The Automatic Lapis

Of Packing.

2008-01-09T17:40:00.000+08:00

I couldn’t believe my senses when I saw all my career’s worth of clutter at the office. I haven’t realized I can get so attached to something worldly.

I have just decided to give my career a break, a hiatus from stress, as my husband refers to it. For me, it was leaving everything I have worked hard for, everything I vowed never to flinch from when extros fly. You see, I have been working for a radio station for the past two years, 2 months and seventeen days—to be exact.

Let me give you a virtual tour to my space:

This was (please take note of the tense) my space when I was still at the radio station. This tiny space ( 2 meters by 2 meters, I think) experienced the nasty, the stressed, the naïve and the better of me. I’d like to pay homage to this space some day. At one time, it was even so hospitable enough to house 4 to 5 persons. Well, of course, nobody stayed too long. We’ve seen some better days and it spells OUTSIDE.

On the office-stark work desk are some of my “frequently-used things”— phone unit for the office trunk line, CD’s, my cellphone, my ID, a single-lens reflex camera (that’s a Nikon F55) and a carry-everywhere bag which contains all my smoking paraphernalia. On the right side is my PC unit which basically became both my nirvana at the station, and my Pandora’s box when it fails. I would also pay my last respects to this PC, and I’m giving it 6 months, max. When I left her, (she’s a she!), she was typing her last will and testament already. Too bad, the printer queued and failed to print the will.

Here’s to your last beep, my friend. For the eyestrain, the cuss and the prayers we uttered together, for your drivers that drove us crazy, and for your belly-harrassing USB ports: I salute you. Thanks for helping met type my resignation letter, by the way.

Next, is what I considered my third home. I spent most of my afternoons here manning the mixer every 9-10 am and 5-6pm daily. During afternoons (say, 4ish) the setting sun would cast a soft light over the knobs and tinkeroos of my console. This was my moment of solitude. And I dearly miss those unholy hours of butt-drying shows.

You may notice that the studio’s set-up is very, very basic. I mean, I could even put one up myself. Simple as it may seem, but this studio really delivered. For the love of math, I can’t keep track of all the Mass Comm students I have had an educational chats with in this booth. Once upon a time, they were all there—running around, touching that knob, failing to wear the headphones during an airbreak and so micro-phobic. Oh, was I ever so stressed! But, I do miss the creeps.

Now, this one here, is our Christmas tree. It’s a drawing, yeah. But it does look like a tree, doesn’t it? Especially with the improvised Christmas Dangles (CD’s? ), it’s a tree and message board all drawn in to one. Haha!

Depression attacks now, and I have no diversion. Argh! Anyway, here’s a rundown of the people who made my last days at the station quite difficult to let go of.

--From Leo. He’s a Dating Daan person and I have always loved our conversations. I even went dead air at one time. This was how he bared his soul to us. If not for these causeries, we would’ve never known that he’s a skater, a great dancer, a guitarist and has been a juvenile “pasaway” (he was already one even before the term was coined and re-coined).

--From Arum. Such a talented lass she is. She sings and her voice is a killer. She jumps around and you can’t really keep her still, lest you want her to have an instant nervous breakdown. She’s a butingtingera, making pakialam of all the softwares she’s adept with at present. Makes a really great impersonation of Anabel Rama. Just a warning: that Doraemon tattoo got there on its own. Ask her.

--From Fateem. She’s new to the brood and I had the luxury of meeting her on my second to the last day. Her voice is so subtle, you’d think she fainted. Great bedroom voice material. I liked her the first time I saw her. Why? Because she reads. I’ve never met anyone who reads for the love of it. (well, Camille Perkins could also be one, but I never saw her again L)

--From Jayvie. Tsaraaaaaaan!!! I’ve got four words for him: Attention Deficit and Hyperactivity Syndrome. He was all too formal the first time I met him. He was wearing a pair of reading glasses, that weren’t and he spoke so minimally. I badly longed to hear his voice, only to wish otherwise later. He was like a young Harry Potter (good thing he isn’t Harry, else he’d constantly fuzz about his scar.) When he went with us to San Fabian, his bag contained all his “kikay” things. Vain! On the best side, he’s sweet and so thoughtful. If he’s a punctuation mark, he’d be “!!”

--From Jeremy. He’s a Virgo and that explains why he’s so sensitive of his surroundings. He can feel things, in a not-so-La Vendetta way. His “beauty” is effortless and catch him work on that smile. An ordinary snap shot with him would make you feel like Sunshine Dizon when she played Bakekang. Yep, that’s how worse the picture is, no pun intended. Jeremy can talk about things but he’s better when he laughs about things.

-From Tim. He’s the boy-next-door, and the-boy-who-cried-wolf. Boy-next-door—because the neighbor’s got a great keyboard and he’s so good at that. Tim is such a talented musician. He cried wolf, because he would always pull a prank on us, and we’d believe him (remember that Pagibig thing?) and we’d only find out that it was a joke after six months. This guy’s got big dreams and high hopes. But he’s not the type to just sit around and wait for things to happen. He makes things happen.

Note: Put the last three persons together and the fourth person becomes nothing but a lunatic. That lunatic was me.

--From Ron. Such a great guy to have worked and rubbed elbows with. Every time he drops by the station (being its consultant), he’d always have a ‘lesson for the day’ and ‘joke for the day’. He’s one brilliant soul and I can never imagine running the station without him.

There. The people behind my baggage. Speaking of which, how does two years of career looked like for me? Here.

Yes, that’s two years worth of time at the office. I thought it was just a matter of saying, “this has been Christine, signing off…”. It was all too easy to ponder on. But my logic left me when I saw my “going-away” things. It was two years packed in say, 5 or 6 boxes.

And pictures with some words to help me beat missing them.

2007-12-20T12:48:00.000+08:00

The Cosmic Yosi Project.

No other pair of lungs, human lungs, to be exact, was harmed during the shooting of this project. If you find some pictures offensive, y0u can always do something about it. I wish I had time to help you ( but I won't still). The Cosmic Yosi* team is not responsible for attacks of hypothermia, any kind of allergic reactions or delusions. If you have just quit cold turkey, do not view this page.

If this illicits violent reactions, contact cultleader26@yahoo.com.

The Cosmic Yosi Project was shot some 3 years ago. It doesn't carry an objective for its creation, aside from the fact that lazy, boring Sunday afternoons can really feel like lazy, boring Sunday afternoons if you don't move your butt. In this case, I decided to move my lungs, my butt, my eye, and my pointy finger.

Excuse the subject, at some points. Here's one for my age-old vice and its poor benefits.

"Yosi Galing sa Lupa"

"Yosi ng Langit"

"Interplanetary Yosi"

"Pangkalawakang Yosi"

"Now yosi it"

The Ligligan Parul Effect (still)

2007-12-16T14:33:00.001+08:00

This is my barangay's entry to the annual Kapampangan Christmas fair dubbed Ligligan Parul.

There were 8 contenders for this year's competition. And, just like last year (and the years before it), I missed on yet another visual fiesta.

Good thing there's CLTV 36! Their live coverage of the event, sort of alleviated my years of longing to witness the Ligligan. At least I got to see the other barangay's parul sans human trafficking (literally) and the nearby temptation which spells 'mall'.

Anyway, being the shutterwhore that I was, here are some snapshots when I went to see 'test light' of Telabastagan's parul entry. I kept trying to squeeze my face in my puny digicam's viewfinder just so to have a snapshot of 'me and the parul' , but my efforts were futile.

While I got so caught up watching the parul at the forefront, my husband pointed to the back of the truck. And there's a much bigger show going on there. Just behind the parul is a group of men turning the cylinders at the back of the truck. These were the men who drove the parul to grandeur. Unfortunately, I forgot the save the image on my finger disk, ergo, no file image. But I'll try to post it here some time, if I don't forget.

An interesting bit of a trivia: did you know that a monstrous number of hairpins is needed to make the parul light up? The pins were attached to Kingkong cylinders (they're huge!), and that's all I knew of it. The men were too busy to explain technical things to an onlooker. And besides, I wasn't worth the multi-tasking, and the humiliation in case they screw up. I guess I could wait till the competition's over. And what do you know, I was actually standing in front of this year's grand champion. Telabastagan 's parul is this year's best bet, with openable midpart of the Nativity Scene and this "reminder" for the finale:

The Ligligan Parul Effect

2007-12-16T13:38:00.001+08:00

ligligan, originally uploaded by cultleader26.

For the things I believe In

2007-10-10T19:17:00.000+08:00

What makes us distinct as humans is our ability to communicate. But, let me just add one thing more. More than communication, we have the capacity to believe.

I believe in the power of inter-relationships. But, it is most comfortable to deal with others if you believe in yourself first.

Yourself. Believe in forgiving. Forgive yourself for your shortcomings and learn from them. Reward yourself of life's little treats, you deserve it--once in a while. By the time you realize you should've done this, it may be a little late. You can't turn back time.

Time. Respect time, enjoy it and pay courtesy to other people's time. Don't set your wristwatches ten minutes ahead of time. You cannot trick it, or outsmart it. Realize that the Earth rotates in its axis and revolves around the sun exactly as it does everyday. That makes each day 24 hours, 60 minutes in an hour and 60 seconds in a minute.

You don't lack time, that's a lame excuse for procrastinating. Managing time is the key.

Manage. It's not a sin if you live in the moment. It's just that, try to think a little farther every day. Picture yourself in a few week's time and work hard for the things you need to see that self you pictured a week ago.

Picture. Do not ever throw away pictures. These are solid artifacts for the next civilization's diggings. You can't touch relationships, but you can always look at pictures to remind yourself of all the nicest things that went with that photo shoot.

Nicest. Try to do something nice every day. Hand that teller a piece of candy, compliment your boss on that blouse she's donning, ask someone how he/she is doing, write a little something for your loved one.

And mean it.

Mean. Do not be mean to others--even if they are at the wrong end of the argument. That teller I told you about (whom you just handed a piece of sweet)? She may have been bitchy at the bank this morning, but you'll never know...she just might've caught her husband gallavanting last night. Be thankful yours isn't.

Thankful. Appreciate the littlest of things. This blog may be senseless for you at the moment, but have you ever thought about people who aren't able to read, or write, or see? Learn how to count your blessings, even the minutest of one. They're little, but they're still blessings.

Blessings. Take everything and everyone as a blessing. There is a reason why "the maker" introduced you to a stranger, or handed you a conflict. You'll know the plan after the execution, life's a lesson as they say. You learn it when you're through.

And take this blog entry as one. Believe me.

How other bloggers do it.

2007-10-05T10:28:00.002+08:00

I have received bad news yesterday. And deciding to leave the negative energy in the past, I distracted myself this morning. I went to work (AWOL can be worse, you know), but kept a little something for my self.

I'm not going to work today, or at least do something work-related, that is. I'll just surf, write, blog, eat and smoke today. Whatever's going to last my chi.

And so I started looking for jobs in the city--online. I typed "Angeles City jobs", and I didn't quite find what I was looking for. But I did find something-- a blog. An old, familiar netizen's blog. I've known her during my "chat" hey-days. We were working in the same company then. She resigned from work after a couple of months. Now, she's a netizen fulltime.

So, I took time-out (which was a lot) and went over her entries. You see, I never really understood how "blogging for money" worked. I remain an orthodox in the fine craft of writing, for the whole essence of it. But, now I get it.

You don't need to compromise the craft for the bucks.

The Catalyst

2007-10-05T10:28:00.001+08:00

A recent causerie with an old-new friend brought me to thinking: creativity can be sold.

It can be bought, leased, modifiied, auctioned or even faked. If you will.

