Movin' On Up

The Bastard is moving here.

Good Signs Gone Bad

When it comes to matters of the heart, people, especially women, almost always turn to signs from the heavens. People are, after all, people, and therefore feel the need to be guided by some divine intervening force when making big, life-altering decisions -- like getting married.

In Men in Trees (yes, I watch the stupid, boring, relationship-based show. Now that you've had your laugh, I'd like to get on with the post), the characters Patrick (Derek Richardson) and Annie (Emily Bergl) decide to get married. But the minute they said yes, everything started going horribly wrong. They really should have listened when the groom's black biological father's Asian wife, Mai, said that their astrological joojoo doesn't jive, which is apparently a big deal in her family's culture as that is usually indicative of a failed marriage. But the happy couple was in love, and so they push through with the marriage. And since she loves Patrick like her own son, she reluctantly helps them make it work. But then she starts having nightmares about it, and she was convinced that the marriage was going to be unlucky. Still, they all go through with it. It seemed that Mai's predictions hold more truth to them as one bad thing after the other just kept happening again and again. The priest, who works at the church they were going to have the wedding at, who was also the couple's friend, quit. Mai's treasured heirloom tea set that's said to bring forth luck to a couple who wishes to get married gets shattered to smithereens before Patrick and Annie could even use it. The wedding rings get lost when the ring-bearer, a beloved pet cat, runs away into the nearby forest during a wedding rehearsal. And when Annie was pampering herself in preparation for the big day, she waxes off her entire right eyebrow.

Still, they were all convinced that these were merely trivial setbacks that could just as easily be resolved. They were in love, after all.

And so they push through with the wedding.

On the big day itself, which was now held at a garden since the church they originally wanted to have it did not have a priest, the bad luck does not seem to abate in the slightest. In fact it seemed to get stronger. The bride's parents conveniently decide to get divorced, her sober recovering alcoholic brother gets himself drunk. And another couple decides to get engaged, totally stealing their thunder. As if that wasn't enough, fate enlisted the help of atmospheric conditions, just to put a stop to their garden wedding. Yep, a storm was headed in their direction. Now on the clock to beat the huge storm brewing in the horizon, and despite the cold, harsh winds pelting the guests, they rush to proceed with the ceremonies. And everything was going well, right up to when the bride and groom were already on the altar and are about to say their vows. Because all of a sudden, lightning struck, and the groom took a direct hit.

Now, I don't really believe in destiny, but when the heavens (literally) are so hell-bent on stopping a wedding from happening that it has to launch a direct attack on the participants, that's gotta mean something. To me, that says, no scratch that, screams that this wasn't meant to be. I mean come on, the groom gets struck by lightning? Hello, that's like the biggest flashing neon sign if I ever saw one.

But should they have not gotten married at all? Well, technically, they still aren't married since they didn't get to that part, but what I'm saying is, should they have not gone through with it when everything started going downhill? Or is the mere fact that they still pushed through with it, even when all the signs are protesting against it, enough to be considered a testament of true love?

It makes one wonder, doesn't it?

Quotable Quote:

"Jonathan Trager, prominent television producer for ESPN, died last night from complications of losing his soul mate and his fiancee. He was 35 years old. Soft-spoken and obsessive, Trager never looked the part of a hopeless romantic. But, in the final days of his life, he revealed an unknown side of his psyche. This hidden quasi-Jungian persona surfaced during the Agatha Christie-like pursuit of his long reputed soul mate, a woman whom he only spent a few precious hours with. Sadly, the protracted search ended late Saturday night in complete and utter failure. Yet even in certain defeat, the courageous Trager secretly clung to the belief that life is not merely a series of meaningless accidents or coincidences. Uh-uh. But rather, it's a tapestry of events that culminate in an exquisite, sublime plan. Asked about the loss of his dear friend, Dean Kansky, the Pulitzer Prize-winning author and executive editor of the New York Times, described Jonathan as a changed man in the last days of his life. 'Things were clearer for him,' Kansky noted. Ultimately Jonathan concluded that if we are to live life in harmony with the universe, we must all possess a powerful faith in what the ancients used to call 'fatum', what we currently refer to as destiny." - Dean (Serendipity)

Trademark

I met with my high school friend, Jane, the other day. We haven't seen each other since high school graduation. She was as bubbly and gregarious as ever.

