, oh nameless readers? Is there a Randall Anonymous, who floats name-free notions across the web, or a Carol Comment with something to say? You know what to do, commentadores.
i can't help sharing my self-woven fact that the most successful people (here in the Philippines at the very least) have peculiar names or those that are sure to ring a bell on one's ears. of all the names i've heard, it is almost always true that either real strength or metaphoric rays is radiated through one's name. here, people with non-generic names, i think, have an inherent "plus 50 points" or bluntly said, are 50% ahead in terms of making and building a name.
in the literature and arts, we have Bienvenido Lumbera, Nicomedes Márquez Joaquin, Virgilio S. Almario, F. Sionil Jose, Mario Eric Gamalinda, Mauro Malang Santos, Juan Nakpil, Levi Celerio, Lucrecia Kasilag, Lino Brocka, and Ang Kiukok, to name a few. in politics, it is pretty obvious that their names are as strange as their personas. how these corrupt politicians kill and steal our money and come home to dine with their families at night is just bemusing! but, yes, their names are strange and they are famous.
my very lame theory was somehow supported by a blog i've seen on www.good.is, which is a well-substantiated explanation of how names eventually affect the lives of people in terms of their chosen careers, and i had a good laugh discovering that there are actually people whose names have amusing connections with their professions. read and find out if you are one.
What's in a name? Sometimes, a job
by Mark Peters
The Synchronous World of Aptronyms
Have you heard about the gardener named Alan Bloom or the defense attorney Scott Free? How about the brilliant professor of genetics, Dr. Murray Brilliant? Or the winner of the the Nez Perce County Fair hog-calling contest, Jolee Bacon?
Such perfect marriages of profession and handle sound like old-fashioned jokes from a paleo-comedic era.
Nuh-uh.
These kismetic combos of name and job are truth, not truthiness. Preposterously well-named people like Rita Book the librarian and Diane Berry the mortician have aptronyms—names that are particularly suited to a person’s profession. Folks have been wondering about “nominative determinism” and the “name-career hypothesis” for decades, and collecting the words also called aptonyms, jobonyms, namephreaks, perfect fit last names, and euonyms is a perennial hobby of word-herders.
The word aptronym dates back to at least 1925, and no less respectable a publication than New Scientist has been the home of much aptronym-discussing, though they prefer the term nominative determinism, a name for the phenomena that is both science-y and destiny-ish. In 1994, New Scientist introduced that term and discussed such cases as Dr. Misri (a depression-focused psychiatrist), R.A. Sparks (author of electronics textbooks), C.J. Berry (a make-your-own wine maven), and J. Angst, who co-wrote a book on bipolar disorder. Over the years, the letters page of New Scientist has been an ever-replenishing source of aptronyms, and I particularly enjoyed a 2005 issue that mentioned fish researchers Andrew Bass and Steven Haddock, as well as the journalist Elaine Lies, who probably does not agree that her aptronym is apt.
Timothy Noah of Slate—who lacks his own aptronym, unless he collects a metric ark-load of animals—is a top contender for collector laureate of the aptronym world, as his pieces have brought many to light. He’s collected dentists named Fear, Hurt, Toothman, Chu, Plack, and Puller, as well as an economist named Dollar, a gastroenterologist named Colon, a professor of religion named Godlove, an ophthalmologist named Blinder, and a urologist named Peters. (I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that…) Noah’s crowning glories are the discovery of sexual misconduct researcher Charol Shakeshaft and lawyer Sue Yoo, two professionals whose names must make their lives very interesting (and annoying).
For aptronym insight, you can’t do better than Verbie Prevost, literature professor and head of the English department at the University of Tennessee-Chattanooga, who I heard give a paper on this topic at the American Name Society conference a few months ago. As to whether or not the name influenced her, Verbie said her parents probably did not intend to steer their daughter toward an inevitable destiny as an English prof: “They were simply naming me after my grandmothers—Verbie for the maternal grandmother and Ann for the paternal one. I’m not sure it ever occurred to them to think about the connection even when I displayed an early interest in become a writer or an English teacher—as early as elementary school, in fact.”
In her paper, Verbie said that taunt-bearing schoolmates were equally uninterested in her name’s meaning: “I also do not really recall much reference being made to the aptronymic quality of my name during my K-12 school days, but then my classmates probably weren’t fully aware of my future plans. Instead, they primarily teased me about the unusualness of the name.” Admirably, Verbie has managed to not go bonkers from endless jokes about her name, like an old boyfriend who said her sister was named Nounie and another friend who calls Verbie’s children the pronouns.
You could say I have an aptronym, though it’s a bit of a stretch. As I’ve heard tell, my great-grandmother, who was more than a tad bonkers, wasn’t thrilled with the choice of Mark, saying, “What’s that? Like a mark on the wall?” (Guess she never heard of the Bible. Yeeps). But since making marks on paper is my favorite thing to do, even more than plowing through a bag of barbecue chips while watching about five episodes of The Shield in one sitting, the name does fit. I am a mark-er.
What about you, oh nameless readers? Is there a Randall Anonymous, who floats name-free notions across the web, or a Carol Comment with something to say? You know what to do, commentadores.
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
Ely Buendia for senator?
after sleeping away my three-day battle for four 1000-to-1,500-word reviews of a classic movie, new and old books, and theatrical plays, strange musings dawned upon me and necessitated me to finish the most pretentious assignment ever in our marriage and family class (imagine me writing a ludicrously odd breakdown of expenses in my—ehem—future wedding; WTH). and for the heck of passing it—yup, two energy-charged hours at dusk that never got drained until the next day. with much vigor left unexpended, i brooded over an issue of the Philippines Free Press—P50 in Manila, but free and plenty indeed from a seminar on Pinoy reading habits the other week.
"The perfect political animal" is the phrase that the author, who's an incredibly great speaker, used to frame the picture. Ely Buendia for Senator? i almost couldn't imagine it. no, i could never imagine it. as i started to immerse into the text, i could feel that the writer merely wanted to set-up some ironies, which somehow proved me right.
but whether Ely is fit for office or not, i didn't care. well, at some point i did because it raised relative issues then. what disturbed me was the way the article was written. i never expected that style from a reputable magazine—a fortress of Philippine journalism for that matter; and i was disappointed because it was my first time to finish a whole thing in that publication. it's as if i was just reading a blog like this—a mare's nest, cluttered. i had awkward moments while reading the interview. more than that, i felt uneasy to find myself abhorring that same article that excited my neurons when i first saw its title on the front page. i was thinking that if the writer had spent more time for that, then it could have been crafted into a close-to-perfect account of political stance. the points were made clear; but those points were downplayed by incorporating them into an informal interview type.
it's reminiscent of a remark from our historical/cultural writing professor, who's also the big man behind our reviews, on a 3000-word draft article i wrote lazily three hours before the deadline: "This is a research material for an article on Quiapo. Kindly fix this." ('yun oh!) but i knew it was still for editing, and was definitely not for nationwide circulation. my scruples wouldn't allow me to pass something like that had it been for publishing anyway.
everyone can write. i believe that. but it's a different story in terms of serious publications. the same goes with social and street blunders like "no parking on BOTH sides," which should have been EITHER SIDE; "fill-UP the form," which must be fill-OUT; "sign up FROM 6am to 5pm," which seems too tiring if you literally sign up for 11 hours, it should have been BETWEEN 6 a.m. AND 5 p.m. (woohoo! i love you, sir!); plus the "NG vs NANG" and "IBA-IBA vs IBA'T IBA" errors.
more people, mostly children, live by these mistakes. it would be a happier world if there's a regulating body that checks and approves signboards to spare people from ignorance and hapless cognitive content. there is a proper way of speaking, and a proper way of writing. it's not enough that we all get each other's point. remember McLuhan, "The Medium is the Message," whose book, when it came back from the typesetter's, had on the cover "The Medium is the Massage." see what i mean?
p.s.
sorry, this really has nothing to do with Ely being a good pick for senator. i just thought it would be a catchy title. just blundering some lousy ideas here. hehe. wooo! three days na lang, E-heads concert na ulit!!! :)
"The perfect political animal" is the phrase that the author, who's an incredibly great speaker, used to frame the picture. Ely Buendia for Senator? i almost couldn't imagine it. no, i could never imagine it. as i started to immerse into the text, i could feel that the writer merely wanted to set-up some ironies, which somehow proved me right.
but whether Ely is fit for office or not, i didn't care. well, at some point i did because it raised relative issues then. what disturbed me was the way the article was written. i never expected that style from a reputable magazine—a fortress of Philippine journalism for that matter; and i was disappointed because it was my first time to finish a whole thing in that publication. it's as if i was just reading a blog like this—a mare's nest, cluttered. i had awkward moments while reading the interview. more than that, i felt uneasy to find myself abhorring that same article that excited my neurons when i first saw its title on the front page. i was thinking that if the writer had spent more time for that, then it could have been crafted into a close-to-perfect account of political stance. the points were made clear; but those points were downplayed by incorporating them into an informal interview type.
it's reminiscent of a remark from our historical/cultural writing professor, who's also the big man behind our reviews, on a 3000-word draft article i wrote lazily three hours before the deadline: "This is a research material for an article on Quiapo. Kindly fix this." ('yun oh!) but i knew it was still for editing, and was definitely not for nationwide circulation. my scruples wouldn't allow me to pass something like that had it been for publishing anyway.
everyone can write. i believe that. but it's a different story in terms of serious publications. the same goes with social and street blunders like "no parking on BOTH sides," which should have been EITHER SIDE; "fill-UP the form," which must be fill-OUT; "sign up FROM 6am to 5pm," which seems too tiring if you literally sign up for 11 hours, it should have been BETWEEN 6 a.m. AND 5 p.m. (woohoo! i love you, sir!); plus the "NG vs NANG" and "IBA-IBA vs IBA'T IBA" errors.
more people, mostly children, live by these mistakes. it would be a happier world if there's a regulating body that checks and approves signboards to spare people from ignorance and hapless cognitive content. there is a proper way of speaking, and a proper way of writing. it's not enough that we all get each other's point. remember McLuhan, "The Medium is the Message," whose book, when it came back from the typesetter's, had on the cover "The Medium is the Massage." see what i mean?
p.s.
sorry, this really has nothing to do with Ely being a good pick for senator. i just thought it would be a catchy title. just blundering some lousy ideas here. hehe. wooo! three days na lang, E-heads concert na ulit!!! :)
Saturday, February 28, 2009
how do i hate 28? let me count the ways...
six hours earlier, i retired myself to a queasy hibernation after my mother gleefully remarked that i looked like an Igorot as she greeted me at the doorstep. and that was it. with my native-looking headband that strangely takes its roots all the way from Japan and my bouncing iron-curled hair still primly fashioned on my apex, i reluctantly went upstairs without a single word. another six troubling hours earlier, i lost my four-year-old school ID somewhere on the cigarette-butt flooded Dapitan steet. something must be extremely wrong with 28...
as much as i would like to dismiss this thought, i simply could not help it. i myself do not subscribe to feng shui and the rest of the occult-smothered fortune telling schemes, but the thing is, i am persistently endowed with an indistinguishable first-hand misfortune every, before, and after 28, and whether or not i am thinking of it, hell and earth never miss their commitment to give me that slimy shit, that sometimes i feel i can even transmit the relatively undeserved bad luck to persons i am with.
i hate 28 as much as i hate bugs and cockroaches, and people who aren't responsible enough to keep their wet umbrellas shut when walking on a covered pathway. i hate 28 as much as i hate big chunks of ginger and garlic on my food, and children who touch your knees when making their way inside public transportation. i hate 28 as much as i loathe muds of spit on the trodden path, cherry-topped with some yellowish slimy phlegm. i hate 28 as much as i hate chewed bubblegum on my skirt, the snatcher of my phone, and people who flaunt their English on streets, subways, and in places like Quiapo and Divisoria. and for the creamiest crap, i hate 28 as much as i hate the terribly no-brainer commercials, soap operas, and films in the Philippines, particularly that possessed Tiki-Tiki ad, the frenzy Gagambino, and the ultimate summary of downright Pinoy psychological error, KC and Richard's When I Met You.