Variable as it is, you will now find it difficult to sense the real fumes of creativity. It is now just a mere word with so many verbs you can do to it.

But here's my contribution to that "word". My cheap, but counted attempt to make it meaningful.

Again.

**********
What you will find after this post are just some of the things I did to pass the time. I never thought I'd go and look for these articles and place them in one pot, just like what I am doing now. I will not edit nor revise anything. Kindly excuse the lackluster, at some points.

A Tribute

2007-10-04T19:52:00.001+08:00

As far as I am concerned, a tribute is not only for the dead. It is for someone you hold dearly in your life and a sudden change will make you realize how much you may be losing in the future.

This one is a tribute to a dear friend--who's still alive.

I hope she doesn't get to read this. Or someone don't get to tell her to read it. I know it's for public consumption, but I'm banking on the idea that she'd be so "happily free" that she'd forget to check on Friendster. Maybe not.

A private message will do then...Hahahah!

Change

2007-10-04T19:51:00.002+08:00

Once in a great while, I believe in wiseacres. And today, i find the cliche "change is the only permanent thing" works. Well, that's why they call them cliches--they always work, don't they?

In my so-so years of existence, I could say I have gotten through trying times. Times which I hope my son would never borrow...nor even attempt to imagine. I have been betrayed and sold, made and lost a lot of friends, been left high and dry...name it.. I got the full works already.

As a 23-year old mother to a 3-month old son, I feel that my priorities are at full-time high to the only person that will matter to me...and me to him. It's true, you can arm yourself with friends...those whom you never thought would never lose interest in you, or listen to your musings, the sugar coating of human relationships. It's true that once in your life, you will feel that you must marry, but haven't found the right "Yang" to complement your "Yin" yet. Or, you may have found him...but he has found someone else.

This day, I realized that my son is the "littlest" thing I have ever decided to give my life to.

And we will always have this constant "human relationship" even without the sugar-coating, I am assured.

Smoker's Chronic Cough

2007-10-04T19:51:00.001+08:00

I broke into an unhealthy habit post-pregnancy. Due to my celibacy from caffeine-smoking (they always go together, you know) for 10 months, I find it somehow 'uncontrollable' to get a ziggy break in the mid-hours of PC-induced work. I tried to fight it, prevent it from becoming a habit, but hey--I'm just addicted. I've been deprived for months and now I'm back with a vengeance.

Anyway, this morning, I saw students--in all their cuteness in college uniforms and microscopic bags. Of course, for those who weren't born yesterday, it is not an effing fact that "teenagers" get curious earlier these days.To cut the crappy part, they were all smoking.

And so they were. All six of them cuteness.They all looked the same to me. You know, the starstruck appeal (you get that when you get hit by a Starex van, moron!), organized chaos-y ponytails, blue faux-pearl earrings, ballerina shoes (which, to me, just look likes a shoe after eating Mentos--the Freshmaker! =)

I can't recall the faces. First, I'm bad with faces. And second they radiated an aura of "synoymity" --if there's such a term. (I have just coined it, if there's none. hahah!)
What caught my usually non-challant eye is this girl who has her back turned on me. She bought 3 ziggy sticks, sat on her seat, took out a lighting gadget from her bag--and whoa! Another contrapment, which, up until that moment I saw it --was unfamiliar to a professional smoker. It looked like a pair of chopsticks.

Oh, well...it was a pair of chopsticks...I was just trying to make you imagine things! ^_^ Hahaha!

She placed the fire on course. The unhealthy habit which would relieve her of her longing for the vice is finally starting to blaze. And then something happened...she grabbed the sticks...aimed the things in between her vice and went on passing smoke onto her lungs using the sticks. It was as if she was eating a crayon or anything that had the same shape.

Darn..she got me there. I was just sooo "unusually" curious of the thing, I didn't care if she was staring at me!

Must we always be a compulsive sinner without admitting that we are "the sinner"--and not anyone who made us one? Why can't we do dirty things without accepting that our hands will get dirty in the process.

Whatever happened to smoke filters!

It took me 9 months to pen this down!

2007-10-04T19:50:00.002+08:00

I have read somewhere that when even after a baby comes out D-day (not dooms day ok) it still assumes the fetal position. This is probably because the little thing has been so used to his cramp space, he still doesn't realize that he has roomier space to stretch. Or, it has become sooo comfortable for him to be in that position, he'd rather not stray away from his comfort zone.

I envy my baby boy. Unlike him, it has been 8 months since I saw the second line (literally, the "life line") on my pregnancy stick. Up to this point, I still haven't gotten myself used to the "pregnant belly" syndrome. Well, I may be luckier than most women-- I never felt the urge to scratch my belly, really. It was never itchy. But other than that, I was the typical "mom-to-be".

For the most part of my 9-month sojourn (I'm just 2 weeks from showtime!), I have shared the same painstaking, "somewhat frustrating", yet gratifying moments of motherhood. These are the things I can recall so far...

First was the Restless Leg Syndrome. My OB never knew about it, and asked me to consult a neurologist, which I never did because I knew what it was (thanks, Heide Murkoff!). There were days (which lasted for 5 months, I think) that I had literally wanted to amputate my legs because they felt they were someone else's. It wasn't pins and needles, but it was like they had a life of their own. It would start from my upper thigh, then transcend to my buttocks, to the legs, calves and my feet. Literally, they were restless, making me restless too. It was annoying, especially when I tried to catch sleep at night. But, the most annoying part is when Gary (my husband, my doula, and my co-maker...haha!) would ask me to "exactly describe" how I felt, and I could not even get a close one to describing it. I would just be so annoyed and walk to-and-fro briskly in our bedroom. And so, I also experienced "burning feet". My feet would overheat and even ice-cold water cannot appease the rage. That lasted for months...every night...and everytime I was still. Gary just settled with comparing it to a deep-vein thrombosis (with which I could not negate to nor confirm because I have never expereienced deep vein shit). Good thing, my RSL ended just right before my belly "popped".

At this point, I could not imagine having to go through annoying legs with a blown-up belly. There was no known cure for it, and science hasn't even identified what causes it! Dang, was I glad when it was over!

This time around, my fingers gave me the creeps. They became so stubby, you'd mistake it with Long Johns--minus the appeal. I had to wear my wedding ring on my neck...=,( And because they were stubby, they lost their coordination as well. Everything I touched succumbed to gravity...things started falling as soon as I touched them, and with my booming belly, picking things up became quite a turmoil—a true test of womanhood! These are the things I hated--especially when I had to pick them up again (mind you, they won't just bungee-jump out of my hands once)-- papers/documents or any thin sheet, and coins. There was this one time I opened my desk drawer full of office trinkets...the drawer was pulled out too far, it crashed to the floor. An officemate had to pick up the "fallen things" for me--paperclips, staple bates, push pins, and paper fasteners. Geez.

To make falling things worse, bottle caps would swoosh out of my hand when I tried to screw them on the bottle mouth, and they would jump directly to areas I cannot manage to squeeze my hand in--below the refrigerator! Documents would slide way below my reach...under the desk or under the computer table. My slippers would run underneath the bed. Argh!

Now, let's talk wardrobe. I have written about this before, but I thought it wouldn't harm if I stress the point. (haha!) My wardrobe was mainly loose, baggy, or airy--anything that could stretch a mile wide in any direction. It was like seeing MC Hammer making out with Missy Elliot, you could't tell whose clothes is for which gender. I swear, post-delivery, you can sew the clothes together and could make a huge hot-air balloon out of them! Or, I could do charity and house vagrants altogether.

What’s more, my feet couldn't fit in ANY of my work shoes. It literally just expanded in every way possible, more like an inflated three-ring pool. I actually had a relative theory of why bellies pop--way infront of a pregnant woman: to cover how unsightly of an image your footsies have become. (God must have really planned this journey all along! ) And since I never trust anyone to take care of my pedi, I still did the whole thing all through out my pregnancy. Of course, it was much of a hassle than a hygiene seeing myself contort to cut and clean my nails. But, I did manage to cut just the nails, and not myself.

Emotionally, the whole process was placid for me. My baby did not present any “hassle” which was more than necessary. I never altered my digestion process (read: puking), nor have I felt nauseous in my mid-term. I can’t even believe that I'm still working and I'm due in 2 weeks! Although, I had really fierce struggle in combatting sleep DURING work hours... =,) All in all, my pregnancy has been low-risk and I would like to commend my baby for behaving this early.

Of course, it wasn't all that ugly. As an expecting mom (and daddie...), Gary and I took on a new form of entertainment--watching the baby kick, waddle and squirm inside me. My huge belly, although already inviting of attention on its own, did its own show when the baby tried to shift positions. There were times whem my tummy was heavy on the left, sometimes it would look like a unicorn, and most of the times, the baby would poke out in different locations. How it regarded my tummy as his playland at my leisure. Gary would also join in the fun by instructing our little bean to poke this X spot to this Y spot. Coincidence or otherwise, the baby would follow orders, but we would be so dumb-founded and teary-eyed, we usually miss the next big movement. Our marital conversations varied from, "did you see him kick?", or "did the baby move already?". Everday, we make it a point to talk to him and ask him questions. Hahaha!We'd give him choices for the answer--two pokes for yes, one poke for no and silence ( or stillness) for who-cares. My friend shared that we should be really taking this experience as it comes becuase after delivery, we'd miss all the fun when baby was still inside. =,(

In closing, I haven’t gotten myself used to my state, even if I have been "huge" for months now. Believe it or not, sometimes, I still jump in place when I'm excited, or brisk-walk when I'm running late (which was always). Apparently, Cien Esquisse will be coming out real soon,so I don’t have to bother myself to getting used to being pregnant anymore. Call me a slow-learner or whatever, but I am really just this comfortable even with a baby boy in tuck.

Now, I wonder how it's going to be like having 2 boys around the house...Boys really define a woman--and her patience. ;-)

I Keep Running Back To You

2007-10-04T19:50:00.001+08:00

So often I mess up my days

I judge harshly

I am critical and obstinate

I waste time and energy

I blame others for my failure.

There are people I try to avoid

And tasks I try to evade

And when I can’t have my own way

I sulk in my own little corner.

I even turn my back on you…

To escape your penetrating gaze.

Then I finally get fed up with myself,

The intolerable loneliness frightens me

And I can no longer endure the shame

It always happen, you know

And I keep running back to you.

Where else can I go?
Who else understands me so well

Or forgive me so totally?

Who else can save me from foolish pride?

No one else….but you.

So thank you for accepting me

For loving me

For always welcoming me

I just can’t help it…

I keep running back to you, Lord.

Gusto ko...

2007-10-04T19:49:00.004+08:00

I’ll try my passion in Tagalog. Hope it doesn’t turn out like a script for Negosiyete ;-) ( remember the funny sounding guy in channel 7)

***

Gusto kong lumayo…malayong-malayo sa kanya. Kung makakapagtago lamang sana ako, yung walang paw prints ni Blues Clues para di ako makita ng tinataguan ko. Gusto ko ring mag-imagine, tipong Cartoon Network, “animate your world”? Para I-I-maginine ko na nasa Boracay ako, at kahit malaki ang tiyan ko dahiil buntis ako, sexy pa rin ako. Hahahah! <*imagine nga e> At pag gabi, gusto kong maging anime na Tagalized Yun e para may mag-dub na lang ng TOTOONG nararamdaman ko para sa akin at di na ako mag-aksaya ng salita sa taong iniintindi ako, pero di naman talaga. (Duh!) Para na rin makapag-concentrate na lang ako sa pag-iyak.