As we got to talking, she mentioned that everytime she would see Spam (the canned processed meat), she remembers me. I've always liked breakfast food items, and everyone who knows me know that I can survive on processed foods for long periods of time. I remember back in elementary, all my lunches were hotdogs -- tj's, franks, and cheesedogs. Seriously, it never changed. When I got sick of them, I'd have chicken nuggets -- the plain ones or sometimes the flavored ones, sometimes even the ones with alphabet or geometric shapes. But I know I would always go back to hotdogs, it was staple for me.

In high school, I didn't bring lunch. But I was such a picky eater, I wouldn't eat cafeteria food either. I'd just have Nagaraya peanuts and root beer. Yes, I survived on those for four years, and yes, I was really thin. I'd just have those, that is, except when the cafeteria people served Ma-Ling, that cheap and really fatty luncheon meat that tasted a bit reminiscent of its metal can, remember? Don't even know if they still have that in the supermarket. And in the rare moments that I did bring lunch, it'd be Spam, or Libby's chicken vienna sausage, or Libby's black label corned beef. Sometimes I'd have canned tuna, and while I loved canned tuna, I hated that its oils always made a mess, so I very rarely had it. But I digress. Basically, I'm just trying to point out that every lunch I had back then came from a can.

I know that it was a fact that's pretty hard to miss, but I'm not sure I like that Spam reminds her of me. If anything, I kinda thought Dawson's Creek is what reminds people of me, as I was a rather hardcore fan at the time. I guess to me, to know that you've made your mark through canned processed meat, is just a little disconcerting.

: /

***
Quotable quote, not necessarily related to this post, but noteworthy nonetheless:
"Why, am I so repulsive?? Am I so repugnant, that no one wants to be with me?!" - Ed (The Long Weekend)

Dc vs. The Collections Agent, Round 1

10 o'clock in the morning. The phone rings incessantly. Dc stumbles out of bed from an obviously incomplete sleep sluggishly, unmistakably cranky and irritable.

Dc: Hello. (It wasn't a question.)

(No response from the other line. Dc waits for 10 more seconds. Suddenly...)

Very Rude Girl: Hello? Is Alma there?

Dc: No, she's--

Very Rude Girl: She's at work? Uh-huh. Who's this?

Dc: Christopher.

Very Rude Girl: Christopher; and what's your relation to Ms. Alma?

Dc: I'm her son. Why?

Very Rude Girl: Okay, thanks.

(By now, Dc is fast losing his patience.)

Dc: Excuse me, hey, don't you dare hang up. I believe I asked you a question.

Very Rude Girl: What question?

(Dc has finally snapped.)

Dc: You don't have active listening skills, do you? I asked you why you wanted my name. And who the hell is this, by the way?

Very Rude Girl: Oh, just for reference. I'm with HSBC.

Dc: Oh, for reference? Well, while you're at it, maybe you could note it there as well that it is pointless to be calling at this hour, or any other time during the day for that matter, because yes, my mother is at work. And while we're on that subject, and since you've nonchalantly included me in your "reference" without so much as my consent, (Dc decides to embellish the truth a little here, you know, to better get his point across ^_^) maybe you could also note it down there that I work in the graveyard shift, and that this is usually the time when I am asleep. And when you people call every single f*ckin' day, the phone's incessant ringing wakes me up, and I always have a hard time falling back to sleep. And I become cranky the whole day, and that affects my life, my career, and my relationships. All because of your pointless calls. And I know that it isn't your damn problem, but it is f*ckin' mine. So you have to at least respect that. And why is it that most of the time when I get woken by your freakin' pointless calls, and I come to answer the freakin' phone, no one freakin' responds, huh? Isn't it plain and simple proper phone etiquette that when the person you call says "Hello," you say "Hello," right back? Especially when said person gets rudely woken from their sleep and goes way out of their way just to answer the godamn phone?! (Yep, Dc has left the building.) And since you obviously lack manners, you should also know that it's not right to ask for someone's name without introducing yourself first, and if applicable, the company you f*ckin' represent!! Oh, and one last thing. Before hanging up, that is if you're not a stalker or even remotely close to a criminal, always make sure you state your godamn f*ckin' business!!!

(And on that note, Dc slams the receiver down.)