2008 is yet the most dreadful year i struggled to survive-- faulty termination and a series of unfortunate, i mean UNFORTUNATE, very unfortunate (did i say unfortunate?) events. 2008=28. and if my memory serves me well, the first time i had this shedding of my uterine lining accompanied by excruciating cramps, which i naively thought of as a C-level diarrhea, minus all the BM, was on the 28th of January when i was in grade five. but menstruation isn't really an unfortunate event in womanhood, although disturbing and distressing. and maybe i was not at all unfortunate every 28. maybe i really have to thank this day for giving me an excuse for my inherent idiocy and absent-mindedness. and if you happen to be born on the 28th of any effing month or if you're into celebrating whatever event on the same date, i'm sorry for wasting three minutes of your time and for relentlessly dissing you special date, but... it's 28 and i'm in deep shit!
as much as i would like to dismiss this thought, i simply could not help it. i myself do not subscribe to feng shui and the rest of the occult-smothered fortune telling schemes, but the thing is, i am persistently endowed with an indistinguishable first-hand misfortune every, before, and after 28, and whether or not i am thinking of it, hell and earth never miss their commitment to give me that slimy shit, that sometimes i feel i can even transmit the relatively undeserved bad luck to persons i am with.
i hate 28 as much as i hate bugs and cockroaches, and people who aren't responsible enough to keep their wet umbrellas shut when walking on a covered pathway. i hate 28 as much as i hate big chunks of ginger and garlic on my food, and children who touch your knees when making their way inside public transportation. i hate 28 as much as i loathe muds of spit on the trodden path, cherry-topped with some yellowish slimy phlegm. i hate 28 as much as i hate chewed bubblegum on my skirt, the snatcher of my phone, and people who flaunt their English on streets, subways, and in places like Quiapo and Divisoria. and for the creamiest crap, i hate 28 as much as i hate the terribly no-brainer commercials, soap operas, and films in the Philippines, particularly that possessed Tiki-Tiki ad, the frenzy Gagambino, and the ultimate summary of downright Pinoy psychological error, KC and Richard's When I Met You.
2008 is yet the most dreadful year i struggled to survive-- faulty termination and a series of unfortunate, i mean UNFORTUNATE, very unfortunate (did i say unfortunate?) events. 2
Saturday, February 14, 2009
sweet potatoes
scientific name: ipomoea batatas
sa Tagalog, KAMOTE.
***************************************
lately i've been having difficulties in writing. i believe it's not because i've been running out of things to say. in fact, whenever i'm slapped with a certain topic, a web of intertwined ideas clutter my brain; too much, that i do not seem to know how to put them into words. so i end up thinking and planning carefully how to sort them, until the time is up and all that's left is will, coupled with my mastery of procrastination, and Jesus Christ. wow. one must know that most sacrilegious writers and writer wannabes suddenly become religious roughly an hour before the deadline.
beyond the wee hours of idle daydreaming and planning how to make a manuscript less stupid in the critical eyes of professors—
(random: talk about being OC. upon checking if the term "wee" would properly address my thoughts, i stumbled upon this thing in urban dictionary:
wee - the time spent in your life peeing
i wasted my life in the wee hours tags: pee, time, bathroom, life, important)
rotflmao!
—i find it more convenient to read books and magazines, look at old pictures and make silly slideshows, or update this multiply site. holy cow! i'm less than 20 days away from finally getting this shit off, and until now i still regret (sometimes) having worked only to lose my drive in studying, thinking that i could have done better than those it's-a-little-point-zero-three to dean's list, and that 3s in those subjects i swallowed like bitter pills because i stubbornly did not want them like that lame PGC and Pol Dy are beyond repair, so why waste my effort when i know there's no silver tint at the end of my effin' gay rainbow? i can really be such a pessimist at times. i'm not a fan of numbers, but i know i could have made it only if i willed, but i did not, and this remorse is buggin' me 16 days before classes end. sweet Jesus!
***************************************
our supposed thesis defense day is over, but not yet the "grilling of asses and butchering of students alive," as how my friend Jaycee puts it. good thing Sir Nikki Salandanan, one of our panelists (i intended to put this thing near Jaycee's name for good luck. yiii!), who was all crabbed and harassed last night after nearly 12 hours of baking the balls of hopeful kids, agreed to call our presentation off and move it tomorrow, this time, with the other panelist, so it would be easier for his part, and so was heaven's grace for us.
***************************************
28 is my "malas day" and not friday the 13th. i've celebrated a couple of birthdays that fell on this widely-anathematized day, but hey! i'm still alive!
in a hopeless attempt to dispose off my P68-resume, my friend-slash-thesis-mate Joseinne and I signed up in any, i mean ANY participating company in the job fair, just because Reuters' booth was not manned (but we placed our resumes at the table anyway) and Inquirer's was, to our dismay, all emptied; plus, the other publishing companies have already packed up. imagine us applying in Ayala Land Corporation. what the heck are we going to do there? sell houses? write PR newsletters or make advertorials for houses? we just did not think any job would suit us there, but we signed up anyway instead of going for Maynilad or 7-11.
and my friend? well, she ended up submitting her last copy of resume in the Kumon booth. holy guacamole!
then i suddenly remembered that my cover letter was like "I am seeking to align myself with one of the most respected news agencies in the Philippines today." come on, Ayala Land!
***************************************
and i thought i was lucky on friday the 13th...
sa Tagalog, KAMOTE.
***************************************
lately i've been having difficulties in writing. i believe it's not because i've been running out of things to say. in fact, whenever i'm slapped with a certain topic, a web of intertwined ideas clutter my brain; too much, that i do not seem to know how to put them into words. so i end up thinking and planning carefully how to sort them, until the time is up and all that's left is will, coupled with my mastery of procrastination, and Jesus Christ. wow. one must know that most sacrilegious writers and writer wannabes suddenly become religious roughly an hour before the deadline.
beyond the wee hours of idle daydreaming and planning how to make a manuscript less stupid in the critical eyes of professors—
(random: talk about being OC. upon checking if the term "wee" would properly address my thoughts, i stumbled upon this thing in urban dictionary:
wee - the time spent in your life peeing
i wasted my life in the wee hours tags: pee, time, bathroom, life, important)
rotflmao!—i find it more convenient to read books and magazines, look at old pictures and make silly slideshows, or update this multiply site. holy cow! i'm less than 20 days away from finally getting this shit off, and until now i still regret (sometimes) having worked only to lose my drive in studying, thinking that i could have done better than those it's-a-little-point-zero-three to dean's list, and that 3s in those subjects i swallowed like bitter pills because i stubbornly did not want them like that lame PGC and Pol Dy are beyond repair, so why waste my effort when i know there's no silver tint at the end of my effin' gay rainbow? i can really be such a pessimist at times. i'm not a fan of numbers, but i know i could have made it only if i willed, but i did not, and this remorse is buggin' me 16 days before classes end. sweet Jesus!
***************************************
our supposed thesis defense day is over, but not yet the "grilling of asses and butchering of students alive," as how my friend Jaycee puts it. good thing Sir Nikki Salandanan, one of our panelists (i intended to put this thing near Jaycee's name for good luck. yiii!), who was all crabbed and harassed last night after nearly 12 hours of baking the balls of hopeful kids, agreed to call our presentation off and move it tomorrow, this time, with the other panelist, so it would be easier for his part, and so was heaven's grace for us.
***************************************
28 is my "malas day" and not friday the 13th. i've celebrated a couple of birthdays that fell on this widely-anathematized day, but hey! i'm still alive!
in a hopeless attempt to dispose off my P68-resume, my friend-slash-thesis-mate Joseinne and I signed up in any, i mean ANY participating company in the job fair, just because Reuters' booth was not manned (but we placed our resumes at the table anyway) and Inquirer's was, to our dismay, all emptied; plus, the other publishing companies have already packed up. imagine us applying in Ayala Land Corporation. what the heck are we going to do there? sell houses? write PR newsletters or make advertorials for houses? we just did not think any job would suit us there, but we signed up anyway instead of going for Maynilad or 7-11.
and my friend? well, she ended up submitting her last copy of resume in the Kumon booth. holy guacamole!
then i suddenly remembered that my cover letter was like "I am seeking to align myself with one of the most respected news agencies in the Philippines today." come on, Ayala Land!
***************************************
and i thought i was lucky on friday the 13th...
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
cookie-dookie
i mixed everything
butter and cream
the tips of my fingers
all dressed with flour
two cups of water
and gone was the hour
if not for the bright moon
and the falling of leaves
i had used the right spoon
and watched over my cookies
'cause they turned out so sweet
i wanted to believe
i cried for my cookies
and how bad it felt
then i remembered
how much i loved salt
now i know i need not bake
any bread of that sort
'cause all i had to do
was let it all loose
shut my eyes close
and stick my tongue out
butter and cream
the tips of my fingers
all dressed with flour
two cups of water
and gone was the hour
if not for the bright moon
and the falling of leaves
i had used the right spoon
and watched over my cookies
'cause they turned out so sweet
i wanted to believe
i cried for my cookies
and how bad it felt
then i remembered
how much i loved salt
now i know i need not bake
any bread of that sort
'cause all i had to do
was let it all loose
shut my eyes close
and stick my tongue out
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
on eggs, pregnancy, and night sky
"What makes the desert beautiful," said the Little Prince, "is that somewhere it hides a well..."
December 18 marked the last day of our classes this year. No one was feverish and swarmed with school works because there's not that much to do, except for some encoding and revisions of theses, which practically compensated for the hours wasted on absolute idleness. In short, pang-walis sa nagbuburak na utak.
If Christmas is not a thing for apathetic and semi-anti-social students like us—the notorious bunch of seniors that constantly ignored parties, general assemblies, saintly seminars, and even the upcoming retreat—gift-giving, ironically, does count, at least in some groups, and especially in our last year as kolehiyalas.
"Sirain mo para maraming sumunod," is an automatic line people will surely never forget while anxiously waiting, and sometimes getting even more excited for what the other has received, or dying to see what kind of reaction one would throw upon discovering a slimy toad gum from that silly gift box.
I knew it was an egg; an odd sort of egg—that thing my friend, Joy, gave me last week—and indeed, eggs are supposed to be broken before they can be useful. It was an egg-shaped plush toy with a zip fastener at the midsection, as if inviting you to take a peek at what it cloaks inside. Under the velvety white sheet, much like a scrotum (kidding!) or just plain bonnet, was a happy duckling with 10 hoops of yarn and a perfectly tied orange ribbon on its head, and short flappy wings, unable as that of the tearjerker kiwi animation in youtube. I am not a fan of stuffed toys, but that one was great.
Nevertheless, i prefer to keep the egg closed and figuratively unbroken most of the time for sentimental reasons. Like magic that makes us smile as we look at the swollen tummies of soon-to-be mommies, we slowly fall in love with the idea that there is something beautiful inside it; that there's a little man, sucking his thumb under that pack of lard; and simply because there is life inside it, which gives that ball an extra glow... And for us, lovers of the Little Prince, it is always sweet to look at the sky at night and see the faint white glow with the freshness that comes only with new eyes, knowing that in one of the stars, he is living.