Gusto kong daanin na lang ang lahat sa isang stick ng sigarilyo. Pero pinalaki ako ng tama, at may takot sa sermon kaya hindi pwede. <*Gusto ko lang, di naman requirement talaga e>. Gusto ko ring umiyak na parang drama queen, para lumabas lahat ng sama ng loob ko. Pero ayaw ko lang, mag-babara ang daanan ng hininga ko .

Gusto kong ilapit ang mga bungkos ng lupain sa buong mundo! Gusto kong mawalan ng trabaho ang mga nasa immigration <*gagawin ko na lang silang mga caregivers para mas sosyal>. Gusto kong yumaman ang Pilipinas para wala nang mag-a-abroad forever and ever…PEKSMAN! <*ang sama talaga ng tunog ng salitang ‘to>.

Marami pa akong gusto, pero alam ko gusto niyo na ring matapos ito. Di bale, okay na siguro ito. May baby naman ako…may kakampi na sa akin, kahit baluktot ang prinsipyo ko <*akala mo lang baluktot, pero hindi>. May papahid na ng luha ko pag umiiyak ako.

Siya lang naman kailangan ko e.

Dialogue

2007-10-04T19:49:00.001+08:00

You made me worried sick last night, child.

We were staying up late these past few days. Last night, we managed to stay up till your uncle came home from work. Was that 12:30, child? I think it was. We hurried to open the door for him, so as not to make the dogs bark and wake up your mamita. I know you like her, even though you haven’t really seen her. She’s my mom, you see. You must have sensed the connection.

But, you may have disapproved of my hasty actions and made me feel pain in your zone. I must have rocked or startled you to terror. How you saved yourself of my incautious actions. I wonder what you think of me, little one…

You pulled something from my inside and it made me cry like a girl. The pain prevented me from standing straight, it was as if you were holding on so tight to one of my veins [in fear that I may do something stupid again. I apologize. I didn’t know you can get that scared that easily]. You probably feared for your own life—you clung to it like the survivor that you are. I know, I feel you, my love.

Your uncle saw me scampering like a dog, face reddened in the twisting pain you have caused. But I am not mad at you…I understand…I love you too damn much not to endure anything for you, child.

Your uncle also panicked, you know. And with the very intention of why I stood up in haste was defeated—Pong woke up your mamita. She rushed to us, saw me in tears, with hands tucked under my belly. I tried to calm you in my human ways, but futile. I know you didn’t want mamita to see us like that, child. I know you didn’t want to make anyone feel scared and helpless. In her motherly ways, mamita rubbed my belly and I know you felt her touch you…I felt you slowly succumbing to her gentle touché and you finally let go of your tight grip. I decided to double check on you and went to see if my urine wasn’t the color of love. You were brave and have let go of me…by will.

Please do not be scared ever again, my sweet one. I am here. I will never let harm stray your way. I will never let anything happen to you without my scrutiny. These are just words, for the mortals…I know. But my love for you is as immortal as the songs I sing to you before we sleep at night. As constant as my dreams for you and as picturesque as my vivid sights of you and me [and hopefully, your kitty]…together. As strong as your father's voice holding us. I have never seen you, nor touched you, but you are my first star at night..my very own pair of heaven.

You scared me last night, child… and I can take more….for you.

Metamorphosing.

2007-10-04T19:42:00.000+08:00

Well, there goes the change of my blog title from mundane to “more decent”. I coined the term to clearly give-away my present-day status to the “non-thinking populace who prefer to be spoon-fed with everything”.

So, the answer….a resounding YES.

I am. 4 months heavy and trying my damn best to be clean, healthy and responsible. To tell you honestly, it’s not all “glory”. Let me tell you how it feels to be “infanticipating’. I can’t assure you that the adjectives are accurate, this is just the closest I can get. (if I succeed in describing the whole sojourn, that would only mean all the human norms have been changed and all immoral have suddenly become moral now.)

It’s like keeping (or I think a better term is “swallowing” ) a tamagochi and constantly reminding yourself do not ever, ever plug the batteries out of the gadget because it will die. One miss, and you’re an instant homicide.
It’s like keeping a glass of water by your every possible time and keeping it full—not because you’re not drinking it but because you have to refill it everytime.
It’s like going to a fiesta and piggy-eating everything you can because—hey, you’re eating for two now! Well, just make sure you don’t touch that lechon kawali, kare-kare, crispy pata, bulalo and oh, no second rounds of soda and the leche flan. These can be better than sex in an isolated beach with amenities, they are also “too harmful to meet indulgence’s way”.
It’s like creating a totally glamorous bonding moments with the toilet bowl. This has suddenly become your throne, your nirvana, your saving grace.
It’s like a total make-over—FOR YOUR WHOLE WARDROBE, that is! Nothing seems to fit anymore. If you wear a belt, you would look like the number 8. If you wear something too tight, you’d look like Paris Hilton without the money. And if you wear baggy items, you’d be Pong Pagong after being fired in Batibot because of drug abuse. Poor me.
It’s nothing I have ever experienced in my entire life. Not a soul told me about this.

But the best part is, I am not me anymore. This may sound more on the pessimistic side, but I am embracing the new me. It’s like keeping a tamagochi and waiting for it to hatch and hug and kiss you back. It’s like a glass of water—always full and refreshing. It’s like eating veggies and fruits everytime they make a premonition at the platter—because my baby will benefit from them. It’s like the frequent trips to the bathroom—it’s comforting. It’s like wearing a totally different outfit—you’re clothing two individuals now. And lastly, it’s nothing I have experienced before, and no wonder nobody tells me about it.

It’s because, I have to experience the whole thing myself—it’s magic and all the “unspoken” love that empowers it.

I am having a baby. Isn't that something?

Plagiarizing Fate.

2007-10-04T19:41:00.000+08:00

Time can be so dragging, and you can be your own nemesis.
You wanted all your life to be the best that you can be, but somehow you are far from reaching that goal. You watch the world spin around you, painstakingly. You observe your kin and think, "that used to be me". But time's passed, and you hold still hold a grudge in your past.

Let's travel back to your past's present. What do you see?

You see yourself so young, so magnanimous, so idealistic. You were vibrant, so full of life, always ready to seize the day with your monochromatic hues. Amidst the conurbation, you indulged in your "individuality" and boasted of it. You wanted to be like that forever, or till you can. You wanted to be anyone--except their kind.

You dreamt.

You feasted on the reality that you can change the course of the chef. Or you can make the food taste better at your will. Ahh...were you ever so materialistic! You abused yourself, always on the prey for something UN-THEM...just to unconform to the norm. Little by little, you took the world in your palm, and heap by heap, you devoured your kin and made them YOUR MINOR. In this civilization, nothing can be so herculistic of a task, you deemed.

Have you realized how much WRONGED you were, and still fail to recognize it?In this life, you must do what you are ought to do. Some things cannot be explained by the language we built, not even those articulate findings we hack from science. These are but attempts to explain the workings of OUR MAJOR. Our cheap luck to understand when we aren't even capable of--and allowed to. Submit yourself to the plan, creature. And things will just be FINE--do not even try to.

You'll just end up doubly troubled and deFINEd..

under the influence of coldplay's FIX you...still

2007-10-04T19:40:00.002+08:00

I don't know if it's the song that's making me a tearjerk...or my hormones. whichever. I'd still feel awful even if i knew the culprit, anyway. i know this writing will help, and im not asking you to bear with my atrocities. by all means, you can hit the "BACK" button on this page and see your friend's latest photos.

~when you try your best but you don't succeed...get what you want, but not what you need.

to say that i feel "lost" can be more than an understatement. for one, it can sound like im a poser trying to win the world's understanding with my made-up rage written in songs and muddy poetry.it's nothing like that. i haven't able to gauge the depth the feeling effected on me, but really, i feel LOST. For the past months, been trying to shy away from it, thinking it's just for the weaklings. and so far, haven't been able to accept it. i know where i am...what i want...who i want to have mental intercourse with.

i KNEW. i DID.

~when you feel so tired but you can't sleep...stuck in reverse~

And now, with all honesty, I really don't know. What do I have to do? Where do I have to go? Can binge eating really be that deadly? Is the surgeon's warning on cigarette packets an advertisement of the obvious? is seawater salty because of fish sweat? I DON'T KNOW. I don't even know how to gear up my career, or bring back my vigor to create new ideas! Christ, i don't even know what makes my husband mad anymore, or what to do next weekend! I so live in the present, and it's killing me. Am i really tracking the slow lane--on the wrong direction?

~when the tears start streaming down on your face...when you lose something you can't replace...?
could it be worse?~

And for no apparent reason, I am here, as usual, infront of the glaring box, silver drops from my soul nearing to kiss my cheeks. For no apparent reason. I know there are things I can never undo, and that I just must be careful next time. There are more things I can do to rectify the wrong...to better the bad. But, why do I stand here, analyzing things, crying over spilt milk, indulging in the agony? Why can't I baffle the madness, and live like I am worth something? Or atleast, someone deems me worthy? At this point, the tears, which have been trying to defy the gravity, gave up on me. The tears are free...they left me.

~high up above or way down below...when you're too inlove to let it go...but if you'll never try, you'll never know...just what your worth's~

For once, I want to do something wrong, and not feel "i knew it" for myself. For once, I want to be able to learn from my mistakes, be not afraid in committing it...without harsh words outwitting my language.

~lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones...~

Coldplay has a really bad effect on me, huh? If you got to this part, thank you.

And I mean it.

Rainydays House Party

2007-10-04T19:40:00.001+08:00

This isn’t to glamorize my low resistance to disease nor to glorify my antibodies’ impotence.

I am home for three days now and none of those days is the weekend yet. Get the picture?

I am just plain sick, and I can’t think of anything better to do with myself than BE it. People pitied me, sent me caring text messages (which just made me feel more guilty of not going to work—when the be Jesus of me really can.) advised me to indulge in anything sour—and ah yes…take the bitter meds!

There are things I can rave about catching the incurable virus:

1. Not going to work! Staying home and lavishing on all its comforts.

2. Same as no. 1.

3. Same as no. 2

And the list goes on and on!! But yeah, wait a minute, are there things I can RANT about, having been inflicted with the colds virus (or suspected dengue? or Salmonella..thanks to the siomai at the side gate?!)

(Note: Yep, I don’t know what’s making me sick yet. The ad hoc doctor,( who looked more of Pacquito Diaz’ bakal boys than a rich guy who studied medicine in UST) I consulted to yesterday suspected 2 things. I still have to submit 3 samples of my “unglamorous” excretes placed in a ketchup plastic canister(ketchup containers will never be the same again), and 2 vials of blood. I love blood—if it’s not mine.)

Anyway, here some of the few things I can think of, given the limited functioning brain cells I have now…:

I have learned that, along with the house party brought about by your sickness,

People force you to eat—anything—as long as it is edible!
You have to do face-off with your medicine. Geez! I can’t even swallow a pill !
Your husband tells you when to take a bath. How, realistic!
You can read anything readable around the house! It’s the only thing you can do.
You cannot smoke like you used to—well, except if you’d sneak at the backyard and DO NOT exhale the smoke you’ve taken in. That way, nobody can smell the ambient tar.
You can dream about floating Volkswagen buses, having LBM, eating a huge chocolate cake, devouring a bowlful of mushroom soup—and they can come true! (Just make sure that when you’re dreaming, you have to be vocal about it (no, murmuring gibberish not counted), and the most important: Somebody can hear you!Yehey!) Well, except maybe the floating VW buses, and having LBM—can’t do that on cue…
You begin to believe that you can have REM even when you're awake.
The internet connection at work is sooo much user-friendly, and not hypallergenic.
Making a long list of the things you can rant about—when you’re sick…
And not being able to finish it.

