Vol. 01 Sendong on One Side

On a personal level, Christmas this year has been pretty much the same. UCCP Cantata on the 24th, swift dinner of little talk defying the conventions of Noche Buena, early morning of the 25th spent without gifts or fake kisses or heartless hugs. A family as laid back but sincere as ever.

The main difference this year is that a huge portion of my city looks like a flattened biko, and people are milling about under bridges and city streets looking for all the world like scarred survivors of a civil war. There is no water running through our pipes, and I think in other parts of CDO there's no electricity as well. Grocery shopping has become a matter short of life or death, and volunteering might as well have been declared a trending topic for helpless, helping youth. Sendong has transformed this year's Christmas into an affair of hushed-up panic.

Because I live on top of a hill, my family was mercifully spared by the storm. Some of my friends were not as lucky, however, and I can only be guiltily thankful I don't know anyone who's passed away or gone missing because of Sendong. For a technical account of the damage, kindly check this memo released just minutes ago: NDRRMC Update on "Sendong" (Washi).

I wrote this because I wanted to share the more eccentric side of this year's Christmas. My friend and her family are staying at our place while they're waiting for the water to come back so they can scrape the mud off their floors, so it's really been an interesting holiday. To start:

1. I have seen more fire trucks in the past two weeks than ever before. Only one of them, it must be noted, bore the sign for the CDO Fire Department. I saw one sent over by Bukidnon, another by Balingoan, and the others, I forget. The one from CDO stopped right in front of my house to distribute water to the people in my street. [There really are perks when you live right in front of a fireman.] Watching my neighbors, even ones I didn't recognize, carry pails back and forth from their homes with smiles on their faces, I thought I saw the perpetually-touted Filipino trait of bayanihan. That scene was definitely postcard-worthy.

2. I've developed dandruff. It would be an exaggeration to say we've got absolutely no water, but it wouldn't be right to say we have enough to provide luxurious, bubble-enhanced showers for everyone. So. I've only been showering as soon as I start to smell. [Gross, but well.] For the past three days, too, I've been wearing nothing but dresses, when in the past I lived on jeans. Dresses are flimsy, you understand, so washing them doesn't require much rinsing. Thus...

3. My Arashi converting skills need practice. Because I have three girls living with me for an indefinite period of time, I thought up a plan to entertain them by possibly getting them hooked to my hobbies, the most prominent one at present being Arashi. Their first day here, I fed them about 20G worth of Ninomiya Kazunari and Ohno Satoshi. They've seen 5x10 and Letters from Iwo Jima. But they are not hooked. They do not seem to be hook-able. As revenge, I refuse to sit down for more than ten minutes to watch any of their Korean distractions. Must concentrate. JPop. JPop. JPop.

More next week.

Overwhelmed

My German professor asks this one day: “In the Philippines, do your parents have a say about when you’re supposed to get married? Or how you’re supposed to get married? Say, if you parents tell you that you have to marry this person, would you have to?”

The class answers in the negative. A lot of head shaking occurs.

Professor: “But if your parents tell you that you can’t marry a person, you wouldn’t marry that person?”

The class nods. And everyone looks at each other, realizes a strange collective predicament, and laughs nervously.

__

The funny thing about the Filipino culture is that there aren’t a lot of unbreakable standards. There are a lot of traditions and superstitions, but most, if not all, are subject to the preference of a fickle general public. At least, from how my Gen X brain sees it.

I was born in 1991, a decade or two after the OFW phenomenon brought back – in figurative balikbayan boxes – ‘alien’ ideas from overseas. Growing up, I read only English novels and spoke English 80% of the time. (Because I was in school 80% of the time, hanging out with friends who fancied the Cartoon Network, Goosebumps, The Babysitters Club, etc.) I swear I could hear Japanese songs playing out in the radio of my childhood. I can still sing Pizzicato Five’s Sweet Soul Revue and Globe’s Feel Like Dance – in garbled Japanese, of course. Although I studied Philippine History as an educational prerequisite for graduation, I can’t express in detail – more so with passion – the lives of del Pilar, Mabini, etc. In fact, I’m probably better at tracing the genealogy of Potterdom’s Malfoy Family – a true shame, since that clan’s but fiction.

When I matured – I daresay – it became common for people my age to get pregnant, to get someone pregnant, to get married early, or to work in a call center even when they didn’t want to. It became so common, in fact, that such stories – which started out as whispered news bits shared in the most innocuous of places – became fodder for dinner conversations with mere acquaintances. Something like, “Oh, by the way, Y is seven months pregnant. Saw it on Facebook. Seems she’s getting married this weekend.” And the reply goes, “Oh, good for her then. I hope she’s happy. Can you pass the soy sauce, please?”

This is not a condescending rant. At least it is not meant to be. Just because I have a degree, am not pregnant, and am not fearful for my financial future doesn’t mean I am putting my own lifestyle on a shop display window. This is simply an observation. The petty rambling of an overwhelmed 20-something in Manila, during an era of change so constant you don’t even notice it. I can name more talents from Johnny’s Entertainment than I can enumerate senators of the Philippines. I don’t know the latest updates about GMA’s health, but I have heard that Robin from How I Met Your Mother apparently can’t have kids. I don’t really know why my country doles out days off work, but I don’t complain because that only gives me more time to waste on Tumblr with other fangirls scattered all over the world.

Is it my fault I’m clueless, overwhelmed, and passive? Perhaps. It may be the fault of my parents’ generation, but its own ignorance can’t possibly be what it wanted for itself, right? In any case, I’ve always thought my situation ordinary. I wonder how many people out there realize the same about their own lives. Or existence, whichever.

on my half-assed work ethic

better late than half-assed

... is what I like to tell myself when I procrastinate. See, I believe creativity comes from sudden inspiration, that you can't just sit and write a good article, that you can't just wait for the right image to appear on your head and flow out of your brush. It's a sick, skewed, abhorrently twisted line of thinking, I know, but for the longest time, it has been a way of life for me.

I had always known I was lazy and selfish. When Ondoy ravaged Manila and kids my age where active in relief operations everywhere? I was in my dorm room, engaged in activities so inconsequential I can barely remember what they are. Now that Haiti's a disaster zone - and that's putting it mildly - I'm writing a blog entry about me, me, me. Woe to me.

I guess the point of this rant is, right now, I make myself sick. Although I had always been numbly aware of my piss-poor, halfhearted performance in everything, always getting things done, but rarely getting things done as well as I would had I poured in TOTAL effort, that fact never bothered me. Reactive all the way. Sean Covey's eyebrows would rise way up till the high heavens upon seeing me on a typical day.

So yes, I make myself sick. I wish I could feel things. I wish I could get angry at politicians who steal people's money, I wish I could cry over the loss of several thousand lives due to successive earthquakes worldwide, I wish I could worry enough about my future to study more than ten minutes a day outside class. Damn it. What is wrong with me?

unpacking issues

I used to think I liked to pack and unpack things. When I was a freshman in college, I had so much fun moving out of my first dorm, and living somewhere new. Three years, three dorms and a handful of unforeseen trips later though, I've realized I really don't enjoy task of uprooting myself and all my belongings at a predictable interval of five months. And it's not just because I have enough stuff to fill more than ten bags and containers. It's because I've realized - how could I not, given my complete antitheses populate my tiny social sphere - that I'm a couch potato. Really.

