Wandering Thoughts and Delusions of an Insomniac

Inside the Confessional 1

2011-05-03T05:25:00.000-07:00

I choose to exist in my imagination.

I'm very good in being a perpetual escapist, oscillating between crude realities and impossible dreams, between elation and despair, between mundanity and excitement. I escape from one oblivion to the next, of extreme opposites, and find solace in the idea of comfort in forgetting or forgetfulness.

Like today, tonight, for example and many days and nights before this; a huge struggling irony--I can no longer recall how to write.

Funny, I tell myself that the person who I was years before, have struggled so often with her meek writing voice. And today, years after--pages, prepositions, punctuation marks in between-- my pen has croaked and gagged with nothing as much as a trivial plot, a shallow character, a trifle narrative to splatter aimlessly on a sad sorry clean sheet of paper. What a waste. Indeed, what a huge waste. (I'm terribly sorry, tree. You had to die for nothing.)

Now by impulse, I want to creep back into the cave-like hole of the faculties of my imagining. Where every little thing is as exactly as I would have it. Teapots are eternally warm and never empty. Tragedies are always poignant. Antagonists are loved. And Death is green with envy of Life.

And that I'm blissfully severed from the ridiculousness of reality. Ridiculousness of rules. Ridiculousness of rush hours. Ridiculousness of peoples' sordid ambitions.

The world in my head is worth living in exchange of permanent amnesia of the world everybody wants to have.

Oscillating

2011-01-27T07:31:00.000-08:00

Instead of editing my novel's manuscript, which eventually becomes my thesis for graduate school, I took my favorite shawl and head for the nearest internet shop. Thinking of this actress Natalie Portman, and how her performance in the film "Black Swan" has finally turned me into one of her sincere admirers. (I don't want to use the word 'fan girl' because it sounds so tweenish.) Not only that, the film itself was poignantly and poetically made.

Now I am oscillating between work and art and the ability to self-express. I have slept for most of the day and got stuck in revising chapter three and is in a loophole as to how to deal with one of the characters. I have a self-deadline looming over my head and I've already read and re-read John Maxwell's book Roadmap To Success a couple of times to help fuel my motivation, but after a few pages a doze off back to bed.

Then, I saw Natalie Portman's performance and how brilliant of an actress she was. Then I read a couple of articles on her and realizes what a remarkable specimen she is. She is a serious actress. She is serious with her advocacies, but she does not take herself too seriously.

The other day, I sp0ke to a very good friend and colleague.

"I just had an epiphany last week."

"What?"

"I'll take myself seriously no more."

And then that's it. I won't take myself so seriously anymore. I will still do my best, but I've decided to stop beating myself up to the punch.

Trade-offs.

I read in Maxwell's book that in order for to be successful, sacrifices are needed to be made. Although, I'm trying to relax a part of me feels as though that I shouldn't be. At this point, time is of the essence, and my former self tells me that I'm absolutely wasting it.

"If you want to achieve success, you have to want to be successful." Natalie Portman says in a magazine interview. She uses the word "ambition" although admits it might be viewed negatively.

Natalie Portman's role, Nina Sayer, in "Black Swan" was a brilliant and an impeccable ballerina who dedicated herself and worked hard on her craft to be'perfect'. And at the end, tragically she did.

At the end, despite my oscillation. Dizzyingly oscillation, I shall go back to my teaching my students at day; and within my best writing at night and finishing gradschool. Make the most out of my time here and do well. Indeed, do well.

I just slashed my wrist..and survived it

2011-01-21T05:24:00.000-08:00

I'm already on page 769 out of 814 pages of Simone de Beauvoir's prolific book Le Duxiemme Sexe when I discovered, through Wikipedia, that the version that I have (published 1952) is a poorly translated version of H.M. Parshley; and most of the essence of Beauvoir's points were lost in translation. In addition, after more than a decade they released a 2009 version for which is now the closest to the original French text.

The earth just swallowed me whole.

Todays Lessons are..

2010-09-18T08:44:00.000-07:00

Dear Student,

I am afraid I have duped you today. For eight hours today I have fooled you. For the past semester, I have been continually and perpetually fooling you. I made you believe that the words that we've uttered and have crossed our minds are of with value, but in truth they are nothing but wistful sentiments about life and the pretense of human struggle and despair.

I apologize I have nothing much better to offer you. I promise to try again next time.

Revisiting Kurosawa

2010-09-18T07:30:00.001-07:00

I've been discussing Cinema and the History, Genre, and Discourse of Philippine Cinema to my Art Appreciation students for this month. And it seems but only fitting to gear myself with more of the insightful and semi-intellectual discussions in the class by watching a day-long marathon of Akira Kurosawa films at the CCP yesterday.
Ate Trina, a colleague in the faculty, who teaches Languages courses and who is equally obsessed with books and films as I do invited me to watch this year's Akiro Kurasawa Film Festival and tomorrow's Cine Europa screening at the Shangri-La mall. We started yesterday's viewing at 10:00 am with Sanjuro (1962). She left in the middle of the second film, Red Beard (1965) for her class in UST and then I was left alone to watch the last two films, Stray Dog (1949) and Rashomon (1950).
I've watched Kurosawa films before and yet until now I'm still amazed by the insightfulness and the philosophizing of each great work. If I were to imagine the events in World and Asian history during the time he wrote and directed those films, it is definitely ahead of it's time.
In Sanjuro, I particularly liked the acting of Toshiro Mifune. Mifune and Kurosawa collaborated in 16 out of Kurosawa's 30 films and I must say he's acting skills are quite impressive. Sanjuro satirically and semi-comically captures the dangerous ill of any government in any country or nation-- corruption. The antagonist of the film, the Superintendent, uses his men to kidnap the Chamberlain so that the latter may confess that he committed the crime of corruption of the former.
The nine samurai "collaborators" or supporters of the Chamberlain are forced to rescue the official with the help of a very peculiar samurai freelancer who named himself Sanjuro. I particularly like the carefree, bohemian yet wise nature of Sanjuro. He is the greatest samurai among the characters, however he never used his strength and fast skill with the sword to actually kill anyone, except for the last part where Hanbei, the henchman of the corrupt Superintendent, actually demanded for a duel.
The beauty of the end of the film is that despite of his cunning skill and strength, Sanjuro wanted justice to prevail without having the intention to kill anyone and without making a choice to permanently join a group or side and serve the clan.

Red Beard is an equally striking film. A story about a young doctor (Dr. Naburo Yasomoto) who is forced to work in a poor, town hospital (Koshikawa Hospital) despite of his proud foreign education in medicine, realizes through Dr. Niide (called Red Beard) the true value of human life and of their profession. Among all of the films that I watched that day, it was the longest with almost three hours running time. However, the length of the film fully justifies and captures the heart of the human soul especially of those who are poor, ailing, starving, and dying.
Though at surface level, it may seem the story is about the transformation of Dr. Yasomoto, I believe that Yasomoto and Niide are just characters created by Kurosawa to show to whom the story is all about-- the people in the poor town. The heart of the narrative lies at the suffering of the people that Niide (and eventually Yasomoto) tries to alleviate. By over charging the rich patients and using the money to help the poor patients not just with their physical ailments but also with their emotional and psychological ones, Niide tries to help the people find their own redemption from their crude and desperate situations.
I especially liked the part wherein Niide compared poverty to one of the patient's illness, which was stomach cancer. He pointed out to Yasomoto that root of all their sickness is the fact that they are poor and that the government and the rich people are taking advantage of them. Another subplot that I found uniquely interesting and refreshing was when Yasomoto was already doing his best in curing the physical, emotional, and psychological illness of and abused twelve year-old girl name Otoyo. Eventually, Yasomoto makes Otoyo realize that there are genuinely sincere and kind people in the world. And in turn, Otoyo is able to heal herself by being kind to a seven year-old thief name Chobo.
Red Beard is not only heart-warming, but it also creates a transcendent experience that will create an epiphany to its viewers that above all the human soul is the most important aspect that needs to be nurtured in life.
And may I add that Yuzo Kayama, the actor who played Yasomoto, is not only really good but is very good-looking. :)

Stray Dog is one of Kurosawa's earliest works. It is a murder-detective story, which plot develops in the search of Yusa, the suspect of three crimes. Murakami, a young detective loses his pistol, which becomes Yusa's crime weapon. And with the help of a senior colleague Sato, they are able to trace the suspect.
The plot seems simple and not so much philosophizing occurs till the end of the film where the injured Sato tells Murakami in the hospital that one can never forget one's first case as a detective. And that there are more like Yusa, who have resorted to stealing and murder in order to survive in life.

The last film, Rashomon or "In the Woods" is based on the short story "In A Grove" by Ryunosuke Akutagawa which was first published in 1915. The first time I read the story was in Sir Paolo Manalo's Creative Writing class back 2005. I liked the execution of the story. However, after watching Rashomon for the Nth time, I am still further impressed on the attack and treatment that Kurosawa did as a film adaptation in the story. Using a short simple story as the skeleton of the film, he was able to create a message that everyone lie though we may not exactly know their motives for lying and at a certain degree it is hard to put your faith and trust on people. However, on the last few minutes of the film the priest leaves a message to the woodcutter and to the audience that there is still hope and that we mustn't lose faith on people. Akutagawa's short story neither directly nor implicitly state such message, it is only an exposition of the testimonies of the characters regarding the rape and murder.

Kurosawa was indeed a brilliant artist. If I were to live in his in Japan and watch his films, his masterpieces would definitely have created a new world for me. A utopian universe that venues the existence of all the ideals and philosophies that his films have articulated. The same ideals and philosophies that we personally and politically value during our time and even the recent times, but seems only a small flicker of candlelight in the midst of open space darkness.

Summer

2010-05-20T03:39:00.000-07:00

Much has changed in me during the last two months of summer. Let's just say I have a gained an even wider perspective of so many things, especially how life should ideally be lived. I've traveled to two countries, bought twenty seven books (having read seven of them), bought and watched a dozen third world cinema DVDs, finished two research papers, did pro bono video production work for an NGO, tried to relearn a new language, and sat down and had coffee with good old friends. Yep, life is truly good.

I've recently finished The Freedom Writers Diary and instantly it has inspired me to work better and harder to be the best in my profession. Teaching, even in college, isn't truly just about making the students understand the lectures nor checking papers and giving marks. It's really having the opportunity each day to share something extraordinary to fifty plus students, without having the feeling that you've grown tired because you felt that you've given more than what you've received. I think I've settled myself to accept the fact that it's not just a job that you do day in and out and then you get paid. I've realized that since I started teaching, but it only occurred to me now that in order for me to give more as a teacher, I have to be the best and excel in my own preparation and studies. Teaching, alone, is never enough.
Thus, this summer I have been reading, listening, writing, and learning much.

Kota Kinabalu and Brunei welcomed me kindly in my three day visit. I've determined upon myself that seeing the world one country at a time will now be included in my personal mission statement. There's so much more out there that is waiting for me to explore. And yes, I have a personal mission statement. I've been working on it since late last semester after having read Stephen Covey's Seven Habit of Highly Effective People. I'm trying not to get side-tracked and be derailed with every new opportunity, chance and shiny new toy that comes my way. Focus. That's what I need to work on the hardest, since I easily get bored. Focus. Concentrate. Focus.

Language. Teaching. Writing. Traveling. Reading. I appreciate the fact that I'm blessed to have so much I can work with to further improve myself. Education and experience are two core values that I hang on to. They are engraved in my entire being. Like what Richard Rodriguez said in his book Hunger of Memory, "Education has altered my life." What seems to be a given for some, are actually impossible for others. I am one of the lucky ones. Going to school is a given. Learning is a given. I didn't have to wash mountains of dishes, work on night shift, or answer calls from people who are in other side of the world, just so I could afford college and graduate school. I decide upon myself, I will stop complaining about how strict some of my professors are, how difficult are the research papers I have to write, or that I don't get enough sleep. I won't complain. Simply because I have no right.

I still have a couple of weeks before classes start on June 15. I'm seeing my calendar now and it tells me that I'll be doing a teaching demo in a literature seminar next week, attend two adviser's out-of-town retreats, attend one organization planning cum meeting, and prepare course syllabi in between. It may seem a lot of work, but I'm sure I'll breeze through them all.

Summer isn't over yet. My time learning and relearning in my personal boot camp is far from over.

Just a thought

2010-03-13T22:22:00.000-08:00

Our retreat master in our recent UST Engineering Faculty Retreat said "Let us always make memories".
I've been making so many wonderful memories since last year. Unfortunately, I juat don't have the time nor the right amount of resiliency to post the pcitures and tales behind them.
As soon as we hit summer vacation, I will start posting what this blog has missed for a very long time.

See yah!

Coelhan

2010-01-10T12:30:00.000-08:00

Seven years ago, I wrote a brilliant analysis on Paulo Coelho's "The Alchemist". I used the theory of Joseph Campbell as my methodology in asserting the vital points I wanted to make regarding the text. I am not afraid to state here that it was a "brilliant analysis" because it took me painstakingly four weeks of research and re-writing to come up with the twenty-page thing. However, the struggle paid off because my professor gave me a grade of 1.0 (the highest mark in collegiate and university grading system).
The first time I read "The Alchemist" I was completely enthralled by it. I was convinced immediately that I had, at some point, discovered my "Personal Legend" and similarly I was already on the path that Santiago (the protagonist) had went through. However, four years in college and a couple more years in the industry of television has suddenly made me forget of what my "Personal Legend" is or if I actually have one.
As a young literature teacher to university students, I read, on the average, three to four short stories or one to two chapters of a book each day. And having read so much (and have yet so much to read) I thought I was already done with Paulo Coelho and my pre-adolescent stage of being a Coelhan. However, during the past three days it occurred to me that I was wrong--dead wrong.
When a colleague and I had to do some errands in Recto, we passed by a gay street vendor a couple of meters away from Far Eastern University. This gay street vendor, who always have a serene smile on his face whenever we pass by his space, is selling new and second-hand books (mostly fiction) on discounted prizes. Most of the books he sells are of famous writers Palahnuik, Steele, Sheldon, Garcia-Marquez, Ahern, and ofcourse Coelho.
My colleague and I browsed through his new wares, which mostly were Coelho books, and asked if he had any new titles. He said no. I knew I was no longer interested reading another Coelho book. Having read all of them and having been disappointed with some, namely "Eleven Minutes" and "By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept", I merely sighed and thought it wasn't my day for bookshopping. I was about to turn to leave, when my colleague asked if I've read Coelho's "Like the Flowing River". I said no, and thought that since the title wasn't one of the best known works of Coelho, I won't miss out on much if I don't read it. Besides, I have tons of papers to check and I have an Impromptu Speech Contest to organize. I simply have no time to go through a book that I'm not confident that it wouldn't be a waste of my time. (Just the week before that I read "Memories of my Melancholy Whores" by Gabriel Garcia-Marquez and considered it to be a waste of time).
So there I was, looking at my colleague then at the gay vendor (whose smile is one of the nicest smiles I've ever seen), holding the book. I said to myself, oh what the hell at least I finally completed my entire Coelho collection. Took out my wallet and handed over 180 pesos to him (as well know the original price of a Coelho book in bookstores usually ranges from 299 pesos to 400 pesos).
The next night, I was exhausted from work. I slumped onto my bed and decided that I won't be reading any lectures nor would I be checking any students' essays for the night. I grabbed the Coelho book and thought of finally giving it shot, after all, paid for it.
At that moment, while reading page after page of Coelho's reflections about his myriad experiences in the world, I finally felt that the universe (my personal universe) has finally caught up with me again. The same universe that showed me the path towards my "Personal Legend", seven years ago, when I was still a wide-eyed seventeen year-old college junkie- nerd who was excited and at the same time anxious about the world.
The last words, in almost all of the essays, quenched my thirsting soul. I already knew that, at some point, I have recognized what my duty is and the light that has transpired within me to fulfill my duties. But it was only then, after again encountering Coelho's words, that I have realized the sacredness of my daily actions-- my duty as a daughter, my tasks in the university, my responsibilities as a graduate student, my devotion as a future writer for children and young adults, and most especially my wonderful time with my students.
For the past two days, it was difficult for me to put the book down. I yearned for each word, each light of thought, each idea that brought joy, hope, reassurance, and a sense of enlightenment to my somewhat doubtful spirit. For the longest time, I have become somewhat successful in no longer having to fear about things I have no control over. I no longer feared of what tomorrow will bring me. However, there are still moments of doubt, which in certain instances brings a minute sense of fear as I perform some of my tasks.
But now, as I finally put down the last book of my Coelho collection, I tell myself again the mantra that I have kept during my four years in college, "wuwei.. wuwei.." Like the flowing river, let all things be as they are. And what I am, a Coelhan. And hopefully I will always remain so.

Rediscovering Oneself

2010-01-09T04:18:00.000-08:00

After being the chairperson of the steering committee for the Impromptu Speaking Contest of our Department, I have discovered certain new truths about myself.
I discovered that it in order for you to create your own small miracles, you have to see everything you do (no matter how big or small) as a sacred act. Thus, things that need to be accomplished could be done so easily.
I also rediscovered that when you are faced upon public humiliation, always stay calm and then afterwards, immediately move on. There is no point in lingering on the thought that someone has spoken ill of you in front of other people. The person who does the humiliating shall be seen more ill by people, than the person who was humiliated.
Last discovery, always believe in the goodness of people. It's terribly hard. However, it's the only thing that will aid you to live and work harmoniously with all sorts of characters.

Postscipt: Thank God, I had my education and rigorous training from UPLB. Otherwise, I wouldn't have the strength to do the things I've been doing all these years.

The day before the New Year

2009-12-30T13:34:00.000-08:00

Just like the tradition we've set ourselves to follow last year, David, Leo, and I met up for our Christmas get-together. However, unlike last year instead of having me prepared our post Christmas and pre-New Year feast at home, we had our dinner at Napoli, had coffee at Starbucks, and capped of our night with the film, "Eternal Sunshine for a Spotless Mind".
David and I watched and theorized over the Jim Carrey-Kate Winslet film, just like we used to, back in the good old days when we were both unemployed and carefree graduate students.
I suddenly realized that we I missed the nights that David and I would talk about our crafts. He, as a director, and I as a writer. And we'd talk some more about films and literature and theories. The intellectual masturbation that we get from this discourses, I ma most certain, will make us perpetual friends.
At this moment, Leo and David are both asleep in the couch. Poor Leo, dead tired from work. He still forced himself to spend this time with us. I was actually disappointed with Dy. It was supposed to be the four of us in this one great tradition of ours, confessing our sins over the year, pouring over our hearts both broken and mended within the last twelve months, ranting and raving about our career changes within the past three hundred sixty-four and one-fourth days, and the things that changed in the course of our lives within the past five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes.
Dy didn't come. Instead he chose to be with his former, angst-driven, loud former college friends, that are not equally successful and good as him. I know I'm being a baby, but I refuse to talk to him.
These are my detox jesters. A year has passed and we're still intact. The four of us. So much has changed, many things had happened. But to some up everything, the various events in each of our lives were collectively, generally great than bad. Career wise, we are all lucky individuals. Eventhough Dy and David hate their bosses, while Leo's schedule is similar to that of a call center junkie, and I teacht wide-eyed college students six days in a week; the conclusion in our everyday struggles and victories in our work are more or less triumphant.
Lovelife? Now, that's a different issue. Since when did the four of us had a lovelife? Don't get us wrong. We're not career-obsessed individuals. We wouldn't trade our dream of happily ever afters for the top position in the company or for the award as the Professor of the Year (if there's such in UST). But the thing is, for some unknown reason, we just never stumbled upon requited love. There's always time for love, but funny that love doesn't seem to have time for us.
Ciao for now. Happy New Year to all! :)

Addicted

2009-09-18T17:43:00.000-07:00

Thanks to my former student, now super friend and gym buddy Leo Vera; I am now addicted to RPM at Fitness First. RPM stands for Row Power Movement. It is an intense cycling exercise that has various resistance depending if you're riding on a flat pavement or climbing uphill. I've been doing it for almost three weeks now.
Just the other day, I discovered a new addiction next to RPM. Body combat is kickboxing or Muay Thai with coupled with super upbeat music. I discovered Body Combat thru Raymund, a gym buff whom I met at Fitness First Platinum Trinoma.
Why am I hitting the gym? It's not really so much because of the want/need of getting thin. It's simply because I'm so hooked into these two classes (also Hiphop class in between). Whenever I find myself stressed out, which is usually everyday, from my playtime with my students and cramming homeworks in graduate school I always look forward to capping my day with a good work out and a steam bath at Fitness.

RPM

Body Combat

Photos from Fitness First website

Here comes the bride

2009-08-03T04:03:00.000-07:00

After almost ten years of wonderful, loving companionship; along with an adorable six year-old daughter named Alynna; Ate Chona (a former colleague in NCBA) and Kuya Allen just tied the knot today at Iglesio ni Cristo chapel in Del Monte Street, Fresco. Unfortunately, I just arrived from the reception and I haven't uploaded the pics yet, but what I have here is Ate Chona's bridal shower at Pancake House, Commonwealth.
The matron of honor, Ma'am Tynes Doria (who's been a great adviser when I was still working in NCBA) arranged the small get-together. Unfortunately, some of the invited guests were not able to come, but it's all good because we were able to spend quality time with Ate Chona and Kuya Allen.

Ma'am Tynes, Rent baby, the bride, and Ma'am Ai

their entire gang with the Pancake House staff

with the groom, Kuya Allen

uhm.. which camera to look at?

BFFS!!

with little baby, Dottie

The flower arrangements were done by Donna. Donna was my former student in Literature and she's been working for Pancake House for six years. She told me that it was really difficult for her to work and study at the same time. I know exactly how she feels.. :)

peace out!

The entire Pancake House staff did an excellent job with the decors and setup for the shower. When I entered the restaurant, I felt it was too early for Valentines. There were roses and rose petals everywhere!
And because of the wonderful job that they did and with the wonderful recommendation of Ma'am Tynes, I decided to make a booking at their restaurant for my birthday party this September. :)

But for now, congrats and best wishes to Kuya Allen and Ate Chona. May you have more babies to come! Ahem! :)

The Demonization of Me

2009-07-29T03:59:00.000-07:00

I just finished discussing the text "The Woman with Horns" to my Chemical Engineering students. I talked about how women are continually demonized by being viewed as eternal temptresses, seducers, and the cause of evil. I feel that my students, though intelligent and diligent kids they are, find it a bit awkward that a female professor is discussing how women (in general) are being accused of as the root of evil and temptation to men. One student commented, "Maybe, that's your interpretation ma'am." I have to agree with his inference. Probably, half of it is according to how I read the text, but since the texturized essay in the book (after the short story) is regarding the "female as demon", I pointed out to the student that my subjectivity is rooted to the intended explication provided by the authors of the university-wide literature book.
And I can see how the discussion has stirred interest or more aptly put "messed up" the heads of my beloved students. They love hearing the feminist interpretation of the stories of Delilah, Bathsheba, Eve, Lilith, Medusa, and Medea. In fact, they're more into the trivias, stories, and the supplementary discussions than the assigned reading.
In this entire process of pedagogic enlightenment, I find myself both lost and passionate during lectures because most often I initially say what's on top of my head, and then eventually I would find my way to other stories discussing feminism and demonization of females. I'm sure some of my students would find my discourse sexist, but it is inevitable to be sexist when you are discussing gender-themed texts. I suppose the danger in the discussions is that since most of my students are male and their professor is a female who has the authority in the classroom, it may seem that the professor's interpretation and school of thought is aggressively into their minds. My classroom has always been the venue of academic (which most often turns into personal) expression and I've always given them the liberty to say whatever it is they want to say though some are against the core of the institution.
But then again, at the end of the session; what will be the result of all of this exchange of free thought and free speech is what has truly retained in their heads. Which, unfortunately, I have no control of.

My new fourth home

2009-07-27T02:26:00.000-07:00

Roque-Ruaño Building, Faculty of Engineering, University of Sto. Tomas

Obviously my first home is my mother's house, next is my apartment in Dos Cas, then the sweet old home of the AB, Rent, Tranquilizer kids.
Here is the second oldest building in UST. Where the students are sing-song nice and testosterone levels are high everywhere. :)

The Wedding Dress

2009-07-27T02:23:00.000-07:00

Para Kay B: I think it's true about the quota

2009-07-21T00:41:00.000-07:00

Sa nobela ni Ricky Lee na "Para kay B", sumulat si Lucas ng isang nobela para kay Bessie. At ito ang sinabi nya:

" Me quota ang bag-ibig. Sa bawat limang umiibig, isa lang ang magiging maligaya. Ang iba, iibig sa hindi sila iniibig. O iibig ng hindi natututo. O iibig sa wala. O hindi na iibig kailanman.
Ang iba'y iibig sa maling panahon, umibig nung 1980s, nakipagmartsa sa mga aktibista, pero ang taong nakatakda para sa kanya ay nabuhay noon pang 1930s, isang rebelde laban sa mga Amerikano, matagal ng namatay. Kaya she keeps falling in love sa mga lalaking mas matanda, hinahanap sa kanila ang hindi nmahanap na wala, hindi magtagpo ang kahapon at ang kasalukuyan.
May mga pusong pinaglalaruan. Nasa parehong building ng call center but they will never realize that they're on the same floor. Maski parang laging may strange force na humihila sa kanila para tumingin sa kabila ng building. Kailanman ay hindi sila magtatagpo. Tanungin man siya ng boyfriend n'ya kung ano yung lagi n'yang tinitingnan sa kabila ay hindi n'ya masasagot. At kailanman ay hindi na n'ya malalaman dahil eventually ang lalaki ay lilipat sa ibang lugar, at siya, hanggang sa mamatay, hindi na n'ya malalaman kung sino nga ba iyong nasa kabila.
Merong mapalad na nagkakilala, nagkaibigan at nagkasama. Pero sa hindi malamang dahilan ay iniwan ng babae ang lalaki. Mabubuhay ang lalaki sa walang hanggang paghahanap. Mari-realize n'ya na ang pag-ibig ay laging paghahanap. Pero hindi n'ya kailanman mahahanap ang babae dahil ang totoo ay hindi n'ya mahanap ang kanyang sarili.
Merong away nang away kapag magkasama pero hindi naman makaya magkahiwalay. Merong hindi makahakbang dahil sa pag-ibig, at meron namang nakakalipad. Merong ang tingin sa pag-ibig ay hapunang walang sawsawan. Merong 'pag umibig ay nahaharap sa salamin, sarili ang sinasamba. Merong ang tingin sa pag-ibig ay parusa.
Pero merong isa sa lima, harangan man ng kulog, ng mga ganid, ng lindol at ng teknolohiya, mahahanap n'ya ang kanyang mahal. Siya lang ang magiging maligaya."

