The Top Baby Names of 2007

By the BabyCenter editorial staff

What happened in baby names in 2007? The results are in: Emma has finally been knocked off its number one perch for the first time since it landed there in 2004! Sophia has been making steady progress since 2002, cracked the top 10 in 2005, and jumped six slots to be the new number one baby name for 2007.

Addison jumped a whopping 20 spots this year to land in the top 10 — no doubt thanks to flame-haired actress Kate Walsh's portrayal of Dr. Addison Montgomery-Shepherd on the hot TV series "Grey's Anatomy" and its spin-off, "Private Practice."
In boys' baby names, Aiden still rules, as it has since 2005. But Jayden, Caden, and Jackson have jumped quickly into the top 10 this year and are the new rising stars.

And here they are, in order: The BabyCenter® Top Baby Names of 2007

Top 10 Girl Names:
Sophia
Isabella
Emma
Madison
Ava
Addison
Hailey
Emily
Kaitlyn
Olivia

Top 10 Boy Names:
Aiden
Ethan
Jacob
Jayden
Caleb
Noah
Jackson
Jack
Logan
Matthew

(Oh, i knew it!)

thanks to: MSN LIFESTYLE

on living and leaving (part2)

kurt kobain. freddie mercury. marilyn monroe. princess diana. yes, they were all famous... and dead for years now. what ties them all is that they all died at the height of their careers, when they were the masters of the center stage, when they owned the lime light, when everybody loved them, and when they had all what it takes to feel human.

i want to die on a christmas season. i may sound too selfish and pathetic but i can not think of any other moment better that this. i know nature has taught man that one could not really choose his death day, unless he commits suicide, of course. so spare me from stones as i let myself state my own ideal dying season.

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 love the philosophy of freud but i reserve my regards to jung as his philosophy conforms with my claim. the swiss psychologist once uttered, "ultimately, the self is fully realised in death..." and i can't help but agree.

death it is the last enemy i have to conquer, and a friend when it defeats me.

they died long before their names get dragged by nonsensical controversies and before they themselves ruin them with frantic acts. it took them years to build their reputation and death stopped the people from staining them. now who will say they ever died?

on living and leaving (part1)

i saved this in my drafts folder sometime in november, but i don't know how to end it now. my drive has grown short for this one:


hot talks about life has been very stimulating on brains and spirits alike. lucky am i to be surrounded by extraordinary intellectuals whose brains give me more than my daily need for cerebral supplement. i'm not talking about persons alone. books are also geniuses - they are far more than what the mouth can speak.

what visits me often these days are my endless questions about life - how we live (and do we really live?) at the moment and why people are dying for the future. talking about things like this has been a trend when taking our meals after classes or even in drinking sessions... or even when doing the self-talk.

questions come as to why humans are so obsessed with planning carefully for the future that they almost forget how to live the "now". nobody wakes up one morning and tells that that day is the future of his yesterday. then why do we still bother? we never really get to hold our future. it is intangible. abstract. illusion.

everybody who has been to school could remember that some years ago, our teachers asked us how we would be ten years from that time. imagine that this is your tenth year after making that seatwork. what happened? you are still looking forward to another ten years. we can't help but think of tomorrow. we study to have a "bright future" (excuse to the BOOBtifuls), to have a good job; then we work, again, for the future. we are missing half of all the good things life offers. we forget to greet the beautiful sunhine as we hurry down the bathroom. we ignore the relaxing sound and smell of the morning because we are too vexed of the ticking clock as it whirls its way into our eardrums and bangs our brain. we prevent ourselves from getting those things we really want because we need to save for tomorrow; then we do resent when everything is gone.

there are some small things we care not to sumbit ourselves into - the passion of living for the "now".


style ni sir emer:
--------------------------nothing follows-------------------

(pagaya, sir...) akin:
-------------------------something will follow-------------------

for joseinne

leaves fall like manna from heaven, but your silence slammed the tips of my nerves... the depth of your eyes told me your story... something you yourself cannot tell... the only thing you cannot write...


how when talks least essential
my mouth drieth of toil
when actions least intended
my limbs jerked in distress

ye who encompass the extremes of both worlds
too vague for them to understand;
who struggles with a naked arm,
how, then, can a breath weave ages?

for the fruits of earth all drieth for bliss
an unborn child cries over his first and last torment
for the world to hear the whispers of thy wind
silence is all i can give

on that lower "kingdom"

thanks to joseinne. at least, now i have an idea where i'm heading to. haha!