I've also realized though, that this is the lifestyle I'll have to learn to love if I truly am to become my ideal FSO [Foreign Service Officer]. If my mother's job is any indication of how my future will look like, then it probably means living in a different house - in a different country - every few years, adjusting to all sorts of weather and terrain, etc. Oh yeah, and being game enough to eat absolutely all kinds of food. [And this is where my mother fails, because she's a picky eater, and the fish she likes best are in our hometown.] Not to mention, I'll probably never get married. Ha. Ha.

But whatever. This is my life, and this is what I want to do. So everything else can just suck it.

PULSES

PULSES by UP Dulaang Laboratoryo
A Play Inspired by People Living with HIV
By Icarus and Iscariot
Direction Pat Valera | Choreography Katte Sabate, Al Bernard Garcia | Music and Sound Design Teresa Barrozo | Lights Design Meliton Roxas, Jr | Set Design Sigmund Pecho | Costume Styling Lhenvil Paneda | Original Song Fitz Bitana | Stage Management John Mark Yap | Cast Celine Fernando, Camille Hernandez, Gry Gimena, Paul Jake Paule, Jules Dela Paz, Nicolo Magno, Elora Españo, Al Bernard Garcia

It’s difficult to sum up the Pulses experience in just one theme. I was talking to B during the intermission, trying to weave the pieces of the story into one of the linear plots I’m accustomed to, when I realized the show wasn’t meant to be taken as a package. Like Pulses, as in those beats in people’s wrists which indicate life, the stories featured in the play are short, quick, but all important. They all mean something.

The stories I liked best – or, in reflection paper format, the stories which struck me most – were those of Christine and Bo. Both are around my age, probably watch the same shows I do, go to the same places I do, and if these characters existed in real life, we might even have mutual friends. That’s why their stories got to me. I love how Christine maintained her positive, strawberry-tinted outlook despite knowing she was dying a little every day. There were so many black and purple bruises on her body that even though I knew the actress was only smudged with makeup I could tell how much each must hurt. And with Bo, I could relate to his opening lines, as he introduced his character to us. I was so sure only OFWs and sex workers could get HIV. But I’m not either, and I’m from a good school, a good family. It can’t happen to me.

The story featuring the mother – which, if I understood the post-production forum correctly, was based on real life events – who had passed the virus on to her child after acquiring it from her sea-based husband was the one that seemed most real. As in, it could happen anywhere, to any normal household in the Philippines. And I really hated it, when I found out that in Region 3 a community had wanted to burn two orphans whose parents had died of AIDS. I don’t hate the neighbors because I know how much something alien and different can frighten you. What I hate is how much we, as a supposedly nurturing country – hospitality, bayanihan and all that – do very little to educate our people about AIDS. I, for one, didn’t know HIV couldn’t be transmitted by kissing. [But I suppose I know a bit more now.]

The story for which I almost cried was that of Tita D. It’s strange, because the actress who took on that heavy role was a former classmate of mine, and in PI100 she had always given me the impression of being forever perky. But when she transformed into Tita D, an AIDS counselor, I was amazed. More than impressed, I was moved. I don’t presume to know anything vital about AIDS, or the lives of the people who live with it, because I don’t know if any of my friends have AIDS, and I’ve never met people who are aware that they have it. The most enlightening thing I’ve seen about life with AIDS is RENT, and even that might have been a watered down version of reality. But with Tita D’s story, I found I could still relate to part of her suffering. How you see people around you being helpless, and how you can’t do anything at all to help them. How you start losing the people who matter to you, one by one. It must suck. More than that, it must hurt. How you can only watch people you’ve become attached to succumb, one by one.

After the show, there was a short discussion on HIV/AIDS. Some nice people from Take the Test talked about AIDS awareness, and I realized I wanted to write about the experience for my blog. I had stopped writing here because I felt nothing was going on in my life anyway. Just a loop of school, work, Arashi – nothing had broken the monotony for months. But watching Pulses, somehow, I felt it was an injustice that I was seeing my life as something boring. Watching stories about people struggling to live, despite knowing they don’t have as much time as most people, it kind of gives you a feeling of responsibility. Like, you have to live, you can’t begrudge yourself the opportunity to be alive, not when thousands out there are dying to live a life like yours. So yes. This is me, writing again. Because I want stories like this to be written down, for people who care to see. If I can’t write about my life, I suppose I can write about the lives of the people around me.

24 September 2011

Onii-chan no Koto Nanka Zenzen Suki Janain Dakara ne

The Onii-chan referred to here is Takanashi Shuusuke, who we assume to be a junior in high school. Being your average male teenager – and considering his double-edged personality – Shuusuke often finds himself carnally attracted by his younger sister Nao. To complicate matters, Nao also has hidden desires for Shuusuke, and while he thinks she’s innocent and pure, in truth she’s forever hatching plots to push her brother to commit incestuous acts with her. The ebb and flow of their not-so-filial-relationship develops a tsunami-like impact when Shuusuke eventually finds out that Nao is adopted. Despite this, he vows to treat her as he would his nonexistent biological sister – no menial task given the lengths Nao scales just to get him to see her as more than just that.

I got into watching this highly entertaining – albeit unabashedly perverse – anime because of GotWoot Subs. They did the best subbing work on Seikimatsu Occult Gakuin, which I actually followed just for the heck of watching something that deals with the paranormal, and I’ve been downloading some of their releases since. [They’re really good, although they take on shows ‘no one else does’.] Because I never planned to watch OnK – it was never in my ‘to watch’ list on MAL, and I never scoured DVD encampments for it – it doesn’t fit my type. Strangely though, I followed it until the end, and honestly, it’s good. Brainlessly, wantonly comical, but that doesn’t make it any less of a laughtrip.

There honestly isn’t much of the character aspect here though. In fact, we hardly ever know what these kids busy themselves with aside from collecting porno mags and looking up girls’ miniskirts. Not to mention, two of Nao’s friends and some other girls who show up in the latter episodes are given very little airtime – in truth, their on-off presence does nothing to push the plot forward, whatsoever. But I do appreciate Shuusuke, and I really like his friends, the AGE Explorers. I love how their relationship’s so warm even though they’re bonded by something as crazy as a love for all things pornographic. They remind me that friendship is found under the most absurd circumstances, that friends are bound by the weirdest reasons. I guess that’s why I love those boys.

The art’s good – or maybe that’s because I torrented everything, and I’m just shocked by the transition from pirated DVD grain to massively multi-pixeled clarity. The colors are rich, and well-blended, and just right for an anime of this kind – not too shounen, but not too adult either. Still, it’s the music I love best about OnK, really. I love both the OP and the ED, and even the BGM is super kulit, like something you’d expect out of a Doraemon episode. I particularly love these lines from the chorus of the OP:

I want to cross that line | I just have to know how paradise tastes |

Maybe it’s sweet, or maybe it’s not | Either way, it’s a fabulous world |

That should give you an idea of what to expect from this show. I guarantee you’ll ask yourself multiple times why you’re watching this show, but I also assure you that once you reach the last episode – which is completely off the anime timeline and just plain inconsistent with the rest of the series, but never mind – you’ll realize all the censored panty flashes and major WTH moments were worth it.