Stars do change, in some measures, as we change in larger ones, and until now, it still gets me to thinking, has the sheep eaten his rose—or not? "And you will see how everything changes... And no grown-up will ever understand that this is a matter of so much importance!"
December 18 marked the last day of our classes this year. No one was feverish and swarmed with school works because there's not that much to do, except for some encoding and revisions of theses, which practically compensated for the hours wasted on absolute idleness. In short, pang-walis sa nagbuburak na utak.
If Christmas is not a thing for apathetic and semi-anti-social students like us—the notorious bunch of seniors that constantly ignored parties, general assemblies, saintly seminars, and even the upcoming retreat—gift-giving, ironically, does count, at least in some groups, and especially in our last year as kolehiyalas.
"Sirain mo para maraming sumunod," is an automatic line people will surely never forget while anxiously waiting, and sometimes getting even more excited for what the other has received, or dying to see what kind of reaction one would throw upon discovering a slimy toad gum from that silly gift box.
I knew it was an egg; an odd sort of egg—that thing my friend, Joy, gave me last week—and indeed, eggs are supposed to be broken before they can be useful. It was an egg-shaped plush toy with a zip fastener at the midsection, as if inviting you to take a peek at what it cloaks inside. Under the velvety white sheet, much like a scrotum (kidding!) or just plain bonnet, was a happy duckling with 10 hoops of yarn and a perfectly tied orange ribbon on its head, and short flappy wings, unable as that of the tearjerker kiwi animation in youtube. I am not a fan of stuffed toys, but that one was great.
Nevertheless, i prefer to keep the egg closed and figuratively unbroken most of the time for sentimental reasons. Like magic that makes us smile as we look at the swollen tummies of soon-to-be mommies, we slowly fall in love with the idea that there is something beautiful inside it; that there's a little man, sucking his thumb under that pack of lard; and simply because there is life inside it, which gives that ball an extra glow... And for us, lovers of the Little Prince, it is always sweet to look at the sky at night and see the faint white glow with the freshness that comes only with new eyes, knowing that in one of the stars, he is living.
Stars do change, in some measures, as we change in larger ones, and until now, it still gets me to thinking, has the sheep eaten his rose—or not? "And you will see how everything changes... And no grown-up will ever understand that this is a matter of so much importance!"
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
where are you Christmas?
i heard this thing last night which asked, "if you were given a chance to change the 'ho-ho-ho' trademark of Santa Claus, what would it be?" answers came flying as hoy-hoy-hoy, hey-hey-hey, wahahahaha, hihihihi (as if Santa was some sort of a witch), and a lot more crappy sounds.
if i were to be asked, i would suggest that Santa just shuts his mouth up (what's so funny about Christmas?) and never let the hopeful children notice him coming, which is what he intends to do in the first place, because if not, he would just bang the front door or whack the windows instead of squeezing himself dirty in that darn chimney. and by the way, how about the children in tropical countries, who have nothing but holes in the roof, and worse, no roof at all? won't they have their gifts? i'm thankful that i stopped believing in tales at an early age, lest i would have thought of myself as a naughty kid all these time.
well, i don't want to sound like The Grinch, because i also had my own share of putting big red socks under the stairs, waiting for something lovely beneath that plastic tree, and getting myself all mesmerized by the fairy lights that cover the whole city at night; but now, i just don't feel it coming. this year, i don't want to get myself involved with Christmas parties and reunion-slash-beer-drinking session, or whatever. i don't even want to look at plain yellow fairy lights because all they do is make me feel a little melancholic and alone.
again, i say, if i were to choose, i'd rather die on a Christmas season. scanning my older posts, i found this younger piece of thought:
on living and leaving (part 2)
"...it is mostly during the cold December that people feel loved and special. gifts flushing into your house, greetings clogging in airwaves, and friends, those you've known ever since you said your first hello to the earth, coming into sight, and making you feel important, remembered, cherished - is there anything more you can ask for? you feel great, you feel loved, you feel more than what the great dead people felt. what happens after life, you know no more, but what matters is that you keep those memories with you and preserve them like a jar of fragrant kisses which, while the grownups fooled us, multiply into thousand sweet little memories... i can't think of spending another year with those love messages diminishing like decaying trees and being thrown into a state where they were totally lost and out of my grasp..."
i just don't think something has changed in the way i see it.
and since it's the time of the year, and 2008 is slowly making it's way out (thank God, just a minute shadow of 28 for me to endure) i might as well share with you some of my favorite Christmas songs and an audio book of A Christmas Carol by Orson Wells.
happy Christmas...
if i were to be asked, i would suggest that Santa just shuts his mouth up (what's so funny about Christmas?) and never let the hopeful children notice him coming, which is what he intends to do in the first place, because if not, he would just bang the front door or whack the windows instead of squeezing himself dirty in that darn chimney. and by the way, how about the children in tropical countries, who have nothing but holes in the roof, and worse, no roof at all? won't they have their gifts? i'm thankful that i stopped believing in tales at an early age, lest i would have thought of myself as a naughty kid all these time.
well, i don't want to sound like The Grinch, because i also had my own share of putting big red socks under the stairs, waiting for something lovely beneath that plastic tree, and getting myself all mesmerized by the fairy lights that cover the whole city at night; but now, i just don't feel it coming. this year, i don't want to get myself involved with Christmas parties and reunion-slash-beer-drinking session, or whatever. i don't even want to look at plain yellow fairy lights because all they do is make me feel a little melancholic and alone.
again, i say, if i were to choose, i'd rather die on a Christmas season. scanning my older posts, i found this younger piece of thought:
on living and leaving (part 2)
"...it is mostly during the cold December that people feel loved and special. gifts flushing into your house, greetings clogging in airwaves, and friends, those you've known ever since you said your first hello to the earth, coming into sight, and making you feel important, remembered, cherished - is there anything more you can ask for? you feel great, you feel loved, you feel more than what the great dead people felt. what happens after life, you know no more, but what matters is that you keep those memories with you and preserve them like a jar of fragrant kisses which, while the grownups fooled us, multiply into thousand sweet little memories... i can't think of spending another year with those love messages diminishing like decaying trees and being thrown into a state where they were totally lost and out of my grasp..."
i just don't think something has changed in the way i see it.
and since it's the time of the year, and 2008 is slowly making it's way out (thank God, just a minute shadow of 28 for me to endure) i might as well share with you some of my favorite Christmas songs and an audio book of A Christmas Carol by Orson Wells.
happy Christmas...
Monday, November 17, 2008
malkovich, malkovich, malkovich... malkovich?? malkovich!!! malko-malko-malkovich!!!
at a certain point in people's lives, they tend to dream of being in another person's shoes. sometimes it's because of misery, lack of opportunity, envy, or just plain curiosity on how it feels to be somebody else, say, Bianca Araneta or the Ayalas. i myself have my own share of wishing my soul to be transported into another mass of flesh for a day, or even just for an hour. i still want to know how ecstatic it feels to be a Katie Holmes and be kissed by my future ex-husband, Tom Cruise, or be an Angelina Jolie and sleep with the oh-so-damn-hot Brad Pitt. when i was younger and naive on politics (i'm not even wiser on it today), it was during the turnover of the presidency of Ex-President Fidel Ramos to Ex-(okay) just Erap, i wondered if i could transfer into the dilapidated vessel of this then president-wannabe action star, take full control of his movements minus the feeling, punch his chest endlessly, hit his head on a rock, then escape from his body afterwards, leaving him no decent temple to go back into anymore. until now it makes me laugh whenever i remember myself lying on the couch while watching that political threat, and asking Voldemort if Ramos could declare martial law just in time before Erap could get the position.
but what if there really is a way to experience this kind of phenomenal insanity? if Stuart (Liev Schreiber) made his way into 1876 to know more about Leopold (Hugh Jackman) in the 2001 film Kate and Leopold, Craig Schwartz (John Cusack) discovered a portal into the eyes, and him being an excellent puppeteer, he found a way even into the whole being of John Malkovich (himself) in the film Being John Malkovich, which is two years older than the former. wait, i'm not making a movie review, am i? poor me, had i not been curious about Jessica Zafra's The 500 People You Meet in Hell, i won't know this movie anyway. well, at least now i know that there was a response the same year the corniest song ever "Stay the Same" by Joey Mcintyre was released.
i did find it amazing to see the reality (or fantasy) behind being in another's body, whereas mine, the audience, an absolute panoramic view of what people see and think while being in Malkovich for 15 minutes, like they were somehow capable of doing the things this universe has deprived them of since they were breathed life into, i felt omniscient.
realizations and the urge to detach myself from total entertainment (because the film was way hilarious, weird, and full of nuance) dawned upon me when Malkovich entered the portal to his own self. what he saw, heard, and felt was about nothing else but himself. everyone had his face. even women and children did. every word written was Malkovich. every word said was none other than Malkovich. he bumped into a man, and instead of welcoming a crisp "fuck you," he absorbed a curse labeled after his very own name, "Malkovich!!!"
it... i mean... you see the point? that, indeed, is what happens when we use our own eyes to perceive the world, because the truth is, seeing life through the eyes alone means a view of nothing more than ourselves. WE ARE ALL SELF-CENTERED. shoot me straight in the head if you know someone who's not. has anyone never ever thought, when he was younger, of him being the only real person on earth and the rest of humanity being obstacles given by the good Lord to test his strength? this might be a strong statement and/or accusation, but people are so used to saying the absolute cliché, "everything happens for a reason," yet they refuse to admit the idea that they see other people as instruments to realizing their own selves. pathetic...
my college friends will kill me for this ego-centrism post, but this certainly is not in a limited-theory-of-mind sense. we all have our take on this thing, and as they say, "we are all generally selfish, but as usual, it is in varying degrees." i believe that it is because our consciousness has been incarcerated and repressed for the longest time, that sometimes, it's like we feel that our minds are being betrayed by the movements of our bodies. we are slaves of our own faculties. we all crave for freedom, and we find ways to somehow take a replacement for that feeling which can never be completely ours.
then again, of course we are all capable of loving others, yada yada, and all the corny stuff, but, admit it or not, it is a love that emanated from the love of thy own SELF. we love people and we want to be with them because they put US in cloud nine. we help others for the fulfillment of OUR being. we do not want to see them suffer because their misery gives US greater pain, and WE are tired of grieving, aren't WE? this world is full of I-LOVE-MYSELF-and-I-LOVE-PEOPLE-AROUND-ME-because-I-LOVE-MYSELF-period attitude. i suddenly remembered our professor when he reminded us of our Bible code that God created us to love, know and praise "HIM".
now we must not wonder why we are all egocentric...
but what if there really is a way to experience this kind of phenomenal insanity? if Stuart (Liev Schreiber) made his way into 1876 to know more about Leopold (Hugh Jackman) in the 2001 film Kate and Leopold, Craig Schwartz (John Cusack) discovered a portal into the eyes, and him being an excellent puppeteer, he found a way even into the whole being of John Malkovich (himself) in the film Being John Malkovich, which is two years older than the former. wait, i'm not making a movie review, am i? poor me, had i not been curious about Jessica Zafra's The 500 People You Meet in Hell, i won't know this movie anyway. well, at least now i know that there was a response the same year the corniest song ever "Stay the Same" by Joey Mcintyre was released.
i did find it amazing to see the reality (or fantasy) behind being in another's body, whereas mine, the audience, an absolute panoramic view of what people see and think while being in Malkovich for 15 minutes, like they were somehow capable of doing the things this universe has deprived them of since they were breathed life into, i felt omniscient.
