Today I give up. Really give up.
It's been almost two years since I acknowledged the fact that I could love you. It has been a Christmas ago when I realized that I already did. And it's been two months when I decided to give up on you. But it has only been now that I finally accepted that you're not for me, and I'm not for you.
I've finally realized that maybe I wasn't in love with you after all. I was in love with the idea of loving you and the possibility of you loving me back. Now that idea's crumbling before my eyes, and I see you for what you truly are—a boy who is frustratingly clueless of how special he is. And I am just sick of dropping clues that you'll never pick up and reading signs that you didn't even put up. We are just friends. And it's time that I accept that, that's all we'll ever be.
Why does it always have to be me to make the first move? To send the first text? To buzz the first message? Clearly, you're not interested. And it's common sense for me to walk away. I should have walked away sooner.
Maybe in the distant future when I've realized my daydreams, you'd want me. You'd want me when I'm prettier, skinnier, more refined. Maybe you would all finally treat me like a girl, not the friend you can bully anytime you're bored. Because I wasn't born smart without a reason. I've been sharpening that hatchet, and I swear that when before I turn thirty, it will all have hit you in the crotch.
But I will tell you this truth: you made me happy. The times I spent with you are memories I would never regret having. I don't regret loving you, even if it might have been all an illusion. I don't regret meeting you, and I doubt that I ever will. You have made me special in your strange, awkward way, and thank you for that. Thank you for making me feel like you could love me, even though now I know you probably never would. Thank you for your messages that made me smile and kept me all night thinking. Thank you for the words you have laid out for my fingers to find. Thank you for inspiring me to write again. Thank you for your smile and your dimples. Thank you for being alive. Thank you for being my friend.
But these are the last words I will write for you. And these are the last words I will write about you. This I promise.
Tuesday, December 06, 2011
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Licensed Teacher!
I am now a licensed teacher! *pops confetti*
I didn't get into the top ten as I'd hoped, but I guess I just have to be satisfied that I even passed, considering how many sessions of those review classes I missed, okay, cut. My girls seem to be intensely happy about it; I don't know why I just don't feel anything. I am happy of course, but not the kind that has you jumping off your feet. I feel a normal kind of happiness, like when I score high in an exam or when I'm about to watch a good movie. I guess I really wanted to prove myself again by topping that test, but it's okay. I'm happy that my friends are happy. I'm happy because I know my parents and friends are proud. I'm happy because even though it's not that big of an accomplishment compared to other twenty-one-year-olds who are on prestigious scholarships and inventing robots, I still get to tell myself that I did something right. And at the end of the day, I guess that's what really matters. :-)
I didn't get into the top ten as I'd hoped, but I guess I just have to be satisfied that I even passed, considering how many sessions of those review classes I missed, okay, cut. My girls seem to be intensely happy about it; I don't know why I just don't feel anything. I am happy of course, but not the kind that has you jumping off your feet. I feel a normal kind of happiness, like when I score high in an exam or when I'm about to watch a good movie. I guess I really wanted to prove myself again by topping that test, but it's okay. I'm happy that my friends are happy. I'm happy because I know my parents and friends are proud. I'm happy because even though it's not that big of an accomplishment compared to other twenty-one-year-olds who are on prestigious scholarships and inventing robots, I still get to tell myself that I did something right. And at the end of the day, I guess that's what really matters. :-)
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
It's Mr. Darcy's Fault!
A lot of people look surprised when I tell them that I have been single all my life. I don’t take this as a compliment because I don’t look like the kind of girl who would have boys eating at the palm of her hands. Some attribute it to stereotype, and recently, I have discovered that people have tagged me as the party girl. Party girls apparently juggle boys one after the other. I don’t take offense in that label, but I don’t religiously subscribe to it either. Although I may have passed out drunk one time or another or occasionally indulged in the opportunity of feeling like a rockstar offered by a cigarette stick, I have always drawn a line when it came to boys and the unhappy circumstances when they think you’re an easy A.
In retrospect, I never ran out of crushes. When it came to crushes, I really didn’t put up much of a wall and liked everyone who picked at my hormones. There was the bus conductor, my second cousin, my gay best friend, the class bully, the class weirdo, cute teachers, smart teachers, boys who can read, boys who know how to crack a joke, boys who can sing, boys who can dance, boys my friends teased me with. And yes, I’ve even had a phase when that list included girls. I eventually got past the am-I-gay crisis and can now go back to liking boys 90 percent of the time. (Who says you can’t be 10 percent lesbian?)
But to be truly in love with someone, now that’s a different story. I’ve only been in love twice, and both times had me emptying Kleenex boxes, popping zits, and repeatedly watching Pride and Prejudice. Was it me? Was it them? I honestly can’t answer that. But if I had to psychoanalyze my side of the story, I’d have to inconvenience Mr. Darcy by dropping some of the blame on his lot.
Being an idealist is bad enough, but being both an idealist and a romantic is a curse. I blame it on my surreptitious love affair with young-adult and adult fiction romances. I have outgrown them since high school, but they have left me so scarred with those “heaving bosoms” and “dazzling, out-of-this-world eyes” and “I love yous” and just the whole compendium of those disgustingly clichéd characters and dialogue. They have turned me into a romantic Frankenstein, and it’s too late to turn me back into a realistically sane human being.
Now I look at boys and can’t help but measure them against the debonair gentlemen and Byronic heroes of classic love stories. I can’t help but juxtapose them with Mr. Darcy, the single most perfect man that ever existed on paper. Why can’t they say something that Mr. Darcy would say? Why can’t they be lovingly mysterious like he was? Where is that air of masculine elegance? Where is that sarcastic wit? Where are those courtly mannerisms; those fleeting, meaningful glances? Where is that raw sexual tension cleverly hidden in a disdainful twitch of the lips? The ugly truth is that they have been long gone with the advent of technological progress. They now only exist in fragile pages, in film adaptations, and in the recesses of my brain where they have claimed residence. And when I need to cry, they always come together and materialize into that familiar overcoat and breaches. Mr. Darcy doesn’t come to me; I go to him. Though I can only imagine it, he has always been there for me. And at the end of the day, isn’t that what every girl wants ultimately—a man who will be there for her?
When you’ve fallen desperately and irrevocably in love with a fictional character, it’s hard to put yourself out there in the real world. There are no Mr. Darcys in the real world. Not one even close. There will be no poetic misunderstandings. There will seldom be, if at all, stark but intelligently rewarding verbal duels. There will be no confessions of equal heart and alacrity, no words of such soul and passion. Even in a time and place where Mr. Darcy was real, no one held a candle to him, how much more in a world where he is not? Thus, all romantics are hopeless.
Boys will hate him and say it is unfair to make them measure up to a man of such caliber and who doesn’t even exist. They would be right. The whole point to this Darcy affair, however, is not his breaches, chest hair, or ten thousand pounds. It isn’t even that courtly swagger, that sexy enigma, or those Shakespearean declarations of love. It’s the man that Darcy is—honest, passionate, and kind. It’s his sense of responsibility, his willingness to own up to his misjudgments, and his graciousness in accepting his flaws. These are what make him perfect. These are what make girls like me fall in love with him over and over again.
So why have I remained single? It’s not because I set my standards too high. It’s not because there hasn’t been anyone who showed interest. It’s not because I’m insecure—well, maybe I am, but this is not entirely the reason. It’s simply because I have outgrown the boy that I loved in Peter Pan. It’s not enough to just have fun anymore; it’s time to think about the consequences too. It’s time to grow up. And in this world of computer games, social networking sites, and mass media, you’ll find that there are not a lot of boys whom you can truly call a man. There are not very many who can hold more than just our gazes. So when the unhappy time comes when somebody slaps me with this question again, I’ll probably just shrug and say, “It’s Mr. Darcy’s fault!”
In retrospect, I never ran out of crushes. When it came to crushes, I really didn’t put up much of a wall and liked everyone who picked at my hormones. There was the bus conductor, my second cousin, my gay best friend, the class bully, the class weirdo, cute teachers, smart teachers, boys who can read, boys who know how to crack a joke, boys who can sing, boys who can dance, boys my friends teased me with. And yes, I’ve even had a phase when that list included girls. I eventually got past the am-I-gay crisis and can now go back to liking boys 90 percent of the time. (Who says you can’t be 10 percent lesbian?)
But to be truly in love with someone, now that’s a different story. I’ve only been in love twice, and both times had me emptying Kleenex boxes, popping zits, and repeatedly watching Pride and Prejudice. Was it me? Was it them? I honestly can’t answer that. But if I had to psychoanalyze my side of the story, I’d have to inconvenience Mr. Darcy by dropping some of the blame on his lot.
Being an idealist is bad enough, but being both an idealist and a romantic is a curse. I blame it on my surreptitious love affair with young-adult and adult fiction romances. I have outgrown them since high school, but they have left me so scarred with those “heaving bosoms” and “dazzling, out-of-this-world eyes” and “I love yous” and just the whole compendium of those disgustingly clichéd characters and dialogue. They have turned me into a romantic Frankenstein, and it’s too late to turn me back into a realistically sane human being.
Now I look at boys and can’t help but measure them against the debonair gentlemen and Byronic heroes of classic love stories. I can’t help but juxtapose them with Mr. Darcy, the single most perfect man that ever existed on paper. Why can’t they say something that Mr. Darcy would say? Why can’t they be lovingly mysterious like he was? Where is that air of masculine elegance? Where is that sarcastic wit? Where are those courtly mannerisms; those fleeting, meaningful glances? Where is that raw sexual tension cleverly hidden in a disdainful twitch of the lips? The ugly truth is that they have been long gone with the advent of technological progress. They now only exist in fragile pages, in film adaptations, and in the recesses of my brain where they have claimed residence. And when I need to cry, they always come together and materialize into that familiar overcoat and breaches. Mr. Darcy doesn’t come to me; I go to him. Though I can only imagine it, he has always been there for me. And at the end of the day, isn’t that what every girl wants ultimately—a man who will be there for her?
When you’ve fallen desperately and irrevocably in love with a fictional character, it’s hard to put yourself out there in the real world. There are no Mr. Darcys in the real world. Not one even close. There will be no poetic misunderstandings. There will seldom be, if at all, stark but intelligently rewarding verbal duels. There will be no confessions of equal heart and alacrity, no words of such soul and passion. Even in a time and place where Mr. Darcy was real, no one held a candle to him, how much more in a world where he is not? Thus, all romantics are hopeless.
Boys will hate him and say it is unfair to make them measure up to a man of such caliber and who doesn’t even exist. They would be right. The whole point to this Darcy affair, however, is not his breaches, chest hair, or ten thousand pounds. It isn’t even that courtly swagger, that sexy enigma, or those Shakespearean declarations of love. It’s the man that Darcy is—honest, passionate, and kind. It’s his sense of responsibility, his willingness to own up to his misjudgments, and his graciousness in accepting his flaws. These are what make him perfect. These are what make girls like me fall in love with him over and over again.
So why have I remained single? It’s not because I set my standards too high. It’s not because there hasn’t been anyone who showed interest. It’s not because I’m insecure—well, maybe I am, but this is not entirely the reason. It’s simply because I have outgrown the boy that I loved in Peter Pan. It’s not enough to just have fun anymore; it’s time to think about the consequences too. It’s time to grow up. And in this world of computer games, social networking sites, and mass media, you’ll find that there are not a lot of boys whom you can truly call a man. There are not very many who can hold more than just our gazes. So when the unhappy time comes when somebody slaps me with this question again, I’ll probably just shrug and say, “It’s Mr. Darcy’s fault!”
Sunday, November 13, 2011
The Thing about Acne
The thing about acne is that it makes you want to die.
I remember going to the dermatologist when I was in high school because my acne flared up all of a sudden. There were pictures of the stages of acne severity on a poster beside her table. I remember being consoled because mine could be categorized as mild acne. Every time I’d break out after that, I’d think of those people in the picture and thank God that my face problem isn’t as big as theirs.
Now that I practically don’t have a face anymore, I remember those pictures and I see myself in them. I am categorized as severe. Worst. It has me feeling suicidal—yes, suicidal—for the past couple of weeks. When I had myself checked up by a different doctor here in Cebu, I was positive it’d be gone in a month. Woe is me. It got even worse. And my fear has finally punched me literally in the face—I am now unarguably ugly.
My friends will tell me I don’t look that bad. I’ll probably tell them the same thing if they were in my situation. But the only thing that can’t lie tells me I’m probably in the list of the top ten ugly people you’ll ever see. The mirror tells me to kill myself. Sometimes, it sounds a much better option than to wake up every day feeling dead anyway. This vicious condition has sucked me into a black hole of misery and self-loathing. To try to pull myself out, I’ve quit my job—the job I’ve secretly learned to love.
The thing about acne is that no matter how much makeup you put on to try to cover it up, you still feel like shit. You know people are looking at you and calling you ugly in their minds. You feel more depressed when people tell you they’re sorry your face looks like the surface of Mars. You cringe inwardly when they give you the half-disgusted-half-sorry grimace. And you try to smile and explain and say, “I know” even if it kills you inside. And you wait to be alone so you can cry.
The thing about acne is you know you can’t fall in love. And I like falling in love. And who would fall in love with me looking like this anyway? They say you can’t love if you don’t love yourself first. And I’ve lost that kind of love. I’ve become empty, hollow, and useless. I look in the mirror and feel disgusted at the person looking back. Yes, I think I hate myself. A shame.
I remember going to the dermatologist when I was in high school because my acne flared up all of a sudden. There were pictures of the stages of acne severity on a poster beside her table. I remember being consoled because mine could be categorized as mild acne. Every time I’d break out after that, I’d think of those people in the picture and thank God that my face problem isn’t as big as theirs.
Now that I practically don’t have a face anymore, I remember those pictures and I see myself in them. I am categorized as severe. Worst. It has me feeling suicidal—yes, suicidal—for the past couple of weeks. When I had myself checked up by a different doctor here in Cebu, I was positive it’d be gone in a month. Woe is me. It got even worse. And my fear has finally punched me literally in the face—I am now unarguably ugly.
