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Friday, August 31, 2007
Steamy, esteem.

My own thoughts and insecurities leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. It is an indescribable bitterness that even lola, with all her experiences as a town-proclaimed guru, have failed to explain. I once pictured this bitterness as a growing lump in my mouth and every time I speak lowly of myself, it escalates ten folds. Of course, after years of low self-esteemed speeches, the disease would have ruled my mouth and I wouldn't been able to verbalize all the demented reservations smoldering in my head. It wouldn't be that bad, I thought. Although I soon then realized, my brain, the source of everything ingenious --naughty thoughts and insecurities--will approach memory full and rupture from overflowing malignant disease.

How hard it is to accept oneself completely and live an insecurity-free life? What if every time we feel like shit, we (think we) look like shit, and think we are shitty (all together) we magically turn into hapless, helpless, turds (and become shits completely)? The wikihow articles didn't nail it; other sites fell completely short...so how do we really improve ones low-self Esteem? The pessimistic says, "Kill all the beautiful people. They make me look miserable!" The optimistic disagree "Oh, its all about peace, love, and happiness. If you think you're a gorgeous individual, the rest will follow." But is it really? Do we really need to decieve ourselves and be self-absorbed ignorants and think "Yes! I am the most beautiful human on earth"?

Which presents me to my next case, where 50% of females in the planet do not know the difference between confidence and being a stuck up, shallow bitch. There is nothing wrong with thinking that one is good-looking and lives a wonderful life. However, it is a tad bit different when one thinks she is being hated because others are jealous of her obvious beauty and her dad being a pilot (example). That's living in a delusional world...and of course, nobody really wants one braggart, stupid chick who cannot get her grammar straightened up and still don't get IT: people hates her because she is self-absorbed, she is full of shit, and full of wrong grammar blabberings but does she realize this? No, oh fucking no.

Where does this leaves anyone, really? Say, have confidence but not overtly too obvious. Quizzical blogging is confusing and well here it is:

"Do you wish people to think well of you? Don't speak well of yourself."--I.forgot.who.

Disclaimer: the girl described in this entry can be a fictional character but they do exist, unfortunately.

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My mind's unweaving/ 8:42 PM

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Memory #2

Loaded with a 200 peso load in my cellphone, I was excited to ring up Cly_de and surprised him with a great big "Hellooo." I had to leave my town that day, waiting for the bus to arrive and thinking through the summer gone by--pages of vague pictures in my head, the laughters, and the goodbyes. A calming jolt occured and the electrifying buzz that the mobile phone provided me afterwards disturbed my musings; I found a reply from him. "Hey ate!! Omgha, where are you? Who are you with!? ..." exclaimed the ever delighted Cly_de with his never-ending questions. It was wonderful to hear from him again after a month of often disconnected messages and "I hope you're doing fines", alas, a discovered common ground: his flip phone, my new motorola L2VR.

We talked long, and long gone my loaded phone. After 5 hours of exchange text messages and its spelling quirks, my phone reached his maximum capacity and left me with nothing but bootless technology. Low battery and not a single peso left to enjoy the momentary akimbo, I broke away and diverted myself to the acres of farms, the torpid people along side roads and the swaying coconut trees which provided utmost entertainment. Excitement escalated all over me upon witnessing seemingly yet another nature trip; I've always love traveling and the exhillerating, winding views my surroundings offer captured my attention years ago, before I even had my first gag experience going to Bagiuo.

For so many years of traveling along curving roads and elevated freeways, I was proud to tell my family, who witnessed me go through so many sickening trips, that I am so used to riding in the backseat and trying not to break my numbing head completely from all the car motions. Its amazing how years of being in a country where the main transportation is by car, can do. I can now truly say I am one hardcore bitch, regarding sitting down in a moving car, letting my hair fly everywhere, and enjoying the breeze that's hitting my face, that is. But however tough I want myself to be when it comes to a long drive to god knows where, my patience have had its gruelling tests that often resulted to hateful whines, mind-blowing boredoms, and nail-biting frenzies--I cannot sit still! And thus, my impatience during long trips developed me into a keen observer. Unlike many people who would rather read a magazine, sleep, or complete a whole easy edition of a sudoku book because "they have seen all of it", I, however, prop myself to the window sill and lull over the spreading, ceaseless, beauty that lie within beautiful sceneries, naked people taking baths on rivers...dryed out California mountain ranges, houses, coastal highways..etc.

My sister asked (so many times this summer) why I never sleep during trips. I never told her and of course she never knew that I don't want to miss any single detail from a free viewing of God's bestest gift: nature.

Completely random piece of information:
I'm in ESL 3 next sem. whatthe$#@%?

him? her? I hate the english language completely. Grammar errors too? Eff you.