Recommended for: open-minded people looking for a lung-deep laughtrip

Recommended Subbing Team: GotWoot Fansubs [gotwoot-subs.net]

Episodes: 12 (2011)

Photo Credits

Index Down

Emory.edu

Food for Thought

I find that several of the most lucid, lingering pieces of contemporary literature and film have some form of food attached to them. Take Eat Pray Love. Like Water for Chocolate. Kitchen. All three feature life and the human experience as a main dish to a major selling point of each book, which is food. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. The worst things in this world are being alone, and being hungry. Perhaps it’s because of the need to feed ourselves that we’re so intoxicated over the idea of eating well. Or maybe I only think this way because I love to eat?

True to my resolution to reach out to people more, I haphazardly hailed an old acquaintance that I had bumped into at a local UP haunt today. I go to Mashitta often because it serves interesting food, and she said she was craving for Ramyun, that’s why she was there. About two years older than me, four months into her present job, she might have found me imprudent for compelling her to share my table. But I was determined to become more extroverted, and she happened to be the first friend I had shared a 1 meter radius with, the day after I had decided on that.

We talked about Nickolodeon’s Avatar, her friends from college, her Makati job, and the pretty girl in the booth next to ours. I had always known, through the short conversations we had when she was still in our org, that we shared the same interests, the same dislikes. We both don’t understand why our peers like 500 Days of Summer and One More Chance so much. We both think Zuko’s great. We both watched Sherlock Holmes, and found Season1’s ending irritating. But tonight, though it had been undeniably fun, I felt I had not really gotten to know her better. Why is it that I keep talking about what I think, when I only want to get to know someone more?

She said someone from her office has offered to share copies of Game of Thrones. I told her it was a heavy series, and she said yes, she saw the first two episodes on HBO last summer. I’m not sure if we’ll ever get past the point in our relationship where we can only talk about entertainment and mutual friends. But if that will ever happen, it would be nice. It might have been great, watching Inception for the first time with her somewhere along the line.

Dull Sparkles

Today I lost an earring. Half of the pair my parents had given me on my eighteenth birthday, it had been almost as crisp as a diamond, and rimmed with a band of gold. I had been on my way to work as per usual, seated on the edge of the front seat just the way I enjoyed it, when I accidentally brushed my hand against my ear. I think I even felt the hook unclasp. Minutes of twisting and searching later, however, I had to conclude that it had fallen onto the road. It can’t have fallen into the hole on my blouse, or slipped through the crack on the seat I was on. I guess I’m just not very good at holding precious things for long. I always, always end up losing things that matter to me, but strangely this particular loss stung more than most.

A couple of nights ago, I had thought it had gone missing as well. I had scoured the whole boarding house, retracing my steps on the year-stained stairs in the middle of a school night, when I finally found it hiding in the crook of my bra. How it had gotten there I have no idea, and I don’t even understand how I never managed to feel it pricking my skin. But I remember, quite distinctly, the feeling that had swallowed me, inexplicably, when I thought I’d have to tell my mother I had lost her gift. Had I found the earring pretty, or did I feel guilty that I had not cared for such a treasured present properly enough to have deserved wearing it? It was as if I had broken up with a boyfriend, as though I had witnessed a cat die, and the pain, the sting, or whatever that taste of heartbreak had been was real enough to unsettle me. I don’t usually pine over things I’ve lost because I know I’ll be able to buy them again. Twenty years on and I am still unacquainted with loss. It confuses me.

The impression rubbed deeper this afternoon, the last for this year’s September. I had been sneaking into Facebook during work, reading something wonderful an old friend had written, when I realized how so much, too much had changed. I never even sensed the shifting, and that was what bothered me above all. He had become a better person, just as most of the people I keep close to me now have, after going through the rituals of love, loss, and confusion all within five short years. Walking among the crowds of Makati, ditching the office early on a Friday, I felt strangely hollow. I felt I had been deprived of so much because I had been saved from pain. And it took me five years to realize it. Five years to realize that too many days had gone by without me noticing, and a part of me had stopped by without bothering to say hello. I felt like I had been denied from meeting an old friend I had wanted to see for so long.

And when I thought about it really, or maybe Banana Yoshimoto had more lingering imprints in me than I dare acknowledge, the root of my life being seemingly unlived is my inability to connect with people. Because people, though they amuse me and interest me the same way fiction and politics do, are complicated to understand. And because I know I’ll never understand them, and I know they’ll never try to understand me, I don’t bother. I guess that’s what the problem is – my lack of a desire to socialize. I have never really needed people, and I know I never will. That’s precisely why I want to need someone, anyone, though the connection may be fleeting and short. I want to know I have truly lived, even if the only way is to live through the lives of others. Or to have at least a peek of the lives of others, glimpsed through the cracks on people’s walls, hammered and hewn by years.
__

Today I lost an earring. And I woke up from a five-year dream.

Emergency Plans

What does one do when one realizes one is becoming dim? Not that I've ever fancied myself as being Mensa-class, but the frequency of my English slurring is honestly quite alarming. Written, it appears I've lost the ability to communicate properly as well. I'm pretty sure all this is caused by the fact that I haven't read anything challenging in a long time, and 90% of my daily thoughts are concentrated on Arashi, domestic chores, Arashi, how horrible the traffic on the way to the office is, and Arashi. So basically, Self-Centered Question of the Week is, 'OMG, my endangered brain cells are dying at a faster rate, whatdoIdo?'

Do me a favor and please don't answer that.

Did you know? that in German/Deutsch nouns are capitalized? [Every single noun, yes.] And Did you know? that each Noun has a gender? So das Auto is neuter, der CD Player is male, and die Nummer is female. I'd like to curse my poor imagination, but alas, even doing so won't provide this post some excitement, so here's some Mark Twain for you.

An Excerpt from The Awful German Language by Mark Twain

Every noun has a gender, and there is no sense or system in the distribution; so the gender of each must be learned separately and by heart. There is no other way... In German, a young lady has no sex, while a turnip has. Think what overwrought reverence that shows for the turnip, and what callous disrespect for the girl. See how it looks in print--I translate this from a conversation in one of the best of the German Sunday-school books:

'Gretchen. Wilhelm, where is the turnip?'

'Wilhelm. She has gone to the kitchen.'

'Gretchen. Where is the accomplished and beautiful English maiden?'

'Wilhelm. It has gone to the opera.'

Repetitive questions regarding my future are all worth it, when I'm granted laughtrips like this. Wishing you a great day/night/drama-moment-in-your-customized-universe-with-insert-favorite-artist-here and hoping you learn something to interest you in the next few moments.

Voluntary House Arrest

When I don’t have to go out, I don’t. I stay in the tiny room I’m boarding – a six-mat, two thousand per month space that I share with four other girls, two talkative cockroaches, and a noisy mouse. N often laments my lack of shelf space, but after more than two months of staying here I’ve actually gotten used to the clutter. And some aspects of it remind me of home.

Like how it’s so hot in the afternoons, so at times when I take my siesta, I wake up sticky and smelling of sweat. Like how I don’t have a proper study desk, and therefore, have to make do with working on top of whatever surface is available. Like how I can hear what’s going on next door. At home, the walls were so close I could keep up with whatever the G’s were watching on TV. And here, the mistress of the house next door has a voice so loud, a temper so inclined to scolding her children, that I can’t shut my ears against the daily reprimand, “Anak, di ba sabi ko sa ‘yo (insert unfulfilled task for the day here)?!”