My friends will tell me I don’t look that bad. I’ll probably tell them the same thing if they were in my situation. But the only thing that can’t lie tells me I’m probably in the list of the top ten ugly people you’ll ever see. The mirror tells me to kill myself. Sometimes, it sounds a much better option than to wake up every day feeling dead anyway. This vicious condition has sucked me into a black hole of misery and self-loathing. To try to pull myself out, I’ve quit my job—the job I’ve secretly learned to love.
The thing about acne is that no matter how much makeup you put on to try to cover it up, you still feel like shit. You know people are looking at you and calling you ugly in their minds. You feel more depressed when people tell you they’re sorry your face looks like the surface of Mars. You cringe inwardly when they give you the half-disgusted-half-sorry grimace. And you try to smile and explain and say, “I know” even if it kills you inside. And you wait to be alone so you can cry.
The thing about acne is you know you can’t fall in love. And I like falling in love. And who would fall in love with me looking like this anyway? They say you can’t love if you don’t love yourself first. And I’ve lost that kind of love. I’ve become empty, hollow, and useless. I look in the mirror and feel disgusted at the person looking back. Yes, I think I hate myself. A shame.
Wednesday, November 09, 2011
Puss in Boots
I can't help but smile when I look at this snapshots.
My first cat, whom we named Kit, had the same color. I found her when I was three or four nesting below our stairs. My sister and I are asthmatic, so Mom didn't let us keep her. On on our way to Ormoc, we dropped her somewhere far. I was really sad, but then she found her way back to us. I couldn't believe it! But when my mom found out, we had to leave her again. This time, she didn't find her way back. :-(
My first cat, whom we named Kit, had the same color. I found her when I was three or four nesting below our stairs. My sister and I are asthmatic, so Mom didn't let us keep her. On on our way to Ormoc, we dropped her somewhere far. I was really sad, but then she found her way back to us. I couldn't believe it! But when my mom found out, we had to leave her again. This time, she didn't find her way back. :-(
Tuesday, November 08, 2011
I love sunflowers. But it's just now that I realized it's my favorite flower.
I tried planting a bunch of them when I was in sixth grade. This environmental endeavor didn't prove successful though. Partly because of the soil. Partly because of the sun. Partly because of me. I was sad for a long time because I really wanted to see bright colors in that too-green piece of lot. I don't know what I did wrong. My surmise now is the climate here in the Philippines isn't conducive to a sunflower's growth.
This flower always reminds of a pair of eyes. I don't know whose yet, or I don't know whose anymore. At one time, they reminded me of a first love. But when I look into those eyes now, I don't see that brightness anymore, that glint of youth and hope. All that I see now are a desperation and a fear of being lonely. He has lost that tantalizing spark. And I feel sorry for him.
But enough of that love thing, which seems to ruin every attempt I make at writing a fairly happy post. Other than eyes, which I have loved a long time ago, sunflowers always remind of warm, happy days. You can't help but picture a clear blue sky and a sun when you look at an image of a sunflower. The image it brings to my head is so vivid that I can almost feel sunrays on my skin.
One of the items on my nonexistent bucket list is to visit a sunflower field. They say there is one in California. I particularly want to visit that one because I've heard the California sun is amazing. But since I'm stuck in a country where the only way you can get your hands on a sunflower is in a flower shop, which will then charge you ten dollars or five hundred pesos for a single flower, pictures will suffice for now.
I tried planting a bunch of them when I was in sixth grade. This environmental endeavor didn't prove successful though. Partly because of the soil. Partly because of the sun. Partly because of me. I was sad for a long time because I really wanted to see bright colors in that too-green piece of lot. I don't know what I did wrong. My surmise now is the climate here in the Philippines isn't conducive to a sunflower's growth.
This flower always reminds of a pair of eyes. I don't know whose yet, or I don't know whose anymore. At one time, they reminded me of a first love. But when I look into those eyes now, I don't see that brightness anymore, that glint of youth and hope. All that I see now are a desperation and a fear of being lonely. He has lost that tantalizing spark. And I feel sorry for him.
But enough of that love thing, which seems to ruin every attempt I make at writing a fairly happy post. Other than eyes, which I have loved a long time ago, sunflowers always remind of warm, happy days. You can't help but picture a clear blue sky and a sun when you look at an image of a sunflower. The image it brings to my head is so vivid that I can almost feel sunrays on my skin.
One of the items on my nonexistent bucket list is to visit a sunflower field. They say there is one in California. I particularly want to visit that one because I've heard the California sun is amazing. But since I'm stuck in a country where the only way you can get your hands on a sunflower is in a flower shop, which will then charge you ten dollars or five hundred pesos for a single flower, pictures will suffice for now.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Something funny (for a change)
This is hilarious! There is not one dirty word in it, and it is funny.
The Smiths were unable to conceive children and decided to use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day the proxy father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife goodbye and said, 'Well, I'm off now. The man should be here soon.'
Half an hour later, just by chance, a door-to-door baby photographer happen ed to ring the doorbell, hoping to make a sale. 'Good morning, Ma'am', he said, 'I've come to...'
'Oh, no need to explain,' Mrs. Smith cut in, embarrassed, 'I've been expecting you.'
'Have you really?' said the photographer. 'Well, that's good. Did you know babies are my specialty?'
'Well that's what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat'.
After a moment she asked, blushing, 'Well, where do we start?'
'Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch, and perhaps a couple on the bed. And sometimes the living room floor is fun. You can really spread out there. '
'Bathtub, living room floor? No wonder it didn't work out for Harry and me!'
'Well, Ma'am, none of us can guarantee a good one every time. But if we try several different positions and I shoot from six or seven angles, I'm sure you'll be pleased with the results.'
'My, that's a lot!' gasped Mrs. Smith.
'Ma'am, in my line of work a man has to take his time. I'd love to be In and out in five minutes, but I'm sure you'd be disappointed with that.'
'Don't I know it,' said Mrs. Smith quietly.
The photographer opened his briefcase and pulled out a portfolio of his baby pictures. 'This was done on the top of a bus,' he said.
'Oh, my God!' Mrs. Smith exclaimed, grasping at her throat.
'And these twins turned out exceptionally well - when you consider their mother was so difficult to work with.'
'She was difficult?' asked Mrs. Smith.
'Yes, I'm afraid so. I finally had to take her to the park to get the job done right. People were crowding around four and five deep to get a good look'
'Four and five deep?' said Mrs. Smith, her eyes wide with amazement.
'Yes', the photographer replied. 'And for more than three hours, too. The mother was constantly squealing and yelling - I could hardly concentrate, and when darkness approached I had to rush my shots. Finally, when the squirrels began nibbling on my equipment, I just had to pack it all in.'
Mrs. Smith leaned forward. 'Do you mean they ac tually chewed on your, uh...equipment?'
'It's true, Ma'am, yes... Well, if you're ready, I'll set-up my tripod and we can get to work right away.'
'Tripod?'
'Oh yes, Ma'am. I need to use a tripod to rest my Canon on. It's much too big to be held in the hand very long.'
Mrs. Smith Fainted!!
The Smiths were unable to conceive children and decided to use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day the proxy father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife goodbye and said, 'Well, I'm off now. The man should be here soon.'
Half an hour later, just by chance, a door-to-door baby photographer happen ed to ring the doorbell, hoping to make a sale. 'Good morning, Ma'am', he said, 'I've come to...'
'Oh, no need to explain,' Mrs. Smith cut in, embarrassed, 'I've been expecting you.'
'Have you really?' said the photographer. 'Well, that's good. Did you know babies are my specialty?'
'Well that's what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat'.
After a moment she asked, blushing, 'Well, where do we start?'
'Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch, and perhaps a couple on the bed. And sometimes the living room floor is fun. You can really spread out there. '
'Bathtub, living room floor? No wonder it didn't work out for Harry and me!'
'Well, Ma'am, none of us can guarantee a good one every time. But if we try several different positions and I shoot from six or seven angles, I'm sure you'll be pleased with the results.'
'My, that's a lot!' gasped Mrs. Smith.
'Ma'am, in my line of work a man has to take his time. I'd love to be In and out in five minutes, but I'm sure you'd be disappointed with that.'
'Don't I know it,' said Mrs. Smith quietly.
The photographer opened his briefcase and pulled out a portfolio of his baby pictures. 'This was done on the top of a bus,' he said.
'Oh, my God!' Mrs. Smith exclaimed, grasping at her throat.
'And these twins turned out exceptionally well - when you consider their mother was so difficult to work with.'
'She was difficult?' asked Mrs. Smith.
'Yes, I'm afraid so. I finally had to take her to the park to get the job done right. People were crowding around four and five deep to get a good look'
'Four and five deep?' said Mrs. Smith, her eyes wide with amazement.
'Yes', the photographer replied. 'And for more than three hours, too. The mother was constantly squealing and yelling - I could hardly concentrate, and when darkness approached I had to rush my shots. Finally, when the squirrels began nibbling on my equipment, I just had to pack it all in.'
Mrs. Smith leaned forward. 'Do you mean they ac tually chewed on your, uh...equipment?'
'It's true, Ma'am, yes... Well, if you're ready, I'll set-up my tripod and we can get to work right away.'
'Tripod?'
'Oh yes, Ma'am. I need to use a tripod to rest my Canon on. It's much too big to be held in the hand very long.'
Mrs. Smith Fainted!!
Tuesday, October 04, 2011
Happy Birthday
I turned twenty-one today.
I wanted to sleep early last night, but I ended up worrying about my manuscript till it was ten o'clock. I slept immediately though and was awoken by my first birthday greetings. Well, what do you know? Paul took the first, and Jodie was the second. I tried not be really happy about it, but I am. I am such a loser. I really don't want to focus on anyone right now. I don't even feel that it's my birthday today, for crying out loud!
But i did go to church this morning and was ogled by several men (one was in a car). Last night too when I got my brows done, the guy there (who was doing my brows) flirted with me---too obviously for my taste. I guess I should be happy about it now that people are starting to tell me I'm pretty again. My pimples have miraculously (thank God) relented and are now on the way to getting healed.
Kuya is here so I'll be having my birthday dinner on his expense hahaha. I'm looking forward to Friday too, but I can't say that it's an absolutely positive feeling. Part of me still hurts, and it's probably still too soon to see him again. But oh well. I should be over it sooon.
Now I'm at work, fact-checking and trying not to suck too much with this manuscript. It's not greatly written, but it's not bad either.
Gosh, I'd hoped to write a more happy birthday post, but I'm sounding really bored, aren't I? Oh, well. Happy Birthday to me.
I wanted to sleep early last night, but I ended up worrying about my manuscript till it was ten o'clock. I slept immediately though and was awoken by my first birthday greetings. Well, what do you know? Paul took the first, and Jodie was the second. I tried not be really happy about it, but I am. I am such a loser. I really don't want to focus on anyone right now. I don't even feel that it's my birthday today, for crying out loud!
But i did go to church this morning and was ogled by several men (one was in a car). Last night too when I got my brows done, the guy there (who was doing my brows) flirted with me---too obviously for my taste. I guess I should be happy about it now that people are starting to tell me I'm pretty again. My pimples have miraculously (thank God) relented and are now on the way to getting healed.
Kuya is here so I'll be having my birthday dinner on his expense hahaha. I'm looking forward to Friday too, but I can't say that it's an absolutely positive feeling. Part of me still hurts, and it's probably still too soon to see him again. But oh well. I should be over it sooon.
Now I'm at work, fact-checking and trying not to suck too much with this manuscript. It's not greatly written, but it's not bad either.
Gosh, I'd hoped to write a more happy birthday post, but I'm sounding really bored, aren't I? Oh, well. Happy Birthday to me.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Mac
I’ve been dreaming of home for three straight nights now. And not just home, it’s always in the town plaza right across our grandma’s house. The first one, I was dancing in the rain with my cousin Erika. We were in our underwear. The second, we were listening to this creepy guy doing lame-ass street magic. The third, there was some kind of street party. All the townspeople—everyone we knew—gathered at the town plaza dancing, doing what seemed like exercise stretches, sitting at the fountain, just walking about. Even Brent and Bianca (our old childhood friends and neighbors who are now in the States) were there.
But the weird thing about this last dream is the presence of a boy. I don’t recognize his face, but he was handsome. His name was Mac. He was sitting by the fountain with a bunch of kids, and we were passing by talking about something (I’ve forgotten what). Whatever it was, this seemed to have touched a nerve because he suddenly butted in with a really irritated voice. I don’t know if I’d do it in real life, but I answered back as curtly, and we were soon having a verbal faceoff. This ended with me walking away (with my escapist tendency with arguments) and him following behind. Apparently, he wasn’t finished arguing. I’m desperately trying to remember what the topic was, but all I can recall is that he said, “You don’t know because you’re not a teacher.”
I remember feeling appalled at the statement, and I looked at the kids he was with (one looked like my second cousin Ken). I told him, “We’re teachers too you know!” And now I forget who I was with during that time. Probably college friends. So we ended up laughing and walking toward the street where I grow up. We stopped at the store that one of my godmothers own. He suddenly put his arm around me, and I held his hand and felt warm and alive. We then went inside my godmother’s backyard to have a drink. Then his father arrived and joined us. He later told me that he was one of my dad’s closest friends. I don’t really remember what happened next, just that Mac and I stared at each other until I woke up.
And this morning, I really feel a little more alive. Probably because of that dream, because I got a good night’s rest (fever’s gone, thank God), because my mom texted me last night. Oh well, at least there is a reason for me to smile today.
But the weird thing about this last dream is the presence of a boy. I don’t recognize his face, but he was handsome. His name was Mac. He was sitting by the fountain with a bunch of kids, and we were passing by talking about something (I’ve forgotten what). Whatever it was, this seemed to have touched a nerve because he suddenly butted in with a really irritated voice. I don’t know if I’d do it in real life, but I answered back as curtly, and we were soon having a verbal faceoff. This ended with me walking away (with my escapist tendency with arguments) and him following behind. Apparently, he wasn’t finished arguing. I’m desperately trying to remember what the topic was, but all I can recall is that he said, “You don’t know because you’re not a teacher.”
