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Blarg blarg garfunkle.
Tuathanidana
Tribe of the (goddess) Dana
I haven't blogged in a while.
It's not that I'm too busy (although lately, it seems I've been going home at 8 pm or less), or that She Who Will Not Be Named (I don't diss my friends, even if apparently she feels otherwise) is still upsetting me.
Things have been happening beyond/i> me, issues so overwhelming and sad it infuriates me that others don't appear to care about their fellow people. They don't give a damn about what's going on around them.
300% tuition fee increases of the state university, consigning potential leaders of the country to poverty and stirpping them of their chances for a better life.
Disappearances and slayings of students and journalists and peaceful activists, when it's so glaringly obvious just who is behind it all, to the extent even international findings report the same.
Forced evacuations of thousands of people in several communities, all so roads for the rich and the mobile get widened.
And, lastly, perhaps the most infuriating for me at the present, a brilliant young leader, at the cusp of graduation and the hope of his family, is hazed to death at the hands of cowards. SHOW YOURSELVES.
It's not that I'm too busy (although lately, it seems I've been going home at 8 pm or less), or that She Who Will Not Be Named (I don't diss my friends, even if apparently she feels otherwise) is still upsetting me.
Things have been happening beyond/i> me, issues so overwhelming and sad it infuriates me that others don't appear to care about their fellow people. They don't give a damn about what's going on around them.
300% tuition fee increases of the state university, consigning potential leaders of the country to poverty and stirpping them of their chances for a better life.
Disappearances and slayings of students and journalists and peaceful activists, when it's so glaringly obvious just who is behind it all, to the extent even international findings report the same.
Forced evacuations of thousands of people in several communities, all so roads for the rich and the mobile get widened.
And, lastly, perhaps the most infuriating for me at the present, a brilliant young leader, at the cusp of graduation and the hope of his family, is hazed to death at the hands of cowards. SHOW YOURSELVES.
http://showbizandstyle.inquirer.net/bre
Dr. Brian May, you so rock.
Dr. Brian May, you so rock.
It is bizarre to get hit on by a barrista.
Particularly when your mother implies your unattractiveness a few days before.
Regards, Ericka.
Particularly when your mother implies your unattractiveness a few days before.
Regards, Ericka.
In the midst of sudden storms, sweltering sun,
driving disasters, driving needs,
extracurricular triumphs, academic defeats
TV appearances, forced disappearances,
misplaced feelings, forgotten thefts,
new friendships forged, households lessened,
extensive training, lax gameplay,
added weight,lost "love interests,"
And a sense of impending doom,
this comforts me:
Thank the maker.
driving disasters, driving needs,
extracurricular triumphs, academic defeats
TV appearances, forced disappearances,
misplaced feelings, forgotten thefts,
new friendships forged, households lessened,
extensive training, lax gameplay,
added weight,lost "love interests,"
And a sense of impending doom,
this comforts me:
Thank the maker.
I WAS ON TV AWHILE AGO.
GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.
My friends and I (read: UJP) went on Y Speak, of Studio 23, to be the audience for their episode on SONA and the HSA. We kind of had to--Sir Danilo Arao, our moderator, was one of the guest hosts, as well as Sir Teddy Casiño (OMG!), and various honorable others. Alas, Senators Chiz Escudero and Alan Cayetano were absent.
Anyway. So, they asked the audience to think up questions, and I stupidly opened my mouth. Within moments, I was being prepped for the very first segment, on education.
But NO. Before the students were even questioned, Sir Arao and the introductory video already answered my question on the budget and UP's state subsidy. I scrambled for something else to ask, but luckily enough, we cut to a commercial.
Then they fed me a question, and I asked it.
(In warbled Filipino) "President Arroyo said she was taking a hard-line stance against corruption, and also said many officials were suspended. However, both Iggy and Mike Arroyo hold head positions in important committees in the lower house. Isn't this prone to corruption?"
HOLY HELL I'M GOING TO DIEEEEEE.
GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.
My friends and I (read: UJP) went on Y Speak, of Studio 23, to be the audience for their episode on SONA and the HSA. We kind of had to--Sir Danilo Arao, our moderator, was one of the guest hosts, as well as Sir Teddy Casiño (OMG!), and various honorable others. Alas, Senators Chiz Escudero and Alan Cayetano were absent.
Anyway. So, they asked the audience to think up questions, and I stupidly opened my mouth. Within moments, I was being prepped for the very first segment, on education.
But NO. Before the students were even questioned, Sir Arao and the introductory video already answered my question on the budget and UP's state subsidy. I scrambled for something else to ask, but luckily enough, we cut to a commercial.
Then they fed me a question, and I asked it.
(In warbled Filipino) "President Arroyo said she was taking a hard-line stance against corruption, and also said many officials were suspended. However, both Iggy and Mike Arroyo hold head positions in important committees in the lower house. Isn't this prone to corruption?"
HOLY HELL I'M GOING TO DIEEEEEE.
I've never felt more human in my entire life.
~~
So, car troubles.
Soy idiota.
Soy idiota iresponsable.
Soy idiota iresponsable con memoria pequeña.
Que lastima.