realizations and the urge to detach myself from total entertainment (because the film was way hilarious, weird, and full of nuance) dawned upon me when Malkovich entered the portal to his own self. what he saw, heard, and felt was about nothing else but himself. everyone had his face. even women and children did. every word written was Malkovich. every word said was none other than Malkovich. he bumped into a man, and instead of welcoming a crisp "fuck you," he absorbed a curse labeled after his very own name, "Malkovich!!!"
it... i mean... you see the point? that, indeed, is what happens when we use our own eyes to perceive the world, because the truth is, seeing life through the eyes alone means a view of nothing more than ourselves. WE ARE ALL SELF-CENTERED. shoot me straight in the head if you know someone who's not. has anyone never ever thought, when he was younger, of him being the only real person on earth and the rest of humanity being obstacles given by the good Lord to test his strength? this might be a strong statement and/or accusation, but people are so used to saying the absolute cliché, "everything happens for a reason," yet they refuse to admit the idea that they see other people as instruments to realizing their own selves. pathetic...
my college friends will kill me for this ego-centrism post, but this certainly is not in a limited-theory-of-mind sense. we all have our take on this thing, and as they say, "we are all generally selfish, but as usual, it is in varying degrees." i believe that it is because our consciousness has been incarcerated and repressed for the longest time, that sometimes, it's like we feel that our minds are being betrayed by the movements of our bodies. we are slaves of our own faculties. we all crave for freedom, and we find ways to somehow take a replacement for that feeling which can never be completely ours.
then again, of course we are all capable of loving others, yada yada, and all the corny stuff, but, admit it or not, it is a love that emanated from the love of thy own SELF. we love people and we want to be with them because they put US in cloud nine. we help others for the fulfillment of OUR being. we do not want to see them suffer because their misery gives US greater pain, and WE are tired of grieving, aren't WE? this world is full of I-LOVE-MYSELF-and-I-LOVE-PEOPLE-AROUND-ME-because-I-LOVE-MYSELF-period attitude. i suddenly remembered our professor when he reminded us of our Bible code that God created us to love, know and praise "HIM".
now we must not wonder why we are all egocentric...
Sunday, November 16, 2008
chamber of secrets
(don't worry, Twilight fans, this is not a Harry Potter post in response to your addiction.)
as i was bloghopping earlier, i came across this entry of my classmate, Monique, about secrets shared anonymously over the net... and as i visited the site, i happened to have my own favorites...
some pictures were posted with corresponding messages, and there's this one that moved me the most:
I googled my secret...
Frank,
In April of this year you posted a secret of mine, it was a painting that read "when you stopped loving me...i stopped painting."
A friend of mine asked to see my paintings while I was at his house yesterday. I don't have any of them online, so, I did a Google Images search for "PostSecret Painting" not expecting to actually find it.
It was the first image to show up!
I was surprised, but more than that, I was moved. I felt like that secret was personal to me, that very few would identify with it. It's posted on blogs and in personal photo albums, even on myspace pages!
Seeing it again reminded me what it felt like to send it in. It reminded me how great it feels to be free from it.
- The Painter
now, with my being so-not-over-this-letting-go-thing, i wonder if there's any site where we can entrust the things we would like to detach from. there's a fine line between "throwing" and "letting go." i just know that one day, when your eyes landed on the things you have let go of before, you will feel the same way the painter did.
as i was bloghopping earlier, i came across this entry of my classmate, Monique, about secrets shared anonymously over the net... and as i visited the site, i happened to have my own favorites...
some of those are the naughty ones,
uplifting,
and others, sentimental...
some pictures were posted with corresponding messages, and there's this one that moved me the most:
I googled my secret...
Frank,
In April of this year you posted a secret of mine, it was a painting that read "when you stopped loving me...i stopped painting."
A friend of mine asked to see my paintings while I was at his house yesterday. I don't have any of them online, so, I did a Google Images search for "PostSecret Painting" not expecting to actually find it.
It was the first image to show up!
I was surprised, but more than that, I was moved. I felt like that secret was personal to me, that very few would identify with it. It's posted on blogs and in personal photo albums, even on myspace pages!
Seeing it again reminded me what it felt like to send it in. It reminded me how great it feels to be free from it.
- The Painter
now, with my being so-not-over-this-letting-go-thing, i wonder if there's any site where we can entrust the things we would like to detach from. there's a fine line between "throwing" and "letting go." i just know that one day, when your eyes landed on the things you have let go of before, you will feel the same way the painter did.
colorgenics
(dahil kay jc, napa-blog ulit ako. haha!)
color tests and other kinds of psychological tests available in the internet, i think, are programs designed for lonely and disturbed people. although i am not as lonely as you think, and definitely not as disturbed as i look, i am a big fan of them, but i still hold on to the idea that these things were cooked up to secure a surrogate friend who can tell you how he thinks things are going on in your life... and most of the time, they're damn right!
this one's from GOLDINUNIVERSE:
You are looking for excitement and stimulation and you are ready to try anything - but be careful not to take too many risks.
Enough is enough - but the problems never seem to stop. They never stop. You feel, and maybe you are right, that the problems seem to go on and on and you have indeed had more than your fair share of trials and tribulations. But to give you credit - you bounce back time and time again - you stick to your beliefs because deep down you have that inner knowledge, that 'belief' system that in the end, everything will turn out OK - and you are right -it will!
As of late, you have been experiencing untold stress and this is a result of continuous frustration. You haven't been taking care of all your physical needs and it's beginning to show. It would seem that you have a need to find someone to whom you can really relate - someone perhaps whose standards are as high as your own. You want to be different - to be individualistic - to stand out from the common herd. Your inherent control of your sensual instincts is restricting your ability to give yourself to open up freely but this being on your own, being lonely, often makes you feel the need to give up some of your strict standards to surrender to the general flow - to be like everyone else; a part of the herd. Deep down you regard such instincts as weaknesses to be overcome. You would like to be loved or admired for yourself alone. You demand recognition and tender loving care.
There is that inherent fear that you may be prevented from attaining the better things in life - those things that you consider essential to your well-being. So you are prepared to try everything to prove to yourself that whatever you do or try will go wrong. This destructive attitude could come under the heading of 'a self fulfilling prophesy'. This belittling yourself is your method of disguising how hopeless and what a waste of time you feel that everything is. So now turn it about. As you 'think', so you are... So 'imagine' yourself successful. 'Pretend', 'act it out' and you may be pleasantly surprised at the outcome.
can i just make a protest on the last paragraph? i just think that it's too pathetic, and it's as sure as hell not me. just because black topped the list of my preference doesn't mean i'm a total loser. yes, sometimes i give up, but tell me, is there anyone who's prepared to try everything to prove to himself that whatever he does or try will go wrong? it sounds hilarious, doesn't it? ^o^
color tests and other kinds of psychological tests available in the internet, i think, are programs designed for lonely and disturbed people. although i am not as lonely as you think, and definitely not as disturbed as i look, i am a big fan of them, but i still hold on to the idea that these things were cooked up to secure a surrogate friend who can tell you how he thinks things are going on in your life... and most of the time, they're damn right!
this one's from GOLDINUNIVERSE:
Name: tinapie
Date: 11/16/2008
Colorgenics Number: 71532460
Enough is enough - you feel frustrated and rejected. You are fighting back and the going is tough. It would be just wonderful if you could be left in peace.
You are looking for excitement and stimulation and you are ready to try anything - but be careful not to take too many risks.
Enough is enough - but the problems never seem to stop. They never stop. You feel, and maybe you are right, that the problems seem to go on and on and you have indeed had more than your fair share of trials and tribulations. But to give you credit - you bounce back time and time again - you stick to your beliefs because deep down you have that inner knowledge, that 'belief' system that in the end, everything will turn out OK - and you are right -it will!
As of late, you have been experiencing untold stress and this is a result of continuous frustration. You haven't been taking care of all your physical needs and it's beginning to show. It would seem that you have a need to find someone to whom you can really relate - someone perhaps whose standards are as high as your own. You want to be different - to be individualistic - to stand out from the common herd. Your inherent control of your sensual instincts is restricting your ability to give yourself to open up freely but this being on your own, being lonely, often makes you feel the need to give up some of your strict standards to surrender to the general flow - to be like everyone else; a part of the herd. Deep down you regard such instincts as weaknesses to be overcome. You would like to be loved or admired for yourself alone. You demand recognition and tender loving care.
There is that inherent fear that you may be prevented from attaining the better things in life - those things that you consider essential to your well-being. So you are prepared to try everything to prove to yourself that whatever you do or try will go wrong. This destructive attitude could come under the heading of 'a self fulfilling prophesy'. This belittling yourself is your method of disguising how hopeless and what a waste of time you feel that everything is. So now turn it about. As you 'think', so you are... So 'imagine' yourself successful. 'Pretend', 'act it out' and you may be pleasantly surprised at the outcome.
can i just make a protest on the last paragraph? i just think that it's too pathetic, and it's as sure as hell not me. just because black topped the list of my preference doesn't mean i'm a total loser. yes, sometimes i give up, but tell me, is there anyone who's prepared to try everything to prove to himself that whatever he does or try will go wrong? it sounds hilarious, doesn't it? ^o^
Thursday, November 13, 2008
sinong may sabi na dapat lahat ng post may kwenta?
gusto kong mag-post ng napaka-walang kwentang entry ngayon. una sa lahat, hindi naman ako preacher o teacher, kaya wala ka talagang matututunan sa mga pinagsususulat ko. 'pag binasa mo 'to, maiintindihan kita... wala ka ring magawa sa buhay mo ngayon ano? marami kang gustong i-post, pero tinatamad ka rin ba kagaya ako? or you just can't put them into words?
gusto ko lang mag-post kasi masarap umepal ngayon. ilang minuto na lang, 2 a.m. na. kung sana lang hindi na ako nag-post ng ganitong kawalang-kwentang post, e di sana naumpisahan ko na yung entry na gusto ko talagang i-post. sana rin hindi ka na nagababasa ng napakawalang-kwentang entry na 'to.
pero bakit binabasa mo pa rin? jologs 'tong ginagawa ko, men. parang yung mga walang kakwena-kwentang comments sa friendster na "hi, maikli lang 'to. kakamustahin lang sana kita, pero busy ka yata kaya naisip ko, hindi na lang, ayoko sanang maka-istorbo, pero sana kahit papaano ay na-appreciate mo yung pangungumusta ko. ano, kumusta ka na? yada, yada, yada" at yung notorious na classic testi na "eto ang pinaka-walang kwentang testi, blah blah, blah." i'm sure binasa mo 'yung mga 'yun, at sa dinami-dami ng pwedeng basahin, isa 'yun sa mga natapos mo. e bakit nga ba? sino bang may sabi na dapat lahat ng post e may kwenta? bawal bang magsulat ng hindi pinag-iisipan? bobo ka na ba once makita ng tao yung side mo na napaka-walang kwenta? and on top of it, dapat bang laging maganda ang i-project mo sa mga tao? ang hirap mag-edit ng sarili. 'wag kang plastik. mas masaya pa rin maging jologs. chillax lang...
kung ang tao nga minsan salita na lang nang salita, wala namang kwenta yung sinasabi eh. may natututunan ka ba sa kanila? yung mga prof mo, minsan, dakdak lang nang dakdak, may naiintindihan ka ba? wala naman diba? baka rin kasi minsan, ayaw mo lang talagang tanggapin ang mga naririnig mo. tunog lang naman 'yang mga 'yan eh. lilipas rin sila. wala pa 'kong alam na pagkahaba-habang salita na lumampas ng three seconds 'pag binigkas. oo na, sige na. supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. walang three seconds diba? ano pa? 'wag kang pilosopo. i'm not talking about compound words. yung mga isahan lang. nosebleed eh.