I remember feeling appalled at the statement, and I looked at the kids he was with (one looked like my second cousin Ken). I told him, “We’re teachers too you know!” And now I forget who I was with during that time. Probably college friends. So we ended up laughing and walking toward the street where I grow up. We stopped at the store that one of my godmothers own. He suddenly put his arm around me, and I held his hand and felt warm and alive. We then went inside my godmother’s backyard to have a drink. Then his father arrived and joined us. He later told me that he was one of my dad’s closest friends. I don’t really remember what happened next, just that Mac and I stared at each other until I woke up.
And this morning, I really feel a little more alive. Probably because of that dream, because I got a good night’s rest (fever’s gone, thank God), because my mom texted me last night. Oh well, at least there is a reason for me to smile today.
It gets worse before it gets better
It gets worse before it gets better. This is what I tell myself every morning when I wake up finding two or three papules sprouting from a last one that just healed. It gets worse before it gets better. This is what I tell myself when I look into the mirror and feel absolutely repulsed by the person looking back. It gets worse before it gets better. This is what I tell myself every time I’m tempted to slip away into a daydream that I know will always be just a daydream.
It gets worse before it gets better.
Sometimes I wonder if my face is a reflection of my life. And maybe, in some weird, scientific fact connecting hormones to oil production to psychological stress, it probably is. All I know right now is that when I’m happy or disgustingly in love, my face is a ray of sunshine—all clear and pretty. Even though my skin is far from perfect, I don’t give it much thought because I’m somehow convinced by the proverbial “when you think you’re pretty, other people will too.” Usually, my life’s a breeze too when I feel beautiful. Though there are the occasional glitches and power outbreaks, I usually just sit and smile through the temporary stop and pray to God that everything will run smooth again. And when I’m lucky—which I usually am—they do.
But now. My life feels so broken, I’ve almost given up hope that anything could be done to repair it again. And maybe even then, it won’t run the same way. The question that’s been eating at me right now is—how did I get here? Why did I become so sad and so lonely?
Looking back, I guess part of it is because of the psychological damage that comes with the breakouts. I’m pretty big about looking pretty because I know I will never ever live through my life without proving to myself and others that what that stupid boy said in the movie theater wasn’t true. Yes, I may be shallow, but if you were told that you were extremely ugly and fat, wouldn’t you be? Wouldn’t you spend the rest of your life wondering if that is true? Wouldn’t you try everything to make yourself feel otherwise? And yes, that is exactly why I’m losing weight. That is exactly why my life has gone to a halt now that I’m breaking out like hell.
But I guess the bigger part of why I’m suddenly empty is because of love. And isn’t that always the reason? Always?
I should probably stop ranting since I’ve experienced “unreturned feelings” one too many times. But this . . . it’s the worst heartbreak yet. And I’m just so lucky that it had to happen at the same time as my downward spiral. Talk about pretty timing.
There are so many things I’m unsure about my life right now: Should I quit my job? Should I go home and rest for a year? Why am I not studying for that board exam? Am I going to top it? Am I going to even pass? Does anyone love me? Why doesn’t he love me? Do I look disgusting to other people? Am I sick? When will these zits go away? How may pounds have I lost? How many more pounds do I have to lose? Should I go back to school? And if I do, would I still be smart?
So many fucking questions. I wish I knew the answer to just one of them. Yet there is one thing I don’t doubt, this one thing I’m absolutely sure of: I love him. I fucking love him.
I want to hold on to those feelings, those warm tingles that remind me life is still beautiful. But even they have left me cold. And those same feelings that once made me so alive and gave me beautiful dreams that got me through awful days—they’ve turned into ugly, calloused hands violently wrapped around my neck, choking me to death under the illusion of gentleness. Yes, even the love I feel for him has turned ugly. Along with everything else in my life.
In retrospect, I rise above these emotional stupors eventually. After a good book or a warm hug from someone I miss or the smell of sunshine at home, these ugly feelings eventually just come off and I just find myself happy again. So far, this is all that gets me through these days—the thought that I’ll come around someday. My birthday is coming, and I want to be back when I turn twenty-one. I want to face another year in my life with a smile, with gratitude and appreciation and happiness. I want to feel alive again.
But until that day comes, I’ll just hold on to these words and to the people that still give meaning to my life. I’ll be waiting.
It gets worse before it gets better.
Sometimes I wonder if my face is a reflection of my life. And maybe, in some weird, scientific fact connecting hormones to oil production to psychological stress, it probably is. All I know right now is that when I’m happy or disgustingly in love, my face is a ray of sunshine—all clear and pretty. Even though my skin is far from perfect, I don’t give it much thought because I’m somehow convinced by the proverbial “when you think you’re pretty, other people will too.” Usually, my life’s a breeze too when I feel beautiful. Though there are the occasional glitches and power outbreaks, I usually just sit and smile through the temporary stop and pray to God that everything will run smooth again. And when I’m lucky—which I usually am—they do.
But now. My life feels so broken, I’ve almost given up hope that anything could be done to repair it again. And maybe even then, it won’t run the same way. The question that’s been eating at me right now is—how did I get here? Why did I become so sad and so lonely?
Looking back, I guess part of it is because of the psychological damage that comes with the breakouts. I’m pretty big about looking pretty because I know I will never ever live through my life without proving to myself and others that what that stupid boy said in the movie theater wasn’t true. Yes, I may be shallow, but if you were told that you were extremely ugly and fat, wouldn’t you be? Wouldn’t you spend the rest of your life wondering if that is true? Wouldn’t you try everything to make yourself feel otherwise? And yes, that is exactly why I’m losing weight. That is exactly why my life has gone to a halt now that I’m breaking out like hell.
But I guess the bigger part of why I’m suddenly empty is because of love. And isn’t that always the reason? Always?
I should probably stop ranting since I’ve experienced “unreturned feelings” one too many times. But this . . . it’s the worst heartbreak yet. And I’m just so lucky that it had to happen at the same time as my downward spiral. Talk about pretty timing.
There are so many things I’m unsure about my life right now: Should I quit my job? Should I go home and rest for a year? Why am I not studying for that board exam? Am I going to top it? Am I going to even pass? Does anyone love me? Why doesn’t he love me? Do I look disgusting to other people? Am I sick? When will these zits go away? How may pounds have I lost? How many more pounds do I have to lose? Should I go back to school? And if I do, would I still be smart?
So many fucking questions. I wish I knew the answer to just one of them. Yet there is one thing I don’t doubt, this one thing I’m absolutely sure of: I love him. I fucking love him.
I want to hold on to those feelings, those warm tingles that remind me life is still beautiful. But even they have left me cold. And those same feelings that once made me so alive and gave me beautiful dreams that got me through awful days—they’ve turned into ugly, calloused hands violently wrapped around my neck, choking me to death under the illusion of gentleness. Yes, even the love I feel for him has turned ugly. Along with everything else in my life.
In retrospect, I rise above these emotional stupors eventually. After a good book or a warm hug from someone I miss or the smell of sunshine at home, these ugly feelings eventually just come off and I just find myself happy again. So far, this is all that gets me through these days—the thought that I’ll come around someday. My birthday is coming, and I want to be back when I turn twenty-one. I want to face another year in my life with a smile, with gratitude and appreciation and happiness. I want to feel alive again.
But until that day comes, I’ll just hold on to these words and to the people that still give meaning to my life. I’ll be waiting.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Rain
In my dream, I was dancing in the rain. Naked and shameless. I don’t know what that means, but something tells me it’s finally time to let go. I know I promised to wait until my birthday, but it’s getting harder every day. And there really is no point in hanging around anymore when I’m practically, absolutely sure that whatever it was that I felt existed between us was merely an illusion—one of the stories my mind desperately weaves when I’m feeling beautiful but lonely.
Now that I feel horrible—with my recent breakouts and this feelings of emptiness following me like a shadow—the story’s finally beginning to crumble, and I can see us for what we truly are: nothing. All those messages, those dates that aren’t even dates, those accidental touches, they’re now just part of the huge dagger that life thrusts into me further every waking day. They’re all just figments of happiness that are now long past. They are no longer real.
I can’t remember the last time I was happy. Sure, there are people who make me smile every day, but there is a special kind of happiness that only I myself can conjure. And I’m discovering that I can’t do that anymore. I’ve lost that magic, that innocence, that sight of something wonderful at the end of the day. I feel so lost, so empty, so away from myself. Is this what they call depression?
God knows how much I’ve been praying for something to make me alive again—music, poetry, a boy, anything. But I’m still slumped and useless, all my insecurities and self-reservations eating away with what’s left of my pride.
And maybe what I do need is the rain. A cleansing, some sort of renewal. Maybe I just need to get home desperately, to be in a place where there is sunshine and familiar faces and family. Maybe I just need to get away, for a while. To forget. To heal.
Now that I feel horrible—with my recent breakouts and this feelings of emptiness following me like a shadow—the story’s finally beginning to crumble, and I can see us for what we truly are: nothing. All those messages, those dates that aren’t even dates, those accidental touches, they’re now just part of the huge dagger that life thrusts into me further every waking day. They’re all just figments of happiness that are now long past. They are no longer real.
I can’t remember the last time I was happy. Sure, there are people who make me smile every day, but there is a special kind of happiness that only I myself can conjure. And I’m discovering that I can’t do that anymore. I’ve lost that magic, that innocence, that sight of something wonderful at the end of the day. I feel so lost, so empty, so away from myself. Is this what they call depression?
God knows how much I’ve been praying for something to make me alive again—music, poetry, a boy, anything. But I’m still slumped and useless, all my insecurities and self-reservations eating away with what’s left of my pride.
And maybe what I do need is the rain. A cleansing, some sort of renewal. Maybe I just need to get home desperately, to be in a place where there is sunshine and familiar faces and family. Maybe I just need to get away, for a while. To forget. To heal.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
That Moment
We are swimming in this crowd of strangers, of faces I’m suddenly finding myself looking at as an excuse not to look at you. You walk quietly beside me, your arms swinging dangerously close to mine; and when the occasional person who wants to get past us unintentionally shoves you toward me, some of your fingers meet the skin of my hand, leaving a trail of a slight tingle, resembling a kiss.
I get a good enough reason to look at you. You give me one of your awkward smiles—eyes twinkling, teeth bare, cheeks sinking into that dimple where I’m sure you hide some of your secrets. I give out a small laugh, a constricted sound somewhere along annoyance, embarrassment, and frustration. It’s not one of my genuine laughs; it’s a laugh that I unconsciously make when I want to say something and decide against it.
We walk, but now I can’t take my eyes off your hands. Your hands are the most beautiful hands I’ve ever seen, and I keep coming up with excuses to touch them without you suspecting that I want to. I love your long fingers, and I often dream of them entangled in mine. They must be soft and strong and safe. That’s how you make me feel. Safe. I love your clean-cut fingernails too. They tell me so much about you as a boy—how different and how strange and how appealing you are to me. I’m probably drawn to your silence, to your almost hateful indifference, to the peace that emanates from your presence. But what I love, most of all, is the protrusion of veins that snake from the middle of your arm to the point where your fingers start. I’ve always had a thing for them—not exactly a fetish, but a longing or a wish or an out-of-this word fixation. They are what caught my attention. They are what makes me see you differently from anyone else. They are what makes you a man in my heart. They are one of the many reasons why I love you.
Silence. People say it’s sometimes comforting, but it never is between you and me. Everything else—the voices of people, the whoosh of paper bags, the electric creaking of escalators, the impatient brush of shoes against marble, the indistinct buzz of the outside traffic—is drowned out, sucked by the thin thread of space between the right sleeve of your black shirt and a disobedient strand of my hair. And now all I can really hear is the sound of your jeans when they collide when you walk, the gentle, seemingly calculated steps your slipper makes on the floor, the beep that the keypad of your cell phone produces when your fingers fastidiously press on them, the occasional huff of your breath. And suddenly, it looms visibly, so unmistakable, so clear. It’s the cruel distance between us.
“They’re not coming.”
You manage to say it matter-of-factly, but there is a tinge of disappointment in your voice. Maybe not a tinge. You’re probably very disappointed that you’re stuck with me, that our other friends couldn’t be with us. You probably don’t want some friend or acquaintance to see us together because you know they’ll assume we’re on a date. A date. Will you ever take me out on a real date?
But I guess I’m not really your type. Compared to other girls, I don’t really think I hold a candle in the physical department. That’s what kind of sucks though. You’re not exactly my type either, and here I am, devouring every nicety of every moment, desperately rummaging my brain for something cool to say, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear like a crazy, unbelievably obvious, lovesick teenager. But I guess that’s why I know my feelings for you are real. I don’t care anymore if I slip into one of those helpless romantic archetypes. I don’t care anymore if I’m sounding like those girls I hate. I don’t care anymore if you’re nothing like those boys in sappy young adult fiction novels that I secretly love. If it’s you—to hell with all those. I don’t care anymore.
“Okay, so do you want to go home?”
“Do you?”
Here you go again. Letting me decide. Always letting everyone else decide. Sometimes, I hate you for that. Why can’t you just tell me you want to go if you do? Why won’t you tell me you want to stay with me a little longer if you that’s what you want? Why aren’t you trying? At all?
“Not yet. Let’s walk for a little longer.”
I know that when “a little longer” has passed, it will have passed. So I swallow whatever holds me back and boldly take your arm in mine, pretending to drag you away from the crowd. I let the touch linger for a moment and then I pull away, knowing it makes you uncomfortable. You don’t seem to mind the contact, but I know you’ve probably analyzed it. I want you to analyze it. I want you desperately to know that every second of my existence right now—with you, with the consciousness that I could just lean a little close and feel you, with the possibility of so many wonderful things hanging between us, with the world rendered unfamiliar, with this feeling threatening to free the words my pride has worked so hard to contain—is that one prayer God has finally answered. This is the dream that I know will fleet away before I get the chance to wake up. This is the moment that will too soon pass. This is where time finally stops, long enough for the words to form themselves from the silence. This is where I will love you always. And this is where I know you will break my heart.