Under the influence of Coldplay's FIX YOU

2007-10-04T19:38:00.004+08:00

Threaten me like I am anything else. Better yet, engulf me with your majority. I played the part, while you were your your plain self. I can't keep on playing the minor. Tomorrow, the turmoil's going to be half won...and you'd be gone to satiate your drunken misgivings. I played the part...threaten me more with your musings.

I can never be anything than your minor...your cold shadow.

the shallow water.

I'd be half a person if I won. But half-a-loser if I fought back. The chances, whatever, have suddenly become futile.

All irrelevant...now.

Armed with just my thoughts, and blood shut eyes.

Awaits the minor.

A Dialogue with Abused Brain

2007-10-04T19:38:00.003+08:00

They are conspiring.

They know something...they feel something...but they just won't tell us. Call it pragmatic, but they want everything confined in their puny little brains, away from the creative digestion of the people surrounding them. They know it can harm us, but their thoughts are devoured by their motives.

I cannot entertain these thoughts anymore. I have been exposed to your subliminal coercion, and I am tolerating it. I am tethered in your manipulation, say, a 5-km radius. I cannot go far.

You are wrong. To borrow a stranger/friend's term...I can dream..even it doensn't turn real.

Do you belong to them, dear?

denial at its inchoate stages...

2007-10-04T19:38:00.001+08:00

deliberance

envelop me with whatever's left with

your understanding of it..for i cannot

cannot contradict with the norm.

your saccharine metaphalanges draws

ME.

into something more

vivid than

my dreams.

allow me to be

the subject

of your daily deliberance.

for i cannot... just cannot

BE IT.

Him | a solliloquy

2007-10-04T19:35:00.000+08:00

I forgot when was the last time we saw each other. I never longed for his presence, nor have I ever even anticipated for our next meeting. He was always like that.

He’d be gone for a time, or longer, so he can be back. I am used to his lifestyle. But after failing to show up at the most important event in my life (of course, meal time’s always second to this), I grew worried. I didn’t even began to worry. I worried right away.

But of course, just as the non-challant species that I was, I never looked for him. Obviously, that

is. I get enskied by the paranoia of finding none, so I never push it.

And then he showed up—like my favorite phrase goes, “like a killer mushroom after a bloody good rain”. Hey, no pun intended!

And I treated him to dinner in the most peaceful, nostalgic restaurant there is in the heart of the city (if I mention its name, that’s real advertising, so I better not). And then he began talking about his life—past and present, in seclusion and otherwise. He said he’s in detox now. No liquor.

No filthy sticks. No killer substances.

That isn’t the news yet. All these (or should I say, none of these?) in three straight months. Just his bike and his dishwashing stint.

It occurred to me, how much I’ve been missing in his no-show…in his in seclusion. He spoke of typical things in life, those we never really take notice of when we’re not intoxicated.

“Essentially, we know ALL the things that happen around us. But what’s keeping us from acknowledging this reality is our conscious mind, telling us there’s no way we’ll know a certain fact because our SENSES aren’t capable of processing it.”

Of course, I am mincing his words now. In his slurred speech, the words coming out from him, consciously were too much to handle . I found myself producing a smile in response to his musings. It’s the only communication I can handle with him that night.

Till I see him again.

Have Been | an apology

2007-10-04T19:33:00.000+08:00

6.03.2006

And so we'd always have something to argue on.
Little things or big
things, can be sometimes senseless and irrelevant.

I didn't answer his question.
But I apologize...
Rhetorics, he deemed.

And the calvary begins.
But then it ends.

Like rain.

And he'd always be on that same spot--puffing
my harsh words away. Pretending he
cannnot hear my sobs, nor my
pains.

But I feel his, for in my every tear
is an exchange of his blood-shut eyes.

I have always hated this situation,
and if I had a choice,i wouldn't be crying
like anything else.
Pardon me while I burst.
The song in my head spoke for me
~Awe is me.~

Just my tears amidst his loud thundering voice
of frustration.
Just his filthy stick to calm the situation.
And he'd always be in that same spot--waiting for me
to CALM home...
Where all the craziness of the city
can see us.

Today, a truck (with all its huge presence), and carrying
truckload of sand
Rammed his spot, his very spot.
If the accident happened any earlier...
it could have been him...while waiting for me.

And so we'd always have something to argue on.
Little things or big
things, can be sometimes senseless and irrelevant.
But I'm glad now.

He's arguing with me.

The hands that pushed the cradle | a tribute to old friends

2007-10-04T19:31:00.002+08:00

5.31.2006

And since we're talking about OLD friends (can be senile...haha!), today, something extra-ordinary happened. Some people must be too ambitious with what makes them happy. Hey, I'm just 'mababaw'.

Anyway, we were able to revive a HOME today. I call it home, because it feels like it. I call it home because a FAMILY occupies it. I call it HOME, because it just feels so warm and comforting when I'm in the confines of it..and because it made me feel bad when it died down...and it made me do something about it.

Today, they all came. One by one...little by little...from all outskirts of urban living. Till we became that same old family again, back in those days. It felt like it was just yesterday...it was so long ago that we have failed to realize how "long" we've been away from the place...from each other's company. And how so much we missed the place. Today, we start anew. And then we move on.

Today will be tomorrow, until the place lives in all of us again.

Instinctively.

*****
This is for all the people who responded ASAP to my calling. Thank you so much. See you all again.

And the sugarless coffee made me think.

2007-10-04T19:31:00.001+08:00

5.30.2006

I thougt today was just going to be one of those days. Until a young man, just a few years my junior asked me for a cup of sugarless coffee. Not that he drinks coffee unsweetened, it's just that he has no other choice. My office ran out of sugar.

Today, over a cup of coffee, we talked about a lot of things--from the most miniscule, to mundane to what-have-you's. We always do this everytime he getst the time to visit me. Over a cup of coffee, we stare in oblivion, celebrate our pasts and share each other's fingernails-scratching-the-board" kind of stories. We rarely get to this kind of discussion, and almost always, I forget to tell this young man, how much I appreciate his effort---and his hEARt.

And then we talked about our "pasts". No, we don't share a common one, but we went through the same scenes, battled similar chaos and walked through it unbaffled. Today, we talked about our "high school friends"...our old, most-cherished high-school friends. And I must admit, I do miss the creeps. The people who took care of my all these years, who taught me how to drink without getting drunk, who offered me homes to sleep over the night in, and best of all, who took me by the hand when I was sooo busted, and hit me in the head when I have gone out of my wits. (which was all the time)

And I wonder, where could they be? For sure, we still all stay in the same province. We still care about updating each other's mobile numbers. And we are still planning a summer getaway trip ( only summer's over now). Everything's okay between and among us, except that we don't have the luxury of meeting "regularly" now. Someone has gone astray, got married, one's in a casino, yadda yadda.

We are all living our own independent lives now. Just like how we imagined it to be when we were in highschool. We used to talk about this "state of life", and now,swiftly sudden, it's all over us.

And now, more than anything else. I'd love to sit and talk with them. We had good memories together.

And I'm dying to make more memories to ponder with...in the future.

With my friends...

And the new work kicks me in the head.

2007-10-04T19:25:00.000+08:00

5.29.2006

So I used to be a faculty-member-turned Traffic Controller. What's the big fuzz?

Nothing--and no one.

You see, I work for the radio station and the public relations office, two (2) units-rolled-into-one. I have one boss though, and she's dual as well. In short, I'm a multi-tasker. Here's a rundown of the things I d0 (--ehem! 'did' is a better, more appropriate word...) in every 'only-God-knows' day: 1.write press releases (that's plural) 2. newscast every top of the hour 3. ask and beg for article submissions for the University publications 4. edit these begged-for articles 5. lay them all out using an Adobe software using my Pentium 2 PC (darn it!) 6. run the 'electronic dummy' to a printing press that even Fred from Flintstone's would find obsolete. 7. circulate the publication to ALL units and offices in the University 8. if there's a special event at school, I solicit donations from outside, give them letters, do a follow-up call, and if Lady Luck isn't procrastinating, I'd pick up a check after a week. 9. host a smorgasboard program on the radio from 5-6pm.

This isn't a crazy schedule yet. This was just my average joe.

Until May 1 this year. After taking in too much stress, my boss called it quits and left me with my previous job--plus her's. The good part? I lost the publication! Somebody wanted the job so bad, they gave it to her! Weeee!

Now, I'm the radio station manager and the traffic controller.

Looks like I didn't get a promotion after all.

One Familiar Day...

2007-10-04T19:22:00.002+08:00

"Parang kailan lang, ang mga awitin ko'y ayaw pakinggan..." --a line from a song we are all familiar with, but somehow, the song's message is so moving, we don't know the title.
Last Saturday, I tagged along my husband and a 16-man group of die-cast collectors. Their purpose of getting together seemed superficial to me at first. It didn't make sense. The very people who have somewhat deprived children of toys are going to an orphanage? I wanted to pray hard for divine intervention...

Fashion Routinary

2007-10-04T19:22:00.001+08:00

I get bored easily. I do not like doing things in routine.

Nothing in me is as habitual as the constant “harutan” of my officemates. My waking hour every morning is a variable, totally dependent on my “sleeping” hour. But then again, my sleeping hour would depend on the time I woke up…chicken or egg….blah-blah-blah.

I also do not feel the urge to conduct “regular” confession sessions with the toilet bowl (excuse me) because:

a.) my eating habit is as screwed as Michael Jackson , thus, I arrive at the theory of law of action and equal reaction: irregular intake of solid food is synonymous to irregular karma in the bowl, and
b.) I have somewhat conditioned my excretory system not to function before going to school because “someone” is almost always in the bathroom EVERYTIME I need it.
I am not used to doing things “unmindfully” and “unconsciously”. I mean, if there is one thing I can do without having to remind myself of it, it’s typing my password. And oh, make that two things –being late.
Routine is for the people who’s lifestyle is so lifeless. It’s for the people who, in every day given by the Master do the same things every single day of their lives. Routine is for the living who has already planned 10 or more years of their lives, know what they want, how to get it and what part of that plan will screw up so they can avert it and entertain more “mistakes” in the future. It’s for people who cannot jeopardize and compromise even just a tiny mishap for the heck (and fun) of it. It’s just not soooo me.

I get used to things easily. And when I feel that “ever familiar monotonous” cringe, I stop whatever it is I am doi

So you want to get married huh?

2007-10-04T19:21:00.000+08:00

I just got married again last April 29. Some say it’s too early for me, but they negate their own statements upon seeing my husband. I dunno why.
For a woman my age, there are still a lot of things in the line that should be experienced. To make it politically-correct, there are still a lot of things “they” want to experience. Well, that excludes ME.
I started doing “typical” teenage things (minus drugs and sex, ok) as early as my 1st year high. For some, this level isn’t as young to do stupid things anymore. Well, for us, anyway, that was way tooo young. Those were the times of curfews, silent treatments at home, late night conversations with your M.U. in clandestine, white-lying, and the dawn of “anklets” and cheese-flavored popcorns. It is also the high time of the Hanson brothers and all those teeny-bopper boybands, doll shoes, platforms, and Bench 8. (Oh, I think I have already dug too deep a grave of revealing my age. )
Anyway, there are a lot of things I realized now that I am married this early.
I won’t have to wake up one day, naked in some GUY X’s bed, not knowing where how I got there because I was just so awfully drunk the night after pay day.
If I get pregnant now, and people ask me if my parents know, I can ask them the same question without batting an eyelash.
I get to have a personal alarm clock!
We get to talk about kids without having panic attacks.
In line with item no. 3, it’s this time of my life that I get to relax even if I miss a period. (all I have to worry about is if I have cancer of some sort! Yay!)
The rain sounds sweeter now.
You realize that exposing your ears to constant, hazardous “snoring” can be habit forming.
That it’s actually annoying to channel-zap the boob, no, it’s just hard to admit that you actually have to fight for you TV rights and always get on your toes for the remote control.
That hairbrushes can grow and go everywhere! On their own!
That the bathroom SHOULD NOT be clean always. It ruins the Feng Shui.
The laundry basket now is a conjugal property.
To be able to distinguish your socks from his, sniff it. Nope, there’s no option 2.
That the bed sees and hears everything.
Finally, the toilet bowl is a trophy! You just have to race to get to it.
For your reference and guidance.
Thank you.