(y muchas gracias, Paul, y las Povedans, para no hablan. :P)
~~
As some of you may already know, I'm applying to another org (as if fencing, my beloved UJP, and COR/pseudo-council volunteering work wasn't enough). I've actually wanted to join Aiesec for awhile, but it's only now I'm pushing through with it.
Last weekend I went to their A-camp in Batangas. SUPER FUN. The people there were easy to get along with (nudge, nudge, Jerick...ano, gawin natin yan sa next induction? LOL). My chutzpah went all out once more, as modesty and sense of shame were curiously absent.
Yep. Singing cheesy songs until my voice gave out, throwing myself into a pool and downing 1/4 of a glass of vinegar and subsequently puking, and making a thorough ass of myself was really fun.
(I'm serious, by the way).
Now if only my pictures didn't look like shat.
~~~
I'm so not touching on my econ test until I see the results. Based on my friends' reactions, perhaps ignorance is bliss.
OH, advertising. I've forgotten how it is like to be preternaturally frustrated with groupmates. Darlings, thanks for reminding me.
Ayokomori.
I love you J 121. But you are ever so hard.
~~
The music's playing, love. Can you feel it vibrating through the air? See it weaving around us, taste it on your tongue.
Place your hands on my waist, hold me a breath from your body, move a confident step forward. Keep your eyes trained on mine, intense, inscrutable.
Smile a smug smirk as I slowly drop my head upon your shoulder, sigh an angel's puff.
You may have started the dance, my dear.
But when it ends, I'll be leading.
~~
So, car troubles.
Soy idiota.
Soy idiota iresponsable.
Soy idiota iresponsable con memoria pequeña.
Que lastima.
(y muchas gracias, Paul, y las Povedans, para no hablan. :P)
~~
As some of you may already know, I'm applying to another org (as if fencing, my beloved UJP, and COR/pseudo-council volunteering work wasn't enough). I've actually wanted to join Aiesec for awhile, but it's only now I'm pushing through with it.
Last weekend I went to their A-camp in Batangas. SUPER FUN. The people there were easy to get along with (nudge, nudge, Jerick...ano, gawin natin yan sa next induction? LOL). My chutzpah went all out once more, as modesty and sense of shame were curiously absent.
Yep. Singing cheesy songs until my voice gave out, throwing myself into a pool and downing 1/4 of a glass of vinegar and subsequently puking, and making a thorough ass of myself was really fun.
(I'm serious, by the way).
Now if only my pictures didn't look like shat.
~~~
I'm so not touching on my econ test until I see the results. Based on my friends' reactions, perhaps ignorance is bliss.
OH, advertising. I've forgotten how it is like to be preternaturally frustrated with groupmates. Darlings, thanks for reminding me.
Ayokomori.
I love you J 121. But you are ever so hard.
~~
The music's playing, love. Can you feel it vibrating through the air? See it weaving around us, taste it on your tongue.
Place your hands on my waist, hold me a breath from your body, move a confident step forward. Keep your eyes trained on mine, intense, inscrutable.
Smile a smug smirk as I slowly drop my head upon your shoulder, sigh an angel's puff.
You may have started the dance, my dear.
But when it ends, I'll be leading.
1:00 p.m.
Mimi and I walk to the AS parking lot. You know, the busiest area in UP. Where I parked my car. I'm running slightly late--my Econ class is starting, and I have a problem set to pass.
I rev the car, and hear a clicking sound.
1:02 p.m.
The clicking sound persists. I attempt to put the car in reverse. The steering wheel doesn't move. The car moves perilously close to the van next to it. I park, half out of the space.
1:03 p.m.
I try it again. To my alarm, even when the gears are on "drive," the car still reverses. The brakes don't work, only the hand brake.
1:10 p.m.
Alarm turns into full-blown panic. Calls to my mother and father fail to bring results. After several aborted tries, the other drivers in the parking lot, six of them, come over to help me. They prise open the slot below the gears. They open the hood and fiddle with the engine.
Nada.
1:15 p.m.
It's obvious I'm going to end up missing my class. Mimi does damage control, sweltering alongside me under the midday sun. Still nothing. The drivers had given up, after conferences with my father.
Luckily Mother is in UP for some Mass Comm meeting. Unfortunately, she sent out the driver with an errand to Ayala Heights.
We have to wait.
1:20 p.m.
I open the car door, and the CRV begins bleeping. Panic mode kicks in once again. One of the drivers comes over, and calmly presses a button on the car key. The bleeping stops.
I breathe.
Mimi laughs.
1:40 p.m.
Hallelujah, Ma's here.
Mimi leaves with my assignment, and my effusive thanks and apologies. I LOFF YOU MIMI.
Chenoy hooks up the CRV battery to the Explorer's.
1:41 p.m.
IT WORKS.
I sag inside the pick-up truck as we convoy home.
3:00 p.m.
NEVER AGAIN.
Mimi and I walk to the AS parking lot. You know, the busiest area in UP. Where I parked my car. I'm running slightly late--my Econ class is starting, and I have a problem set to pass.
I rev the car, and hear a clicking sound.
1:02 p.m.
The clicking sound persists. I attempt to put the car in reverse. The steering wheel doesn't move. The car moves perilously close to the van next to it. I park, half out of the space.