“Let’s go home.”
I get a good enough reason to look at you. You give me one of your awkward smiles—eyes twinkling, teeth bare, cheeks sinking into that dimple where I’m sure you hide some of your secrets. I give out a small laugh, a constricted sound somewhere along annoyance, embarrassment, and frustration. It’s not one of my genuine laughs; it’s a laugh that I unconsciously make when I want to say something and decide against it.
We walk, but now I can’t take my eyes off your hands. Your hands are the most beautiful hands I’ve ever seen, and I keep coming up with excuses to touch them without you suspecting that I want to. I love your long fingers, and I often dream of them entangled in mine. They must be soft and strong and safe. That’s how you make me feel. Safe. I love your clean-cut fingernails too. They tell me so much about you as a boy—how different and how strange and how appealing you are to me. I’m probably drawn to your silence, to your almost hateful indifference, to the peace that emanates from your presence. But what I love, most of all, is the protrusion of veins that snake from the middle of your arm to the point where your fingers start. I’ve always had a thing for them—not exactly a fetish, but a longing or a wish or an out-of-this word fixation. They are what caught my attention. They are what makes me see you differently from anyone else. They are what makes you a man in my heart. They are one of the many reasons why I love you.
Silence. People say it’s sometimes comforting, but it never is between you and me. Everything else—the voices of people, the whoosh of paper bags, the electric creaking of escalators, the impatient brush of shoes against marble, the indistinct buzz of the outside traffic—is drowned out, sucked by the thin thread of space between the right sleeve of your black shirt and a disobedient strand of my hair. And now all I can really hear is the sound of your jeans when they collide when you walk, the gentle, seemingly calculated steps your slipper makes on the floor, the beep that the keypad of your cell phone produces when your fingers fastidiously press on them, the occasional huff of your breath. And suddenly, it looms visibly, so unmistakable, so clear. It’s the cruel distance between us.
“They’re not coming.”
You manage to say it matter-of-factly, but there is a tinge of disappointment in your voice. Maybe not a tinge. You’re probably very disappointed that you’re stuck with me, that our other friends couldn’t be with us. You probably don’t want some friend or acquaintance to see us together because you know they’ll assume we’re on a date. A date. Will you ever take me out on a real date?
But I guess I’m not really your type. Compared to other girls, I don’t really think I hold a candle in the physical department. That’s what kind of sucks though. You’re not exactly my type either, and here I am, devouring every nicety of every moment, desperately rummaging my brain for something cool to say, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear like a crazy, unbelievably obvious, lovesick teenager. But I guess that’s why I know my feelings for you are real. I don’t care anymore if I slip into one of those helpless romantic archetypes. I don’t care anymore if I’m sounding like those girls I hate. I don’t care anymore if you’re nothing like those boys in sappy young adult fiction novels that I secretly love. If it’s you—to hell with all those. I don’t care anymore.
“Okay, so do you want to go home?”
“Do you?”
Here you go again. Letting me decide. Always letting everyone else decide. Sometimes, I hate you for that. Why can’t you just tell me you want to go if you do? Why won’t you tell me you want to stay with me a little longer if you that’s what you want? Why aren’t you trying? At all?
“Not yet. Let’s walk for a little longer.”
I know that when “a little longer” has passed, it will have passed. So I swallow whatever holds me back and boldly take your arm in mine, pretending to drag you away from the crowd. I let the touch linger for a moment and then I pull away, knowing it makes you uncomfortable. You don’t seem to mind the contact, but I know you’ve probably analyzed it. I want you to analyze it. I want you desperately to know that every second of my existence right now—with you, with the consciousness that I could just lean a little close and feel you, with the possibility of so many wonderful things hanging between us, with the world rendered unfamiliar, with this feeling threatening to free the words my pride has worked so hard to contain—is that one prayer God has finally answered. This is the dream that I know will fleet away before I get the chance to wake up. This is the moment that will too soon pass. This is where time finally stops, long enough for the words to form themselves from the silence. This is where I will love you always. And this is where I know you will break my heart.
“Let’s go home.”
Tuesday, August 09, 2011
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Janty—a revolution.
We knew it was only a matter of time before somebody thought of having cigarettes join the electronic bandwagon with mails, cards, books, and well—pretty much everything else. Yes, the cigarette has now earned the iconic e- nomenclature! Though not a lot of people know, the electronic cigarette (or the e-cigarette or e-cig) has actually been around as early as 2004. It was invented by a Chinese pharmacist in 2003, introduced to the market the year after, and received its international patent in 2007. It is relatively still in its baby stage so you probably haven’t heard much about it or seen people ostentatiously wielding it around—but pretty soon you will!
E-cigarettes work by utilizing heat or ultrasonics to vaporize a liquid solution (known as e-liquid—yes, an e-liquid!) into an aerosol mist that can be inhaled. Think of nebulizers and humidifiers—it more or less works by the same principle. (And isn’t that ironic?) It is essentially designed to simulate that act of cigarette smoking so it looks, tastes, and even feels just like a real cigarette stick. In case you were wondering, the e-liquid isn’t a digital electronic liquid like those digital waterfalls in electronic landscape frames. It’s an actual liquid solution that contains the heart and soul of a cigarette stick—nicotine. E-cigarettes are therefore not technically smoking cessation devices. (Duh, it still contains nicotine!) It is, however, a healthy alternative to smoking. Think about it—the same physical sensation, the same flavor, the same feeling of confidence and freedom, all the fuzzy, relaxing, stimulating effects of smoking without threats of lung cancer or asthma or disturbing the old lady that sits beside you in the waiting area. Dads could smoke without worrying their kids might harness some of the harmful effects of their—let’s face it—bad habits. Already sick people who would rather stay sick that put the stick down can put the stick down and pick up the e-cigarette!
The leading brand and manufacturer of e-cigarettes today is Janty by Janty World. Janty has been in operation since 2006, first producing the Janty Yentl, followed by the Mini-fogger series. These pieces come in slick and elegant designs that fit perfectly with anyone’s daily swagger. They come in black too so you can’t help but look fly with them. They then introduced the Kissbox series, which was patterned from the KISS (keep it simple and slick) principle. The Kissbox features user-friendly ease-of-control buttons and can be powered via USB (so you can charge your Janty Kissbox with your iPod while you’re working). After the Kissbox came the Janty Stick, the first ever e-cigarette in a non-cigarette shape. It is also tagged as the most durable and best-selling e-smoking device in the market. Come 2009 and Janty launched the eGo Tank, a long-lasting battery-powered e-cigarette with a unique, ergonomic design. This was said to have wowed both consumers and critics alike. Janty’s innovations in the new but soon-to-thrive business of electronic smoking is constantly in the process of upgrade, development, and, ultimately, perfection. In 2011, they will again launch another series that will surely knock the socks off smokers—electronic or actual—and nonsmokers alike. Their electronic smoking devices are guaranteed safe; no need to worry about getting cancer, whether from electronic radiation or malevolent cellular growth, or asthma or any other diseases associated with tobacco smoking. Janty products are designed for the satisfaction, convenience, and safety of the consumers.
“Smoking is like jumping off from a high-rise building; you might enjoy the feeling of falling down, but you’re going to hit the ground sometime and die.” This was what my health teacher told the class way back in high school. Looking back now, I know she’d been right. No matter how glaringly bold the health warnings are on cigarettes, people still don’t care. One out of five people have jumped off the building. One out of five of those who jumped have hit the ground; the other four are on their way. Janty changes this picture. Janty takes care you don’t hit your head on the cold hard ground. Janty lets you fly. Some inventions make evolutions in the world of the digital and the electronic, but Janty takes the evolution and turns it into a revolution. That is what real innovation is about.
E-cigarettes work by utilizing heat or ultrasonics to vaporize a liquid solution (known as e-liquid—yes, an e-liquid!) into an aerosol mist that can be inhaled. Think of nebulizers and humidifiers—it more or less works by the same principle. (And isn’t that ironic?) It is essentially designed to simulate that act of cigarette smoking so it looks, tastes, and even feels just like a real cigarette stick. In case you were wondering, the e-liquid isn’t a digital electronic liquid like those digital waterfalls in electronic landscape frames. It’s an actual liquid solution that contains the heart and soul of a cigarette stick—nicotine. E-cigarettes are therefore not technically smoking cessation devices. (Duh, it still contains nicotine!) It is, however, a healthy alternative to smoking. Think about it—the same physical sensation, the same flavor, the same feeling of confidence and freedom, all the fuzzy, relaxing, stimulating effects of smoking without threats of lung cancer or asthma or disturbing the old lady that sits beside you in the waiting area. Dads could smoke without worrying their kids might harness some of the harmful effects of their—let’s face it—bad habits. Already sick people who would rather stay sick that put the stick down can put the stick down and pick up the e-cigarette!
The leading brand and manufacturer of e-cigarettes today is Janty by Janty World. Janty has been in operation since 2006, first producing the Janty Yentl, followed by the Mini-fogger series. These pieces come in slick and elegant designs that fit perfectly with anyone’s daily swagger. They come in black too so you can’t help but look fly with them. They then introduced the Kissbox series, which was patterned from the KISS (keep it simple and slick) principle. The Kissbox features user-friendly ease-of-control buttons and can be powered via USB (so you can charge your Janty Kissbox with your iPod while you’re working). After the Kissbox came the Janty Stick, the first ever e-cigarette in a non-cigarette shape. It is also tagged as the most durable and best-selling e-smoking device in the market. Come 2009 and Janty launched the eGo Tank, a long-lasting battery-powered e-cigarette with a unique, ergonomic design. This was said to have wowed both consumers and critics alike. Janty’s innovations in the new but soon-to-thrive business of electronic smoking is constantly in the process of upgrade, development, and, ultimately, perfection. In 2011, they will again launch another series that will surely knock the socks off smokers—electronic or actual—and nonsmokers alike. Their electronic smoking devices are guaranteed safe; no need to worry about getting cancer, whether from electronic radiation or malevolent cellular growth, or asthma or any other diseases associated with tobacco smoking. Janty products are designed for the satisfaction, convenience, and safety of the consumers.
“Smoking is like jumping off from a high-rise building; you might enjoy the feeling of falling down, but you’re going to hit the ground sometime and die.” This was what my health teacher told the class way back in high school. Looking back now, I know she’d been right. No matter how glaringly bold the health warnings are on cigarettes, people still don’t care. One out of five people have jumped off the building. One out of five of those who jumped have hit the ground; the other four are on their way. Janty changes this picture. Janty takes care you don’t hit your head on the cold hard ground. Janty lets you fly. Some inventions make evolutions in the world of the digital and the electronic, but Janty takes the evolution and turns it into a revolution. That is what real innovation is about.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Long time no blog, blog!
I guess I should begin with the proverbial "Long time no see (in this case, blog)" thing. Long time no blog!
I've learned a lot of things from work, and I now consider the Chicago Manual of Style my work bible. Apparently, some of the things they taught at school are wrong. No offense to my very amazing English teachers. For one thing, you can start a sentence with a conjunction and end it with a preposition. It sounds a little awkward, yes, but it is apparently grammatically acceptable. Chicago says so himself.
Punctuation marks are always the least concern of any writer but for us editors, it's one of the biggest deals. God, the rules about punctuation! I never knew there was such a thing as a comma splice and that periods have to be inside quotation marks. Headaches are inevitable when you read about all these rules, but it's actually fun learning them. I think that by editing, I'll become a better writer because you are paid to see the mistakes of others, obligated to correct them, and you have no choice but to learn from them. And learned a lot I did.
I don't want to mention it, but half of the manuscripts we edit suck. Not just the mediocre kind of suck, but the suck that means "you can't write for crying out loud!" or "you're wasting money trying to get this piece of shit published--why don't you just donate it to a hunger charity." That sounds cruel but it's the truth! I can't count how many manuscripts I've read that triggered me to curse out loud. But I like it when I stumble on the good ones. Needs a bit tweaking here and there but the writing is good and the plot is worth reading.
All in all, I like my job. I'm still on training so I haven't touched any official manuscripts for now. I've had pretty good scores, so I'm pretty excited about live work. On top of that, I got my first paycheck. Wasn't that much but enough to get me by and pay the rent. :-)
Coming around the things outside work, I'd rather keep my fingers silent. First because I don't like how it makes me really happy and self-conscious at the same time. I've never felt this close to a possibility that sometimes, I just let myself be taken away by the moment. And when the moment ends and I realize that it's a long-shot for him to ever see me that way, I write poems as usual and distract myself by sourgraping.
My life's a bit routine right now but I am losing weight so I'm happy about that. I'm also glad I got to write here again. So long, blog!
I've learned a lot of things from work, and I now consider the Chicago Manual of Style my work bible. Apparently, some of the things they taught at school are wrong. No offense to my very amazing English teachers. For one thing, you can start a sentence with a conjunction and end it with a preposition. It sounds a little awkward, yes, but it is apparently grammatically acceptable. Chicago says so himself.
Punctuation marks are always the least concern of any writer but for us editors, it's one of the biggest deals. God, the rules about punctuation! I never knew there was such a thing as a comma splice and that periods have to be inside quotation marks. Headaches are inevitable when you read about all these rules, but it's actually fun learning them. I think that by editing, I'll become a better writer because you are paid to see the mistakes of others, obligated to correct them, and you have no choice but to learn from them. And learned a lot I did.
I don't want to mention it, but half of the manuscripts we edit suck. Not just the mediocre kind of suck, but the suck that means "you can't write for crying out loud!" or "you're wasting money trying to get this piece of shit published--why don't you just donate it to a hunger charity." That sounds cruel but it's the truth! I can't count how many manuscripts I've read that triggered me to curse out loud. But I like it when I stumble on the good ones. Needs a bit tweaking here and there but the writing is good and the plot is worth reading.
