Tangled Up in Words

2008-10-14T00:42:00.001-07:00

So I guess when everything's all done... I will be sleeping in for a while, taking it easy... eating homemade salsa and chips... yadda yadda yadda. Until then though, I'm stuck with a pile of shit I really don't know where to put. After quite some time I realize how dreadful I am with packing. I should of listened to that tiny voice inside my head... or my mother's nagging and started going through my closet 2 weeks ago. But California was sweet, friends were even sweeter, and there was nothing I could do than do what I do best, bask into some adventures, some tete-a-tetes, and of course, running around like the wonderful idiot that I am at the PP. Now, I suffer the consequences. Now, I won't be able to plan out a going away dinner because I am way too busy burning my music and saving pictures and spending somewhat long minutes at my dentist. To top that off with, I am also destructed being sad as if life for me is ending. I thought I wanted this. Well, I do so very much. However, I will miss all the people who made it to a very exciting chapter in my life. California will be unforgettable; I guess now, another one awaits for me in the middle.

Until then, the pile`o shit in my bed, in the floor, everywhere...first.

2008-10-02T22:50:00.000-07:00

Eve-rything.

My voice is louder than his, and I know, if I keep it up any longer than I already have, all the sinners in hell will gleefully rejoice upon my feet while the godliness of heaven will frown upon me like I am the Saddam Hussein of my time. But... he, the once nice man who gave me chocolate to munch on every Friday for the past 2 years, has turned, went behind my back about 10 minutes or so ago, and ruthlessly stab me in the back. After such humanistic deliberation, I have lost respect for him, which brings all the invisible audience of this great New Year's Eve surprise of such peculiar noise which gracefully overlays the suppose happy festivity.

As loud as my voice can get, I can only hear me--meek, hands shaking out of anguish. The mother who I thought would have stood up for me, sits at her glorious kitchen table, head shaking, agreeing to what this man is wrongfully accusing me of. A complete stranger, she takes his argument. I am wounded now; I thought 5 minutes ago I would be able to save myself from drowning... but because above anything else, her translucent power can weaken me even more, I am struggling to keep my head above water. This New Year's eve has collapsed like the twin tower; if only banging the front door so loud will shaken and awaken all those unsupportive souls that my family upholds, I will do so--thrice even. I am out in the door and I feel like my expected year 2008 is cursed forever. My friends cheer me up but being brought up to the reality of this night, it makes me feel worst knowing my friends are suffering to, with weak knees and some gnarling bellies full of cold, California air... we are walking out in these dangerous streets of nothing but awkward silence amongst us.

We have been quiet for sometime now. The only noise that can be heard are the fireworks indicating buoyancy from far-away celebrations (not where we are, anyway) and the winds whistle as they try to pester our expose skin. I am debating to myself whether to apologize when I already do unconsciously. Nobody replies; just the tick-tock of our steps and the bells ringing from the nearby church which indicates the strike of midnight...of new year. I wish that what this is... what happened tonight will not commence to the future months. Other people can be so superstitious that it tends to affect my security of what the world is all about. I know I will not have terrible nights like this forever. To make sure however (because no one is for certain how life is for anybody), I wish my days will be better than running away from the home life that have constantly troubled me inside.

If there is anyone that's making this night right, is him... who is currently...after all that has happened tonight, making me somewhat happy.

---
I feel as if New Year's Eve is ages ago. I feel as if he, who shall remain nameless now, had intruded in my life and left nasty foot marks... about ages ago too. But it haven't been; it has only been 10 months ago that all my of confusements abound my inexperience mind. All the rights and the wrongs only happened this year... and when I thought it was going to be just another of this... it hasn't been. Life as I know started off center stage when he barge into my life unannounced...

And looking back now, I ask myself... "Who would have thought?"

2008-09-29T23:51:00.000-07:00

Growing Up

One day sometime the past two years, a friend of mine insisted that I listen to the song Vienna by Billy Joel. Ever since then, not only the lyrics stuck to me like ignored gum under my shoe but it also made me dependent to it like maryjane and a crackhead. For the past two years, I have actually stood by the ideals this song: slowing down and taking things to their own accords until well, my 19th birthday this month. It just as if the music died and I finally faced the reality of what's lacking in my life; mainly courage although it becomes obvious now that I do want to meet the grown version of me some place else outside my room, beyond the 6900 streets, and to utmost extent, beyond California.

I am doing what the opposite of what the song is all about as if the cursed has been broken. It is not to say my life has always been defined by it, however. I went all out to being some type of crazy and that to me is out of my nature. And so that Wednesday night, I have gotten all my courage in check and decided that for my 19th birthday, I'll take everything to the next stage. I reasoned... its what I'll do for myself...for turning 19, that is. At first, it sounded as if I was trying to be a full pledge adult and that I have been in the planet for longer than anyone have been. I channeled all that was needed to be so, all the guts... all the words that were right in my head at that time, but didn't really come out as planned, as I marched downstairs to face my mother. One thing about her is that, she will never be the person you want to have deep conversations with about life, not my life, anyway. So, it was really hard for me to sit there in the dining table muttering to myself... heart about to get ripped off my chest and when I started to say anything at all, the words fell short.

Just like the mother that she'd always been, you know... always jumping to conclusions and never really have time to listen to my propositions because she's rather busy or have to go to work, she asked "Are you pregnant?" at first. At that time, it seem as if I was about to tell her something life altering... well my decision is life altering for the most but not to the extent of me having a baby so soon. I went back and fort to my biggest argument "this is not to disrespect you" at some point there but I managed to let her know of my decision with some tears... and shaky voice.

To most parents, children moving out is a very good step to cultivate their problem solving skills. They get to own up to responsibilities and are expected to handle problems with all the knowledge that has been given all through out their lives. To my mom however, it is a poor choice. For one, she said, I am not yet a young adult. Her second reason was just offending and is misguided. She'd gone as far as saying "your not responsible, just take a look at your room". I went ahead to tell her then that my disorganization does not speak to how my outlook in life has drastically change for the past 6 years that I have been here.

And so I brought the song Vienna back, for the second time. Vienna for me never meant the actual place but with some drastic changes and choices in my life, it became this new chapter I'm waiting to conquer on. And without further due of all its about,I am moving out in a new state, a new house/apartment with new people to meet and old ones to be with... by October 18th. Ironically, I have good mixed emotions about it. I am excited to be in a place that I am oblivious of but at the same time scared that it might turn out to be not-so good of a choice after all. Ironic because I never really like change--not moving away anyway to a different location all-together.

I will miss this place I now call my second home but I do believe more wonderful things await for me in the middle. And with the goodness of the lord, I know he'll guide me in the right path.

(photo by me: at Columbus, Kansas)

2008-09-26T00:00:00.001-07:00

In Memoriam.
(A dramatist perspective on something mundane)

Why did you have to leave me like that? Unannounced? Spur of the moment? I guess that had always been your nature.

Yes, we've always had our love-hate relationship but my love for you weighed more than the hate that consciously troubled me on my shallow mentality. Honestly, my heart skipped the moment I first saw you, about 3 years ago. You gleamed like my future and I knew...or I thought I know we would be together if it wasn't forever, for at least, years to come. But why did "us" end so soon? Don't you remember those adventurous days we spent in the streets of Los Angeles? Where most days, we would be face to face and I felt you capture the soul of my being? Don't you remember? I sit here and wish everything is still light-weight. Without you, I am bog down with all that's literally heavy and complicated. And I realize how I missed you now. I missed the main reason which made me the photographer that I am today. We were inseparable and although this new fling I am having with the other is seemingly going well, I've yearned for you--your easygoing attitude: just a snap of 0.01 shutter and bam!

So this time I ask, how do you do and why from one of the most romantic sunsets we've both graced upon, you had to leave, me, of all people, there, as if a part of my heart had melted away like chocolate in my pocket during a toasty summer day? I was uncomfortable... almost awkward to the point of crying in front of David! In front of David? Could you imagine!? Just in case you're wondering, the sunset lingered in front of me, casting its sympathy through my probably melancholic face of anger and disbelief. Hues of purple and orange was reflected through the Pacific water looking like satin nonetheless and I... I sat there with my butt against the sand wishing you could have seen it with me. I was nostalgic, I could have sworn all the good times we've had flashed back against the ever-changing summertime sky as if being shown the wild wild west movies style; the dusk winds gave me goosebumps and soon then after, I was out of plans on how to get you back.

I have to admit, I failed to win you back. Just the fact that you closed your soul from me without any warning, left me dumbfounded, selfish, and hurt. I never pictured losing you at Venice, California, one of the places I feel comfortable in, with its artists, the self-proclaimed gurus, and budding street performers. Since I am most people who always need closure, I want to let you now (until its way too late to do so) how much I've appreciated having you in my life, even from a very short amount of time. Losing you helped me learn how to easily move on about negative trivial life moments and things that appear to slow me down. This is actually my clamor for the question that has been left unanswered for almost 4 months now: why did you had to go psycho tech on me?

If you can't answer right away, which, I supposed you wouldn't my dearest camera, I understand. You should know I clutched on to the tiny grains of sands and hoped you'd come back to life. But hoping without action doesn't really get anyone far from life. I was sad to see the beautiful sunset hid against the California mountains... I thought I wouldn't see dawn again with the events followed before, you were the icing on the cake and oh, how nagging did that make me feel like.

At that moment, having you with your lens shut off unstoppably was not for the best. I could see now what many people told me then, however. And if I didn't lose you, I actually would have not realized I deserve better. I just wished I wrote this 4 months ago when you actually mattered in my life.

Anyway, thank you. Our memories together will be carried on in all the pictures I've taken with your 7.1 mega pixels. I owe you all the pretty things, all the beautiful faces, and somewhat amazing landscapes portraits captured, hidden under piles of photos...I owe you. If I will be a household name someday, I will tell everybody I will come across with that I started my photography career with you. So my ex-camera, hang tight inside that Christmas box. I will have a good use of you someday... maybe in a collage... in a box frame... you never know.

R.I.P.
Olympus 710
September 18, 2006-June (??), 2008

"You never know what you have until its gone."

Photo: my butchered camera, thanks to my amazing, destructive better yet, hands.

2008-09-26T00:00:00.000-07:00

-Untitled-

He was standing there.
She was walking, in the phone, talking.
He looked nervous, wide-eyed.
Her heart thumped like never before.
And from some magical force that bounded in the centre of their love,
they were magnetised, hands spread, after, tight hug.
He talked.
She talked.
They talked.
And both hoped for the rest of their life story to unfold.
Someday, in a porch over looking a body of water of some sort,
they will talk again, this time about the rest of their lives...
Of the what have happened and how one love, so strong!
Possibility of the impossible yet the questions are confusing...
Nobody really knows because uncertainty abounds
in this great journey of life and love.

2008-09-15T01:46:00.000-07:00

Coming back here, with password still intact in the depths of my worries and thoughts, I've realized that my mind has not changed one bit. This "mind" I constantly mark as my sole property has wondered by itself and collected even more dusts, causing somewhat an unexplainable blur to my already indecisive self. I've done a lot of soul searching this summer, yet, I only found two pennies on the ground, I found out that my life goes on with or without my best friend...I had someone steal my heart, but where was / am i? I am in the middle of Pacific Ocean, somewhere in the meridian, trying to paddle as fast as I can before the winter season commence. And you know what else? I BETTER DO IT FAST.

I was hoping I'd be back here sooner than this but I've been preoccupied by other matters in my life--either minuscule and/or extensive. Yes, yes, I have grown; my body hasn't changed (still flat-chested and hips...cannot lie, whether it be because of its nonexistence) but I think my path of thinking altered a little bit. I no longer abhor the underlying context of politics, my photos (for photography) are said to be leaning towards "adventure" these days and my eyes were open further to human relationships. Although I was disappointed to bid goodbye to a "best friend forever" prospect, I am happy to say...I found LOVE in exchange. :)

My point is... I think... I AM BACK. Take this as an invitation for numerous...mondos amounts of coffee breaks on numerous morning, afternoon or evenings. I've been holding back way too long and maybe over some imaginary cheese danishes... you'll come sit right back and offer your company again.

-Hoping for a new Beginning.

