well, first i want to say sorry for posting really late but the saturday im referring to was last August 18. it sucked...but not really "sucked" sucked. the middle of the day was really fun. but the beginning and the end part, allow me to just scoff.
well i woke up at 5:30. slept again. woke up again at 6:00. i had tryst with hannah and lori that we would meet at jolibee at 6:30. I arrived 6:45. Jolibee wasn't yet opened so Lori (who arrived a minute before me) and I stood outside to wait for Hannah. 6:50, there was no hannah. 7:00, jolibee opened, no hannah. so we went inside and this lady who had a phone but can't send a message because she couldn't see asked me to type the message for her. it would have been easy if her cellphone wasn't such a difficult piece of crap. I couldn't write a word without mispelling it. Personally, it irked me but the lady asked me nicely and I couldn't very well turn her down. So after I sent the message to her friend named "GWAPA", hannah finally arrived and we rode a jeep to talamban, hoping we could still make it to the 7:30 attendance check.
so we arrived at 7:36 or something and looked everywhere to find our "EXCELLENT" PE teacher only to find jo and gierine. gierine was hungry so the five of us proceeded to the canteen where I strangely ate breakfast. Strangely because I didn't think I'd be hungry that morning considering the six balls of siomai i consumed the night before. ugh, and i remember that pineapple juice i spilled on the jeep. well anyway, so we waited until eight. still no teacher in sight. then it was announced on-air that we should all proceed to the field. we all did. 8:35, attendance was finally checked. so much for fucking 7:30. we danced and sucked at the same time, the others were good though.
we all wanted to leave but our "EXCELLENT" PE teacher said there was still a second around and that our presence will be checked a second time. it all ticked us off but we had to stay. 11:30 and we got asked to go back to the field. and we were made to sing the national anthem and that stupid fucking high-pitched USC hymn. oh and before that our PE teacher told us we had to go back at 1:00 for the costume. maybe it was *BITCH* day because we were again bummed out that we still had to stay until one. and then after we sang, our "EXCELLENT" (oh and did i mention that she was pregnant) PE teacher changed her TWISTED mind and re-scheduled the claiming of the costumes to THREE 'OCLOCK. now if we were bummed out at one, imagine how we actually felt when it was changed to THREE. GOD! forgive me for using Your name in vain but at that moment i just wanna jump at that teacher and pull off all her hair. she actually ruined all my plans for the afternoon. i know it's selfish but i don't want changing my plans. it REALLY REALLy REALLY made me fuckin mad that i cursed her in my mind from the time i got home to the time i arrived at talamban.
So we had 30 minutes left for ART, it's like a play that we all HAD TO watch. but don't mistake me as one of them, because even if we didn't have to, I WOULDN'T fucking miss it. So we arrived in time...sorta...and there were no more chairs that could get us a really nice view. thankfully, hannah found some and we got settled. the play was amazing. it starred only three characters, played by Ricky Davao, Michael de Mesa and some other guy who was probably in his early forties but was still really good-looking. there was only one set, too. the setting was simple, yet elegant and everything ended well.
the play was about 3 friends. Serge, the deep-thinking, impressionist-art-lover, man-of-his-time art collector, Mar, the shallow-and-narrow-minded, ill tempered what-was-his-job? and Jun, the airheaded, no-opinion something-to-do-with-paper employee. quite the attraction of the opposites huh? so serge bought this vallardo original for 200,000 pesos. it was 4 by 5 white canvass, with white background, and some diagonal white lines and a straight horizontal white line. if you look at it, you wouldn't believe it was worth all that money because it's technically just a white piece of wood with lines. But Serge, who has this really deep personality, considered it worth it. But MAr got really furious, thinking that serge had gone insane. he actually referred to the painting as "a white piece of shit". that pissed serge off and they parted off fighting.
so mar went to jun, jun went to serge. he tried to bridge the fight but only worsened it. he told mar he agreed that it was "shit" but he told serge the opposite. so they got into a really terrible shithole which jun, in the end while crying, referred to as "the trial period". the only thing that resolved the fight was jun's feltic pen. serge threw it to mar, as if to tell him that "go write something on that white piece of shit." and prove that their friendship was more important than the painting. so mar went and drew a man skiing. the play ended with mar and serge taking the drawing off the painting with some solution that paula (mar's wife) suggested. then mar looked at the painting once more and finally, as if by storm, appreciated it.
so after the play, i met with my new and old classmates. in the end, i had dinner in Mang Inasal with Earl and Richmond. I swear I could feel green eyes upon us. i mean me having dinner with two of the most handsome guys in high-school, how lucky could i get? so my day was getting better. until i got home and lost my temper over my stupid nail polish. i cried a bit, just to release the anger and set off for the ship.
hmmn, that was pretty much it. a sucky saturday. please allow me to fucking scoff.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Friday, August 17, 2007
Wordless Thoughts
My words are lost and I don't know where to find them.