All in all, I like my job. I'm still on training so I haven't touched any official manuscripts for now. I've had pretty good scores, so I'm pretty excited about live work. On top of that, I got my first paycheck. Wasn't that much but enough to get me by and pay the rent. :-)
Coming around the things outside work, I'd rather keep my fingers silent. First because I don't like how it makes me really happy and self-conscious at the same time. I've never felt this close to a possibility that sometimes, I just let myself be taken away by the moment. And when the moment ends and I realize that it's a long-shot for him to ever see me that way, I write poems as usual and distract myself by sourgraping.
My life's a bit routine right now but I am losing weight so I'm happy about that. I'm also glad I got to write here again. So long, blog!
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Hey, you!
Hey you, boy with the ungraceful angles!
I think I smell sunshine in your hair. It kind of reminds of being in a sunflower field. See, I'd like to bring a Polaroid and keep that picture with me always. I kinda love that trench in your mouth. It seems like a perfect place to put a kiss. I love the summer in your eyes, too. It's like waking up to a good morning when I look at them.
Hey you! Boy that strangely smells like long afternoons! I think that's my heart on your hands. I don't even know how it got there. That awkward smile of yours must have stolen it. Since you already have it now, I particularly don't want it back. I've been eating a lot of strawberries and apples to take care that not too much cholesterol crowds around it so I think you should take care of it, too. Take it out for a walk, sometimes. My heart likes fresh air and long walks. A little bit of conversation would also be nice.
Hey! Hey, boy! Yes, you! Uhm. You see. I was wondering. Do you...uhm. Nevermind! I got some pride left to eat apparently. Oh well, you can always give it back to me if you don't want it. Well, do you want it? Do you? Gosh, you are so annoying!!!
But I do love the sound of your laughter. It has a beautiful ring to it. I'd love to write it down one day, together with all the secrets behind that strange twinkle in your eyes. But for now, I'll just stay here behind you, calling you out.
Hey, boy! Yes. You.
I think I smell sunshine in your hair. It kind of reminds of being in a sunflower field. See, I'd like to bring a Polaroid and keep that picture with me always. I kinda love that trench in your mouth. It seems like a perfect place to put a kiss. I love the summer in your eyes, too. It's like waking up to a good morning when I look at them.
Hey you! Boy that strangely smells like long afternoons! I think that's my heart on your hands. I don't even know how it got there. That awkward smile of yours must have stolen it. Since you already have it now, I particularly don't want it back. I've been eating a lot of strawberries and apples to take care that not too much cholesterol crowds around it so I think you should take care of it, too. Take it out for a walk, sometimes. My heart likes fresh air and long walks. A little bit of conversation would also be nice.
Hey! Hey, boy! Yes, you! Uhm. You see. I was wondering. Do you...uhm. Nevermind! I got some pride left to eat apparently. Oh well, you can always give it back to me if you don't want it. Well, do you want it? Do you? Gosh, you are so annoying!!!
But I do love the sound of your laughter. It has a beautiful ring to it. I'd love to write it down one day, together with all the secrets behind that strange twinkle in your eyes. But for now, I'll just stay here behind you, calling you out.
Hey, boy! Yes. You.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
My New Years Resolution
I know it's not New Year but I've never felt like wanting to change this much.
Perhaps it's from watching Kimi ni Todoke for one week straight and playing it over and over again in my mind and in my laptop just because I'm bored and because their love story is, I now realize, the love story I have been dreaming all my life.
And I kind of want to be more like Sawako even though I know there are not a lot of men like Kazehaya. Just seeing myself in Kurumi makes me want to change as much as she does, too. So I will change, for the better.
I will be honest. I've never really been completely honest with anyone. Whenever I deal with people, I always put up a face to make me more look more cool or feel more human or seem like a person with little psychological deficiencies.
But the truth is, I am a big GIANT nerd. I try to be cool but I guess being a nerd is cool, too. I make it seem that I'm very nice but I'm a bitch. First of all, one of the things I envy about Sawako is that she can spend 2 hours with a person without talking and not feel awkward at all. Shy and embarrassed, yes, considering the person she's with is the boy she likes but there's never or little awkward moment between them both. When I'm with a boy that I like, I feel like I have to keep talking, even to the point of bringing up ridiculous topics, just to feel comfortable. Sometimes, the periods of silence are okay but they leave me too much room to think. When I think, I tend to be conscious of myself. What I tend to think of myself when I'm self-aware isn't really great so I end up feeling bad and inferior. I make some excuse, stand up, and walk away. Yes, I'm awkward.
I also lie a lot to keep other people's expectations of me stable and because I can't seem to help it, especially when I know the lie is going to make a good conversation topic. I love the feeling of telling a story, even though sometimes they're not really mine to tell or sometimes they are partly or mostly fabricated. I tell lies to think people I'm strange. When you're strange, people pay attention to you. I love attention, I feed off from people's attention. And this is exactly what makes me like Kurumi. I know how to shed enough spotlight on my ego for it to keep its weight and how to turn it away from me and shut up long enough for people to like me. I don't know if it makes me dishonest. I don't know if being over-calculating and having an annoying tendency to analyze the tinniest bits of details of other people's actions and words make me dishonest but I think I've built my ability to mingle with others that way. Anyway, it's too late to change that side of me.
So, in light of all my dishonesty and social fronting, I will stop telling lies for a change. Like, NOT LIE AT ALL. There are a lot of things I could do to keep myself from lying and I've got a looot of time to try all of them. And maybe once I've learned to be more true to others and especially to myself, I can feel more human and less of a phony.
I'll also try to work on my mental deficiencies. I'm not totally nuts but I know I have a slight trace of insanity in me. I could be a bipolar for all I know! I do know I have inferiority-superiority complex. And I could be a sex addict once I've actually tried it. And I have serious anger management issues. The kind that leads to self-injury and God forbid, to a criminal train of thought. This is what scares me the most. I know I can hurt someone if I'm really angry. I'm pretty violent when I'm extremely pissed and I wouldn't want anybody to ever see that side of me. So, what I'm going to do is work on my self-confidence (to give me less reasons to be angry at the world) and stop swearing.
Profanity, though it somehow makes us feel better, kind of fuels our anger and frustration. That's not good so I will practice to cuss less. Won't be easy but I'll try.
I'm going back to Cebu this morning and I have three weeks ('till Boracay) to change and I'm sure I'm going to do my best to make Sawako and Kazehaya proud if they were real. So here it is. My very late New Year's Resolution post.
Perhaps it's from watching Kimi ni Todoke for one week straight and playing it over and over again in my mind and in my laptop just because I'm bored and because their love story is, I now realize, the love story I have been dreaming all my life.
And I kind of want to be more like Sawako even though I know there are not a lot of men like Kazehaya. Just seeing myself in Kurumi makes me want to change as much as she does, too. So I will change, for the better.
I will be honest. I've never really been completely honest with anyone. Whenever I deal with people, I always put up a face to make me more look more cool or feel more human or seem like a person with little psychological deficiencies.
But the truth is, I am a big GIANT nerd. I try to be cool but I guess being a nerd is cool, too. I make it seem that I'm very nice but I'm a bitch. First of all, one of the things I envy about Sawako is that she can spend 2 hours with a person without talking and not feel awkward at all. Shy and embarrassed, yes, considering the person she's with is the boy she likes but there's never or little awkward moment between them both. When I'm with a boy that I like, I feel like I have to keep talking, even to the point of bringing up ridiculous topics, just to feel comfortable. Sometimes, the periods of silence are okay but they leave me too much room to think. When I think, I tend to be conscious of myself. What I tend to think of myself when I'm self-aware isn't really great so I end up feeling bad and inferior. I make some excuse, stand up, and walk away. Yes, I'm awkward.
I also lie a lot to keep other people's expectations of me stable and because I can't seem to help it, especially when I know the lie is going to make a good conversation topic. I love the feeling of telling a story, even though sometimes they're not really mine to tell or sometimes they are partly or mostly fabricated. I tell lies to think people I'm strange. When you're strange, people pay attention to you. I love attention, I feed off from people's attention. And this is exactly what makes me like Kurumi. I know how to shed enough spotlight on my ego for it to keep its weight and how to turn it away from me and shut up long enough for people to like me. I don't know if it makes me dishonest. I don't know if being over-calculating and having an annoying tendency to analyze the tinniest bits of details of other people's actions and words make me dishonest but I think I've built my ability to mingle with others that way. Anyway, it's too late to change that side of me.
So, in light of all my dishonesty and social fronting, I will stop telling lies for a change. Like, NOT LIE AT ALL. There are a lot of things I could do to keep myself from lying and I've got a looot of time to try all of them. And maybe once I've learned to be more true to others and especially to myself, I can feel more human and less of a phony.
I'll also try to work on my mental deficiencies. I'm not totally nuts but I know I have a slight trace of insanity in me. I could be a bipolar for all I know! I do know I have inferiority-superiority complex. And I could be a sex addict once I've actually tried it. And I have serious anger management issues. The kind that leads to self-injury and God forbid, to a criminal train of thought. This is what scares me the most. I know I can hurt someone if I'm really angry. I'm pretty violent when I'm extremely pissed and I wouldn't want anybody to ever see that side of me. So, what I'm going to do is work on my self-confidence (to give me less reasons to be angry at the world) and stop swearing.
Profanity, though it somehow makes us feel better, kind of fuels our anger and frustration. That's not good so I will practice to cuss less. Won't be easy but I'll try.
I'm going back to Cebu this morning and I have three weeks ('till Boracay) to change and I'm sure I'm going to do my best to make Sawako and Kazehaya proud if they were real. So here it is. My very late New Year's Resolution post.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
That honest kind of LOVE
I just finished the first season and the Live-Action movie of Kimi ni Todoke (Reaching you).
The story is a little pedestrian but the plot is amazing. You have a girl who is introverted but wants to learn how to socialize and a boy who is the completely cheerful and friendly. We've heard it all before but the way things play out in the story is beautiful and moving.
This is clearly a case where "opposites attract" because Kazehaya is drawn to Sawako's quiet almost-eerie personality as much as Sawako is attracted to Kazehaya's cheerful disposition. They meet at the start of high school where Kazahaya gets lost and Sawako points him the way. Kazehaya sees her smile and immediately takes a liking to her. What keeps him interested though is that he never sees her smile at school and so he does little things to help her step out of her shell and smile more.
Add that everybody thinks she is Sadako (from the Ring) and you get comic relief and a unique twist that sets this love story apart from others. I have to say, though, that I don't see any resemblance between Sawako and Sadako except for their long black hair with bangs.
What I really loved about this series, though, is the the honest kind of love that it (and almost every other manga and anime) portrays. Both the characters are honest despite their individual deficiencies (Kazehaya is short-tempered and tight-lipped,; Sawako is shy and dense). This honesty is what nurtures their strong feelings into love.
And just because I miss being a Lit major and I can't help it, I've come up with an archetypal analysis of each of their characters.
Sawako
She falls into the Japanese manga archetype called the "Simple Character". A lot of Japanese anime and manga heroines also belong to this category. Like for example:
Miki Koishikawa of Marmalade Boy
Kyoko Mogami from Skip Beat!
Hibino Tsubaki from Kyou Koi wo Hajimemasu
A "Simple Character" is always honest, humble, unassuming, selfless, and sometimes a little dense. Most of them are quiet characters like Sawako and Kyoko. As the story progresses, they slowly ease out from that shyness (mostly by the help of their love interests) and emerge as strong, principled, and independent people. Their characters are sometimes unrealistically too honest which may be considered as some sort of weakness but it makes them more empowering and more, let's admit it, loveable. They also share a very distinct and sometimes annoying trait that drag the series into episodes of comic mishaps and romance: humility. Simple Characters are so humble in fact that they tend to be dense and oblivious to the sometimes flagrant and sometimes subtle displays of affection by their love interests.
Sawako for example attributes Kazehaya's attempts at showing his love for her to his kind personality which she thinks he also shows to everybody else. Miki from Maramalade Boy thinks Yuu is just teasing her. Hibino has the same train of thought and Kyoko thinks Ren is just being "her sempai". Ugh! It pains me to wonder why these girls don't get it! But I guess that's the beauty of being a simple character. You don't over analyze other people's actions so you don't get the wrong idea. Then when the unexpected thing happens (like the long-awaited confession), the happiness that comes with the surprise is more real and more absolute.
I wish I could me more like a simple character. I wish I could be as honest and pure and innocent. But I am not always honest and I am afflicted with the disease of analyzing every little thing people say and do to me. I am sometimes manipulative and can be a real bitch. In fact, if I were to compare myself with a character from Kimi ni Todoke, I'd say I am more like her:
Yes, I'm actually more like Kurumi than any other character in the series. Sometimes I identify with Yano but I see myself most in Kurumi. Though I am not the kind of girl who would go to the extent of spreading lies and defaming my rival (in fact I am very sport when it comes to love), I am capable of putting up a face in order to get the attention of someone I like. I will do my best to get that person to like me. I'll eat food I won't normally eat and I could watch football and even talk about thermodynamics. If I have to lie, then I will. After all, they say all is fair in love and war. I am also very selfish and tend to be jealous. And I fight my battles in subtlety. But what differs me from Kurumi is that at the instant where I am absolutely sure that I have no chance with person I like, I'll give him up immediately. Won't be easy but I'm capable of moving on and being okay.
Kazehaya, on the other hand, is "The Boy Next Door".
Boys-next-door are cheerful, popular, and yes, GORGEOUS! What I've noticed with heroes that fall into this archetype is that they always fall in love with the out-of-the-average girl. But usually, the girls they want to be with are the ones who are always honest, kind, and hardworking. How many handsome boys have we heard saying they love this girl because "she works hard" or "she never gives up"?
Ultimately, the boy next door is almost perfect but he has a depth that makes him special and different from "all the other guys". The boy-next-door also has hamartia like an unknown past or a short temper or a dysfunctional family. But whatever flaws he has, he always manages to put up a smile without being fake and has everybody, including and especially hopeless romantic writers like me, down at their feet.