2008-07-21T00:02:00.000-07:00

Figment #1

I could not resist the temptation of opening those drawer slots. In the tips of my fingers, I knew, without immense force, I would be able to open them one by one. I looked around the room as if i have not inhabited the tiny space for fourteen years--yet I have not. The faded country green paint that the painters patiently brushed against the rough walls the summer of '96 started to peel off, which reminded me I've been gone for too long. My smell already blended in with the succession of the seasons and vintage through out the years. Drawn pictures of houses remained pasted; it seemed as if they were fading away as well, along with the cheap, hardware pigments. I was glad to be back yet nothing seemed to have stayed the same. The same story goes outside of those four walls. My grandmother, the woman who was there, strong like a bamboo plant, not swayed by much of anything, has aged drastically; I had to talked loudly and stayed to her close-by as I thought to myself "at least she still remembers me". The once artistically tended garden in the front yard rottened like no one had cared. The town altered, right before my eyes, so small and lifeless, where neighbors kept to themselves, and dogs stopped barking. It was not at all negative, however; I guess I was looking for reasons not to stay. I was mulling over bitter thoughts of the place which sheltered me until I was fourteen. I didn't like the idea that the stimuli of the people I loved, the places I used to ride my cousin's bike to... had moved on--with or without me.

Everything is changing. I am missing. People are moving. I remain nostalgic and I write.

2008-06-23T18:04:00.000-07:00

"Welcome Back"

If i was able to grow beard and matching side burns to go along, I would have had. But I couldn't; I palpitated by the sight of aggresive people fetching their baggages, squeezing their grown bodies into mine, a somewhat indication that I was still insubstantial (or looked like one) even to my home country which, over the years, evolved somewhat foreign and questionable to me. Surrounded with the most impatient people I'll ever encounter in my life, I watched the moving machine intently, almost gave me a squeezy feeling and constricted lungs. Boxes after boxes came along and similar baggages anyone would have thought all these filipinos planned to buy the same red ones to abominate my pea-head brain and make me even confuse as if I was not terrified for my life already. When I unboarded Philippines Airlines, with heavy eye lids that is, I thought I wouldn't be able to exit the new territory. I went along with the flow, followed two old couples, down the stairs and more stairs (where the hell are them elevators! My carry on was freakin heavy), and alas I saw a magnificient sunrise, a sign perhaps that no matter how heavy my carry on was (as, if you were there, would also thought...I'd have had drag it to the floor), I'll get to my destination and be able to decipher my uncle from all the filipino cloned bald-headed men.

Easy was far from check out. Maybe "easy" barely came along when I finally saw a man, with all his disappearing receding hairline, waved at me from the crowd...I thought to myself, "Who the hell is that?" Of course it hit me, or so I've heard that my uncle was not picking me up but my dad and the butler, instead. After the long, grueling time I had at the "pick-up baggage" area...after my weary face was about to turn sour...after frustrated sighs were about to be heard in some hundred miles, I finally saw my poor red luggage all beaten up from the back, looking tired and pathetic. I knew I was not going to be able to carry them both and still look fashionably tired...oh I knew. And so i got me one of the big carts about, oh I don't know, a mile from I was. The one thing I truly hate about traveling (and I've only done it twice...you know, gone international) is the fact that there will always be 95% you would get lost and or loose your luggages. I am one of these people who will likely to face such unfortunate adversity. I would be fine if I was in the clouds because my mind is in the clouds, somewhere over the rainbow, away with the horizon most of the time anyway. But when it comes to being alert and tending some real world concerns I lack attention thereof.

Anyway, after asking the old lady upfront what to do next (and she said "well, sweetie, you go home now..." oh the sarcasm,), I stood up front for good 20 minutes looking for a bald man or a sign that says "Ja, WE'RE here" and an arrow pointing down. A hand wave was okay too although crazily, I thought everyone was waving that I have had looked around and see if there's anyone behind me. And sure enough there were hundreds of people looking for their own families as well.

I seriously thought I would take a taxi cab back to my uncle's house although all so sudden, I saw my dad beamed through the crowd with his glasses, a faint smile, and (even from afar) creases in his face. As he signaled me to walk towards the right, I felt the breeze that would soon accompany me for a 6 week vacation to my hometown. It wasn't bad weather, I am not use to humidity anymore like the old golden days of my childhood.

My dad and I hugged like we have had a good relationship over the years. My oldest sister was there too. She still looked the same during his post-college days of bang up reasonings and funky hairs. Even with two kids, nothing have changed for her. She still buys expensive heels--the cost could help feed a whole town for a day. My dad on the other hand looked weary as if he is already in his 70s ready to retire--from his job as a government official as well as his job being a dad, son, and to my nieces and nephew, grandfather. Jimmy was right about everything though. He encouraged me that no matter what have happened and will happen during my stay, my family would be happy to see the 'grown-up' version of the spoiled brat they used to adore and even perhaps, abhor. And I saw that reaction from the start.

Our way back to my uncle's house, both my dad and sister 'obstruct' me with mile long questions. All the what's, when, where, and why's of life, it was presented during the car ride. Of course I willingly answered their questions--out of breathe--but I answered with my weird combination of the tagalog, english, and ilocano vocabulary, nonetheless.

When I get off the car and be reminded of why Philippines will always have a place in my heart... I knew summer '07 was going to be somewhat idealistic: I was far from reality, far from my mom...far from the fast-pace life of California. I was, alas, going to relive what i've missed for 2 years during my melancholic days here in the States.

P.S.
It has been a year. Its weird how time flies by these days.

2008-05-22T00:06:00.000-07:00

It has been a while. For me with so many things, yes, it has been a while.

About three months ago, I have decided to resume my supposed passion for art. Many people have heard about it and have seen my capability to deform a building's facade, paint it with different shades of red and call it "art". I, on the other hand, has not considered this supposed "talent", really A talent. When the people in my art class last year mentioned I am cheating my way out, I told them "it's [just] called being wise". In which then, I don't think art is really my forte; being wise might be, however (but on any given time, I will prove to you I am as talented as Picasso with more use of fancy colors). Anyway, while visiting galleries downtown with two girlfriends of mine who have more knowledge of the subject, I was suddenly (yes, in the middle of the raging LA traffic) struck with the idea of getting back to my one and true love: art and frustration. It was my friend's birthday the day after (I wanted to paint her a sea escape, utilizing only colors, no indication that it is a sea escape) and so I had the chance to prove to myself once and for all, I still have the will power to mull over paint fumes and stare on my rough sketch for hours at a time. My tiny tubes of paint were discovered, hidden under piles and piles of shoe boxes under my bed; the paint brushes however, were intoxicated with paint and hard as a butterfinger bar. Such ill fated outcome to my absolute desire to reunite with my love did not stop me, however. Although after 3 hours of pouring blue paint all over the canvas (it was then passed midnight), it occured to me I was not getting anywhere. I added some flare to my brushing technique, no luck to that. I tried adding white, well, it seemed to me a desperate act. The canvas did not lie, I was as talented as my next door neighbor: she's 5 and she drew better clouds compared to when I was 5.

These days, I've wanted my passions so bad, my forceful attitude has actually pushed all of that knick and knacks away. My efforts, especially when it comes down to art, have been ineffective. Oh yes, and I do put A LOT of effort, too much perhaps that sometimes, I just end up being frustrated that I cannot finish any drawing that I start.

Take my oil pastel on paper, for example. My niece Lyca is still faceless, her arms imbalance--hair, a bunch of lines that stick up...and no, i did not intend it to be abstract.

And lets not talk about my supposed landscape here, with a kid from Banaue, looking intently at me as I draw (take a photo) him. Instead of a peaceful, breathtaking scenery of the mountains of Banaue, it ended up looking like turmoil and chaos. While the trees lack (and I mean really, really lack) details, I feel like I am back to square one (to 1st grade where I drew brocolli-like trees).

Must I go on?

As embarassing this is for me to announce to the world (or just the people who read this) that I don't "got it no more", it is more than the embarassment--I am internally struggling with this. Although telling an old high school friend I missed Mr. M, the teacher who truly pushed my buttons during my art career in high school, says a lot about my real desires to reclaim what I have had a year ago: a budding talent, the feeling of absolute frustration that had always turned into definite passion.

What can I do? Every time creativity strikes me, I am out and about pigging out on Pad thai and boba tea. Every time I have an idea or two about what to write next, I am dealing with customers who will never be happy with how their baby looks like. And most notably, every time I truly, absolutely want to paint a modern thematic art, I am nowhere near a canvas or paints.

Hmmm. I don't think I can push further (it's 1:00AM, what do you want from meee?) Like they all say: it will come to me. Indeed it will be. Maybe it'll knock on my door tomorrow. We will see. :)

2008-05-11T11:36:00.000-07:00

For they Will Always be a Figment of your Being

Sit, sit, sit.
Talk, talk, talk.

Keep it low, whispers in bulks.

Who could have thought,
such weakling knees can...
talk, talk, talk...
the whole town unfolds.

"So and so makes evil potions"
"She got pregnant..."
"...slept away with everyone in this town"

Then, there came Uncle Caloy says,
hush, hush, hush,
"It's not good to talk...Ma."

But old ladies still...
talk, talk, talk.

I grew up listening; I also grew up and not understand anything. But the number one thing that stuck to me the most was the fact that I supposedly "killed mom" while giving birth to me. And they still think I am thy black sheep of the family, I intend to further on with this "plan". Not really. Even though I do not show it enough or not at all, I love all the women in my family who've been there and shown me tough love from the start.

Because I am not much of an affectionate person (not verbally, anyway), I say I love:

My Grandma for providing me unrequited love. She made sure I am loved. She was there in every school recitals and comencement programs.

My sisters Catherine and Claire who are blossoming mothers themselves.

My Aunts Dina and Josie for taking me under their wings when I needed a place. For making sure I know what good and evil was.

My mom, even though I've chosen many wrong turns, I hope someday she'll understand: I don't do things to fail and have this great fiasco [of failure]. I do certain things my way because I am my own person.

For all mothers who have sacrificed everything for a better life, who thought more of others than themselves, who made a millionth PB&J sandwiches in their lives, who've worked almost 365 days in a year, YOU ALL DESERVED A PLAQUE THAT SAYS:

You Rock our world!
What would happen to the world without you [guys]?
Happy Mother's Day!!

2008-05-09T13:14:00.000-07:00

Enemy, I don't want to be my worst enemy.

I have been forcing some creative juices into my blood--although that, too, was a seeming failure from the start, I still tried some cartwheels, a little touch up on painting 101 and all the things I could possibly imagine just to get my wonderful artsy-fartsy self, back. Well, like everything I tried to fix (in my life, lately), my willingness, and forceful disposition to be back to my creative side, failed to work. Now a days, when I am not falling asleep in Psyche 3 or pretending I am cultured in front of my Italian professor, I am out and about working with whiney kids, pulling out some random blabberings along with my friends, pigging out on food that always makes me sick, or with the one person I am currently having a love-hate relationship.

Oh, go ahead, tell me my life lacks essence and I would agree, as to why I have purposely forced creativity rather than let it happen naturally. I sure do missed my high school days. Days when my art teacher had pushed me to my limits, caused me to talk shit about him and art behind his back...those days...those days...where did they end up to, now? Although, from the start, this year has been some sort of amazing beginning for my legal, "adulthood" years, there wasn't I had ask for more than to trip back to my three-dimensional self. Yet I wanted it so much, I forced it horribly to re-enter back to my life...that I guessed "it" got scared. Maybe Josh was right, I should give it up--not only for love, but also give up trying to be my parallel self. I am sure most of us have an idea what we want to be, have an idea what we are, even though it contradicts other people's views. And well mine is that...I am more than flat, boring, and floating, oh and incapable of creating great things. But lately, it just seems to me that I am just those mentioned.

While I should know who I am by now and what I want to do in life, it seems as if I am getting pulled back 10 years and stuck with my childish ruts. Why? Aren't I too late to start discovering my "passions"? Okay, so it is not about discovering but rather having it back. Honestly, I have been selfish to myself; while I do have time to help my friends, think about my friends and their well-being, and try to do what's best for them, my "self" however, has been left here hanging, wondering, and in the end, gone, past my 6900 street. AND I WANT IT BACK, DAMN ITTTT!! I WANT YOU BACK.

This person who drinks margarita, just hangs out constantly, almost everyday damn it and not worry about anything else besides relationship dramas WAS NEVER ME. I was more than the girl who feels empty inside--I had a good head on my shoulders, I had a plan, I wanted things, I was determined not to be most kids...but now, I AM THE PERSON I DID NOT WANT TO BE, empty, shallow, and lacks culture.

This entry is my outcry for help. I thought maybe if I put down how I feel, my deepest desire in here...that I will understand and constantly be reminded THAT I WANT CHANGE. This is for me, for my own benefit...my 5 senses...or just one. I have to stop confiding in to people and maybe for once, start being real to myself and understand what's really being given up here. I do not want to be 40 someday and still bitter I wasted a good amount of my time going through life eyes wide open and nothing else--no determination, passion..NOTHING!