The last bit, the constant barrage of warnings my parents have never used on me, bothers me considerably. I know it’s not my place to question what’s going on in the house next door – never mind that I’ve pinned down the TV viewing habits of a certain Darwin, who watches foreign movies on full blast even past midnight – but sometimes it gets me thinking. Earlier, for example, the mother scolded her daughter while the daughter was watching TV. And though her words came from the familiar vocabulary she often uses on her children, her tone was harsh enough to make the kid cry. Worse, when the little girl started crying, Mama got even angrier. [I think, if I had experienced such when I was younger, I’d grow up to be even more awkward than I currently am.]

My case is easy though, because Mama seems to genuinely love her children, never mind her tone. In any case, her reprimands are mutations of affectionate reminders, so I’ve never once thought of reporting her to Bantay Bata. But see, how do you know when to butt into your next-door neighbor’s business? What if the husband physically abuses the wife? What if, as in the case of Disturbia, you have reason to believe your neighbor is actually a serial killer? Moreover, on a worldwide scale, how do countries know when to interfere with other countries’ business? What if Country A is going through a civil war, and Country B knows it has enough military capability to prevent bloodshed if it chooses to? Messy consequences, whichever way.

Revival

'Tis been a long time since my last sojourn to the Blogosphere. It's also been a long time since the last time I finished a book, a long time since I watched an anime series. In sum, things have changed. Not for the better, it seems. I'm almost part of that sector in society the Japanese like to call NEET - not in Education, Employment, or Training. I mean, I study, but HUH. We're not talking about technicalities here.

More changes to start next week! Can you believe I actually got accepted into an Internship Program? The Office is almost two hours away from where I live, but who cares?! I get to work in Makati, with smart people, for an interesting agency - I'm sure I'll adore it eventually. Sir B, who interviewed me, seemed amused by my 'innocence'. Like how I came knocking at the door of the Office, looking for an Internship, and barely any compensation. What is BORED.

Am currently juggling Arashi-ness. Currently watching Yamada Taro Monogatari and Kisarazu Cat's Eye. Let me honestly say that no matter how much I admire Sho-san, watching his acting pains me. It just isn't... there. Whatever it is actors need to be able to act well, it's not there. But since I vowed to NOT talk about Arashi here, I won't. Visit my Arashi site - if very bored, and only IF very bored - at arasukishi.livejournal.com.

That's all for now.

Boom-bust-ic

First day of the rest of my life - Prof B was a no-show. I'm not even sure the department knows who she is, as Sir D didn't seem confident she's be the one to handle our German Integ class. So I'll have to wait 'til tomorrow to see her. [And I really need to get a proper job.]

I was watching those Arashi vids Nikki gave me yesterday, trying to understand exactly what it is about this band that Nikki-Minette-Janice-Symel-and-their-Livejournal-communities go gaga over. I specifically requested the Courage Test eps, first in the shut-down hospital and then in a fake-horror inn. I'd heard about them, as Minette and Janice wouldn't shush raving that one time we met at Masshita. [Nikki gave me the Springtime Dress to Impress (or whatever the long, awkward title of the SP was) and the Utaban Comedy Collabs as well.]

Now, these are what I'm sure of: Nikki is an Ohno fan, Minette is an Aiba fan. As for me - and I'm far from becoming addicted yet - I thought I'd like the brat Ninomiya best. Since he's honest, and although the truth hurts, I appreciate face-value bashing more than the average person. But! It turns out I only concluded that because I had seen the Haunted Hospital ep first, and Sakurai wasn't there. [AHAHAHA.]

I'd been told that he's the most 'normal' in Arashi, and that, therefore, he's boring. Checking his 'resume' (aka his Wiki stub) maybe that's possible, as he's an Econ graduate, after all. [I can poke fun at people with the same degree as me, k?] And he's really serious about things, so he looks like he can't ride a joke as well as his bandmates can. But he's cute. Really, he is. Not Miura Haruma cute - as I doubt any of the current 16-30 Japanese male stars can achieve that smile - but cute as in hmm, pwede cute. Maybe Arashi isn't so bad at all. Will have to watch myself from now on.

on preadvising and other torture tools

Definitely one of the things I hate most about studying in UP is enrollment season. When I graduated, I looked back on all those hours of lining up in front of legally unforgiving doors and thanking them for honing my previously untried patience. But that was before I encountered the fork-tailed demon that is pre-advising. Now that I'm working to earn a second degree - and do me the favor of not being the nth person to ask me why - I have to go through the whole experience of tertiary education again, and if this first day of filing my admission is any sign of the pain to come, the semesters ahead are going to be full of awkward moments with registration staff and sweat-stained armpits.

A few tips for noobs to the UPD June days-madness - because the registration veteran probably has more to contribute to this list that I do:

1. Expect the lining-up to last for days. And I don't even mean the whole enrollment process, I'm talking about just one door. Some of my comrades from the fight earlier - and I actually did hear someone refer to her enrollment strategy as a 'battle plan' - have to return tomorrow because our department's pre-advising section couldn't accommodate them today. At the very least, the whole hullabaloo of getting all the subjects you need - emphasis on the difference from want - will last three days. And that's only if you're extremely blessed, else part of the University Registration Staff.

2. Bring two things to occupy your time. A single book isn't enough - unless you're a bibliovore who can chow on Gaiman and Friends for five straight hours. My seatmate - more accurately, floormate, since we were squatting in one of the FC hallways - had her radiophone and The Grapes of Wrath. The guy who was beside me before the lunch break messed our seating order brought nothing but Skyflakes - and a laptop that didn't seem to interest him - so he had to contend with staring at his knees for some time. Then again, he was a transferee, so laughing at his situation then doesn't seem right.

3. Discuss with your inner child whether you're going to eat or not. Most veterans don't, although the truly experienced abandon ship for the canteen when they know their timing's right. Even if you decide not to bring the traditionally suggested fix of crackers, however, be sure to bring water. You'll probably be dehydrated because the most probable case is, there's only one electric fan for everyone within a 100-meter radius.

4. Bring a ballpoint pen, a stapler, and a stock of flattering ID photos in all standard sizes. You never know when your adviser will say that your department requires a student directory aside from the one required by the Office of the University Registrar AND the Office of the College Secretary. So a week before enrollment, find an affordable photo studio and Mona Lisa smile all you want. [Don't forget to tweeze your eyebrows.]

5. Persist gently, even when the Registration Assistant tells you there's no hope. Miracles happen. And often, professors are willing to work overtime for those who are hopeful enough to latch onto Buddha's nylon string. Don't argue overboard, but don't give in without question. That is the key to getting a class after the dreaded 7AM schedule.

Lastly, don't forget to put on deodorant. Have pity on the poor soul crouched next to you.

unproductive vacations

My past five summers have always involved anime, ten-hour TV marathons, the Sims and Her Interactive, and the occasional light novel - often of the romcom kind. This summer has not been any different. Fine. I finally got my degree, returned to Bohol for the first time in two years, turned 20, and successfully survived organizing an UPCAT review program, but in the end this summer's still been unproductive. The Patriot, which I'd been meaning to watch for more than a year now, is still in our DVD shelf, untouched. I have yet to finish our copy of Poe's shorts collection. The only improvement is that at least I'm not sleeping in for more than ten hours every day now. On the downside, I haven't finished my editing assignment for the college yearbook yet - and that's a month overdue. Oh, and I have 39 minors to watch over until August.