Right now, I can't think of any other male anime character that have more-or-less the same character as Kazehaya. Anyhow, I'm just happy I met him and Sawako and all the other characters. I actually found the story quite boring at first but it got really juicy in the end!
By and large, Kimi ni Todoke is one of the most memorable animes I've seen! Kampai!!!
The story is a little pedestrian but the plot is amazing. You have a girl who is introverted but wants to learn how to socialize and a boy who is the completely cheerful and friendly. We've heard it all before but the way things play out in the story is beautiful and moving.
This is clearly a case where "opposites attract" because Kazehaya is drawn to Sawako's quiet almost-eerie personality as much as Sawako is attracted to Kazehaya's cheerful disposition. They meet at the start of high school where Kazahaya gets lost and Sawako points him the way. Kazehaya sees her smile and immediately takes a liking to her. What keeps him interested though is that he never sees her smile at school and so he does little things to help her step out of her shell and smile more.
Add that everybody thinks she is Sadako (from the Ring) and you get comic relief and a unique twist that sets this love story apart from others. I have to say, though, that I don't see any resemblance between Sawako and Sadako except for their long black hair with bangs.
What I really loved about this series, though, is the the honest kind of love that it (and almost every other manga and anime) portrays. Both the characters are honest despite their individual deficiencies (Kazehaya is short-tempered and tight-lipped,; Sawako is shy and dense). This honesty is what nurtures their strong feelings into love.
And just because I miss being a Lit major and I can't help it, I've come up with an archetypal analysis of each of their characters.
Sawako
She falls into the Japanese manga archetype called the "Simple Character". A lot of Japanese anime and manga heroines also belong to this category. Like for example:
Miki Koishikawa of Marmalade Boy Kyoko Mogami from Skip Beat! Hibino Tsubaki from Kyou Koi wo HajimemasuA "Simple Character" is always honest, humble, unassuming, selfless, and sometimes a little dense. Most of them are quiet characters like Sawako and Kyoko. As the story progresses, they slowly ease out from that shyness (mostly by the help of their love interests) and emerge as strong, principled, and independent people. Their characters are sometimes unrealistically too honest which may be considered as some sort of weakness but it makes them more empowering and more, let's admit it, loveable. They also share a very distinct and sometimes annoying trait that drag the series into episodes of comic mishaps and romance: humility. Simple Characters are so humble in fact that they tend to be dense and oblivious to the sometimes flagrant and sometimes subtle displays of affection by their love interests.
Sawako for example attributes Kazehaya's attempts at showing his love for her to his kind personality which she thinks he also shows to everybody else. Miki from Maramalade Boy thinks Yuu is just teasing her. Hibino has the same train of thought and Kyoko thinks Ren is just being "her sempai". Ugh! It pains me to wonder why these girls don't get it! But I guess that's the beauty of being a simple character. You don't over analyze other people's actions so you don't get the wrong idea. Then when the unexpected thing happens (like the long-awaited confession), the happiness that comes with the surprise is more real and more absolute.
I wish I could me more like a simple character. I wish I could be as honest and pure and innocent. But I am not always honest and I am afflicted with the disease of analyzing every little thing people say and do to me. I am sometimes manipulative and can be a real bitch. In fact, if I were to compare myself with a character from Kimi ni Todoke, I'd say I am more like her:
Yes, I'm actually more like Kurumi than any other character in the series. Sometimes I identify with Yano but I see myself most in Kurumi. Though I am not the kind of girl who would go to the extent of spreading lies and defaming my rival (in fact I am very sport when it comes to love), I am capable of putting up a face in order to get the attention of someone I like. I will do my best to get that person to like me. I'll eat food I won't normally eat and I could watch football and even talk about thermodynamics. If I have to lie, then I will. After all, they say all is fair in love and war. I am also very selfish and tend to be jealous. And I fight my battles in subtlety. But what differs me from Kurumi is that at the instant where I am absolutely sure that I have no chance with person I like, I'll give him up immediately. Won't be easy but I'm capable of moving on and being okay.
Kazehaya, on the other hand, is "The Boy Next Door".
Boys-next-door are cheerful, popular, and yes, GORGEOUS! What I've noticed with heroes that fall into this archetype is that they always fall in love with the out-of-the-average girl. But usually, the girls they want to be with are the ones who are always honest, kind, and hardworking. How many handsome boys have we heard saying they love this girl because "she works hard" or "she never gives up"?
Ultimately, the boy next door is almost perfect but he has a depth that makes him special and different from "all the other guys". The boy-next-door also has hamartia like an unknown past or a short temper or a dysfunctional family. But whatever flaws he has, he always manages to put up a smile without being fake and has everybody, including and especially hopeless romantic writers like me, down at their feet.
Right now, I can't think of any other male anime character that have more-or-less the same character as Kazehaya. Anyhow, I'm just happy I met him and Sawako and all the other characters. I actually found the story quite boring at first but it got really juicy in the end!
By and large, Kimi ni Todoke is one of the most memorable animes I've seen! Kampai!!!
Holy Exercise
I just got home from doing the 14 Stations of the Cross. According to the Priest, it was a Holy Exercise. I agree.
In my previous post, I wrote about losing faith in religion. I stand by my words. I will say, however, that there are still activities in being a Catholic that I will always be willing to go through. Although I can't say that I will be focused always. I will still hear masses and try to be present. I still believe in the power of the Rosary and how Mother Mary can bridge my prayers to God. I still believe in the whole gamut of Catholic doctrines.
What I have lost faith in is the way all of these are woven together in a ritual that I have now found humdrum and well, boring. Maybe it's just a phase like what they all say. Then again, maybe it isn't.
I am ashamed to write that I haven't been completely focused on Jesus' suffering this morning. I slept with Kazehaya and Sawako (from Kimi ni Todoke) in my head and I just can't seem to get them off my mind while going through the whole religious experience. There is also the matter of language. The whole exercise was in Cebuano and as much as I'd want to listen and understand, I find it kind of difficult. So I said the responses in English though it's hard to say it wholeheartedly when you're constantly trying not to be distracted by all the Cebuano incoherent mumbling of "The Lord's Prayer"
But I'm glad I went through it of course. Though I haven't been completely present and there is no excuse for my lack of motivation and commitment to the activity that was supposed to be my way of showing the Lord that I can sacrifice for him too, I just hope that the thought behind my being there, my intention of sacrfice (no matter how minute it seems compared to the one made by Jesus), well I hope it counts.
In my previous post, I wrote about losing faith in religion. I stand by my words. I will say, however, that there are still activities in being a Catholic that I will always be willing to go through. Although I can't say that I will be focused always. I will still hear masses and try to be present. I still believe in the power of the Rosary and how Mother Mary can bridge my prayers to God. I still believe in the whole gamut of Catholic doctrines.
What I have lost faith in is the way all of these are woven together in a ritual that I have now found humdrum and well, boring. Maybe it's just a phase like what they all say. Then again, maybe it isn't.
I am ashamed to write that I haven't been completely focused on Jesus' suffering this morning. I slept with Kazehaya and Sawako (from Kimi ni Todoke) in my head and I just can't seem to get them off my mind while going through the whole religious experience. There is also the matter of language. The whole exercise was in Cebuano and as much as I'd want to listen and understand, I find it kind of difficult. So I said the responses in English though it's hard to say it wholeheartedly when you're constantly trying not to be distracted by all the Cebuano incoherent mumbling of "The Lord's Prayer"
But I'm glad I went through it of course. Though I haven't been completely present and there is no excuse for my lack of motivation and commitment to the activity that was supposed to be my way of showing the Lord that I can sacrifice for him too, I just hope that the thought behind my being there, my intention of sacrfice (no matter how minute it seems compared to the one made by Jesus), well I hope it counts.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
losing my religion
Today is Maunday Thursday, the official start of the Holy Week, which doesn't feel so holy to me. My mom, stepdad, and I (my sister is sick) went to Church this afternoon to hear mass and I just realized for the last time (because I've been thinking about it) that I have lost faith in religion.
Religion is not something you equate with faith. Because I have faith. I have a lot of faith. I have never doubted, not once, that there is a Higher Power that holds everything together. I know for a fact that there is a God and that He or She is Good. Life is not random. Everything happens for a reason.
But religion. I think I am done with it.
First of all, religion is sort of a box that holds people together through fear. Fear is good. I mean we do everthing because either we fear the consequences or the absence thereof. But the kind of fear endorsed by religion is sometimes irrational. All this talk of going to Hell and facing the floodgates of God's fiery wrath. Sure, I am afraid of those things but I am also afraid of not living my life because I'm always in a bubble of fear. God made our bodies temporal and corporeal for a reason. If it is true that I can die anytime, why not make the most of my time? Why can't I enjoy myself, have a drink, party?
If my Uncle the Pastor could read this, he'd probably never talk to me again and I understand where the violently religious are coming from. There are verses in the Bible that clearly instruct us to always live our lives in utmost simplicity and to give and share and always be honest. I believe I can do and be all these things without religion.
Religion merely provides an avenue for the expression of faith but it shouldn't get the best of us. It shouldn't hold us back from the experience of wanting with the threat of Hell against our throats. After all, what matters at the end is simply our faith. Having that confidence in a Power that you know judges you and rewards you at the end of the day has to make you aware of your capacity to be good. And we all strive to be good people whether or not we go the Churches or Mosques or Temples.
What I'm saying ultimately is that I don't consider myelf just as a Catholic anymore. I feel like a hypocrite everytime I hear Mass and I hear it but I don't really listen to it and all I think about are stupid things like nose jobs, pretty dresses, and a flight to a foreign country. I want to worship God with the whole of my heart and my religion just doesn't provide me with that kind of motivation anymore. I feel more at close with God when I'm just talking to Him or when I pray than going to Church. I feel God's presence more when I feel a peaceful kind of happiness when I'm with my friends or when I smell the rain.
My religion is faith. But yes, I will continue going to Church and hearing masses because that's the only way I know to prove to God that I want to sacrifice something for Him, too. Sometimes, I can be really into it singing the songs and listening to interesting priests deliver even more interesting homilies but more often than not, I find it such a drag. I feel bored and I don't see the point of listening when I already know the "Parable of the Prodigal Son" and am pretty much acquainted with what it wants to say. Furthermore, some priests just deliver their homilies just for the sake of doing it. There is no heart in it, no passion, no effort whatsoever in trying to push these people into action.
Honestly, I find all masses nowadays more humdrum than usual. That shouldn't be the case. A Eucharistic celebration has to be a new cathartic experience everytime. I sometimes envy Protestant communities whose sermons or sessions or whatever they call their masses are much more livelier and louder than ours. I know it isn't fair to compare but you just have to. You can't help it!
Tomorrow is Good Friday and I'll try my best to make tomorrow as peaceful and as solemn as possible. The Lord Jesus Christ died after all and even though I can't stand bland and repetitive homilies anymore, I still have respect for the teachings of the Church. I still believe in the Bible and I still will subscribe to all religious ceremonies my firstborn religion has me disposed. It's just my perspective in religion that has changed. My faith hasn't and I highly doubt that it will ever.
That tension aside, have a Blessed Holy Week everyone!
Religion is not something you equate with faith. Because I have faith. I have a lot of faith. I have never doubted, not once, that there is a Higher Power that holds everything together. I know for a fact that there is a God and that He or She is Good. Life is not random. Everything happens for a reason.
But religion. I think I am done with it.
First of all, religion is sort of a box that holds people together through fear. Fear is good. I mean we do everthing because either we fear the consequences or the absence thereof. But the kind of fear endorsed by religion is sometimes irrational. All this talk of going to Hell and facing the floodgates of God's fiery wrath. Sure, I am afraid of those things but I am also afraid of not living my life because I'm always in a bubble of fear. God made our bodies temporal and corporeal for a reason. If it is true that I can die anytime, why not make the most of my time? Why can't I enjoy myself, have a drink, party?
If my Uncle the Pastor could read this, he'd probably never talk to me again and I understand where the violently religious are coming from. There are verses in the Bible that clearly instruct us to always live our lives in utmost simplicity and to give and share and always be honest. I believe I can do and be all these things without religion.
Religion merely provides an avenue for the expression of faith but it shouldn't get the best of us. It shouldn't hold us back from the experience of wanting with the threat of Hell against our throats. After all, what matters at the end is simply our faith. Having that confidence in a Power that you know judges you and rewards you at the end of the day has to make you aware of your capacity to be good. And we all strive to be good people whether or not we go the Churches or Mosques or Temples.
What I'm saying ultimately is that I don't consider myelf just as a Catholic anymore. I feel like a hypocrite everytime I hear Mass and I hear it but I don't really listen to it and all I think about are stupid things like nose jobs, pretty dresses, and a flight to a foreign country. I want to worship God with the whole of my heart and my religion just doesn't provide me with that kind of motivation anymore. I feel more at close with God when I'm just talking to Him or when I pray than going to Church. I feel God's presence more when I feel a peaceful kind of happiness when I'm with my friends or when I smell the rain.
My religion is faith. But yes, I will continue going to Church and hearing masses because that's the only way I know to prove to God that I want to sacrifice something for Him, too. Sometimes, I can be really into it singing the songs and listening to interesting priests deliver even more interesting homilies but more often than not, I find it such a drag. I feel bored and I don't see the point of listening when I already know the "Parable of the Prodigal Son" and am pretty much acquainted with what it wants to say. Furthermore, some priests just deliver their homilies just for the sake of doing it. There is no heart in it, no passion, no effort whatsoever in trying to push these people into action.
Honestly, I find all masses nowadays more humdrum than usual. That shouldn't be the case. A Eucharistic celebration has to be a new cathartic experience everytime. I sometimes envy Protestant communities whose sermons or sessions or whatever they call their masses are much more livelier and louder than ours. I know it isn't fair to compare but you just have to. You can't help it!
Tomorrow is Good Friday and I'll try my best to make tomorrow as peaceful and as solemn as possible. The Lord Jesus Christ died after all and even though I can't stand bland and repetitive homilies anymore, I still have respect for the teachings of the Church. I still believe in the Bible and I still will subscribe to all religious ceremonies my firstborn religion has me disposed. It's just my perspective in religion that has changed. My faith hasn't and I highly doubt that it will ever.