I want my passions for visual arts, photography, cooking and writing to be with their rightful owner: ME.
I want to grow up in the context where I own up to bigger responsibilities.
I DO NOT WANT to waste my time, my money, and energy on people who are never meant to last 4 months in my life.
I want to be a better daughter; a better worker; a better friend; a better lover; A BETTER STUDENT; a better person, period--nothing more, nothing less.

Oh. If only you really know how I feel. Frustration is not going to get the better of me this time. NOOO. NOOO. NOOO.

2008-04-23T22:04:00.000-07:00

Thoughts in Bus 062

Seated near the window in the back, he had a quiet depressed presence surrounding him. His tie was too loosened up, it almost seemed as if it was going to fall down any time the bus swerve to the right and then left...and right again. Cousin Nerie called him up at work that day, bearing all the bad news he could have imagined. It explained his early leave from work--he found out his dad had a heart attack and did not make it to the hospital. He was never close to his dad yet the news still left him dumbfounded, as if a giant slab of stone was put over his head, hurt, and worst, just suddenly proceeded into his throat. It had been hours since he took the bus 062 home although he had not gotten out and let the damning bus in circles... he asked himself: "When will it ever stop?"

Other thoughts wandered through his head "Maybe if I was a little nice to my old man, I wouldn't be here, feeling guilty. I don't know what to do. Damn it, Mario! Go home. Go see your old man..." and tears poured out, like rain in the middle of summer--profound, nevertheless, melancholic, coming from a man who was clenched to his collar, gasping for air.
--

The same day, the same bus, an African-American old lady was seated in her wheelchair, up-front. She wasn't sad, she was thinking deep, her face, the map of the world. Grocery bags were assembled nicely in the floor, as she watched 'em moved gracefully with the engine. Happiness was questionable although her body language translated appreciation for the food she was about to bring to her six grandchildren. She found them, all diversed in their own means, under the bridge near her house one day, asking for some change. Out of pity but mostly annoyance, she decided to welcome them in to her humble house of crumbling walls and pictures of family she barely see twice a year. After 20 minutes of oblivion, she snapped out of her thoughts:

"What am I going to do with these kids? I am not getting younger or richer. I just hope they will learn how to own up to responsibilities soon. I am really counting on Alliyah but she's busting up so much with that loser boyfriend of hers..."

and realized that it was already her stop.
--

"Ninguna suerte hoy. No quiero seguir viviendo como este. Ellos la gente blanca sigue tratándome como la suciedad. Sólo porque no digo su lengua, esto no significa que soy menos más elegante. Deseé que yo no debiera haber tomado mis posibilidades y sólo haberme quedado en México donde, aunque el salario mínimo yo ganara no alimentó mi familia correctamente, éramos todavía felices. A diferencia de aquí ... vida es lo peor. Debo seguir luchando...Dios mio!" Juanito's thoughts reverberated within. In the same bus, 062, he sat peacefully in the center, his legs moved back and fort, as if he could not wait to get off and be with his wife who was actually prepping some delicious carne asada at home. She had a 5 dollar raised from taking care of old people in a retirement home and gotten a big tip from one of the families who came visited that day.

Juanito on the other hand, was still puzzled how to get another racket, while he thought of asking one of his compadres if he could get a job in the Mexican restaurant he currently works at. He just wanted to have a decent job before career day at his son's school. The pressure had been bothering him a lot because, like any parent, he just want his kids to have a better life--better than what he was having. Hopefully, he thought, better than he'll ever imagined.
--

Another person, seated near Juanito, looked too peaceful, as if he had no worries in the world. Ryan looked straight ahead, indifferent about everything that surrounded him; not the wailing in the back, anyway nor the noise outside. Deep down however, he was full of anguished. If he could have, he would have...ran out in the back and suffocated the wailing man in the back or robbed every passenger of bus 062. Nothing compared to a 23-yr old something guy who had emotions which ran deeper than the ocean. Stupidly, he decided to quit his job because of a tiny misunderstanding with one of the female managers on his "ex" company. Stupid perhaps since he had not had another job,

"How am I gonn pay for my bills!? Fuck..Fuck...Fuck... Stupid bitch! ..."

was all he could think of--all the cussed words seemed to apease his anguished and calmed him down for just a second. Although afterwards, he was back to an internal battle number 95672. If only he still had his xbox to keep him company, to ease the pain and frustration that's building inside and most definitely the hatred he had towards himself. He believed it's the closest he could get into his ideal reality: gang bangers, grand theft autos, and hello, HALO!
--

A young couple, seated in the 4th sit near the front looked like a happy ending to a movie. The girl's head on the guy's broad shoulder, the guy's arm around her. Little smirks graced their beautiful faces; young love did not quiet look so promising as theirs. Dreamy sighs were exchanged back and fort and the disturbing sounds that surrounded them sounded like hawaiian lullabies to their grungy ears. Not a single word was said yet it seemed as if they understood each other with or without. The silence were meant to cause more hormonal love; they were attached to each other like siamese twins, cats, mind you. Thoughts were hidden behind amourous taspestries and only introduced by their inner selves, guilty, and deep inside more confused...scared?

The guy said "I hoped she doesn't find out about Kendra. I really...uuh...what's the word? Like? Love? ..I care for her."

The girl said "I am scared to feel it; because even if im not trying to, it is still too powerful...the feelings. I do not want to get hurt in the end. Maybe...hopefully...he doesn't hurt me. I am scared. Does he really like me?"

If only minds can talk out loud. If only, babe.
--

Bus 062 did not run out of personalities that day. Another being, a girl with average hair that stuck out, sat behind the two lovers. She was smiling like a psychological muse, and she knew it too. A list of thoughts loomed in her head but the one thing that was memorable was the thoughts of food.

"I am hungry now... I want some Thai... to thai or not to thai? That is the question..."

We all have our different stories and as i have spent a good amount of my time riding the Orange Line, I have encountered people that I created my first impressions of. I could go on and on with this but I won't bore you any further. We're special, no doubt, but most of us, do end up worrying about our problems...we think about them, a lot actually and that's where "being special" draw the line. That is where we are not-so different from the others. We have our own stories but they're all the same stories under the categories of sadness, caring, hatred, love and sometimes just as basic as thinking about what kind of food to eat. WE THINK everywhere, even in a bus 062. I've just thought. Enjoy!

Translation: No luck today. I do not want to keep living like this. Them white people keep treating me like dirt. Just because I do not speak their language, it doesn't mean I am less smarter. I wished I should have not taken my chances and just stayed in Mexico where, although the minimum wage I earned did not feed my family properly, we were still happy. Unlike here... life is worst. I must keep fighting...

2008-04-22T22:04:00.000-07:00

Reporting for Duty

Most situations in my life have fallen under "better" category but some are still unbearable, inhabiting the one place I wish more peaceful and uncluttered. It has been more than three months since I wrote a personal entry that does not involve flowery language and migraine-inducing stories. I guess I have gotten carried away by the ups and downs of my own roller coaster ride that lasted about sometime that I neglected my usual vents, raves, and rants. Like how a friend of mine is now getting carried away by a woman who, I think, he does not even want to get steady with. If you see a similarity, let me know as I only added that to emphasize that "getting carried away" will never be a good thing--not for me, anyway.

Somewhere, beyond the silence that stricken my room and mind, I know all the entries presented here are based on my personal experiences. Yet I do missed being human and real sometimes; I have missed translating my feelings down to words and making my few readers wonder what I am talking about (now). My past is quiet exciting, intimidating and questionable. But the past is the past and most days, when I have the urge to practice my will to write, I feel like I need to press everything outside of my mind and put it all here instead of talking in the phone for hours at a time (until midnight).

Well, so here I am tonight, as I sit here getting lost into my own pool of self-doubt and confusement--like I have been all this years, holler! Nothing has changed. I still feel nostalgic about the people gone past my life, walked away, who didn't even said goodbye; I still missed all the important things in life because all I want to see is of non-importance; and most especially, I am still the same person who doesn't know who she is and tries to discover where she might be now.

Although my feelings are the same, my life is in constant motion. Day by day, I realized that walking out and moving on in a "relationship" is a good thing (although I have yet to completely accept it whole-heartedly). I miss many things and although I still feel the need to go back in time or have more millionth other chances, I can only be patient now. I know myself will come around someday and such adversity will only make me stronger and a better person.

I need this time of non-progression to understand and forgive the person that I had become. Although I am face with the consequences of love and heartbroken (for I face different phases of hatred towards men and my passions gone somewhere, taking coffee breaks), it is safe to say I will have my better days. I've wanted everything overnight but this...peace will not come anytime soon as I do need to face the ghosts that haunt me down at 11:11 in the morning first before anything else. I need this to learn how to let go and wait for the storm to ease down.

And so, I have officially enrolled myself to the School of Life. While I hated high school with angst and passionate distaste, I cannot say or whine much, about this.

It was bound to happen and if it wasn't, then it would have not had happened in the first place. Wish me luck on finding who I TRULY am (because I cant be doing it when im 25 and not getting any younger) and convincing my passions (for photography, art, culinary and writing) that I am calm, cool and collective now. Or so I hope.

2008-04-08T20:17:00.000-07:00

"Oh Sunrise..."

People pass by him as if he's a big slump of dirt glued in the wall of gleaming marble in the 4^th street building. Ironically, he is used to it—from passers by who look down and shake their heads upon smelling his stench and eventually avoid as if he is the twin of Frankenstein. Hopelessness still lingers through however, from head to toe and each core of his being. For him, life was not always misery and hunger. No, sir. He had dreams like you and I, maybe even farther than the stars. Yet, goodbye came too quickly as hello said goodbye effortlessly, which leaves where he is now, sitting outside in the middle of winter, frozen like Popsicles and almost freezer burnt like a slab of meat.

Owed his success to his parents, Mike decided to gamble his luck and invested for Urban Shoes. It was some good luck at first since after two, fruitful years being employed at the Company, he met what recalled to be “the one”. Like most marriages in this vast country of love and infidelity, their relationship seemed to be deem forever. After a year and a half of tender love and inexplainable highs, they already have three beautiful children who binded them even stronger than before. Good luck became his reality, where life became the vision he had in mind all along: glimmering like the Bay during a sunny day. He dreamt of taking over the Company someday, sending his children to prestigious colleges abroad while growing old gracefully with his loved ones and money by his side.

But such good luck took its toll for the worst, however. The company failed to met the quota for numerous deadlines and concluded to be fallible, in the end bankrupt, each single dollar was transferred to the bank. His dreams vanished as fast as the shutter of a disposable camera while his family, long gone, abandoned him with the gathered resources through out the years. It was not love that binded them; it was the money that kept them a family yet broken them apart. They savagely withdraw the savings, all 10,000,000,000 dollars of it and fled away to the shores of Mexico. “Worthless man” were the last words from the people who failed to be his support group.

He also lost his parents that year, about 10 years ago or so today. Plane 0567 is reported to suffer from internal machinery troubles and crashed amongst coconut trees and bushes in the blue island of Antigua.

His heart erupted and excreted vile feelings of total depression and madness, upon hearing the second round of bad news. One by one, all the purposes of his life came collapsing down, possibly worst than 7/11, or so he felt—as uniquely as his life experiences can be. For months, he hunkered in the living room sofa, nulling over the strong taste of wine in his tongue. Getting help, he believed, was not the answer but the improbable beginning of even more heartaches. He drank as if it relieved the pain—it only made it worst; he usually found himself crying in the morning yet intoxication continued until one day he just found himself outside, seated in the cold asphalt in 4^th street.

Mike did not entertain the idea of remembering how he got there looking as bad as he smells—worst than a dead, decaying crow in the side road. He knows he is use to the stares, to people pitying him yet not do anything about it, none at all, just warm voices who whisper “Awwww...” while they pass by. His day to day battle with the police also prevailed as they yell at him to “...go do something with (his) life or die painfully in jail”. Jail, he guessed was better than the sidewalk although they never took him in and lock him up. Damn police! They leave him there, rotting away like the winter trees: fragile, cold, and wilting away waiting for a tinge of light to come rescue him.

One, muggy, November morning along with the hustle and bustle that the city usually brings during this time of day, he woke up as always, with the blurry silhouettes of businessmen in their fancy coats and fatigued looks. Out of nowhere, he reached for his pockets like it could talk and told him to do so, when he found a 20 dollar bill inside and a tiny pill with a sun engraved to it. He concluded it must be some sort of children's vitamin or just plain candy. He squatted there happy and abruptly, he took the yellow pill in and sighed in “sunrise...” in which could be seen peeking through tiny spaces between buildings and hugging through atop smaller ones.