The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Seventh Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Low
Level 2 (Lustful)	Moderate
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	High
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Moderate
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	High
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Low
Level 7 (Violent)	Very High
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	High
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Moderate

Take the Dante's Inferno Test


anyway, think this isn't that accurate.

yes i personally don't believe/sumbit myself into confession. however our theology classes taught us its why's and how's, still it didn't work (don't throw stones at me please). ok, it said very low.

i can only think of one personal question about food. something like if i was eating at restaurants several times a week... well, no not at restaurants but fastfoods, yes. where else can we do when we're not at home? whatever kind and preparation of food, still we pay for them, even at canteens.

violent=very high?! ok, no comment. well, questions were about violence on one's self. don't think i'm harmful, for godsake...

fraudulent? yes i'm a good liar. but i don't forge documents. i'm not into selling social security numbers we get from credit card applicants. well, just think how rich i can be if i'm one.

treacherous? well, i've already said. i'm a good liar.

and everything else-- i think i must agree. :)

PANAWAGAN

bagong libro ni eros atalia-- "PEKSMAN mamatay ka man, nagsisinungaling ako"

mga bagay-bagay na kapansin-pansin na hindi natin napapansin, o hindi lang talaga natin pinapansin.


before anything else, please give me back my Taguan Pung book...

the sons of war

children walking barefoot
soles feasting on shrapnels and fragments

city painted with blood

a dirty race, all heading to
boundaries separating silence from war

hands reach out for a beloved
not strong enough even for one's self

everybody is running
tired of killing each other
on a murderous trip to the summit

a thin thread of hope
no room for a single soul

dreams crashing to the ground
as each falls lifeless

way too far from salvation
too distant from God's embrace

on(e) (h)our faith

there was this exhibit in Thomas Aquinas Research Center (TARC) our professor in theology asked us to visit when we were in our second year. it was - if my memory serves me well - about Islamic soteriology and interreligious conferences, promoting unity among churches or religions.

i did not feel anything when i first set foot on the exhibit area, not until i saw pictures of children in different occasions professing faith. they stole my attention that i began studying their faces, expressions, poses, and details on how they appeared in the pictures. some were so attentive that one could really feel their devotion... and some were not. i started wondering if those little angels were completely aware of what they were doing or if they were just there for the sake of taking part in their rites.

religion is one issue i find complex and delicate when being discussed. much as it is perplexing, it is ultimately interesting and liberating at the same time.

but have we really asked ourselves if we fit right into that religion we belong to? in the first place, we did not choose it. rather, we wholeheartedly embraced what the grownups believed and followed what they did. they went to churches and we were with them, tugged tight, thinking we might get lost into what they introduced to us as our real home. they joined in prayer meetings and we were also there singing, waving our little hands in the air, clapping to death just like what everyone else did, regardless of whether or not we really knew what we were doing. we were taught how to pray and we took our daily dose of Biblical quotes and parables. we were dragged during sleepy saturday or sunday mornings or any day they deemed as worship day, then we slept and played inside the house of praise. punishments would follow right after we got back to our houses. those were the things we lived by; then we started calling ourselves religious.

but however we create the thought that religion is imposed, it is still dependent on one's orientation. freedom of religion was literally translated as that in which one has the right to practice one's religion within reasonable legal parameters. but if we look at it blunt and dry as a legal aspect, then we slowly move away from its sanctity. it is just as if we consider it as a plain constitutional right.

still, human knowledge knows no limit. the more we know, the more we ask, and the farther we get away from our faith. one word leads to another- off to a long and winding quest.

innocent as they were, those children in the pictures were a bold manifestation of authentic faith - that which did not ask but believed. there's no intention of saying that all we need to do is nod, accept and believe what we are being fed. i just had a different feeling when i saw those children whom i think had faith stronger than what we have, regardless of the what and the why... then i tried to remember if i did the same when i was a kid.

i also found it interesting when i saw a book about who Jesus and Mary were in the Koran, though i was not able to leaf through its pages. comments were suspended until i get the chance to read the book.