Point is, I'm back online.

never assume

That is the cardinal rule.

When I was in senior year of high school, one of my guy friends suddenly pulled me over and started talking to me about this girl he had a crush on. I didn't like him, not romantically, but for some reason, my heart skipped the moment he started talking about that, about how great she was, how fantastic she was, how he knew there was no one else for him but her. Vanity. Maybe even pride. Those probably explain my heart-thumping moment then.

He talked about how he would go to the place where I ate lunch just to see her. He talked about how beautiful her voice was, how bright her personality was. And silly me - silly stupid me - I thought I knew what he was talking about. I thought that was his prelude.

And then he said he had nursed a crush on her since freshman year. And I thought, we didn't know each other in freshman year. I turned to look at him, heat creeping up my neck out of embarrassment, probably even anger. But he was staring off, that proverbial faraway look in his eyes. I had just been the confidante after all. She had bested me again.

Guess who turned twenty today?

Here's Sebas-chan with my cake:

Or, well, whatever that dessert is. ::P

No Strings Attached

No Strings Attached

by Mina V. Esguerra

My blurb would go,

Carla Alejandro has no business turning thirty. Not only does she not look like she's entering her third decade, she's also [still!] constantly being offered unsolicited advice by her family - not to mention her incorrigible friends. Worse, everyone keeps rooting for her to settle with a stable banker-type ASAP. A few months before her birthday, however, she meets the Dante del Rosario, who does wushu, lectures college kids on Rizal, and happens to be stubbornly attracted to the very confused Carla. Prince Charming, true, only he happens to be almost five years younger than her. What's Carla to do when everyone tells her she and Dante aren't a good fit? Will she recognize her relationship with him as the fling everybody tells her it is, or will she push their connection to the next level?

I haven't read anything remotely romantic in recent months - aside from that reskim of Anna Ishikawa's epic Glamour Games. I told myself I'd start reading "smarter stuff" that dealt with facts of the head rather than imaginings of the heart. Although I'd sworn off romcom paperbacks though, this book called out to me. I kept willing myself to walk past its displayed copies on the NBS SMNorth shelf - and actually succeeded for a coupla months - before I caved in. And gawd, was it worth the surrender.

The funny thing is you'd think I wouldn't be able to relate to the heroine at all. The novel ends with her turning thirty, and well, I just turned 'the big two-oh' today. But what bridges the decade-long age gap is her main issue with her friends and her family, which I share. She's always been told what to do, and although I can't argue the same for myself, we both feel a sense of being caged into a restricted life, caged in because there are too many people looking after us, too many people telling us what not to do. So yeah, I can relate to Carla Alejandro. And for the record, I still think she's immature.

I love Dante though - oh, wait, the Dante del Rosario. [It's funny how my favorite leading men have names like Dante and Lucas. Is this Filipino machismo on full throttle or something?] If he were real, and I were a woman in his mother's company, I'd skip coffee break to spy on him, too. Like the blurb says, however, he's seemingly 'too good to be true'. Although he attempts to explain himself, I never fully understood what first attracted him to Carla. That little loophole there could be because the novel's written in first-person POV, but anyway, irrelevant. He's still hot.

Mary and Tonio I love dearly - although I refuse to comment on the latter's name. I love how NSA's in medias res, and I love the pace, the plot movement, the character development. I love how Carla's issues with one person leads to a conflict with another person, and I love how she bottles all her problems up - one surefire way of having a sparks-filled climax. I love how you root for the protagonist despite her obvious need for anger management, and I love how there's no "bad wolf". In the end the antagonists are all just really nice people, who, in their efforts to make other people's lives better, mess up the status quo. I love that.

To close, here are some of my favorite bits from No Strings Attached:

Tonio's thoughts on relationships:

Relationships, he learned, would just end and he wasn't sure how it happened. If he stayed with one person long enough, she would either want more or want out. He couldn't predict when this would take place, so he just made sure to keep his "relationships" short. (p.54)

Carla's thoughts on dating:

Dating wasn't so scary after all; it just needed to be done right. Do things that you'll enjoy, and if you're lucky you'll find a person who'll enjoy them too, if only because you were together. (p.57)

Dante to Carla:

"Carla, did I tell you that sometimes I think I made you up?" (p.93)

"You don't see why you're perfect," Dante said, taking my face in his hands and quickly kissing my forehead. "It's okay. It's probably part of your charm." (p.94)

Carla's AH-moments:

Apparently, it was possible to walk around, just be me, and be wanted. I had spent most of my twenties wondering when I'd be comfortable in my own skin, and it just happened, right then - two weeks before my thirtieth birthday. (p.96)

Suddenly, I understood what Tonio meant now. The power was in being reading to walk away. Those guys who threw me looks but didn't say anything, I didn't have to pay them any attention. I didn't have to be nice and personable so a thirty-something guy would find me marriage-worthy. I didn't have to break out the fancy outfits to attract someone like Dante. I didn't have to do anything but be myself. (p.96)

Works Cited:

Esguerra, Mina V. No Strings Attached. Mandaluyong: Summit Books, 2010.

Photo Credits:

from Lee Mejia's bookblog, From Page One

http://frompageone.files.wordpress.com/2011/01/no-strings-attached.jpg

today's regrets

There are many things I wish I had done today.

I wish I had gotten up early, to bid my cousins a proper farewell as they flew back to CDO... I wish I had attended the Univ Grad, nevermind my lack of a laude, just so I could hear a Philippine president speak at my graduation, helicopters roaring overhead... I wish I had kept myself posted on reviews about the latest Detective Conan movie - the 16th, Quarter of Silence. [But maybe that's not such a good idea, given I hate spoilers.]

At the least, I wish I had packed all my stuff, because my dorm's kicking the alumna me out tomorrow. But I didn't do any of these.

My sole accomplishment today is half-tinkering with my blog - so now it has color. My 'tinkering' isn't done yet though. Apologies for the half-assed web designing exercise.

Good night, world. I graduated - figuratively - today.

Grad 2011

[A guy slipped a note with this into the jeep my father and I were in, me ditching Univ Grad 2011. Just for the record, I am not affiliated with UP Kilos Na.]

TO THE GRADUATING ISKOLAR NG BAYAN:

IN SERVING THE PEOPLE, WE SHALL TRIUMPH!

UP Kilos Na

April 17, 2011

Today we begin from the beginning, as we reckon how we arrived at this moment of triumph. To be sure, the way was fraught with uncertainties and hardships shared by the graduates, parents, faculty, and all who make UP education possible. Today we look back with the promise of marching forward - we reaffirm the promise of the youth as a potent force of social transformation.

As we recognize our collective triumph, we must reflect on the contingencies that brought us here. Our people have been perennially pushed to survive extreme conditions of economic and moral destitution. The youth, who embody the promise of change, realize too soon that grand dreams and aspirations are dwarfed by very limited life chances. In fact you, our graduates, are part of the miniscule number of Filipino youth who manage to reach and complete their tertiary education!

Our nation's stifling realities were temporarily suspended during last year's elections and the rhetoric of change that came with it. The nation was hopeful. After all, our ability to survive perennial crisis is proof that we understand how sacrifice and heroism can lead to better conditions. Yet our people's sacrifices have only lead to sustain a system fuelled by human suffering. The mythologizing function of Hope and Change under the P-NOY administration swiftly revealed itself as predatory and exploitative, siphoning our strength to buffer one ruling clique's illusory promises.