In Him | poetry

2007-10-04T19:19:00.002+08:00

In his arms, I feel life...
I see me in all my flaws..
Laughter.
Pain.
Hesitations.
And my entire individuality.
He may never notice how much I look
up to him and how glad I am
to be a part of his life.
His love.
I can never arm my tongue with
words which will suffice, I guess.
And how so much I notice
how he's changed and that
I appreciate everything he is
(and not just what he does)
How he plants kisses on my forehead
just before he rise from bed
How he holds my hand infront
of his peers
and tell them "she's mine".
How he constantly reminds me
"not to do this",
"and do that",
"not to touch this",
"and not to forget to..."
Simply because he wants me
to be utterly safe
and unharmed from the world.

In his arms, I am alive.
And I am grateful for the capacity to
feel him...and more...

with which i contemplate WORK.

2007-10-04T19:19:00.001+08:00

You will never imagine how much my life’s changed now.
I work like it’s the only thing to do and breathe like
It’s the only thing I am capable of.
And get paid like I’m never educated.
But I avoid being so materialistic.
I am complaining, but, as far as I am concerned,
It’s the only thing I can do.
And there’s really nothing more I can do
To appease the demon.
And so begins the ethereal drama of life being deprived of its many aspects.
Of living itself and being grateful for the things
I can never have…or already have.
Or the things I can’t have..yet..
From where I stand and from the viewpoint
With which I see things,
Everybody’s a walking dead. And they don’t know it.
My work’s eaten me up. Or atleast, that part of me which is still functional.
I can not imagine sitting inside a box with glass mirrors and
Conventional doors swinging in monotony..
(And Facing a box glaring with radiation, if I may add.)
And all I can ever think of is LIFE

Outside it.

Work post-partum

2007-10-04T19:18:00.000+08:00

In the midst of a work-related imbroglio, here I am sitting infront of the “radiation-glaring” box again. (yeah, like something’s changed.) But, this time, I use it to my advantage…to lift me from my ho-hum environment.

(I remain melancholic with the way things are happening, but that’s just about it.)

I feel like I have suddenly become a witness of a paranormal apparition. This past 6 months, I cannot believe everything I have experienced. My mental faculties keep telling me it’s just the way things really are, but my conscience negates to it. I feel like there’s more…it can get better. Nobody told me it’s supposed to look like this. The academe failed to simulate life

I am thankful that I am not one among the many graduates whose resumes are all piled up on top of the “deciding boss’s” desk catching cracker crumbs or spilt coffee. I am thankful that I get to land on a neat job without exerting too much pre-selling of my educational background and what I can contribute to the company..blah..blah.. I didn’t even had a time contemplating if my looks can jeopardize my job hunt. And that which, will prove if I really am the wallflower in the vast sea of “anorexics and science-for-human-enhancement”. For the record, I have never experienced doing the leg-work in my entire career (if it qualifies as such). The jobs just keep popping up like umbrellas during a bloody good rain.

The case being so, I am grateful that some company/institution has my name in its callous-thick ledger of “payroll employees”. But, I know there’s something more to feel. There’s more air to breath, more dust to expose myself to. When I was in college, I have always been so idealistic in life, believing that I can metamorphose into the demands of whatever environment I am in. I have always been so magnanimous, thinking that “counting your blessings” is actually the right attitude towards self-contentment. I am not saying this doesn’t hold true for me anymore. It still is, but in some ways. My spirituality has never been an aspect of my self that’s subject to introspection. And somehow, it’s become my strength, in tight-fist, close-eyed belief that HE has plans.

There is a lot of opportunities for me, I feel it. Even my social-status cannot jeopardize my chances. All I need to do now, is get out of the kitchen.

I can’t stand the chefs anymore.

De-glorifying Christmas

2007-10-04T19:17:00.001+08:00

It's probably just the ambiance in the booth. Christmas is in the air--and in our playlist. After lunch I sit and contribute to the further expansion of my waistline by doing nothing. Yeah, if you happen to tune in to the University Radio station at 1:00pm-2:00--yes, that's me,the Yuletide music-playing jock. It's not that heavy of a job, you just sit, watch the green dots on the output and press some buttons. :-)

After almost 2 straight weeks of playing Christmas music in an almost sinful manner, I begin to doubt the spirit of Christmas. Despising the fact that I am "husband-less" this season, there's more I can rant about...

1. The holidays make me horizontally-challenged by the middle body. You know what I mean..we all hate that! All the food, and the calories which is supposed to be directly related to your waistline. Puh-leeezz!!!!
2. This is high-time to bring out those lip-glosses and lip balm--or anything that can help your lips not be mistaken with scratch-and-match card.
3. Still on beauty concerns, this is also the time where you SHOULD use conditioner on your hair.You don't want to generate electricity everytime you brush don't you?
4. Conducive to being tardy. Don't you love staying in bed during the mornings...drinking coffee...chill is in the air..the water is cold...you're too lazy to use the heater...and then *pooF*! Stop day-dreaming bitch! It's not yet the weekend and you gotta get your ass to work NOW!
5. For some, this is also the DENIAL STAGE--of inaanaks! :)
6. With my kind of job, by the time the Holidays kick in--i'm already puked out and dead sick of Christmas music.

These, plus the fact that my birthday falls on a post-Xmas mania. Meaning, people are already drained of their finances so my birthday gifts always come with the logical operator "AND".

Christine, Merry Christmas AND Happy Birthday.

Tsk..tsk...tsk...

That thing they call Chikka texting

2007-10-04T19:16:00.001+08:00

I have a mugger-hater mood. And it's always constant that I whine about things. If you did something and you care for my opinion, be prepared (and I mean that! Be very prepared!) for I am a very straight-forward person. I’ll give you a piece pof my mind what-0in-the-what-the sands refinery. If I didn't say anything, that's a good sign.

I rarely put my thoughts of appreciation into words. Except for this one. It's probably nothing, and I wish I care, but I don't. Anyway, I have suddenly realized the advantages of being a hypertensive web maniac. Almost everybody in the office is connected one way or the other. I am one of them now. But there one thing I rave about--CHikka!

This applet made my life a whole lot easier to bear these days. The advantages this thing bring me is just so overwhelming! And they are...

*A license to lose my mobile phone sans the guilt! I always lose my cellular phone. Yes, I admit my appearance is almost always conducive to pick-pocketing. Sometimes, I even think that there's a post-it sticking in my head in reflector-green (eeeww) kind of shade that says "i have a cellphone, come and get it you morons!You can walk all the way to the other city and I wouldn't even realize that I've lost my phone! AGAIN!!!!" And I dunno why. Anyway, Chikka is my new and revolutionary comfort thing whenever I lose my mobile. At least, nobody can steal my Chikka account!!Ha! I can simply text everybody I know and tell them I've been oblivious again and that I am changing my number! :) Easy or what? :)

*Thank you, Chikka! YOU somehow saved my life"--thumb. I am too lazy to text! Imagine, all we're using is the thumb (well, except for those alta-sociodad kinda things the rich kids have). Imagine the harrassment of the poor thumb because of texting! Can we all check our thumbprints? In Chikka, we use all our fingers, which is finger-exercise. Chikka can teach us a thing or two about proper typing technique (not unless you’re typing a criminal report! Got it?)

* It gives us a feeling of “being busy” (or a more politically-correct term, PTBB—pretending to be busy). When you’re using your mobile, the boss can easily detect that you’re slacking off in your job again. To give the boss an illusion that you’re a work-minded person, you then face the PC and pretend to do something. You click and rummage through the pile of papers in your desk. It can also help if you murmur something, inaudible to everyone except you, and try to ruin your hair-do. It works! What others don’t now is that you’re just Chikk-texting everyone informing them of your social life being eaten up by your workload (which is a TON by now because you’re procrastinating, moron!!!) This is fool-proof!

I decided not to give this article an ending. Anyhow, the above-mentioned are just tips, more like guidelines. And, puhhlleezzz, do not get overwhelmed. I love my job—don’t be easily fooled by what I say…I have the tendency to think of these sort of things! J

Know Better. | the cultleader archives 2004

2007-10-04T19:13:00.000+08:00

She is probably the most promising individual I have ever met in my life. One would be attracted to her in the eye, though this should not be equated to the attraction of the mind. She has been physically gifted of bodily assets that can send even the most decent man to salivation.

She is like food—tempting, but nauseating She is sweet, if that word means edible. I am connected to her in the most uncomfortable way. Other people even often find it idiotic for me to be in any way near her—worse, friends with her. I know her, casually (and there is such a thing!), but there is nothing deep-rooted to that. In a recent conversation I have had with her this week, she told me she was unhappy for reasons she refused to divulge. She feels like her life suddenly became routinary and that she’s bored of her ho-hum activities. None of my business, I suppose. The conversation, fortunately, did not go any deeper. As of now, all I know is the scab of her unhealing wound. Anyway, I met up with her yesterday—accidentally. I know it sounds scriptedly coincidental, but believe it. Again, we did something we are most comfortable of doing—smoking. She was waiting for a male friend so I decided to keep her company over a bottle of white wine. The conversation became something I hoped I did not expect…Being friends with your boyfriend’s ex is more of a research for me than a dog hunt. She feeds you subliminal, sugar-coated informations about the person you both have in common. In the first place, she knows more things than you, she has been there, and she has done that. Consequently, these information may or may not have a direct impact on your judgment—and I am always the judge. She may be more knowledgeable than me, but hey, I know better.

And I still do, up to this day.

Storm+TV=Chaos(big time!) | aramid ni alaya archives 2004

2007-10-04T19:08:00.000+08:00

This week, I had myself stuck at home, thanks to a tropical depression. During tumultuous times like these, I always feel like a kid--under mom's supervision and spending hazy afternoons with my three kid brothers We all spend quality time (where's the quality control team now?!) under one freaking roof. If you're thinking that my brothers are the typical computer-addict, violence-loving kids, well, they are--only worse.

They have upgraded their "annoying techniques" over the past few years. I am not complaining. My brothers and me share a number of common TV veiwing habits (and not to mention, a number of TV programs as well. ) We all eat infront of the tube, we all practice karate on each other in hot pursuit for the remote control and we reduce each other to destruction in making excuses not to answer the god damn phone (which is usually for my mom...) when we're watching TV. They regard the tube as something sacred--nobody even talks infront of it!

You see, there are only two things my brothers don't watch--news and the Miracle channel. Other than these mentioned, they love watching TV, even if sometimes they are just pretending to watch ( a perfect pretending-to-be-busy tactic which is almost always effective in averting household chores.) They love animes (Fruits Basket is my favorite!), Cartoon Network ( i watch Mucha Lucha and Billy&Mandy's Grim Reaper Adventures), WWF and WWE ( i just love watching women's wrestling..), telenovelas (they love mulawin and don't expect me to rave on this one..i hate series or anything that requires guessing and patience..) and commercials. Yup! They love spending time watching TV commercials and banter on which commercial is cheezy, or which one they can imitate. IF there is an endorser who's fat (especially a fat kid!) my two younger brothers will memorize the line,place these lines in their stack knowledge list in hope that they can someday use it to offend my youngest brother who is (you guessed it right!) PORKY. I just love my brothers!