“Eeeeehh!!” he shouted in disgust upon tasting the pill as unconsciously, he swallowed it quickly, ruthlessly...disgusted. “So much for a fucking fantastic morning...” he said under his breathe. Twenty dollars clasped on his left hand, he started walking to the left, towards the big arch sign that says McFerrils, a cheap counterpart of the famous joint. Inside, he could smell the aroma of caffeine, the smell of baked biscuits, and frying sausages, a very different sight as he had not had a “good” breakfast since an old lady gave her 5 dollars and 2 cents...about 4 months ago.

"May I have some coffee...and.." he was interrupted by the person behind the counter.

"What size would you like sir?" she asked politely, unfortunately an obvious insincere one.

"The biggest one you have! Today, I'll have a feast like a king!" he said loudly, it scared Jona as stated on her badge.

"...Hold on, I'm not done. Let me also have a breakfast burrito, biscuits with bacon...uuuh apple pie...a cheeseburger and a chicken wrap..." he continued and stopped her from getting his coffee.

While enjoying his "feast" at a table near the window, overlooking the children's play area, his perspective changed drastically from feeling happy to even happier. All the meals he ordered had turned into gourmet meals--the ones you can order in some expensive restaurant by someone famous like Wolfgang Puck. The aroma was almost bearable for him and everything seemed more brighter & livelier...and were the McFerrils employers dancing to...Gold Diggers by Kanye West? He seemed more profoundly friendly to the other customers who just looked him with disgust when he approached them. While normally, he would feel worst than a stray dog when people ignore him, at that time, he never felt more confident in his life, he ignored the banters, took his food outside and danced his way to 4th.

Surprising, he did not huff by the sight of businessmen hoarded, walking in unison talking on their cellphones, yelling at god knows who and what about. It usually upsets him when he realizes that he could have been one of them too but that day was different. He offered them food as if they've been eating McFerrils everyday of their lives. The skylines towered over him as if they were god-given nature while the trees looked even prettier although its the middle of winter. His "home" which sits outside the noted "fancy" building looked like a big ball of warmth--just like what he used to have. "Life is not that bad...its fantastic!" he screamed on top of his lungs...in his head.

His perception became worst when night time fell. Christmas, that's how he called it that night all the lights twinkled, shined above his light head. He didn't mind the numbing, cold wind...he was just, HAPPY.

Until after sometime that everything wore off and he started yearning for the...SUNRISE. He realized that he was back to reality and self-control, self unworthiness...and even more so, misery and pain.

2008-04-02T00:47:00.000-07:00

-Nothing Lasts Forever-

To the one I never had,

I would do anything to relive the past. Absolutely, I would go through it from the beginning and feel my heartbeat go a hundred miles an hour. The joy I felt that New Year's Eve and my trembling body out of pain when you've spoken your peace, I had not forgotten all as it still remains in the deepest core of my being. Like a magician, I have tried tricking myself to believe that you were nothing but a presence in my intricate dreams. To my dismay, I can only be able to deceit my concious during my sleep. As sharp as the evidence the photographs provide me, my memory, even though now sits in the bottom of my mind, is of no comparison. I can still depict so vividly the lines in your face, the swirly patterns of your hair, and the soft hands that left invisible marks in my hand. No one can see the mark but I felt seep in through my skin and taken my hand hostage of your touch forever. It is not only your carnal appearance that I remember when I am left alone musing during my day, however. Your smile...the way you say "Stop it!" when I tease you and when you put your arms around me and tell me promising things--all of these still haunt me down. A familiar feeling reoccur midst many of the songs that use to remind me of you. I often turn off the radio not because I do not want to be reminded but because its painful to know it is not possible to relive any of it, again.

When you have finally spoken the verdict to our hopeless situation, I felt betrayed--of you and myself. I have secretly acquired high hopes for the two of us and although, not as sudden as it would have been, I thought things would have been directed to the right instead of the left. My heart throbbed not out of delight anymore but earth shattering annoyance. I've wanted to slap your indifferent disposition and paste a sad smile and paper tear drops to your face. Of course, I could not...I did not. Regardless how my inner bitch was surfacing, I was still weaked to my knees, spine, jellied like always, secretly hoping that someday we will be meant for each other. Unconciously, I've waited for things to turn out the way they should have been. Yet my concious demonstrated a different persona, my super alter-ego and the yearnings of a wet, cold soul wanting to be accepted by you, overnight.

And so here I am, I sit here with the sound of the faucet dripping in the background (like the slurs of the television when disconnected), hopelessly reaching for the past: the good along with the not-so-good. I shake my head along with the mocking laughter I've always heard from you the course of our "relationship" because we all know the past has moved away with you, 60 miles from here, where is that?

Societal, mainstream views tell me its not fair (and stupidity is not charming) I still yearn for the being I met months ago. You've moved on (from what I've heard), you even move out and away yet I want to tell you I still care whether you eat or not, whether if you have heater/airconditioner in your new place...whether if everything is alright.

Although now, the past is the past, I thought you should know my feelings were true for you. Its not me babe, its all on you.

From the one He Always Had

Photo Credit: Nostalgic Photography (moi).

2008-03-24T22:09:00.000-07:00

"Throbbing Heart"

I was the little girl with a throbbing heart. I know they could not hear it, but my heart beats millions of a horse skip in the race track. The first time I got separated to my guardian, I thought I would stay in that place forever. I sat quitely behind my desk; the other kids have their mothers with them and I felt different that I had none. She left me for the market, she left me for a better life, she left and all I felt then was the unrecognizable melancholy of the tiniest soul. My heart kept throbbing as if it was about to burst out of my bossom. I remember cradling my chair, telling myself, like I tell myself now, that everything will be all right. I could see sympathy in her eyes; it did not let it bother me for if I did, I would have devastated their happy dispositions. Even then, I already knew what embarassment was and for some twisted reality, I did not want any of that, any of it... She told us to practice writing our name--"not outside of the lines, inside the lines," she said. My motor skills were unrefined; I wrote like our family dentist, with the slanted l's and the squiggly g's yet I've always wondered how he understood his when I could not comprehend mine. As days go by, spending my time in that little space with all the letters surrounding, danced to me like in Cartoon Network, my handwriting became more like a work of art for a 4 year old. Nobody was there to hold my hand and help me wrote my name. While the other children had tremendous help from their moms, I sat there with a throbbing heart, faced downward, concentrated on my pencil and lined paper. Although I cried my way home to my grandmother's house that hot day in June, I was happy I wrote my name without anyone's help.

Don't you wish achieving something so inadequate and making you deliriously happy was that easy again? Where is your inner child when you need it?

Photo Credit goes to me.

2008-02-17T01:41:00.001-08:00

-Gone-

Their sighs reverberated inside me like echoes in the Alps.
Not all sad; some were happy beats...others, wearisome leaps.
I knew...I felt...I realized the indications
Because I, too, have been there before
The all time highs and all time lows pulling each other
back & fort like tug of war in the game we call life.

As the automobile transport me, passed the gleaming lavenders
I dreamt of your presence and positive disposition
I heard your raspy voice like a jolt then it was absorbed amidst the chatters--
the laughters of the old women and the murmur of mechanics
Alas gone, panicked, I searched for the vague familiarity i remember you by
In the crowd... the zombie faces of men & women
when I saw a reflection by the window's mirror:
somber and white, this girl's face told all what there were to be told

I wanted to look away but could not as my heart told me to face reality
The truth can be expensive; this one however, was of no exception
My ego...my self-preservation against who we were and then,
what kind of familiar strangers we evolved into
like the relationship I have had with all the passengers that night
Only I can tell a story out of actions & expressions
and your body narrated to me that you would never care again
You poor thing, such anger behind tiny eyes
What have happened?

The train passed by our usual stop and all the memories
within the short amount of period that we've known each
other came crashing back to me like tidal waves...refreshing but it hurt.
I saw two people's sillhouettes there,
a guy sitted and a girl comfortable in his lap and arms
two perfect beings happy together waiting of an ending full of unknown possibilities
When I knew it was too good to be real to see the same people
the sillhouettes disappeared like a dust storm.

Walking back to my place, I thought the numbing air will freeze me in
the streets along many of my memories have disappeared
My heart stopped beating, and I felt it frozen cold inside
When I closed my eyes that night, the undenyable feelings remained
Yet you were gone... you were not in my dreams anymore
you inhabited my nightmares asking me to give you one more too many chances
Of course I knew better
You were gone, you are gone...gone, baby, gone.

2008-02-13T02:57:00.000-08:00

-Great Divide-

She felt defeated. She surrendered all her opinions away to the great unknown--beyond the suburban houses and to the setting sun as she let herself listen to the voice on the other line. The memory of Desiderata abruptly appeared in her mind along with the authority-like voice of Mr. Lazaro reading it as if she was put in a trial of life. "...listen to the ignorant because they too, have something to say" repeatedly echoed in her mind. She was not about to loose all control over her senses so she moved forward and recollected herself back to earth as she truly let her bestfriend's words sinked in to her like a veil.

Darkness had over-ruled daytime for 15 minutes then, yet the cold, misty wind and the sad reality of street crimes infamous in the area did not intimidate her to "go home" and accept the fact that the once good space she had for meditation and creativity is a polluted room she can barely unwind into. She, however, made herself comfortable in the pavement near the LA bridge; she curled threefolds while tapestry of thoughts loomed above her like overwhelming curtains in a very tiny stretch. Her soul and heart agreed: she did not do any heartache provoking yet issues still obstructed her persona. Thus, a war between her right and the anonymous, surprising wrongs that she had cause, according to the person on the other line, abided greatly as it remained long enough for considerable casualties like the 100-year war.

As impersonal as the phone can be and distressing perhaps to talk about such deep issues over it--in between airwaves and distant miles--she thought a great deal of some "what ifs" in her mind. Like: What if she die tonight and everything is unresolved above her coffin? What if the people she had issues with will spend their lifetime holding pain, misery, irrevocably, grudges, against her? The teardrops in her wake, the dripping sound full of tingling hatred but in the end happiness as, she is alas, dead? So, she insisted that they both will spend their night resolving the issues and tackling down the cemented wall between them; for her, under the star-studded sky and the sighs of passerbys...for him in the other end of spectrum, the rush of automobiles. People put off what they can do today for tomorrow in hopes that time will be in their side but she realized that evening that nothing and no one will remain here forever. If its stress and long bickerings with her bestfriend can resolve the problems then she thought, let stress over-rule and arguements exist.

The past couple of weeks, she spent making a mile-list of the things she needed to work on, in her life. Life had been nothing but favorable. Problems blended in perfectly with the changing ways of the weather. Smiles were given now and then but the cycle of life continued to bombard her with the never-ending arrays of confusement and deep thoughts that could have poisoned her whole body. However, she continued to live day-by-day trying to connect with the people she supposedly "missed" on since she 'had spend all her time with a growing, unknowingly promising, relationship. If only they knew...

She lives for them; she constantly yearns for the love her home life fails to provide!

And there she was seated out cold, coughing and almost throwing up because her gut feeling reminded that without her bestfriend, she would not have many things to live for, besides materialistic contingencies. There were many rights to what her bestfriend was telling her although she secretly took offense for him from disregarding the fact that she has been a good friend and one that would not do anything to ruin any kind of friendships.

In the end "We're going to be fine..." was said with awkward sighs and she truly hoped that they're "going to be" so.

2007-12-29T23:17:00.000-08:00

Like the inexperienced person that I have been all these years, it took me a while to grasp the concept of actually having a real job.

One sunny Thursday morning in October as I was lazing around and dreaming of better days, I jumped off from bed to an unknown call hoping it would be James Dean waking up from the dead with a 20 carat diamond and his intentions of me marrying him. It had been about 3 weeks or more and the wait for job call-backs had turned from "something to look forward to" to a total nightmare and frustrations looming over my head like rainy days. My James Dean turned out to be something better--he had a cool voice as if he was announcing a death of a close relative, my future boss from The PP asked me if I wanted an interview. Compared to my uberly excited, uberly happy tone, he was a serious monk although I just had to suck it all up (all: regardless how indifferent and how weird it would be to have my first job) and said "Yeehaw, baby! I would definitely love to, are you kidding?" and possibly made his day.