Such is the plight of a people who have to endure the economic, political, and cultural impositions of a powerful yet crisis-ridden nation like imperialist America, whose interest in every region in the globe necessitates violations of national sovereignty and human rights. And P-Noy, who earlier called the people his masters, can only pledge allegiance to his real imperialist Master.

No amount of institutional esteem granted by any university, nor an honoris causa from UP can hide the truth that we are watching the march of a naked emperor.

As we march forward to transform society through our collective strength, we, at the same time, reject the travesty of illusory promises. Best wishes from a leader whose idea of change consists in budget cuts on higher education, among other slashes on social services, are hypocritical. Best wishes from a leader who has remained obstinate in his refusal to distribute land to the Hda. Luisita farmers and who has allowed private corporations such as oil companies to reap huge profits from a series of oil price hikes while depriving Filipino workers relief through wage increase are nothing but insults.

We maintain that true leaders understand that UP's code of honor and excellence is a means to a noble end of service to the people, the Filipino workers and farmers who are the real heroes of our nation. Beyond the classrooms of the University of the Philippines is a struggle where we have more to learn and more strength to gain.

Today, let this be our closing statement: In serving the people, we keep faith with the spirit of the Oblation! In serving the people, we shall keep the promise of being the "pag-asa ng bayan". And in serving the people, we shall triumph!

Congratulations Batch 2011!

Iskolar ng Bayan, Paglingkuran ang Sambayanan!

Tuloy and Laban para sa Tunay na Pagbabago!

Singing Nodame Style

Tonight, M came over just as I was watching the Proposal Daisakusen SP. Given she sings, I thought I'd show her bits of my favorite JDorama, Nodame Cantabile, just to get an idea of what she genuinely thinks of classical music. Imagine the giddiness I felt when she got hooked to the show almost immediately, and when what I originally planned would be a ten-minute preview turned into a three-hour marathon. Nodame is addictive. Seriously. I mean, the only JDorama M ever enjoyed before it was Absolute Boyfriend, and I've a feeling she only liked that because of Night's abs. Because, well, if I had gotten hooked to that thing, those monay would have been my reason.

Nodame Cantabile is narrated by Chiaki Shinichi, a gifted senior at Momogaoka Music College with a widely-fawned over prince complex. Due to childhood trauma, he is unable to travel to Europe, and improve his skills in the heartland of classical music. Moreover, he is at a rocky point in his studies, as he is putting up with the piano when he really wants to be a conductor. Given he knows he is underperforming in terms of his full potential, Chiaki becomes bitter and miserable whenever he is reminded that he's not moving forward.

After one particularly depressing-wasted evening, he becomes friends with his next-door-neighbor and kouhai in the piano department, Nodame Megumi - or Nodame, as even she calls herself. He takes an interest in Nodame, who has excellent playing technique but little drive to become a professional musician. As he takes it upon himself to tutor her - cooking dinners and cleaning her perpetually trash-packed apartment on the side - he finds more doors opening for him, more opportunities coming his way, orchestrated by no less than Nodame herself.

Originally a bestselling manga by Ninomiya Tomoko, Nodame Cantabile now has an 11-episode live action series (2006) starring Ueno Juri and Tamaki Hiroshi, complete with a 2-part SP filmed in Europe, as well as a 2-part blockbuster movie franchise. It also has an anime spanning 3 seasons, done by one of my favorite anime production houses, JC Staff (Ghost Hunt). Aside from Oricon-topping albums and a special Nodame orchestra, I've heard it's also inspired an actual cafe in Japan. And because of the manga's popularity, Ninomiya-sensei has expanded theNodame universe to include an Opera Hen single volume manga. Last I checked, it wasn't fully uploaded on mangatraders yet, but it should be soon.

If I knew anyone reading this could share my appreciation for Nodame, I'd write down everything I love - and hate - about it. But since I'm not even sure anyone reads this blog regularly - more so reads it for the reviews, which are almost always raves - I'll have to resort to the gasgas advice, "Watch it and judge it for yourself." I can't recommend any good subbing groups for this because my personal copies are only soft subs, and I don't even know who worked on them. But, should you come to love the show - and I highly doubt you won't - you might consider reading Garnet's per-episode recaps and reviews of Nodame Cantabile (Google: Memento, Garnet, Nodame Cantabile). She's also got excellent screenshots, which are now part of my random pictures collection.

Do yourself a favor and watch Nodame Cantabile, live action. Japanese slapstick romcom minus the gag-worthy cheesiness so common in love stories (ehem, Koreanovelas) these days.

NB: Photos not mine. Don't know who owns them.

insomniacs unite

and here's me signing off - check out my cute paw ::P

good morning, world! i'm off to dream of doppelgangers again ::P

FYI sebastian michaelis of black butler, hugging some random cat just to prove how much he hates dogs XXXX photos from monsterlittle.com

Spring 2011

This Spring 2011 - HA, to the idea of having a season as gentle as spring in my country - I plan to watch the ff anime for the ff reasons:

Ao no Exorcist

because I've been watching a lot of occult-oriented anime lately, and none have failed to keep me glued yet

Steins;Gate

because the art looks good, and the premise is interesting

[C] The Money of Soul and Possibility Control

because despite my abysmal GWA, I am still - will be - an Economics graduate

Ano Hi Mita Hana no Namae o Bokutachi wa Mada Shiranai

because it sounds nice, and easy, and it's got an interesting title ::P

and I will continue watching

Gosick

because it's kickass, and Victorique has wonderful hair

Kimi ni Todoke

because the anime's even better than the manga... imho

Imma dreamer, aren't I?

Househunting

I couldn't sleep tonight. And no, not because I had a dream two nights ago - dawns, to be specific - involving an older me in a devilish white dress staring back at myself, knowing full well dreaming me was watching. Sounds complicated, but it's simple, actually. I had a nightmare where I saw my doppelganger. But again, no, despite the frightful nature of that dream, it is not the reason I'm awake now, two nights - dawns - later.

I'm looking for a house. [Online, yes.] More accurately, a place to stay in. I'll be graduating a couple of days from now, and as I intend to stay in MManila, I need somewhere. I've ruled out staying in a univ dorm, as I doubt overstaying for a second degree makes me an actual dependent of the UP system. I'll have to admit though, that the clincher was the kitchen. I really want a kitchen. I've already been imagining all the dishes I'd burn, all the wine I'd stock, if I had my own kitchen. God, please send me a house with enough space for a kalan at least? And maybe, a mini Coleman?

And haha, don't even ask for my budget. Truth is I've actually enough money for one of those one-bedroom flats that are ubiquitous in the student world, but again - the kitchen, it calls. Good thing my friend Ate I wants a place with a kitchen, too. We can split the bill, and share the happy moments that I'm praying, honest to goodness, we'll have. Because I'll be staying in MManila for what seems like yeeeears. And she has her MS - and likely, PhD - to finish.

Housey, housey, housey.

Heree come, housey.

The Quezon City Sampler - for Idiots

Because of my twin graduation ceremonies - which are honestly more trouble than they're worth - I've been wracking my brain recently for convenient places to bring my CDO-based relatives to. Venues that are wholesome enough - because my father and my uncle are going to be there, never mind the fact that I don't much fancy partay partay places - without being boring. And I've realized, after showing a big guy from high school around the city just yesterday, that I don't know a lot of these 'entertaining' places. Hence, this crazy attempt at making boring places more interesting to normal people.