1:03 p.m.
I try it again. To my alarm, even when the gears are on "drive," the car still reverses. The brakes don't work, only the hand brake.
1:10 p.m.
Alarm turns into full-blown panic. Calls to my mother and father fail to bring results. After several aborted tries, the other drivers in the parking lot, six of them, come over to help me. They prise open the slot below the gears. They open the hood and fiddle with the engine.
Nada.
1:15 p.m.
It's obvious I'm going to end up missing my class. Mimi does damage control, sweltering alongside me under the midday sun. Still nothing. The drivers had given up, after conferences with my father.
Luckily Mother is in UP for some Mass Comm meeting. Unfortunately, she sent out the driver with an errand to Ayala Heights.
We have to wait.
1:20 p.m.
I open the car door, and the CRV begins bleeping. Panic mode kicks in once again. One of the drivers comes over, and calmly presses a button on the car key. The bleeping stops.
I breathe.
Mimi laughs.
1:40 p.m.
Hallelujah, Ma's here.
Mimi leaves with my assignment, and my effusive thanks and apologies. I LOFF YOU MIMI.
Chenoy hooks up the CRV battery to the Explorer's.
1:41 p.m.
IT WORKS.
I sag inside the pick-up truck as we convoy home.
3:00 p.m.
NEVER AGAIN.
I couldn't think of anything witty for today. It just is.
Right now, journalists are probably scrambling to write their own feelings on today's despedida for Sir LVT. The alumni are grateful sir came into their lives and drilled into them an ethical code, sort of like the Knights of the Round Table. In the AVP, they each mentioned they've learned so much from him, that what they do today is continually influenced by him.
My classmates are already a bit teary-eyed he's leaving. Ever since we entered college we've been threatened with the possibility of him leaving, only now it's the truth. Those who were lucky enough to have him for J101 feel incomplete. Those who didn't feel cheated. All of us wish we could've taken ethics in our second year, just to learn from the best.
As for me, it hasn't quite sunk in yet.
For the past two weeks I've been running around with a video camera cornering people to interview, and trying (and hopefully not failing) to make great tarps and posters about the seminar/farewell the journalism department was giving Sir. I avoided thinking about him leaving.
And it still hasn't sunk in yet.
Those reading my blog will know he's one of my heroes (along with Ma'am Chua) when it comes to writing. It's partly because of him I stayed in journalism--I even had a dream about him before, that he said I would save the world through journalism (and candlewax, but that part is irrelevant). Any offhand positive comment he made about me sent me towards the moon.
When we had our first class with him, my friends and I were floored by the lesson. We equated him to Gandalf, Merlin, with wisdom emanating from every pore. From his dry observations of certain public officials to his impassioned talks on the duty of the media, we grew to idolize him.
And now, well, he'll no longer be in the college.
It's so dramatic to say this,
but they're prickling beneath the eyelids now.
Right now, journalists are probably scrambling to write their own feelings on today's despedida for Sir LVT. The alumni are grateful sir came into their lives and drilled into them an ethical code, sort of like the Knights of the Round Table. In the AVP, they each mentioned they've learned so much from him, that what they do today is continually influenced by him.
My classmates are already a bit teary-eyed he's leaving. Ever since we entered college we've been threatened with the possibility of him leaving, only now it's the truth. Those who were lucky enough to have him for J101 feel incomplete. Those who didn't feel cheated. All of us wish we could've taken ethics in our second year, just to learn from the best.
As for me, it hasn't quite sunk in yet.
For the past two weeks I've been running around with a video camera cornering people to interview, and trying (and hopefully not failing) to make great tarps and posters about the seminar/farewell the journalism department was giving Sir. I avoided thinking about him leaving.
And it still hasn't sunk in yet.
Those reading my blog will know he's one of my heroes (along with Ma'am Chua) when it comes to writing. It's partly because of him I stayed in journalism--I even had a dream about him before, that he said I would save the world through journalism (and candlewax, but that part is irrelevant). Any offhand positive comment he made about me sent me towards the moon.
When we had our first class with him, my friends and I were floored by the lesson. We equated him to Gandalf, Merlin, with wisdom emanating from every pore. From his dry observations of certain public officials to his impassioned talks on the duty of the media, we grew to idolize him.
And now, well, he'll no longer be in the college.
It's so dramatic to say this,
but they're prickling beneath the eyelids now.
(I need Jack's compass. Rawr)
I am losing everything.
My diary. C'mon, good Samaritan, don't fail me now!
My jacket. Cheez Luis (Tedoro), I needed that.
My app form. Who the hell took it? I'm certain I had it yesterday...
My mind (future rant coming).
Sana my heart din, pero no. Sad.
Chos.
I am losing everything.
My diary. C'mon, good Samaritan, don't fail me now!
My jacket. Cheez Luis (Tedoro), I needed that.
My app form. Who the hell took it? I'm certain I had it yesterday...
My mind (future rant coming).
Sana my heart din, pero no. Sad.
Chos.
my diary is missing.
my green, spiral diary, with the pretentious postulations, giddy fangirling, and whiny teenage (er, 20-year-old) bitching.
Dear Lord,
dear St. Anthony,
dear random tiny buggering elves,
HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP.