--End scene.--



>: (

***
Quotable quote, not necessarily related to this post, but noteworthy nonetheless:
"You have to stop the q-tip when there's resistance." - Chandler Bing (Friends)

All Pinoy Reject: An Unfathomable Act of Sheer Gross-ness

Several days ago, I had the liberty of rejecting this friend request from this jologs stranger-guy who's over in Cebu. Why, you ask? Well, aside from the fact that I don't know him, his primary photo was a picture of a very thin and drug induced-looking Aaron Carter, and his 'Photos' contained nothing more than inapropriate pictures of desperate chicks in various states of undress. His profile also revealed that he doesn't have a clear grasp on English grammar. Don't believe me? Here, I'll show you. ^_^

Hobbies and Interests: Will just only listening music, tambay with friends and making friend with good personality ("Will just only"? What the hell does that mean? And his hobbies include "making friend" with Good Personality. I believe the big question is, who is Good Personality? His parents must really hate him if they named him that. Perhaps they were afraid he would turn out to have a BAD personality, so they named him the opposite instead in the hopes that he wouldn't.)

Favorite Books: hmmmn........maybe interesting books (Clearly, he likes to over-use 'the ellipses'.)

Favorite Movies: friction move lang......... (Oh yeah, "Friction Move" was a really good imaginary movie. Yeah, I heard about. It got really rave reviews from critics...)

Favorite Music: pop and all kind of music that is very comfortable and suit in my personality (Yeah, some kindS of music are just too darned firm, others, too darned soft. When picking music, you always look for the ones that are just right in terms of comfort.)

Favorite TV Shows: hhhhhhhmmmmmm la lang....... (Now, that was a particularly long 'hmm'. I'm assuming that meant he was thinking, right? I wonder how long it took him to come up with "la lang"? In his defense, maybe there are a lot of TV shows over in Cebu that it took him a really long time to mentally gauge every single one, before figuring out that he didn't like any one show enough to be called his favorite.)

About Me: Just see me in person para you know me better......... (Apparently, this person's physical appearance is enough basis to instantaneously know him better.)

Who I Want to Meet: Hi friendssss............ if u want me to know better just add me. friends tau hah!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ('Nuff said.)

And it must be true what they say about birds of the same feather flocking together, because his testimonials sound like his friends also snuck out on English 101. Honestly, they all sound like the rowdy Pinoy-ghetto bunch trying to be street. Here's a sample *shivers*:

Hi!!!!!!!!!
watz up dude!!!!!!
keep up your good deeds!

(This is probably that Good Personality person that he was talking about in his hobbies! ROTFL)

Kidding aside, I really am still baffled as to why this person would invite me. I'm afraid to even think of the reasons. As the bitchy cheerleader in A Cinderella Story once said, "We are completely different classes of human." Apparently, in some cases, this holds true.

:p

***

Quotable quote, not necessarily related to this post, but noteworthy nonetheless:

"I'm an artist. Torture is a pre-requisite." - Dawson Leery (Dawson's Creek)

My Critiquing Opinionatedness: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Book)

(Plot)

Intent on continuing what he and Albus Dumbledore started before the great wizard's untimely demise, Harry Potter must now embark on a journey to search for the remaining Horcruxes. Together with his best friends, the insecure Ron Weasley and the Muggle-born Hermione Granger, they face countless dangers and upheavals along the way.

Unaware of the mysterious whereabouts of their supposed light of hope, the wizarding world is unrelentingly terrorized by Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters, as they take over the Ministry of Magic, all the while subjecting all suspected non-pureblood wizards and witches to genocide. Right on top of their list of priorities is the capture of Undesirable No. 1, Harry, and it seems as though they keep on successfully thwarting our heroes' search for the Horcruxes.

Meanwhile, tensions mount high and the friendship of the three is conflicted by deep-rooted issues. To make matters worse, Harry is plagued by visions of the Dark Lord in his own quest for "something". He worries that whatever Voldemort is looking for has something to do with the items Dumbledore has left behind for our heroes, and that whatever this "something" might be is even bigger than the Horcruxes.

Will Harry and his friends successfully get the job done in time to prevent Voldemort's final rise to power over all of the magical realm?

(Review)

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was inconceivably amazing! Completely action-packed from the get-go, J.K. Rowling's 7th installment to what has now become an international phenomenon surpassed all of my expectations. While I have always respected her as a creatively gifted writer, I have felt that Rowling's writing skills had somewhat deteriorated since the emergence of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Deathly Hallows definitely redeemed her name, in my opinion.