It's been a good five months since I've written anything and every time I begin to write a letter, I develop this funny thing inside my stomach, and suddenly the words begin to disappear. It maybe the so-called "Writers' Block" or it may also be that I never was a writer after all. I mean, retrospectively, what have I written? All those beautiful words stolen from beautiful writers, all those unfinished stories, all those lies? I'm supposed to show the real me in my words but those are gone. Maybe I'm not going to find out who I really am after all.
So lately I've been thinking about writing a whole new chapter of my writing career. Something out of scratch, something that I will read ten years later and boast to my friends that "I wrote this crap". Love stories are where everybody starts. But I don't want to write love stories anymore because every time I do, it always ends unfinished. And I know why. Because I've never been in love. I though I had but I hadn't. It's funny how the words wouldn't come when you're writing something that never happened. It's like a writing law that's been there. Nobody knows it exists but it does and it stops people from writing what they're not. And I respect that law so I'm not going to write anything about love unless I know what it really is, unless I've experienced what people say as "painful happiness"
I can't write about life either. Not because I don't have one but because I'm still 16 and I still have a lot to learn about the world. I've been bragging about how mature I am but the truth is I'm as juvenile as any other kid my age. I also will not write about death. Not because I'm afraid of it but because I've never seen it. I know it and remember it but I haven't been as close to death as a lot of people had been.
I will write however of beauty and strenght and courage.Because I know that even if I don't look the part of a major character in a fairytale, I'm still part of a story. A story that has yet to be written and may have already been written. I don't know where the words will take me, how pauses and periods would make me, but I'll keep on living like Cinderella and Snow White. I will face my own evil-step-mother with courage and I fill find my prince. Or, I will wait for him to come because that is what damsels-in-distress do. But I am not a damsel-in-distress. I am not a spunky princess either. I'm caught in between, between lying in my glass coffin waiting for the kiss to wake me up and riding on a horse in hopes of finally having that fateful meeting where I will touch the hand of a boy and know that he's the one.
I will write of frustration. Because that is what I have. I will put to words the strange moments when I cried just because I have run out of reasons or the time when I threw everything because I lost. ANd then I will write about how I smiled again, and the reasons why. About how I picked everything and tried to fix it. About the times when I spent too much that I almost pawned the necklace that my mom gave me.
I will write about impossible dreams and ambitions. About me being a Japanese singer and marrying a Japanese long-haired actor in a red hoodie and cargo pants. About having the perfect hair, loosing my imperfections and just being perfect while I breathe on the chest of my guy, feeling his hands on my waist as we dance along the melody of some old love song. I will write about having a car and walking around the mall with my friends, with people staring and admiring my perfection. I will write about me making a movie with Billy Zane, Daniel Radcliffe, Leonardo di Caprio and Zac Efron.
In all possible ways, I will write about me. About the million reasons why I make a good person. I will make a list of the people I love and make another list of the reasons why I love them. I will write about the books that I thought was about me, was for me...about the writers whose works I called my own. I will write words about words, about wordless thougths and wordless reasons. About songs and music and melody and keys. I will write about my loneliness, my selfishness, my imperfect perfect self.
I will eat words, chew them and feel them swirling inside me and I will let them out at the perfect moment where I could just sit, smell the rain and be a "true" writer. And then when my words get lost again, I will find them everywhere, in the stories of my favorite authors, in the magical kingdoms of my favorite fairytales, in the smallest experiences that make my life "a life". And if they come to me at last, I will take a pen, a paper, turn on my computer, and I will scribble them so they never get away from me again. But if I don't find them, I will simply take my clothes off, wait for the rain to come and dance and laugh and cry in it naked. I will stay naked and wet and incomplete until I find them. I will wait for the right words, true words and when they finally find me...I will surrender.
It's been a good five months since I've written anything and every time I begin to write a letter, I develop this funny thing inside my stomach, and suddenly the words begin to disappear. It maybe the so-called "Writers' Block" or it may also be that I never was a writer after all. I mean, retrospectively, what have I written? All those beautiful words stolen from beautiful writers, all those unfinished stories, all those lies? I'm supposed to show the real me in my words but those are gone. Maybe I'm not going to find out who I really am after all.