:::thanks to www.2muslims.com for the pic

el cielo

clouds are there to remind us that there are still things unreachable my human alone...

superstar

the last time i saw you shining
in the distance i know no more

your eyes, all the same
you still capture me with the slightest wink

that same smile you used to heed
stirs me up just like before... puzzled...

i admit nobody matches your shine
not even the moonlight is half as good...
you still have it with one glance,
and everything else shatters

just like the ocean as it tries to steal
the moon, a gap so impossible to bridge...
a silent prayer in the ear of a dying infant

you are an unreachable star
something not made for me... my limit... my own share of torment...

for months i tried to sing my last verses
tired. giving up. i almost lost my appetite for life

but time has brought me to my senses again
it mat be too late but i learned
nothing can be more impossible than make-believe

we all love music

poetry goes hand-in-hand with music. we don't just love music because of its sound, but of meaning, memories, life... how it knocks your soul, how it enters your body and soothes you... simply irresistable...

Moscas en la Casa Shakira mis dias sin ti son tan oscuros tan largos tan grises mis dias sin ti mis dias sin ti son tan absurdos tan agrios tan duros mis dias sin ti mis dias sin ti no tienen noches si alguna aparece es inutil dormir mis dias sin ti son un derroche las horas no tienen principio, ni fin Coro: tan faltos de aire tan llenos de nada chatarra inservible basura en el suelo moscas en la casa mis dias sin ti son como un cielo sin lunas plateadas ni rastros de sol mis dias sin ti son solo un eco que siempre repite la misma cancion Coro: tan faltos de aire tan llenos de nada chatarra inservible basura en el suelo moscas en la casa pateando las piedras aun sigo esperando que vuelvas conmigo aun sigo buscando en las caras de ancianos pedazos de niño cazando motivos que me hagan creer que aun me encuentro con vida mordiendo mis uñas ahogandome en llanto extrañandote tanto mis dias sin ti como duelen mis dias sin ti

Flies in the House my days without you are so dark, so long, so gray, my days without you my days without you are so absurd, so bitter, so tough, my days without you, my days without you don't have nights, if someone appears, it's useless to sleep, my days without you are an excess, the hours don't have a beginning, or end Chorus: so short of air, so filled with nothing, useless junk, trash on the floor, flies in the house my days without you are like a sky, without silvery moons, nor traces of the sun, my days without you are only an echo, that always repeats, the same song Chorus: so short of air, so filled with nothing, useless junk, trash on the floor, flies in the house stumble on the rocks, still i keep waiting that you'll return to me, still i keep looking in the faces of the old, bits of a child, hunting reasons that make me believe, that still i meet with life, biting my fingernails, drowing in my tears, missing you so much, my days without, oh how they hurt, my days without you

mock the stupid brit fan

"Chris Crocker PARODY.Look at Chris Crocker's LEAVE BRITNEY ALONE VIDEO first or THIS VIDEO wont make sense. LEAVE BRITNEY ALONE!VIDEO

breathing, waiting, chasing: tabloidization of the classics

takte. tama nga naman... kahit cheesy ang Spanish class kanina, in fairness sa mga nagsimula ng kakesohan, trulily din naman kayo dun.

all we do is breathe, wait, and chase. everyday we wait. di ba nakakasawa na ring maghintay? all we do is plan for tomorrow; not sure kung si tomorrow naman ay maamo sa'tin o paghihintayin pa rin tayo nang walang kamatayan.

sabihin mo mang, "I'm complete even before you came. i'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself and self-destruction as well" (mga bagay na natutunan sa lit about existentialism), di mo pa rin masisiguro kung kailan ka aandaran ng pagiging emo/cheesy/tweetums/korni/paksyet - call it whatever you want basta nakakaupos pa rin yung feeling. ni wala kang magawa. isinasabay mo na lang sa hangin ang bulong mo sa mga bagay na hindi mo kilala pero hinihintay mo pa rin, hinahabol; seamless faces of those whom we are trying to grasp...