But this book isn't entirely without fault. Some parts just didn't add up; like how Harry miraculously knew what the next Horcrux was after Regulus' locket, when it was quite adamantly expressed that they had absolutely no leads to go on with for months.Or their sudden ability to use the unforgivable curses was a bit of much, considering they are unforgivable curses and therefore seems rather hard to administer. Or what the actual purpose of the Deathly Hallows was. It was never really explained what would actually happen when the three items are brought together (which, by the way, they never do in the book), aside from the cryptic message that whoever possesses all three Hallows shall be “Master of Death”. I also felt that the "final explanation to everything" wasn't explosive enough, as much as it is rather vague. And plot-wise, I actually thought that certain premises were a little too familiar.

However, despite everything this book failed to deliver, it is as "monumental" as Michiko Kakutani, of The New York Times, said it was. And I will say this: Deathly Hallows will be one expensive hell of a movie. And I mean it with all my love and support when I say that I really hope the leading movie cast doesn’t butcher this one up with their brand of bad acting. No offense, but they really do need to take more lessons, especially Daniel Radcliffe. But if they manage to pull this one off, and if they probably re-hire the genius Alfonso Cuaron to take on the directorial post, this just might well be the best Potter flick of the entire lot.

Deathly Hallows truly is a superlative culmination to the incredible journey of Harry Potter. Really, Rowling outdid herself with this one. In my "good books", Harry Potter is no longer just a children's novel. It's an epic.

And yes, this book really does make you want to cry a little. Harry Potter will truly, truly be missed...

***
Quotables:

"Parked all right, then?" Ron asked Harry. "I did. Hermione didn't believe I could pass a muggle driving test, did you? She thought I'd have to Confund the examiner."

"No, I didn't," said Hermione, " I had complete faith in you."

"As a matter of fact, I did Confund him," Ron whispered to Harry, as together they lifted Albus' trunk and owl onto the train. "I only forgot to look in the wing mirror, and let's face it, I can use a Suspensory Charm for that."

Back on the platform, they found Lily and Hugo, Rose's younger brother, having an animated discussion about which House they would be sorted into when they finally get into Hogwarts.

"If you're not in Gryffindor, we'll disown you," said Ron, "but no pressure."

"Ron!"

Lily and Hugo laughed, but Albus and Rose looked solemn.

"He doesn't mean it," said Hermione and Ginny, but Ron was no longer paying attention. Catching Harry's eye, he nodded covertly to a point some fifty yards away. The steam had thinned for a moment, and three people stood in sharp relief against the shifting mist.

"Look who it is."

Draco Malfoy was standing there with his wife and son, a dark coat buttoned up to his throat. His hair was receding somewhat, which emphasized the pointed chin. The new boy resembled Draco as much as Albus resembled Harry. Draco caugt sight of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny staring at him, nodded curtly, and turned away again.

"So that's little Scorpius," said Ron under his breath. "make sure you beat him in every test, Rosie. Thank God you inherited your mother's brains."

"Ron, for heaven's sake," said Hermione, half stern, half amused. "Don't try to turn them against each other before they've even started school!"

"You're right, sorry," said Ron, but unable to help himself, he added. "Don't get too friendly with him, Rosie. Granddad Weasley would never forgive you if you married a pureblood."

***

Like Life, The Dream Is Always More Spectacular

As early as the sixth grade, I've had deja vus. Sometimes, I'd find myself remembering dreams I had in the past of events that are just happening right then. It's totally useless of course, since I can't sense when something's about to happen, just know for myself that I've seen it before in a dream. Sometimes, my dreams would be so lucid that my dream-self would realize that he's inside my dream, and snap me back to consciousness, as if forbidding me to see the dream's proceedings. It's these last fleeting glimpses that get emblazoned in the deep recesses of my memory, and the scenes which I remember when the deja vu kicks in in real life. Sometimes the memory would be in black and white, sometimes in full color. But either way, I'd remember things the way I saw it in my dream. The distance between myself and my surroundings, the position and placement of various things and people, the colors, the smells, the sounds, it's really a visceral experience. Sometimes I'd even remember how I woke up from the dream. It's actually why I get bothered about some dreams. When I can't find a means of symbolism to it, it usually turns out to be a deja vu dream. And when it happens in real life, and I remember that I've dreamt about it in the past, that's the only time it makes sense. Like this dream I had back in the sixth grade. I was standing relatively in the middle of this huge place, with ornate walls from floor to ceiling. There were flickering lights and echoing sounds everywhere. It looked to me like a golden theatre or something, a place I know for a fact that I've never been to. It wasn't until we went to visit this church in Ilocos back in college, that it just came to me and finally made sense.