After that morning, I soon then acknowledged that God makes all sorts of wonders, even small wonders like my first job. Remarkably, he always has this way of making everyone second guess our ways of life and the perspective we put our vision into. When we think we are losing it, he's here to put back what it is "right" instead of what is commonly misleading us to be. He had managed to put back my excitement in having this "first" experience and miraculously instilled it in my mind to never lose hope.

Enermously thankful after many weeks of banging-head to wall frustration, all my firsts will never be enough without its drawbacks and this one have had its long runs of overwhelming sharades and deep breathing, inhale-exhales. I was more than agreeable to participate in this new "learning experience" and work solely for "more experience" but my first few weeks and as it exceeded, became a month, felt like high school for me over again. Metaphorically, and hopefully did actually, blood dripped from my nose, oozed sick-to-my-stomach feeling as if I haven't accomplished much greater "firsts" with greater dignity and courage. After many blows, I gained some senses and realized...well, my first few weeks I haven't realized much besides the fact that I actually have a job and was then responsible not to recieve a pink slip stating that I got terminated for putting the wrong code in the computer system.

The interview went well. I was asked to bring 3 items that describes my personality and if I knew I was going to be a cheerleader for the afternoon, I could have brought pom-poms as I cheered my way through the PP contract. Overtly too excited, my hands sweated inside the airconditioned mall as my armpits fought against my supposedly serious protection against body odor and perspiration, Secret deodorant. I thought millions of blah-blahs were coming out of my mouth like puked words without great meaning or none at all, I had the feeling I messed up my chances again like I usually do flirting with American boys. Jumbled words of he and shes backwards ("My aunt has his..."), I was dumbfounded while it took me aback and embarassed to go on further. All the more so, the door opened for me: a freshly legal of age with little experience in customer service and photography, I was the first hiree for the season.

Emotionally wrecked, my first training day made me realize how I did not yearn for another chapter of my life trying to act somebody that I was not. The thought that the PP had got to be high school-like discouraged me to move on and experience such different situation in just about four hours of moping around. Honestly, I was too quick to judge...too fast and too furious to even reconsider giving it another chance, for that matter. Although the next few days did not prove me anything wrong about my premonition, I had to hold on to the fact that someday the PP would be a 4th home for me. My bosses, however, were ruthless as they can manage to make themselves, giving me my much anticipated welcome from the company. Should I also mention that I would come home every night before feeling like I was not doing my ability to its utmost best? Yes, the rules, long price ranges, and the customers who made my life utmost living hell were unbearably overwhelming; I felt like I had been working for 30 years and all I asked is a 10-week vacation in Florence, Italy.

My good friends never failed to surprise me with their optimistic attitudes. They have familiarized me with the cliche "things will get better" a 100 times or more but I've never really believe anything or anyone until i actually see, hear, and be in that situation myself. Regardless of the ten thousand whines and cheese sticks that had to go with it, I honestly lost the courage to waste a good opportunity, in the end, quit. Such feelings remained with me this fall until the moment I realize that things are getting better if they are not, already. My 3 month anniversary marks all the bright and good times I have had at the PP. I owe my three best friends gratitude for keeping me sane, the one cutie who broke the ice for me and is now giving me an inspiration to wake up in the morning and go to work just to be able to see and hear him answer the phone so adoringly, and God for not letting me give up.

One of the things i've learned from my job is that the uncertainties of life ease as time goes by; as you stand firmly on your feet and do not give up, the bumps will go unnoticeable. I now wake up in the morning and repeats this to myself "if today is not going h0w you wanted it to be, tomorrow is going to be another day". Keep hanging in there and wait for the betterness of tomorrow...or better yet, turn your day around. You have the power to do so, so make the most of what you have.

Under A Lemon Spell

2007-12-20T00:00:00.000-08:00

It Just Takes Some Time

I wish I was home for the holidays. To hear the laughters of the family I am too fond and familiar with. To sleep at night in a humid weather and wake up in the morning to experience the same heat. For a moment here, I thought I did not know what "home" is anymore. Although the sadness I am feeling as my heart get crushed, and crushed some more reminded me how wonderful it would be if I was home in the shelter of the people that know me well...the place...that regardless how far out it is compared to my current living situations now, would still inspire me to live life be. Where tomorrow would be another day and the rain might bring in a colorful companion with him, to ease the gloom and the pain that it has brought.

I am nostalgic. Some days I wished I was a 5 again, able to run behind my Nana every time Jason tormented me with his sword stick...and some days I just wished she could hear me crying and tell me "kanim deta itlog mo tapnu tumakkil ka pay"(eat your eggs so you will grow taller)--and everything will be alright.

Growing up as a spoiled kid, I am handling my current situation, "adulthood" as I may put it into terms, just fine. But I don't think eating the lemons directly out of the tree instead of making lemonade first is the ethical thing to do. Life is bittersweet and I hoped when I wake up tomorrow morning, I am completely in a different setting with unicorns pooping rainbows, trees growing broccolis I can eat right off the branch and an over abundance of sunshine rain to shower me with reserved happiness. But of course, I can never have everything I want. So maybe a mug of coffee and a day off will do.

P.S. I think I am BACCKKK, with my mouth shut (this time haha) and my brains wide open for more stories and renditions of my wonderful time spending it all on at the PP, and then more.

**Jason is my very sneaky cousin. At a young age, he was very manipulative and ruthless. I heard he has grown out of it though. I don't believe it and just have to see it for myself.

2007-10-09T14:57:00.000-07:00

Into the Wild: A must see for suckers like me.

I've wanted to see it the premiere night but now that I did, Into the Wild (the movie) was not bad...not bad at all. Forrest Gump still holds a special place in my heart although Into the Wild has moved me as did the scene when Forrest found out Jenny was going to die. The movie moved slowly, unfolding gorgeous scenes all over the United States and part of Mexico. It does not fail to capture the admiration of the audience right off the bat, and the snow scene is winter wonderland all over again--well, until tragedies happen, of course.

The character that played the role of Chris McCandless was whom I pictured all along. Emile Hirsch was perfect in every way possible as he managed to act realistically with matching eye dilation and crazy-out-of-his-mind budding individual crying his lungs out of starvation and in the end, death. A real-life story of Chris McCandless, his character was positively formidable and one that readers and audience alike would love to hate but could not. This young man was not only admirable to achieve separation from material things but also an inspiration to many whom hearts are broken by human/parental relationships. After graduating in Emery University, Chris decided to take the biggest and the last trip of his life--he was to hitch hike from Virginia to Alaska with a different name (Alexander Supertramp) and as much as possible, no real identification and relation to his parents. Along the course of seemingly a lifetime of memories, he met extraordinary people that taught him wisdom and survival tips he was going to need to his "Great Alaskan Adventure".

The director, Sean Penn portrayed these events with 4 different metaphorical chapters as if watching a book and to each has its own titles too. All the chapters were, of course, viewed with less conversations and more documentary-like manner. It was the perfect example of combined artistry, music and film that not many people my age would get into. For one, there were no definite plot and although the story line suceeded gracefully, the story would be hard to follow for those who didn't read the book yet. The main gist of this movie is the adventure itself while narrated by the very sweet and soft spoken Jenna Malone who speak now and then as, probably a reminder that Into the Wild IS a movie not just long runs of cinematography and favorable acoustic from Eddie Vedder. But it was more than gorgeous shots, it was just like the remarkable book by John Krakeur: a poignant narration than can move anyone who wants to be affected. The interactions between the actors were as human as it can possibly can and the settings helped cultivate the raw and organic feel of the movie. Yes! The life of Chris McCandless was portrayed as genuine as possible. It made me feel like I've watched what happened to him in real life and understood wholey his motives of taking such risky contingency. And if that wasn't enough, Into the Wild was also thoughtful because if you look carefully, you'll see, hear and feel the one great lesson individuals should learn, "happiness is only real when shared".

P.S. Hands down to Hal Holbrook's performance as Ron Franz. He gave a tear, I gave mine.

2007-09-23T21:55:00.000-07:00

Young, Foolish, Aching Hearts

The music industry is filled with gloomy songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Songs like Goodbye by the Air Supply are everywhere: in the radio, online, your neighbor's boombox, in Hot Topic... and deep down within you is an overplayed song ready to be sung. The sadness reverberates through your soul and pursues like a dark cloud ready to pour heavy rain (with thunders and lightnings to match) in your parade. Ironically, when someone is in a state of healing, a person finds it easy to relate to the world, as it is in fact, a melancholic place itself. And suddenly, one discovers a sense of company from Motion City Soundtrack and the screaming renditions of Mr. Dashboard Confessional despite of hating the depressing tunes in the first place. After a while of head bangs and sing-a-longs, globe of tears abruptly drop in against your serene face and there, emerges an upside down smile, making you feel miserable once more. Negative energy over rules your body and triggers a twisted mindset. You are clueless on what to do as if your emotions have poisoned the central part of your brain with the thoughts of whom ever he may be. The brain goes numb and you find yourself imagining all the slides of past memories in front of you. A bitter smile is all you can offer and when you go on further, you wish the past is now and the present is yet to come. After witnessing possibly a lifetime of memories with the person you once cherished, you realize that there are not any yellow time machines to help you voyage back into the past. Oh how you wish to re-do all your mistakes--and how we all desire to accomplish the same.

But my friend! All you can do now is to move forward...even if it means letting all these sad music bruise your soul, break your ear drums and then some. You will definitely bleed and hopes will be terribly crushed however:

You’ll be fine tomorrow as the sun will rise again.

Goodbye my old friend, we've reached the end. I'll be missing you and hit it kiddos:

2007-09-18T13:05:00.000-07:00

My Desiderata

To: The Author, age 18.

Dear you,

You should know by now that the Orange Line does not provide a 24-hour service. I give you the props of not going all the way to North Hollywood yesterday just because you "felt like crap". I know how you felt, but taking plight every time your head is numb from thinking or you cannot force a tear or two anymore will never be the solution to your problems. You're only exposing yourself of danger and convincing anyone you are a black belter in Karate does not give you prime self-defense. On the up-side though, you managed to cleanse out your contorted mind although they did not come up with something called yoga for nothing. Use it to your advantage and when you feel like everything and everyone's a downer, do not be scared to flex your whole body, balance your mind, and ohmm your way out of stress and frustration. And the Orange line? It will always be there...it is not going anywhere.

Your 18th birthday marks a wonderful life-span for you. You've been through many things the past 18 years but don't forget there will always be other people who have had it better and worst. And that's fine. You don't have to be on top of anyone; you don't have to achieve perfection to out do all humanity. Remind yourself that being you is good enough and you might as well change only for the better. The good part is that, you're still in your teen years: you still have time to change, invent your outlook in life and try out new things. I know you will because I've seen a tremendous amount of change from you since 4 years ago. You must keep discovering all these hidden knacks within you--I believe you are more than a girl-next-door although you cannot always be humble for other people's being. Keep your compassion but never, ever put down yourself and diminish your will to be a human being too.

Keep a spark in all of your passions; if you can't achieve your dreams today, look forward for tomorrow, the next day, and the day after that. Nothing in life is achievable overnight so don't be frustrated when the things you want to happen has gone antsy. That's why you gotta be passionate always and this will help you to achieve if not all, some of the things you've been dreaming your whole life. If there is one thing you can do for yourself is that, don't give up on your dreams and on people. Have patience and learn to sit still and try to enjoy life from a day-to-day basis. You don't want to be 50 someday and realize that you've wasted your whole entire life reflecting only with the scars of the past. Learn to let go of things you cannot change and move on.

As for people who've always been there for you...I can sense a vortex of guilt. Remember to be nice and think things through before stating your point of views--or even just personal comments. This will not only lessen sudden arguements between you and the people you care the most but it also helps you to become a better individual. You are 18 now! Let yourself grow and leave all the negative childish acts behind but it is always better to cling on a child-like outlook. You can grow old but you can still have fun, be happy, and enjoy the small things that many adults now find worthless.

You'll learn that a lot of things in life are temporary so don't get hang up on the small, pesky details that make you gain 20 pounds, wrinkles, and in the end, ugly. Don't let these things affect you permanently as to why, learn to chill out and when it gets rougher, remind yourself all the wonderful moments that made you deliriously happy and the people who care about you even if its not obvious. Thank these people constantly, and more important, thank god for bestowing you life and guiding you through the bright side.

Anyway, don't stop caring for your family, friends, and strangers you might find cute or poorly treated. Don't seek revenge! Keep caring even if it would break your heart someday. And even if it does, remember life goes on and you does too. Take it with a stride and don't get stuck by it. It would be hard to do all these at first but you'll learn as you go on with life.