Post-script: ah, well--the most incriminating is in the pseudo-Arabic I've invented. Thank you, paranoia.
Post-post-script: Bloody hell, what's the last thing I wrote in that thing?
GOOD LUCK TO ME. SWEAR.
my green, spiral diary, with the pretentious postulations, giddy fangirling, and whiny teenage (er, 20-year-old) bitching.
Dear Lord,
dear St. Anthony,
dear random tiny buggering elves,
HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP.
Post-script: ah, well--the most incriminating is in the pseudo-Arabic I've invented. Thank you, paranoia.
Post-post-script: Bloody hell, what's the last thing I wrote in that thing?
GOOD LUCK TO ME. SWEAR.
Thing is, I'm starting to believe I'm in one.
Y'know, the kind of situational comedy featuring a random neurotic college girl and her crazy mixed-up life, all with their sagelike sisters and slightly crazy mothers, kooky friends, draaaamaaa, cute boys (that may or may not notice her), not-so-cute (that definitely do), and the hijinks she does to survive the day-to-day.
She may be pretty, she may be smart, she may be an unheralded combination of both, but ALWAYS, oh ALWAYS, the lady becomes the star witness and player in an earth-swallow-me-now moment, complete with canned laughter.
Normally, it involves boys.
There was that time I humiliated myself in front esteemed media practitioners (OMG, Cheche talked to me pala!). And that time I tripped and nearly fell in front of all the Mean Girls clique when I was visiting my friends in another college. My gaydar has failed many times, leading to either heartbreak or fag-hagdom. Then I've stalked and have been stalked, most peculiarly by 4th year fine arts students.
Anyway. Here goes another one.
So, I went training a few hours ago. It was fine. It was dandy. Ron and I were playing our second bout, crashing against each other as only people with no distance perception and a penchant for speed can. One lunge, and I feel my world suddenly shift.
I look down. huh.
my sole was hanging from my rubber shoes
Cue puns here. The Lord knows I did.
So for the next one and a half hours I stayed in Ultra I repeatedly checked for the driver in the pouring rain, stopping after every two steps to fix my foot. Furthermore, everyone from Coach to my driver laughed at me.
GAWDAMMIT! WHY DO THESE THINGS ALWAYS HAPPEN TO ME?
Y'know, the kind of situational comedy featuring a random neurotic college girl and her crazy mixed-up life, all with their sagelike sisters and slightly crazy mothers, kooky friends, draaaamaaa, cute boys (that may or may not notice her), not-so-cute (that definitely do), and the hijinks she does to survive the day-to-day.
She may be pretty, she may be smart, she may be an unheralded combination of both, but ALWAYS, oh ALWAYS, the lady becomes the star witness and player in an earth-swallow-me-now moment, complete with canned laughter.
Normally, it involves boys.
There was that time I humiliated myself in front esteemed media practitioners (OMG, Cheche talked to me pala!). And that time I tripped and nearly fell in front of all the Mean Girls clique when I was visiting my friends in another college. My gaydar has failed many times, leading to either heartbreak or fag-hagdom. Then I've stalked and have been stalked, most peculiarly by 4th year fine arts students.
Anyway. Here goes another one.
So, I went training a few hours ago. It was fine. It was dandy. Ron and I were playing our second bout, crashing against each other as only people with no distance perception and a penchant for speed can. One lunge, and I feel my world suddenly shift.
I look down. huh.
my sole was hanging from my rubber shoes
Cue puns here. The Lord knows I did.
So for the next one and a half hours I stayed in Ultra I repeatedly checked for the driver in the pouring rain, stopping after every two steps to fix my foot. Furthermore, everyone from Coach to my driver laughed at me.
GAWDAMMIT! WHY DO THESE THINGS ALWAYS HAPPEN TO ME?
Because people bursting into song in the MRT, in the middle of rush hour, would be so funny.
Because it would be neat to have Greek-slash-rock chorus trailing after you through the college halls.
Because it would be awesome to own a feather boa, maybe of a Whangdoodle.
Because it would mean I could dance, and sing, a feat in itself.
Because a hundred feats, or a split-second death, can be resolved in a three-minute song.
Because people can be as whimsical as they want without losing their 'coolness.'
And because maybe, just maybe, I could find Troo Luv.
Because it would be neat to have Greek-slash-rock chorus trailing after you through the college halls.
Because it would be awesome to own a feather boa, maybe of a Whangdoodle.
Because it would mean I could dance, and sing, a feat in itself.
Because a hundred feats, or a split-second death, can be resolved in a three-minute song.
Because people can be as whimsical as they want without losing their 'coolness.'
And because maybe, just maybe, I could find Troo Luv.
Grabe naman ang random rererealizations. They keep cropping up. Swweaar.
Take for instance training a week ago. I was the only female foilist, and a thought slammed into me. Besides my high school and my college (which, statistics show, have MUCH more Xs than Ys, and besides, most of the Ys are interested in other Ys. Bow.), I have more guy friends. Or rather, I get along with them more easily. My interests until the past few years have been categorized as more 'masculine' pursuits after all--war history; martial arts; video games; Star Wars; other science fiction and fantasy stories. And I bypassed that whole makeup-and-clothes-and-boyband phase.