I don't know if this could be considered a gift, but I do know that it's nothing major, and that everybody has them every once in a while. And I certainly don't claim to have "the sight". It's not a "third eye". I don't see ghosts, I can't read people's minds, or move things telekinetically. But sometimes you can't help but wonder if there's a divine connection between these things and the Cosmos or whatever. One thing is for sure, though. Like life, the dream is always more spectacular.

Dream vs. Nightmare

For an entire week in February of this year, I dreamt about dead people. It was the week after I felt like I was surrounded by a lot of deaths. Well, just three actually. But I'm not particularly fond of deaths, so to find out that people were dropping dead every other day was a little disturbing. First there was my college classmate's friend who died of an aneurysm. Then there was my colleague's mother who died of a heart illness. Finally, there was my mom's colleague's mother who just died.

Anyway, in the dreams, I would find myself in an unknown land, where people hail from different races, and are speaking foreign tongues. Surprisingly enough, I had xenoglassy (the paranormal phenomena of being able to speak, write, and understand different languages fluently, without ever studying them). In the dreams, it would be as if I was normally carrying on with a normal life like the foreign people. But all of a sudden I would get this dark sense of foreboding, and my instincts would single out a person from the crowd. I'd stare at him long and hard. Then without even telling myself to do it, I'd find myself telling the person, "You're already dead. You just don't know it yet." The person would then erupt in a fit of rage, as he denies this simple fact which only I, or at least my dream-self, seem able to know. And that's it. I'd wake up. It's very Ghost Whisperer, don't you think? But the weird thing is, I'd always wake up with a jerking start, gasping for air, and always at three in the morning. When it happened a second time, I started keeping a diary. For one week I would dream of a different encounter with a different person. And of course, it bothered me. It bothered me a lot. What did it all mean? Why was I the one telling these random people they're dead? And more importantly, what was the significance of waking up at three in the morning?

The day it started, I never told anyone. I mean, what would I possibly say? They'd just think I'm crazy... But I guess I couldn't help myself, and after a week, I told two people about it. One merely agreed with me that it was really freaky, then told me to check out this Robert De Niro movie, Hide and Seek. I never did. The other one simply got scared, and told me to pray profusely. I think maybe she thought I was dealing with the devil or something. I also decided to post my situation in this psychic forum I found online. I got a total of one reply, from this lady who apparently had similar experiences in the past. She told me that my psychic eye was opening or something, and that those spirits were somehow drawn to me. I asked for her to elaborate, but never got a reply afterwards. I assumed she was just looking for a chance to talk about herself and brag about her self-proclaimed abilities. Regardless of the lack of resolution I got, I slept peacefully that night. It would seem that after I've talked about it, "it" stopped haunting me. I brushed it off for nothing, and I haven't had a Ghost Whisperer episode since. I no longer see dead people, in my dreams or otherwise.

Then one day, while standing in line at an SSS office with my friend, the topic came about. The minute I mentioned "3:00 AM", she interrupted me and told me that in the movie The Exorcism of Emily Rose, they said that 3:00 AM is when the devil is at his most powerful...

:/

***

Quotable quote, not necessarily related to this post, but noteworthy nonetheless:

"If it makes you feel any better, I can assure you. Over time, it gets worse." - Val Tyler (What I Like About You)

The Wait House

"And then I thought, what if there is no one? What if you live your whole life and no one is waiting? So I drove to the lake house looking for any kind of answer. And I found you. And I let myself get lost. Lost in this beautiful fantasy where time stood still. But it's not real, Alex. I have to learn to live the life that I have got. Please don't write anymore. Don't try to find me. Let me let you go."

- Kate Forrester (The Lake House)

And there I was, all warm and fuzzy inside, thinking to myself, what a totally respectable story this was. Much kudos goes to the writer for such an amazing job. And as I sat there watching the shrewd turn of events come into play, I hear the voice inside my head telling myself, God, why am I such a sucker for movies that revolve around the possibility of true romance?

Not since the emergence of Serendipity has there been a romantic movie that made me want to believe in soul mates. The Lake House does that to you. In the movie’s premise, two people, from literally two different times, meet in the most unconventional way. As with all typical chick flicks, they fall in love without even realizing it. But due to certain uncontrollable circumstances, the two are left waiting for four years before they finally got their chance to be with each other. One could not possibly deny that these two characters were pre-destined to spend the rest of their lives together, what with all that waiting.