That tension aside, have a Blessed Holy Week everyone!
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
Strive for Excellence
Strive for excellence and success will follow
3 idiots has been in my disk for a month now and though a lot of people have told me what an amazing film it is, I waited 'till now to watch it. I guess it was my loss.
Rancho is the kind of person that I'm striving to be one day: someone that is motivated by his thirst of knowledge alone and not by external pressure, not by fear, not by a lack of any other dream, not even by money. He goes to school because he genuinely wants to learn and because he has so much passion and he wants to know how he can turn that passion into something that can benefit other people. This, I believe, is the true meaning of education.
I realize now that we shouldn't go to school with success on our minds. Success should only be the by-product of the process. What the process of education needs is just hunger and drive. The whole educational system comprising of schools, teachers, books, they are all just catalysts. For one to be truly educated, he only needs to acknowledge his ignorance and to want to fill that idiocy with wisdom.
Parents nowadays force their children to take up a certain degree because this will "buy you a nice house" or a "nice car". There is absolutely nothing wrong with parents wanting their children to have a good life. After all, isn't this what all parents want ultimately? However, it is often the case that when parents are frustrated dreamers, they want their children to put the dream back in motion, forgetting that their children might want to become a writer instead of a businessman. Then, it becomes about the house, the car, the furniture, the things that will be the envy of the neighborhood. It becomes about "success" and "wealth" but seldom or never about "happiness".
It's good to watch films about kids standing up for what they love and pursuing the dreams that are theirs. What is sad is that kids like these are very few in real life. Kids today, especially in 3rd world country like ours, can't afford to have dreams let alone chase after them. They are immediately bombarded by reality and this reality has poverty written all over it. There is no such thing as "going to school to learn". That's bullshit. Our children go to school to get a job.
We live in a dystopic society where knowledge doesn't hold a candle to practicality, where passion is futile unless it can get you somewhere, and where it doesn't matter if you've really learned something as long as you make it pass the cut-off grade. I see so many students potential and they are not given the right opportunities to explore what they can do.
3 idiots features the most brilliant ending I have ever seen. I can only hope that everybody gets to watch it and finds courage to overcome their fears, face whatever pressure is on them with honesty and pride, and tell themselves when they've realized their dreams,
All is well.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
being alive
I want this day to be productive. I've been sleeping in since yesterday and haven't done anything remotely significant. Yes, I'm still sick but I'm the type that never lets a runny nose and an itchy throat get in the way of things. Well, this time might be different because I actually don't have anything to do. I'm bored out of my mind and I'm too lazy to continue learning how to drive, to finish or start learning a new piece on the keyboard, and to finally close that John Grisham book that has been opened-and-closed continually these past few days.
I'm tired of sitting but the thought of walking around also tires me. Ugh. The irony of man's desires. Why hello, Aristotle. You sound vaguely familiar. I'm sure I learned you in a philosophy class or something. Weren't you the dude who said that the soul was like a chariot? Or was that your teacher Plato?
This is why I hate not being in school! I feel myself mentally disintegrating. My brain cells refuse to wake up and all I can think about is getting teeth braces and cutting my hair and losing 8 kilos in a week.
Big sigh. I can't even write. Crickets. Crickets.
I'm tired of sitting but the thought of walking around also tires me. Ugh. The irony of man's desires. Why hello, Aristotle. You sound vaguely familiar. I'm sure I learned you in a philosophy class or something. Weren't you the dude who said that the soul was like a chariot? Or was that your teacher Plato?
This is why I hate not being in school! I feel myself mentally disintegrating. My brain cells refuse to wake up and all I can think about is getting teeth braces and cutting my hair and losing 8 kilos in a week.
Big sigh. I can't even write. Crickets. Crickets.
This is how I feel today
Here we go again
I kinda wanna be more than friends
So take it easy on me
I'm afraid you're never satisfied.
Here we go again
We're sick like animals
We play pretend
You're just a cannibal
And I'm afraid I wont get out alive
No I won't sleep tonight
CHORUS:
Oh, oh
I want some more
Oh, oh
What are you waitin' for?
Take a bite of my heart tonight
Oh oh
I want some more
Oh oh
What are you waitin' for?
What are you waitin' for?
Say goodbye to my heart tonight
Here we are again
I feel the chemicals kickin' in
It's gettin' heavier
I wanna run and hide
I wanna run and hide
I do it every time
You're killin' me now
And I won't be denied by you
The animal inside of you
CHORUS:
Oh, oh
I want some more
Oh, oh
What are you waitin' for?
Take a bite of my heart tonight.
Oh oh
I want some more
Oh oh
What are you waitin' for?
What are you waitin' for?
Say goodbye to my heart tonight
This is a song by Neon Trees titled "Animal"
That's kind of how I feel today. A bit of an animal. A bit romantic. A bit sick. A bit alive.
I kinda wanna be more than friends
So take it easy on me
I'm afraid you're never satisfied.
Here we go again
We're sick like animals
We play pretend
You're just a cannibal
And I'm afraid I wont get out alive
No I won't sleep tonight
CHORUS:
Oh, oh
I want some more
Oh, oh
What are you waitin' for?
Take a bite of my heart tonight
Oh oh
I want some more
Oh oh
What are you waitin' for?
What are you waitin' for?
Say goodbye to my heart tonight
Here we are again
I feel the chemicals kickin' in
It's gettin' heavier
I wanna run and hide
I wanna run and hide
I do it every time
You're killin' me now
And I won't be denied by you
The animal inside of you
CHORUS:
Oh, oh
I want some more
Oh, oh
What are you waitin' for?
Take a bite of my heart tonight.
Oh oh
I want some more
Oh oh
What are you waitin' for?
What are you waitin' for?
Say goodbye to my heart tonight
This is a song by Neon Trees titled "Animal"
That's kind of how I feel today. A bit of an animal. A bit romantic. A bit sick. A bit alive.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Sick
I'm sick again.
I have a bad cold and I'm starting to cough like a shotgun. These days I don't feel like doing anything (insert Bruno Mars song). Seriously, I'm so lazy all I do is sleep and eat and watch TV in between. I haven't even finished A Time to Kill yet and I've been reading it for almost a week now. I just get tired after I finish a chapter. Ugh. It's like my brain's giving up on me. I can't even write a decent blog update for crying out loud! Is this the result of continuously using it for half my life? Has it run out? Oh, I can even feel a headache coming.
It's not helping that I still can't get over that horrible job interview. I still don't understand why my interviewer had to give me a snotty I'm-smarter-than-you attitude. I mean I know that! If she weren't smarter than me, she wouldn't be interviewing me! I know she's the boss and she didn't have to take pains slapping me hard in the face with that fact. Was she mad that I sounded so confident about the exam which turned out I "just" passed? Did she think I was being arrogant when I told her I graduated magna cum laude or that I have several experiences being an editor? And if she did, I was only only telling her my qualifications and it wasn't my intention at all to brag. Or was she intimidated because I was so qualified and she knows I could snatch her job from her from right under her nose?
I've had people telling me to keep my feet on the ground. And my feet has never left the ground since 3rd grade. I've learned since that people don't like braggarts and people who think they're all that. I don't think I've ever bragged about how smart I am because honestly, I don't think of myself high enough for that. I have insecurities and those get in the way of me ever being proud enough to tell people that I'm smarter than them and that they should treat me with more respect. Sure I know I'm better than average but I've never rubbed that fact in other people's faces.
After that, I just lost that feeling of looking forward to a new experience. It's now been replaced by a cloud of doubt that I know will take long to disintegrate. Look at me. I'm wasting away and I don't even care.
I just hope things get better in their own time.
I have a bad cold and I'm starting to cough like a shotgun. These days I don't feel like doing anything (insert Bruno Mars song). Seriously, I'm so lazy all I do is sleep and eat and watch TV in between. I haven't even finished A Time to Kill yet and I've been reading it for almost a week now. I just get tired after I finish a chapter. Ugh. It's like my brain's giving up on me. I can't even write a decent blog update for crying out loud! Is this the result of continuously using it for half my life? Has it run out? Oh, I can even feel a headache coming.
It's not helping that I still can't get over that horrible job interview. I still don't understand why my interviewer had to give me a snotty I'm-smarter-than-you attitude. I mean I know that! If she weren't smarter than me, she wouldn't be interviewing me! I know she's the boss and she didn't have to take pains slapping me hard in the face with that fact. Was she mad that I sounded so confident about the exam which turned out I "just" passed? Did she think I was being arrogant when I told her I graduated magna cum laude or that I have several experiences being an editor? And if she did, I was only only telling her my qualifications and it wasn't my intention at all to brag. Or was she intimidated because I was so qualified and she knows I could snatch her job from her from right under her nose?
I've had people telling me to keep my feet on the ground. And my feet has never left the ground since 3rd grade. I've learned since that people don't like braggarts and people who think they're all that. I don't think I've ever bragged about how smart I am because honestly, I don't think of myself high enough for that. I have insecurities and those get in the way of me ever being proud enough to tell people that I'm smarter than them and that they should treat me with more respect. Sure I know I'm better than average but I've never rubbed that fact in other people's faces.
After that, I just lost that feeling of looking forward to a new experience. It's now been replaced by a cloud of doubt that I know will take long to disintegrate. Look at me. I'm wasting away and I don't even care.
I just hope things get better in their own time.
Sunday, April 03, 2011
another love rant ('cause I just have to let it out dammit)
Here it comes again, this sick feeling at the bottom of my stomach. I find it hard breathing and there is only one thing on my mind, him.
I want to think that this is just the result of being together all the time, especially these past couple of days, and me not having anyone else to vent all my romantic frustrations on. I've been over this feeling last Christmas and I don't want it back. No matter how bright and warm it makes me feel, I don't want it back. I know it'll disappear soon and I'll be left wondering again if this is the real thing or the product of my post-menstrual hormones. I'll be left wondering too if he ever felt the same way or if he feels the same way about me as he does with the rest of our friends.
But God! He looked amazing in that motorcycle that I can't help but feel that tingling sensation all over again. I was caught off guard. He looked so strong, so in-control, and it deviates so much from what I see in him everyday that I just let it bring my guard down. And now that it has shattered, here I am writing it down because I'm finding that there is no way I can get him off my mind. I can't stop thinking about him it drives me nuts!
I just wish that this is just one of those romantic phases I get myself into when my hormones are all shaken up and I just need a guy to think about and afterwards when my hormones have calmed down, I can easilly shake off those feelings. Gah! This will hurt me bad when I see him again and he's back into his silent, indifferent, kind-of-awkward self. I like him for being those things because I've never liked silent guys and it's refreshing for me but it just makes me all confused. I have a tendency to read into things too much and doing that with him breaks my heart. Sometimes, he's the annoying kind of indifferent that I don't like, sometimes he's the gentleman who carries the grocery bag for you, sometimes I don't even notice his presence, and then there is the time when I just think he looks like a total rockstar and I just don't care about everything else. It's soo frustrating!
Then there is another theory left. I'm probably becoming desperate and I'm becoming paranoid because of that desperation. I just don't see how I'm still not close to having a relationship. I'm twenty and I really need that kind of security. I don't want to end up single like they say smart girls always do. I want to be able to love and be loved in that cliched, stupid, and romantic way.
I want to think that this is just the result of being together all the time, especially these past couple of days, and me not having anyone else to vent all my romantic frustrations on. I've been over this feeling last Christmas and I don't want it back. No matter how bright and warm it makes me feel, I don't want it back. I know it'll disappear soon and I'll be left wondering again if this is the real thing or the product of my post-menstrual hormones. I'll be left wondering too if he ever felt the same way or if he feels the same way about me as he does with the rest of our friends.
But God! He looked amazing in that motorcycle that I can't help but feel that tingling sensation all over again. I was caught off guard. He looked so strong, so in-control, and it deviates so much from what I see in him everyday that I just let it bring my guard down. And now that it has shattered, here I am writing it down because I'm finding that there is no way I can get him off my mind. I can't stop thinking about him it drives me nuts!
I just wish that this is just one of those romantic phases I get myself into when my hormones are all shaken up and I just need a guy to think about and afterwards when my hormones have calmed down, I can easilly shake off those feelings. Gah! This will hurt me bad when I see him again and he's back into his silent, indifferent, kind-of-awkward self. I like him for being those things because I've never liked silent guys and it's refreshing for me but it just makes me all confused. I have a tendency to read into things too much and doing that with him breaks my heart. Sometimes, he's the annoying kind of indifferent that I don't like, sometimes he's the gentleman who carries the grocery bag for you, sometimes I don't even notice his presence, and then there is the time when I just think he looks like a total rockstar and I just don't care about everything else. It's soo frustrating!
Then there is another theory left. I'm probably becoming desperate and I'm becoming paranoid because of that desperation. I just don't see how I'm still not close to having a relationship. I'm twenty and I really need that kind of security. I don't want to end up single like they say smart girls always do. I want to be able to love and be loved in that cliched, stupid, and romantic way.
Sunday, March 06, 2011
The Retreat
This blog entry can never give justice to how those two days changed the way we look at ourselves, each other, and God. It felt like a lifetime and it was a beautiful experience. It feels so good to reconnect with God and with friends you love no less. Now I feel so light and happy and I just know that whatever comes my way, I can face it head-on and with a smile.
The first thing that we did was write our common realities: things that make us scared, happy, and sad. It was nice to know that we all have common fears and common joys and that we share the same blessings and sorrows. By the afternoon, we were divided into groups and shared to our group how we perceived God and the moments in our life where we doubted and was sure that He exists. Some of the things my groupmates shared were unexpected and it just woke me up to that sad fact that we've all been together for four years counting and still we know so little of each other.