And so in the middle of presiding I wail, "I'm a GUY!"
And then the guys go, yeah, we knew. Diba tibo ka nga?
GREAT.
And then I find THAT deliciously ironic, sociological (stereotypes! male-dominating society!) and homosexual (dude. That topic's been SETTLED already. I only do Thursdays, daaaahling) concerns aside. Because lately all sorts of vile verbal diarrhea have been flying out of my mouth.
I would like to issue a blanket apology for everyone who has been near me the past two weeks and prolly the next two ones. Geez, what the hell am I saying? Granted, Mass Comm humor is very sexual in nature, but I do believe even they are shocked by the 'hirits' coming almost instantaneously. 'Innuendo' is not quite cutting it.
TO WIT:
friendA: "FriendB, there's some pesto on your mouth."
me: "Why don't you go lick it?" (slams head down on arms, sabay sigaw sa canteen) I NEED A BOYFRIEND.
FriendC: (noticing the giggling idiots in the cafe) Gawd, it's like a soiree.
me: right. there's the high school soiree, and the gay soiree (the guys were awfully touchy feely with each other), and we're the lesbian date.
FriendC, me: !!!!
FriendC(again): (complains about a certain person, and then, sabay realization)
me: dude. you're in love with a male version of me.
FriendC, me: 0_o
FriendC, me: :)) honga.
FriendC, me: EW!
FriendC, me: !!!
Which, of course, means I am very, very repressed, and either need a drunken night of carousing or a retreat at that lovely convent house in Tagaytay.
No chance of doing either. DAMMIT.
Why all the energy? Kinda funny how 'agit' (Gem's favorite word of the week) and then how exhausted I could be. But it struck me when I attended the JVO Awards, and was forced to leave early, that it was SO worth it.
I LOVE JOURNALISM.
I took my favorite-but-kinda-terror prof again, and so far so good. I had a Saturday class so that I could get the best law lecturer. The org, wow, I'm loving our idealism and our refusal to be idle in issues.
Third time's the charm. Junior year's the year we make it big. :)
Take for instance training a week ago. I was the only female foilist, and a thought slammed into me. Besides my high school and my college (which, statistics show, have MUCH more Xs than Ys, and besides, most of the Ys are interested in other Ys. Bow.), I have more guy friends. Or rather, I get along with them more easily. My interests until the past few years have been categorized as more 'masculine' pursuits after all--war history; martial arts; video games; Star Wars; other science fiction and fantasy stories. And I bypassed that whole makeup-and-clothes-and-boyband phase.
And so in the middle of presiding I wail, "I'm a GUY!"
And then the guys go, yeah, we knew. Diba tibo ka nga?
GREAT.
And then I find THAT deliciously ironic, sociological (stereotypes! male-dominating society!) and homosexual (dude. That topic's been SETTLED already. I only do Thursdays, daaaahling) concerns aside. Because lately all sorts of vile verbal diarrhea have been flying out of my mouth.
I would like to issue a blanket apology for everyone who has been near me the past two weeks and prolly the next two ones. Geez, what the hell am I saying? Granted, Mass Comm humor is very sexual in nature, but I do believe even they are shocked by the 'hirits' coming almost instantaneously. 'Innuendo' is not quite cutting it.
TO WIT:
friendA: "FriendB, there's some pesto on your mouth."
me: "Why don't you go lick it?" (slams head down on arms, sabay sigaw sa canteen) I NEED A BOYFRIEND.
FriendC: (noticing the giggling idiots in the cafe) Gawd, it's like a soiree.
me: right. there's the high school soiree, and the gay soiree (the guys were awfully touchy feely with each other), and we're the lesbian date.
FriendC, me: !!!!
FriendC(again): (complains about a certain person, and then, sabay realization)
me: dude. you're in love with a male version of me.
FriendC, me: 0_o
FriendC, me: :)) honga.
FriendC, me: EW!
FriendC, me: !!!
Which, of course, means I am very, very repressed, and either need a drunken night of carousing or a retreat at that lovely convent house in Tagaytay.
No chance of doing either. DAMMIT.
Why all the energy? Kinda funny how 'agit' (Gem's favorite word of the week) and then how exhausted I could be. But it struck me when I attended the JVO Awards, and was forced to leave early, that it was SO worth it.
I LOVE JOURNALISM.
I took my favorite-but-kinda-terror prof again, and so far so good. I had a Saturday class so that I could get the best law lecturer. The org, wow, I'm loving our idealism and our refusal to be idle in issues.
Third time's the charm. Junior year's the year we make it big. :)
O, where art thou Tina Fey? Because, you know, I'm totally missin' Mean Girls.
Hem, hem.
Saturday:
I was both dreading and eagerly anticipating my Comm 120 (Media Law) class. See, prior to that I was fretting over which professor to take. The two good ones, well, BOTH my parents knew. In a chummy-chummy, who-knows-what-kind-of-treatment-i'll-ge
No such luck. As soon as Sir Khan called attendance, he spent a moment scrutinizing the class list. Then he handed me a class card with a sneaky smile, and an "I think I know you."