When you've hardened yourself like I have to all forms of human emotion, you tend to become numb, and eventually you turn stoic and cynical. You shut out everyone else's outlooks and opinions and form your own belief system. It's exactly these kinds of movies that challenge those beliefs.

I don't believe in soul mates. But sometimes, especially after watching these sappy kinds of chick flicks, it's nice to think that somewhere in this gargantuan planet is actually a special someone just for you. Two people so singled out by destiny and fate to wind up being with each other, no matter how long it took. Four years is not a hindrance for the grand design of the Cosmos. If the two of you were pre-destined, then you're meant to be. In one way or another, at some point in time, no matter how long the wait, you would end up in each other's arms.

The idea of having a soul mate is nice. It's pleasant. It's ideal. But it's surreal. It isn't life. In life, it is pointless to wait for such a long time, and for what? For hope? For two people to keep on waiting for that one miraculous day when they haplessly bump into each other by kismet, and significantly change their lives the moment they lay eyes upon the other, is simply preposterous. Waiting is one of the most excruciating types of pain. To subject one's self to such is no act of self-preservation, but a cruel ride to a slow and lonely death.

Maybe it’s not the possibility that I’m drawn to, but the tragedy. Because true romance is fleeting, and it doesn’t happen in real life. Somehow, while crossing through the bonds of reality and imagination, true romance loses its essence. And what we’re left with… is mere fantasy. It is what it is – tragic.

: (

***

Quotable quote, not necessarily related to this post, but noteworthy nonetheless:

"Everytime I stop to take a breath, I realize how isolated I've let myself become. Believe me. You can get a bit desperate." - Kate Forrester (The Lake House)

She's Effing Fourteen, People!

They say that some people were born great, while others have greatness thrust upon them. Clearly, this mere child of fourteen, whose undeniable talent just escapes my ever-present skepticism, is a perfect example of having greatness for a birthright. And based on what I've heard so far, it's almost impossible not to get a visionary glimpse of what the world has in store for her in the future.

It's sad that, here I am, eight years her senior, and still, I have yet to experience a mere fraction of such greatness. It makes one wonder, that for people like me who are obviously not blessed with greatness, will greatness ever be thrust upon our hands, that we may get to experience a small amount of it in the least? I'd certainly like to think that even just once in my short life on this planet, I could be great. Unfortunately, with the way things are looking in life right now, it's easier to lose any sense of hope I could ever expend for such a daydream. And, really, is that not the question we need to be asking ourselves? How long should we sit idly by, waiting for things to happen in our lives? It's no wonder some people choose to lead a life of 'no apologies'. As James Dean once said, "Dream as if you'll live forever; live as if you'll die tomorrow." So if we're tired of feeling helpless and hopeless, and just practically this pathetic in life, should we really go out and about looking for these so-called great things in the world, and actually make it happen ourselves? I guess the obvious answer would be 'yes'. But is it really that simple? It's certainly easy to surmise that in theory, yes it's that simple. But as constant as the beating of our hearts, we are always reminded that life is never easy; it's always complicated to the point that we merely search for the loopholes just to get by. It's unfair, is what it is. And it's the same with greatness. After all, it's either you were born with it, or you were handed it. So for people like me, unblessed in the ways of fate and karma, is it still that simple? Or is greatness simply too great to grasp and fathom?

:/

***
Quotable quote, not necessarily related to this post, but noteworthy nonetheless:

"You start by doing the hardest thing. You forgive yourself." - Aunt May, Spider-Man 3...

Curiouser And Curiouser

Ramblings. Sometimes, I like to pretend that I have more depth in me than what my superficiality has to offer. This is one of those days. The word 'ramblings' is not at all new to me. It's one of those words that you first hear being used on tv when you were in high school, and was easy enough to understand just by listening to how it was used (I think there's a term for that, but it escapes my memory right now), you know, one of those words you didn't really need to look up in a dictionary. But somehow, today, of all days (actually, there isn't really anything special about today, I've just always wanted to say that but was never presented with the opportunity), it just struck me out of nowhere while I was in the middle of one. I was, at the time, trying to debate upon myself how vicious a cycle being taken for granted is. It's a question, actually. A question I am so desperate to know the answer to, hence the rambling. You see, in my twisted hindsight, I find it so unfair how one, such as myself, can just give and try his entire life and not get a single thing in return. I know that it sounds simple right off the bat, and sure, there's no doubt you'll probably agree to what it says. But I find this statement to be so encrypted with layers and layers of subtext that I know, once segmented, will reveal multitudes of curious queries for you, too. Ramblings are not just excessive thinking. You may not realize, but they're still thoughts and, more importantly, they're yours. Yes, they do seem random and arbitrary (duh, that's why they're called ramblings), but they carry so much honesty and reality to them. For me, they're extensions of your very own persona.