Hindi ko pa kayang sumulat ng nobela para kahit kanino, pero para kay B subukan kong magsulat ng kahit ano.

It's funny how seemingly harmless and friendly exchange of e-mails would lead us into this. This is something I truly did not expect, simply because I have been through this before and I know what will be the end of it. And unfortunately, my hunch was right. What I feared happened again.

Without me realizing before, our exchange of communication has made my past days lighter and happier. Tasks, which I used to think of as nonsensical burdens, suddenly became playtime. And though I wasn't getting enough sleep and time to eat, my friends told me that I was becoming prettier each day. I didn't see how you had this effect on me, only until that fateful night when we exchanged angry words to each other.

I tried my best to fight this thing off. The ponderings and what-ifs if our situation was far, far different from what it is now. As my last words to you, things will definitely be much easier if you're not what you are and I'm not what I am. I'm sorry if I said things that seemed terrible to you, I was only trying to explain and hoping you'd understand that I was fustrated for giving up so many things that would make me happy for the sake of my vocation and students. I was trying to imply that one of the things I had to sacrifice was the freedom to "like" whom I wanted to "like" without any prejudices from anyone and the danger of losing my almost three years of hardwork.

Thank you for the respect and the maturity of knowing that things seem impossible for us. You're right when you said that I have my own life. I work and study as hard as I can. And you also have your own life to sort out. Hopefully, in due time, we won't be shackled upon these chains anymore. If, that is, you wouldn't change and your feelings wouldn't fade.

And you know what's funny? I realized that we actually cared for each other, without telling each other straight out. Because if we don't, why would we even bother fighting? I never told you that I cared, but when I assessed my actions and thoughts it dawned on me that I did. And I guess I still do. Otherwise, I would consider a waste of time making you understand things. But I never felt that it was a waste of time.

It's 12:31 a.m. and I had a long day. I don't know what to say next. I can't ask you to stick around and wait, neither can I ask you to understand at this point. But this I have to say. I miss how you remind me to eat. I miss when you tell me to get some sleep. I miss how you try to "fish" answers from me. I miss when you try to accompany me through the mobile phone, until one of us falls asleep. I miss when you greet me in the morning. I miss when you tell me stories about you. I miss when you talk about things that you are passionate about. I miss when you ask me about things you want to know. I miss that you have the courage to say what you feel and be totally honest about them. I miss the fact that you were never intimidated by how "strong" you perceived I am. I miss when you try to catch up with me with the long and short e-mails.
I don't know. I just miss the things involving you.

But then, I unintentionally drove you away and I don't know if it's all for the best. And if ever you'd get to read this (which would be an asolute miracle since you don't know this site), I guess it's your turn to write to me. Just wondering if you'd still want to write.

Barbonara Galore

2009-06-08T23:40:00.000-07:00

My beloved SFC sis, Ate Jen, posted an entry in her blog about her great barbonara experience at our house.
Here are her photos.

Our Barbonara up-close

Me and Ate Jen having our Barbonara feast!

For the story behind our Barbonara Fiesta, check out Ate Jen's blogsite www.iamjanujennifer.blogspot.com.

Happy Barbonara!

A night of glamour, music, and coffee

2009-05-31T21:20:00.000-07:00

Last Friday was very toxic and fabulous at the same time. In the morning, I picked up my bank cheque at Phoenix Publishing for the editing and proofreading stint I got courtesy of my friend, Assistant Editor, Paulo Formalejo. After going to the bank to safely encash my professional fee, I headed straight to Trinoma to buy a dress for the fashion show I was going to watch with Ate Ivy, Ate Ja, Ate Louvret, and Kuya Kenneth. Thanks to Ate Ivy's sister, Ate Ja, who works as a a marketing officer in Banco De Oro; we got an invitation for this year's Philippine Fashion Week.
Ate Louvret informed me that the theme of our outfit was 'fashionably chic'. And because the theme for me was a bit vague, it took me a while to decide on the dress, the pair of strappy black shoes, bag, and and a pair of dangle earrings.
After buying the ensemble, I rushed home to get dressed and then Ate Louvret and I went to Ate Ivy's office at Cybergate Accenture. Kuya Kenneth, Ate Ivy's fiance, drove us to SMX Convention, Mall of Asia where this year's Philippine Fashion Week was held.

While waiting for the doors to open, Ate Janine joined us; and in minutes we were inside the function room ahead of almost everyone, sitting on the best seats of the show.

The main event of the night was Renee Salud's collection of Filipiniana-inspired clothing.

Presenting the Renee Salud collection...

Mama Renee's curtain call.

After the wonderful show, the group headed to another small Meeting Room of the SMX Convention for cocktails and entrees and to view the collection of Mama Renee Salud.

Ate Louvret holding one of the pieces.

And of course, we didn't fail to capture the event with our wonderful snapshots!

Ate Ivy, Ate Louvret, and Detox Princess

Cam whores.. Ate Louvret and Detox Princess!

Super Badiola Sisters.. Ate Janine and Ate Ivy!

Power couple.. Ate Ivy and Kuya Kenneth!

Me in a Boyet Fajardo dress..

Us and Mama Renee Salud!

After chatting and getting our snapshots with Mama Renee Salud, we headed downstairs to the lobby. But as we were about to take our leave, we noticed the free benefit concert event of Friendster at the Main Function Hall; thus we thought of checking it out for a while. When we entered the concert hall, Soul Siren Nina was performing on stage. Too bad, because not too many people came to the concert.

I invited my friends to cap the night off with a coffee-session. So we headed to Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, TechnoHub for a couple of hours of caffeine fix. Ofcourse, I ordered my favorite; Moroccan Mint.

Photos courtesy of: Kenneth Manalang, Ivy Blossom Badiola, and Louvret Pili

Grateful

2009-05-15T02:12:00.000-07:00

Finally, I get to thank the universe and Papa L for giving me the answer for whatever is sort of bugging me these past few days. I'm now very certain on what I need to focus about and how my perspective on different aspects about life should go.

Thanks to my dear friend David Corpuz, for entertaining my chatting needs, making me realize something about myself that I never acknowledged before, and giving me the best piece of advice.

Thanks to Paulo and Yang, for making me realize and believe that miracles indeed happen. And things of the seemingly impossible can be greatly possible especially when you least expect it.

Thanks to Arnel and Jacque, for keeping me company the other day and just making me smile and laugh. And praying for the same things we've always genuinely wanted.

Thanks for my students, for keeping me preoccupied everyday which make me forget about myself; and eventually want to give more. They're presence actually makes me forget all about my selfish desire and just chill.

For all of these, my heart goes out to all of you..

Just trying to clear my head

2009-05-09T00:26:00.000-07:00

Since the year started, I noticed that I've been uberly lazy to blog. Back in college, I used to blog two to three times a day, writing about the most mundane things and analyzing them in detail. But now, for some unknown reason, I'm pretty slacking on my blogging.
I'm supposed to blog about Sweet Friday, part 2 and talk about the fun time I've had with the dinner/despedida thing of Kuya Joseph, but then I feel that I have no energy to do so.
Yesterday, I had a "one-on-one" bonding session with my SFC-CLP participant, Ate Arlin. I had such a great time hanging out with her. I felt really blessed to have shared my time with her. When I got home past midnight I actually still had the energy to prepare for my Humanities class and sharing for the CLP today. This early morning, I felt that I knew what I'm supposed to say in front the critical or eager, wide-eyed participants; but now, a couple of hours left to go before my sharing I suddenly feel lost. It's like as if I was back to the question I was asking myself yesterday when Ate Daisy informed me that I was going to be the sharer, "What am I going to say?"
I just can't say something that people are just going to forget after a couple of minutes. It has to be something about my experience that people can get something out of, otherwise what's the point of my sharing? And otherwise I will only be wasting my time.
It seems much easier to just teach literature. I can do it with my eyes closed.

Last night, I thought I was so certain of the things I needed to say. I don't know what's happening now? Maybe, I have this thing in my head that I know I shouldn't be thinking about, however I am. I only pray that whatever is and is not happening will all be for the best of whatever is coming.

I know I'm sounding vague. My thoughts. at the moment, are vague. The truth is, I'm just passing time before I leave school to go to the CLP on time. It's still early. I actually want to read a book, but the book I was looking for wasn't available when I searched for it in FullyBooked, SM North yesterday. So here I am blogging away about things that my readers (if ever there are) will never be interested of knowing about. I'll be very lucky is someone is actually reading this entry.

I'm realliy itching to read that book.

Sweet Friday, part 1

2009-05-04T01:36:00.000-07:00

Last Friday, May 1, when the entire world was celebrating the legal and human rights of all workers, employees, and laborers all over the world; I was celebrating two special events for two special people. On the exact same day, was the going-away parties of my two closest friends; Hazel "Zei" Manalo and Joseph Yap.
Zei just got engaged to a wonderful Filipino living in Arizona. She and Toto (her fiancee's name) finally decided to tie the knot this September in Arzona. Her college roommate Nica and my college roommate Aileen organized a going-away/bachelorette party for her in Millionaire Suites, a quaint condo in Mindanao Avenue. Weeks before the party, I received an invitation from Aileen thru e-mail, and the theme of the party was "Kinky". It was even stated in the invitation that guests should bring our own robes because we're going to strip off our clothes. Unfortunately, I forgot to bring my robe so Zei brought an extra for me.
Days before the event, Aileen texted me and requested for me to make a Kinky Box where we would put all of our kinky gifts for Zei. She said, "You just decide on how you're going to decorate it." I never really thought much about it, except on the day before. Before going home from work I rushed to SM Fairview, carrying my heavy laptop, and shopped for an office box and some back issues of FHM and ForHim Magazine. Once I got home, I was too tired to even stretch my legs so I ended up decorating the kinky box the following morning.
On the morning of May 1, much to my dismay I woke up at 7am though I set my alarm at 6am. I thought decorating was as easy as I thought, but because I was running out of time and I don't want to be late on our rendezvous (11am at Trinoma), I just cut out and pasted all the kinkiest pictures and drawings I could find in the magazines. Hilariously, on the way to Trinoma, inside the FX people were staring at my Kinky Box. I tried my best not to laugh.
Aileen, Nica, and Glenn (Nica's boyfriend) were already buying some supplies in the Landmark Supermarket when Fried, Stanley, and I met up with them. I felt a huge wave of happiness when I saw all of my college buddies and again. It seemed like ten years had passed since the last time I was with them. I guess it's my fault, I've been way to busy with too many thing and I always slide down their invitations for dinner or coffee. But not this time, since it's a special day for Zei.
When we saw Fried and Stanly, we laughed our butts out because both of them were wearing the exact checkered design shirt, except that Fried was wearing blue and Stanley was wearing red.
After meeting up at Trinoma, we headed to Millionaire's Suites. The condo room was simple yet fully functional. It had a mini-kitchen complete with cooking utencils and appliances, a queen-sized bed, an AC, electric fan, a separate sleeping mat, and a small veranda.
Since it was past lunch time, we decided to finally have our lunch at a nearby Gerry's Grill. Zaldy joined us while we were in the middle of practically devouring from our plates because of hunger. And to our surprise, he was also wearing a checkered shirt! After we finished our meal, we met with Jeck and her boyfriend Eugene outside the condo. In the room, we started to prepare the food and some of our props. When Zei came from her house in Alabang, Aileen put a blindfold on her and escorted her to the room. As soon as she took off the blindfold, we let her watch the AVP Marvin-the-computer-genius made for her. While watching it Zei cried. I was almost in tears too because I remembered the fun times we had during college when the pictures were flashed.
After the presentation, there was another surprise for Zei. Nica requested Toto to send a video message for Zei. it was the sweetest thing I have ever watched my entire life. I know it should've made me green with envy, but surprisingly it did not. I merely thought that Zei was indeed very lucky that she has Toto and she deserved everything that she had at the moment.
Still full with Gerry's Grill lunch, we dug on the food. Aileen and Nica ordered a total feast! We had two boxes of Pizza Hut, party pack of spaghetti from Red Ribbon, chicken empanada also from Red Ribbon, and a huge Goldilock's cake. While eating was the perfect time for me to catch up with all of my friends, especially Zei.
Zei and I were considered as twins during our college days. Not because we acted or thought the same, but because we looked the same. In our first two years, most of the people often mistook one for the other. That's why we labeled ourselves as twins.
Presently, Zei just resigned from a wonderful job of being a grade school teacher in La Salle, Zobel. She is also pursuing her graduate studies in Education in Phillipine Normal University. When I got the chance to talk to her in private I asked her what made her decide to get married at a young age of 25. The whole world is still in our hands and we still can achieve so many opportunities and possibilities. In addition, how did she know that Toto was the one? Zei just calmly looked at me, with that ecstatic look in her eyes, and said "I don't know, Ela. I don't know how to explain it, but I just knew. I just felt it and I just knew."
The words seemed to echo in my head as I heard the same exact words from young, married women I know, one of them was a former student Elsie Marcos. When I heard Zei say the same words, I smiled and nodded. I have to admit that I felt a sudden surge of hope and for some strange reason I knew that what she was referring to was something that cannot be explained by reason. I sort of like the idea of uncertainty, because at least you have something to look forward to and you'll know you'll just be surprised when that time comes.
When Zei and I talked further, she mentioned that she felt a certain kind of peace which she took as a sign that it was right for her to marry Toto. She added that everything suddenly became smooth, almost perfect, in her life since she was in a relationship with him; until they got engaged.
When I was watching Toto's video message, I knew in my heart that Zei was doing the right thing. Toto's face was just beaming with so much happiness and love, longing, and adoration for Zei. It was as if Toto was a little boy, asking to have his most precious gift.
I actually thought Zei was the bravest among all of us. While most of us are still in the middle of our quarter-life crisis, tiring our butts off and beating our heads on how to get that big paycheck; she actually decided to take a leap where a few of us wouldn't even dare jump. Marriage life will take up more than half of our lives and she was not even a bit scared nor hesitant to start this new chapter in her life.
What I'm feeling for the beautiful love story between my twin sister and her "pangga" is actually beyond happiness. It pulls me back to my childhood dreams of princes and princesses; of dashing knights that sweep you off your feet; and eternal happily ever afters on the backdrop of a white castle.

Here we go again

2009-04-13T03:13:00.000-07:00

1.Today is the start of the summer class in NCBA and officially the first day of my countdown leading to my very last day as a college instructor.
I 'officially' turned in my resignation letter two weeks before the last semester ended. It wasn't a difficult decision to make because I'm already worried , like hell, in the progress on the status of my graduate studies.
However, it was extrememly difficult to bid farewell to my students; especially the AB English kids. Don't get me wrong, I love all my students equally but I felt that the AB English kids were too attached to me because most of the professors love and appreciate the Education majors more. Not to mention, the two months I've spent with the AB English kids in the production of 'Rent'. Most of my students cried during the cast party when I announced that I won't be teaching them amymore. I felt a bit guilty leaving them but I know I had to do it because it seemed that the kids have been too dependent on me and it seemed that they don't want anyone else to teach them. I can't blame them. They've been my students almost everyday for almost four consecutive semesters, of course they'll get attached.
I tell them all the time that they have to grow up, people will leave eventually and they have to face those trivialities of life that nothing, ever, is permanent; and that I am not the only teacher in the world.

2. One of the most difficult decisions a college instructor or professor has to make is to let a student pass or fail in his/her class, especially if the student is graduating. I felt really bad for this particular student who had to fail my class last semester. The worst part of it is she's supposed to graduate this summer and the course she failed is only offered during the second semester. Being always the objective and rational teacher, I merely computed the grades according to the students' performance. True, I have the power to tweak it a bit and do magic so that the student could pass, but my conscience told me not to. There was a huge part of me that said she neither deserved it nor she did her best in order to comply with the requirements. She paid too much attention to the other courses that she liked and neglected this particular class. I know because the got a much higher grade in my other class, and as a consequence she had to fail this one. Rationally, I don't feel bad that she won't graduate. I feel bad because it had to be through me that she had to learn things the hard way--that not everything you can get by pleading and asking for considerations. You have to earn what you have. You have to earn the grade you get in order to graduate.
Come to think of it, I was even considerate towards her because I still accepted her incomplete drafts despite she submitted it way beyond the deadline; which was unfair to her other classmates who complied on time.
Well, like I said, we sometimes have to learn things the hard way. And hurdles like these strengthens character. The same thing I tell myself over and over, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger".

3. I had so much fun yesterday. Thanks to ate djoanne, kuya ecko, arnel, ran, ate daisy, and civ. Everytime that I'm with them and with the other guys, I feel really loved. I'm thankful for the bonding moments, the shawarma-and-ice cream food trip, and all the fun and serious talk. I'm definitely looking forward to another bonding session.

4. I just got home from watching YOU'RE performance tonight. I admit, I just couldn't get away. But as I watched you fiddle away with the strings, I knew in a way I was saying goodbye to YOU. It would be the last time I will watch YOU. I left before YOU were done because I thought it was for the best. Although I know for a fact I'm not ready to let YOU be given away. But then again YOU were never mine to begin with. Just the same, thanks for everything.

FanGirl

2009-03-23T02:00:00.000-07:00

I saw YOU perform last night and I must say, YOU definitely blew me away. I feel like one of those fangirls who onced went ga-ga over Backstreet Boys and who'd write "I Heart Nick Carter". Not exactly the perfect analogy because I hated the Backstreet Boys when I was young, and YOU'RE definitely nothing like Nick Carter. But I guess you know what I mean. I never saw an amazing performance since my LB Days. And the time when I saw Gino Ferraren's performance at the MagNet and I told him, "I love your music" which ended up as a total embarrasment on my part, plus gave my friends the reason to call me "Pick-up Line Queen".
When I saw YOU perform it reminded me so much of the days that I had more of a life than what I have right now.
I would really love to see more of YOUR performance. Then expect me to possibly wear a "I Heart YOU" shirt. Yes, I'm beginning to be a Fangirl. YOUR Fangirl.

PostScript: Thanks for making me blush 24/7. Even the people at work noticed. :)

Here we go again

2009-03-15T11:49:00.000-07:00

1. This may sound as a cliche but it definitely seemed like it was just last week that I received my first set of teaching load.. 33 units all in all. And now, I'm closing in with another 33 units and this time it's for good.
What will I miss most about teaching? EVERYTHING! Every single thing. From the chalk dust that suffocates me everyday to the grammatical errors of my students. Well, come to think of it, I won't miss the last one. Haha! It's hard to be my students' proofreader.
Teaching is NEVER work for me. It's fun! FUN! It's PLAYTIME! I often say at home, NCBA is not a place for work, it's my personal PLAYGROUND! With the four semesters time that I've played in the school, my students have produced the literary folio "Epistaxis" (German term for 'nosebleed', and yes the students chose the name for obvious reasons), independent short films for which we award them at the end of each semester in the CineNCBA filmfest, and an adaptation of the musical play production RENT. What more can I possibly ask for, right?

2. I'm actually in the middle of finishing my script for Mathtinik and I'm having a HUGE trouble concentrating. My thoughts seem to fly from the events of the past week and what will happen tomorrow. And ofcourse, YOU. I don't know if YOU know that YOU'VE been on my mind for quite sometime now. And to be honest, it's beginning to bug me because I'm having such difficulty working on my script because I tend to go back to my room and sleep before lingering on the thoughts of YOU. I feel like a highschool girl having a crush on her teacher, which is all nice and cute, but it's really starting to annoy me because for the first time I won't be able to finish something that I've started. Probably I just miss this kind of feeling. Probably I just miss being in highschool where people's worries seem tiny compared to ours. Or probably I just miss college where all dreams, craziness, and magical things are possible and the entire world is on our hands.
I know, probably because YOU remind me of someone of whom I used to dream with, or at least, I used to dream about. A long time ago, a couple of years back. He was also a jack-of-all-trades. He opened me to a life of so many possibilities; it's magic and illusions. But then he refused to be loved by anyone, thus there was no room for me to love him but only within the recesses of my mind. YOU and him are alike in so many ways, but YOU are more blessed and a blessing than him. He had suicidal tendencies and his dark nature lured me to him. YOU seem to love life for each day and that gained YOU my respect and admiration.
But see, again, I can't work because I'm thinking of YOU as I type this. I think I better stop and just go to bed, hoping that I can finally finish work.

3. I have humiliated myself last Friday. Thank God amnesia was created. I have zero memory of the things I said or did. Damn, wengweng and boracay punch are indeed, dangerous things. Thanks for my new set of detox jesters for letting me humiliate myself and attempting, within their very best, to forget it too. Next time, you guys drink the wengweng, I'll drink diet coke.

What am I reading now

2009-02-11T23:05:00.000-08:00

I'm actually in the middle of my women and feminism in gnosticism study and afro-asian literature stage. So, I'm alterantely reading The Gnostic Gospels, Women and Religion in the First Christian Centuries, and Contemporary Literatures in Africa and Asia.

In films, just finished wacthing Buffalo Boy from Vietnam.

Logging back again

2009-02-11T22:53:00.000-08:00

It's been a long time since I blogged. I know the importance of constant blogging as a writer in this generation but because of the lousy internet connection at home, there is no way I could even upload pics for my Friendster and Facebook. Not to mention the return of the busy queen bee that again has forced me to juggle too many tasks in too little time.
I'm currently preoccupied mostly with my students theater production. They decided to do Rent. Yes, the 80's bohemian rock and roll story about life, love and friendship. And yes, my students will sing and dance. Just last Saturday I choreographed La Vie Boheme and I'm praying reall hard that the audience would like it. (I'm not even praying that they would love it). I'm actually terrified for my students because they exactly have 20 days before the show and they are not even an inch close of being ready. My friends are actually excited to watch the play, which in turn I say to them, "Remember, this is a class production. This is not CCP, okay?"
Yesterday, I attended the Taboan Writers Festival. I learned a lot, hearing from the seasoned writers and litteratis. I was surprised about how low the writers are getting from their published works and I say to myself writers work on their manuscripts for months and mostly for years and they're only getting this much. This morning in my Contemporary Literature class, my students and I talked about the things I learned from yesterday's event and they were flabberghasted as much as I was. They ask me, "Ma'am, why do you even do it? If you might get paid the same depressing royalty?" I simply say, "Passion." Yup, passion. It is what feeds us whenever everything else in our lives goes wrong.

Fixing one's Perspective

2008-12-29T11:27:00.000-08:00

The long holiday has given me the chance to bond with friends and family and indulge in a reading orgy. Within less than two weeks, I've finished reading three novels; 'Para kay B by Ricky Lee' and two works by Mitch Albom 'The Five People You Meet in Heaven' and 'For One More Day'.
After reading, I've pondered on the reasons why I'm writing fiction. Then I've discovered that my motivation for my so-called passion for writing were shallow. Never truly have I thought of the deepest wisdom as to why I am writing.
A couple of years ago, I've decided that I wanted to write chic literature. Something that would empower young women to live and lead independent and confident lives. But it seemed that it didn't work quite as well as I hoped. Maybe because it was too early for me to start writing about the cosmopolitan woman, where in fact it wasn't exactly my world. I am an urbanite, yuppie; but definitely not a Makati or Ortigas girl. So it would seem pretentious of me to be writing within the lines of Tara Sering only because she's my idol.
Then there's Young Adult Fiction. I was half-decided to make a short young adult novel or a collection of young adult short stories for my MA thesis, mainly because I think we need more young adult writers. Most of the Filipino Young Adults are reading western works such as Gossip Girls, Twilight, and Harry Potter. I feel that we need something that would make these audience patronize Filipino writers more than western ones.
However, are these reasons enough for me to produce something that I would be proud of? Why do I feel that my reasons are purely based on logic and not on the root of one's passion?
I don't want to write because I want show off. I don't want to write to say, "Hey look at me! I'm smart and brilliant!" That's just stupid.
Words are powerful. They should be used not to manipulate, but to inspire. Not to deceive, but to comfort. And not with a cold heart, but with a steadfast yet gentle soul.
Writing without purity and sincerity is no different from a two year-old kid vandalizing his room or a caveman drawing a pictograph of him and his cow.
Before the year ends, which is a day or two from now, my wish is to find the clarity that I've been pondering on for quite sometime. Hoping that it would breathe out new characters and new tales to tell.

After almost three months of silence

2008-12-07T06:43:00.000-08:00

I have no idea what kept me from writing on these pages. I can't possibly say that I didn't have time because I would log on the internet (and check my network personals) once in a while. Maybe, I got bored. Yeah, that's probably it. I got bored. One thing that I have discovered about myself is I get bored easily, which is definitely not a good thing.
Anyway, I need to get some sleep. it has been a long and more or less fruitful day. I just wanted to check if I still have it in me to blog.

Ciao!

Bored. Exhausted. Uninspired.

2008-09-08T17:31:00.000-07:00

Currently abusing the free internet services here in the college and the morning started out very funny, when I opened the faculty room and found all our stuff floating in drainage water. It rained like hell last night, but never in my wildest-intergalactic imagination would I see our fac room be a splitting image of España after a rainfall.

It's the final leg of the semester and I am yet to find to my bearings. The deal is, having the need to teach poetry writing when it is not my forte is a burdensome and would-be futile effort. I'm nervous to face my kids this morning.

But not as anxious as having to teach nursery to grade 3 kids. Last Saturday, I faced preschoolers and primary students and taught them oral communication skills. I had so much fun but I guess it felt it was a bit more difficult when your primary agenda is to intstruct them and not just to entertain them. I'm actually just good on the entertaining part.

Teacher duty calls!
Ciao!

So, what's up?