It was only when he mentioned a Libyan visa in his passport when talking about the problem with American airport control that it hit me--I was with him in that cruise.
SWEET LORD ALMIGHTY, what sort of things did I do on that trip?? It was the PANTS! OH NOOOO.
After that, I hitched a ride with Claire and went to Megamall to attend the toy convention. Sadly, my plans of going as Jem (sans Holograms and a pansy, two-timing guy) failed miserably as I don't own a pink wig. Don't look at me like that. You know I'm a tad off the rails.
Reg Tan and I stuffed ourselves with Sukiyaki in the food court, and later on with extremely caffeineted chocolate drinks. ZOMG, REG, I LOFF YOU! She gave me a book! And not just any paperback, but a hardcover, coffe table-type artsy text about advertising graphics. I was floored.
At the convention, I kind of went a little crazy. It's been a few years since I indulged in that kind of geeker joy, so like a tourist I gawked at the costumed (ugly) Jack Sparrow, took photographs with Stormtroopers, and bought cheap DVDs. It was great.
Oh, and Hana Jo Chua, I have a picture of your sister being interviewed by GMA. :D Just in case you want it.
Went home with Kuya (my brother, Mikki, and I were all there, with other people. Risa was the only one too cool to go. Ha, ha), tired, but pretty much happy.
Sunday
The first thing I did (well, after staring blankly into the ceiling) when I woke up was finally watch Final Fantasy: Advent Children. Cloud. Mmmm. Sephiroth. Mmmmmmm.
It would be kind of cool to have a chorus murmuring your name everytime you go crazy. Then again, 'Sephiroth' sounds much more ominous than 'Danielle.' Alas. Maybe my name should've been Alex, so I could dub myself the 'defender of mankind.'
Right.
Went to Imus. Novena.
For Mikki's pseudo-bday dinner, we ate at the Fort (Cafe Puccini). Lo and behold, there just one foot away from me, was Sam Milby. And I had no camera. DAMMIT!
Oh, and Anne Curtis was there too, but I don't care about her.
Anyway, it figures that my family didn't know him. As for me, I was too busy having Samaskom Live Aids flashbacks, and giggling (inwardly, since Sam and I were directly facing each other, and he caught me looking at him a couple of times) at the thought of Sam as the Ibon Adarna.
I know, I know. I'm from Mass Comm, therefore, I should've at least asked for their autographs. Come on. Classy resto. I don't THINK so.
Whapang.
Hem, hem.
Saturday:
I was both dreading and eagerly anticipating my Comm 120 (Media Law) class. See, prior to that I was fretting over which professor to take. The two good ones, well, BOTH my parents knew. In a chummy-chummy, who-knows-what-kind-of-treatment-i'll-ge
No such luck. As soon as Sir Khan called attendance, he spent a moment scrutinizing the class list. Then he handed me a class card with a sneaky smile, and an "I think I know you."
It was only when he mentioned a Libyan visa in his passport when talking about the problem with American airport control that it hit me--I was with him in that cruise.
SWEET LORD ALMIGHTY, what sort of things did I do on that trip?? It was the PANTS! OH NOOOO.
After that, I hitched a ride with Claire and went to Megamall to attend the toy convention. Sadly, my plans of going as Jem (sans Holograms and a pansy, two-timing guy) failed miserably as I don't own a pink wig. Don't look at me like that. You know I'm a tad off the rails.
Reg Tan and I stuffed ourselves with Sukiyaki in the food court, and later on with extremely caffeineted chocolate drinks. ZOMG, REG, I LOFF YOU! She gave me a book! And not just any paperback, but a hardcover, coffe table-type artsy text about advertising graphics. I was floored.
At the convention, I kind of went a little crazy. It's been a few years since I indulged in that kind of geeker joy, so like a tourist I gawked at the costumed (ugly) Jack Sparrow, took photographs with Stormtroopers, and bought cheap DVDs. It was great.
Oh, and Hana Jo Chua, I have a picture of your sister being interviewed by GMA. :D Just in case you want it.
Went home with Kuya (my brother, Mikki, and I were all there, with other people. Risa was the only one too cool to go. Ha, ha), tired, but pretty much happy.
Sunday
The first thing I did (well, after staring blankly into the ceiling) when I woke up was finally watch Final Fantasy: Advent Children. Cloud. Mmmm. Sephiroth. Mmmmmmm.
It would be kind of cool to have a chorus murmuring your name everytime you go crazy. Then again, 'Sephiroth' sounds much more ominous than 'Danielle.' Alas. Maybe my name should've been Alex, so I could dub myself the 'defender of mankind.'
Right.
Went to Imus. Novena.
For Mikki's pseudo-bday dinner, we ate at the Fort (Cafe Puccini). Lo and behold, there just one foot away from me, was Sam Milby. And I had no camera. DAMMIT!
Oh, and Anne Curtis was there too, but I don't care about her.
Anyway, it figures that my family didn't know him. As for me, I was too busy having Samaskom Live Aids flashbacks, and giggling (inwardly, since Sam and I were directly facing each other, and he caught me looking at him a couple of times) at the thought of Sam as the Ibon Adarna.
I know, I know. I'm from Mass Comm, therefore, I should've at least asked for their autographs. Come on. Classy resto. I don't THINK so.