pero hindi naman lahat ng nakakausap mong walang kwentang magsalita ay senseless. masarap lang talaga minsan kumawala. dapat ba lahat ng stories ay happy or sad ending at may lesson? e paano kung sa gitna pa lang ng kwento e bigla na lng natapos at hindi mo na alam kung ano nang nangyari? nag-brown out kumbaga, o sadyang walang kwenta lang ang plot. bitin diba? kahit sa totoong buhay may ganyan. hindi rin 'yung mga kasing predictable ng mga pelikulang pinoy na naka-template na. iniiba na lang yung love team at yung setting, e pwede mo nang hulaan yung ending. yayaman ang inaapi. masusunog/masasagasaan/mababaril/masasabugan, at eventually, mamamatay na kunwari ang kontrabida, pero hindi pala. buhay pa pala siya. pero magwawagi pa rnang bida. bida 'yun eh! e bakit 'yun may nanonood pa rin? at bakit sa mga ganito ay may nagbabasa pa rin? see?
salamat nga pala ah... :)
gusto ko lang mag-post kasi masarap umepal ngayon. ilang minuto na lang, 2 a.m. na. kung sana lang hindi na ako nag-post ng ganitong kawalang-kwentang post, e di sana naumpisahan ko na yung entry na gusto ko talagang i-post. sana rin hindi ka na nagababasa ng napakawalang-kwentang entry na 'to.
pero bakit binabasa mo pa rin? jologs 'tong ginagawa ko, men. parang yung mga walang kakwena-kwentang comments sa friendster na "hi, maikli lang 'to. kakamustahin lang sana kita, pero busy ka yata kaya naisip ko, hindi na lang, ayoko sanang maka-istorbo, pero sana kahit papaano ay na-appreciate mo yung pangungumusta ko. ano, kumusta ka na? yada, yada, yada" at yung notorious na classic testi na "eto ang pinaka-walang kwentang testi, blah blah, blah." i'm sure binasa mo 'yung mga 'yun, at sa dinami-dami ng pwedeng basahin, isa 'yun sa mga natapos mo. e bakit nga ba? sino bang may sabi na dapat lahat ng post e may kwenta? bawal bang magsulat ng hindi pinag-iisipan? bobo ka na ba once makita ng tao yung side mo na napaka-walang kwenta? and on top of it, dapat bang laging maganda ang i-project mo sa mga tao? ang hirap mag-edit ng sarili. 'wag kang plastik. mas masaya pa rin maging jologs. chillax lang...
kung ang tao nga minsan salita na lang nang salita, wala namang kwenta yung sinasabi eh. may natututunan ka ba sa kanila? yung mga prof mo, minsan, dakdak lang nang dakdak, may naiintindihan ka ba? wala naman diba? baka rin kasi minsan, ayaw mo lang talagang tanggapin ang mga naririnig mo. tunog lang naman 'yang mga 'yan eh. lilipas rin sila. wala pa 'kong alam na pagkahaba-habang salita na lumampas ng three seconds 'pag binigkas. oo na, sige na. supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. walang three seconds diba? ano pa? 'wag kang pilosopo. i'm not talking about compound words. yung mga isahan lang. nosebleed eh.
pero hindi naman lahat ng nakakausap mong walang kwentang magsalita ay senseless. masarap lang talaga minsan kumawala. dapat ba lahat ng stories ay happy or sad ending at may lesson? e paano kung sa gitna pa lang ng kwento e bigla na lng natapos at hindi mo na alam kung ano nang nangyari? nag-brown out kumbaga, o sadyang walang kwenta lang ang plot. bitin diba? kahit sa totoong buhay may ganyan. hindi rin 'yung mga kasing predictable ng mga pelikulang pinoy na naka-template na. iniiba na lang yung love team at yung setting, e pwede mo nang hulaan yung ending. yayaman ang inaapi. masusunog/masasagasaan/mababaril/masasabugan, at eventually, mamamatay na kunwari ang kontrabida, pero hindi pala. buhay pa pala siya. pero magwawagi pa rnang bida. bida 'yun eh! e bakit 'yun may nanonood pa rin? at bakit sa mga ganito ay may nagbabasa pa rin? see?
salamat nga pala ah... :)
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
dusting off
i have this piece of crap called room. you can find all kinds of (yes, you genius!) crap in it. from old books and papers to soil and cobwebs, all the things in it seldom see the sun. i was driven to do "a little letting go" (if the phrase would permit me to borrow some sense) this afternoon. it might sound ridiculous but i suddenly realized that there's this subtle kind of poetry in the act of throwing most of the things that remind you of the bitter past, while also finding those that made it worthwhile.
how do i say so? whenever i do a general cleaning, which is, of course, as seldom as an eclipse, i start off with the topmost part. it won't take long before you realize that i'm trying hard to associate this thing with the brain. believe me. so there. let the dust fall on the things that are more capable of holding filth―those that are easier to clean. and of course, one must do the cleaning when he is harsh and most detached from the world, because if not, it will be harder to sift what to keep from what to abolish.
normally, i take the books from the shelf, clean them one-by-one, and put them back to their places; but this time, i yanked all of them down to my bed and stared at the heap i have created. now this is a pretty hard task―to look at the vaults of your knowledge and decide whether to pass them on to someone who might need the same enlightenment or keep them for future self-rehebilitation.
for someone who's no good in any household chore, cleaning is the most tiring yet the most exciting and overwhelming of all. it feels good to recollect your youth personally. cleaning brings back old things. and you don't have to be surprised to find out that you have been a good secret keeper. your chamber contains lots of secrets you've probably forgotten by now. in most cases, nothing will change even if you spill them out. like a herd of whores, youthful secrets lose their value as they age. they might have been made known to the public anyway. these are the mundane secrets of your youth, and are now the subjects of laughter. continue testing your tongue if you want to set a new record for the best-kept secret ever, and people might ask you, "where have you been all these days?"
in my crap, i didn't find much secrets. my best friends were gone long after high school that i don't have any today. i'm referring to that one friend you call "best friend." no secrets were "re-revealed again for the second time around" in its utmost redundancy, but pictures of how strange i looked years ago.. nude pictures of me with fictitious pentel-marked panties.. awkward poses and uneasy crescent smiles.. red-eye and closed-eye snaps while everyone else in the picture seemed in glorious state.. how i looked like with a pimple-sized nose, punch in the mouth, fence-like teeth, and bangs.. how i wore my hair in pony tail, the ends touching the straps of my jumper.. and um, yes, minus the boobs, of course. i looked like a little boy.. and the fashion, not just of me but of people around me. the hair! solid!
the joy of reuniting with the things that made up the totality of your being equals that of letting go of your excess baggage. as what my friend, Jaycee, found in that Oprah thing, "You always do a little growing up everytime you do a little letting go." and i guess, acceptance and detachment are the crucial steps to finally let go of something you've held on for so long. like toys and things you keep because they were your firsts (first pencil, first pay slip, first college papers) eventually, you must let go of them because you don't want to make a dump site out of your body. one can't just contain all the things and emotions he had in a lifetime. successful people are always moving forward and there's always a give-up story in every success. move a little and give room for something fresh. give up something good if you want something better.. just that. if only it were that easy..
i gave a final sweep of everything from under my bed and table. how much junk has accumulated there was epic. now my room isn't a crap anymore. give it some weeks and maybe it'll look like a jungle again. but for now, i see it as a sanctuary for my tired body.
well, since Jaycee starred in this entry. let me steal his comment on my friendster, "tap me when it's about time to cram, procrastinate, and make everything work at crunch time. for now, it's a date with the pillows."
how do i say so? whenever i do a general cleaning, which is, of course, as seldom as an eclipse, i start off with the topmost part. it won't take long before you realize that i'm trying hard to associate this thing with the brain. believe me. so there. let the dust fall on the things that are more capable of holding filth―those that are easier to clean. and of course, one must do the cleaning when he is harsh and most detached from the world, because if not, it will be harder to sift what to keep from what to abolish.
normally, i take the books from the shelf, clean them one-by-one, and put them back to their places; but this time, i yanked all of them down to my bed and stared at the heap i have created. now this is a pretty hard task―to look at the vaults of your knowledge and decide whether to pass them on to someone who might need the same enlightenment or keep them for future self-rehebilitation.
for someone who's no good in any household chore, cleaning is the most tiring yet the most exciting and overwhelming of all. it feels good to recollect your youth personally. cleaning brings back old things. and you don't have to be surprised to find out that you have been a good secret keeper. your chamber contains lots of secrets you've probably forgotten by now. in most cases, nothing will change even if you spill them out. like a herd of whores, youthful secrets lose their value as they age. they might have been made known to the public anyway. these are the mundane secrets of your youth, and are now the subjects of laughter. continue testing your tongue if you want to set a new record for the best-kept secret ever, and people might ask you, "where have you been all these days?"
in my crap, i didn't find much secrets. my best friends were gone long after high school that i don't have any today. i'm referring to that one friend you call "best friend." no secrets were "re-revealed again for the second time around" in its utmost redundancy, but pictures of how strange i looked years ago.. nude pictures of me with fictitious pentel-marked panties.. awkward poses and uneasy crescent smiles.. red-eye and closed-eye snaps while everyone else in the picture seemed in glorious state.. how i looked like with a pimple-sized nose, punch in the mouth, fence-like teeth, and bangs.. how i wore my hair in pony tail, the ends touching the straps of my jumper.. and um, yes, minus the boobs, of course. i looked like a little boy.. and the fashion, not just of me but of people around me. the hair! solid!
the joy of reuniting with the things that made up the totality of your being equals that of letting go of your excess baggage. as what my friend, Jaycee, found in that Oprah thing, "You always do a little growing up everytime you do a little letting go." and i guess, acceptance and detachment are the crucial steps to finally let go of something you've held on for so long. like toys and things you keep because they were your firsts (first pencil, first pay slip, first college papers) eventually, you must let go of them because you don't want to make a dump site out of your body. one can't just contain all the things and emotions he had in a lifetime. successful people are always moving forward and there's always a give-up story in every success. move a little and give room for something fresh. give up something good if you want something better.. just that. if only it were that easy..
i gave a final sweep of everything from under my bed and table. how much junk has accumulated there was epic. now my room isn't a crap anymore. give it some weeks and maybe it'll look like a jungle again. but for now, i see it as a sanctuary for my tired body.
well, since Jaycee starred in this entry. let me steal his comment on my friendster, "tap me when it's about time to cram, procrastinate, and make everything work at crunch time. for now, it's a date with the pillows."
Sunday, September 28, 2008
food for thoughts
a perfect reading experience after browsing our phenomenology of love lectures way back in 3rd year (*mushy*), and while listening to the music of beatles.
now, after four years of learning the art of writing, i can really say that there's no greatest of the greatest schools that can teach anybody how to write. how about that then? too bad, professors don't even know how to rate your work. everything becomes subjective. writing classes and all that are just there to develop your taste. the rest is for you to discover...
from reader's digest online: Eight Celebrities Share What They've Learned
DESMOND TUTU - cleric; antiapartheid activist; winner, 1984 Nobel Peace Prize; winner, 2005 Gandhi Peace Prize
"Each one of us can make a contribution. Too frequently we think we have to do spectacular things. Yet if we remember that the sea is actually made up of drops of water and each drop counts, each one of us can do our little bit where we are. Those little bits can come together and almost overwhelm the world. Each one of us can be an oasis of peace."
JANE GOODALL - primatologist and conservationist; founder, the Jane Goodall Institute for Wildlife Research, Education and Conservation, based in Washington, D.C.