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My mind's unweaving/ 4:09 PM

Sunday, August 26, 2007

She felt a tug of confidence under her sleeves. It was as if she had grown 10 inches taller--everything seemed small or rather just perfect for her size. LAX, where it looked collosal ages ago then stood nothing awe-amazing but only structured weary, ambigous faces, and definitely excitements from all sorts of races like pack-sardines: there were (but not limited to) Spaniards, Americans, Filipinos--Europeans. With all the suitcases and boxes embarking upon the small scaled lobby of Bradley International airport, the once uniformed aisles of check in portals had distort itself from all the perplexed questions from passengers; and all the yelling on top of the other caused a tremendous amount of induced, an annoying reverberating echoes in anyone's ear drums.

About an hour earlier, Anna, sat side-by-side with her mother in a never-ending muteness, only an inch distance, but it seemed like they were both miles away from each other. Rushes of blood both compounded their heads: Mrs. Guitterez lost in thoughts of the breakdown earlier and Anna just wanting to get away from her mom for a little while and thought a month of vacation is all that she needed then. Of course, the summer ahead have kept Anna guessing for all the possibilities that will happen in a country almost became so foreign to her. The holiday was an immidiate decision for her side. There weren't no planning ahead, no buying goodies...password books to keep her company in an 11-hour flight. Just packed her suitcases the day after, and long after the drama, farewells from her divine friends, and her 30-minute infatuation for that rocker dude in the coach bus, she aboarded a flight going to Manila and gone for good.

"Hasta la vista..." she said quietly, smiling and looking down the Californian lights that almost seemed like stars, milky way...Christmas.

*wrote it under my mosquito nets, the first time i got to my hometown. *

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My mind's unweaving/ 6:57 AM

Saturday, August 25, 2007
Back and Over it.

Reality for the first three days (or even a whole month, oh fine, forever!) of coming back from a very long dream-like vacation is not fun AT ALL. There goes the thick clump of bills to be payed off, the drama between you and your friends, families, and or coworkers have not subsided yet with all the magical cruises and free getaways in the white sands of the Carribean (darn it, right?), and oh, you can also count on going back to a 50 hour week loaded with another group of rude, prude, annoying customers and their babies who mess up in isle 7, or just going back to being a prisoner at school is a hassle.

I had me a dose of my own reality right after I unboarded PAL 103 back in California. Its nice service, good choice of movies, tasty, non-fat (I hope!) dinners, and cozy sits have gotten me wanting for more of such lifestyle. You know, a sweet life with maids cooking and cleaning after you, no real problems, except stepping on chewed gums, to worry about, and an over abundance of tender, loving care from your family. Ironically, I call my 4-week holiday in the Philippines surreal with everything I wanted already there. Aside from the love and hospitality my growing family have provided me, I, all over again fell in love with the simple farm life, I used to have. Living miles away in a remote town with not a phone line or internet to keep me tech-inclined, I wandered through blurry TV channels, and dusty cassette tapes from 20 years ago. And even that was the case (back to "Old Skool"), I did not miss one bit of my dull, deafning silence, life here in LA.

The reality here is that, I am married to a working-class family: my mom works all day & night, my bro works harder all day & night. Thus, when nobody's around, I abruptly miss loud noises (any kind of noise)-- from my nieces and nephew, the "auuunnntttyyy'ss!! and plllssssss." they squabble about when I fail to give them what they want. The slightly bickering conversations between my sisters and I. My grandma's wise words "Do you have a boyfriend? No. No. Don't get pregnant and marry soon" and all the vague lessons from my dad "Don't do anything stupid". I have had another taste of our loud, disfunctioned lives this summer; and it maybe so disfunctional and chaotic, but it was all the merrier to hear the voices that once surrounded and ruled my life, again.

After noticing (and going ballistic soon after) a drastic change in my room, my bed positioned somewhere else, devirginized letters under my bed, pictures of unnotable people posted in my picture wall , I realized that there won't be any maids cleaning for me, ruthlessly washing my clothes with mighty force, or even a great cook to feed me with sinigang, igado, tinola...ever again. I found out hiring a maid is so unnecessary for my oldest sister to do although after a week of getting use to all the easy tasks I had to do (not doing anything at all!!! Except be a great aunty, and converse with people, which, i'm very fond of doing, thank you very much), I gave in and thought it was not bad at all. However, such lifestyle have kept me whining for a good amount of time after I got back to an empty refrigerator and not a single filipino food to eat around the house, that is. I actually rang my friends after waking up around 4 in the afternoon or earlier everyday and tell them how bad I'm having it...I.HATED.REALITY.


My mind's unweaving/ 6:54 PM


Warning: This personal blog can be fatal to your health; read responsibly. Fasten seatbelt when doing so.

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Tis written unlike no other in my attempt for creativity. Here, you'll find *fragmented fictional and real stories that are relevant to my life in some ways. I don't enumerate things that happens to me everyday nor do i purposely rant about lame, stupid "teenage" cliches. My entries are from memory, past experiences, reviews (food, book, movie) and my opinions on current issues--and no, no politics whatsoever. Grammatically incorrect to a degree but nothing that can make you squirm (or so I hope not).

P.S. Put in mind that I'm a scrumptious-looking cupcake and you know you can never, EVER, resist me...so no hating or you'll never get to eat "us" again! lol

an AA

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