basta maiisip mo na lang, minsan malungkot rin pala kapag mag-isa...

buhay manunulat, manunulot - pagsasamantala sa mga salitang balbal

napakasarap nga namang magpakamatay gamit ang natatanging bagay na napakahalaga sa iyo. yung tipong dahan-dahang lumalagaslas sa katawan mo yung malakas na hataw ng nag-iisang bagay na pinaghihirapan mong maabot - dumudulas, nagpapakipot, sabay sasaksakin ka nang patalikod. hinele mo na nga buhat nang mahawakan mo nang pahapyaw, heto't kinakagat ka pa sa leeg na parang tiyanak.

sulat ka nang sulat; binubuntis mo ang sarili mo nang pilit; nanganganak ka nang nanganganak. buong katawan mo lupaypay. walang natira sa'yo kundi kaunting lakas para tumoma. inakma mo ang lahat ng pwersa para sa isang matinong obra, tapos hindi pa rin pala sapat; at dahil may ibang pumupuna ng mga gawa mo, wala ka nang ibang maibubulong sa sarili mo kundi, "ang pangit ng anak ko!"

minsan mo nang ipinaglaban sa lahat, ipinilit at hindi tinantanan... may lugar pa ba para sa pagsisisi?

kaya sa lahat ng mga nag-aakalang napakadaling maging manunulat at kailangan ay "street-smart" ka lang, well, subukan mong manganak sa pwet nang malaman mo kung gaano kahirap..

raino

habang pauwi... tulala... walang ibang tinatanggap ang isip kundi- wala. ulan na lang ang tumawag ng pansin...

midnight blues

no matter how you try to turn your back at the mellows,
lyrics will always find their way to penetrate you... deep...

Beyond the Margins of Press and Media

"If you want to touch the conscience of the nation, you must first have a conscience of your own."

This was the stand of Palagummi Sainath, a journalist from India, in the onset of the 2007 Ramon Magsaysay Awards Lecture Series on his theme "How Can Journalism Touch a Nation’s Conscience?"



Sainath, who won this year's category for "Journalism, Literature, and Creative Communication Arts" on Asia's equivalent of the Nobel Prize, was recognized for his passionate commitment as a journalist to restore the rural poor to India's national consciousness, moving the nation to action.

He cited famous writers who made conscientious journalism possible in times of war and quest for freedom. He said he was moved by words of American novelist and journalist Samuel Langhorne Clemens, otherwise known as Mark Twain when asked about giving Filipinos freedom: "Yes, it's a great idea to give the Filipinos freedom, but I think it's an even better idea to let them give it to themselves by themselves."

Twain, for Sainath, was a journalist who touched the conscience of countless of readers. He spoke of him as an interactive journalist—that who wrote about atrocities, women's rights and issues across the cultural divide.

Known for being a passionate and articulate speaker, Sainath took an opportunity to give a clear distinction between journalism and stenography. He said the latter was by far the largest stream of journalism but was exclusive only to the powerful.

"Corporate approach to journalism can reach millions of people but can never touch the conscience of nation." Sainath added that it was merely to attract new business, investment and professionals but does not promote rich spiritual landscape and an enviable quality of life.

His sincerity, honesty and dedication, and commitment to highlight the sufferings of the rural masses that are sadly left behind by India's "progress" made him one of the Asia's leading development journalists. Through his work on the livelihoods of India's rural poor, he has changed the nature of the development debate in his own country and across the world. He was aiming for holistic development and cultural enrichment.

Sainath, often referred to as a rebel with a cause, said it was very alarming to see newspapers today bearing more showbiz stories than the more important ones. However, he said there were factors that affect media’s priorities like editors and the philosophy of the medium. Assuming what the readers want merely implies that they were idiots, he said.

The period when the incident of farmer suicides in Indian urban cities was at its height was, for Sainath, a clear example of how media today sets priorities for profit and fame. While relatives of more than 100 farmers who have taken their lives in the drought-ridden southern Indian state of Andhra Pradesh were mourning, 512 accredited journalists were vying for prime spot in a fashion show and cameramen were fighting with their tripods over space.