And I realized that it's not too late to make up for that. By the evening, we had confession where the priest told me to confess at least once a week. I don't think I could really follow that but I'm glad I was temporarily absolved. :-p
Almost everybody cried during confession and I didn't so I thought that this retreat isn't the same as the last two I had in high-school and elementary where we shamelessly cried our hearts out. I was wrong. By the time everybody was finished, we were summoned back to the room where a Crucifix was laid at the middle surrounded by lighted candles shaped in a heart. Our chairs were around it. Our facilitators asked us to occupy the inner and outer circles and then asked those at the inner circle to put on their blindfold.
I was at the inner circle and this was where the fireworks began. Those in the outer circle would say thanks, sorry, and I love you to the people in the inner circle.
I would not dare to attempt write about what happened because words can never express the happiness and the tears and the freedom that transpired after we said everything we wanted to say. Never mind that we shamelessly cried, we were allowed to, we needed to.
I just realized how much I love my classmates and friends, how much we've been through and how strong we've become after all this time. I know now, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that that circle, that was where I truly belong, with these people who belong to different groups but come together as one crazy, smart, and happy bunch. I can now truly say that I've made REAL FRIENDS in college and because of that, I can honestly tell people that COLLEGE IS FUN and it is where you truly grow up and become prepared to be an independent in the real world.
Graduation is but two weeks from now and truthfully, from the deepest recesses of my heart, I am ready. It would be sad to leave the University and school. God, how I've enjoyed half of my life reading and answering tests and laughing and shouting and being nervous in those four-walled classrooms that have reared me to what I am now! I'll really miss wearing uniforms and studying for exams. I'll miss the Me as a student. But I guess it's true what they say that education doesn't stop in college or in grad school, it is a lifelong process. As long as you're learning, whether about how to grow a carrot or how to write a poem or simply how to make someone happy, that's education.
And as for me and my friends, CONGRATULATIONS! WE DID IT!!!
The first thing that we did was write our common realities: things that make us scared, happy, and sad. It was nice to know that we all have common fears and common joys and that we share the same blessings and sorrows. By the afternoon, we were divided into groups and shared to our group how we perceived God and the moments in our life where we doubted and was sure that He exists. Some of the things my groupmates shared were unexpected and it just woke me up to that sad fact that we've all been together for four years counting and still we know so little of each other.
And I realized that it's not too late to make up for that. By the evening, we had confession where the priest told me to confess at least once a week. I don't think I could really follow that but I'm glad I was temporarily absolved. :-p
Almost everybody cried during confession and I didn't so I thought that this retreat isn't the same as the last two I had in high-school and elementary where we shamelessly cried our hearts out. I was wrong. By the time everybody was finished, we were summoned back to the room where a Crucifix was laid at the middle surrounded by lighted candles shaped in a heart. Our chairs were around it. Our facilitators asked us to occupy the inner and outer circles and then asked those at the inner circle to put on their blindfold.
I was at the inner circle and this was where the fireworks began. Those in the outer circle would say thanks, sorry, and I love you to the people in the inner circle.
I would not dare to attempt write about what happened because words can never express the happiness and the tears and the freedom that transpired after we said everything we wanted to say. Never mind that we shamelessly cried, we were allowed to, we needed to.
I just realized how much I love my classmates and friends, how much we've been through and how strong we've become after all this time. I know now, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that that circle, that was where I truly belong, with these people who belong to different groups but come together as one crazy, smart, and happy bunch. I can now truly say that I've made REAL FRIENDS in college and because of that, I can honestly tell people that COLLEGE IS FUN and it is where you truly grow up and become prepared to be an independent in the real world.
Graduation is but two weeks from now and truthfully, from the deepest recesses of my heart, I am ready. It would be sad to leave the University and school. God, how I've enjoyed half of my life reading and answering tests and laughing and shouting and being nervous in those four-walled classrooms that have reared me to what I am now! I'll really miss wearing uniforms and studying for exams. I'll miss the Me as a student. But I guess it's true what they say that education doesn't stop in college or in grad school, it is a lifelong process. As long as you're learning, whether about how to grow a carrot or how to write a poem or simply how to make someone happy, that's education.
And as for me and my friends, CONGRATULATIONS! WE DID IT!!!
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Graduation blues?
I just got my inspiration back. I really want to believe what Erma Cuizon said about the "just write" antidote to writer's block but when you can't write, you just can't. The funny thing is that I seem to have more inspiration here than I do in Cebu. Maybe because when I'm home, I get the feeling that there's nothing to worry about (though there are [i.e. write-up about Jonathan, PAGES articles]).
I'm graduating soon. Yes, I am very excited but I am equally nervous at the same time. The sooner it gets the more questions pops in my head like Am I going to be unemployed? How am I going to support myself? What do I really want to do? Finding out that I don't really have answers to these questions is scary as hell. I have options but gah I don't know!!!
Option 1: Take Masters at the University and teach.
*This is good but I want to study at a totally different environment. Though I'm not saying that the collegiate training at USC is inadequate, I believe that I'll grow even more as a scholar, more importantly as a person, when I get a chance to discover the world in a different place. I really want to go study at a University in America or Europe. I've been looking for Scholarships or scholarship grants, I've been looking up TOEFL and how to get you TORs credited. Somehow along the way though, I get lost among these schools and I revert back into a shell of doubt, forever unsure whether or not I am good enough to do these things.
Option 2: Work immediately.
I still do have that letter from Proctor and Gamble and I'm kind of sure that I'll graduate Magna Cumlaude at the very least. I think a lot of companies will want to take me as maybe their HR manager or PR or what the hell, their receptionist. I don't care as long as the pay's good enough for me to pay rent and buy food. Then there is that ESL fad among fresh graduates but I really don't want to sit all day long facing a computer and pretending I'm teaching a real student. When I do teach, I want it to be in a traditional four-walled classroom where I can personally interact with my students.
Option 3: Rest for a while.
I don't like how this sounds. This takes me back to PE13 class where Mrs. Coscos said that "when you rest, you rust". I don't want to rust. I don't want to waste time either. I don't want to burden my parents any more than I already am and should. I don't think my massive pride will let that label 'tambay' come near within ten yards of myself. Furthermore, I'm sure it will be incredibly embarrassing when people ask "Where do you work?" and all I can tell them is "Not yet" or "I'm still weighing options". I'm not the kind of person who has to take time to weigh options.
Option 4: Call Center
A desperate measure. I don't want to think that I don't want to work in call centers because people attach bad connotations with it but I do. I care about what people think. I will care when they twist their faces into disappointed looks when I tell them "I work at Qualfone or Convergys". Hell! I am a graduate of San Carlos! I am Magnacumlaude!
Okay, so these are my options so far. Lord, it makes my heart race knowing I'd have to decide which one of them I'll take soon. Soon is two weeks. Two f**king weeks! I can hear the graduation march now. I can feel it coming. God help me!
I'm graduating soon. Yes, I am very excited but I am equally nervous at the same time. The sooner it gets the more questions pops in my head like Am I going to be unemployed? How am I going to support myself? What do I really want to do? Finding out that I don't really have answers to these questions is scary as hell. I have options but gah I don't know!!!
Option 1: Take Masters at the University and teach.
*This is good but I want to study at a totally different environment. Though I'm not saying that the collegiate training at USC is inadequate, I believe that I'll grow even more as a scholar, more importantly as a person, when I get a chance to discover the world in a different place. I really want to go study at a University in America or Europe. I've been looking for Scholarships or scholarship grants, I've been looking up TOEFL and how to get you TORs credited. Somehow along the way though, I get lost among these schools and I revert back into a shell of doubt, forever unsure whether or not I am good enough to do these things.
Option 2: Work immediately.
I still do have that letter from Proctor and Gamble and I'm kind of sure that I'll graduate Magna Cumlaude at the very least. I think a lot of companies will want to take me as maybe their HR manager or PR or what the hell, their receptionist. I don't care as long as the pay's good enough for me to pay rent and buy food. Then there is that ESL fad among fresh graduates but I really don't want to sit all day long facing a computer and pretending I'm teaching a real student. When I do teach, I want it to be in a traditional four-walled classroom where I can personally interact with my students.
Option 3: Rest for a while.
I don't like how this sounds. This takes me back to PE13 class where Mrs. Coscos said that "when you rest, you rust". I don't want to rust. I don't want to waste time either. I don't want to burden my parents any more than I already am and should. I don't think my massive pride will let that label 'tambay' come near within ten yards of myself. Furthermore, I'm sure it will be incredibly embarrassing when people ask "Where do you work?" and all I can tell them is "Not yet" or "I'm still weighing options". I'm not the kind of person who has to take time to weigh options.
Option 4: Call Center
A desperate measure. I don't want to think that I don't want to work in call centers because people attach bad connotations with it but I do. I care about what people think. I will care when they twist their faces into disappointed looks when I tell them "I work at Qualfone or Convergys". Hell! I am a graduate of San Carlos! I am Magnacumlaude!
Okay, so these are my options so far. Lord, it makes my heart race knowing I'd have to decide which one of them I'll take soon. Soon is two weeks. Two f**king weeks! I can hear the graduation march now. I can feel it coming. God help me!
Saturday, January 01, 2011
Happy New Year!
Here comes my traditional New Years post.
2010 was a crazy year. I say that every year though so I guess that doesn't really mean anything significant. But I did have a lot of memorable experiences this year at school, at love, at life in general. It was by and large a good year.
I'm feeling very positive about 2011. I guess it's because I love the number 11 and I'm graduating this March. I don't know where time will take me, where I will find myself after 5 months,who I'm going to be with, what things I will do but I have this inkling that wherever and whatever that is, it'll be awesome.
I don't have resolutions, I don't really believe in them. But I do have goals for 2011, well, specifically before I graduate.
1. Finish thesis. I've just finished Chapter 2 so I think it will be a smooth sail from hereon in. We're having this paper presentation on February and I am genuinely hoping my study gets selected.
2. Start a hobby. I really want to take cooking lessons. Or maybe finish learning how to drive. Or finish "You Must Love Me". Or maybe I'll just start collecting something like receipts or tissue papers.
3. Graduate. Nuff said.
4. Get a job. I got this letter from Proctor and Gamble last November.I was really psyched that I already have an offering before I could even graduate. We weren't able to attend the Forum though because we received the letter late. I don't want to end up teaching in University, at least not yet. I want to study at a university in the US or Canada or Europe. I think I'd want to be a Doctor first before I teach. There is also the Call Center, although I think I am overqualified, all modesty aside.
5. Get a boyfriend. I mean, I am 20 and I really need to have that kind of security or I will literally lose my sanity by the time I'm 27. Ezra and Paul is out of my list. A part of me will always love Ezra but I've learned to respect myself enough to just divert those romantic feelings into something platonic. And I'm very good at it, if I might add. Paul is lovely and sweet but he has zero personality and I don't think I'd want a boyfriend who doesn't know how to react. So I'll just leave my lovelife to that "Come What May" part of fate.
6. Spend less. I will try really hard to realize this.
7. Live more. And by that I mean have fun whenever there is time. Not necessarily drink and be all wild and nasty, just laugh more and spend more time with friends who make me feel better. Oh and I WILL LOSE WEIGHT because in this time and age, you don't really have much of a life when you're not skiny, don't have big boobs, and can spell pneumonia. But I promise never to dumb myself just to get some boy to like me.
8. REGRET NOTHING. This is key. I am very rational (most of the time) when I make decisions and do things. Sometimes though, I just let the chips fall where they may. And I will not regret anything that I do. I will live my life responsibly and be happy with things that will not hurt other people.
Tomorrow, i will be leaving for Cebu. It breaks my heart to think I'll have to go back to school again but every bubble has to pop sometime. Mine just did. HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!
2010 was a crazy year. I say that every year though so I guess that doesn't really mean anything significant. But I did have a lot of memorable experiences this year at school, at love, at life in general. It was by and large a good year.
I'm feeling very positive about 2011. I guess it's because I love the number 11 and I'm graduating this March. I don't know where time will take me, where I will find myself after 5 months,who I'm going to be with, what things I will do but I have this inkling that wherever and whatever that is, it'll be awesome.
I don't have resolutions, I don't really believe in them. But I do have goals for 2011, well, specifically before I graduate.
1. Finish thesis. I've just finished Chapter 2 so I think it will be a smooth sail from hereon in. We're having this paper presentation on February and I am genuinely hoping my study gets selected.
2. Start a hobby. I really want to take cooking lessons. Or maybe finish learning how to drive. Or finish "You Must Love Me". Or maybe I'll just start collecting something like receipts or tissue papers.
3. Graduate. Nuff said.
4. Get a job. I got this letter from Proctor and Gamble last November.I was really psyched that I already have an offering before I could even graduate. We weren't able to attend the Forum though because we received the letter late. I don't want to end up teaching in University, at least not yet. I want to study at a university in the US or Canada or Europe. I think I'd want to be a Doctor first before I teach. There is also the Call Center, although I think I am overqualified, all modesty aside.
5. Get a boyfriend. I mean, I am 20 and I really need to have that kind of security or I will literally lose my sanity by the time I'm 27. Ezra and Paul is out of my list. A part of me will always love Ezra but I've learned to respect myself enough to just divert those romantic feelings into something platonic. And I'm very good at it, if I might add. Paul is lovely and sweet but he has zero personality and I don't think I'd want a boyfriend who doesn't know how to react. So I'll just leave my lovelife to that "Come What May" part of fate.
6. Spend less. I will try really hard to realize this.
7. Live more. And by that I mean have fun whenever there is time. Not necessarily drink and be all wild and nasty, just laugh more and spend more time with friends who make me feel better. Oh and I WILL LOSE WEIGHT because in this time and age, you don't really have much of a life when you're not skiny, don't have big boobs, and can spell pneumonia. But I promise never to dumb myself just to get some boy to like me.
8. REGRET NOTHING. This is key. I am very rational (most of the time) when I make decisions and do things. Sometimes though, I just let the chips fall where they may. And I will not regret anything that I do. I will live my life responsibly and be happy with things that will not hurt other people.
Tomorrow, i will be leaving for Cebu. It breaks my heart to think I'll have to go back to school again but every bubble has to pop sometime. Mine just did. HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!
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