2008-08-15T00:48:00.000-07:00

So, What's Up? An excellent combination of an uberly- crazy schedule and an equally disturbing manic-depressive state kept me from these pages. I'm munching striped cappuccino cookies, drowning it down with milk, while watching Mr. Deeds. Some highlights of the past weeks though.
1. Was asked to write a review of this year's Cinemalaya entries
2. Night-out with childhood friends at Dulce and Embassy
3. Got caught cooking a kilo of carbonara in the chemistry lab by the school technician
4. Attended Sir Butch's book launch
5. Did an outreach program in The Haven for Children with college friends
6. Cried in the closing credits of The Dark Night because of Heath Ledger's amazing performance. I really do hope they give him a posthomous award at the Oscar's.
7. Finally finished that research article (which I started last year pa)
8. Able to jungle five lives at the same time.. and loving it!
9. Just abdicated from my position as the detox princess (thus, the user name in this blog is technically not applicable anymore, however this blog is mine so who the hell cares, right?)
10. I had to give a retake exam to three of the classes I am currently teaching. It's the first time in my play-teaching life that I had to record a 60% in the Prelims Exam.

All I can say is.. chever...

Of abdication and degrees of separation

2008-07-06T08:58:00.001-07:00

If there is one thing that I have acquired in my readings and classes in J. Neil Garcia's Philippine Gay Culture course, it is the automatic-mechanic perception into everything and everyone as promiscuous and sexual [either chromosexually-sexual or identity-sexual]. I don't know why, but I suddenly became programmed that way.
I'm not saying that the course (and/or the professor) has intentionally programmed my brain cells to work that way, it just happened. I guess I would have to blame it to the mountainous and voluminous readings every week (essays of Butler, Halperin, Garcia, and Sedgwick; and now all the fiction in the Ladlad series) and having a new-found friend who's a film maker/researcher/College of Mass Com grad student and a follower of gay and post-colonial theories. In my head, I fondly and secretly call him by the name of Havid.
The circumstances of our meeting was uberly coincidental and funny. Before the start of this semester's MA class I already knew Havid as my student-friend's constant chat mate. I already knew that he was also a grad student in UP and has done a music video for Color It Red.
The morning before my first session in Charlson Ong's fiction class, student-friend sent me a text message saying that he was reading Havid's critical-research paper on Zsazsa Zaturnnah. I texted back saying if he could ask permission from Havid that I can use his paper in my discussion in Sir J. Neil's class since we'll be discussing the comic book sometime this sem. He said ok and student-friend said if Havid could have my number so he could consult me regarding courses in the Creative Writing program which he can take as an elective. I said sure.
This happened at 11am.

After 5 hours, I was in Sir Charlson's Fiction 1 class. I was feeling a bit anxious because there was no familiar face in the class. Sir Ong asked each of us what were our backgrounds in writing. Then I heard that one of my classmates introduced himself as a film grad student. It was strange. I felt a sense of familiarity towards him.

After class we all went to SC to have our first set of readings photocopied. I approached the film student and asked for his name. When he said he was whom I felt he was, I said "Oh my god! I'm [buzz! chever!]", then immediately offered his hand. He said, "Oh my god!" Then we both laughed.

Then I realized there is no such thing as 6 degrees of separation. As your years in earth lengthen in its course, the world continuously, relentlessly spins on its axis; but the spinning grows in a monotonous act of making the cosmos smaller and smaller and smaller.

Havid is now an official member of detox nights.

Speaking of detox nights, the princess is considering of abdicating her throne. Her time might no longer permit her to fulfill the unglamorous, royal responsibilities.

Haiz!

song HE did not hear

2008-06-29T07:49:00.001-07:00

to whom, unfortunately, has gone deaf
from someone whose faith has never left..

"I saw light and beauty in you-- I laid myself waiting at your feet waiting for your door to open.
I knocked with prayer and madness and love. But now I am tired... I am low.
But now I have run away from you."
-- from the letter of Joe Lieberman addressed to Jose Garcia Villa

an unopened bottle of vodka slumbers softly, hidden behind a closet
waiting silently, with a thousand prayers blown in four directions
the pair of shot glass had grown impatient,
one of the lovers cracked against a deadly grip..

Writing Exercise

2008-06-12T06:34:00.000-07:00

This is my fifteen-minute output in our first writing exercise under Charlson Ong's Fiction 1 class. He gave us the first sentence, then we were instructed to supply with our story's beginning.

When I awoke this morning the dinosaurs were still there. His expensive scent of Drakkar Noir tickled my nostrils. He played with them on our sheets. The sheets stained by our body's gentle and graceful friction--of last night and many nights before, when we were young.

Then he let the small plastic T-Rex hop across my naked, fragile flesh; while he abandoned the wingless Pterodactyl near his cold feet.

He held the T-Rex and pushed it against my belly, then it skipped towards its prey--my right bosom, ripe and seemingly succulent. The old wives had told me, some with caution others with enthusiasm, that my breasts will be as plump and juicy as a gigantic macopa right after giving birth. I had no idea what an enormous transformation it would be with mine.

He was happy. I sensed it. There was a mischievous grin that imitated his toy dinosaur's. It wouldn't be my child who'd be the first to receive the nurturing warmth of my sweet, loving milk. But this horrible-looking, plastic replica of an ancient reptile.

This ritual was nothing new in cyberland. I had to endure this simply because I am a woman--a phenomenal woman.

My Favorite Top 10

2008-06-01T23:31:00.000-07:00

One of the very few things that I have kept consistent in my life for years was listening to Chico and Delamar's RX morning program, "Morning Rush". Hardly a day passes by without waking up on the sound of their DJ-modulated voices, laughing with their jokes and witticisms, and agreeing with their enlightening snippets on their thoughts of just about everything (from American Idol to the present threats of global warming).
I love this "power duo" because they are not only hilariously entertaining but mostly they are uberly intelligent, without neither sounding stupid and campy nor condescending and pa-sosyal (do I need to narrow the specifics?). I'm sure their avid, and even passing listeners would agree with me that one wouldn't mind if we were only to hear their voices within the full two-three hour program. Never mind the music, all you have to hear is the wonderful tandem of Chico and Delamar. No wonder, their partnership worked all these years.
In the "Morning Rush" they have this Top 10 segment where listeners can send their response to the Top 10 topic Chico and Delle would announce every morning. It could be as nice as "Top 10 Favorite Quotes" or as nasty as "Top 10 Fantasies you're Ashamed to Admit". But what I'll be posting here are the listeners' answers on my Favorite Top 10 topic, "The Top Ten Poor People Quotes" aired last January 11, 2008. I got this from one of my favorite blogs, Chico Garcia's url www.chicogarcia.wordpress.com.
I love this particular topic because it makes us realize that no matter how difficult these times are, we have no right to complain because we're always in a better condition/status than someone else. And the only room that should primarily be in our hearts and souls is the gigantic room of GRATITUDE.

January 11, 2008 - The Top Ten Poor People Quotes

Kate Molds - I had a classmate in UP who was a math genius. He’d sleep during our algebra class but when our professor called him to answer a problem set, he’d just look at the numbers on d board & he’d solve it. Then one day, he just stopped going to classes. We later found out he had to go back to the province because apparently, his stipend from the DOST is not enough to pay for his dorm, transportation, & food expenses. And I remembered that once, he asked for our fishball stubs that were given away during the freshmen orientation & told us he’d use the stubs for his breakfast, lunch & dinner.
Shining - There was a janitress in our university back wen I was a student aide. She has 11 kids & I really like her 5th daughter wh0 was 0nly 6 that time. It was her bday, so my friend & I asked if she wanted to go to J0llibee w/ us, we’ll treat her. But the m0m was so nahihiya so she wouldn’t all0w the girl. Her daughter sh0uted, “sige na, para malaman ko naman ang lasa ng fried chicken!”
No name - A woman was giving biscuits to scavengers in Cebu. Of the 3 kids, only 2 were eating and the lone boy was not. Asked why he was not eating, one of the girls said “Nahihiya po yang kuya ko. Kasi bukas pa po siya dapat kumain. Kami po ngayon.” Turns out, they take turns eating every other day!
Ishi - One of my suitors asked me out on a date. Sabi ko, “Sige, meet tayo sa Starbucks!” Then he said, “Ang sosyal mo naman. Alam mo yung isang tasa ng kape diyan, one week na naming pang ulam”.
V54 - I always tell my wife and kids whenever a new product came into market and people we know already had it, “Kapag nagkapera tayo, bibili din tayo niyan. Luma na yung sa kanila, yung atin bagong-bago pa.”. Madalas naman di nagkakatotoo.
Bottomless_ink - A mom of our 18-yr. old female maid told my mom “Basta mayaman ang mapapangasawa ng anak ko, papayagan ko! Basta mayaman!”
Your Highness - Weeks before our elementary graduation, my poor classmate said, “Kailangan nanaman ng bagong damit. . .baka magbenta na naman ng dugo si Tatay para magkaroon kami ng pera.”
Ritzu - This is what my mom always say whenever we complain about our ulam: “Buti nga kayo palaging nakakakain ng fried chicken. Kami noon, ang isang itlog hinahalo namin sa sinaing tapos paghahatian naming lahat!” My mom has seven siblings.
Shining - I had a high school classmate who had a t0tal of 7 fr0nt teeth missing: 4 ab0ve, 3 bel0w. I asked him, “Mag-graduate na tayo, di ka pa rin nagpapagawa ng pustiso.” He said, “Ok lang yun. Di naman kami nakakakain ng pagkain na kailangan ng ipin”. He added that they usually eat lugaw everyday. A lot of the times, they even miss s0me meals in a day. He was no longer able to go to c0llege.
Green Arrow - When I was very young, I asked my father to help me tune the radio to the station our rich neighbor was listening to because it was playing FM songs. My father told me “Anak, component kasi yung sa kanila. Tayo transistor radio lang”. This was the time i realized that we were poor. But now that I’m all grown up & workng, I bought my parents the best sound system in town!
Miguel Rashid - One time after work I decided to treat 4 of my workers in a famous fastfood and ordered meals w/ burgers and fries. I noticed one of my workers only ate the fries and half of his burger. I thought he was full, so I asked, “Bakit di mo inubos burger mo, sayang yan”. He answered, “Ibalot ko na lang sir, pasalubong ko sana sa anak ko kasi matagal na siyang nagpapabili sa akin nito.”
Pink Shrink - I have a patient who once told me when I asked where she lives: “Sa Plaza Ferguson, tapat ng Ermita church. Sa Luneta kami nagbabanyo, P5 bayad.”
MT - My friend was passing through an overpass and there was this street kid asking for money but my friend couldn’t give anything coz she didn’t have change. So she just ignored him. Then the kid told her, “Babaligtad din ang mundo!”
McSupremy: - We live in a depressed area but we’re n0t as po0r as our neighb0rs. So every Christmas, we give toys and food to kids in the area. One time, I was walking d0wn the street, when I heard kids talking while passing by our h0use. One told the others, “Diyan ang bahay ni Santa Claus!”
Angel - In our house, we’re used to having merienda such as pasta, cakes, and ice cream. One time, my mom gave our neighbor some pasta and our neighbor blurted out, “Sinong may birthday?” Apparently they can only afford pasta or cakes during birthdays.
Cheyenne - There was this poor and sick old man in the hospital I’ve met years ago. I asked why up until now, he wasn’t getting any better. He told me, “Kasi iha, kulang palagi ang pambili ko ng mga gamot. Kaya hinahati ko na lang ang mga tableta at syrup na iniinom ko.”
Porky - A family once had a visitor and they didn’t know what food to serve for dinner. The mother decided that, “Bahala na, basta yung tilapia na ulam natin sana ngayong tanghalian, yun nalang ang ipapakain natin. Wag ka magalala anak, di naman niya mauubos yun eh. Hintayin mo yung kabila ng isda, yun ang atin”. That night, the daughter waited, and when the time came, she suddenly shouted, “Nay, binaligtad na yung isda!”
No name - We had a Lenten retreat last year where we had participants from different classes of society. One rich lady commented negatively on how the poor kids acted when they took 2 to 3 fruits each, when they were only supposed to get 1 each. One kid cried when she heard what the lady said and told me “Nahihiya ako kasi mahirap na nga kami, mahirap pa kami kung umasta, kaya mahirap din ang turing sa amin ng iba”.
Paris Girl - We held an outreach in a house for abandoned children & I was assigned to do the games. I bought some hankies for the games. After the games, a lot of kids came to me asking, “Ate, puwede sa akin na lang yung panyo?” I guess for them a hankie is something of a luxury.
Alex - My dad underwent monthly chemotherapy way back in 1987. One time he decided to stop going to chemo and said, “Lalo lang akong hindi gagaling kung makikita ko kayong wala nang makain!” Thank GOD he’s still alive! And on January 26 of this year, its their golden wedding anniversary!
Loi Pogi - Another UP anecdote: I had this dorm mate who would drink three glasses of water before eating. His reason: “Para half rice at half ulam na lang kakainin ko. Mas tipid.”
Toputs - We were so poor when I was growing up, that one Christmas morning, I reached inside my Santa socks (which was my father’s old sports socks) and got a promissory note that went, “Sorry walang gift this year kasi walang budget. Next year na lang - Santa Claus.” Until now I haven’t gotten over that sad Christmas, so I promised myself that I will never let that happen to my own son.
Leigh - I had spinal surgery last year in an orthopedic hospital. And because I have insurance, I was placed in medicare ward. And everyday a woman in a wheelchair would always visit us just to greet and chat with us if we’re all doing okay. When I asked her, “Manang, ilang araw na po ba kayo naka-confine dito at ano po ang sakit ninyo? She answered, “Meron akong bone cancer anak, at mag-iisang taon na ako dito. Hindi ako makalabas kasi wala kaming pambayad. Mabuti pa nga dito libre ang pagkain.”

The Perfect Cassanova

2008-05-29T02:50:00.000-07:00

The stuffiness suffocated me. We entered the musty room and instantly I felt a pang in my chest. But then, I decided it didn’t matter for I was with him.

The location was very incognito. It had a 24-hour sign, but people passing the main road would hardly realize that it was there. He held my hand and found ourselves in a ghetto-like underground

Inside, he suggested that we should keep the bathroom light on, but I said I brought the colored candles he asked me to buy for him from Quiapo. He took out his lighter and flicked a flame in each of the twelve candles. From my bag, I retrieved an unopened bottle of vodka and two shot glasses. We finished the entire bottle before staining the sheets that night.

When the ritualistic act was done, we laid on our backs in silence. We stared at the ceiling. He examined the visible cracks and counted fifteen.

“No, there are seventeen,” I said. He didn’t argue.

Then he asked me the one thing that I most feared.

“I am not afraid of dying. Neither am I afraid of getting old,” I replied. “I’m only afraid of being ordinary. And you?”

“I don’t want to be forgotten.”

Then there was silence again. I wasn’t quite sure if he was taking in that moment with me or his mind suddenly went blank—uncertain of what to say next.

I asked him to get a pen from my bag. He asked why. I said, “Why do you always need a reason for everything?” Again, he didn’t argue. He gave me my black pen and I started scribbling on the wall.

“DetoxPrincess was here” I wrote in print. He took the pen from me and wrote next to my words, “and so was her adoring cassanova.”

For us, it was like that all the time. Everything was a performance. Everything that we did with and for each other was always with the intention of being poetic. I was certain that it was the only thing that connected us for the longest time. Our pseudo-coupleness was a source of confusion to my friends. They never understood why commitment for us was near to impossible.

The explanation was only simple. If we had committed ourselves to each other, to be together for the rest of our lives, and even consider reciting the prosaic marriage vows; the magic will be lost, the poetic performances would have ceased. Nowadays, people are too rational and routinary. When we were together reason had no place in our existence and dull, monotonous thoughts and acts were not welcomed. There was the effort to create something fresh within our world. It could be as childish as writing our wishes in pieces of papers, tying them with balloons, and letting the balloons fly; or it could be as dangerous as riding his motorcycle past midnight in Regalado..

Among my Cassanovas, he was the only one who stayed the longest. He learned soon enough not to expect anything from me and he understood well that I could never offer him anything more than what we had. He never showed up in my doorstep. He never sent me flowers. He never wrote love letters neither sent sweet text messages. And most importantly, he never went down on his knees and offered a ring.

He was everything I pictured what a Cassanova, my Cassanova should be. While the others were dwindling one by one, disappearing in the shadows of my thoughts, forgettable creatures of God; he was still there. As I dumped the others with remorse, I knew it was only a matter of time before he gets rid of me.

It was over coffee and donuts at Read and Brew that we finally said farewell. Despite the commonplace feel of the quaint coffee shop, it did not prevent us from “performing” again. We never said a word. For some strange reason, we both knew at the exact moment that it was time.

I excused myself and headed to the restroom. Before entering the restroom door, I stopped and wrote at the freedom wall: “Among my Cassanovas, you are the most loved.” Knowing that he would be reading what I scribbled, I waited in the cubicle for a few minutes. When I stepped out he was gone, a red plastic flower was waiting for me in my seat and a small note said, “Just occurred to me I never gave you flowers.”

"I like to" kuno

2008-05-25T03:38:00.000-07:00

Discovered this trick in google. Type "(your name) likes to" in google, click search. Copy-paste the first ten results.

Angela likes to wear bandanas - Um, nope. I don't think so.

Angela likes to read various pieces on liturgy - Probably the book of Psalms because it's poetry

Angela likes to laugh at all sorts of things - Check.

Angela likes to sing the sweet role of Michaela - More like the role of Mimi Marquez.

Angela likes to visit Boulder's Cave because she can see the river and the bats and the water fall there. - No idea where Boulder's Cave is but it sounds cool, except for the bats though.

Angela likes to shop - Hell yeah!

When she's not working, Angela likes to bike, jog, cook, read, and watch movies. One day she'll take that trip down to Mexico. - I don't know how to ride a bike. I rarely jog. Cook, check. Read and watch movies, double check. Mexico? Absofuckinglutely!

When not at work Angela likes to spend time with her family. - My friends are my family, so yeah.

In the evenings, Angela likes to cook, read books or just sit with her mother and have a chat. - Triple check.

Angela likes to say to people 'If I can do this, I believe anyone can. It's simply a matter of choice. - The fact that you're living is one hell of a choice. Otherwise, you should have already killed yourself.

2008-05-24T03:13:00.000-07:00

Finally figured out how to correct the time and date of my posts. I've been blogging for more than five years (having my first two blogs erased for probably, nonsensical reasons) and I never cared to learn how to "prettify" my blogs.

I'm watching this pathetic German Moreno show (again for illogical reasons) and five male hosts in barong tagalogs are flirting with a 14 year-old FilAm singer, wannabe actress. It's so disgusting.

My god, and do you know who is the manager she is thanking right now?

Manny Pacquiao.

Lord, what is the world coming to?

Exhaustion has crept my fragile body today. Come to think of it, it wasn't even supposed to be a tiring day. I basically just beat my script deadline. It was a bit tedious but it was worth it. I was happy to have incorporated cubism in the episode. It's an okay work, I guess.

We had a writers' meeting last Thursday. The other writers were all nice. I've guessed, that once again I had found myself amongst the veterans and experienced, i.e meaning I might be the youngest in the pack. Four of the writers wrote for Hiraya Manawari, which is a show that I loved watching as a kid while munching packs and packs of Piattos chips. I felt intimated. I actually want to slap myself whenever I feel even a tinge of intimidation because it might open the portals of the dark regions of 'low self-esteem'.
Gina, the headwriter, told me I'm good. I need to hang on to that belief.

I am good. I am happy. I'm living the life that I want.

It's enough for me now, I guess.

The problem with me is I'm losing focus and I know it, but then I'm hardly doing anything about it. I was 19 when I knew I wanted to be a writer, but then I entertained other things. I dilly-dallied with other stuff so there was hardly any progress (and unfortunately, improvement). I even let myself be harassed and enslaved by painful Production of media capitalism before going back to my pen and paper. I felt I had to pick up the pieces from there and start from square one.

So many missed opportunities. But hey sweetie, don't cry over spilled milk.

There's a novel manuscript lying aimlessly in my study table. It needs a whole lot of fine tuning. Logic tells me that I should get my butt moving and work on it before classes start. An invisible force nudges me to relax and take my time.

Time. But see, time is a funny thing. I would want to feel and believe that I have my entire life to work on my chosen life's work. Hurrying off to my destination would be a futile thing. But then again, time is wasted toothpaste you can never put back inside the tube. I can't deny the fact that a day missed working on a manuscript is one day minus a possibility of getting in a workshop or winning a contest.

I recall one of Sir Dennis's last insights to me when we bumped into each other at the department last sembreak. I told him I was freelancing for a travel magazine at that time. He told me to drop it. I thought it wasn't so bad, so as long as I'm writing and getting published (regardless of genre) I'm happy. I'm sensing that he only wants me to focus on my fiction. If that's the case, he has a very good point.

praningELA, you shouldn't dwell on these things. Think nice, pretty things. Think of rabbit-shaped clouds. Think of bubble gum flavored cotton candy. Think of pitchers of margarita. Think of a beautiful full moon.

It's 3:02 in the morning. I've been writing for an entire day. I'm just tired, I guess.
See, it even shows how I write this post--mediocre.

I'll try to sleep, try being the operative word. My insomnia is kicking in.

My god, the German Moreno show is not yet done.
I'm seeing acrobatic performers.
I'm turning off the tube.

Sa Sampung Bagay na Ginawa ng Diyos, Labing-Isa ay mga Di-sinasadyang Pagkakamali

2008-05-20T10:32:00.000-07:00

Walang gabing, walang mataimtim na panalangin
sa mga bughaw at sumasayaw na mga ulap na
minsan bumulag sa aking pakitid na pakitid na pag-iisip.

Nakita ko ang dapat, alam kong
sagot sa mithiing huwad.
Sa saliw ng musikang
lumalason ng kaluluwa,
indak ng mga mananayaw na kinupas ng bagong sining
at nilimot ng maramot na panahon, doon, doon ko
nadatnan ang kanyang payapang pag-idlip.

Nainggit ako sa kanyang pagkakahimlay,
doon sa halamanang buhay sa mga mapupulang rosas
na walang tinik.
Pumupulot sa kanyang mapuputing binti ang mga
biyoletang orkidyas. Sumisibol ang hinihigaang
damong binerde ng pagwaksi at paglimot.

Ang damyo ng hangin sa aking pisngi
ay malamig at nakakasugat.
Binulungan lamang ako ng pagkutya
at pagalit.
Walang paghuni ng pag-asa.
Walang pag-awit ng pagdamay.

Aniya ko sa aking sarili,
hindi patas ang mundo.

Nahawakan ko ang nag-iisang hibla
ng mga pangarap na inamag.
Aking hinila ang malungkot na sinulid
para lamang masiyasat ang pagkawala ng lahat.

Unti-unting naubos ang matamis na dagta
na nagpalusog sa mga pusong tabang at
nagpaniig sa liwanag ng buwan.
Alat ng dagat ang nalasahan
sa mga labing uhaw sa alimpuyo ng dalisay at
mainit na pagsiping
sa bagong panganak na araw.

Bakit kaya ang mga panalangin
ay walang kasagutan?
Bakit kaya ang mga pagsusumamo
ay walang katapusan?

Sa ritmo ng kalituhan sa pagitan ng puso
at isip.
Saan ang espasyo na magkukubli sa aking kaligayahan?

A Letter to the Unborn

2008-05-14T11:27:00.000-07:00

March 11, 2008
3:16 am

Something for Mother's Day

My Dearest,

What you are reading now is a script woven in the aisles of shelves 25 and 26 of the UP CAL library. A few minutes ago, she was in search of a subject, and from the Filipiniana section of the Diliman Main Library; she avoided puddles of rainwater and sauntered to CAL building.

In the middle of her conscious wandering, she unclutters her thoughts and finally thinks of you—a foreshadowing memory within the recesses of her mind.

Did you know that almost five years before this letter was being written, your mother was told that she could never have someone like you? The ob-gynecologist of Lucy Torres-Gomez informed your mother very mechanically, inside her fancy St. Luke’s Hospital clinic, that your mother could never conceive. With X-ray films, lab and internal exam results laid out on the doctor’s Maplewood table; she said flat out “Hindi ka mabubuntis. You’re not ovulating.” The heavily made-up doctor further explained that her reproductive system was not producing egg cells. Your mother was bombarded by so many medical terms that she could not even recall at which point the doctor said, “Something can be done about it. With a series of tests and meds, there would be a slight chance for pregnancy.” But your mother said, no. Not at that time. “Saka na lang, doc.” Her tone was firm and final.

But here she is, writing this letter to you. Wondering whether the beautiful doctor misinterpreted the tests or the tests misinterpreted her body, and hoping that by this letter you will see a better light of the person she truly is.

The mother that I’m certain, you wish you truly know is someone who, at some point, detests motherhood. She never entertains the prospect that she can be a mother someday. Since she was a child, she has already built in her mind that she will be like those modern-day gypsy princesses, high-spirited and carefree. Living an urbanite, nomadic's life; her idea of a life truly living is of an eternal, non-circuitous hedonistic whimsical deeds with random strangers.

However, in times of misfortunes and tragedies she slowly retreats to her small hole--not saying a word to anyone, trying to imagine how to feel inexistent. She is unafraid of death, loss, and aging. What she fears most is to be ordinary.

There is nothing more of a tragedy than to realize that your entire life is nothing but a composite of dull moments. That time, which is our world's only unreplenished commodity, just slips away from your hands like grains of sand without even capturing every breathing hour, minute, second, millisecond. For each waking day, she only lives by three things: honesty, loyalty, and passion. Honesty to every human being. Loyalty to each comrade. And passion to the world and one's life work.

Your mother never sees herself as a domestic woman. She is feisty, a semi-spoiled brat who will throw tantrums like a three year-old child when she is bored. She never stays in a place too long. She is impulsive and easily changes her mind within a split second. She doesn’t know how to cook, clean, and change diapers. She is completely ignorant on how to get rid of the toughest stains and the bathroom’s stubborn mildews. And she likes it that way. She is better at composing hateful and romantic prose. She is wonderful at nit-picking in other writers’ fiction. She loves to argue and twist peoples’ fallacies against them. She hates to lose in an argument, especially about something she's very passionate about.