Dream.Enjoy.Laugh.Love.Peace.Happiness. Happy 18th Birthday, Keekee!!

Keep Forever. Love,
Your inner, saner soul.

2007-09-17T10:15:00.000-07:00

English. I, dilemmas.

"Keekee,

Quality is more important than quantity. Also, see 1 & 2."

It was a dreadful, depressing, side note provided by my most awkward English Professor from a community college I am now attending. I've been feeling a lot disappointed these days, on top of the usual pity I give myself discredit for, anyway. The way his opinion hit me greatly that Thursday night was (and still is) inexplicable. Ironic perhaps as I have gotten worst remarks from past English Teachers--I don't get why this lame cliche should get the better of me now. But it has as I am yanking my brain just to write this, to get me back into writing, and to continue on dreaming of becoming a creative writer.

Must I blame myself for writing on a 5th grade level on his class? I think not. Although I do blame myself for my irrevocable fate in the English Language. My battle with this dialect was long over-due; the Assessment Center managed to capture me in my very worst scenario, as lo and behold, sentenced me in a 3-year prison of elementary grammar and children's books. The first time I sat behind the Israeli dude who became an eye-candy overnight, I thought ESL was only going to get better. Frustration preceded me at some point last week as the class had me pulling all my wonderful locks and getting me high with a sharpie out of boredom. "I am better than sitting here and listening to someone dispassionate of his job," I thought to myself despite the fact that I needed grammar check badly. I was not to register myself in a creative writing program in UC Riverside with the same dialectal mistakes over again and thus, I decided to stay.

Aside from making damn sure I don't fall asleep and disrespect the most horrid Prof (my first) who, by his obvious actions and ignorant tone of voice, doesn't really want to be there as much as I do, I am also trying to find common grounds with my older classmates. Having to go back to meeting new people again, in my case ,older, way mature individuals, became an educational shock for me. Night classes are not and will never be in my "Fun Things to Try" college list. These people don't only discriminate your point of views (in my world, they have been discriminating mine a long time ago) but also intimidate the living inner child in you. This "common ground" thing have always been hard on me as I personally don't think I could ever find an unshakey ground with the elders. They either find me annoying and talkative or charming and smart--in which I could be all those four traits mentioned.

Absurdly, my ESL class have provided me with yet another lost in translation moments. I noticed recently that I've always been the odd one out: the one who goes to Mexican Bodas by herself, and be in a class of Middle Eastern students and not understanding anything being said. Even though how awkward it might make me feel, I still attend events outside of my peripheral culture and accommodate these people with the universal language: a smile. I smile when I hear sing-song accents in my surroundings, I smile when i smell Arabic scents, and I definitely smile when I can pig out with authentic Mexican food that only my friends parents can cook.

2007-09-04T22:00:00.000-07:00

A Twisted Reality: Online Desperation

Flatter-ed, or rather disgusted by his extremely forward move, I responded in a disinterested manner and said hello. I completely missed the fact that many people actually get captivated by this "4 letter word" like Dorothy from the movie Jerry Maguire. Although I don't think there was much of a magic when I typed hello and sent it to a very anonymous being who claimed to be from Australia, I was still pissed that "hello" is not the same as "fuck off" and there, started, my first real preaching from a very imbecilic individual looking for a girlfriend on the web.

My luck, indeed. He spotted me pissing off in a Filipino Chat Room (the first in years) and acting like the biggest ass with "Duvira" (cly_de), typing with a very homosexual accents and getting a lot of "boos" and badgers from the seemingly annoyed people. I then recieved a random hi and an "a/s/l pls" note from a guest5678 and as anonymous as it/he/she can be--I couldn't tell. I soon found out he was of the male specie and from Australia, panic (aaaaah!), flatter-ed, (OMG!) and so, I played along thinking he must be hot and had a life after he asked me to be his "girlfriend" right off the bat, that is. Hope bruised, heart stricken, I thought he needed to know the real deal when it comes to online dating--no erased that--online desparation and the consequences that comes with it. After pointing out the obvious "what if's" (ie. what if i'm fat and ugly) and convincing him that long distance relationships don't really work out that well, he was not ready to give up pursuing me--in which case, could have been anyone...a perverted 60 yrs. old guy that produce pornographic materials, a pyscho path killer, or even an automated response instant messaging (to name a few). He stated, in an very hard to understand accented language, that distance nor physical appearance should not be a hinder from finding a woman who would take good care (explanation: slave over him!) and "marrie" him. Bravo! He was a hopeless romantic, just like many guys all over the world who would do anything to get laid. Eventhough "anything" means buying a bride from Asia or being casually careless online.

He was not at all "stupid" as I claim him to be, however. He asked a very obvious question "what's the internet for (anyway)"--meaning what is it for besides trying to get a girlfriend from the worst places possible--chat rooms where, a lot of people pose to be someone else (like what cly_de and I did, out of boredom). Internet has a lot of uses, mind you, Mr. Desperate. The internet contains various news from different famous newspaper websites, job search engines...actual search engines like yahoo, google, ask, blogs to enumerate opinions across and yes, to "meet people" but never, EVER for anything that involves real marriage or love. After stating my very obvious "turn off" opinions, he still, didn't get it and ask away "would you be my girlfriend, pretty pls?" Then, I said, "I'm sure there's a lot of hot girls in Australia", logged off, and kissed the horrid desperation that men like him are showing, goodbye.

Please be very careful online. Don't prey other people you don't really know nor let others prey over you. Be wise and don't post clearly defined informations--your address, name, etc. And when it comes to love or dating and you're desparate, pls. leave the internet behind...go out there, socialize, instead of drooling over your keyboard and waiting for Ms./Mr. Right to pop out, bare naked in your computer screen.

2007-09-01T22:00:00.000-07:00

Ridiculous self=ridiculous Entry. Read and let Read!

I remember...

...that cold november day in my high school's quad area scared, lost, and almost teary eyed; my mom dropped me off to school and trusted herself to trust me deal with the alien-like establishments on my own. I palpitated by the site of the tallest people I've ever seen in my entire life as blood in my nose started dripping upon witnessing clumps of students standing everywhere... It felt like the movies; no, maybe a busy New York traffic, and I, amidst all the hustle and the bustle, was a lost puppy that could walk but will never get anywhere or so it seemed.

Now...

...I got over the joke that the push buttons in every traffic lights in every intersection in America will buzz me in and electricute me to death. The mind-blowing traffic had lost its ridiculous charm of giving me headaches or making me sick, in general. People do not scare me anymore, rather, I scare them, with my awesome uniqueness. I stopped my corny pursuits of "the-boy-next-door", letting them moronic minds have a hard time pursuing me, instead (or so i think haha!). Racism remarks have long gone abondon me as I try not to classify my friends by the color of their skin. Naively, I called my first friend here "a black" and nothing else. And thus, after 4 years of growing and catching up with the American culture, I am like a proud mama. Alas, my inner child is finally growing into a very sophisticated thinker with a better taste in music, food, and hobbies. No more sitting around my room wondering when will my prince charming come and save me from agonizing pain...and thanks to my peers, I now know what a bong is, a hookah, and a marlboro stick.

Future...

...there will be neither wailing nor a chick in vain because this month brings me a new beginning and a year filled with lotto sweepstakes and "to each my own" individuality BS. In 17 days, I will be turning legal as stated in the law of the United States which means I have more freedom to skip school and buy me a stick of cigaratte in my parallel universe. Also, I have finally registered for classes in a new school, with hopefully, more cute guys and delusional hoochie girls. I can't wait; I can't contain my excitement anymore and so i provide thee, my nonexistent readers, a list of what I really want (and not necessarily should get) for my birthday (even how hard it is for me to think of anything.):

1. A yellow vintage Mustang with leather sits, complete with pine tree car freshener, a disco ball, and James Franco in the front sit.

2. Bags of gum balls to put in my empty gum dispenser that I got from my mother's boyfriend, christmas of '05.

3. A digital slr camera..nikon, canon, to name a few. So that i could finally stalk every guy who i think is cute from a distance. Or an Holga Camera will do...as if my digi cam is not enough already.

4. Gallons of acrylic paints for my artistic growth.

5. A green ipod and a sim card for my cellphone. Plus! blah blah.

6. To be continued...

Oh F***. I am more materialistic this year than last year. I remember asking for some "sunshine" my last birthday. haha Anyway, its not that I have everything else in the world but I am pretty contended with what I have, for right now. So that's what my hallucinated self want... and it might change again in about a week.

2007-08-31T20:42:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-08-29T16:09:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-08-26T06:57:00.000-07:00

Exitlude.

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. *

2007-08-25T18:54:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-06-26T22:32:00.000-07:00

Superb. Awkward Little Kid.

He approached the two of us with a visible confidence, maybe even a tinge of egotism and possibly the phrase "I love myself" written all over him. Although I hated his overly raptured ego and for leaving us after we declined his offer to grind-dance along with the Barbie Girl song, he was definitely good-looking (and i guess now, he had all the right to be conceited)--I was hyperventilating heavily (in my mind) and thought I've missed out on a good catch: a decadent grilled halibut panfried with peperonata. Hmm. Delicious.

It took me seventeen years to realize that wooing the opposite sex using a womanly technique is completely foreign to me; when other females have an easy time making guys sweat and quiver and getting them afterwards, I am having a hard time to even converse to any guys I like(disregarding my usual judgementality crap: "oooh he's hot. i like him already, baby!" ?? ). I do have male friends but I always feel different and awkward the first time I meet them. I have had 3 chances to get to know someone new the past weeks but I blew it within 10 minutes by my fake shyness that always comes as possibly a cold, "uninterested" attitude, a Berlin Wall barrier against rejection and judgement.

I met my friend's brothers last week in May and although I had a great time hanging out with them at the movies, my friend did not want me to date her older brother because quote-unquote he's an asshole. The last time I've checked however, any guy is an asshole; this, according to the popular belief amongst women that men, in general, are unsentimental jerks who are afraid to portray emotions and be called homosexuals. Men want their masculinity to prevail but I don't really buy such mentality. I think deep down inside such men are sensitive human beings not afraid to cry during Bambi and get mooshy in the middle of a chick flick. Anyway, I wasn't really planning to date him although I thought it would be good for me now to go beyond friendship when it comes to guys (after all i'm not getting any younger ahaha). Strike 1: I listened to my friend.

I might have scared off another guy from the tennis court my friends and I usually play at every weekend. I would have never noticed him if he didn't start to show off his sickening tennis moves. He would be able to strike out his opponent then give me a look as if I should be cheering for I am his number one fan. Well, I was impress alright and I thought staring equated our very lame attempt to flirt with each other until after his game, that is. One of my girlfriends ask for his name then eventually told I like him and unconciously, I said "Eeewww, noooo". God, didn't it sound so stupid or what? I thought so. Strike 2: I am not girly enough. I don't laugh like a whore. I'm always in denial.

Then there was Mr. Egobighead at my Graduation night, trying to get a move and a flat booty to grind with. When i tried to get away from the dance floor he asked Ama_n if i was scared to dance with boys. I went back after 5 minutes however, he took my hands and made me do a twirl--and so i did. Although after 15 minutes of no distinguishable action coming from Ama_n and I, he randomly left and started dancing with a white girl, exploiting some sexual moves that can possibly get anyone pregnant just by looking at them get down and dirty in the dance floor. He could have been mine if I knew how to dance--seizure dance. Strike 3: I'm stiff like a stick.

Solution: Join the missionary, be a nun.

P.S. I'll be in the Philippines for 6 weeks. My flight is tomorrow night, PI Airlines. I don't know what to expect but i'm going down there anyway. Thank you, Jimmey.

2007-06-21T21:15:00.000-07:00

High School Liberty

Painting my toenails with a very deep purple-pink nail polish was the hardest part I had to do yesterday. It was like putting make-up in a homosexual face that is traced with pimples and bumps over the years and had been working under the sun for too long, sunburnt with a reddish-black color. My own feet makes me hurl not because it has smell to it but because how ugly they look like--typical man's feet...or worse, monkey feet that even the slightest tinge of color cannot give justice to. And so, my battle for my feet insecurity continue as I reluctantly painted my nails with a bold color that looked drag-queeny soon after.