He said it was apparently showing that news values were not weighed critically.

Citation for the award he has bagged said, "Sainath's authoritative reporting led Indian authorities to address certain discrete abuses and to enhance relief efforts." It added: "Sainath discovered that the acute misery of India's poorest districts was not caused by drought, as the government said. It was rooted in India’s enduring structural inequalities — in poverty, illiteracy, and caste discrimination — and exacerbated by recent economic reforms favoring foreign investment and privatization."

Sainath looked at journalism today as baked with crimes and showbiz, and was not really giving the public what they really want and need to know. With all the hard news and tragedies reported everyday, Sainath claimed it was the small people beyond that big circle that journalists had to talk about — what and how these events affect their lives.

While it is true that reporters should provide people with the freshest information from groundbreaking events, he said they should not neglect their responsibility for social communication — that which makes journalism larger than a business.

"Newspaper is a business. Channels may be a business. But newspaper is not all there is to journalism," Sainath voiced, "Journalism is more than a newspaper. It is a calling." He said journalists should act as bridges in creating social connection and communication.

According to him, only a few dared to report on things that cross the parameters of relating events per se — those that really matter to communities and affect lives. Press was born out of revolt and fight for liberty, but little is the number of those who carry on its nature.

Sainath left a thought for his fellow journalists to ponder as he recalled the story of Ancient Roman Emperor Nero's open air party for the "Who's Who of Rome." As dusk fell, lights were called for, and Nero's staff came up with a novel solution: the party was illuminated by prisoners and poor being burnt on stakes all around the arena.

"And who were Nero's guests? They were the finest minds in the Roman Empire, but no one uttered a word in protest." he said he had always wondered about their attitudes.

Sainath provided an insight into why things were the way they were, leaving the audience with inspiration for things to do. His facts spoke for themselves.

pantastik! beri strong!

Conratulations Mr. Nestor Cuartero for garnering the outstanding feature on DLSU-Manila award!

Entry: "A bridge for kids" which captured the theme "Get the Lead(ers') story
(It bested more than 300 entries.)

DLSU-Manila president, Armin Luistro, described the winning entries as "moving, inspiring and real."

This year's judges: National Artist for Literature Bienvenido Lumbera Jr., Campaigns and Grey chair Yoly Villanueva-Ong, University of the Philippines' journalism department chair Rachel Khan, Naga City Mayor Jesse Robredo and DLSU Manila marketing communication office executive director Ayi Magpayo.

paraiso

touched by this clip.
one should make a move. everyONE must...

composed by Ryan Cayabyab
performed by UST Singers

sino si PETA?

this morning was our third time to watch the Philipines' one of the most outstanding theatre guild, PETA, and it's a little bit funny how common people seem to not know it...

yes it was my third time, and still i wasn't familiar with the trip. although some areas were fresh on my memory sheet, they weren't enough, so i had to ask a coulple of people what roads will lead me to E.Rodriguez and trust my instincts as well. they would ask me where i was heading to, and i just found it surprising that whenever i say "PETA", faces crumpled and people gave me the same question back. even drivers, whom i relied my tour-guessing into, were not sure where the heck they should drop me off.

whatever happened to the Philippine culture and arts? has it become exclusive to the world of prestigious academe and the elites? take note, prestigious academe. think about that... well, i do not belong to that elite group although i'm into that academe thing. i have to pay high for good education and well-equipped system. (yes, there's a big disparity between paying high and not. believe me.)


"sino si PETA?"- much as how we ask "sino si Rizal?" nabaon na lang ang kanyang katanyagan sa loob ng malamig na bantayog, sa piso, sa posporo, at sa t-shirt na binebenta sa megamall, 2nd floor. kahit ang PETA, hindi na maabot ng tao. dahil ba mahal ang ticket? malayo? o tago ang lugar? o dahil mas gusto na lang panoorin ng tao si dolphy kasya sa dula? tama... mas sikat nga ang wowowee kaysa sa PETA.