Many people see her as sweet and charming, but it was not long ago that she was a snob, bitch, and thought that she was always better than everybody else. One of her achievements in her first work in TV Production was acquiring titles such as “Snow Queen”, “Ms. Control Freak”, and “Bitchesa”. However being a college teacher has made her human, though it takes a lot of effort for her not to animorph in front of her students once in a while.

Your mother can never live up to the title “mother”. She is scared shit! Fucking terrified! Yes, that’s the sort of language she currently uses to communicate with people. She curses in the middle of random conversations and she doesn’t mind if you should have acquired that distasteful trait of hers. However, believe me when I tell you that she is aspiring to age gracefully similar to Isabel Preysler, Cristina Pantoja-Hidalgo, and Gilda Cordero-Fernando. In the process, she is struggling to change a few of her stubborn ways.

So, I beg you now. Please forgive her for her indiscretions. Forgive whatever loathsome emotions you have towards her. Perhaps, you are feeling that she is more of a negligent older sister than an absentee mother. Don’t hate her if she forced you to know Nietzsche and Ginsberg in the middle of grade school. Never despise her for shoving books after books in your face every weekend, in between homeworks, and before going to bed. She is now learning, unlearning, and re-learning life mostly through them and she thinks that it will also be the best for you since she is too messed up to create an ideal universe for you. She can never be like the mothers of your classmates and friends, always the ‘idol’ or the ‘first and perfect teacher’. She is telling you now, child that your idol is only the person you wish to become someday and the first and perfect teacher is nothing else but life itself.

You create your own cosmos, my sweet. Not even an imperfect mother like her can ever help you design the realities you want to exist in. It is only in these pages that you see glimpses of hers. You may love or hate her for it.

Now, go forth dearest. Live, love, lose; only to live again.

An Ordeal Onstage

2008-04-28T01:12:00.000-07:00

I stop in the middle of the song—I hear my voice crack, then abruptly fade—I lost the lyric—I lost the lyric—Tears continue to stream down my cheeks—I can’t stop the waterfall from flowing—It flows and flows and flows—I bite my lip—My lips quiver—I am gasping for air—The room looks small, tighter, scarier—Everyone is staring at me—I swallow hard—I almost choke—My right hand feels my chest—Heart hammering, thundering inside—I can feel her presence in the song—Her pain is there—Her pain is mine—It has to be mine—It is—It is—She’s weak—Dying—Her time is also up—She loves you—She loves you, you fucking moron—She can’t say it—Afraid that you’ll leave her—That you’ll leave her heart trashed, destroyed, mutilated to be devoured by insects, worms—Can’t you see it, you insensitive prick—She is speaking with her eyes—She is pleading for you—All she asks for is your love—The passion to be alive, burning again—She’s been concealing—Everything, everything—Buried deeply, intimately inside the secret compartments of her soul—You must love her—There isn’t much time left—You must—Have to—To save both of your souls—No regrets—No regrets—The director tells me I have no control—“You have to control your emotions, or else you will always stop in the middle of the performance.”—I look at him, in his eyes—I see fear in them—I know he understands what is happening—The transformation—It isn’t me he is speaking to—The persona appears to him, like a ghostly apparition—A transcendence that not even Shakespeare could have possibly interpreted with his quills and parchments—Or Stanislaviski, with his system leading to hysteria—He is telling the persona to “control her emotions”—But how can she—How can I—She is human—I am human—We can never control something genuine, transparent—“I’m sorry”—I wipe the tears—The pianist keys in the first notes—I sing again—Tears fall again—But I do not stop—The sorrow is killing me—My lungs compressing in every high octave—I can feel it in my every bone—She is dying—I am dying with her—But I do not stop—She refuses that I stop—I let her take-over me—A possession refusing to be exorcised—The world is pitch black—No stage, spotlight, director, co-actors exists—Only the melancholic death of the song’s melody—She and the man she longs to be loved—I and the memory of the young man in snapshots—She is speaking to him—I am singing to the evanescing memories—Then the last note comes—She wishes it never has to end—He still has his back on her—No, not yet—Please, she begs—Not the last note—She wails—Still, it comes inevitably—Sealing all the world's and lovers' tragedies--That every single human being will undoubtedly be consumed.

Confession II

2008-04-16T17:38:00.000-07:00

I bumped into you yesterday, while you were buying ice cream. I immediately noticed her familiar face from your pictures. Then I realized that you were wearing the shirt I gave you last Christmas.
I was with a friend, we were in an intense discussion about a writer friend who has a brain of a 40 year-old. Then you were with her.
I smiled at you.
You gave me a nod.

A nod.
I guess for you, I was only worthy of
A nod.

I said I have always loved you. But at that moment, I wanted to take the ice cream and smash it on your face. Since the other day I have been craving for ice cream, then I found you buying one with her. If I was my former self I'd probably ask you to take off the Kurt Cobain shirt and say, "Do you have any idea how many hours it took me to find this shirt for you? And you're only going to wear it when you're with her?" Then I'd look at her with scrutiny, as if she was a bacteria, a microorganism, a lactobacillus shirota strain.

But then again, I'm different now. Still insane, but calmer.
So I simply walked away.

Last night, I went out to drink. I finished a lot beer, more than what I could normally consume. I decided that it's better to self-destruct than make enemies. I strongly believe in karma and besides you know me well enough that I'm not really good with confrontations.

I'm letting you go now. I'm shunning your philosophies, memories, and crazy stories in my head.
This would be the last time you'd see yourself in these pages.

Adieu!

2008-04-08T08:22:00.000-07:00

I'm sleepy. I stink. And the dishes are piling on the sink.
This is one of the beauties of living alone. No one cares if you don't care. No one's going to yell at you when one day you decide to be all lazy and hermit-like.
I think I'm once again sick with hermititis.
Phone calls, text messages, e-mails, and PMs keep coming from all directions. I'm ignoring everyone. Hello, people? I'm in mourning. We just lost Papa. I was the only person he asked while he was on his deathbed. It was my voice he listened to while he fought for his life.
We still can't believe he's gone. I can't believe he's gone.
Can't anyone see I just want to be left alone?
People, please. Try to at least be sensitive.

Don't look for me. Magpaparamdam na lang ako.

I've been doing a Greta Garbo and it may take a while before I'm out of it.

Confession

2008-04-07T20:34:00.000-07:00

Vulnerability can do amazing things to people, especially to those who have forced upon themselves to be strong when they already would want to be weak. Vulnerability can make people honest, sincere, and human—truly human.

Mimi Marquez sang:

We must let go

to know what’s right.

So, I’m letting go now; not caring if I would jump from a 100-storey building or swim in thousand feet deep, shark-infested waters.

I’m letting go now. So, here goes.

A senior co-faculty in the department told me that what I show is the exact opposite of what my heart truly wants. I realized that what she said was true. So, would it mean that what I have said all along are lies? I don’t know, perhaps. It confuses me still.

The truth is? I’ve had this conversation before with my bestfriend. I’ve always wanted so many things, daydreamt of so many fantasies, wished for so many magical moments. And behind every earnest prayer and whisper of hope is a glimpse of a chance that maybe it would happen tomorrow, or next week, or next month.

I dream of a kiss, along with a thousand couples kissing in Lovapalooza. I dream of a kiss on a beach, the same time the lips of the sun touches the waters’. I dream of an embrace that would blanket me ‘till I am on my deathbed. And every time we will say, “I love you” to each other tears will start to fall because of the overpowering emotion. We know that a million “I love you’s” won’t be enough to full express how we feel toward each other. Words will never be enough. We will both know and understand within our hearts that we are truly, by heaven’s hand, destined for each other.

I want that passionate rapture of a lover’s kiss that will last a lifetime. I long for that love that will engulf me in flames and leave me burns and scars until the day I die. And every time I am close to him is both an undeviating euphoria of both heaven and hell. We both trust our souls that we are in each others’ perfect time and place. And that we fulfill each others’ dreams.

I should tell you

I should tell you.

I have always loved you.

It’s true. I have always loved you.

But you love too much and you love too many.

Oftentimes I sense that I am no match to all those beautiful, heavenly women you love and fall for.

I’ve grown tired, exhausted of men fleeting in and out of my life. They’ve all been wonderful, memorable, and were loved in their own ways. But I have been doing it for more than seven years. Seven years is a long time, almost a decade. I’m tired of the mind games. I’m finally yearning for a love that needs no logic, no rules, no pseudo-whatever. It’s either you are or you’re not.

I give love to almost everyone I meet. Would it be too much to ask that for once I would be given the same thing? That I would be drowned by an overwhelming sensation of overflowing love? Like, it would give me a heart attack, or something.

And I don’t think it’s a selfish request.

I guess I started feeling this way when, almost two years ago, a former lover had asked “What is it you really want?” and I answered him “something true and sincere”. That night I felt in his embrace that he could never offer me that, so the next morning I was out his door.

A couple of days ago, I went to my favorite sanctuary—the Taoist temple. I washed my hands, took the longest joss stick, bowed thrice, and took a pair of kidney-shaped wood. I whispered to the gods a question. It has been lingering in my head for the longest time.

They answered.

“No.”

The gods have decided. Your destiny will not meet mine.

I know I should trust what my soul declares. But sometimes we cannot control what our destiny foretells.

Trying to be Cebuana

2008-03-24T23:49:00.000-07:00

A death in the family has forced me to abruptly leave my teacher and student duties and fly here in Cebu. Questions darted from my anxious Filmfest kids and some students when they learned the news; “Ma’am when are you going back?” I don’t know. “Ma’am, are you going back?” I don’t know. “Ma’am will you still be here next semester?” I don’t know. “Ma’am, what about summer class?” Prof. Vidal said she would want me to teach a new subject, but I still don’t know. Even my mother asked, “How about your MA?” I also don’t know.
It seems irresponsible to be very uncertain of things that make up 90% of my life. But seriously kids, my dear students; I really don’t know.

I’ve now settled in an office dormitory. Thanks to my mother’s connections and reputation, the rent is free of charge. I like the dorm because it seems so ghetto and very incognito. A separate building, it’s just a few paces away from the regional office. It’s on the second floor of the motorpool or the office garage and the staircase leading to it is hidden behind the mess hall.
Once you’ve climbed up the stairs there’s a narrow hallway that separates the rooms from the bathrooms. On the right are three showers and one toilet and across it are three rooms, each room is fully airconditioned and has three soft beds and mini-closets.
I was assigned in room 2.
When I arrived, I got excited at the dorm’s exact location because it felt like a secret room, or something. Then when I saw the place I was amazed how uberly-clean it was. The floor was newly polished. The sheets smell of fabric conditioner. The shower rooms and toilet seemed untouched. I asked, Kuya Jun, the nightshift guard how old was the dorm. “Seven years na po, ma’am,” he answered.
I figured living in the dorm was not much different to the time I lived in UPLB with housemates and/or roommates. But then as days passed I discovered it is more fun living here.
Mornings here are as almost as quiet as nighttime, if not for the crowing of the neighbors’ roosters. The sunlight hardly seeps in through the windows so I had to get out of the room and stand between the top of the staircase and the main door, just get some sun. From there, a view of the neighbors’ dilapidated shanties welcomes me and on my right is another government office building.
Every morning, around six or seven, I always bring my coffee mug over that spot and watch as an old neighbor (whom I secretly call Mang Oscar because he sort of looks like Oscar the Grouch) drinks his own cup of coffee while having his morning cigarette. He always does his morning ritual sitting on the roof of his house with his black-and-red rooster.
Aside from the guards, who keep my existence in the dorm a secret, the guard of the other office building sees me take my morning coffee or take out my trash every now and then. By the third morning, I started the habit of greeting him “Ma-ayo nga buntag, manong!” though it is an effort for me to stretch my vocal chords at an early hour. Manong Guard, as I secretly call him, will smile and raise his coffee cup in response.
Living in an office dorm is like a game for me. It’s a game of how long can I keep my stay inside the dorm a secret from the people who work here. The only ones who know I live here are Kuya Jun, Kuya Cesar (the morningshift guard), the regional Director, and my relatives in Simuon where I go every night. None of the staff knows I’m here.

My mother taught me an interesting way to wash dishes without the use of dishwashing paste, bar or liquid (given that I have none). She instructed me to mix bath soap with either toothpaste or shampoo. I opted for the bath soap + shampoo combination, at least my plastic utensils and plates smell fruity-flowery sweet.
Doing my laundry in the dorm is a bit more difficult though because despite the cleanliness of the shower rooms and toilet I was surprised to discover the absence of a sink. So I had to do my laundry using the super old fashion way—with the timba. I know I can have my clothes taken to a laundromat but I live in Brgy. Sudlon in Lahug which is a bit far from downtown and I’m too lazy to leave the dorm every other morning just to take and pick up my clothes from a laundromat.
I’m also learning to make my way around the city, with jeeps that has both numbers and names for tags. It only takes one jeep ride from Sudlon to SM City Cebu, which is I think became twice as big since the last time I was here. I’ve been to the Cathedral and the famous park Fuente. Though going to Simuon from Sudlon is still a bit tricky for me. Most of the time I have to take a cab going there because it confuses me which jeep will take me near Simuon. The cab driver said that jeeps only go as far as, is it Gorordo or Echavez? Jeeps won’t pass Sikatuna, Bonifacio, and Ibarra.
Another thing that I discovered in residential downtown Cebu City, it is composed of narrow streets and alleys; much like downtown Manila City.
One convenient thing though, UP College Cebu is near Sudlon. UPC is also in Lahug and one will pass it on the way to the dorm. I’ve already submitted my application documents yesterday, just waiting for their response.

Time's up for now.
Have errands to do.
Later.

With something better to do but trying to escape from it for awhile..

2008-02-28T09:27:00.000-08:00

Dahil na rin sa paulit-ulit na pangangaral sa amin ng aming magaling na propesor na ang Filipino ay ang Lingua Franca ng bansa, na nangangahulugan na mas marami ang mga mambabasa at magbabasa kung ang salitang gamit ay Filipino (at hindi Tagalog dahil iba ‘yon) susubukan ko ulit magsulat sa mga pahina nito. Subok lang, okay?

Minsan napapaisip ako kung may katuturan pa ba ang mga pinagagagawa’t pinagsasabi ko. Lalo na sa harap ng mga estudyante (pansinin na estudyante ang aking ginamit at hindi mag-aaral) ko. Napapansin ko na nagiging madalas ang pagkawala ko sa aking sarili. Marahil kasi nagiging komportable at kampante ako. Kailangan kong paalalahanan ang aking sarili na mag-ingat, basta mag-ingat lang. Hinay-hinay lang kumbaga.

Siguro, dala na rin ito ng pagod. Malapit na mag alas dos ng madaling araw at gabundok pa rin ang mga mamarkahan kong mga papel, pero heto ako’t nangangarap sa harap ng laptop at nagbabakasakali na makahabi gamit ang lenggwaheng para sa akin ay banyaga.

Nagpapakahenyo kuno.

Sisigawan lang ako ng aking kataling-pusod na “Poser!”

Bahala na. Poser na kung poser. Subok lang naman,e.

Pagod na ang mga mata. Pagod na rin ang utak. Pero ang mga kamay, hindi pa. Gusto pa magsulat,e. Hayop, parang-awa mo na! Pahinga na tayo! Alas otso ko pa gagamitin sina mata’t utak mamaya. Kailangang parehas silang matalas para madaling makapanloko ng mga bata, madali makapagturo ng mga kalokohan.

Sabik na rin pala akong tumawa. Hindi lang yung bungisngis o hagikgik. Madali lang yun,e. Gusto ko yung literal na hagalpak. Yung tipong yung tawa mo parang galing sa esophagus, tapos akala mo nasa tumba-tumba ka kasabay ang pagpalo sa iyong hita o mesa. Tapos yung pisngi mo parang nagkaroon ng instant facelift.

Naalala ko tuloy si Green Butterfly. Walang panahon na hindi ako humagalpak sa katatawa kapag siya ang aking kasama. Ganito ang kadalasang pinagmumulan ng tawanan:

Ako: (parang host ng Ms. Universe) And now, ladies and gentlemen. May I present to

you the stunning Ms. Iraq!

Green Butterfly: (rarampa at magpopose, sabay kaway) Bratatatat!! Bratatatat!! Patay

kayong lahat, IRAQ!

Tawanan.

Ako: Thank you, Ms. Iraq. Next we have, Ms. Malaysia!

Green Butterfly: Malay ko. Malay n’yo. Malay nating lahat! MALAYSIA!

Tawanan ulit.

Ako: O, Green Butterfly kamusta naman ang sexlife natin ngayon?

Green Butterfly: Eto, ganun pa rin, self-supporting!

At tuloy-tuloy na ang hagalpakan.

Kung babasahin ang tapunan ng mga salita, maaring isipin mo corny. Iba pa rin talaga kapag makita mo ang kakaibang alindog ni Green Butterfly.

O siya, sige. Tama na muna. Susubukan ko ng matulog. Baka isipin ng mga estudyante ko gumimik ako at nangingitim na naman ang ilalim ng mga mata ko.

The few things that make me smile these days...

2008-02-25T17:51:00.000-08:00

1. Have silver stars over my black nail polish. My nails glitter at night.

2. Detox night again tonight.

3. My wonderful, amazing, brilliant students

4. I see a light of hope in my YAL novel

5. My students' Filmfest and Major Production

6. Mangoes, Cookies 'n' Cream refrigerated cake

7. Kiat-kiat

8. Chocolate Mudslide

9. songs in RENT, the Broadway Musical

10. bohemian ensembles in my closet

Shopping List 2

2008-02-08T04:07:00.000-08:00

1. Detoxing at my favorite coffee shop in Fairview. My detox jesters are not with me because of their preparation for the College Ball. Which is, in a way, a good thing because I can finally maximize the Wi-Fi use here and just blog away.

2. My students in World Literature just finished their Midterm performance today. Though I know I shouldn't be surprised, still my students' individual performances impressed me. In the morning class I found out that more than half of them have terrific voices. Most of them did individual Broadway interpretations. Although unfortunately there are some who automatically failed because they didn't show up on the day of their performance. And I said, "No Show, No Performance, No Grade". It seems that I might have to fail minor students this semester.

3. Just learned that the student which I referred in my previous post is starting "to fix his life". He's gone cold turkey from the ciggies and the ganja, and does art therapy instead. Surprisingly, he has another hidden talent.. ink drawing. He was able to copy the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in full detail.

4. I need to add another routine in my calendar: every first Tuesday of the month Romancing Venus performs their poetry at Conspiracy. Together with my MA classmates, was able to get a dose of the event with a band performance of Matilda.

5. Two weeks ago, was able to meet Dr. Mark Blasius of Princeton University. He's a former dissertation advisee of the great Michel Foucault. He talked about queer theory and queer politics and it seemed weird that the LBTQI community in the Philippines are not aware and using the term "queer" in its academic definition even in its perceived colloquial. It was only a shame that J. Neil Garcia (who's out of the country because of a Fulbright scholarship) wasn't there during the talk. It would have been great listening to intense queerist discourse between him and Dr. Blasius.

Shopping List

2008-02-03T03:15:00.000-08:00

1. My dreams died with Heath Ledger.

2. Gardner said that best fictionist create the greatest lies. Therefore, commonsense tells you to be skeptic of great or even good writers-- words are their weapons, whether by hand or mouth.

3. A college friend remarked the other day, "Sweetie, where did your heart go? You suddenly became the epitome of a uber rational, logical human being."
"Why do you ask that question?" I replied. "I've been holding my tongue most of the time. The few times that I do slip it is only with a sense of firmness and conviction. But that doesn't mean I'm heartless."
"Maybe I just haven't seen you for the longest time. You feel different, strange."
I smiled. "I've always been this way--but only thru internal monologues."

4. Brave. I would aptly describe my students as brave.
Last semester I had a student who never came to my class without doing the ganja first. Ironically, he is one of th very few people who makes sense in the college. At 17, he loves to contradict philosophers, writers and artists; he makes his own theories about anything and everything. He idolizes Kafka, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy and Roth. He's great at making lies.
He lied about having an accident.
He lied about being a battered son.
He lied about his father beating up his mother.
He lied about his need to work because his father won't give him money.
He lied about the need to drop my Journalism class because he couldn't handle his academic load.
That's why he make terrific poetry and stories.
And though he's often late and absent.
It did not pain me to give him a very high grade in Creative Writing, because his fiction was incomparable from the class.
He doesn't have to be a good student.
He only needs to be a great writer.

5. "I love you Jay!"
I would scream at the top of my voice as a goodbye greeting to Jay. People at the bar/street/resto would stare at me but I didn't care.
Tuesday night is detox night with my MA classmates, and we're a funny bunch-- lesbian, gay and two straights. After Sir Hidalgo's class it became our thing to wander the streets of UP, Katipunan or whatever place and we'd land either to a bar, resto, or any artsyfartsy place that has good music and great food. There we'd talk about our lives, preach our ideologies; be angsty about insensitive bosses who makes us slaves, professors who think we don't write like MA students and students (since two of us are college instructors) who don't care if they learn something or not.
I say to them, "This is how I see it. These giants we look up to-- Almario, Abad, Brillantes, etc. Time will come that their generation will be long gone. They'll be legends, like historical figures. Then when that day comes, we'll be the giants. We will stand over their sepulchers, admire them. Then dream of our own sepulchers."
Jay says, "If we make our writing as our careers."
We ask him, "Why isn't writing supposed to be our life, if not our breathing air?"
After that night I came to realize that not all my comrades think and feel the same way I do as to why we enrolled in the program. I'm sure all of our reasons are legitimate. But then again I suddenly began to question mine.

Putting myself in Vacuum

2008-01-19T03:15:00.000-08:00

Currently in a vacuum, within the four cold walls of my mom's room (because I don't have aircondition in my own) and reflected on the events of the recent days.
Someone mentioned that my students adore me, but in so many ways it's the other way around. I enjoy our conversations, me being a functional elite and they representative of the masses. We always found ourselves in Schramm's field-of-experience thingy, despite the contrasting social backgrounds, priorities, and logical and emotional faculties. For them, I am thankful that my days as a college instructor is crazy-fun-dramatic-with gaps of tragedies all at the same time. And that the channeling of intellectual and emotional discourse is both synchronic and diachronic-- we are often in the process of digging deeper and expanding our views.
I am surrounded with artsy-fartsy, brilliant, motivatedly-competitive people. Each of them have a vision, have a fresh perception of the world, have innocent/complicated lives that is a perfect melting pot for something creative, subversively fun, and even genius.
I wake in the morning with the utmost eager to share the entirety of me. A colleague often say that my efforts may be futile for there is no assurance that all of my students can/are willing to digest what sort of dishes and concoctions I prepare them.
But that's the point. You educate, share/overshare your experiences, preach your insights and views of the world.. not expecting anything in return. When you try so hard convincing them this-and-that, choke them down with your agenda; in this specific institution they will surely repel due to indigestion.
Make them know. Make them feel. Make them think. Then, make them decide.
But do not expect..
Only let yourself be surprised with what sort of things they can offer.

The bottomline is have fun.
When they see that you're having a blast.
They will, most definitely, too.

2007-12-30T00:11:00.000-08:00

There is no pre-destined thing for a person. You exist today and tomorrow because you chose not to kill yourself today.

I received a Christmas getting from Iohannes, instantly I knew something pleasant will happen. If the phoenix would be reborn from its ashes, after a long period of spiritual slumber, history indeed will repeat itself.

The phoenix has risen to weave another tale of dysfunctionalism, series of mayhem, and gypsy-like romances. Though the cycle has been too tiresome for me at the end because of the Order of Masks I unconsciously paraded to the members of the opposite gender specie. Exhilarating, yet exhausting. Exciting, yet self-refuting.
I love it sometimes
I hate it sometimes.

Uncertainties folded with never-ending internal debates and discussions and complexities waiting to be untangled. I'm tired with cerebral discourse. All I want is peace, love and positivism flowing everywhere.

But what's keeping things for being as such?

I have to pick the masks one by one and create a new one from its parts.
Brilliant. Fun. Passion.

Terror Professor Imitates Terror Professor

2007-12-13T06:30:00.000-08:00

My headlinish title pretty much sums it all.

While I am making my students' prelims exam, I think that I am using it as an outlet of coping with Sir Hidalgo's class. After the unnerving report on Sikolohiyang Pilipino, Pantayong Pananaw/ Bagong Kasaysayan, and Pilipinolohiya; I suddenly became a bit insensitive during class discussions I have with my students. I am especially doing it in my Mythology and Folklore class as I gave them their holiday readings.

I was voted as Campus Sweetheart. I am nice in class but I'm ruthless during quizzes and major exams. And I've warned my students.

The exams I've prepared are difficult.

Hellish difficult.

I hope they studied their asses.

I don't even know why I said "yes"

2007-12-12T05:36:00.001-08:00

Aileen is hooking me up on a blind date, an officemate of hers.
And I don't even know why I said "yes".

When people ask (especially the older faculty members in the college) why presently I don't have a boyfriend. I often tell them, without any pretension, that I don't mind not having one at the moment. I am happy with how things are going on with my life. Maybe because I've been comfortable not having a partner for a very long time.

In certain instances it is convenient. In certain instances it tends to be lonely.

But then at the end of the day, I am always thankful with the things that I have (career, MA studies, family, and friends) and things that I don't.

Aileen and the guy are just waiting me to send a text message when is my free time.

Like I said, I don't even know why I said "yes". But I hope that he and I would be friends. And then we'll see if Aileen will succeed with her endeavor.