Yes, my graduation ceremony was yesterday with all the lameness you could possibly imagine. I managed to make myself look dignified with all the make-up I put myself under and a very cinnamony dress I bought at the mall for a bargain. My wonderful locks had to endure a seemingly good full cups of mousse, a European one for that, as it smelled nothing fruity the whole night--although it certainly had a smell. The chemicals was not able to keep my hair still and pretty, however and I blame the strong summer winds (the weather) for not always obliging to my wishes during special occasions. I ended up looking like I just got out of bed after the long procession of woop woops and toot toots that was akin to the star spangled banner only with proud people who could not contain their excitements for all the green and whites aligned identical to a church choir.

It was a death march with the infamous graduation song, I tell you. The program started with all of the graduates walking towards the grassy football field, welcomed with a good amount of our endearing mentors who supposedly witness us grow within four years. Was there any truth to it? Possibly, although a handful of the teachers wanted us to be out of there as soon as possible for I guess, I, for one had cause a tremendous amount of white hairs as I failed to awe them with my asian smartness telepathy. But I will miss some of my teachers too, especially the ones who believed that I can do so much more, had push me in the brink of despair, or completely made my days at that school a tad bit ironic. I wished I could have sugar coated my existence more and sucked up to them like blueberry lolipops--lickity lick lick, yum.

Having possibly 400 people out there brought me to another reality check: that even how we each want to feel special so badly, we are only a bunch of single grains in the shore amongst countless sands, some ready to take a plunge to the great big sea and others waiting for the waves to be taken away. My school's class of '07 was impressive..still is, although there are many other Harvard bound students out there, other Keekee's, and bunch of smart Erikas ready to compete in a more combative environment whether it be in the east coast or in my own LA backyard. Ironically, this graduation hasn't hit that many people. I think the heat had something to do with it yesterday as we all basically got bake with the culminating Valley weather. The thought of the dorky mortarboards dominated our brains and the long boring procession of getting our diploma cases killed our excitement all-together and thus, no teary-eyed--not even from a cry baby like myself. Although the drama will get around eventually, sooner or later.

After the last words from our Class president, we randomly threw our caps towards the sky, a true sign that we dreaded the mortarboards or we're captivated by the prime moment of being able to stick through in an ascetic 4 years of training.

It has been four special years and a special day while Taco Bell, the sudden stares from fellow male graduates who had never given me any look before, and friends hugging and sweeping me off my feet afterwards made yesterday definitely a seemingly wonderful ending for one of the most ridiculous chapters of my life. Thank You.

*picture was taken during Grad. Practice

2007-06-16T19:21:00.000-07:00

GRADUATING: At long last! Thank you for the $#@T.

I laughed, I cried, but mostly I spent my time laughing so hard and ended up crying afterwards. That's how my school year has been; I, in the most awkward positions but laughing or crying in the middle of a serious conversation, a funny joke, or nothing to be happy or sad about-moments. I seemingly enjoyed every minute of such crudeness--from getting scolded for not bringing my artworks during due dates, for hiding from Mr. Stew even though he was right in front of me, and for getting arrested for "not-being-in-school" that Friday afternoon I was running late for school (wayy late). Now, I am given another opportunity to enjoy a tear (a couple maybe) for I've reached another chapter in my emerging life: I'M GRADUATING, BABY!!

As you can see, my happiness comes in small packages although this year has truly been a struggle for me. I think getting through a very tiny loop hole is something to celebrate about and thus i'm deliriously happy, like a million dollar worth for managing to get out of "the" jungle alive as well as a proud owner of a silver tassel and an achievement award from my very awesome Art teacher. I remember loathing Art and swore that I am deserving to get a recognition for choosing it over other things (Like journalism! arrr) but now that I did, I am contented. The whole art experience and knowing that I truly have a knack for the arts is enough for me to ignore the negatives presented in my class; it was then later this semester I realize I have so much more to offer and that is enough to make me feel like I'm worth more than the $5 bill I have right now.

So yes, yes, I'll be walking up the stage (finally!) with my own trademark smile and "I told you so" echoing in my mind, maybe even picturing everyone naked and laughing my ass off for their belly flabs (or not). Like I have reiterated over and over again, I am very eager to get out of high school, reason being the gagy mushy stuff fake friends tell over other fake friends, the KIPs on the yearbooks, and just all the last days debacle of being friends till death do them apart crap. I'm pretty sure however, that I have made genuine friends through out my four years in CP. I've lost some, gained, and made my bond with a few, stronger, in a course of two years. Now, I'm more than $10 richer, don't you think!?

At commencement you wear your square-shaped mortarboards. My hope is that from time to time you will let your minds be bold, and wear sombreros. ~Paul Freund

2007-05-22T18:01:00.000-07:00

Shroom the third: Shrek made it with the help of other fairy-tale characters. A worthy of B-?

Our barfed-green, giant friend is at it again on the big screen, still spoofing other fairy-tale characters, accompanied with a Justin T's sexy voice, and unfortunately faltering--at its best, a must-see for kids under 7, younger adults, possibly 10-13 years of age and their wonderful parents who have become kids themselves.

Shrek the Third did not surpass neither the second or its first movies, although did not fall flat to its face, I was disappointed to see yet another Shrek-must-save-the-day movie, a slight difference from the first two but repetitive otherwise. And so I think, it deserves a slightly kick on the rear end and absolutely undeserving to be the top movie on the box office hits. There were a few good laughs, mind you but nothing that made me want to go back next year or the year after to go see a 4th one. I was not buying the whole other fairy-tale characters anymore even thought it worked like a charm in Shrek 1. Although the producers added its own original characters, plus a very lovable, irresistable ogre for *Mcdonalds to use as an incentive to lule younger customers in (*Notoriously known for making America, FAT), the whole movie was like watching Cinderella triumph to go to the Prince's ball all over again. Cliche overuled the movie: Frog king died, son-in-law is next to the throne but does not want to, son-in-law went to look for another alternative, and the villain, Charming, tries to take away the throne--jea, there's a twist right there. Do you see it?

In addition to reigning as another cliche animation, the plot was rush too. The animators put too much time on unimportant parts of the movie instead of developing the climax and or the plot more. Shrek had an easy time looking for Arthur, the supposed alternative for the throne of Far Far Away (what a name! They even spoofed the Hollywood sign and well, changed it into Far Far Away). If he was going to be the savior anyway, why did they not make it harder for Shrek to find him? I don't remember exact details because i resisted of actually remembering anything from the movie, but some of the parts were vague and some, that weren't essential at all, were develop further causing the movie to go on for about an hour and thirty minutes, or even longer (when it could have been shorter).

And did anyone who have seen it think the place Far Far Away looks just like Hollywood? I was in West Hollywood to gaze stars at the Griffith Observatory 6 months ago and I swear Highlands is the inspiration for Far Far Away. The Observatory as the palace that overlook the commoners place or San Fernando Valley and the long lines of Palm Trees were, after all, Beverly Hills.

Anyway, maybe I am grewing out of my pixar-animation days, who knows! But if you want to waste 10 bucks on something you have seen and familiar with already, then go ahead, go watch Shrek the third and feel free to contradict my views on this...oh no...oh yea, oh yowza blockbuster..OOOOh (as my opinion is lame itself).

2007-05-21T19:55:00.000-07:00

Wednesday.

It was not love at first sight although when they accidentally brushed each other along the 25th NYC transit going to Queensbridge, the two, as if struck with a magical love spell, stood there between a diverse amount of weary faces, dazed, and more so dumbfounded. Magnetic glances were exchanged between the two strangers for a good amount of time; neither tried to initiate a conversation even though their irrevocable glance expressed too little, apart from the admiration of the other's amorous eyes. The two managed to give a faint smile after fifteen minutes, however. Although this action still was not enough for these two people to leave each others accidental company, happily...or even acquire each other phone numbers, until after they had yet again unboarded the train to the same door, at the same time. Came out laughing, the strangers, as they might have been that day, alas, rambled through and finally spoken--the stop at Queensbridge was their own start, as strangers who happened to think they have found their own fairy-tale of love at first sights.

Alex reminisced all of their memories: that day in Queensbridge Station, their three loving years together after that, and how now, everything must come to an end and part as strangers just like they were on that Subway. He profoundly let her go to be with someone believed she love, rather than lusted within an hour in a public transportation. At first, Alex was horribly heartbroken and resisted love's bitter reality while he attempted to win her back although after nth times of trying, he withdraw and accepted his love's destined calvary. Alex was sure of his affections and understand clearly that if he truly love her, he must let her go. And so that Wednesday, the same day of the week they met each other three years ago, Alex drove to the Queensbridge subway station to bid her goodbye. Jess didn't tell Alex where she was going; Alex on the other hand, didn't even bother to ask at all--he was giving her away freely and thought that was all that matter.

Lonely sighs both ruled them that morning. Nobody said anything as they stood there in the dimly lighted underground station, awkward, patiently waiting for the sub to completely break the three years of memories they have created. When the subway approached, Jess abruptly hugged him although Alex just stood there, like a zombie who just lost his soul, immovable, pale, although globes of water was tearing away. All along, Jess looked back before entering the railway despite how Alex was still as if standing outside, soaking in a pouring rain. After a minute or so, she was gone similar to a boxed of faded memories coated with dust, unabash.

They haven't seen each other then; it has been 5 years since they parted and it is just now that Alex decide to dig in deep through the box of memories they have had and read the letter Jess gave him that Wednesday, today, which also happens to be Wednesday. He is hoping to see a long, sentimental letter although only find this in the middle of a pink stationary unruffled with a sweet pea smell:

Nobody said it was easy
It's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard

with a little note along with it:

I'm sorry to leave you like this. I am not in love with another man. But i believe that if we truly are meant for each other, destiny will find its way to meet us up again. I will always love you.

Amaze, he sits on his basement for hours regretting why he did not read the letter right there and then on that subway station. He remembers what he wrote to her (and ironically was also from the same song):

Tell me you love me
Come back and haunt me
Oh and I rush to the start

Running in circles
Chasing tails
And coming back as we are

when a female voice approaches him, coming down the stairs, "Honey, what are you doing down here?"

"Oh, uhm..." still dumbfounded he lied saying "...nothing. Just looking for my baseball cards," and he immediately put away the box, afraid that his fiancee will see it.

"Come here, you silly goose. They're in our bedroom," she said teasingly.

"Oh..."

*Lyrics from Coldplay's The Scientist

2007-05-18T23:58:00.000-07:00

A familiar site: Heart on Food.

Mornings were different back then--there were abundance of sunshine to fill my starving youth, and birds chirpings enough to put me in a go-getter mood. There weren't any days I've wished to stay in bed after 9:00 in the morning, unless it was raining or cold that is. I was eager to wake up and smell the garlic aroma that overflowed density around the house; my nieces crawling up my bed along *Gringo pulling off my blanket until I'm abled to pat their tiny heads, I have yet to miss another day in the Province.

I did not yearn for anywhere else but there. Although my entire family have had its dose of world-wars and have gotten entirely broken up, I was pretty contented with the simple life my dad led for us. That place, along with my grandma's house have always been my comfort zone. When waves have kept me on shore, farthest than I can imagine, I was able to go back to these places, with the help of the waves itself. We are not perfect...even now, my family still has its little vices but being at a young age amidst the chaos between my dad and my unruly siblings, I attained warmth and fuzziness to the simple moments when we all are getting along, most especially in the kitchen. I'd like to think that our lives have been a drama series full of emotional encounters, but just like anything on television, with its own upbeat moments as well.

We have always been, and always are food people. My oldest sister and I used to go over board on our food budget every week. Regardless how much money we had then, we enjoyed Sunday afternoons around the wet market in our town, wisely arguing prices with the vendors and ignoring them if they wouldn't budge in. There weren't any breakfast, lunch or dinner without tasty meals set before us in our dining table, as anyone in my family can cook a hearty food, aromatic and conversation starters. While most of our neighbors indulged themselves on cars or fancy clothes, we, however, evolved into in each-and-our-own epicures: my grandma at her best with igado, my dad's bulalo, my sister's filipino-stlye spaghetti, my brother's kilawin, my uncle Carlos' dinuguan...my criticism towards their meal, is it good, bad, and above anything else, my day-to-day "starvation"--my stomach screaming "I want more!"

It was more than the food, however. It was about how spending in the kitchen prepping for these meals have kept my family in harmony whether it be for only 2 or 3 hours. As i see it now, there is really something bewitching with food and the way my family get along better, shut us down, and have helped us understand each other more (with home-cooking). It binds us better than the familiar love that most family share. Is it then sad that we had rely our relationship on the pungent sense a meal can bestow?

*Gringo: pet-dog. Although probably dead by now.
Italicize words: filipino food that involves pork/beef, fat, and many hmmmm hmmm hmmm's.