Whapang.
Thank you, everyone who greeted me on my birthday.
Two decades already. Egad.
Two decades already. Egad.
From Penny's blog:
No sir, we were there for the sake of each other's company--chismis and get-together blues!
But it didn't come out to be that simple, because they don't know the context of what you've gone through for the past few years. And they would somehow like to keep the memories--good and awful ones. Then they base their judgements from those memories into telling you what you've become now. How unfortunate.
You will always be the bloke even if you've changed. You will always be the school clown even if only they knew how much you wanted to be serious all along. You will always be the miss perfect even of you aren't. Ah, high school.
I like changes. For one thing, I like to change my clothes. They tend to smell, after a while. I like changing the channel, changing the tone of the song (as many here can attest to). And I like loose change--perfect for jeepney fare.
On a more serious note, Omnia mutantur. Everything changes. I can wax rhapsodic about life, how wonderful and terrible (Biblically speaking) it is for cleansing floods to come crashing into your path. I can go all scientific and say evolution must occur. But, basically, I revel in changes, revel in how my life journey is taking twists and turns.
I can say for certain I'm a little wiser, a little stronger now, if only a tad more. Looking back, I love how I've adapted to my shifting environment, grown thicker skin.
It seems a little sad, however, to see acquaintances floundering, refusing to change. And by change, I don't mean completely altering who you are to cater to the majority, but merely learning to work within your new setting.
And now, when the dust settles, I must learn to adapt to this new development, to accept it and move on.
~~~
This birthday is going to SUCK, man. :)) Only BFFCamille/Jordy/Vella, and possibly Claire know all the reasons.
Gawdammit, get me drunk. It'll amuse you, if nothing else.
No sir, we were there for the sake of each other's company--chismis and get-together blues!
But it didn't come out to be that simple, because they don't know the context of what you've gone through for the past few years. And they would somehow like to keep the memories--good and awful ones. Then they base their judgements from those memories into telling you what you've become now. How unfortunate.
You will always be the bloke even if you've changed. You will always be the school clown even if only they knew how much you wanted to be serious all along. You will always be the miss perfect even of you aren't. Ah, high school.
I like changes. For one thing, I like to change my clothes. They tend to smell, after a while. I like changing the channel, changing the tone of the song (as many here can attest to). And I like loose change--perfect for jeepney fare.
On a more serious note, Omnia mutantur. Everything changes. I can wax rhapsodic about life, how wonderful and terrible (Biblically speaking) it is for cleansing floods to come crashing into your path. I can go all scientific and say evolution must occur. But, basically, I revel in changes, revel in how my life journey is taking twists and turns.
I can say for certain I'm a little wiser, a little stronger now, if only a tad more. Looking back, I love how I've adapted to my shifting environment, grown thicker skin.
It seems a little sad, however, to see acquaintances floundering, refusing to change. And by change, I don't mean completely altering who you are to cater to the majority, but merely learning to work within your new setting.
And now, when the dust settles, I must learn to adapt to this new development, to accept it and move on.
~~~
This birthday is going to SUCK, man. :)) Only BFFCamille/Jordy/Vella, and possibly Claire know all the reasons.
Gawdammit, get me drunk. It'll amuse you, if nothing else.
devastated
(I don't expect anyone but Reggie and Mimi, and quite possibly my sister, to react to this. If you do, you're a Star Wars geek. :P Hahaha)
Okay. Being the utter Dork Jedi that I am, I have spent the entire day marathoning the Star Wars movies on Star movies.
Sniggering at the inside jokes and muttering at Hayden Christiensen's lack of the Force (theatrically speaking) aside, man, this was golden. The originals brought tears to my eyes, and say what you will about episodes 1-3, but they had pretty CGI.
And then, I made the mistake of checking out the Star Wars Wiki.
Ohdeargodinheavenpleaselordhuwagsanapara
JACEN HAS A KID? STARTS A WAR? GETS DISOWNED BY HAN? BECOMES A SITH? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
MARA JADE DIES???
JAINA NEVER, EVER GETS A HAPPY ENDING? GAWDAMMIT!
And, yeah, the wookie and the Anakin Jr.'s dead. But I already knew that. It doesn't become any less painful, but I've had years to soften the blow.
C'mon, who wants to kill the authors with me? It'll be great. We can use lightsabers, and 'Yuzhaan Vong' their asses.
Mad.
Okay. Being the utter Dork Jedi that I am, I have spent the entire day marathoning the Star Wars movies on Star movies.
Sniggering at the inside jokes and muttering at Hayden Christiensen's lack of the Force (theatrically speaking) aside, man, this was golden. The originals brought tears to my eyes, and say what you will about episodes 1-3, but they had pretty CGI.
And then, I made the mistake of checking out the Star Wars Wiki.
Ohdeargodinheavenpleaselordhuwagsanapara
JACEN HAS A KID? STARTS A WAR? GETS DISOWNED BY HAN? BECOMES A SITH? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
MARA JADE DIES???
JAINA NEVER, EVER GETS A HAPPY ENDING? GAWDAMMIT!
And, yeah, the wookie and the Anakin Jr.'s dead. But I already knew that. It doesn't become any less painful, but I've had years to soften the blow.