Opposite Extremes

2007-12-07T06:26:00.000-08:00

Two words fittingly describe my MA classes every Tuesday. Ma'am Heidi Abad's Writing for Young Adult Literature and Sir Antonio Hidalgo's Special Problems.
We're a wonderful bunch in the YAL writing class and Ma'am Heidi's approach is laidback, thus the entire learning and writing process is enjoyable (in a very playful way). Three hours seem to pass so quickly.
Since I started taking YAL writing classes last sem (under Sir Gerry), my writing routines became more fun. There's always an ecstatic feeling whenever I would start and end a piece. Being in these classes are helping me a lot with my teaching since I am now teaching Children's Literature, Mythology, and Folklore.
I like the fact that I'm teaching strategies in teaching Children's Literature. I like the feeling that it gives me whenever I would read Children and Young Adult Fiction. I love it whenever I would write a Children and YAL short story. And I love my storytelling sessions with the young children.
Sir Gaddi is helping me with a piece. It's a Filipino Children's narrative in verse form. We've been working on the revisions for almost a week and I love every minute I spend with the text though the actual act of revising in Filipino is painful.
Finishing a work intended for children and teenagers, is a fulfilling experience. Frankly, it gives me a "higher high" than writing adult fiction.
Looks like I found my genre.

On the other side of the galaxy, Special Problems class is way more serious since we're dealing the problems Filipino contemporary writers face today with the use of Postcolonial Theories. Sir Hidalgo's lectures are very intense, ranging from literature, history, economics, anthoropology, sociology, philosophy, and political science. The two terms he coined, centrifugal and centripetal forces, we're even taken from physics. I enjoy his class because of the highly intellectual discussions and it forces me to read about everything regarding postcolonialism and postructuralism. Though, one thing that bothers me is that my classmates and I have observed that Sir seems to like to hear himself talk all the time. He's open to our insights, but we get the impression that he likes to disagree with us often. Well, ofcourse he might only be challenging us in our assertions but does he have to refute us every discussion?
Last meeting's discussion on of my classmates, Jay from UST, said "Ikaw naman ang nabara ni sir, ha?" which I was very aware. I told him I will always risk it in Sir Hidalgo's class because it's hard for me not to speak what's on my mind, because (1) the room is cold and I'd probably doze off and (2) if I don't speak or ask questions I would get lost with the discussion and my thoughts would wander off. Speaking up in class helps me to concentrate with the discussions. But in fairness, I do it in moderation.
And the consequence? Sir Hidalgo distributed the handouts and said, "Angela, I think you should report on this." I glanced at the essay, " Overview of the Indigenization Movement in the Philippine Academy". "Oh great," I thought sarcastically.
I've read the thick article thrice, so basically it tackles the terms Pantayong Pananaw and Sikolohiyang Pilipino, and many other things that posits Philippine culture and indigenization as the center of study in the Philippine Academy (a.k.a UP). First reading, it was boring. Though eventually I grew to like it as a dissected it.
Sir Hidalgo's class is a huge challenge. Like SPCM 105 in my undergraduate major. I still have no idea what to write for my paper(s) and its due on the 10th week.

Grad school is becoming increasingly difficult. Surprisingly, I'm enjoying that it is becoming as such.

I am now able to adjust efficiently in my teaching load, though it's still a handful of units. But now I am adjusting in dealing with my Speech class because I have 58 Accounting and HRM students. While the rest of my classes, students are 25 or less.

Since I started teaching, aside from being sensitive, patient, and human again, I feel I'm regressing. It's as if I'm having a second childhood because my first one was a faux. It all started when everyone in the faculty called me the "baby" of the Department because I was the youngest. Because of the nickname they somewhat treated me as such. And honestly, I find it nice and endearing. I matured very quickly and I think the "higher being" is letting me experience things that I skipped when I was growing up.
It's good because it tremendously helps me with my writing and everything in my life are fun, relax, and stress-free. Gone are the "windang days" like in college and I am able to juggle everything with grace. I get more an average of 8-10 hours of sleep and still manage to do everything excellently.
I guess the sacrifices I had to endure before we're all worth it. I guess the "higher being" finally took pity on me and started to drizzle me with his good 'ol blessings.

And you'd never guest what happened this week. I just found out that 6 out of the 9 college organizations voted me as the Canpus Sweetheart for the College Teachers' Day. Me? Campus Sweetheart? You'd never it in a million years, right?

Plus I am able to do things now that I never had the chance to do before.
I'm now playing the violin, doing mixed media art and an actress for Universal Playhouse Company (a freelance theater company that does college and highschool plays in UP). These small hobbies are usually keeping my Sundays

I guess like everyone people do really change.
And mine's just like an evolution from a Neanderthal to a Cro-Magnon.

The Revolt of the Music for the Masses

2007-11-08T10:11:00.002-08:00

As an undergraduate student, I cringe upon hearing the first few lines or melodies of any Lito Camo-composed song. Radio stations that scream “Kailangan pa bang i-memorize yan?”, reverberating on the loud speakers inside a roving bus seemed for me then, a horrendous way of spending three to four hours of travel going to Los Banos.

Last semester, as part of checking my students’ attendance, I posted the question “What is your favorite novelty song?” My students’ reactions were unanimous: they seemed to be sickened to answer the question.

Contrary to popular labeling of novelty songs as baduy, corny, or jologs; the comeback of this music genre has contributed to the texturization, variation, and growth of Philippine pop culture. As it filled the local and regional television and radio airwaves, it has slowly crept its way in academic study; not only in the discipline of music but in literature as well.

New Criticism poet and critic Matthew Arnold, premised a wider, aesthetic view of history by distinguishing between two epochs—“ages”—in the “life cycle” of a culture: Epochs of Expansion and Epochs of Concentration.

Epochs of Expansion are identified as a culture with new and fresh ideas and poets and artists harness their intellectual energy and convert it into great works of art. While Epochs of Concentration are described as an age in which ideas are stagnant and the free exchange of ideas is stifled.

With the re-emergence of novelty songs, specifically on the boob tube, are we now facing a possible turning point of an Epoch of Expansion in Philippine pop culture that is suddenly taking the interests of literary scholars?

Novelty songs: a rebirth and reinvention

The term novelty song is, ironically, not a new thing in Philippine pop culture. The late Yoyoy Villame popularized this genre of music with his songs Buchiki and Mactan:1521. Our parents and grandparents probably had heard his songs on the radio, while some of us might have watched decades old of comedy flicks wherein they were added as theme songs.

At the turn of this decade novelty songs were given a sudden opportunity not only of reincarnation, but also of reinvention. Thanks to a simple lad from Mindoro, Lito Camo; the genre celebrated the cultural success of Original Pilipino Music (OPM) (term originally coined by Danny Javier of the famous trio Apo Hiking Society) in our past and present history, while embedding it in the most accessible medium: the television.

Yoyoy Villame’s songs were immortalized thru the silverscreen, while the contemporary novelties are being preserved by noontime game show hosts and dancers who never fail to bare their bellies and strut their skinny butts in front of the camera as they shout, “Get! Get! Aaw!”

Contemporary novelty songs became the new face of the musical evolution of the Filipino masses. Shortly before the rise of novelty songs composers and singers, Filipinos were patronizing Western pop-oriented music. Groups such as the Spicegirls, Backstreet Boys, and Westlife dominated the Manila and regional airwaves. Though some people were enjoying the acoustics of Filipino Alternative Rock and Pop bands, the top climbers in the local music charts were still of those from foreign artists.(DelaCruz, 2004)

In addition, the themes and messages of the Filipino songs mostly circled around love, romance, hate, war, etc. — serious abstractions that were mostly marked by the influence of neo-colonialism; and also most Filipino bands and artists mimic the sound, style and rhythm of the west.

There are some that may talk about poverty and corruption in the land, but the sound is noticeably elitist. Thus it was perceived to be not the authentic voice of the masses.

On the other hand, the contemporary novelties were distinguished as the true creative voice from and for the masses, because (1) Yoyoy Villame’s successor came from the said social class and (2) novelty songs were created in such a way that the uneducated and illiterate can appreciate, understand, and memorize it.

The songs under the novelty genre weren’t created just for the sheer amusement and entertainment of its listeners, but it was also made to cease the alienation of the most common among the common masses from the productive and participative transaction with our contemporary music and it also adds to the weight of the OPM that decenters the hierarchy that privileges Western music.

Noontime shows, Political ads, and Academic study

One of Lito Camo’s famous creations, BoomTarat Tarat, was popularized by game show host Willie Revillame in the daily noontime show Wowowee of ABSCBN. The song had four versions. The first version was released on August 3, 2006 which was the original dance remix. The second version, that featured a faster tempo and techno, club-style drumming, was aired on November 27, 2006. Premiered on January 1, 2007; the third version featured a normal tempo and non-Christmas lyrics. While the full holiday, non-remixed version is featured in Willie Revillame’s Christmas album, Namamasko Po; and at the same time is a free ringback tune in a mobile phone service provider.

And last February, Camo offered the song to Team Unity senatorial candidate Bukidnon Representative Miguel “Migz” Zubiri, to be used as the candidate’s campaign jingle. Rumors spread that Zubiri paid Camo the sum of Php 3million for the song, but Camo dismissed the gossip and said that he let the congressman use Boom Tarat for free because once Zubiri shouldered the heart operation of Camo’s mother-in-law. (DelaCruz, 2004)

In a paper entitled, Wowowee: Pangarap o Pandaraya submitted as a requirement for an undergraduate Communication Arts subject in UST, DelaCruz stressed the following points: (1) the noontime show has helped in the popularization of the song Boom Tarat, (2) those who know or are aware of the song do not necessarily watch the noontime show, (3) children ages 7-12 years memorize the song-and-dance novelty, and (4) a considerable percentage among the housewives and house helpers show that majority of them know the song.

The show Wowowee, has been an important catalyst for the fame of Boom Tarat because people, out of need for money and a quick peek to fame, force themselves to memorize the song along with its movements. Revillame would call people from the audience, tell them to sing and dance the Boom Tarat in exchange for a hundred or so pesos, and if lucky a couple of dollars.

This in turn produces a psychological effect, not only to the show’s studio audience, but also to its viewers. For the audience, some of them suppress the feeling of humiliation and force to enjoy themselves so as to be entertained and get a monetary reward. And as for its mass viewers, it encourages them to fall in line at the audience entrance of ABSCBN and try their luck to be a studio audience to have a taste of easy money and a few seconds of popularity; instead of actually working hard to earn their keep.

FM radio stations were also instruments to the fame of Boom Tarat. People who don’t watch the show hear it on the radio. During its hype, radio stations such as WRR 101.9, Love Radio 90.7, IFM 93.9, etc. play the song on the average of three times per hour. In addition, because of its repetitive beat and melody, simple lyrics, and body movements; the song is easy to teach, show, and memorize. (DelaCruz, 2004)

One of the similarities among the contemporary novelty songs such as Boom Tarat is the addition of simple choreography. This attracts attention and entertains the masses and is easily imitated by very young children. And significant percentages of those who know the song are the housewives and the house helpers, who usually relax in front of the boob tube when all chores are done by noon.

The appealing nature of contemporary novelty music embedded in its elements can be traced back to the tradition of Philippine Oral Literature. According to National Artist for Literature Bienvenido Lumbera, the initial forms of ancient literature such as proverbs and riddles had the following main characteristics: (a) they were either chanted or sung, (b) has repetitive melody and rhythm, (c) accompanied with simple gestures and movements. These attributes are similar and identifiable to the elements of novelty songs.

The lyrics of Boom Tarat(Pasko Na) are simple, catchy, and concrete. There is the absence of metaphors and high-falluting words. Instead, Camo used lucid and concrete words and objects in order for the listeners to easily grasp the abstract spirit of Christmas. He concretized a picture of a community preparing for the holiday season and he narrowed it down to caroling, Christmas lights and lanterns, and Christmas gifts.

In the first two stanzas of the song, he pointed to small (in the first stanza) and then moved to big (second stanza) instruments to suggest caroling. While the third stanza mentioned Christmas lights and trees and the fourth stanza stated the preparation of gifts.

The sense of tangibility of his words remained consistent in the last stanza, for he draws the picture of peace in the world thru physical act of celebration of the birth of Christ and the actual effort to cease the acts of war.

The line between

Lito Camo, his works, and also other novelty songs and makers have gained both praises and criticisms.

Those who were enamored by this music believed that the songs were proof that art can be achieved and appreciated though it came from the lower status quo. And thus, many claim that they belong to the genre of the low art.

And because the origin and intended audience of this creative genius came from and for the masses (which is composed of the 75%-80% of the country’s population), it asserts that this is a more relevant genre of music than those influenced by the Western independent and mainstream. (DelaCruz, 2004)

Famous Modernist philosopher and writer Karl Marx’s thesis implied that the base (structure) of society is the economic means and modes of production, and it is where ideology, consciousness, and all forms of art are determined. And the components of the base of the Philippine social structure are Filipinos who belong to the class C and D—the source and patrons of various novelty song themes.

“I think novelty songs like Boom Tarat are a diversion of the old folk,” says UPLB Communication Arts graduate Friedreich Soriano, in our discussion regarding the significance of novelty songs.

“Before people from the pueblo and of the working class have the folk songs, with their meanings and movements, while those who were of Spanish blood, even of education and influence ofcourse appreciated the European classics more. Ngayon, ang ating mga pobre ay mayro’ng Boom Tarat at Spageti, while yung mga elitista at educated ay may Bossa Nova ni Sitti.”

And what do the elite have to say about this retort?

They would assert that the novelty songs, which they discriminately call as bakya songs, are senseless creations of people who are under the deep destructive influence of the seemingly nonsense things being shown in television.

This insight can be traced back to the literary and philosophical scholars of the Frankfurt School, specifically of Theodor Adorno who created the Philosophy of Modern Music. According to him, “the extreme commercialization of culture destroys the listener’s ability to appreciate the formal unity of a classical work.” In other words, the senselessness of the novelty songs is due to the influence of the commercial exploitation by the media, which in turn inhibits the people to appreciate a correct and higher form of music. The people accept and enjoy novelty songs because they no longer have to think to understand and appreciate it. They reject the classical and the avant-garde ones because it calls for them to stretch their minds and thus disturbs their unthinking. This eventually holds them back to be exposed to higher form of learning and understanding.

The evident demarcation line between the culture of the masses and the elite, specifically in music and literature has resulted to a scholarly and didactic discourse among littérateurs and philosophers. Debates whether novelty music should be considered as scholarly has in itself introduced it in the academic community.

The praises and criticisms are mostly rooted on the study of Modernist philosophies, literature, and music and Philippine ancient literature. Such assertions and arguments may seem fleeting in the mouth and thoughts of the scholastic community being it merely confined in chatter and spur-of-the moment discussions. Thus there is a need to probe into the music genre and the documentation of further researches and analyses is essential. Novelty music is the rediscovery of the voice of the Filipino masses, a focal instrument of the growth of their identity, and a deep imprint in Philippine culture and tradition.

Kicking and Screaming

2007-09-16T06:07:00.000-07:00

Endless nights of guilt feelings and apprehensions of significant things left unsaid, and lies turned into realities. Conscious lies unexpectedly slowly turning into unintentional realities. A mother-like comrade has advised that such truths should remained behind the rational faculties. That the heart, in this case, should not dance the lead.
Yet the Dionysiac seems want to free itself from its chains. The Apollonian mask glued upon the actor's face as he takes center stage.
The silence should have been his refuge.
Yet it has become the prison of torment.

Silence

2007-09-01T18:58:00.000-07:00

I want to be left alone.

Just for this time.

I'll come out of from my hiding, eventually.

Reversal of Roles

2007-07-15T08:38:00.000-07:00

I think it's safe to post it here. I doubt he reads blogs anyway.

Three years ago, I never understood why you had to do what you did. You said, "it is the right thing to do." And at that time, the word "right" suddenly became an unknown word for me.

But then now, it's safe to say that I've grown smarter and wiser (if not, then I must've regressed at some point and that should have been a terrible thing to happen). And finding myself again in the same predicament, this time, I am you and he is me.

Everything's clear to me now and I have you to thank for it.

Now, it's my time to say, "it's the right thing to do."

Triple Lives

2007-06-26T05:55:00.000-07:00

I couldn't see my kids today. My asthma, once again, acted up. In all of the days, it had to be today.
The weeks, months had been filled with a combination of low and high notes. But I'm blessed that more of the latter came than the other.
Thank you Dr. Aureus and Prof. Capili, for my first wonderful summer in UP. Thanks that I'm finally, finally in Creative Writing.
But summer had never been "the summer" if it weren't for Rina. Thanks for introducing me to "Death Note" and J-Rock. But I still think that Kira is way much good-looking than L.
Erin, She, and Cha; we could actually form a sorority and Cha would be our leader of some sort, since she's the magna cumlaude..

Thanks to Dean Mijares for giving me a job. Thanks to Prof. Vidal for taking me under her wing.

Class Policies, Course syllabus; my heart raced when I discussed them on my first day. Sabi ni Ate Juna from PolSci, kailangang manindak muna. And so I did, with my best efforts.
One of the things why I initially liked being in the academe is because it's more rewarding, relaxed, and you actually have a weekend. But then when you're teaching 33 units, eleven classes and nine different subjects. The term "relax" doesn't really apply that much.
On the first day I also found out that a considerable number of my students were older than me. And a student in my World Literature class has a son whose age is the same as mine. Good thing, respect is something already imbedded in the status of a college teacher; regardless of age. Though it seems awkward that they call me "ma'am" all the time.

Teaching the major courses is always enjoyable. I have bright students. Teaching the open courses (Phil. and World Lit.) is an everyday challenge. Pushing them to think critically is the same as trying to develop different teaching methods every single day. Not all of them like to read. Not all of them like to write. And most importantly, not all of them like the subjects at all.

30 minutes. Within that time I instantly transform from an MA student to a college teacher. I always find some inexplicable comfort and enjoyment while in discussion with a UP prof.

Thanks to Jude, my editor, for giving me that assignment. I'm always happy to write and devote my weekends for the magazine.

Thanks to providence that I found myself in Dr. Rotor's abode. A portal had opened itself from a childhood dream.

Contemplating on the days to come

2007-05-08T09:07:00.000-07:00

Futileness of everything that supposedly enveloped a preexistent notion of meaning. However, contrary to the philosopher's tongue, it was discovered that existence is not necessarily essence. For nonexistence itself is essential.
Yet the question remains, "What does one exist for?" For a logos? For a system? For the sake of proving inexistence? For decentering inexistence itself?
The mundaneity of everything begins. Or is it just the start of conflict?
No, no more conflict. I beg, not yet.
I am not yet finished banging my head against the wall. Too many times is not enough. It hasn't bled yet. It will finally learn it's lesson once it starts to bleed..

And clot..

And ceases to think..

Who has the answer, anyone?

2007-04-23T06:45:00.000-07:00

What is the medicine for self-doubt, self-criticism,
and hopelessness?

My Favorite Hotel Ever

2007-03-20T19:40:00.000-07:00

Camp John Hay Manor: A luxurious haven in the City of Pines
text by Angela Chaves

Nestled in the heart of 246 hectares worth of land flourished with towering pines and bright colorful flowers in bloom, Camp John Hay Manor is an attractive getaway
for lowlanders and city dwellers.

The five-star hotel, tucked away from the busy streets of downtown Baguio, opened its doors to local and foreign tourists in December 2002. Surrounded by amagnificent landscaping coupled with the scent of pine trees, a serene atmosphere, and Baguio's refreshingly cool weather; The Manor is a wonderfully luxurious escape with world-class facilities and services and with a 24-hour highly trained staff.

Getting Cozy
In The Manor, you definitely can not get enough with the breathtaking view through the outdoor patios and large glass windows in each room which you can literally open to breathe in the cool, fresh, country air. Imitating the outdoor style of American cabins, the hotel was built to weave with the beauty of nature. Emulating in its exteriors and interiors the history and memories of Baguio, as well as a relaxed and luxurious ambiance. Though The Manor may seem to have a colonial feel, the paneled walls and wooden furniture and fixtures shows its Filipino touch.

This four-story building houses 180 rooms including 54 suites. Guests can choose from studio type, one-bedroom and two bedroom suites. Rooms were designed to satisfy their modern and urbanite guests, while maintaning a warm and cozy feel. Each room are accentuated with hues of pastel and white and guests can enjoy
the available modern amenities such as cable TV, IDD/NDD phone system with internet access, fully stocked refrigerator, hot/cold shower, electronic in-rrom safe, coffee
and tea-making machine and a 220V electrical outlet. The entire hotel is a Wi-Fi zone and laptop users can buy a Wi-Fi card at the front desk to enjoy speedy internet
use.

For the Exquisite Palate
One of the most highlighted features of The Manor is its variety of fine food and beverage and dining facilities designed to follow international standards. With renowned
Le Souffle's chef, Billy King, The Le Chef at the Manor showcases an array of local and international cuisine that will not only indulge the guests' appetite but will
also satisfy their palates. The restaurant serves breakfast, lunch, and dinner; and guests can choose their meals with the provided buffet, sit-down, and snacks menu
proposals. From Roasted Aubergine and Cheese in Filo Pastry for appetizer to Rum Caramel Gateau for dessert, expect to have your tastebuds tested with their
delectable and mouthwatering dishes and deserts.

With the Le Chef at the Manor, there is the Le Chef at the Manor Delicatessen; where one can order a light snack, pastries, desserts, and freshly baked breads. It is open daily and guests can purchase pastries and breads as pasalubongs to families and friends back home.

Intimate over Music and Cocktails
The Piano Lounge is a perfect place to rekindle romance with loved ones or just simply enjoy after dinner hours with family and friends. Cocktails, candlelight by an open fireplace, and soft piano music in the background emulate a posh yet laid back atmosphere that guests will certainly enjoy.

Especially when David Tabligan settles behind the grand piano and starts to play a series of magnum opus of classical pieces, American classics, and Filipino
kundimans.

Along with David, The Manor also has an in-house band that guests of the younger ages enjoy listening to. With the impressive vocals of the male and female
vocalists, the band renders an array of songs from various genres. Whether it's bossanova, jazz, or r'n'b; the band entertains its audiences with instruments
of soft percussion and strings.

All Fun and Play
Camp John Hay is known for its Jack Nicklaus designed, 18-hole world-class championship golfcourse where avid local and international golfers have played
competitively and leisurely. In addition, golfers and golf enthusiasts will certainly get a kick out of the golfcourse's other features: challenging par 69 at
5001 yards from the tips, full golf cart path, Tifton 419 fairways and sleek, undulating Bent grass greens-- a first in the Philippines, driving range, world-class golf clubhouse, golf cart rentals, professional caddie services, and gold set and shoes rentals. These will certainly give the guests a feel of being the next Tige Woods in the greens.

For interested golfers you may contact Camp John Hay Golf and Country Club's General Manager, Mr. Jeric D. Hechanova, (074)444-2131 or e-mail him at
jeric@campjohnhayhotels.com.

Aside, from the golfcourse there are other leisure activities that guests from all ages can enjoy. Kids will get a blast in playing the 18-hole miniature golfcourse. Teens will have fun with their small wheels in the outdoor skating rink and also doing in-line skating. Families and friends can take their picnic baskets in the picnic grounds where perfectly shaped pine trees hover above the picnic tables.The outdoor lovers can take a two-kilometer eco-trail which passes thru
picnic areas, botanical reserves, and other outdoor activities. Horse enthusiasts and those who come to Baguio to experience their first horse-ride can enjoy a pony ride along a bridle path and riding circle in Shalan Ni Kabadjo. And for indoor leisure, there is the indoor recreation hall where guests can play a round of pool or battle it out over video games.

Other Services and Facilities
Though in vacation emergency business transactions can easily be remedied with the hotel's Business Center. Equipped with internet access, personal computer, photocopying and fax machine, also with secretarial services; this service center will easily and satisfactoriy cater especially to the needs of business and work-related trips to The Manor.

Since every tourist or guests seeks to have a relaxing vacation after a hard work or play, The Manor has the Palm Garden Health Spa.This hotel facility adds to The Manor's package as a serene and relaxing getaway because of its Jacuzzi or Sauna and massuese services that will certainly refresh and pamper your mind and body.

And to make your stay in The Manor complete and worry-free the hotel also provides other services and facilities. If you simply want to lounge in your room, everything you need can be asked thru the room service from 6:00 am to 10:30 pm. Traveling and sightseeing around Baguio is also hassle-free with their shuttle service, car/van rental, taxi service, and sightseeing tours (by arrangement). If you arrive in Baguio with a vehicle, rest assured that it will be safe at the hotel with their valet parking. And couples can have their own quality time even if they brought the kids because of the hotel's baby sitting services (by arrangement).

Taking a trip to Baguio is an enjoyable experience not only during the summer or the holidays but also throughout the year. The pine trees, cool air, and warm smiles
of its people may make one's visit memorable. But the place which is truly filled with memories of couples, families, kins, and friends are found in The Manor.
Visitors from Baguio may often wish to revisit the cold, yet warm-hearted place as often as they can. But guests from The Manor often wish that they don't have to go
back home.

* * * *
THE MANOR, Camp John Hay Baguio
Loakan Road, Baguio City 2600 Philippines * P.O. Box 1141
Tel.: (+63) (74) 446-0231 to 50, (+63) (2) 845-0892/845-0911, Fax: (+63) (74) 445-0420
E-mail: cjhmanor@skyinet.net
www.campjohnhayhotels.com
Manila Sales Office
Unit 1107-A, 11th Floor West Tower, Philippine Stock Exchange Road,
Ortigas Center, Pasig City 1605, Philippines
Tel.: (+63) (2) 687-6710/ 687-6524, Fax: (+63) (2) 687-6607
E-mail: sales@campjohnhayhotels.com

An Escape Towards a Remnant of the Past

2007-03-17T02:29:00.000-07:00

Growing up amidst the sight and sounds of the urban jungle, I have always lived and loved living a fast-paced life. Yet there are times when I find myself in need of silence and solitude. This is when I begin to realize that I am living a workaholic's life.

It was during one of those times when a perfect opportunity presented itself to me-- a chance to be on a weekend trip away from the frenzied realm. Not long after, I found myself meeting up with Roberta at the bus station going to Vigan and actually looking forward to a ten-hour bus ride.

The afternoon sun was at its peak when we got off at the bus terminal. I instantly heard the tapping of the horses' roofs amidst the sound of the engines of cars and tricycles. I instantly became excited about the thought of my first calesa ride in Vigan.

Roberta and I hailed a tricycle and pointed towards the direction of the Vigan Heritage Mansion. We were met at the lobby by Mrs. Julie Manahan, the owner of the hotel. Dressed in casual clothes, her face lit up as soon as she saw us. After the introductions, she walked with us towards the hotel rooftop where our lunch was served.