2007-05-14T16:17:00.000-07:00

Ballerinas of the Middle East, 1.

"Only 5 dollars, ladies," the man behind the counter told us with a cultured accent...a little bit of a middle eastern mouth although until now, I'd still picture him waving his arms around like the Godfather mobs. I invited Donica to come along with me that Friday night as I didn't want to watch another festivity alone and bitter. I forced myself to for once, spend a little something on my friends thus I told her that the ticket was on me. That's one disadvantage of not having a better-half, boyfriend, a pimp (whatever): you always have to squatter around your friends until you find the perfect companions to accompany you with certain events. You see, it is always hard to go shopping with the guys and even harder to be carefree around the girls (and when I said carefree i meant no boundaries or insecurities that often arises between female companions). Then again, who wants to be tied down, be suffocated, and possibly end up dying (methaporically) with a controlling boyfriend or girlfriend?

The turn outs for the Hungama Show was very surprising given the fact that although it was announced and various flyers were posted all over school, there were a lack thereof. They called it Hungama which pertains to Middle Eastern cultures only but Mexican dances and African-American step-dance are presented too. The show started off with a mainger like stint, Mary and Joseph on the center stage with a slight difference as the hungama twist was added. A majority of the performers sang, danced, and paraded down the runaway (as there was a fashion show too...a long one that killed the whole bumping routine) on various Bollywood songs. Amidst the proud Middle Eastern parents & kids who eventually understood the festive songs being played, Donica and I were definitely lost in translation. If you've listened to foreign language cassette tapes before, that was how the whole program sounded like but of course, absolutely better than blunt. What the artists were singing didn't really matter to us, however--we're cultured kids...we eat samosas on chinese containers and stir-fried noodles with fork...listening to weird phonics sing-song was far from our problems, and so accordingly delighted, I danced along with them.

Refreshing to the ears, that's how I would describe it. Being able to dripped off, away from american rap, hip hop, and or my daily favorites, indie & alternative renditions for one day was amazing in a sense that, I actually enjoyed the beat and rhythm than the lyrics alone. The sad songs? Pretty upbeat and it is now no wonder why a lot of Persian kids that i know or Middle Easterns in general loves to party--outgoing, and playful...BECAUSE they have great, off the hook music to party with. And trust me, Shakira got nothing, niet, nada, on those dancers who waved their arms and moved their hips gracefully, like actors in a Bollywood musical movie.

2007-05-13T14:25:00.001-07:00

(*I've always have a big head, deranged huge eyes, mickey mouse ears, what's new?)

Ego-deflate, a must?

I am a sucker for pro-inspiron, self-motivation books. The way these authors puts a simple cliche "nobody's perfect" into a literary art amazes the inner old, deeper soul in me. Although I get enough of banality from a particular friend who became my part-pyscho therapy ever since I met him, I am always on, seeking for the book that can all-in-all change my common outlook in life. Thus, my lame attempt of over-analyzing life's great adversities, preaching my opinions like a monotonous tone that possibly put many people in immersed oblivion. And although that's how it feels like my writing is to me, sub-titles on an odd Mexican movie that even Mexicans would not watch, I am proud of myself for being stubborn and egocentric--I still write. Hurrah.

Ironically, I did not always want to be a writer. I grew up with oil pastels and a sketchbook in hand. I remember drawing the most intricate house, beyond cotton candy clouds and lame two windows when I was 9 years old mind you, outdoing everyone in my class. When I got to the 5th grade, my homosexual (he was fruity, i remember) art teacher was already able to distinguished me apart from the others; I was the emerging artist with a big hollow head filled with arrogance and--obnoxiously, carbon dioxide. For many years, I made myself to believe my inability to create an art-history slogan under time contraint was cause by a constant pressure that have gotten me not once, but always during actual contests. The truth of the matter is, I was nothing but a big-headed kid who believed every compliments that was given to her, back then; I was delirious of an imaginary talent that made me special. I did not discover my so-called artistic talent by myself. It was actually endowed upon me by the people who did not only cause my failure to accept criticisms well, but also deviated me from reality. Yes, I do blame the people who created me like an incompetent person that only manage to get by with dishonest compliments. My grandmother for one but also the strangers that were afraid of causing my politically/powerfully inclined family emotional trouble, how hard was it to say "your youngest daughter is an underdog"?

Many of us live under the wing of foolery. We would rather hear a thousand lies than a single honesty. Deceits that comes from outside forces and ourselves rule our lives: thousands of women would like to think that their husbands/boyfriends still love them regardless how horrible they may be getting the treat; some would rather assume that life is still fruitful (when it is not) as they go on purchasing gucci bags and manolo shoes; while others live in a delusional world all-together. Is such mentality then optimism or completely a disguise of the truth? Childhood comes to a great play with this. Take females who were called princesses when they were young, for example. There is a 70/30 percent chance of them staying like that, and possibly turning into stuck-up, manipulative bitches. While it is likely for these women to outgrow such behavior, it is still wrong for parents or guardians to accustom kids with great misconceptions early in life. The tooth fairy? Prince charming? Santa? What a bunch of lies.

I am way behind years with parenthood (although i'm an Aunt with 2 nieces, and a nephew already) but delusion and even hoarding a kid with compliments, as well as the constant over-protectiveness will mislead such young mind into greater hallucination. The good thing about my childhood was that, I did not have parents to call me a princess or bestow me with tender, loving care. I was out and about deep-belly laughing with my childhood friends and listening to my grandma's philosophies, might have it been right or wrong. Although the compliments I've heard through out the years i was growing up made me just a little bit ego-maniac, I am discovering that i do have the ability to do art--and yes, even to write something gramatically incorrect. :-)

2007-05-12T16:15:00.000-07:00

Cliche Niche

When you get to the ocean, do you use your arms to swim or let yourself float? I am sure many of you have reached all sorts of finish lines before, maybe not as champions by your own live races but have finished something nonetheless. I see success as getting into your own pool of post doubts or celebrations, still struggling to swim or enjoying the undazed, chlorined water, floating and celebrating.

39 days from now, the kids at my school (and hopefully I myself will) will be walking down the stage in the newly mowed football field with visible confidence of having to yet again finish another chapter in their lives. They are on top of their own games, and a life coach have already given them an assured scholarship from different collages and unversities. "Anything is invetible" --they repeatedly try to convince that tiny, evil voice that constantly discourages them of getting and being somewhere other than this town. But what the future brings to these promising doctors, lawyers, and businessmen is questionable. Getting through 12 years of school is a big hurrah, being in a bigger institution and successful in the real world is another rocky mountain waiting for these new generation of smart kids to stumble and triumph from. It is not an skeptic notion but rather generally what the "real world" will bring even if you do it by yourself or with the guidance of others that have done it before you.

Personally for me, it doesn't matter when you get there but how, with all the scratches and bruises, do you manage to have fun and still get there. I have yet to convinced myself that I actually reach this point in life, 17, a soon to be a graduate of a small school and well, still have not done any relevance to the world before i could discuss another journey i'll soon be taking. I do not see graduating from high school a finish line for me but rather lucky if I get out of high school that is. Ever since I was a small kid, I have had plans for myself: the first one might have been to join & reign as Little Miss Philippines and be on TV--it apparently did not happen as I still envy gorgeous women and live a life in vain. I soon transfered to look upon my older sister, convinced, that i wanted to be just like her, epitome of the artist she used to be. Within years of living behind her artistic merit, I moved on and made another dream, hope, a want: to be a doctor. Because i've heard doctors acquire a lot of money, I thought i would stick to it and drive a red convertible someday and still willing to help other people while, well, taking away their money. Until I soon learned it take 10 years and high tuition fees in return just to be so. No way, Jose, I declared to anyone--the Jose's of the world, maybe.

Confusion about wants pertaining to goals can be high on the radar when you're young: 17, 25, there's not much of a difference. Our minds changes as fast as lightning bolts (for some of us) while for others, they stick to what they want and can truly be successful in life. Getting a diploma, I see now, is not a big deal if you don't really know what to do with it. Yes, you can go to college and bullshit your first year but then wouldn't that be somehow a waste of time!? It is either training wheels for the new road or a guidance guru to lead the path of success; neither is available. There is a thin line between being brilliantly creative and an idiot so when in doubt, just take a dive and see how things will come up. I guess that's all we need to do, to be daring but do things rightly and we'll soon find out where the present can lead our future. Test and go ahead, ride and if it doesn't work out, TRY AGAIN LATER.

2007-04-24T22:00:00.000-07:00

An Oasis' Voyage.

It's not far to Never Never Land
No reason to pretend
And if the wind is right you can find the joy
Of innocence again
Oh, the canvas can do miracles
Just you wait and see

You could hear the ocean waves even from afar. The sound is like that of a salt dispenser when shake very slowly back and fort. Its melodious serenity eases any worries and awkward silence between another being or a thought. The sound caresses directly and seeps through skin pores...the winds blowing your hair, there is no doubt of you giving in and falling for it in an instant.

Metaphorically, his heart get stolen by such large form. The never-ending body of water was like the giant of Brobdingnag and he was, as a contrast, a tiny person from Lilliput. The astronomity of the ocean, especially in the one he was acquainted to and mustered perhaps, didn't scare him, instead bewildered him more about the world in general. Maybe it nauseated him at first, a city-slicker like himself was not profoundly aware of the beauty that lies beneath the Caribbean. Times have elapsed, he more and more adjusted to the seclusion of the place he once thought will not give him its necessary justice and said, "I cannot inhabit this place, i am not cut off to such grand adversity".

It was not very clear what came forth to his decision of leaving the city--his comfort zone. When he was young, he dreamed of standing atop a steep rock and over-look the ocean but it never crossed his mind of actually giving up his fast-pace career to sailing the Caribbean seas. The large body of water and the waves that united to his travels did not alarm him at all; the thoughts of being alone however, did, greatly. Although well-adjusted, there were times when he had seek for companion to share his fortunes and short-comings with. His decision of sailing alone was a mistake but even with all the skepticism he had hold, he remained positive of reaching home safe and unchanged.

Every night, he stopped to little docks on towns unknown but continued his travel when the sun rise. He met acquaintances within these places although he never met the perfect companion he wanted to join his journey. After 2 years of sailing the seas roundabout Europe, he retreated to his voyage. He found the best companion was within himself, although he reached home safely, he did not remain unchanged. The grand calamity he managed to topple change him into a human capable of overcoming the fear of fear.

2007-04-20T19:11:00.001-07:00

Dream on! (But don't imagine they'll all come true.)

She squats on her carpet-covered floor, immovable. The stuccato of rain raging against her window panes unmanaged to divert her attention to the deep aloofness she's absorbing. Even now, she remember all the events that led to her own enlightenment, the enigma that have kept her confuse for years has, at some point reveal itself like the apertures in the Opera. As bothersome may it seem for her, she is still amused of her self discovery. She present a tinge of smile through the dense, cold, air and look as if dumbfounded, beyond nothing in particular; perhaps having a day dream that stars a positive future filled with possibilities, or a still memory that brings upon a jolt of delight.

How did she conclude with this? She does not know. Thoughts are racing through her but she doesn't apprehend why she is utmost certain of her recent plans. If she is absolutely certain of something, it is that, finally, she found an entity to live for and be positive about--Journalism, writing.

Truly, it is too early for her to have a mid-life crisis...or any kind of crisis at this point in her life. One can assume that her outlook before was brought by teenage frustrations from many events she have failed to attain or even touch up with. Often on a race against a mechanical clock, this wholesome being can almost pretends to be in her 40s and running out of time. Until now. She realizes that time fails to keep up with the lives of so many people already beyond years not the other way around; it is not time that's fast forwarding but the people who are scared to get left behind. Such lives needs to Carpe diem! than ignoring the moment all-together. And tis wonderful for her to finally understand the philosophy that many might have had provided her before: the art of slowing down to live for today.

Will Billy Joel's song, Vienna, apply now?

This is not a step advancing ahead to my goals but a forward to make it work for me. I am irritated of how my last blog had once again, turned into what i'm always scared about: a selfish, unprovoking, personal journal that nobody wants to read...or be interested into. It was my life i was talking about, mind you, and while i do think of my life highly and not a big drama of boringness, creating this are one of the changes i wanted to do. I want to redirect my writing into a more serious one even if it means losing my few readers completely. After all, it is neither the million audiences nor the fame; it is about my willingness to better myself in writing that will someday can get me farther than I imagine.

Slow down you crazy child

You're so ambitious for a juvenile
But then if you're so smart
Tell me why are you are still so afraid?

Support the novice, eh?