And just as the flexible viewer that I am, I can also watch TV with mom. Well, I watch news, but not on a regular basis. Every time we watch news together, she makes it a point to orient me of the news updates so that I can comprehend the data better. Mama watches news compulsively--it's her telenovela. If it's 6 pm, you can see my 3 brothers storming out of the living room and shutting theirselves in their rooms. Actually, this is the perfect time to pray--if not for the very purpose why you're in the living room--to watch. You can expect our living room to be safe and sound once the news is on. I just love staying at home when there's a storm. But then, does it take a tropical depression to realize that your family's the best company there is?

****

Note: The author was rummaging through her electronic files from the previous years. She found this and another article. ("Know Better")

It Pays to be Frugal.

2007-10-04T19:02:00.002+08:00

No pun intended in the title.

I just realized that he who spares the words, refines his thoughts.

--aramid ni alaya, during a blackout

blah..blah...blah

2007-10-04T19:01:00.001+08:00

8.09.2005

Well, it's been a whole 6 months since my last post. Good thing I still remember my username and password... *wink*. For a moment thereI thought I was going to need my hacker friend to crack this site.

Anyway, after 2 jobs and a wedding (yeah,,,i got married ! ;-) I decided to go back to my true love--writing. I know it's too much for a word, but you know me--i exaggerate things! That's probably what you get from marrying a man 16 years your senior. But, what the hey! I'm happy.

If you think that I don't make sense, it's probably just because this is my preconceived notion of sensibilty. Anything makes sense to me now. Even my post title.

What about you, have you written anything sensible lately?

Another One Annoys the Shoe

2007-10-04T19:00:00.002+08:00

1.18. 2005

I rarely feel annoyed by another human being other than my younger brother. My skill for annoying people has just been upgraded to a masteral’s degree, that no one can “out-annoy” me better than I can annoy anyone. People who try to annoy me are instantly categorized as just another dust at the tip of my shoe.

Well, except for that last instance when I finally decided to give up on my turf and admit that there is always someone better than you are. Let’s call him HIM.

I have hated him even from the first time I saw him. He is my male version—only worse. He’s loud, annoying and well, annoying. Since day one, he has annoyed me effortlessly and proudly. I hated the way he talked to people, how he drank his beer, how he laughed, how he made people listen to him and his 36-year old stories. I was too annoyed to think how to counter his attack. I was just plainly “dumb-founded”.

But there must have been something more than that. When I could’ve done something to avoid him, I didn’t. Gradually, the hate mutated into apathy, then apathy to being apologetic for hating him that much when I should’ve given more time to know him—and then just judge him afterwards.

And so to compensate for being such a bitch, I corrected my blunder and started getting to know him—and then some. I found out that there is only a 4-day interval between our birthdays and that we share the same birth sign, so to say. Not so bad for a guilty starter, huh? We have many things in common, you’d be surprised for the things you’ll know and will never know. If I didn’t know better I’d probably think he was spying on me. Well, to cut the story short, apathy suddenly turned into “interest”. I realized that I got so interested with him—he became more like a challenge for me, and that it was too late for me to “unravel” him because he was leaving for Hong Kong.

Time ran its usual course, and I guess some ‘unidentified forces’ took turns in making something out of nothing. By the time he went back to the Philippines for his annual Christmas vacation, we were already IT. Unlike novelty couples, our relationship felt like fat-free chocolate—it was too good to be true. It was so sickening to think that we were so damn compatible, sometimes it scares the wits out of our furs. It has always been said that we always hurt the people we love (yeah…yeah…) but for us, we need to hurt each other every so often. The reason may lead you into thinking that we have gone bonkers—we just needed to keep our relationship feasible for humans as possible and not some romantic Hollywood blockbuster movie plot. WE needed something to make it normal or something that can alter this monotous flow of perfectness just so we can feel human again.

But, just like any long-distance relationships, we were also subject to occasional “miss” moments. It’s times like these that we hang on to our mobile phones for strength! It’s times like these that we turn back on our “moments together” just to keep us going momentarily. It’s times like these when you blame geography for placing a sea between the Philippines and Hong Kong. It’s times like these when a day suddenly has 60 hours. It is just so damn hard.

But we are always capable of devising clever ways to battle emotional stress (what a word!). Sometimes, I get into fits of giggles recalling his efficient, and desperate attempts to cheer me up! Every night, he’d call me before going to bed just so I could hear him say “meamie ko”. He calls me up to report even the most miniscule information, like his PC broke down or he just bit his tongue or something.

And so “interest” turned into something deeper which I refuse to call love, but have no other choice but to do so. It has been exactly 29 days back since we got engaged, and everytime I am reminded of it, i feel like I have just been awarded a lifetime supply of fat-free chocolates. I have never gotten tired thinking about it, and I think I’ll never will. For a typical 21-year old, this may be too young an age to choose a knot (which leads to tying it...) and accept the proposal of a man fashioned in the most traditional way imaginable. I guess, it takes one person to change the life of another person.

I rarely feel annoyed by another human being other than my younger brother. People who try to annoy me are instantly categorized as just another dust at the tip of my shoe. Luckily, that dust at the tip of my shoe got stuck and will hang on for the rest of my life.

It takes a heap of dust to justify the purpose of a shoe.

(Until eventually, and strangely enough, the heap of dust would camouflage to look like the shoe.)

Excuses....Excuses...

2007-10-04T19:00:00.001+08:00

1.26.2005

We always have an excuse for anything faulty we commit. An excuse, is a lame, but oftentimes logical statement for our assertions.Example, when we are late (and are just taking public transportation), we apologize for being so and put the blame to reckless jeepney drivers who patiently wait for passengers at the middle of the road. Traffic. Or, our alarm clock wasn't loud enough to rattle our consciousness. Or, the water system failed to support your shower necessities. Or, your mother forgot to wake you up. Or you were just plainly, excessively boozed up last night. Excuses, excuses.

When we forget something ( or an important event with which we were expected to greet people--read: monthsaries et.al.), we apologize and then continue on saying that we were preoccupied with something, or something more important came up. Or we intentionally did forget because they also forgot to greet you last month...(revenge, should I say?)When we seem to be in "hater-mugger" mood and had unintentionally(or intentionally, in some cases) offended/annoyed/displeased other people, we blame it to stress, which can either be work-related or emotional.

We are always apologetic--and finger-pointing.

When will we learn to truthfully apologize for something erroneous we had intentionally or unintentionally committed? When will we ever say "sorry" --and just meaningfully say it, without blaming it to something?

When will we ever enjoy the art of apologizing because we are reallly regretful of what we did--and quit passing the blame on to others?

The Attack of the Blinded Dolls: A Eulogy

2007-10-04T18:57:00.000+08:00

12.06.2004

I find the proliferation of teeny boppers taking the shortcut to stardom absurd, if not hilarious. Major television networks have now created a contemporary world of nostalgia subliminally taking advantage of our youth’s extravagant dreams in hitting the spot the easier route. For them, reality TV contests like Starstruck or Star Circle Quest (or anything that has STAR on it) and the like are their new niche, an avenue for them to display their seemingly fair and needs improvement talents and skills. These major TV networks waste their time and energy in producing individuals that are not, if solely concerned with perfecting the art of smiling, are banking on their below average talent in the performing arts as their sure-shot ticket in the interesting world of Vanity Fair.

With the sudden emergence of this behavioral altruism created by the blinding lights of fame and fortune, our youths tend to neglect a number of things. They are so into their present that sometimes they fail to take a peek into their future. They allow the present take full control of their logic and procrastinate on one thing that counts most: planning.

Most of the blinded youths joining in these reality TV contests quit school in order to give full attention to their so-called stints to popularity. Half of them take the other form of suicide, and kill their selves by attending school while simultaneously going through a series of tedious auditions here and there (and practically everywhere!). Some even try the “makaawa effect” (read: ayoko nang maging dukha!) and use this as a scapegoat intricately planned to swat off detractors who believes that show business is so baduy. Once, I even caught an interview with one of the “blinded youngsters” and he adamantly told the interviewer that his parents even resigned on their jobs to fully support their offspring’s shot to stardom. The blinded youth, by the way is the eldest among the brood of five. (How supportive naman his parents!)

The question: is this a new sociological construct with which we riskly expose the future leaders of our land? By watching them in our boob tubes in a somewhat compulsive manner, are we tolerating them as they immerse their selves in the deceiving world of show business. As we watch them every single night (like our life greatly depended on it), we become “entertained” witnesses to their fanfare suicide. As viewers, are we guilty of shaping the society’s demand from the entertainment world , or are we simply victims of a crime subliminally committed by top rating TV shows? Are we accepting that this new behavior is a part of a progressive civilization under the powerful persuasion of the entertainment media?

Don’t blame us if by a decade from now, we have a presidential candidate whose platform is to uplift the dental health of all Filipino citizens in order for them to perfect the craft of “smiling”.

Think.

Harder.

*****

Note: The viewpoints/opinions expressed in this post are not necessarily that of the writer. She may change her stand regarding the matter, probably the very moment that you read this. Besides, she gets satisfaction from watching StarStruck especially now that another blinded youth (who happens to be a Kapampangan) got into the top 10—and whose modus operandi is to deceive people, create an alter personality so as to gain votes. )

subliminalia

2007-10-04T18:56:00.000+08:00

12.02.2004

Question: What does it take to have a mid-life crises? How do you know that you're suffering from that depression when you have no idea of the Grim Reaper's personal schedule with you?

I am a 20 year-old college instructor. The shock in this news doesn't root from my being 20. It comes from the fact that I teach college students--some of whom are waaay older than me. (I feel so yooung!) I have a student who used to be my classmate, but got pregnant so she dropped school. Another student should have graduated 10 years ago--you do the math.

I love my job, though a lot of my college batchmates were quite disappointed of it. I was never the teacher-type when we were in college. I would usually sit infront of the class so that I could annoy the teachers to the maximum. I would ask irrevelant questions (that sounded otherwise!) so as to delay the occurrence of a quiz. I would write about my Dean using the most promising words in the University publication, and the next thing I know, she has my face attached to a voodoo doll! I would talk to the most dreaded officer of the University as if I was just talking to my Math professor (and I am so bald-faced in admitting that I hate Math). But, don't let this attitude mislead you. I did quite well in class. I was not the geeky-type, nor the grade-hungry, scholarly one. I just enjoyed being a sinister college student.

Which leads me to this introspection: Am i getting karma? I had a student who did a hand stand at the back of the classroom while I was discussing in front. And one time, my freshmen criminology students did not attend a session in unison--and I had to walk out of the room thrice! However, some of the pitfalls of my age (in relevance to my profession) are really miniscule. Some of my students forget that I am their teacher and that I am superordinate to them--there was even this one student who kept on pinching me everytime he sees me in the school corridors! But don't get me wrong...I am not your typical college teacher. I allow piercings inside the class--bald heads, short skirts, drunken students and unmarried pregnant students are welcome in my class. I even have sit-in's. I believe in non-conventions, and some, if not at all, are some school policies that are irrelevant to the students' learning methodologies. If I catch students eating in my class, I confiscate some of the edibles--and eat it myself! I am close to my students, but not necessarily open to them. Well, atleast they don't know my friendster account, yet.

So,with my professional and almost flawless nicotine intakes and superceeding caffeine overdoses, can I consider this derelict my MID-LIFE CRISES then? IF I will have cancer and I'm about to die at the age of 20, can I say that my mid-life crises happened when I was 10 years old? If I still can't, what qualifies then? I can't think of any--and the only possibility that I'm going to have one is if I marry a womanizer.