"We've been very arrogant in assuming that there's a sharp line dividing us from the rest of the animal kingdom. We are not the only beings on this planet with personalities, minds, and, above all, emotions. We need to be more respectful."
CLINT EASTWOOD - actor, more than 50 films; director, 29 films, including Unforgiven and Million Dollar Baby; winner, 4 Academy Awards
"Great stories teach you something. That's one reason I haven't slipped into some sort of retirement: I always feel like I'm learning something new. There was a time in my life when I was doing westerns, on the plains of Spain. I could have stayed there and probably knocked out a dozen more. But the time came when I said, That's enough of that. As fun as they were to do, it was time to move on. If a story doesn't have anything that's fresh in it, at least for me, I move away from it."
"Take your profession seriously; don't take yourself seriously. You really only matter to a certain degree in the whole circus out there. If you take yourself seriously, you're not going to be able to move forward. You're going to be hampered by always wanting to look in the mirror and see if you have enough tuna oil on your hair or something like that."
LELLA and MASSIMO VIGNELLI - interior and graphic design team, married 50 years; creators, New York City subway signage; contributors, Grand Central Terminal restoration; winners, more than 130 awards
LV: "People ask us, 'Aren't you retiring?' But we really like what we do."
MV: "You need to have passion. The greatest thing I've learned in my life is that there is room for everybody. That's the great thing about art and design and communication. There's room for all."
LV: "Aspiring designers should know about the good things that happened before. Have a little history. Go back and see what was done before."
MV: "Learn from the past if you want what matters in the present. Knowledge is the most important thing. To young people, we say, fill your brain with as much information as you can. Look at everything, know everything, develop a critical mind. History, theory, and criticism are the three fundamental elements to grow in a professional life. History will provide you with the tools for understanding. Theory will be the philosophy of why you're doing it. And criticism will provide you with the ability to continually master what you are doing. Play with these tools and you can do pretty good things."
NELSON MANDELA - civil rights leader; prisoner for 27 years for his antiapartheid work; cowinner, 1993 Nobel Peace Prize; elected South Africa's first freely chosen president (1994-1999)
"Wounds that can't be seen are more painful than those that can be seen and cured by a doctor. I learned that to humiliate another person is to make him suffer an unnecessarily cruel fate. I learned that courage was not the absence of fear but the triumph over it. I felt fear myself more times than I can remember, but I hid it behind a mask of boldness. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid but he who conquers fear. Where people of goodwill get together and transcend their differences for the common good, peaceful and just solutions can be found, even for those problems that seem most intractable."
JACQUES PÉPIN - chef; author, 25 cookbooks; founder, American Institute of Wine & Food
"For most kids now, a chicken is rectangular. It's got plastic on top, and it doesn't have eyes or feet. This is scary. You should never eat something you cannot recognize. A simple principle, but important.
JUDI DENCH - actress, more than 100 plays and films, including Shakespeare in Love; winner, 6 Laurence Olivier Awards, 1 Academy Award, 1 Tony Award
"I get sillier as I get older, so I don't know what wisdom means. I can only pass on something that I've been acquainted with and let whoever it is pick the bones out of it."
now, after four years of learning the art of writing, i can really say that there's no greatest of the greatest schools that can teach anybody how to write. how about that then? too bad, professors don't even know how to rate your work. everything becomes subjective. writing classes and all that are just there to develop your taste. the rest is for you to discover...
from reader's digest online: Eight Celebrities Share What They've Learned
DESMOND TUTU - cleric; antiapartheid activist; winner, 1984 Nobel Peace Prize; winner, 2005 Gandhi Peace Prize
"Each one of us can make a contribution. Too frequently we think we have to do spectacular things. Yet if we remember that the sea is actually made up of drops of water and each drop counts, each one of us can do our little bit where we are. Those little bits can come together and almost overwhelm the world. Each one of us can be an oasis of peace."
JANE GOODALL - primatologist and conservationist; founder, the Jane Goodall Institute for Wildlife Research, Education and Conservation, based in Washington, D.C.
"We've been very arrogant in assuming that there's a sharp line dividing us from the rest of the animal kingdom. We are not the only beings on this planet with personalities, minds, and, above all, emotions. We need to be more respectful."
CLINT EASTWOOD - actor, more than 50 films; director, 29 films, including Unforgiven and Million Dollar Baby; winner, 4 Academy Awards
"Great stories teach you something. That's one reason I haven't slipped into some sort of retirement: I always feel like I'm learning something new. There was a time in my life when I was doing westerns, on the plains of Spain. I could have stayed there and probably knocked out a dozen more. But the time came when I said, That's enough of that. As fun as they were to do, it was time to move on. If a story doesn't have anything that's fresh in it, at least for me, I move away from it."
"Take your profession seriously; don't take yourself seriously. You really only matter to a certain degree in the whole circus out there. If you take yourself seriously, you're not going to be able to move forward. You're going to be hampered by always wanting to look in the mirror and see if you have enough tuna oil on your hair or something like that."
LELLA and MASSIMO VIGNELLI - interior and graphic design team, married 50 years; creators, New York City subway signage; contributors, Grand Central Terminal restoration; winners, more than 130 awards
LV: "People ask us, 'Aren't you retiring?' But we really like what we do."
MV: "You need to have passion. The greatest thing I've learned in my life is that there is room for everybody. That's the great thing about art and design and communication. There's room for all."
LV: "Aspiring designers should know about the good things that happened before. Have a little history. Go back and see what was done before."
MV: "Learn from the past if you want what matters in the present. Knowledge is the most important thing. To young people, we say, fill your brain with as much information as you can. Look at everything, know everything, develop a critical mind. History, theory, and criticism are the three fundamental elements to grow in a professional life. History will provide you with the tools for understanding. Theory will be the philosophy of why you're doing it. And criticism will provide you with the ability to continually master what you are doing. Play with these tools and you can do pretty good things."
NELSON MANDELA - civil rights leader; prisoner for 27 years for his antiapartheid work; cowinner, 1993 Nobel Peace Prize; elected South Africa's first freely chosen president (1994-1999)
"Wounds that can't be seen are more painful than those that can be seen and cured by a doctor. I learned that to humiliate another person is to make him suffer an unnecessarily cruel fate. I learned that courage was not the absence of fear but the triumph over it. I felt fear myself more times than I can remember, but I hid it behind a mask of boldness. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid but he who conquers fear. Where people of goodwill get together and transcend their differences for the common good, peaceful and just solutions can be found, even for those problems that seem most intractable."
JACQUES PÉPIN - chef; author, 25 cookbooks; founder, American Institute of Wine & Food
"For most kids now, a chicken is rectangular. It's got plastic on top, and it doesn't have eyes or feet. This is scary. You should never eat something you cannot recognize. A simple principle, but important.
JUDI DENCH - actress, more than 100 plays and films, including Shakespeare in Love; winner, 6 Laurence Olivier Awards, 1 Academy Award, 1 Tony Award
"I get sillier as I get older, so I don't know what wisdom means. I can only pass on something that I've been acquainted with and let whoever it is pick the bones out of it."
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
maybe i'll put a title tomorrow
after six months of having an online newspaper as my homepage, i finally reverted to MSN. yeah, i know... i'm still not for straight, verrry verrry hard news.
i found this article below on their MSN-Encarta features/columns section. how i love the way it was written! errr.. maybe because it speaks for me. haha. now i know, procrastination's not that bad. hello to all fellow planners and daydreamers!
Is Procrastination Healthy?
By Don Asher
Do you put off important work until the last minute? So do I. That makes us both procrastinators. In fact, this article was due weeks ago. But since you didn't know that, you weren't missing it, were you?
Only my editors suffer from my work habits. At least, that's what I try to tell myself.
Procrastination costs the country untold millions -- if not billions -- of dollars, though. Missed deadlines create a cascade of problems in a complex, interconnected economy.
California can't seem ever to turn out a timely budget, scads of Americans recently waited weeks and weeks for tardy stimulus checks, and delayed software releases even have their own name, "vaporware."
However, procrastination is not all bad, and not all procrastinators are deficient performers. For example, graduate students are more likely than undergraduates to procrastinate, in spite of being statistically superior students.
Artists often revel in pulling all-nighters full of blasts of creativity and production. The peculiar genius of desperation and 4 a.m. logic is a fecund contributor to the national product. In fact, a little procrastination may be part of living an ambitious and energetic life.
But what about when procrastination goes critical? When relationships are ruined, spouses feel betrayed, bosses are disgusted, and a person is frozen, frustrated, and disillusioned with that nonperformer staring back in the mirror? That's when procrastination is an enemy to mental health.
"In personal relationships, if you say you'll do something and you don't do it, people begin not to trust you," says clinical psychologist Linda Sapadin. "If they can't trust you to do what you say you'll do, that's passive-aggressive, and it creates a lot of disturbance in relationships."
Dr. Sapadin is a national specialist in procrastination, and author of "It's About Time! The Six Styles of Procrastination and How to Overcome Them." In addition to her private practice based on Long Island, she speaks to corporate audiences nationwide on the costs and cures of procrastination.
Classifying procrastinators
It turns out not all procrastinators are alike. Dr. Sapadin's taxonomy identifies six different types. You may recognize yourself in one or more of these:
Perfectionists -- They want every project to be perfect, and this often causes them to be frozen in fear that they cannot meet such an unrealistic goal, even though they set the goal themselves.
Dreamers -- These people suffer from magical thinking. "It'll all work out," they say, while they do nothing to advance their goals.
Crisis Makers -- They often say they do their best work under pressure, but more accurately, they prefer uproar and crisis to do any work at all.
Worriers -- Their fears consume their thought processes and prevent any real work being done, as they imagine and dwell upon every possible scenario for disaster and failure.
Defiers -- These people may resent the assignments in the first place, and retake control over their lives by refusing to do the work in a timely and cooperative manner, or at all.
Overdoers -- Also known as "the pleasers," these people can't say no, and so take on more and more responsibility without any reasonable expectation of being able to deliver on their obligations.
One of the more fascinating findings in the research literature about procrastinators is that time-management training doesn't really help. Procrastinators know perfectly well how to manage time; they just don't want to do their work that way!
When Dr. Sapadin was considering writing her book, "All the existing books had to do with time management or getting organized, but for most people it [procrastination] related to some glitch in their personality style," she says.
So procrastinators have to change their thinking, rather than improve their knowledge of time-management techniques. For more on this, check out Dr. Sapadin's Web site psychwisdom.com.
For example, perfectionists have to tell themselves, "This doesn't have to be perfect. Good enough is just fine. It is more important to be done on time than to do a perfect job. Perfection is unattainable anyway, and it's not what my boss or professor wants."
Crisis makers may need to tell themselves, "I don't really do my best work under pressure. That's just a habit I have. I can do more work if I start sooner, and I'll probably find that some of that work is just as creative and interesting as the work I might do under pressure."
It is this sort of cognitive reprogramming that leads to change.
Procrastination is extremely common in academic settings. In fact, the overwhelming majority of students procrastinate. The American Psychological Association has a guide for educators on how to deal with different types of procrastinating students, "Counseling the Procrastinator in Academic Settings."
It turns out that procrastination is, in fact, a time-management technique. When it's not a destructive force, it allows workers to be hyperproductive in bursts. It's an antidote to that old maxim, "The assignment expands to fill the available time." It's a way to contain an assignment within a smaller block of time.
To see how procrastination works when it is a force for good, I decided to interview some top students about their work habits. The following students are all top performers.
Ginger White, a McNair Scholar and a senior at Indiana University -- Purdue University Indianapolis, readily admits to procrastinating.