The Ilocano Taste

"That's Ipon," said Mrs. Julie. "Hipon po?" Roberta and I asked, as we stared at the dish served to us on our very first lunch in Vigan. It was a stew with tiny white bits, which I thought were smaller relatives of the shrimp. "Hindi, I--pon. Walang 'H'. That's fish. It's a delicacy here," she explained. "Minsan lang mag-harvest n'yan. Buti na lang nasakto ang pagpunta n'yo dito." (Abundant catch of this quite rare. It's good that you chanced upon this on your visit.)

While Roberta and I helped ourselves with servings of Ipon, Mrs. Julie told us that it can be cooked in dfferent ways such as bagoong, omelette, and stew. But the most common way to prepare Ipon is to cook it in vinegar, salt, and pepper. A true-blue Ilocano, Mrs. Julie is proud of the delicacies of her town. Four our first meal under her roof, she graciously prepared fried boneless bangus, nilagang ipon, tomatoes, and pinakbet. Roberta and I savored each dish. Each one satisfied not only our rumbling tummies, but our palates as well.

That afternoon, we accompanied Mrs. Julie to the public market to buy more Ipon as well as other edibles Ilocos is known for such as bagnet (deep fried pork) and longgnisa. She asked us what kind of dishes we liked to eat and she also bought the ingredients so she could prepare them. Roberta and I always had our fill of tasteful and attractive Ilocano dishes and sweet treats. The bibingka and the tinubong (sweet and sticky rice with coconut and honey cooked inside a bamboo) were my favorites. Mrs. Julie has a neighbor who makes cococnut-flavored bibingka which is so delectable, it melts in the tongue. After our interesting trip to the market and meeting the friends and acquaintances of Mrs. Julie, Roberta and I decided to take a walk down the famous Crisologo Street.

Calle Crisologo: a modern-day time capsule

The cobblestones are marked with imprints of the past. The once brick-layered sidewalks have been replaced with concrete and cement. I gazed at the houses that have stood for centuries and imagined what it was like during the time of our great heroes. I thought of Calle Crisologo as our modern-day time capsule--it's as if time chose to freeze itself in this specific place for the people to see and get a feel of what it was like back in the old days. This would mostly be seen in the antique shops situated side by side with handicrafts and souvenir shops. One particualr shop which instantly became my favorite is Tolentino's, where I discovered a Manansala painting tagged with the price of only P4,500.

Roberta and I browsed through the souvenir shops, each of us buying pasalubong for our friends and loved ones back in Manila. In one of the shops called Casa Rica, I met Tita Lenny who told me that most of the tourists who pass by her shop are dating and married couples.
"Vigan is a small place," she says. "Walang nightlife dito, kaya the couples have more time to spend with each other. At romantic kapag nakakalesa, hindi ba?" (There aren't places here for "nightlife", so the couples have more time to spend with each other. Besides, it's romantic to ride the calesa, isn't it?)

Late afternoons on Calle Crisologo are filled with the sound of horse hoofs on cobblestones. And because I was thrilled on my first calesa ride in Vigan, I promised to myself that I would try to drive one before I leave the city. "Naku hija, baka madulas ang kabayo hindi mo alam ang gagawin," (Oh child, the horse might slip and you wouldn't know what to do) warned Mang Dionisio, the last kutsero we rode with. I insisted on driving the calesa with his horse, #57 Melchor, but he said that we might get caught by the Vigan administrative police.

During sunset, the street and the facade of houses and stores light up. Everything is beautifully set upon the surface of smooth cobblestones which gives a shimmering effect. I was in awe of the maginificence of Calle Crisologo when the sun slowly set and gave way to dusk. From our hotel, I passed by another odge called the Cordillera Inn. There I saw a foreign couple, holding hands while coming out of the Inn's doors as they headed towards the end of the street. As I watched them take a leisurely stroll with the orange glow of the sun enveloping them, it reminded me of scenes on the old streets of Paris that I've seen on foreign films.

While Roberta was taking pictures of Calle Crisologo, I decided to follow the couple to find out if they were headed somewhere interesting. I thought it was my chance to how romantic Vigan truly is. When I reached the end of the street, I saw the couple sitting by the outdoor tables of a restaurant called Cafe Leona. The restuarant's exterior is similar to those of the other houses on Calle Crisologo. Couples, families, and friends occupied the tables and chairs on the sidewalk, imitating the dreamy scenario of a night at Parisian cafes. From where I was standing, I could hear karaoke music from the adjacent Pizza Pasta Plus, which serves as an extension of Cafe Leona. Scooters lined up outside the pizza place which told me that it was a busy night for them.

Roberta caught up with me at Cafe Leona and we headed straight to the Vigan Cathedral and Salcedo Plaza. The Vigan Cathedral stood in a massive white glow. When Roberta and I attended the Sunday mass at 6 am, the church held a great number of parishioners, mostly Ilocano folks. Going to the Salcedo Plaza gave me the feeling that it was December and not January because colorful, festive lights hung on the branches of the towering trees surrounding it. A monument stood in the middle of two ponds which were joined by interconnecting bridges.

On our last nigh and last chance to pass by Calle Crisologo, I decided to make it really memorable. Roberta thought it was a crazy idea, but she let me do it anyway and even took a few photos. A few meters away from Cafe Leona, I removed my sandals and walked barefoot all the way to our hotel. The other passersby smiled as they watched me skip and dance barefoot on the calle. I guess it was simply my way of showing that I fell in love with Calle Crisologo and that I wanted to leave my mark. It might seem small and irrelevant, but for me it was an act of taking part of Vigan's history.

Of ties and bonds

In our three-day stay in Vigan, I solely thought of seeing Vigan as an "intimate escape". It was only on the third and last day of our visit when I realized why it deserves to be described as such. While in the hotel, Mrs. Julie introduced us to her other guests, Dr. Nomer and Imelda Sanchez, who were also her relatives. Nomer and Imelda are both doctors in Cabanatuan and they decided to take a weekend vacation in Vigan with their three little children.

During our stay, Mrs. Julie and her brother, Sir Boy, treated Roberta and me as if we were part of their family. She cooked for us and often asked about our favorite dishes before preparing our meals. Sometimes I would even hear her calling me "anak". It was a gesture which I felt was truly dear and personal. The Sanchez family was also very cordial to us. We shared some meals together and with those meals, we shared stories and expriences from our own homes. We also had a few laughs, mostly at my expense. They teased me about the Indian pilot we met at the airstrip in one of our sidetrips. He was looking for a "hot bibingka" and Mrs. Julie jokingly implied that he was referring to me.

The time we spent with the Manahan and Sanchez will be something I would remember the most in my brief stay in Vigan. On the surface, the city is charming, exquisite, and is very proud of its history, culture, and architecture. It is a solid remnant of the past which can be revisited as many times as you want. Yet because of its people, Vigan also becomes a perfect place where families, friends, and couples rekindle and strengthen their bonds. The tourist is not a stranger in Vigan. You become family. You become part of a home.

Ang Hari ng Metal

2007-03-15T05:57:00.000-07:00

The only guy I know who finds happiness having a plate of greasy strips of bacon for breakfast

The only guy I know who has his portable PS2 player whenever and wherever he goes

The only guy I know who looked happy as a kid getting a tear gas police baton for his 28th b-day from me

The only guy I know who'd naturally drive 100-120 kph

And the only guy I know who has 4 Js as initials

As in John Joe Jordana Joseph

Bago Mag-Akinse

2007-03-15T05:37:00.000-07:00

I just need to unload these thoughts before shutting my eyes.
I just have to unload these thoughts so that it will be much easier to welcome the new day.

I just realized, after receiving the call I've been waiting for since last week, that I tend to overlap things.

I was already job-hunting while still in the middle of finishing my graduation requirements.

I was working in TV Production when I decided to begin another career in a travel magazine.

And soon, I shall be receiving my undergraduate diploma while in the middle of my graduate studies class.

I really do have the tendency to overlap things.

And all these I have done and will do in less than six months.

I'm quite uncertain if the series of events should alarm me or make me happy.
Should it alarm me because these were intelligible proofs how indecisive I have become?
Or should it make me happy that these were signs that I'm on the right track?
Definitely, I am happy that after months of waiting and being delayed by my transcript of records, this summer I will finally start my graduate studies
in Creative Writing in Diliman. It was indeed good news that I passed the admissions exam. I was really surprised to
have learned that I was the only summer enrollee for Creative Writing; perhaps the huge factor why they passed me.
The phone call this morning was exactly what I needed. I've noticed since my last day in Ideal Minds two Saturdays ago (I resigned from my
work to be able to pursue my MA), I've grown weary and depressed. I tried to keep myself busy with reading, writing, baking, and a whole
lot of DVD marathons but the depression won't wear off. Maybe because I missed the adrenaline of being bombarded with a lot of
problems in production. Maybe I am no longer used to be living a very laid back life. Maybe I am yearning to immerse myself again with
the pressures and headaches that my job entailed. Maybe I miss the people, always being in the company of creatively noisy lunatics!
Being alone in the house doesn't seem as attractive now as I often thought of it before when I was still in LB.
Yup, there was a time that I just wished that everyone would just leave me alone. But now, there's not a day that I haven't wished that I could
throw a house party!

Breaking the Silence

2007-03-03T00:53:00.001-08:00

A lotof things had happened sincemy last post. Things that I've enjoyed and hated. Things that made me happy and sad. Things that made me realize how a paradox life is.
I've decided to leave the job that I love. Technically, my last day is on the 28th. But I had to do PM work for the out-of-town shoot of Ford in Batangas last Thursday and I had to be a last minute segment producer for the Tourism Negosyo event today. Not to mention,I'm still in the process of editing my Hot Air Balloon segment for It's a Guy Thing.
Why leave? One might ask.
Coz I time and opportunity presented itself for me to pursue my graduate studies. If I continue on with Ideal Minds, my dream in finishing my MA before I reach 25 will turn into dust.
So,I had to made a choice. Though, many people would say that it was not an option. The right answer was already a given.
Yesterday,I woke up late. As soon as I opened my eyes, it instantly dawned on me that I am no longer working for the company. I felt a huge wave of emptiness. Forgive my melodramatic sentiments, I always felt that the truth should be the best expressed.
Sir Ton said na sayang daw ako.Though he admitted that it would be selfish of them if they would ask me to stay. At least I know that my efforts are recognized by Sir Chris and Sir Ton. And they trust and approve my decisions inmy work.

On the lighter side of things. I'm extremely happy to be hired as a travel writer for PilMap Travel and Leisure Magazine. My first assignment was in Vigan. I was with one of the magazine's photographers,Roberta Gonzales. She's quite a character. As in, really quite a character. I had fun in Vigan, but not as the same when I was sent to Baguio for the Panagbenga festival.

Last Friday- Monday, I was in Baguio with a media circuit. I had a blast because the group of writers from different publications that I was with were really cool. We were all yuppies and we bonded like we knew each other for years. Para kaming isang malaking barakadahan and it was for the first time which I felt I truly belong. I mean, we're a family here in Ideal Minds but I have to admit that it was a more fulfilling feeling to be with a group of writers. I knew at that time I was at the perfect place in the perfect time. Doing a coverage on the Panagbenga was tiring, but it was more fun and play for us than work. Not to mention, getting drunk cocktail night after cocktail night.

Like I said in my previous post, everything seems to be going so fast. First, in my more than three months stay in Tv Production I was an Assistant Production Manager, Segment Producer, and Writer. Oftentimes, I had to be a superwoman to beat deadlines and fulfill each position without error. Then,I am also a travel writer. Going to places and experiencing so many things and meeting lots of people. Lastly, I am expecting to start graduate school.

It's very overwhelming to realize that I have done so much since I graduated. That indeed, I have lived each day to its fullest and accomplished so many things. But the best part of all; is the fact that I have gained so many friends who respect me for my work and for what I am.

Just Telling..

2006-12-26T04:35:00.000-08:00

It seems so surreal that everything in my life is happening so fast. And it is more surreal that none of these things were in my plans. Which gives me an outrageous lesson of not to plan very much in detail, but if one does, have a contingency plan or learn to be flexible with whatever come one's way.
That's exactly what had happened to me.
Just recently I graduated from college, and the next thing I knew I'm working in TV Production. Not exactly the first place I thought I would end up (very far from my plans to teach in UP Baguio) because I thought I never wanted to be involved in any type of Production ever again. I guess I was wrong.
To my huge surprise, I'm having a blast working for the show "It's a Guy Thing" in Studio 23. There are a lot of sacrifices (like going home once or twice in a week and not being able to write much) but there are a lot of perks too (free food, getting free concert tickets/freebies, that sort of stuff). But the big plus in my working experience is the great, laid-back working environment in Ideal Minds. The team I work with (production manager, segment producers, writer, director, talents, and tech&crew) are friendly and amazing. So far, none of them gave me a hard time. And despite the perception of all the hassles and stressful tasks in TV Production, never did I feel any pressure that would instantly direct me to a nervous breakdown. I like being in the office because I enjoy the people's company and I always find myself laughing and smiling everytime I'm at work.
And then an incident had to happen...
I had accident while at work. We just finished an entire shoot at Eastwood City and were about to have our dinner, when I fell from the stairs in a restaurant called Jack's Loft. It was later that I realized that it was a huge fall (more than 10 steps) I thought I could bear the pain so I refused to be brought to a hospital or clinic. But when the pain became unbearable, I was rushed to Medical City from the office.
X-rays were taken of my right knee and ankle and butt (yes, I fell on my butt!) And thank God there were no fractures. I had to stay in the hospital for three nights.
Now, I have to face and conquer therapy sessions for muscle alignment on my butt and back.
I'm on leave at work now and two things worry me. 1. That Jeff (my Production Manager) has a pile of work in front of him and he's alone to deal with all of it and 2. I haven't heard from Sir Chris at all and I don't know what he thought about the accident. I just hope he's not mad or anything.
I really can't wait to be back to work on the 29th. I guess it feels a bit weird for me not to be doing anything at all. Feels a bit unproductive being a bum, isn't it?

Happy 100th Post!

2006-12-11T16:30:00.000-08:00

Behind the Illusion

2006-12-11T06:02:00.000-08:00

Upon the discovery of a great lie, the naive refuses to be fooled anymore.

The truth has its own way of revealing itself.

But why did it chose to whisper in her ear,

when everything was lost with time?

And the sinner can no longer be blamed?

SOMEDAY

2006-12-04T01:38:00.000-08:00

Someday you're gonna realize
One day you'll see this thru my eyes
By then I won't even be there
I'll be happy somewhere
Even if I cared
I know you don't really see my worth
You think you're the last guy on earth
Well I've got news for you
I know I'm not that strong
But it won't take long
Won't take long

Someday someone's gonna love me
The way I wanted you to need me
Someday someone's gonna take your place
One day I'll forget about you
You'll see I won't even miss you
Someday
Someday

Right now I know you can tell
I'm down and I'm not doing well
But one day these tears they will all run dry
I won't have to cry, sweet goodbye.

Pouring-out

2006-11-03T00:10:00.001-08:00

I've officially moved out of the studio apartment two Fridays ago. Packing my stuff and putting things inside boxes was something I never imagined would be difficult to do. I have to admit I was getting teary-eyed. I guess it would be a lot less hard if Aileen and Ven weren't there to watch me pack. They helped me put my stuff in the car. And that night, it certainly felt the longest drive back home to Manila.
I have officially graduated last Tuesday. My manuscript was done being book binded at exactly 7pm. When I saw it, I felt I just had given birth (figuratively speaking).
I can't believe after 4 years my life in Los Baños is done. I was excited at first, but now I can't help but feel a certain sense of loss.
I'll definitely miss everything that is both good and bad about this place. Being here has taught me so much about life, lessons which are truly irreplaceable of classroom knowledge.
Ven and I talked about our sentiments regarding graduation, and we both shared the same thoughts and feelings. Being a student here would mean more frustrations and disappointments than achievements. It's truly an inevitable thing. LB is like an entirely different world alone in its own universe. It has it's own culture, language, and philosophies. It taught me how to be deviant yet still be able to conform in my own way. I learned how to be an individual yet be able to belong to a close-knit group. I was shown how to stand by my principles without stepping on other people's shoes.
After everything, I certainly became a better person. And I would like to say, a more wiser one in making her decisions.
Time has indeed caught up with me and I need to get my butt moving towards the next chapter of my life. Though I swear I am not yet ready to give up my LB life, it is something that I have to do simply because I have no choice.
I hope Fried had only warned me how difficult this entire process would be. It's not only the place that I will say goodbye to but especially the people who broke me into pieces and those who made me whole again.

Wishlist

2006-09-26T20:14:00.000-07:00

Greetings, either thru text, personal, e-mail, or snail mail; are nice and will be well appreciated. Gifts, whatever the size, shape or how beautifully wrapped will be accepted with joy and sincerest gratitude.

But there's only one item on my wishlist this year.

And it's something that not even a million dollars could buy.

I started receiving text greetings since last week, from friends and relatives. My seatmate, Raine surprised me with a small decorated glass souvenir. She placed it on my seat while I was at the comfort room. She was the first person who reminded me that the day was coming. It put a smile on my face. I thought it was really sweet for her to remember. It was just what I needed because I was having a stressful day.

But then, it was also on that same day that I realized that there's only one item on my wishlist this year.

And it's something that not even a million dollars could buy.

I hear some of my friends dropping hints that they already got me this and that. "Oh, I'm sure you're gonna like it," they'd say. I'm sure I will. Though truthfully the CDs, DVDs, clothes, accessories, books, coffeemaker (my aunt called me and promised a Barista Coffeemaker, I have to admit I flipped!), and techy gadgets; I could buy for myself.

I really I am thankful for what I will receive, but it's hard to ignore the fact that there's only one item on my wishlist this year.

And it's something that not even a million dollars could buy.

I made some plans; on the day before I'll spend it with my friends in Los Banos and on the exact day with my family and friends in Manila. I'll make sure that this year, it'll be different. I'll make sure they'll going to have fun more than I will.

Though my heart is so into it, at least my mind would wander off from the only item on my wishlist this year.

That not even a million dollars could buy.

For Ces

2006-09-25T17:28:00.000-07:00

This is Will's poem for Ces. It is an underdog compared to T.S. Elliot or ee Cummings. It does not contain images and high-falluting language. But that what's makes it special. The ordinariness and the simplicity of language channels the whole-hearted sincerity and the depth of emotion.
I loved this poem because it has no masks. I loved this poem for its sincerity.
But mostly, I loved this poem because of it finally my tears came out from their hiding..

The other night you gave me reasons
Why you felt nothing for me.
We struggled with words and wrestled with emotions
As if doing so would illuminate the darkness around us.
So why waste words and frustrating thoughts?

Why repeat what we already know and bring up what
we don't want to?
I apologize for putting you through all that.
The only thing I want you to know is that there's no
need to explain.

So there's no need to explain
What it is I have
Or don't have
That keeps me out of your heart.

If I don't have what it takes, there's no point in faking it
Because you should only fall for the real me.
If I find out it's something I have that I haven't expressed
Then you should discover it without having to demand.

There's no need to explain
Why you fall for these handsome, confident and heavenly men.
Why even those who don't last in your affections
Have had more time there than I ever had.

I don't want to be like them nor compare myself to them.
They are drawn to you, but never fully appreciate what
they experience.
I may be less confident, but it's because I'm nervous about
screwing up.
My once in a lifetime chance to be with the greatest
woman live.

But I shall keep up and surpass them, as best I can.
Becoming a better man due to pure inspiration rather than to
complaints.
And even if you find someone better than me
If he is the better man it'll be OK because you deserve the best.

I see no need to explain
Why you should give me a chance,
Why you should feel something for me or why I am worth trusting,
What I'm going to do to make you feel the magic you long for.

I should just
Show you that I am worth a chance,
Sweep you off your feet, be trustworthy and never leave.
And if I am unable to do so then I should just accept
that it isn't meant to be.

I will just enjoy
Being able to talk to you for hours till our throats go dry
Blending in harmony and watching shows
Or simply sitting in the dark gazing at you by the lights
of the city.

I just want to enjoy whatever time you give to me.
Whatever fun we have I seal in my heart.
I don't care why you spend any time with me
I just care that you do.

And if ever the day comes
That you finally see that no one else wants the job of
making you happy more than I do,
That you finally feel the magic and that yearning
That you feel that being with me is worth all the risks

Even though I'll be confounded, confused and even curious
About this sudden change of heart
Just come to me and let me hold you
And there'll be no need to explain.

Oh my gosh!

Departure

2006-09-14T05:57:00.000-07:00

Five hours to go before I leave for Ilocos and Baguio.
All packed and ready to go.
Second trip for this month and I have to admit I'm excited.
This will surely be an interesting trip.

I would love to stay there.
If only things were different, I sure wish I didn't have to come back here.

Adios!

Pointless

2006-09-03T04:04:00.000-07:00

I'll be borrowing this thought from Aileen and Aiza because it sums ups what I truly feel this night.

Me: Hi!

Barista: Yes, ma'am?

Me: Can I have a white mocha?

Barista: Hot or cold?

Me: Does it matter? Hot coffee will turn cold anyway.

It bears my name. It makes me happy when I feel its warmth. Yet, how come once the moment with it ends, I feel as though it wasn't mine to begin with?

Warmth is such a fleeting word. The prolonged absence of it makes you forget what it is like to feel it.

Such is the same with people.

See Yourself

2006-09-03T02:57:00.000-07:00

In the mirror. Scrutinizing every inch of your facial flesh, you stare at the huge
dark circles around your eyes and hate the awkward puffiness it makes when you smile; the tiny bumps on the nose and forehead, craters made when you tried to get rid of the bumps, and the brownish scars on the chin and cheeks when the craters gave in to the pinching, pushing, and scratching.

You sigh. “It’s never going to get any better than this,” you say to yourself, still
reaching for the tube of Neutrogena Clear-pore Acne Treatment. Know that you ought to sleep a couple of hours before going to class to prevent the unwanted visitors from pestering your face. But you also know that sleep deprivation is the least of your problems and being kindred spirits with the nocturnal creatures never bothered you a bit.
After conducting the evening formal procedure of cleansing and freshening, you proceed to your task. With loving hands, you caress your boyfriend of almost six years before continuing where you left off with him. You flick off the
lights. You never do it with the lights on, always wanting absolute silence
and extreme spatial intimacy. “Hi baby,” you say, your fingers position unto
the keys.
Stare at the screen. Finding that you ended with the words “trite” and “pejorative”, you curse yourself of not finishing off with a period.
You are writing about people’s lives that you want to complicatedly entangle and put everyone in each other’s holes. It is meant to be a story of misery, and
started with something like, “My father once wrote a story for my mother— a
story that has many advantages. One advantage is when you reach the end, it
falls into a hole and once it starts again, but in the middle.”
Fifteen days; the time you give yourself to write it down, down to the very last
detail, down to the very last edited word, sentence, punctuation. So far, what
you have are people knowing each others’ stories and secrets, but none of them
are speaking of it—which instinctively, silently turns one against the other.
And your stumped, in the middle of the plot and between the words “trite” and
“pejorative”. You thought you had this all figured out, but it turns out that
you don’t. Blank. You move your fingers. Fhfhjfdfcjcjdfa;iiree. Erase. Move
them again, this time with your eyes closed. Ndjfbjfhejfhjfd hdfjhfjdh. Erase.
You change the font size.
Fjhhijhffdf jfieuriruie.Erase.
Nothing. You sigh, probably you’re 20^th, no 22^nd for today. Much of the
sighing marathon happened during the FX rides going to and from class. Though you hardly enjoy it, it actually happens on the daily basis—since you started the creative writing class.
Dispossessing yourself of Starbucks Fridays, Divisoria weekends, and pricey
food-tripping among the stalls of LB Square; you locked and threw away the key of your savings account, forcing to be satisfied with chopseuy, siomai,and
pork isaw with rice for meals, shunning public transportation and walking
under the blazing Los Banos heat; just to save every bill and penny to put
yourself in a creative writing class in Diliman. This you did for an entire
semester, knowing that per unit matriculation was more expensive there.
You had everything planned. Internship at Philippine Graphic had to come first before summer class starts in Diliman so though your internship hours are done, you could still ask allowance from your mother under the pretense that you’re still reporting in Makati.
It was no use asking her allowance for creative writing classes. It was no use asking her money to enroll in a creative writing class.
An incident happened when you were sixteen. You collected a few writings and scribbles in sheets of papers and notebooks since you developed the hobby at age thirteen. Weeks before the Holy Week you found them missing where they were secretly kept, beneath your flower-printed panties and white and cream sandos and baby bras. In tears, you turned your room upside-down, looking for the prized possessions that reads the almost entirety of your life. When you finally gave up, your helper saw you sitting on the cold floor, hugging yourself and cheeks flooded with hot tears. You scream at her, accusing her of stealing your papers and notebooks. But then she tells you that she saw your mother burning something when you were still asleep that morning. You ran to the garden and saw ashes piled unto the moist soil, ready to be made fertilizer.
Your mother came home very late, as usual, from a meeting or a seminar or a lecture. You didn’t care. You burst into her room while she was naked and getting dressed for bed, defiantly asked if she did burn your papers and notebooks.
“You shouldn’t be bothering yourself with nonsense doodles” you heard her scream. “None of your business,” you yelled back, “they were mine.” “Don’t waste your training for writing garbage. Those will not get you anywhere,” she screamed harder.
The picture of journalism secondary schools press conferences and competitions flashed in your mind like in the image of a mosaic of snap shots. There was not a competition within the five consecutive years that you did not luckily snag a place in the English Newswriting Category. And months before that, you were indeed lucky enough to represent NCR in the nationals in General Santos.
The yelling and screaming only stopped when you finally said, “I hate you! I wish you died instead of dad,” stomped off to your room and locked yourself for two days. Since then you moved your hiding place to an improvised secret headboard, which you designed and made by your guy bestfriend who passed it as his final project in carpentry class under Home Economics. New books, writings on paper and table napkins, and a new set of notebooks were all squeezed inside.
And thus, you were forced to do your writing at past midnight, when the entire household is asleep. You had to put your ear closely on your mother’s bedroom door and make sure that she was snoring before you begin your clandestine act.
Received your letter from UP Admissions telling you passed UPCAT and will be enrolled in UP Los Banos, mixed fellings dwelt within for a long time. You wanted to study in Diliman so badly, you were willing to sacrifice your future marriage on it, however the advantage of being away from home loomed your thoughts: freedom.
You took up Communication Arts, and your mother told you to major in Speech Communication. “It is very good preparatory for law school,” she said. “Law school? When did law school came to the picture,” you thought.