You wouldn't believe it, but this was actually inspired by a memory of mine from the not so distant past. This memory, which was merely from yesterday, finds me on the brink of finishing my petite (which, on a side note, is just as satisfying as the fiesta) halo-halo, that I so casually laid aside in order to attack my chicharap (yes, I had my merienda delivered from Chowking; as if the halo-halo wasn't clue enough) with much fervored gusto. And as I munchingly devoured (what? I was famished) the crackling-upon-contact-with-saliva things, my enthusiasm was halted when a pestering house fly (or fruit fly, i don't really know or care) decided to join in. As I nimbly swatted at it with the backside of my slackened hand, it merely dodged impact, then plainly returned to it's original spot very near my cold treat. I kept shooing it away, and it just kept coming back to feed on the spilled droplets of evaporated milk that clustered beside my halo-halo. And as my patience quickly wore thin with how unrelenting the fly became, I was struck with the thought that a deep-thinking optimist (which is the exact opposite of myself) would merely see this as a chance, a God-given opportunity, to exercise that which makes him just that - an optimist. He would see this as a perfect analogy for human virtue. As humans blessed with sentience, we are expected to realize that 'trying' is merely a by-product of gumption, and the key to a triumphant success. And with that in mind, I started to think to myself. Would things have been different if I tried harder in life? No doubt, things would definitely be different, maybe even better. But I know for a fact that not all things would be affected in the same way. I'm referring to emotions, you know, those God-awful things that make us human. When it comes to matters of the heart, things always tend to be a little trickier. If I tried harder with love, would things be any different than the way things are now? Would things have been for the better if exerted just a little more keen effort, like my little fly friend (who I killed, by the way, in the office, with murder weapon newspaper)? Or is a little more just way too much effort already? Because when you go through what I've been through (and I'm hoping someone actually has), is that much effort actually even worth the risk or the trouble? Would I be in a loving relationship right now if I had pursued 'her' even when I know deep down I would be fighting a losing battle anyway? I tried, and I'd like to think that I gave so much, but when is it ever enough? Should I have tried harder? God knows I probably would have. But was I just supposed to keep doing it forever? Cuz that's an awful long time of hurting. A very accidentally wise colleague once said, "if it's meant to be, it will be." So naturally, it goes both ways. If it isn't meant to be, it never will be. Should I have put in that much effort in something that will never give me anything in return? Shouldn't I be using this much energy on something else instead, something productive? Don't I deserve rewards too? They say each of us has a shot at happiness. Yeah, okay, so maybe I made that up. But isn't it true anyway? I mean, some people (ehem, ehem) are already not living life at all, should they be deprived of that one shot still? When you try and you keep trying, and nothing ever comes your way, isn't it just more practical to be realistic, in the sense that you understand that there may never be anything for you this one way, and that you should move on and try another route? But what if the other party doesn't think you've tried enough? That's the thing, isn't it? You just never know for sure. There's always that possibility, no matter how minute, how slim the chances of that happening are. But sometimes, isn't all this trying tiring? Should we always attach ourselves to that small glimmer of hope? When your life is as dreary as my existence, should you always look forward to a silver lining, when there isn't even a possibility of one? Or is that just allowing others to add insult to injury? It's pretty much a no brainer that it's an unfair deal to the ego to receive so much humiliation, but to keep doing it to yourself...? I guess the question now becomes, when it's as universal as faith, when it could just as well be considered a religion, how important is it to believe in hope, when there's a fifty-fifty chance it might be false? Heh, see what I mean by rambling?

Ramblings. I like the sound of it. It's like 'unorthodox', or 'mediocre', or 'apathy'. Ramblings. Yeah, I definitely love the word. It has an inescapable level of uncertainty that's almost unintelligent, but not really. I think it'll make a permanent home in my vocabulary, and quite a lovely addition, don't you think?

*rawr*



:p

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Quotable quote, not necessarily related to this post, but noteworthy nonetheless:

"For a kiss to be really good you want it to mean something. You want it be with someone you can’t get out of your head. So that when your lips finally touch you feel it everywhere. A kiss so hot, so deep you never wanna come up for air. You can’t cheat your first kiss Nicole. Trust me, you don’t want to. 'Cause when you find the right person to first kiss, it’s everything!" – Alex Karev, Grey’s Anatomy...