To clarify, I am not from Quezon City. Just in case you, dear non-existent reader, didn't get that from the previous paragraph. [I am in no way undermining your intelligence. It's just that I have a natural talent for making myself difficult to understand.]

Touring Tactic #1

Pretend that you want to buy 20peso veggie noodle packs from Cubao Ex. Admittedly, the place isn't as glamorous as it used to be some years ago, but it's still got that old-world - albeit non-dilapidated - feel that you don't get from most Manila spots. (And yes, I will refer to Metro Manila as Manila, so suck it, irrationally OC editing freaks.) For girls, you've got Heima, an interior decorating center. It's all bright and all neon-colored, plus conveniently cute AND practical. For guys, well, you've got lots of drinking hubs. And for me, you've got that shop with lots of cat figurines. Pure bliss. Meow.

Touring Tactic #2

Offer to take guest to Star City or Enchanted Kingdom, and later retract your offer by saying both places are too far for your geographically-challenged brain. Propose a night trip to the Circle of Fun at QC Memorial Circle instead - hint that you've heard the haunted house is convincing, depending on who's manning the ghost props. If you're lucky, you might catch the dancing fountain actually dancing - to the tune of whichever local band or pseudo-orchestra is playing in the plaza. And then, maybe you can walk around. Just don't stay there too late.

Touring Tactic #3

Admit that you haven't explored Vargas Museum as much as you should have, being from the area, after all. Try to time your visit with the free-entrance days, but even if you can't be bothered to do so, the fees aren't all that high anyway. After your dose of artsy-fartsy goodness, sit down in the Sunken Garden and - on weekday mornings when people are too busy to play - contemplate your existence amidst the presence of carabao grass, or - during afternoons or weekends - look for your personal epitome of attractiveness, preferably someone who can actually handle a frisbee or a soccer ball.

Touring Tactic #4

Slyly slip in the little detail that Trinoma's supermarket won an international award for - er - floor design. Fool your guest into thinking that the grocery section is actually worth taking a peek at, because they have a wide range of food stocks, and their seedless oranges cost half the price of the oranges at a certain rival mall. After that, say that you want to visit Comic Alley, only you can't remember where it is, so you might have to walk around in search of it. Pretend the concierge, the guards, and the cleaning personnel don't exist. Stroll leisurely around the chaotic, supposedly post-modern corridors of Trinoma, and point out boutiques you're positive don't exist in most malls. Like, "OOOH, look, they have a shop where you can make your own stuffed animal, how cute is that?"

And blargh. I'm afraid those are all the mediocre happy zones I can rant off right now. And no, those aren't suited just for guests who are crazy like me. I mean, if I were to write to myself about places in Quezon City I actually wish to be taken to, I'd write SM Fairview first, hands down. [Fairview is in Quezon City, right?]

Thawing

For the longest time, I've been nursing a numb heart. I don't know how it became so frigid, but I hardly attribute it to the scarring prison lock-down that was high school. I'm not even talking about an inability to love romantically - I'm referring to an inability to feel compassion, an inability to care about things that move normal people. Undoubtedly, it's benefited me on the whole. I've learned how to listen to my friends' problems without batting an eyelash, offering possible courses of action, and how to bounce-back almost immediately from any roadblock. More than once, I've heard people call me strong. And it felt good, knowing deep down, that nothing could touch me. Because only a handful of things in my life mattered.

Lately though, I've been getting a bit emotional again. I'm not sure why either, but the feelings suddenly just shot up, until I realized my heart was functioning properly once more. I became capable of relating to movies Mary likes, movies like Never Let Me Go and stuff. Watching Skins, my strongest response wasn't my typical 'I'm-so-lucky-I-live-a-normal-life' kneejerk - I actually felt sad for the series' characters. And reading Beneath the Lilac Tree by archangelBBQ on FFNet, I felt moved instead of insecure and jealous.

What is happening to me? Why am I becoming human?

brainstorming

The tambayan smelled odd when we got there this morning. Something like a combination of days-old Rodic's tapsilog and accumulated dust. Or maybe the smell from the dead cat we found in one of the ground-level cubby holes. I don't know - it hardly mattered. The air flowing in through the window, the unlocked gates, mitigated the weird odor anyway.

In sum, we spent almost seven hours poring over our LArch 1 project. I did the pre-final editing - what fansubbers would call typesetting - and wrote part of the script. Jeck lent his voice for the dubbed parts. Michael lent his music-mixing skills, honed from years with a world-renowned choir. Reg left early, but did a great job tweaking our amateur videos all the same. Nike and Alvin discussed things like al fresco dining, bubble fountains, and sinusoidal patterns. And Anina did odd-jobs - this task entailed impromptu entertainment, of course.

I've never had to work this much for a group project before. To be honest, I've never truly worked in a group before. I don't study, much less engage in group studying, and I prefer being left alone with a book or my computer. But today was fun. It was eye-watering, neck-straining, back-breaking hardcore fun. I'd never imagined working with other people - all of you able to contribute something significant to the final product - could be satisfying.

Even after Reg and Nike had already left, we were still at it with our lazy bantering. Michael was trying to leech flash games from my collection, while I tried to convince him that was a bad idea because Lavinia hasn't been exposed to anti-virus systems for three years. Jeck was tutoring Alvin and Anina how to best hit their target in that dratted viral game, Angry Birds. The lesson ended with Alvin feeling very bad because he couldn't defeat the pigs. (They are pigs, right? The opponents in Angry Birds?)

We parted, minutes and a few more words past four, tired, hungry, nursing mild headaches. My time might have been better spent working on that group paper for PI100, or writing my revised drafts for CW10. But I had fun. Tiring fun.

finally, i belong?

The Normal Curve looks like this:

For the first time in my life, I am Normal.

Like something straight out of a cheesy American movie plot - of a type so depressing you dare not shed tears - my existence staged its peak during high school. (Aren't I too young to be going through a midlife crisis?) These college days have filtered by in a succession of multi-colored pixels compressed to form teenage girls in sailor outfits, and I don't remember anything huge or life changing that happened to me in the last four years. No falling in and out of love. No tears caused by an intrepid, close-knit Catholic school faculty. Definitely no lasting effort to reinvent myself for my own sake. For four years, life just happened. Only it didn't happen remarkably enough.

I would offer my entire Harry Potter collection - novellas and all - to be one of those girls who bloom in college. The type to excel so rapidly my progress'll shock everyone. The type to register any progress at all. But I'm past my prime. I've shown all I could show in high school, when my world was smaller, and the other fish liked my scales well enough to think they shine. Here, in the microcosm of the bigger world, I am fish feed. I am the wriggling worm whales look at when they're unsure of their size. And when they see me, their doubts evaporate. Yes. Compared to some, I'm good enough. Or so I think a whale would think.

Consider this my rant page. Or a neon-flagged blog post in a sea of angst-filled soliloquys. The cutesy, witty site mast fooled you, dinnit? I'm your resident Holden Caulfield, just less eloquent. A perfect, well-balanced life can do tortures to an idle brain.

Here's to hoping I'm just hormonal.