With your mother’s approval, you joined the only organization purely for Communication Arts students. Little did she know that you became one of the founders of a writing organization when you reached sophomore year. She continued to babble about you going to law school, preferably in UP if not San Beda will do, to relatives, officemates and staff; while you continue doing average on your speech majors and acing the writing ones.
Thus began the struggle you continue to face tonight. The struggle in finding the direction towards the path you are very much passionate to take. You want to be a writer. And you couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Humbly accepting that you are not good, however having the absolute sense of determination that in due time and by providence it will happen. It must happen.
For the entire year, there was a huge sense of loss. No mentors, no workshops, no critique. All the writing seemed futile, cyclical—like a whirlpool.
Submissions were made to various publications. All were rejected. You edit,
revise, rewrite and intend to submit them to bigger workshops like Dumaguete, Ateneo, UP, Iligan but you hesitate. You thought these are not good enough. “I
am not good enough.” You decided
that you have to make things happen. Assertively saying to the higher being
that you’re willing to work hard and do whatever it takes and if you cannot
find what you need and looking for in Los Banos, then you have to find it
somewhere else.
Eventually, your eyes turn to Diliman. Remembering a poet friend’s assertion, “That’s where it’s happening.”
Squeezing the Diliman class between Philippine Graphic internship and volunteer teaching at an urban poor day care center in Baranggay 823 in Paco, it felt like a new life.
At the center, not wanting them to deal badly with drugs, sex, and domestic disputes; you teach the kids to forget about their problems by putting their realities and imaginations on their notebooks. They seem to have fun, especially when you give a pack of candies or chocolates to the best storyteller.
At Graphic, you earn two published articles. Your mother founds out and she is proud of you. But it doesn’t seem to matter that much, for your eyes are fixed to the fiction section which seems difficult to penetrate.

And at the Diliman institution, there is the spark that you never saw in Los Banos telling you not to lose hope and you’re on the right track. And all you need to do now is have faith and start from square one.

LENS

2006-09-02T05:32:00.001-07:00

Just got back from an enjoyable trip to Cabuyao, Pakil, and Caliraya with my friends. The breathtaking and spectacular view that welcomed us definitely swept me off my feet that I took the opportunity to try to work my way with the camera. I have always wanted to take photography as a hobby, but I kept postponing and delaying myself. I just didn't seem to find the time.
I've taken a couple of shots and tried my best to make it look artsy. I am mostly interested on people as a subject. The movement or view of an individual with respect to his surroundings.
I like sceneries and landscapes too, but not as much as people.
This is my first time, so please be kind.

HODGEPODGE

2006-08-15T20:10:00.000-07:00

It is such a hassle going back and forth from Los Banos to Makati and Ortigas for these job interviews and exams—very tiring and time consuming and most of the time I would be always on a hurry to go from one place to another. Trying to squeeze all academic commitments and interview appointments in between each other will definitely give you a headache. It’s hard but doable, so as long as you know how to correctly estimate travel time organizing your schedule and trying to do a wonderwoman multi-tasking stunt is entirely not impossible.
Last week’s job interview was in an international academy in Ortigas, for a classroom instructor position. Then last Monday’s was in iWebmasters, for a Junior Webcontent Writer position. The same job my bestfriend has right now in Intelligraph in Ortigas. He claims that it’s not a very stressful job, but when I had the test job after passing the first exam and initial interview (all done in the same morning) I found that the work was not easy as it seems. Doing three to four website articles and teasers (with a minimum required number of words) in a given amount of time was no joke. The articles’ topics vary and it really pays that you know business, economics, political, cultural and especially technical jargons. After the four-hour test job, I was told to return next week for the final interview. Although I didn’t have a headache, I felt my brain was exhausted. It was like taking a departmental exam in Math 11 or a final exam in Environmental Biology. I started the application process at exactly 8:10 am and I got out of the building at around 3pm, which gave me only a few hours to make it to my dinner meeting. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to get a cab right away because of the unexpected downpour. By the time I arrived in the studio I was aching to flop to my bed, instead I stepped into the cold shower to waken my sense then went to Bonito’s.
Speaking of exams, I found it hilarious when Dr. Sierra announced that I topped last week’s first exam in Environmental Biology in our class. My seatmate, Raine, who is a few batches younger than I, instantly became my one-woman cheering squad. And all I could say was, "Was Dr. Sierra, serious? I think she made a mistake."
Nico, my other classmate, said "I think she’s high."
It’s no secret to my friends that I am not taking the subject seriously. I think it’s utterly ridiculous for me to be still taking a GE subject in my graduating semester. I mean, hello? My classmates are mostly new freshmen and sophomore kids and I’m an old senior. I have survived all majors and yet still have to endure Environmental Biology? It is weird that my attitude towards it is a bit lax since I have always taken my studies very seriously.
And please tell me how can I enjoy a subject when the class is 1-2:30 in the afternoon and the professor’s lecture definitely does not motivate the student to study, even to listen? If there is a cliché that goes: a person can be physically present but mentally absent; in my case I am physically awake but mentally asleep.
Mind you, Dr. Sierra uses a microphone in her lectures.
And what did I do the night before the exam? It was around 2am Iwhen fell asleep in the middle of the first two pages of my notes. At least I tried to study—tried being the operative word.
The morning before the exam I had a report in Art Studies class, so I spent the entire afternoon and night to prepare for it so as not to be grilled by Prof. Zafaralla.
So maybe, the key to acing this subject is to bore myself to death in class, put my brain cells in standby mode during lectures, and not study for the exams. Hmm… looks like Environmental Biology will be fun after all.
In the middle of SpeechCom 105 class, Prof. Fernandez mentioned that the last day of class was on October 13. Then it hit me how little time I have left in Los Banos. My LB life will be over in a few months and as what my bestfriend, Fried, said a few weeks before he graduated, "It is the end of an era, dear."
I instantly looked at my seatmates Fer, Ven and Zhazha and thought how much I would miss them. Fer and Ven will also be graduating this semester, so I’d imagine what would Zhazha feel when we’re no longer around.
I regret the fact that it was only now that I became very very close to these crazy beautiful ladies. Everytime we’d hang-out in my apartment to make our papers for 105, it would be a total laughfest. Not only that, they would mess up my bed, drink my supply of Caramel Mocha, and open my packs of Twiggies. You’d think we’re having a sleep-over instead of a group meeting. My housemate would sometimes call us "highschool groupies".
I will really miss them.
The fact that graduation is very near made me realize that I might not be spending that much time with my friends. Besides the Coffee Blends Nights with Nica, Aileen, Daphne, and Jeck; I think I should take Aiza and Kater’s offer for a weekly night-out at Isis Bar.
Last night, caffeine consumption with the Coffee Blends Girls was on a particular high. But I felt something was missing, maybe because Fried was no longer with us. His insane jokes were usually the highlight of the evening.

Fried, if you’re reading this, I checked my e-mail yesterday morning and you still haven’t sent my bio-sketch. I have been waiting for that for three weeks. You are so going to the Ilocos trip with me! No buts! No excuses!
Thanks to Tweet Sering, I am slowly turning myself into a Wandergirl. I thought, why not finally reward myself after four excruciating years in college? Crazy as it sounds, I’ll be splurging my savings to go to Ilocos in September, with Icing to Bohol in October (after graduation), then to our province in Samar where I shall be spending Christmas with family and super-extended relatives. By the time the year ends, I’ll be penniless.
Hmm… that doesn’t sound such a good plan, does it?
Haha! Oh well, what the hell!

The Shameful Tongue

2006-07-31T03:16:00.000-07:00

In between putting together the final output of my manuscript, I was able to finish a book in two days. When I traveled back home to Manila, I rode the bus straight to the last stop. I chose not to take the MRT from Magallanes station to Kamuning like I normally do and let my butt endure the 3-hour bus ride coupled with the horrible Manila traffic. I thought it would be the perfect opportunity not to deal with my manuscript, but finish the book instead. And I made the right decision.
The said book was about how he wrote his four previous books, three of which were a phenomenal hit (especially to the youngsters). Not only was it a hit because of its weird and satirical humor, but because of the various philosophies the author presents that will really make you stop and think.
But mostly the book is about on writing and being a writer.
After reading it, his ideas made me think of how I perceive everything around me.
He said that a lot of people say that writers are insane, crazy people. But I think that writers are not really crazy, they’re just free—free to think and conceive everything and anything they want. Mainly because they refuse to box themselves in the various ideas influenced and insisted upon by the society. For writers, there is no box—only ideas and concepts waiting to be recognized and fulfilled. If writers will permit themselves to be vacuumed by stereotypes and just easily accept the things around them as they are, then what will or can he write?
However, I still do believe that every person is entitled to his own opinion, and if they think that writers are crazy I can’t blame them. I mean, Sylvia Plath ( whom I believe is one of the greatest female poets of all time) put her head inside an oven and Ernest Hemingway shot himself in the head.
Deriving from their assertion that writers are mentally ill, then I should say that they’re the ones who are more nuts. Why in the world would you bother to read a book, or anything for that matter if you know the one who wrote it is crazy?
Generally speaking, what’s wrong with being crazy? Don’t you know that when you’re insane you have the most freedom? Because you don’t need to explain your thoughts and actions to other people. You can do, say, and think whatever you want at any given point and time without having the need to be understood. You’re sense of freedom exceeds the measure than majority of the population’s.

Okay, I think the Mandaluyong Mental Hospital will be overcrowded with patients tomorrow.

Another thing that troubled me after reading the book, was the fact that I am no longer that proficient with the Filipino and Tagalog language. This realization seriously scared me and made me shameful of myself.
I was born and raised in Manila. My mother is Waray, while my father is Bisaya. However, when I started to become conscious with the way I speak I observed that I can no longer speak in straight Filipino, especially when I am trying to express a certain idea or make a certain point. It’s either I would state it in fluent English, or if I do start to speak in Filipino at some point I would code-switch to English, which sometimes make me sound cono, which I’m not.
This is also the reason why I always pray that my HUM 170 teacher, Prof. Zafaralla would not ask me in either Filipino or Tagalog.
And one thing that would warn you when I’m already mad or angry at someone or something is when I start to forcefully say, what’s on my mind, in straight English. There was one very late evening, I was once again having my insomnia episodes and when I was finally feeling sleepy the people living at the apartment directly above ours was making a racket. Okay, I’m overreacting it wasn’t really a racket. It was more like a loud hammering sound and it was terribly annoying and irritating! So I got out of bed, then out of the apartment, and instead of angrily screaming, “Hoy! Itigil n’yo yan! Kung ayaw n’yong matulog, magpatulog kayo!”, what I screamed was, “Excuse me? Someone’s trying to sleep here!”
It turned out that they were indeed hammering something, a battery; for their alarm clock.
Since highschool, my proficiency in Filipino grammar started to decline. No matter how many times it was taught to me, I still tend to forget when to properly use “ng” instead of “nang”. And I need to think for five to ten seconds first before I could answer that “Panghalip” is Pronoun, “Pandiwa” is Verb, “Pang-Uri” is Adjective and “Pang-abay” is Adverb.
And in this blog. Yes, in this blog, I have very few entries written in Filipino. I think I have one in Waray and a couple in French. Mostly these pages are dominated by the English language.
Most important fact, did you know that I have written only one Filipino short story? And when you say short, it’s just four pages short (plus, you can hardly call it a short story).
When I was in highschool, some of my classmates and teachers complimented me when I speak English with an American twang. Little did they know that every time I spoke in English and Literature class, I always imagine myself to be like Alicia Silverstone in “Clueless”.
In the university, Prof. Cervantes and Prof. Avalos repeatedly told us that we are communication arts students, therefore we should be masters of language. Masters of language, or did they mean masters of the ENGLISH language? The medium of teaching in our curriculum is always English. Long before I was a freshman the degree program used to have Humanidades (Humanities) but I guess only a few students were brave enough to take a literature subject in Filipino, thus they removed it from the curriculum.
Over the phone, my bestfriend and I discussed this issue that he, himself, was also troubled because he is also a Communication Arts graduate. We both thought that we are Communication Arts students and not English Communication Arts students, therefore we should both be equally masters of Filipino and English, because here in our country communication is done in both languages. Our department should give the same sense of importance to both by also conceptualizing and promoting speech, writing, and theater majors in Filipino. That would be a huge task, but what is size for the sake of quality education?
For second grade Reading class I successfully translated the children’s story, “The Lion and the Mouse” from English to Filipino. My mother was amazed when I was working on the assignment. And all I could think of was, “What’s the big deal?”
Thirteen years later, I became an embarrassment. I am admittedly ashamed of what my tongue and thought-process has turned into. Believe me when I tell you that I am making the conscious effort to speak in straight Tagalog, if not, Filipino. And mind you, it is very difficult.

Birthday Wishlist #1: English-Tagalog, Tagalog-English POCKET Dictionary

Case Dismissed

2006-07-31T03:08:00.000-07:00

July 30

I’d like to compare my friends’ advice to food. The look and thought of it will entice you to eat it, but it is still up to you whether you will munch on it or not.

I asked my bestfriend of eleven years, what is so wrong of being content with the explanation you give yourself rather having to confront the person for the truth? We were in the middle of a chat discussion (she’s now residing in New Zealand) and she urged me to demand an explanation for something she thought was significant, while I on the other hand had already put the issue to rest.
What would’ve happened if I did the other way around? I once told myself that I will try to make right and assertive decisions that will no longer make me think “what if I did otherwise?”. Yet, I realize now that whatever choice and move you make, the “what ifs” will always and forever be there. Our lives are full of them. It seems unfair that you mostly get a clear picture of the two sides of a coin, but you only get to choose one. It’s very rare that you will be given the opportunity to have both. Oh well, what is fair these days?
I knew she was just suggesting what she thought was the best move towards the situation. She is very much concerned that with the way I view things now will gravely affect the way I would see future similar conditions. Her good intention of injecting me with a dose of faith, trust, and benefit of a doubt regarding the situation was crystal clear. I have to admit her convincing powers were effective because at some point I was beginning to entertain the idea. However, when our conversation ended I stood firm with the assertion that I made the right move and wanted not to know anything and just be satisfied with the reason I have given myself. After much pondering, I thought what’s the point of wanting an explanation? It’s quite obvious isn’t it? Actions speak louder than words.
My other bestfriend (the one here in Manila) told me a bunch of times before that multiperspectivity is good, but at the end of every discussion and rationalizing it is and will still always be my decision that will decide the outcome and fate of everything in my life. Ofcourse, plain common sense his words were true.
So, I once again bid goodbye and returned the evidence of my so-called confusions where they belonged—back in the archives section, next to Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphics.
My brain cells have more important things to deal with.

The Aid

2006-07-24T17:29:00.000-07:00

Funny how indeed “the universe conspires in making you realize your Personal Legend”.

According to Joseph Campbell in his book A Hero with a Thousand Faces, one of the stages which an archetypal hero must pass in his journey is the acquisition of a supernatural aid. This supernatural aid can be in a form of an object (anting-anting, sword of excalibur, etc.) or a person (fairy godmother) and it/he/she usually appears when the hero is seemed to be lost from his path or is ready to give up on his pursuit.

Since reading Campbell, about two to three years ago, I’ ve always believed that we are our own heroes and anti-heroes, each with its own journey and a personal legend.
And in my own tale, it is only now that I came to realize that I met my supernatural aid just last week. His old and wise words kept ringing in my ear—the answers to the riddle that I have long since deciphered but refused to recognize and accept.

“I hope I am not yet too late in telling you this. But do not let anyone interfere with your plans, with what you want with your life, with your career.”

I knew this all along.
“It’s only common sense,” my bestfriend told me over coffee and donuts.
“I know, but what are the odds of hearing it from a person who’s practically a stranger to me? Saying it sternly right in front of my face? I’d expect to hear it from you or from my mother or aileen, but certainly not from him.”
We both knew what I was talking about. The old man’s words finally put an end to days and weeks of confusion.

ON MANUSCRIPT MODE

2006-07-14T03:30:00.000-07:00

Two hours sleep.
Lost count of Caramel Mocha consumption.
This is what happens when you strain yourself to finish everything two weeks before deadline.
Manuscript.
Manuscript.
Manuscript.
Proofread.
2nd Draft.
Proofread.
Final Draft.
My adviser’s given deadline for Final Draft = 1st week of August
The deadline I give myself for Final Draft = July 18
Why?
Because I have Speech Com 105.
And I still want to enjoy the remaining days of my last semester.

Am I going to do a Wonderwoman stunt again?
It’s either I make it or I break it.
Doing this is not really a burden. In truth, it’s hardly challenging at all.
Maybe, that’s what’s wrong.
I am not being challenged by this task. Thinking that it is THE requirement for graduation.
I should’ve taken the Thesis option instead. Research, Analysis, Critical Thinking, Innovation, Defense… That’s a good challenge..
But that would be suicide.
Well, people say that would be suicide…
But overcoming possible suicide is a huge challenge, isn’t it?
I should’ve majored writing instead of speech communication…
Then thesis or creative output… That would be sweet!
Oh, well.
Manuscript.

SECOND THOUGHTS

2006-07-13T11:06:00.000-07:00

JULY 11

The elation I felt this morning was truly refreshing. Indeed, it was one of the best days I’ve had in LB since the semester started. The weather was perfect, everything went smoothly as planned, and apprehensions instantly faded.
I was able to stop and think… and breathe. Breathe. And regain focus. I’ve been out from it for quite sometime.

*******
Ate Emy and I talked about things last night and confirmed to me what I have asserted myself a long time ago: when you have reached the end of the line, I still am and will always be the same person. I will not be in pieces.

******
It’s 12:09 in the morning. I’m trying to fight off the sleepiness and the tiredness slowly creeping in my eyes. I don’t want to close them yet—not yet. The night is much too precious not to weave and string words. It would be a waste of the opportune silence and darkness.
Or is this the feeling of guilt for abandoning precious work in the height of the supposed fervor?
Confident that when you return your absence would not have been felt. When you face it, the familiar sense of intensity will still be present.
Unfortunately, that is not the case. You find yourself a stranger to your own creation. Having departed from it longer than one might expect. Everything is random. You try to pick up the pieces, but they no longer fit each other to complete the puzzle. Was it too soon? Or was it too late?
Time had lost what was meant to be great.

******
I came to realize this. These hands are no longer warm enough to comfort themselves. These hands are no longer tough enough to carry and lift every burdened soul. These hands are no longer strong enough to heal their own wounds and hide their own scars. And these hands are no longer brave enough to touch the flames once more.
I was made to believe that these hands have found their refuge and solace. And that the prolonged coldness, at last would finally cease.
Ignorant of what is true and what is unreal and however foolish it may seem, I now knew that I should've not chosen to believe.

So when everything's been said and done, these hands have no choice but to still survive everything alone.

JULY 14

I was supposed to post something creative.
Written two days ago, proofread, and editted.
But as I sit here, at exactly 2:11 in the morning, having consumed five cups of caramel mocha, listening to alternative rock and reggae blaring all over the shop.
I discovered something, which made me think...really hard.
Then realized that what I was about to post is something juvenile.
Very juvenile, indeed...
Have I forced my own decision, again?

What was I thinking?
This isn't real.

Practicing with Plath

2006-06-17T07:53:00.000-07:00

Sir P.M. deciphered the complicatedly difficult grammatical structure of Sylivia's Plath poem, "You're".

Here's my version of it.

YOU'RE

Bibliophile, forever beneath the texts of language,

Blingual, multilingual, coversing to all shapes and sizes, and

feather-weight, easy to keep,

though the butt cheeks are plump as tomatoes.

Self-made of humble-min by the high beings.

Concealing yourself as one hundred year-old hermits do

Yet, chittering like a non-stop chipmunk

whenever drunk and within miles and

miles of driving on freeway.

Looking at you, my little butterfly.

The Brush-out

2006-05-25T03:23:00.000-07:00

The whitish yellow froth simmers out from the cave that opens and closes. The tang is bitter despite of its promised fruit flavor. Transparent liquid begins to settle in his eyes as he tightens his grip on the thin handle, pressing harder causing his face to twitch with pain.
The pushing and pulling are heavy, as the feeling in his chest.
His thoughts repeatedly echo "I'm sorry", with her face slowly coming in his mind's view. The froth drips to his neck. He doesn't notice.
"I'm sorry". Slowly he hears her voice speaking the words, delivered by the fresh memory he wishes to lose.
He doesn't see the wetness reaches his shirt.
Yet he becomes aware of the swollen eyes--the source of his flooded cheeks. He frees tha hand where the thin handle is attached and wipes his face. He gulps some of the foam but instantly vomits them.
"I'm sorry? Fuck you, bitch!". It is his voice he recalls. "Go to hell. Fuck him for all I care."
He forces himself to gag every bit of foam and saliva, trying to remove the repulsive taste. Blood, spit, light brownish yellow froth settle on his polished sink. He opens the faucet. The crystal clear washes away the disgusting sight. The drain burps as it sucks in its nourishment.

Ba't Ganun?

2006-05-21T08:24:00.000-07:00

Kainis!

Binigay na nga yung candy, binawi pa.

Haay!

Homer's Tale

2006-05-17T08:41:00.000-07:00

There are stories that are within the limit of a thousand words. While there are some are only made for a hundred.

With the discussion about long-winding sentences; Sir Paolo asked us to make it worthy, fit into a sentence. Let's try...

Weeks before graduation, when all thesis and manuscripts had been turned in, a five-group brods and sisses from the Order of DeMolay decided to have a weekend backpack to Mindoro and stay in an abandoned house oddly located on the forest’s threshold to enjoy isolation from the civilized world and do a little “ghost-hunting”; the first night presented itself suitable for the exploit for the moon was full and so with their flashlights and all the courage they could muster they paired-up except to one brave brod by the name of Homer who wanted to experience the thrill alone; came morning, they returned to the old house with empty stories except for Homer who was eager to let his companions see what he saw, urging them to stay one more night so he could take them to the spot; when the two hands of the clock joined each other, Homer woke them andthey took their flashlights, blindly conquered the thick forest and finally found themselves at the edge of a cliff wherein on the count of three they shot their flashlights down—then, what came into view, tens of feet below them and with almost little light they had, was the smashed and contorted body of Homer covered in what seemed like dried blood, their white faces darted towards their brod as he said, “See guys, I told you there was a ghost in here.”

Yahoo!!

2006-05-09T23:28:00.000-07:00

Infairneezz..

April 24 issue

May 8 issue

And the byline doesn't look bad..hehe..char!

Funny when something you're wishing for the longest time, unexpectedly happens. Indeed, patience is a virtue.

The rewards of hardwork comes out when you least expect it.

CW10

2006-05-07T11:16:00.000-07:00

I'm very happy I made that decision to enroll in Sir P. Manalo's class. Though the course description is very basic, I am learning a lot of new things from this Palanca Awardee.
The whole very hellish process of working-out my cross-reg papers was so worth it.
I had so much fun in last Friday's class. Kinda reminds me of Theater class. We were discussing about character-building in a short story and we had this exercise on listening to the characters. He called up a couple of my classmates. Assigned some pretty odd characters for them to do role-playing stuff in front. The audience gave the back-drop and the character's background.
My classmates' treatment on the roles they took was hilarious! Especially of the 2nd group. Peter, a Journalism student from UP Baguio, assumed the role of an old woman selling P50- gigantic ice buko.
Extreme Laughfest!!!!

Sir Manalo discussing the "listening" on characters. The first couple, Joana and Fernan, in front

My groupmate Joana. Ain't she pretty?

My seatmate and former UPLB babe, Mariel

Mariel in BlacknWhite

My other seatmate, Niña. I call her the Pinay version of the young Elizabeth Wurtzel. She's one of the oddest-thinkers I've known. That's why I like her. She would often times ask some not frequently-asked-questions like, "Ate, do you think your life is mundane?". Or, "Ate, did you get pissed when you found out that the fairytales told you weren't true?". And then one time, when I told her that Sir Manalo was absent she said, "Good, I'm not in the mood to live today." Plus, she's addicted to C2.

2006-04-21T21:03:00.000-07:00

Class policies are given to students during the first three days of class. They're meant to be a guide to what the professor expects to his/her students.

And here are my top 3 favorites.

3. Excuses for missed quizzes, test, and exams are unacceptable, only if you're dead or dying.
- Prof. Glen Lubuguin, COMA 101

2. Students should not conduct boring reports nor should they pattern their reports after televisions sitcoms, reality shows, teleseryes or talk shows. The class is held in a university not a television studio. Students should not read from written reports.
- Prof. Paolo Manalo, CW 10- Creative Writing

1. If you don't take my class seriously, I'll see to it you'll be deprived of a decent burial.
- Prof. Glen Lubuguin, ENG 104-Argument

2006-04-09T04:47:00.000-07:00

when the door closes and the window shuts,

the roof will eventually open.

tomorrow, or in a few days
at last a dream come true.

and I'm just starting.

Bouncing in and out...again :-)

2006-03-13T18:54:00.000-08:00

I hate, hate it so much when carefully laid out plans flop. Looking forward in finishing my paper last thursday so as not to stay in LB on Friday. Since trying to be as flexible as I can be, I gave way to this unexpected requirement from Philo class and ended up going to Manila the next day after turning in my paper.
Makati for practicum.
Ortigas for investigative paper.
Kamias, my mom's office.
UP Diliman to return three books (made it a few minutes before they rang their bells).
All in one day.

Whew!
Nope. That wasn't tiring. Not tiring at all.