"I do work better under pressure, and I'm easily distracted. Little things get in the way, until the deadline gets near." For the final push, though, she says she gathers all the books and reference materials she needs to do the assignment.
"Then, I sit there. I don't care how long it takes. I sit there. I'm in the zone, and the ideas just come, and if I were to try to do this two weeks early, the ideas just wouldn't be there."
This seems to be working for her, as she has a 3.9 GPA in new media and computer sciences.
Brandon Lewis, a music education major at the University of Arkansas at Pine Bluff, and also a McNair Scholar, says he procrastinates "all the time." But he sees a benefit to it.
"When I have a big paper due, I might put it off," he says, but "I'm planning out how I'm going to do it, planning when to do it. I'm thinking about it constantly." So this type of mental rehearsal and preparation helps him get ready to be productive.
Dominique Booker, a double major in criminal justice and political science at Anderson University in Indiana, says her busy schedule of activities sometimes makes her delay schoolwork.
"I have good intentions, but I'm involved in a lot of stuff," says Booker. "I'm vice president of the Multicultural Student Association and a delegate on the legal committee for the Model United Nations, and I take these seriously. There's a lot of work and research for these projects, and sometimes I put these ahead of my regular schoolwork."
But then, like Ginger White, she gets in the zone.
"I get all the library books and articles, and I just do it. I just start reading, highlighting, taking notes, collecting resources and citations, and I work straight through, usually. I normally do it all day, even if it takes several days. I've worked as much as a week straight, usually every afternoon and night, say 4 p.m. to 2 or 3 in the morning."
She recommends academic procrastinators make sure they have all the books and resources they need well before the deadline, or other students may have them checked out.
Then again, there are students like Martsyl Joseph, who is just finishing her Master of Public Administration degree at IUPUI and will be going on to law school in the fall.
"I don't procrastinate anymore," she says. Joseph overcommitted to activities as an undergrad, she admits, but in graduate school she stays on task.
"The key is to know your limit. Understand that you can't do everything, even though you want to. Pick and choose what's most important to you, and stick to those one or two things. And put education first. You'll have plenty of time after you graduate to do all that other stuff."
So, if procrastination is not debilitating, it may be useful. But if it is debilitating, training in time-management skills is unlikely to achieve a change in behavior. You'll need to change the way you think about your work. For myself, I'm going to get on the next article due, right away. Just as soon as I ...
i found this article below on their MSN-Encarta features/columns section. how i love the way it was written! errr.. maybe because it speaks for me. haha. now i know, procrastination's not that bad. hello to all fellow planners and daydreamers!
Is Procrastination Healthy?
By Don Asher
Do you put off important work until the last minute? So do I. That makes us both procrastinators. In fact, this article was due weeks ago. But since you didn't know that, you weren't missing it, were you?
Only my editors suffer from my work habits. At least, that's what I try to tell myself.
Procrastination costs the country untold millions -- if not billions -- of dollars, though. Missed deadlines create a cascade of problems in a complex, interconnected economy.
California can't seem ever to turn out a timely budget, scads of Americans recently waited weeks and weeks for tardy stimulus checks, and delayed software releases even have their own name, "vaporware."
However, procrastination is not all bad, and not all procrastinators are deficient performers. For example, graduate students are more likely than undergraduates to procrastinate, in spite of being statistically superior students.
Artists often revel in pulling all-nighters full of blasts of creativity and production. The peculiar genius of desperation and 4 a.m. logic is a fecund contributor to the national product. In fact, a little procrastination may be part of living an ambitious and energetic life.
But what about when procrastination goes critical? When relationships are ruined, spouses feel betrayed, bosses are disgusted, and a person is frozen, frustrated, and disillusioned with that nonperformer staring back in the mirror? That's when procrastination is an enemy to mental health.
"In personal relationships, if you say you'll do something and you don't do it, people begin not to trust you," says clinical psychologist Linda Sapadin. "If they can't trust you to do what you say you'll do, that's passive-aggressive, and it creates a lot of disturbance in relationships."
Dr. Sapadin is a national specialist in procrastination, and author of "It's About Time! The Six Styles of Procrastination and How to Overcome Them." In addition to her private practice based on Long Island, she speaks to corporate audiences nationwide on the costs and cures of procrastination.
Classifying procrastinators
It turns out not all procrastinators are alike. Dr. Sapadin's taxonomy identifies six different types. You may recognize yourself in one or more of these:
Perfectionists -- They want every project to be perfect, and this often causes them to be frozen in fear that they cannot meet such an unrealistic goal, even though they set the goal themselves.
Dreamers -- These people suffer from magical thinking. "It'll all work out," they say, while they do nothing to advance their goals.
Crisis Makers -- They often say they do their best work under pressure, but more accurately, they prefer uproar and crisis to do any work at all.
Worriers -- Their fears consume their thought processes and prevent any real work being done, as they imagine and dwell upon every possible scenario for disaster and failure.
Defiers -- These people may resent the assignments in the first place, and retake control over their lives by refusing to do the work in a timely and cooperative manner, or at all.
Overdoers -- Also known as "the pleasers," these people can't say no, and so take on more and more responsibility without any reasonable expectation of being able to deliver on their obligations.
One of the more fascinating findings in the research literature about procrastinators is that time-management training doesn't really help. Procrastinators know perfectly well how to manage time; they just don't want to do their work that way!
When Dr. Sapadin was considering writing her book, "All the existing books had to do with time management or getting organized, but for most people it [procrastination] related to some glitch in their personality style," she says.
So procrastinators have to change their thinking, rather than improve their knowledge of time-management techniques. For more on this, check out Dr. Sapadin's Web site psychwisdom.com.
For example, perfectionists have to tell themselves, "This doesn't have to be perfect. Good enough is just fine. It is more important to be done on time than to do a perfect job. Perfection is unattainable anyway, and it's not what my boss or professor wants."
Crisis makers may need to tell themselves, "I don't really do my best work under pressure. That's just a habit I have. I can do more work if I start sooner, and I'll probably find that some of that work is just as creative and interesting as the work I might do under pressure."
It is this sort of cognitive reprogramming that leads to change.
Procrastination is extremely common in academic settings. In fact, the overwhelming majority of students procrastinate. The American Psychological Association has a guide for educators on how to deal with different types of procrastinating students, "Counseling the Procrastinator in Academic Settings."
It turns out that procrastination is, in fact, a time-management technique. When it's not a destructive force, it allows workers to be hyperproductive in bursts. It's an antidote to that old maxim, "The assignment expands to fill the available time." It's a way to contain an assignment within a smaller block of time.
To see how procrastination works when it is a force for good, I decided to interview some top students about their work habits. The following students are all top performers.
Ginger White, a McNair Scholar and a senior at Indiana University -- Purdue University Indianapolis, readily admits to procrastinating.
"I do work better under pressure, and I'm easily distracted. Little things get in the way, until the deadline gets near." For the final push, though, she says she gathers all the books and reference materials she needs to do the assignment.
"Then, I sit there. I don't care how long it takes. I sit there. I'm in the zone, and the ideas just come, and if I were to try to do this two weeks early, the ideas just wouldn't be there."
This seems to be working for her, as she has a 3.9 GPA in new media and computer sciences.
Brandon Lewis, a music education major at the University of Arkansas at Pine Bluff, and also a McNair Scholar, says he procrastinates "all the time." But he sees a benefit to it.
"When I have a big paper due, I might put it off," he says, but "I'm planning out how I'm going to do it, planning when to do it. I'm thinking about it constantly." So this type of mental rehearsal and preparation helps him get ready to be productive.
Dominique Booker, a double major in criminal justice and political science at Anderson University in Indiana, says her busy schedule of activities sometimes makes her delay schoolwork.
"I have good intentions, but I'm involved in a lot of stuff," says Booker. "I'm vice president of the Multicultural Student Association and a delegate on the legal committee for the Model United Nations, and I take these seriously. There's a lot of work and research for these projects, and sometimes I put these ahead of my regular schoolwork."
But then, like Ginger White, she gets in the zone.
"I get all the library books and articles, and I just do it. I just start reading, highlighting, taking notes, collecting resources and citations, and I work straight through, usually. I normally do it all day, even if it takes several days. I've worked as much as a week straight, usually every afternoon and night, say 4 p.m. to 2 or 3 in the morning."
She recommends academic procrastinators make sure they have all the books and resources they need well before the deadline, or other students may have them checked out.
Then again, there are students like Martsyl Joseph, who is just finishing her Master of Public Administration degree at IUPUI and will be going on to law school in the fall.
"I don't procrastinate anymore," she says. Joseph overcommitted to activities as an undergrad, she admits, but in graduate school she stays on task.
"The key is to know your limit. Understand that you can't do everything, even though you want to. Pick and choose what's most important to you, and stick to those one or two things. And put education first. You'll have plenty of time after you graduate to do all that other stuff."
So, if procrastination is not debilitating, it may be useful. But if it is debilitating, training in time-management skills is unlikely to achieve a change in behavior. You'll need to change the way you think about your work. For myself, I'm going to get on the next article due, right away. Just as soon as I ...
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
borg abunda!
i don't know why, maybe it's because of my addiction to radio programs, but it has become an annoying duty of my bio-clock to bug me very early even after incurring just a couple of hours of good, i mean GOOD sleep.
so here i am, all half-cooked, currently listening to this morning show "Good Times with Mo, Mojo, and Grace Lee," and laughing the devil out of me! seeing that photo down there, i can surmise you're face is already cracking up with hard blows of laughter! let's all be happy today! good times!
here's a verrrry funny entry, posted yesterday on a listener-made blog:
Boy Abunda billboard, photo courtesy of
http://leviuqse.blogspot.com/
so here i am, all half-cooked, currently listening to this morning show "Good Times with Mo, Mojo, and Grace Lee," and laughing the devil out of me! seeing that photo down there, i can surmise you're face is already cracking up with hard blows of laughter! let's all be happy today! good times!
here's a verrrry funny entry, posted yesterday on a listener-made blog:
Boy Abunda billboard, photo courtesy of
Blog reader Chi clued me in to a Boy Abunda billboard that’s now causing a lot of laughter along EDSA and probably some accidents as well… Although I haven’t seen the billboard personally, I did some research and saw a picture of it on the net. It’s for Boy Abunda’s new perfume line and the tagline is a killer: “Kaibigan, nagpabango ka na ba?” ROTFLMAO
Mo asked me to post a picture here for tomorrow’s show and I can’t wait for the reaction from other Good times’ listeners when they see this piece of advertising brilliance, hehe…
Go check it out yourself when you pass by EDSA, according to blog reader Marie, there are some other versions of the same billboard with the same theme located along EDSA near Robinson’s Pioneer…
Definitely some serious competition for the notorious ELLEN billboards…
I can’t wait to shake the hand of the creative genius who thought up this monstrosity, hahaha… And you know what? It’s too early for Halloween!
Damn, tomorrow’s show should be hilarious!
Good times!
*title inspired by one of the hosts, Mojo Jojo: "It kinda reminds me of a character from Star Trek….. parang he’s a “Borg” that mated with Rainbow Brite…. BORG ABUNDA na rainbow edition… oh my! Atesh! I just don’t know where advertising is going to nowadays
At least its “colorful” di b? Hmnnn……"
Mo asked me to post a picture here for tomorrow’s show and I can’t wait for the reaction from other Good times’ listeners when they see this piece of advertising brilliance, hehe…
Go check it out yourself when you pass by EDSA, according to blog reader Marie, there are some other versions of the same billboard with the same theme located along EDSA near Robinson’s Pioneer…
Definitely some serious competition for the notorious ELLEN billboards…
I can’t wait to shake the hand of the creative genius who thought up this monstrosity, hahaha… And you know what? It’s too early for Halloween!