C'mon, who wants to kill the authors with me? It'll be great. We can use lightsabers, and 'Yuzhaan Vong' their asses.
Mad.
Sometimes, I wonder if there's any point to continuing this (these) blogs.
My purpose was to share my thoughts with anyone who will hear them. Later, when I was 'found out,' blogging became my tool for showing my friends my life, particularly those who are now in different universities in places beyond my reach. Blogging was also to vent out my frustrations, to ask for advice, anything, everything.
But the people who I originally created this blog for never bother to check, anyway. At the risk of sounding like a petulant little girl (chalk it up to the last act of teenage rebellion), it hurt that I tried to share what was happening to me, and to keep up with them, only for my effort to go to waste.
Then, of course, it's harder to actually vent when it comes to the more important things. It's always a decision whether to keep vague and sound like a dramatic, whiny bitch, or to say it all straight and risk offending all and sundry, or go in between and get both effects anyway, or to keep mum and just let one facet of my personality peek through--the shiny!happy!weird!Dana. I'm so TIRED of being leery of being branded 'emo,' and it looks like my blog will never be a perfect avenue for my struggling with weight/depression/country issues.
So, I wonder now if I should just shut these down, and confine my thoughts to spiral bound notebooks to be read post-mortem.
~~~
I wonder, sometimes.
Today I took out my paints, my easel, and began painting again after months of no drawing or coloring. I sat on the balcony, surrounded by Mom's flowerpots, and looked into the sky and was amazed by the beauty of life.
I've been listening to beautiful things lately. Samson, by Regina Spektor, A Sorta Fairytale by Tori Amos, even Adagio Pour Cordes, Bernstein century, by Samuel Barber. They're so haunting and lovely, heartbreakingly so.
Sometimes, I wonder why noone else seems to share the wonder about the world. Is it because they're afraid of being branded 'weird'? Or is everyone too downtrodden by the day-to-dailyness of life?
~~~
This coming week, I wonder if anyone will even remember.
I miss him. It's not going to be the same.
My purpose was to share my thoughts with anyone who will hear them. Later, when I was 'found out,' blogging became my tool for showing my friends my life, particularly those who are now in different universities in places beyond my reach. Blogging was also to vent out my frustrations, to ask for advice, anything, everything.
But the people who I originally created this blog for never bother to check, anyway. At the risk of sounding like a petulant little girl (chalk it up to the last act of teenage rebellion), it hurt that I tried to share what was happening to me, and to keep up with them, only for my effort to go to waste.
Then, of course, it's harder to actually vent when it comes to the more important things. It's always a decision whether to keep vague and sound like a dramatic, whiny bitch, or to say it all straight and risk offending all and sundry, or go in between and get both effects anyway, or to keep mum and just let one facet of my personality peek through--the shiny!happy!weird!Dana. I'm so TIRED of being leery of being branded 'emo,' and it looks like my blog will never be a perfect avenue for my struggling with weight/depression/country issues.
So, I wonder now if I should just shut these down, and confine my thoughts to spiral bound notebooks to be read post-mortem.
~~~
I wonder, sometimes.
Today I took out my paints, my easel, and began painting again after months of no drawing or coloring. I sat on the balcony, surrounded by Mom's flowerpots, and looked into the sky and was amazed by the beauty of life.
I've been listening to beautiful things lately. Samson, by Regina Spektor, A Sorta Fairytale by Tori Amos, even Adagio Pour Cordes, Bernstein century, by Samuel Barber. They're so haunting and lovely, heartbreakingly so.
Sometimes, I wonder why noone else seems to share the wonder about the world. Is it because they're afraid of being branded 'weird'? Or is everyone too downtrodden by the day-to-dailyness of life?
~~~
This coming week, I wonder if anyone will even remember.
I miss him. It's not going to be the same.
IF you feel as if your world is turned on its side,
And friends' words pierce keener than the sharpest blades,
And you dance on the whirlpool's edge with every gasp of breath,
And strive to survive in a land of barbarians
And exist in a realm of silvertongued fay,
And learn blood is no less thicker than water,
And beliefs, no earthlier than blood--
Laugh your swansong with your broken dreamer gaze,
Wear your three masks.
A woman lies waiting at road's end.
™Danielle Crisostomo
~~
I doubt anyone who will know will read this. I doubt those who do will care. Still, for what it's worth, I've made my soul known. Blink at it, scoff, sneer, belittle it, put it down as drama, but don't say I didn't warn you.
Goodnight, and good luck.
And friends' words pierce keener than the sharpest blades,
And you dance on the whirlpool's edge with every gasp of breath,
And strive to survive in a land of barbarians
And exist in a realm of silvertongued fay,
And learn blood is no less thicker than water,
And beliefs, no earthlier than blood--
Laugh your swansong with your broken dreamer gaze,
Wear your three masks.
A woman lies waiting at road's end.
™Danielle Crisostomo
~~
I doubt anyone who will know will read this. I doubt those who do will care. Still, for what it's worth, I've made my soul known. Blink at it, scoff, sneer, belittle it, put it down as drama, but don't say I didn't warn you.
Goodnight, and good luck.