Which I am not.

*****

Note: The writer is just worried that she might not be living a normal life.Currently, she is in constant attempts to make her life possibly "livable"--or anything that could pass for "normal" in human terms. She is even creating her own problems at the moment. )

Of Ideal Relationships.

2007-10-04T18:54:00.000+08:00

9.25.2004

Let's talk about the word ideal.

Ideal. It is probably the only word which can define itself by itself. When you say that something is ideal, we mean that it works for that particular instance only, and cannot be applied to any circumstance whatsoever. To be able to understand the word better, think about the word perfect. Ideal is everything that perfect is not. (So, that means that there is really no such thing as perfect.)

Ideal exists. Perfection doesn't.

Now that we have attained a common understanding of the word ideal, let's use it to describe another word--Relationship. For some, an ideal relationship is a pact between two people bound by love, respect and loyalty. I say,"Nah!". But then, how can I negate to something that works for them?

Well, I can share what's ideal for me...I mean, for us:

An ideal relationship, starts at a walk in the park and ends up getting ruined by the rain. An ideal relationship should have a 16-year gap in age so that the younger party gets matured and the older party doesn't lose his "youthfulness". An ideal relationship is bound with coincidences. The couple should only have a 4-day interval between their birthdays (therefore, both share the same birth sign), celebrate their anniversary on the 13th, finish each other's sentences,watch the same flick at the same time without synchronizing, share the same childhood "traumas" and exchange text messages that look like "replies" to the previous, but are not.

An ideal relationship also involves the couple engaging in non-sense laughs over the most miniscule reason (i.e. sighs, cats tripping over some pipe, goldfish and kittens).

Moreover, the couple, inspite being happy and boisterous should also have a number of occasional, dramatic walk-outs infront of many people (for an audience). They should also plan for their future wisely, realistic and in-full details. It should be so realistic and so detailed that the youngest of the "planned" kids is actually a bum and doesn't have dreams.

Lastly, an ideal relationship should have the couple separated by an ocean, but under one sky.An ideal relationship is something less harming than having a text mate,but more serious than having a "demented artist" for a husband.

How I love my ideal partner.

Aegri Somnia

2007-10-04T18:53:00.000+08:00

9.25.2004

Over a pack of cigarettes and occasional "depression" episodes, one may not realize the value of his self by merely assessing his self. It is almost always impossibe to "describe one's self" without thinking about what "other people" think.

I always say that we are only half of what we claim to be--or even lesser than that rate. As social beings, it is quite innate for an individual to share his self with others. This, in turn, gives an individual a knowing of his self-- in relation to others. A man, for example, could be an ex-lover to a former significant other, a victim of a harrassment, a culprit, a boyfriend (or a father), a text mate or a virtual lover.The shot list goes on, depending on the man's company. While some may find confidence in supplying "self-description" questions, this is actually "self desciption" vis-a-vis "the others".

With that, I still find the eternal question "Who are YOU?" an almost intriguing, if not frustratingly irritating question. It doesn't have an answer. The following is an excerpt from a phone conversation I have previously had with someone.

voice: WHO ARE YOU?
I am Christine... (That's your name...)
I see, I am an English Instructor...( I think the question is clear, I didn't ask for your occupation...)
Well,,,I am a deranged female, pretty self-contained, and an extremist. (Honey, those are you traits...)
Ako'y isang Pinoy, sa puso't diwa, well except when... (I should've revised the question to what's your nationality then...)

( By now, it should be evident that my voice is getting really frustrated)

Well, I am some higher being's creation and.. (We're not in theology class...)
My future's last name is Salas...? ( uhm, you're not filing a marriage contract...)

(WHY DON'T YOU TELL ME WHO I AM?)
voice: okay, let's just change the question to "Tell me something about yourself".

Argh.

A Victim of the Criminal Mind

2007-10-04T18:48:00.000+08:00

9.18.2004

This is in response to my SO's blog.
***

There is only a very limited number of guys left here on Earth who are born "romantic". Well, as the movie once said, good guys are like parking lots--they're already taken. And I agree. I just happen to be a freakingly LUCKY driver. I got the best parking lot-- and I don't even have a driver's license.

It was exactly two weeks in passing that I have been a victim of his criminal mind. In this situation, the thoughts doesn't count. What matters here is the actual execution of the evil plan. I hate surprises--and he sucks in planning it. He always has this knack for dropping hints and eventually spoiling the surprise. But last, last week he was brilliant. For an LDR couple like us, we value our time together over anything else. Everytime he comes home, we are ALWAYS together. We're inseparable like a pair of slippers!

It was an awfully lazy Saturday morning. I was in bed, frolicking in between the sheets and very carefree of the time. Hey! I wasn't suppose to go to work! I was just going to savor the whole afternoon's nothingness.

Evil Mission # 1: To pull me out of the bed on a Saturday morning without being too obvious. To drag me into this Esatto Cafe in Essel Supermarket for an alleged "friendly treat" courtesy of one of our close friend.

ACCOMPLICE # 1: Joan.
You see, the day was really weird. Aside from being treated to an early breakfast, she asked me to go with her to the market. One trip to the market is actually excruciating for me. That day, I was suppose to go to the market THRICE. Poor victimized me. So, off to market I went with her...the innocent and unsuspecting victim that I was.

After our trip to the market, we were on our way to the cafe where she works. He was supposed to meet me there. On our way to the entrance, Joan was pointing to something northwards. It made me look up. I didn't notice him sitting adjacent to my table. Ergo, I ruined their plan.

I was oblivious. I was on the verge of heading back home and sleeping, or stay inside the cafe and smoke. I didn't have a lighter so the first option was easily discarded off my mental list. The thought that there was someone outside, and that he's probably smoking and he might have a lighting gadget crossed my mind. But I didn't entertain it. To cut the story short, he became quite impatient. He approached me from behind and cupped my eyes in his hands.

For a couple in a long distance relationship like us, we value our time together--and that gave him away. We both wear our watches on the right wrist and upon grabbing his, I freaked out. I knew it could only be him. My SO.

"Oh my God, Gary! You're crazy! You're crazier than i thought! ".

For a moment there, I knew that my love-filled and shocked stares are all the communication we could handle. I knew that even without moving my lips, he understood me. I love him, and he knew that.

For the first time in my life, I didn't have to use words.

Numbered words.

2007-10-04T18:45:00.000+08:00

9.18.2004

I don't believe in statistics. It has nothing to do with my being a Masscom student, and my infinite abhorence to Mathematics and its cousins (algebra, trigonometry etc.). I just don't believe in numbers. Well, I can solve simple word problems, if you're talking about simple addition, subtraction, multiplication ( i love multiplying! ), and division.

What I mean, i can add one to one, and I'd get 2 for the sum. I can multiply one with none, and I wouldn't get freaked out with the solution. But, don't expect me to add polynomials and extract the square root of this digit and divide it with the reciprocal of X over Y, where X is equivalent to 3.123. I beg your pardon? Are you speaking in English, sire? Next question please!

I hate numbers and my mom can attest to that. I can recall the first and probably the ONLY time she sat with me to help me with my lesson. She was teaching me the multiplication table--no, let's make that she was compelling me to memorize the stupid, who-knows-where-it-came-from multiplication table. This, I think, is possibly the ugliest way of multiplying things!). Anyhow, up to this time, I burst into fits of giggles when I am reminded of that scenario. She was holding my book, and I was in front of her crying my heart out. I think she even told me,"para sa'yo rin yang ginagawa mo. Wag kang mag-inarte!!!". I didn't bother to learn the lesson, whatever it was.

That triggered my humungous hate for Math--which alerted my love for words.

I love playing with words. Words are symbols humans use to understand each other. And I'm telling you, human communication is really, really complex! I love words! Sometimes, I can even get really technical about it. To simplify things ( nah...not the one we do with mixed fractions!), let me illustrate:

If you add one to one, you'll get two, right? But in the language, when a couple gets married, you address your wife as your "better half" and not "the other one". Every standard ruler measures 12 inches-- King Henry V was a ruler, does he measure 12 inches? Then there's the ambigram--look at it either way and you'll see the same word. I am also fond of word games, Text Twist to be exact. I can spend 3 hours straight just playing it.

Nah, im just blabbering. All I'm saying is no matter how convincing numbers are in statistics, you can always make numbers work for your advantage. If ever you see a school congratulating their high percentage of board passers in a national exam, think twice. Have second thoughts.
Remember, 50% of 2 is 1.

Numbers can lie, in one way or another.

Something New.

2007-10-04T18:43:00.000+08:00

9.14.2004

I did something new today--something that can be categorized as a personal achievement, something that I can brag about and include in my resume. Well, I'm exaggerating now.I woke up early today.

For some people to whom I share my personal bubble with, waking me up really early is a Herculean task. It would require availing the services of a highly skilled defense tactics team to make me get off the bed. It even requires an awfully hell-of-a-good reason to make me commit to an early-morning breakfast.I'm telling you--I'm that tough.(Please refer to http://garkitektus.blogspot.com for more information).

I do not value sleeping that much, though I am deprived of it. It's just that it's so hard to disrupt something I worked hard for! I am an insomniac. I love coffee, but this liquid is futile--it doesn't contribute to the disruption of my trips to the dream land.( However, there is only one person in my entire freaked-out life that can wake me up without lifting a finger--my mom. But, that's another story.)

Aside from waking up early today, I also did something out of my usual drive.You see, I am a techno-phobic. I hate anything that requires pressing, pushing--or anything that has buttons. I hate pressing buttons. I have a PH.D in these stuffs--Push Here, Dummy! There are only two things that I can operate with confidence--the cellphone and my SLR camera--nothing else.I sat behind the console today,while my coffee-maniac friend, Sheiden, kept on making me feel like a total idiot. Push this, then that. This button does this, and that button does that...and what-have-you's! I felt like Saddam Hussein in captivity and the American troops are making me sing Our Father in acapella! Worse, i felt like being free in a mental asylum! I want to be home!I hate buttons. To be more specific, I hate operating buttons on the radio station.

Good thing there's the auto-pilot. All I have to do is talk. =)

When nothing turns something.

2007-10-04T18:42:00.000+08:00

9.13.2004

Please exuse the thoughts that I am about to deploy. I am not a whiner, though I may appear to be one. That's my talent and I'm so good at it.

I am not in the mood to write. I have nothing to write. I have nothing to feed my mind (and your mind, at that).I have nothing to make your brain convulsions occupied. Most importantly, I have nothing to whine about--which is a big deal for me now.

If you think you have just read something that I wrote, congratulations! You have just been instantly knowledgable of reading Braille effortlessly. But how can you read Braille when you're not blind?! Is it like forgetting that you have amnesia and you're instanly cured of it?

How can my students whine about not being able to think of a topic in my essay writing class? I think I just made something out of nothing.

How do you quantify nothing?

And oh,did I just whine?

We're Crazier Than We Think We A9.05.2004re!

2007-10-04T18:40:00.000+08:00

We're Crazier than we think we are!

I am elated and that's an understatement.

I have just been a victim of a "too-good-to-be-true" bashing that took one week to prepare, and a number of accomplices to coax me into waking up on an early Saturday morning.

The culprit: MY S.O.

Modus operandi: To make me get up early morning on a weekend, while making me practically clueless of what's about to unfold.

Of course, that's hard to do. It's hard for him to keep a secret and it's harder for me to get up early. But hey! He was able to pull the whole thing off! I have always thought that the means don't justify the end. But some two days ago, let me be the first one to antagonize that adage. The "end" is definitely directly dependent on the means. You see, that four-letter-word cliche that homo sapiens call LOVE make people do crazy stuffs. But this time, I have just proven that they can get crazier than that.