Damn, tomorrow’s show should be hilarious!
Good times!
*title inspired by one of the hosts, Mojo Jojo: "It kinda reminds me of a character from Star Trek….. parang he’s a “Borg” that mated with Rainbow Brite…. BORG ABUNDA na rainbow edition… oh my! Atesh! I just don’t know where advertising is going to nowadays
At least its “colorful” di b? Hmnnn……"
Monday, September 15, 2008
kwentong kalye #1
i have a big problem with umbrellas.
anyway, in the Philippines, where the weather is as moody as a woman in her menopausal stage, umbrellas are, in a way, strong weapons against sickness. well, can you imagine yourself wearing that Disney-character-inspired raincoat your mother used to embarrass you when you were still a moppet? not to mention your oh-so-redundant mini-umbrella, your shiny, colorful rain boots, and your (uhm, again) cartoon-character-inspired stroller bag with a sheet of plastic cover on—it's like you're in for some mock battle down south! crrrrrazy...
so now that you've earned some respect and an ounce of shame for yourself, you realize that umbrellas and plain logic are somehow enough to spare you from hospital beds. set aside the gangs of virus that flutter in the air. it's hard to escape from their merciless claws anyway.
also, it is only in the Philippines where people can get free umbrellas from fast food restaurants, churches, bus stops, classrooms, and jeepneys, courtesy of their careless fellows. talk about perks, man! but how people love walking with this portable roof on top of their heads, i don't even know. more than that, i can't seem to imagine why grownups, especially the typical women who wear dusters and all that, are so numb, they can't even notice the tips of their umbrellas (yes, tips. ferrule's the one on top. oh, i didn't know that, too!) effing your face like they are in prison! in addition to that "more than that" thing, i will never ever understand why it is so hard for people to shut their umbrellas in a roofed pathway, so as not to cause what i would love to call a "human traffic jam," or hold their umbrellas upside-down if they're already shut, and be sensitive enough not to poke their fellow pedestrians with, ehem, ferrules. people can sometimes be so annoying... and then they get inside the jeepney with their wet umbrellas, their muddy shoes landing on yours, the driver speeding more then ever as if trying to catch up for a date with satan—the heck, fools don't even care if water's drooling from their umbrellas down to your pants! then as you reached your classroom/office/whatever, it's as if you've just entered an umbrella exhibit room, with those canopies lying open on the floor like skirts blown up-ways, and like it takes 12 hours for them to get dry.
well, if you would ask me if i carry one, of course i do. who doesn't? ok, some guys don't... and yey! i just got a freebie last week! sorry, classmate. if it's yours, just approach me. i seldom use mine anyway. an umbrella sleeps in my bag for ages, or that whether or not to bring one is always a self-debate. light rain showers are not alarming for me, unless giants up there start to cry so hard, then it's time to give myself some considerations and be decent-looking enough wherever i'm heading to. i just feel a little ashamed that the way i take umbrellas for granted is a different thing for those who use theirs for shelter... or maybe i just think a lot when i'm traveling.
oh well, an umbrella is still an excess baggage for me! whether or not to bring one is always a self-debate.
anyway, in the Philippines, where the weather is as moody as a woman in her menopausal stage, umbrellas are, in a way, strong weapons against sickness. well, can you imagine yourself wearing that Disney-character-inspired raincoat your mother used to embarrass you when you were still a moppet? not to mention your oh-so-redundant mini-umbrella, your shiny, colorful rain boots, and your (uhm, again) cartoon-character-inspired stroller bag with a sheet of plastic cover on—it's like you're in for some mock battle down south! crrrrrazy...
so now that you've earned some respect and an ounce of shame for yourself, you realize that umbrellas and plain logic are somehow enough to spare you from hospital beds. set aside the gangs of virus that flutter in the air. it's hard to escape from their merciless claws anyway.
also, it is only in the Philippines where people can get free umbrellas from fast food restaurants, churches, bus stops, classrooms, and jeepneys, courtesy of their careless fellows. talk about perks, man! but how people love walking with this portable roof on top of their heads, i don't even know. more than that, i can't seem to imagine why grownups, especially the typical women who wear dusters and all that, are so numb, they can't even notice the tips of their umbrellas (yes, tips. ferrule's the one on top. oh, i didn't know that, too!) effing your face like they are in prison! in addition to that "more than that" thing, i will never ever understand why it is so hard for people to shut their umbrellas in a roofed pathway, so as not to cause what i would love to call a "human traffic jam," or hold their umbrellas upside-down if they're already shut, and be sensitive enough not to poke their fellow pedestrians with, ehem, ferrules. people can sometimes be so annoying... and then they get inside the jeepney with their wet umbrellas, their muddy shoes landing on yours, the driver speeding more then ever as if trying to catch up for a date with satan—the heck, fools don't even care if water's drooling from their umbrellas down to your pants! then as you reached your classroom/office/whatever, it's as if you've just entered an umbrella exhibit room, with those canopies lying open on the floor like skirts blown up-ways, and like it takes 12 hours for them to get dry.
well, if you would ask me if i carry one, of course i do. who doesn't? ok, some guys don't... and yey! i just got a freebie last week! sorry, classmate. if it's yours, just approach me. i seldom use mine anyway. an umbrella sleeps in my bag for ages, or that whether or not to bring one is always a self-debate. light rain showers are not alarming for me, unless giants up there start to cry so hard, then it's time to give myself some considerations and be decent-looking enough wherever i'm heading to. i just feel a little ashamed that the way i take umbrellas for granted is a different thing for those who use theirs for shelter... or maybe i just think a lot when i'm traveling.
oh well, an umbrella is still an excess baggage for me! whether or not to bring one is always a self-debate.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
nocturne
he's the song that keeps on playing inside my head
the one i turn to whenever in delight
sound of every string on my blue guitar
sad ivory of my grand piano
lip plate of my old wooden flute
the composer of my song
notes on my music sheet
rhythm of my piece
bars on my staff
staccato
tempo
end
he has, by far, the best melody in this world
the perfect blend of music and poetry
his lyrics found a way to touch my soul...
i'll keep on playing him everyday
until he inspires me no more
until there's no magic left...
still, i'll be listening
'coz until now, i
can't seem to find
a new song
for me
yet
the one i turn to whenever in delight
sound of every string on my blue guitar
sad ivory of my grand piano
lip plate of my old wooden flute
the composer of my song
notes on my music sheet
rhythm of my piece
bars on my staff
staccato
tempo
end
he has, by far, the best melody in this world
the perfect blend of music and poetry
his lyrics found a way to touch my soul...
i'll keep on playing him everyday
until he inspires me no more
until there's no magic left...
still, i'll be listening
'coz until now, i
can't seem to find
a new song
for me
yet
Sunday, August 31, 2008
circus flooded from taguig to dapitan
seeing the moonlight fade though the cresting waves of Dapitan flood kept our eyes open to see the first rays of the sun; spending that entire moment with a friend who shares the same passion for life is nothing but priceless..
i would have died last night had i not been able to catch even the last three or four songs of the Eraserheads reunion concert. luckily, the hands of God worked in favor of my plans. i had to stick my neck out for that one.. i literally had to crash in! although it was cut short because of ely's condition, the mere fact that those four music geniuses sang their most popular hits that paved way for the rebirth of OPM in the 90s right on the same stage once again was more than any e-heads fan could wish for. one word: bliss!
however, death arrived as the earth gave birth to a new day at midnight. god, we were witnesses to lifting a decapitated man who was swimming in his own blood and splatted organs under a ten-wheeler truck, somewhere along Sta. Mesa! after which, joseinne and i had some beer at Dapitan Square and had some moments to unwind. we ate sisig (no other choice) just like swallowing a bitter pill, with the incident so fresh, so vivid in our memory. it was way traumatic and freaking..
(random: a line from dave matthews band's grace is gone kept on running through my head--"one more drink and i'll move on.")
the first quarter of our sunday was spent with our usual philo talks. that's what i love about my closest friends.. (and god, how i miss my cousin, too!) i could dedicate my whole day talking with them about anything.. not just about what the skin can feel and what the eyes can behold.. these are stories larger than life--those that uplift the spirit and nurture your being. i guess joseinne got it right when she said, "What we really need are people whom we can share our quotes with." you take an effort to know a little of everything and share a piece of you.. but, whatever happened to those who do? lonely, choosy, and bitter.. her words hit me right, "Look at us." haha!
well, one of the nicest benefits of having your school situated in a naturally low-lying area (thanks for the beautiful phrase in defense of UST river, joycee) is that when you got stranded, you tend to have quality time learning the best lessons of life, apart from books and theories alone.. although getting to a safer place wasn't really that easy. this is, by the way, joseinne's letter M on her blog: crossing the flooded lacson street with tina at one in the morning and while both of us were tipsy. yup, almost knee-high flood + booze + 1 a.m. + idiots like us = relentless laughter. but then again, it was amazing how our feet drenched on the same water within which the early-morning people of Manila painstakingly take steps to make a living. i shudder to think how hazy life is in this city.
There hath he lain for ages, and will lie
Battening upon huge seaworms in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
Then once by man and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die.
-from The Kraken; Lord Alfred Tennyson (1830)
and then the sun shone through the same ripples that cloaked the life of Dapitan during those serene moments.. one hell of an experience!
i would have died last night had i not been able to catch even the last three or four songs of the Eraserheads reunion concert. luckily, the hands of God worked in favor of my plans. i had to stick my neck out for that one.. i literally had to crash in! although it was cut short because of ely's condition, the mere fact that those four music geniuses sang their most popular hits that paved way for the rebirth of OPM in the 90s right on the same stage once again was more than any e-heads fan could wish for. one word: bliss!
however, death arrived as the earth gave birth to a new day at midnight. god, we were witnesses to lifting a decapitated man who was swimming in his own blood and splatted organs under a ten-wheeler truck, somewhere along Sta. Mesa! after which, joseinne and i had some beer at Dapitan Square and had some moments to unwind. we ate sisig (no other choice) just like swallowing a bitter pill, with the incident so fresh, so vivid in our memory. it was way traumatic and freaking..
(random: a line from dave matthews band's grace is gone kept on running through my head--"one more drink and i'll move on.")
the first quarter of our sunday was spent with our usual philo talks. that's what i love about my closest friends.. (and god, how i miss my cousin, too!) i could dedicate my whole day talking with them about anything.. not just about what the skin can feel and what the eyes can behold.. these are stories larger than life--those that uplift the spirit and nurture your being. i guess joseinne got it right when she said, "What we really need are people whom we can share our quotes with." you take an effort to know a little of everything and share a piece of you.. but, whatever happened to those who do? lonely, choosy, and bitter.. her words hit me right, "Look at us." haha!
well, one of the nicest benefits of having your school situated in a naturally low-lying area (thanks for the beautiful phrase in defense of UST river, joycee) is that when you got stranded, you tend to have quality time learning the best lessons of life, apart from books and theories alone.. although getting to a safer place wasn't really that easy. this is, by the way, joseinne's letter M on her blog: crossing the flooded lacson street with tina at one in the morning and while both of us were tipsy. yup, almost knee-high flood + booze + 1 a.m. + idiots like us = relentless laughter. but then again, it was amazing how our feet drenched on the same water within which the early-morning people of Manila painstakingly take steps to make a living. i shudder to think how hazy life is in this city.
There hath he lain for ages, and will lie
Battening upon huge seaworms in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
Then once by man and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die.
-from The Kraken; Lord Alfred Tennyson (1830)
and then the sun shone through the same ripples that cloaked the life of Dapitan during those serene moments.. one hell of an experience!
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