Mysterium

Given I'm supposedly one of the 166 graduating students of UPSE this semester - never mind that our thesis adviser told my TP and me that our first draft was pangit - I tried to support the Grad Comm by finding their booth in the UP Fair. K had told me they were hosting a tarot card reading, palm reading, occult-ish booth, so the night of Loverage5 I dragged R to a likely-looking table lit by a single candle.

R had her future read first - 3 questions, 50 pesos. Cute questions, actually, although I doubt I'm allowed to share them here - heads up though, one was about marriage. I had my 3 questions read next, but unfortunately, it turns out Mr. Raider Waite reader was too tired to predict my future properly, so Miss Gnome took over. And my three questions:

Q: Sinong makakatuluyan ko?

A: You're thinking of someone, but that person is not The One. If you push your luck with him, you will end up being vain and bitter [ano 'to, Desiderata???] because he will always make you feel like you're never good enough for him.

Q: Makakatulong ba ako sa Pilipinas someday?

A: No. You have to fix yourself first, because you don't know who you are. For some reason, you're trying to hide your bubbly-happy self, hiding behind a straight-laced, by-the-book persona. So to help your country, you have to let go first.

Q: Anong magandang i-second degree?

A: Do not take something just to spite anyone. Take something you really want.

And my analysis:

I'm not thinking of any guy in particular!!! [Although, yes, like any boyfriend-less person, I do have an image of my ideal guy - go ahead, guffaw.] I get the reading though, about not letting Imaginary Guy take over reality - 'cause if I keep trying to find someone just like him, I'll... never find anyone, haha.

The second answer was a let-down. Miss Gnome said something about learning to be vain because I was too selfless, which is completely off. [I'm completely selfish, only I don't tell people because I roll that way.] It's cool though, how she knew I'm reserved and strict compared with most people my age - or maybe it's in my face?

And re: the last question. Uh. Sorry. Doesn't help at all. Didn't you just say I don't know myself well enough? And now you're telling me I should stick with what I want to do???

[But please, visit their home site: mysteriumphilippines.org. It's actually kind of cool, knowing we have an occult academy in the Philippines.]

How to be a YouTube Celebrity

Lunch with Paraluman Conspiracy earlier today. It's a sorta-habit of ours to meet up at least once a month, for dinner or lunch, or whatever. We try to talk about things, like who's dating who - and other less gossip-ish stuff, of course. And walking home, it struck me how different N and T are now compared to their old, freshie selves.

About two or three years ago, I could still keep up with their conversations about music, about books, and about artsy-fartsy films. But now, I can't even put in my two cents' worth about T's fanfiction.net rebirth - as if I'd lost all capacity to elicit an opinion from my inner depths or something. It's as if... I've stagnated, and they've grown so much more than I have. Kind of sad, really, not being able to relate fully to your friends.

So I pondered on what I've been doing these past three years, what I've been doing that caused me to veer off the shared track of N and T. And I realized, I haven't been doing anything at all. Except, maybe, finish about twenty anime series, befriend half the Asian romcom celebrity sphere, and write tons of fanfic crap. Which, really, isn't much. Wow. Three years of regression.

But enough ranting. My latest addiction this week is YouTube. I've discovered some really fun people through it, like my future husband kevjumba, my future groomsman nigahiga, and my future bridesmaid happyslip. I'd totally embed their vids here, only I don't know how to... embed. So anyway.

J asked me why I like kevjumba more than I like nigahiga. Tough question - after all, nigahiga's more popular. Thing is, though, I think Kevin's actually a really serious person once you get to know him - the competitive, irritable type who involuntarily hides behind a comedian persona. I like that in people - knowing they have layers you have to peel to get to know who they truly are. Plus, Kevin's got a much cooler voice, and his editing is better than nigahiga's. And I like how he allots a portion of his YouTube royalties to charities - plus points, too, for his cute relationship with his dad.

So yeah, just me, ranting.

My Future is Like Koko Krunch

And I doubt I even spelled my future right. 0.o

Afternoon. I rushed to the tambayan because Julian had scheduled another round of Harana Express promo | pakapalan-ng-mukha-for-a-cause, this time by the Chem Pav. I got to FC first, but when I texted him, he said he was still at the Job Fair. And I didn't mind the 'gig' being cancelled - just trudged back to the tambs.

I got there before he and Ands returned from the Job Fair, bearing company freebie pens and stories about how they got rejected-at-first-sight because they had apparently graduated from the wrong course. And as Luka, and then Mer, joined the conversation, I just sat across the table from them, trying to focus on Volume 1 of True Philippine Ghost Stories, trying to ignore the fact that I haven't even considered sending my resume to any companies.

Truth is, I don't want to weave the corporate circuit. I love the power dressing, and the power lunches, and the power tripping - so much drama, like Gossip Girl for adults - but it's not the type of world I see myself carving my name into. Truth is, I've only considered two career tracks in my life: teaching, or becoming a glorified bureaucrat.

Scratch the first option, obviously. Although I love teaching, seriously, there is nothing I'm good enough at that I can share to other people - because who'd pay 3K to listen to someone rant about how twisted the Onii-chan no Koto series is? And, well, even if I knew how to teach, to quote the lovable [albeit fictional, sadly] Lucas Pineda, "the salary is (sic) the pits." Unless, of course, you teach in the Ateneo, or somewhere else just as considerate.

So joining the government is my goal now. I really really want to work for the Philippines. Never mind the slow promotions, and our infamous brand of corruption - I've seen my parents at their jobs for as long as I can remember, and they seem to be having kick-ass fun making people's lives better. As for the money... well, it's not as if I'm planning to get married anyway. So no kids' tuition, no car installment, and on weekends off I can actually plant vegetables in my imaginary backyard to sell for extra income.

... The point is ...

How do you tell people you think you're about to graduate from the wrong course? I don't think it's a case of me not studying enough, and being a lazy bum - I'm just one of those lax personalities who don't put effort into anything they don't find particularly appealing. And believe me, I've tried to find Econ appealing. I've tried fooling my inner child, I've tried reading Freakonomics. But my inner child's too whacked to think pragmatically, and Jenny never gave my copy of Freakonomics back. Basically, Econ is not my future.

And the million dollar question: What is?

heartache

When I’m depressed, I tend to eat a lot of noodles. I know they’re difficult to digest, and so they clog up in one’s intestines, but it’s either that or coffee – and there are times when I’m just not in the mood to see coffee. Take tonight for example.

This morning, my thesis partner S and I went to this Stata workshop our batch representatives organized. It was truly fascinating, taking all those commands in – one of those rare moments when I found joy in my course. Although I understood most of what our speaker had been explaining, however, it seems – irony of ironies – that I’m still unable to apply a certain theory on my own. That one crucial theory. And the worst part is, my thesis partner doesn’t know what to do either.

Stupid dummy variables. To think it’s just a case of dividing the data into responses from males and responses from females. It’s just a case of labeling one 1 and labeling the other 0. It’s just a halving of answers. But it’s giving me such a heartache – hardly a headache, really. My pride can’t accept having come this far into my course yet still being unable to execute this simple step that should be standard knowledge for someone of my educational background.

I could always just ask for help, of course. Problem is, I don’t have too many friends in my own department, and the friends I do have aren’t familiar with Stata either. So maybe, just maybe, in a fit of dramatic depression, I’ll just sit here in my hard wooden chair, and try to keep myself from adding one more pack of my noodles to this evening’s mistakes.