Exacerbated Gibberish

My recent bout of unemployment had caused me nothing but insomnia, boredom, and a whole lot of Sex… and the City, that is. While I was never a devout fan of the successful show in its prime, I did occasionally enjoy an episode or two. So on the one day that I had absolutely nothing better to do, and since becoming a fan of DVD telethons as the new recreational sport, I decided to watch the entire six seasons of the popular show. And even though I’ll admit to the fact that my intentions of watching was originally to get out of running family errands, doing chores, and even getting myself a decent haircut, my opinions of it changed as I watched episode after episode.

Looking back to when the show aired, I vaguely remember myself watching a few episodes every now and then, just for the sake of watching. I figured, because everybody else was watching, and not wanting to be thrown out of a conversational loop whenever the need arose, I might as well pretend I was a fan too. I even only started watching on the third or fourth season. Frankly, I didn’t quite get it at the time. Back then, it was all about the sex for me. I was mortified, to say the least, yet strangely aroused and disturbingly interested from all the images and scenes of, dare I even say it, soft-core porn the show provided; this is, of course, despite the pre-program advisory in silent black and white. Somehow I just couldn’t quite grasp how such taboo topics as sex and male and female genitalia or lewd, promiscuous sexual acts I’m embarrassed to even mention here, suddenly became okay to be shown and discussed as normal, everyday conversational pieces, say, over lunch, brunch, dinner, a movie, a telephone call, a date, before sex, after sex, and even during sex. Heck, the lead character’s job is entirely about those topics. Clearly, I missed the memo there. But now that I was watching it again after 2-4 years of gained maturity something-or-other, and what I hope to be a better understanding of life, I actually saw the show in a totally different and better perspective. Turns out, it was indeed about relationships like they kept on saying to the public before. I just forgot how living with cultural differences can sometimes hinder a full understanding of things. Apparently, if our normal, acceptable behavior here in Manila is what Americans, especially the New Yorker ones, would define as conservative, their “normal” over there is our liberated. And this is how they manage to get away with broadcasting stuff like sex on national television every single time. Unfortunately for me, though, after watching six seasons straight, the show somehow managed to have Carrie Bradshaw’s way of thinking rub off on me a little, as the cobwebbed gears in my head started turning with those sudden random thoughts on cultural differences, and I found myself just having to ask… are we really behind the times that bad, or are they just the ones who are moving too fast? Or is it possible, that it’s just me? If so, then I need to rephrase my question. Has the liberated ship already set sail without me on it?

Despite twenty-two lousy years of a pathetic existence I frequently refer to as my life, I know that I need to start calling myself a bachelor now. And while my experience in the relationship department is certainly lacking in so many aspects, as a single man, however weak and depressing, living along the outskirts of the posh side of our country’s very own version of Manhattan, it strikes me as very worrisome that the clock has already began to tick, and I’m still stuck on a time loop. It feels like I’m still caught between being the dependent child, and the struggling, striving young adult. In retrospect, you could say that my family history and anti-socializing definitely had something to do with it. I feel like Miranda Hobbs, always too proud to show the slightest sign of weakness, always cringing at the slightest imperfection. Somehow, I just find it so hard to be comfortable around other people, and just eventually developed intimacy issues. But when it comes to matters of the lust-induced sexual appetite, what’s holding me back?

I have to ask myself… I couldn’t help but wonder… am I just another Carrie, who’s living his life in the city, on the lookout for love? Now that’s a scary thought.

Sex and the City trivia:

Back in the day, when Chandra Wilson was not yet famous and successfully playing Grey’s Anatomy’s Dr. Miranda Bailey, she was an extra on Sex and the City playing a female police officer who was supposed to stop Samantha (played by Kim Catrall) from posting posters of her then boyfriend Richard’s face all over the place. When Samantha explained to her with much fervor how she caught the man (Richard) eating another woman’s p*ssy, Chandra let her carry on. She had about two lines and not more than 10 seconds of face time, but I still noticed. ^_^

:p

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Quotable quote, not necessarily related to this post, but noteworthy nonetheless:

His hello was the end of her endings

Her laugh was their first step down the aisle

His hand would be hers to hold forever

His forever was as simple as her smile

He said she was what was missing

She said instantly, she knew

She was a question to be answered

And his answer was, "I do."

- Carrie Bradshaw, Sex And The City...