He's here--my sole proof that women my age are already capable of saying they are "already fulfilled" despite their lack of necessary turmoils (read: heartaches and lots of it...) and despite their age. He's already here--my sure-shot backstage passes to the secrets of making LDR's work for our advantage.

We have just proven ourselves a failure in this LDR thing. We are crazy to believe that LDR's actually work. It doesn't. It won't. Not in this world, not in this civilazation. The need to be with one another tricks us into believing that we can outsmart LDR. We can't.

I am elated--and that's an understatement.

Quitters never win.

2007-10-04T10:23:00.000+08:00

There is no one I owe my sanity to. I just owe it to one thing.

I am a smoker. I am not addicted to it (yet!) under ideal conditions. However, I always feel the urge to whisper in the wind during heated conversations, frustrations, over-excitement, and ennui--which practically occur on a daily basis considering my unpredictability and emotional vulnerability to third-person convictions.

I smoke when I feel mad, challenged, happy, bored, after eating or when intimidated by the blank page (re: writer's block). But I have no regular schedule for zigy breaks. It's a mood thing, really, but with advantages!

Smoking helps me censor my words ( and not necessarily thoughts...). and prevents me from making situations harder to forget at the end of the day. It also helps me get in to this "writer-r mood" thing. It also makes me visit the dentist more often. Most importantly, it calms me down during catfights, which are often nowadays in my new social status. I simply bury the filthy stick in my mouth and puff the harsh words away.

I owe my sanity to this vice. If it weren't for these ziggies, I could've uttered countless of harsh words that could kill humanity, have failed to submit money-making articles and have forgotten the word "dental care".

Quitters never win.

Of Quitting-- and quitting quitting.

2007-10-04T10:21:00.000+08:00

09.02.2004

I miss college. I can still recall some of the by-products of my part-human, part-extra-terrestrial thinking when I was in college. I will never forget how I would trip on people at school--(even school officials) in writing, and otherwise.

Most of my ideas that were penned down were either coffee-and-cigarette-induced, or super-strong-coffee-and-cigarette-induced. Moreover, most of the things I wrote in college came from three minds--that of mine, my co-managing editor Julius, and his alter-ego.

How I miss Julius--my partner in crime. We used to bitch around and practice Wicca on each other in college. Most importantly, I miss being his equally-able and sole competitor of the Pioneer office's PC (read: for internet purposes)

I bet he also misses me especially when I bug him when the Internet connection is so slow. He always tell me..."Patience comes to those who wait...". I guess he also misses the way he scared the hell out me when I told him I think I just smoked fake cigarette because my throat was burning and itching.

Julius is usually non-challant and non-accomodating. That is, except when I'm smoking.

When I told him my dilemma, he practically took the situation to his advantage and told me scientific things that sounded Swahili to me. All I understood was I better quit smoking because the market is so freaking full of fake cigarette swindlers. He told me the next time I smoke a fake again I won't definitely miss death. You can just imagine my voice box put into action when I heard that.

But, being the hard-headed and only-semi-gullible being that I was, of course, I haven't ended my smoking spree yet. Julius is still an anti-smoking advocate and I am still a believer of the adage that I find efficient whenever someone compels me to quit smoking.\

QUITTERS NEVER WIN.

Midterm Aftermath

2007-10-04T09:45:00.000+08:00

9.02.2004

Part of my duty as a faculty is to facilitate exams--a proctor. In as much as I am grateful that I am not a member of the increasing Unemployed Society of the Philippines, I am half-hearted when it comes to sitting for long hours, do nothing (not that it's hard to do...) and watch students execute their novice cheating antics.

I easily get bored.

While I was watching them, I saw myself a couple of months ago when I was still one of them. Some three months ago, I was a striving, carefree graduating Mass Com student. After graduation, I on the jet-set of job hunting. I flunked my first-ever job interview in my life and I swear I did not do that intentionally. My boyfriend and my mom think I flunked it on purpose. It was an honest mistake and I admit that I felt good committing that blunder. I never really wanted the job, but it didn't mean I didn't give my best shot. I did, it's just that call centers aren't for me. When my future supposed-former employee asked me the one-miss-you-die-question, I answered as honest as I could--which is natural for me, what-in-the-what-the!

"What do you think of graveyard shifts?", he asked.
"Well, i think it's really an unfair labor treatment", I replied.

Smile. Silence.

The interviewer looked at me and asked a follow-up question.
"So, what book are you currently reading?

I knew what was written on my letter, then.

PROCTORING: C'est La Vie?

2007-10-03T18:32:00.001+08:00

09.01.2004

I have better news than the alleged "across the board" increase I was just granted! I started my day quite EARLY today--7:00 am to be exact. The culprit: an 8:30 midterm exam atop the matterhorn (read: 5th floor!)

You see, I am not a morning person. You can make me stay up on a God-help-me kind of late, but never ever wake me up in the morning not unless there's a fire or it's already the apocalypse. Anyway, I started my day early today--and I feel good despite the deprivation of my much needed slumber( due to stress and insomnia). And what did I get from this unusually early morning craze?

Here's a lowdown of my whole day:

For three consecutive one-and-a-half-hour-each sessions, I was tasked to enter a room and borrow Ms. Tapia's aura so as to look dreading and threatening to the students. Then, I instruct them to read the instructions on their questionnaires! (how tiring..=) After that, i sit in my territory (read: teacher's table) and become a living witness to the students execution of mental hardwork. I mean, how tough is it really to pretend I'm tough?

Well, consolation is provided by the students' numerous made-up facial expressions (which varies from fornicating of the eyebrows, mumbling something to theirselves and scratching almost any part of their anatomy that is scratchable). All this, in an attempt to outsmart me and CHEAT.

Best part: Well, I get to sign my well-practiced signature at the back of their permits! And I get paid for watching a poorly rehearsed modus operandi.

SMS Lingo--and beyond.

2007-10-03T18:17:00.000+08:00

09.01.2004

“Ala nakung load?!” ( "I haven't got text credits left?")

I know the feeling. It always suck big time to realize that after some kilometric text you just typed, your network detects that you have practically nothing left in your account. The message you just typed went to the gods of the underworld.

I also find it hilarious that people are so into this SMS lingo that they actually use the same system to type things over the keyboard. Iimagine the hardships altering the QWERTYU system of your fingers.

Example: Whenever I chat in the internet I get to talk to people who ask me “hw r u?”. My boss, in electronic goes, "uwi na me, kita u na lang 2moro". My mom looks for me and types in her mobile, "w r u?". Pretty exhilarating, isn’t it?

What's funny is that: I get the message. Only it would take me a few milliseconds to associate, translate and comprehend the words. That's three brain processes in just one single text.

Funnier, though: The intricate human ability to communicate via SMS is so alarmingly entertaining. Try understanding this: “ nglu2”—which is translated to “nagluto”. Yet, this principle is not true for this one: “nagla2ba”—which translates to “naglalaba”, and not “naglaTUba”.

Gets u? D me eh. (Do you get it? I don't.)

Leave it to the Menstrual Cycle

2007-10-03T17:51:00.001+08:00

8.31.2004

Nope. I am not engaged in the rhythm method nor am I dreading to be missing one cycle of it because of the ineffieciency of the former. This is just one of the normal stuffs wherein I usually let my ovaries take on the matter at hand. This is actually a countdown of the most excruciating, if not rewarding commitments I have engaged myself into for 8 strong months now (and counting). Mind you, this menstrual-aided countdown really makes time seem minute. Instead of putting the countdown in days, in emails, in text messages, in i-love-you’s, in paydays and what have you’s, put it on the menstrual cycle—it’s guaranteed to make your counting days cut short.

Yup, that good old LDR (please refer to previous posts to know more about it…) Whenever he comes home, it feels better than coffee…and probably even better than coffee with cigarette in the morning after long hours of thesis-till-midnight days! A few weeks from now, I’ll be with him again.

Good news: just one menstrual period to go (read: just one more month to go) and we’ll be together again after centuries of waiting.

Bad news: We’ll be savoring the rewards of our suffering for just 9 freaking days! If this were only ‘simbang gabi’, it would probably feel dragging because my friends literally have to drag me to attend mass early in the morning because of our annual ‘pustahan’ (betting). And I even remember myself wishing that Id wake up at the 9^th day of the mass so that I don’t have to go through 9 cold mornings in the shower! But 9 days?! Is that really nine? I feel like throwing myself into fits of ‘gigil’ (no English translation for this one…so, go figure!).

I am not whining, although I may sound like that, neither am I pre-empting that nothing good happens in LDR’s, for I believe there are (that’s plural!). I guess, my S.O. (significant other) and me just prefer to take the long way home.

Footnote:
When I told my friend Sheiden to visit my blog, (which she miraculously did knowing her “i-am-not-doing-anything-you-say” attitude is at its best) she initially asked me what’s this for before succumbing to my request. Paradoxically, I told her it’s a public diary—only better because you don’t have to hide your diary from your mom. You can even invite her to view it on the Net—which I doubt if she would because she knows you’re not going to write something you don’t want her to know ( and actually spares you the benefit of the doubt!) She looked at me and I swear I saw her trying really damn hard to think of “other beautiful thoughts” like curfew and boyfriends-with-alter-ego kind of things instead of dealing with me. After doing that, she commented on one of the post and defensively told me that she’s not “desperately single”. I uttered an honest opinion. She looked at me and I swear I saw her mumble a prayer to someone with the full capacity to rewind the situation instead of wishing she could re-do the scene in her human ways. I think she wished she never commented on my post. Or make that she wished she never heard it from me—the sarcastic me.

I told her, “I think you’re on denial stage, dear. And if you’re going to deny that, I think that’s good—you’re already on the what they call acceptance stage…”

She stormed out of the room with the ideal solution on her hand—a cup of coffee.

More Good News

2007-10-03T17:29:00.001+08:00

8.30.2004

Good News: I am not a member of this country's thick population of seemingly desperate singles. This population--alongside those who belong to the Unemployed Faction has been dramatically increasing in size that they are actually enough to start their own republic!
Sometimes, I even think that this phenomenon is directly proportional to the increase of same-sex marriages in the country. Well, that's another story.

Aside from nursing this near-one-year long distance relationship(which, by the way will be more known as LDR in this blog and hereafter), the stress of being far away from each other is something we do not plan to give up to. It sounds depressing to be inlove with someone physically absent,but I think it is MORE depressing to be a part of those who are still on the prowl looking for someone who could be their significant others (or atleast pretend to be their significant others (sigh).

In this dog-eat-dog world of romantic relationships of human beings, I am still lucky. I have someone more than special.

*****
More Good News: He's coming home--my personal proof that I am worth the happiness that Nicole Kidman once had felt. I better get a haircut. =)

Pure Bullshit

2007-10-03T17:24:00.000+08:00

08.30.2004

It's 2:53 pm and I'm supposed to be working off my tushie in front of a transmutation table. I need to check grammatically-incorrect essays, bummer. When I was younger, reading people's essays with major booboo's on their grammar made me feel good about myself! Now that I have gained a number of years on my natal date, not to mention the type of profession I have chosen for myself, seeing people express theirselves ala-Jimmy Santos make me lose a nerve. Hear this: I haven't got that much nerve left anymore.

Question:When I was younger(and I am intentionally using this term to denote that I am not getting old--or older, at that), it made me feel good being a living witness to people's grammar mistakes. But, do I always have to look at other people's deficiencies to feel good about myself?

Why is it that the very thing they lack--makes me complete?

Icecream is here. I have better things to do. =)