So lately I've been thinking about writing a whole new chapter of my writing career. Something out of scratch, something that I will read ten years later and boast to my friends that "I wrote this crap". Love stories are where everybody starts. But I don't want to write love stories anymore because every time I do, it always ends unfinished. And I know why. Because I've never been in love. I though I had but I hadn't. It's funny how the words wouldn't come when you're writing something that never happened. It's like a writing law that's been there. Nobody knows it exists but it does and it stops people from writing what they're not. And I respect that law so I'm not going to write anything about love unless I know what it really is, unless I've experienced what people say as "painful happiness"
I can't write about life either. Not because I don't have one but because I'm still 16 and I still have a lot to learn about the world. I've been bragging about how mature I am but the truth is I'm as juvenile as any other kid my age. I also will not write about death. Not because I'm afraid of it but because I've never seen it. I know it and remember it but I haven't been as close to death as a lot of people had been.
I will write however of beauty and strenght and courage.Because I know that even if I don't look the part of a major character in a fairytale, I'm still part of a story. A story that has yet to be written and may have already been written. I don't know where the words will take me, how pauses and periods would make me, but I'll keep on living like Cinderella and Snow White. I will face my own evil-step-mother with courage and I fill find my prince. Or, I will wait for him to come because that is what damsels-in-distress do. But I am not a damsel-in-distress. I am not a spunky princess either. I'm caught in between, between lying in my glass coffin waiting for the kiss to wake me up and riding on a horse in hopes of finally having that fateful meeting where I will touch the hand of a boy and know that he's the one.
I will write of frustration. Because that is what I have. I will put to words the strange moments when I cried just because I have run out of reasons or the time when I threw everything because I lost. ANd then I will write about how I smiled again, and the reasons why. About how I picked everything and tried to fix it. About the times when I spent too much that I almost pawned the necklace that my mom gave me.
I will write about impossible dreams and ambitions. About me being a Japanese singer and marrying a Japanese long-haired actor in a red hoodie and cargo pants. About having the perfect hair, loosing my imperfections and just being perfect while I breathe on the chest of my guy, feeling his hands on my waist as we dance along the melody of some old love song. I will write about having a car and walking around the mall with my friends, with people staring and admiring my perfection. I will write about me making a movie with Billy Zane, Daniel Radcliffe, Leonardo di Caprio and Zac Efron.
In all possible ways, I will write about me. About the million reasons why I make a good person. I will make a list of the people I love and make another list of the reasons why I love them. I will write about the books that I thought was about me, was for me...about the writers whose works I called my own. I will write words about words, about wordless thougths and wordless reasons. About songs and music and melody and keys. I will write about my loneliness, my selfishness, my imperfect perfect self.
I will eat words, chew them and feel them swirling inside me and I will let them out at the perfect moment where I could just sit, smell the rain and be a "true" writer. And then when my words get lost again, I will find them everywhere, in the stories of my favorite authors, in the magical kingdoms of my favorite fairytales, in the smallest experiences that make my life "a life". And if they come to me at last, I will take a pen, a paper, turn on my computer, and I will scribble them so they never get away from me again. But if I don't find them, I will simply take my clothes off, wait for the rain to come and dance and laugh and cry in it naked. I will stay naked and wet and incomplete until I find them. I will wait for the right words, true words and when they finally find me...I will surrender.
Friday, August 03, 2007
5 things i have to do to loose weight
5. Regulate my diet. No fastfood, no sweets, no softdrinks, no additional rices and cut off my intake of meat.
4. Walk every afternoon home. It's a good one kilometer walk which is perfect.
3. Possibly jog around Fuente Circle every morning before six.
2. Do jump ropes while im at it. Might loose me some flab in the arms.
1. When im craving for food, help myself with some crackers. No fats, just carbs.
Fuck! i am so tired of hearing people telling me how fucking fat i am. i watch tyra and i get inspired by her but it's not what happens in reality. people still can't accept that i'll always be extra fucking fat. so im taking this up a notch. they want skinny---> i'll give them anorexic. kidding aside, if everything else fails, i can always resolve to..
PILLS.
4. Walk every afternoon home. It's a good one kilometer walk which is perfect.
3. Possibly jog around Fuente Circle every morning before six.
2. Do jump ropes while im at it. Might loose me some flab in the arms.
1. When im craving for food, help myself with some crackers. No fats, just carbs.
Fuck! i am so tired of hearing people telling me how fucking fat i am. i watch tyra and i get inspired by her but it's not what happens in reality. people still can't accept that i'll always be extra fucking fat. so im taking this up a notch. they want skinny---> i'll give them anorexic. kidding aside, if everything else fails, i can always resolve to..
PILLS.
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