Saturday. Had to leave our house at (oh so ungodly hour!) of four a.m. to meet with fher and aiza at Jollibee Calamba. Spent the entire day at a call center job fair in Canlubang. Interview, documenation, immersion, the works..for eng 102 case study. Was able to meet and converse with handsome Cong. Timmy Chipeco, but trust me when I say "charming" is certainly not one of his qualities. Good looks but hardly gives interest to people. Sad!
Met Zhazha at Megamall. Funny incident involving a Ginebra basketball player (I'll post later).
Zhazha slept over in our house in Caloocan. We practiced and studied our ass off for French Oral Exam which I think definitely paid-off and did a bit of Eng 5 folio. And a whole lot of chatting, consuming lots of caffeine, and munching junk food. Our living room once again looked like a refuge camp with the mattresses laid out on the floor. We finally dozed off at 5am, she on the sofa while I in the comfy mattress. In the morning, intense chatting, over breakfast, about crushes and highschool obsessions. Weird she still calls me "ate".

Monday. Interview and orientation in Philippine Graphic. I have to say that sacrificing my morning class to be there was so worth it. Had fun conversing with Mr. Toledo because he was also a graduate of UPLB (he's batch '79 by the way). Looking forward to start my practicum there immediately after classes end.

Sleepy..sleepy..sleepy.
Better doze off first.

Malagim na Umaga

2006-02-04T08:47:00.000-08:00

Nakapanlulumo ang unang balitang narinig ko pagkagising ko kaninang umaga.

60 dead, 100+ injured in a Stampede in Ultra.

First two words that came to my mind, "Senseless tragedy".

Or is it?

Ang kaibigan at bestfriend ng roommate ko na si Sheila ay gumawa ng thesis tungkol sa noontime show na Wowowee. Si Sheila ay isang MassComm major sa UP Baguio, liban sa angking talento pagdating sa kakikayan at pagsa-sour-grape, mahusay na kritiko din siya ng mga kung anu-anong palabas sa sine at telebisyon.
Sa kanyang thesis, isinaad niya (with utmost emphasis) na ang palabas ay nagbibigay ng "false hopes" sa mga kapwa natin Pilipino. Ako, si Fried, at si Lhen ay sumasang-ayon sa pananaw na ito. Para sa amin, ginagawa nilang mga tamad ang mga taong may kapasidad namang magtrabaho. Hinahayaan nilang dumepende ang mga tao sa kanilang mga "gimik" na biglang- kuwarta at biglang-yaman. Itinatago nila ito sa maskara ng pagtulong at pagmamalasakit, kuno. Mahusay ang publicity ng programa. Maganda ang approach, ika nga. Ginagamit nila ang kahinaan sa pera at kasalatan sa buhay ng karamihan sa ating mga mamamayan para lang tumaas ang ratings nila at dumami ang mga sponsors. Hindi yun pagtulong. Nanggagamit lang sila para yumaman.
Ang totoong pagtulong hindi na kailangang i-broadcast sa buong mundo. Ang totoong pagtulong hindi na kailangan pa ng mga mabubulaklak na mga salita. Ang totoong pagtulong ay kung bababa si Gabby Lopez mula sa kaniyang mala-pedestal na estado at ipapamahagi ang kanyang kabang yaman sa mga nangangailangan. At ang totoong pagmamalasakit ay hindi na hinahaluan ng pekeng drama't pag-arte.
Walang may gusto sa trahedyang ito. Pero kung iisipin natin, may rason kung bakit ito kailangang mangyari. At sana ang rason ay malaman ng nakararami, dahil maraming buhay ang nabuwis dahil dito.
Isa pang obserbasyon habang ipinapanood ang mga detalye ng malagim na pangyayari. Nakakainis isipin na sa gitna ng kaguluhan at kamatayan ay may gana pang mag-network-bashing ang dalawang estasyon sa pagbabalita, kaninang umaga. Habang papalit-palit ako ng estasyon, makikita pa rin sa mga salita at paraan ng pagbabalita ng mga mamamahayag ang pagbabangayan. Mas mababa ang pigura ng mga namatay at nasugatan sa ABSCBN, samantalang mas mataas ang sa GMA. Ang mga pahayag ng mga taong kinausap at hinarap ni Oscar Oida sa camera ay nagsabing kasalanan lahat ng ABS ang nangyari, samantalang sa mga taong kinapanayam ni Ina Reformina ay nagsabi ng mga magagandang bagay tungkol sa programa at hindi daw dapat sisihin ang ABS.
Nagulat din ako sa mga nasabi ni Karen Davila. Nakita ko ang kanyang pagkainis, nang ipinahiwatig niya na sa himpilan lamang nila dapat dumaan ang detalye tungkol sa imbestigasyon at impormasyon na makatutulong sa mga kaanak at kaibigan ng mga nasawi. Malamang ay napagsabihan siya na hindi nagtutugma ang ibinabalita ng mga mamamahayag sa magkabilang estasyon.
Nainis ako kay Ina Reformina. Siya mismo ang naglalagay ng mga salita sa mga taong kanyang kinakapanayam.
Ang mga reporters ng ABS iisa ang inaawit. Naghuhugas-kamay sa pangyayri. May ilang pagkakataon na sila ay nag-su-sugar-coat. Walang kuwenta ang mga pinagsasabi nilang ganun. Ang katotohanan ang kailangan ng mga tao.
May sala din sila (kasalanan din ng ilan sa mga tao dahil sa kawalan ng disiplina) sapagkat hindi nila naisaayos ang sistema ng pagpasok ng mga tao. Alam nila 'yun. Kaya nga sila ang sagot sa lahat-lahat ng gastusin. Wala silang karapatang sabihin na 'yun ay pagtulong, dahil 'yun ay pag-aako ng responsabilidad.
Sa GMA, bakit hindi na lang derestahin? ABSCBN..hindi "ng kabilang estasyon" o "sa kabilang himpilan". At eto pa, utang na loob, h'wag na kayo magtaas ng bangko! News Icon: "GMA News, nakatulong sa paghahanap ng mga nawawala". Tulad ng sinabi ko, ang "serbisyong totoo" ay hindi ina-announce.
Mahirap nga naman talagang maging mabuting mamamahayag kung nasa ilalim ka ng utos ng pamunuan na iyong pinagtratrabahuan. Nasaan na ang tinatawag nilang journalism integrity?
Bilang isang di-prinsipyong mamamahayag, ang iyong dedikasyon ay para sa mga tao, hindi sa pamunuan na naglalagay ng pera/tseke sa iyong buwanang sobre.
Sana maalala ninyo ang mga salita sa araw ng inyong panunumpa o di kaya'y i-rebyu ninyo ang inyong KBP Code of Ethics.
Kung sa bagay, aanhin niyo naman ang mga makatotohanang salita kung ang inyong mga sobre at posisyon sa trabaho na ang nangungusap.

Bakit lagi't-lagi na lang buhay ang kailangang masakripisyo para sa mga leksyon na kung tutuusin ay alam na natin sapul sa pagkabata? Bakit kailangang may mawalan ng ina, ama, anak, kapatid, kaanak, at kaibigan bago natin makita't maunawaan ang masamang resulta ng ating mga maling gawa? Maituturing nga talaga kaya na aksidente ang pangyayari kaninang umaga? Kung gayon nga, isa itong aksidente na instrumento upang gisingin ang ating kamalayan sa maraming suliranin at mga kamalian sa ating lipunan.

Sa mga biktima, hangad nila na maambunan ng kahit konting kaginhawaan at kasiyahan sa pamamagitan ng mga pa-premyo ng Wowowee ngunit ayon sa mga nabubuhay at nakasaksi sa mga pangyayari ay umulan ng luha at hinagpis. Totoo, lungkot ang namayani sa lahat ng mga tao sa Ultra. Ngunit natupad naman ng mga pumanaw ang kanilang hiling at higit pa. Hindi na sila maghihirap at magdurusa. Nasa kanlungan na sila ng nakatataas. At sa kanilang kinaroroonan ang ginhawa at saya ay hindi matutumbasan ng milyon-milyong pera at papremyo.

The Rebel Princess

2006-01-30T02:50:00.000-08:00

Things you can do with a Nokia6230 at 3am in the morning.

Model: Ana Theresa "Icing" Labella

Photography, Styling,and Clothes by MidniteSolitaire

Pagbati

2006-01-28T23:22:00.000-08:00

Time: sometime between 3-4pm
Where: Starbucks
With Whom: Beloved, cousin Manda

Kamusta si Crushboi?
- Ayun! Crush pa rin.

'Musta school?
- Seems everything's well and good.

'Musta si Auntie?
- Workahlic pa'rin, but we get to have our dinners.

How about friends?
-Still crazy and ever supportive.

The new story?
-Still struggling. Don't ask.

So, everything's pretty much..?
-Same old, same old..not new coz there ain't any.

Train of Thoughts

2006-01-22T04:09:00.000-08:00

After having a rough school week, you thanked the heavens under your breath that once again you will be shutting your books and living a fast-paced citygirl’s life. Despite the diet you imposed on yourself, your body screamed to the need of caffeine in Starbucks and high cholesterol value of Yellow Cab Pizza. And as you took that heavy-trafficked cab ride from La Salle to Magallanes to meet with your driver, you created a mental picture on how you were going to spend your weekend- Friday: school work day, Saturday: invite friends for Starbucks and Decades, Sunday: mass, brunch date with mother at Oody’s, then dinner date with guyfriend no. 3 at Nuvo.

At Magallanes, you realized that the driver didn’t park your car at the usual spot. You cursed out loud because you were running late. Then your phone rang. It was your mother, informing you that she borrowed your car because hers broke down. She told you to hurry and take a cab instead to meet her at her office in GMA.

You argued with her and told her that you no longer had enough cash for a cab ride because you paid for your dress, that you only had your credit cards. She suggested you take the MRT . Her suggestion baffled you for she never, in your life, lets you take the public transportation. And besides, that would be an insult for you. The only child of GMA’s VP was going to ride a public train? Hell no! Over your dead body! So you begged your mother to had the driver fetch you, but she said it was impossible and insisted you take the MRT.

Minutes after, you were shocked at the number of people. The noise, heat that clung in the air, and nauseating smell were very much unbearable and you felt insulted when one of the guards told you to open your bag so he could check it. After you endured the line to the ticket booth, you even had to be taught by a stranger which side of the card should face up when you insert it in the machine.

In the train, you found yourself sandwiched in between two men who could pass as Paquito Diaz’s goons in an FPJ movie. Your skin pressed on against theirs as more people entered the train and gave you a close contact view of one of the guy’s brown-blackish nape. It was so close it was as if you were about to kiss it. His pores were huge and they produced beads of sweat that trickled down profusely towards his drenched shirt. You closed your eyes at the hideous sight, yet the vomit-like smell coming from him re-created the image in your mind. You tried to hold your breath but you realized that you cannot possibly hold your breath within the next ten stations. So you gave in and just bit your tongue whenever you inhaled. Much to your irritation and dismay your Liz Clairborne perfume was drowned by the mixed odor of sweat, deodorant, and fragrances of fellow passengers.

Then the unimaginable happened, the train halted almost halfway to Buendia station. You heard the operator over the speaker apologizing for the inconvenience and explaining that a technical malfunction has occurred. It got warmer inside the train. You felt perspiration all over your forehead and temples and because of the Victoria Secret Lotion, your arms became sticky and shiny as oil. You can’t reach for your handkerchief for one hand was glued to the metal railing while other was carrying your exquisite dress for the graduation ball. You bit your lip and forced yourself not to say anything but your thoughts said all the curses you knew ever since you learned to curse. In minutes, the train was again on the go and then you thought of all the things you will demand from your mother once you made her realize the agony she had to put you through. You still could not believe that she told you to take the MRT.

As the train stopped at each station, more people forced their way inside. You silently watched people of different ages, gender, background and even nationalities squeezed themselves inside the very claustrophobic space. Most of them dressed as professional office workers with “techy” gadgets. A few you certainly knew a bit well-off for you recognized the expensive clothes and “fashionista” accessories, some were in student’s uniform, while the rest (like the man standing in front of you) wore the ordinary jeans and shirt some of which you even discovered were a bit torn or had small holes in them.

Then you looked at yourself. Your full fashion ensemble was bought in HongKong. The knee-high leather boots were a genuine Manolo Blahnik that matched your black Yves Saint Laurent shoulder bag, and the dress you were carrying, the precious dress for the graduation ball, was delicately embroidered by your classmate’s mother who was working at Pitoy Moreno’s design studio.

Although you were conscious that your clothes and accessories probably cost more than the salaries of some of the passengers—which say that you were certainly well heeled than them and you had every right to feel proud and be boastful, yet in every speck of your thoughts and feelings you felt otherwise. You realized that you were no different than the person standing right next to you, the man whose nape you found disgusting.

Inside this box, cage-like, moving contraption, wherein spatial privacy is an impossibility during the rush hours, you are equal despite of your social status and background. It is where, even in brief moments, the three social classes: the elite, middle class, and the poor meet in one leveled line. None is most certainly better nor higher than the other. You must accept this inevitable fate once inside if time and money is indeed precious to you because you want to reach your destination the cheapest and fastest way possible. And you will only break free from that fate once the doors slide open for you to exit them.

When the train stopped at Cubao station a lot of people struggled their way out of the sliding doors and the number of passengers slowly dissolved into half. Finally, you were able to breathe normally when ugly-nape-guy left his spot. For the very first time, you thought you finally able to see things clearly and suddenly felt embarrassed of your attention-getting clothes.

You dropped-off at Kamuning station and walked slowly towards your mother’s office building. Before entering your mother’s office, you stared at your reflection in the mirror across her office. Your dress was crumpled. Your face was very oily you thought you could fry something on it. Your hair in wild disarray. You thought of freshening up before you face your mother and her colleagues but you changed your mind and stepped inside.

She was at her usual VP mode. When she saw you, she asked, “How was the MRT?”

You smiled, “It was very interesting.”

Gone

2006-01-17T04:29:00.000-08:00

She kept her silence

in the midst of the frenzied merrymaking.

She refused to eat

despite of the feast laid in front of her.

She paid no heed for earthly things

nor cared for praises and cheers.

She walked towards the shadows

though the light searched for her.

Until the time

her senses left her,

and they found

that she was gone.

Oh No Dude, Not Again!

2006-01-12T18:17:00.000-08:00

How come no matter how determined the will is, it is oftenly the body who wins to fail?

Damnit.

Salubong

2006-01-06T08:56:00.000-08:00

Sa aking pagbabalik isang malaking sorpresa ang naghihintay sa akin. Pagbukas ko ng pinto ay tumambad sa akin ang kulay dilaw na likidong nakamapa sa aming maputi at makintab na sahig. At hindi lang iisang isla ng likido ang nakita ko, dalawa pa.
Sa aking galit hinanap ko ang mga may sala. Yung isa nakita kong natutulog sa ilalim ng aking kama at yung isa naman ay nadatnan kong nagbubungkal sa may halamanan. Hinablot ko sila at ginawa kong pamunas. Sinubukan nilang tumakas at tumakbo ngunit mahigpit ang pagkakahawak ko sa kanila. Nag-ingay sila na parang nagmamakaawa, ngunit nagmatigas ako. Kailangan nilang maparusahan at maturuan ng tamang disiplina. Paano sila lalaki ng maayos kung palalagpasin ko lang ito? Nang kaunti na lang ang kulay dilaw, dinala ko sila sa kubeta at pinaupo sa malamig na sahig nito.
“Naku! Persephone! Midnight! Ilang beses ko ba sasabihin at ituturo sa inyo na dito..!” Idiniin ko ang mga puwet nila sa sahig. “Dito kayo wee-wee-wee, ha? Dito lang!”
Inungulan lang ako ni Midnight, samantalang muntik na ako makalmot ni Persephone. Aba, may gana pang magalit ang dalawa. Hindi naman sila ang maglilinis ng pinag-ihian nila. Ayos lang sa’kin na umihi sila kahit saan basta’t marunong silang maglinis, e hindi naman! Sinarado ko ang pinto ng kubeta para magtanda ang dalawa at nagsimula silang nag-duet sa pag-ungol.
Tinawagan ko ang aking kaibigang eksperto sa ganitong mga bagay.
“Mare!”
“Anong problema?”
“Hindi pa rin matuto-tuto yung dalawa. Kauuwi ko lang at nadatnan kong nag-wee-wee sila sa sahig.”
“Ginawa mo ba yung tinuro ko?”
“Oo naman. Ilang beses na. Ganun pa rin, eh!”
“Ulit-ulitin mo lang, matututo din ‘yan mga ‘yan. Pasensiya lang, mare.”
“Gaano ba katagal bago nagtino yung mga iyo?”
“Depende. Yung iba kaagad naman, meron din matagal.”
“Pati poo-poo, kaya?”
“Oo, pati poo-poo kaya nila.”
“Buti ka pa. Hindi pasaway ang mga sa’yo. Sige, pupunasan ko na ‘tong mga regalo nila sa’kin.”
“Sige, mare. Konting tiyaga pa, ha? Goodluck.”
“Sige, salamat.”
Matapos kong alisin ang mga natitirang dilaw at muling mapaputi at mapakintab ang aming sahig, binalikan ko ang dalawa sa kubeta. Tahimik na sila at sa loob ng ilang segundo ay nagtitigan lang kami.
“Anong tinitingin-tingin n’yo d’yan?” sigaw ko.
Dahan-dahan silang lumapit sa’kin, pinaligiran ako at hinaplos ng kanilang mga ulo’t katawan ang aking mga binti. Naglalambing. Pawang sinasabi na, “Opo, hindi na po mauulit.”

Requiem for an Angel

2005-12-01T18:44:00.000-08:00

November 27

It is only here that I shall mourn.

Last Friday I received the horrible news that one of my students was raped and murdered. Her almost unrecognizable body was found at the back of an old carinderia a few streets away from where she lived. The reports made by the foundation stated that a man found her naked while he was trying to pee. Her face was covered with dried blood and dirt and her right eye was missing. She had numerous deep cuts in her back and multiple slash wounds from broken glass. And the most gruesomely inhumane of all was the small pieces of broken glass bottle found in her private area. An inexplicable pain and weak feeling surged through me as I looked at the post-mortem pictures. I often see this kinds of incidents on TV and read them on the frontpage of tabloids and I’d never imagine that it would happen to somebody I know. I refuse to accept that the dead and bruised twelve year-old girl in the pictures was the same girl I see in class every week. That the victim was my student – that it was Clarissa.

It ws already the second day of my teaching in the Day Care Center of Brgy. 823 when Clarissa first came into class. She had an arrogant air as she entered the room and unlike most of the children, she refused to participate. She was terribly silent while the others enthusiastically recited “All Things Bright and Beautiful” and wrote in their individual journals I had asked from the foundation.

Yet it wasn’t in her first day why she was one among those who I would remember the most. I would primarily remember her as the only student who walked-out of my class in the middle of a lecture. It was on her second day when I announced Aldrin as winner of the poem-reciting contest and not her. I suppose she was expecting that she’d surely win because I complimented her pronunciation.

I was completely shocked by her show of disrespect when she left the room and shut the door behind her. Yet I never directly spoken to her about the incident and just confided her behavior to Ate Norylyx, the social worker who was my superior.

“Do you want me to talk to her?” she asked me.

“Nope. I just want your advice on how to deal with her. I know most of my kids are difficult to handle but none of them ever dared leaving the class without permission.”

“Just be patient with her. The kids in her barangay, they don’t easily give their trust so most often they show apprehension.”

On the following sessions, she came. Soon I discovered that along with Rex, Alvin, and Joseph, she exhibited a potential in beautifully expressing herself with words. I never saw it initially for every time I would ask them to write about a certain topic in their journals I would often see her draw pictures instead.

I always ask my students to write something that they feel, observe, and experience. And if you’re used to reading their work you would discover that children would most often, if not repeatedly, write about the same thing. Pamela Rose likes to write about the streetfoods she eats after school, Julie writes about her mother who works as a domestic helper, and Jan-jan’s stories would typically be about his usual errand at the foundation’s office.

But mind you, not all stories are pleasant and naive. In the minds of these children, fairytales shall only remain as fairytales and dreams of chocolate mountains and marshmallow covered clouds are never real. Many had written about how they get paid to deliver drugs at night, how their fathers abuse their sons and daughters, how much they want to go to a real school but they can’t afford it, how some of them got separated from their real families and had to live with very poor strangers. Stories of pain, suffering, and misery the killed their innocence ironically written by their very young hands. As I read them, I realized that a person may know these things from television, books, and newspapers, but in truth, they do not know a thing unless they see it with their very own eyes and be in constant contact with the victims of such injustice. Inevitably, at some point, you would feel the responsibility to help them. At least aid them to alleviate the pain. And the only thing you can do is to give them the things handed down to you thru instruction and learning. For you know, it is not yours for the taking. It is merely lend to you.

During these times Clarissa’s words spoke about her mother’s illness, which she most certainly knew, would eventually end her mother’s life. Her handwriting weaved of tales of juvenile disputes among schoolmates and playmates and how often she would wait for the ice cream vendor everyday to buy a five-peso ice cream sandwhich.

The days and sessions after Clarissa’s passing was extremely difficult for me. I was at a loss on how to continue motivating the kids in the midst of the mourning of their comrade, at the same time dealing with my own mourning. I was used to losing some of the kids, for in my free class no one is forced to have a consistent attendance, knowing that in due time they would return in their seats. But this time it was different. Her seat will now forever be empty.

Even here in Los Baños as I indulge over homeworks, speeches, poems, and a whole lot of assigned readings, the dreadful images of her death loomed over my thoughts.

Yesterday, I spoke to Ate Norylyx of what the foundation could do to prevent another thing like this from happening. We try as much as we can to educate them and make them realize that their lives need not to end in slums, yet we cannot protect them from the very environment in which they live. I often ask myself, what is the use of guiding the minds of the children if we cannot shield them from the dangers that surround them? Tin-tin sometimes comes to class with bruises given to her by her father, Rex and Rester quietly listens to my lectures sometimes high on dope, and the most terrible of all, Clarissa’s beautiful words were silenced by her death. Each has his or her own unique potential to grow and yet I am very much afraid that what if everything will be a waste?

Today is my last day. This is my second opportunity to teach them and saying our goodbyes was not as hard as the last. I explained that my classes at the university has started and I shall be returning again to teach them next summer, same as I promised them the summer last.

After I handed down the last pieces of chocolates and candies and patted the boys’ heads while the girls’ gave me their warm hugs, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d still be seeing the same faces the next time I step inside the Day Care. During the three-day a week speech and writing sessions I have had with them, was I truly worthy of their time? Of their hands? Of their young minds? Of the lives they shared on paper and pen? Was I successful in handing down the priceless treasures that I just borrowed from my teachers and mentors? Did I give justice to the traditional pedagogic act of transmitting knowledge? With those mostly blank stares and sometimes inquisitive almost scrutinizing eyes I see every week as I spoke in front, it dawn on me how awful sometimes my own teachers and professors must feel and it made me respect them even more.

Next Sunday, we shall say our goodbye to our little angel. The social workers had asked me to say something in her small dedication rites. As I type these words tonight, I still have no clue as to what words shall I utter to describe her best and in the most fitting ways in which she will always be remembered. Shall I say that she was the only one who walked-out of my classroom? Shall I say that she dreaded her mother’s possible demise yet she often prayed for it so as not to see her mother suffer anymore? Shall I say that her favorite ice cream flavor is cheese and she doesn’t want her ice cream to be put in cones?

Whatever message shall be enlightened upon me, I will only know when the time arrives. And in the hope that my mourning will cease on that day.

2005-10-26T03:38:00.000-07:00

October 24

A wise man once said that an unexamined life is not worth living. But what if the examining becomes the life? Is it really examining or just procrastinating? Where does the thin lie between countlessly asking yourself or just plunging in?
With helpful talks over coffee, brunches, and dinner and late-night phone calls with girlfriends and gay friends, is there much girl talk than girl action? Is it time to stop questioning?
You imagine yourself with so many possibilities and what-ifs, but when reality kicks in you stop and weigh, or rather, overweigh the options. And as you continue to be overwhelmed with the mind-boggling process of deciphering and doing a mental list of the pros and cons, you overlook the small details and eventually the opportunity quietly slips away. They say time waits for no one, much the same with opportunities and chances.
But what if the opportunity isn’t “the” one? Should you trash all the carpe diem attitude and graciously let it pass, waiting for the right one? How would you know if the opportunity is for you in the first place? Does it have to cover every criteria you set for yourself or maybe a percentage of it will do?
And if you do grab every single thing that comes along your way and it ends up like a shattered mirror, do you have the right of regretting of taking it in the first place or should you blame yourself because you were the one who fucked up? Some say there are no bad opportunities, only people who screw every chance they get. Is this really true? It might be possible that you forced yourself in believing that this was meant for you but in fact it wasn’t.
When you are so overcritically indulgent in your new world, you tend to forget that there are some who are trying to reach you from your old world. A message from the answering machine welcomed me home late last night - from one of my closest friends in highschool. I returned the call. What started as a small what’s-up-with-you-it’s-been-like-10-years chat became a semi soap operatic episode of trips down memory lane and self-exploratory discussion about self-growth, assessment and the so-called future that lie ahead. Not to mention a side dish of gossip of who’s in what school, who’s with or not with who, who’s married, and who’s pregnant.
By the time we hang up at daybreak, I had more questions in my head than answers. Well, at least the answers were more simple answers. While the questions kept echoing in my head till I fell asleep.
At noon, I reserved the bus ticket to nowhere’s land. After much tossing and turning in bed, I’ve decided to erase my question marks and put periods instead. I’m definitely not looking forward to the 28-hour bus ride. Yet this long overdue trip with total strangers and being away from civilization for days actually halts all the talk and puts the action where it should have been. Clueless of what is being prepared for me and what should I do, I can only hope that things would be much different this time. And this chance is perhaps what I’ve been waiting for, regardless of the standards I put on myself. Or maybe, the chance is just waiting for me to put myself together and do something.
A wise man once said that an unexamined life is not worth living. But he failed to add that it shouldn’t just stop there. A life truly worth living is when you have to know when to cease killing yourself with the questions. And when you finally do make that decision on which direction to go, whether to pass up or put on the green light, the only sensible thing to do is put on your walking shoes, strut your stuff and move.