French Fries and a Soda Drink

Movin' On Up

2007-09-07T04:55:00.000+08:00

The Bastard is moving here.

Good Signs Gone Bad

2007-08-30T06:08:00.000+08:00

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

2007-08-11T15:13:00.000+08:00

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

2007-08-09T18:59:00.000+08:00

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

2007-08-08T16:16:00.000+08:00

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.

***

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)

2007-07-26T20:30:00.000+08:00

(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

2007-07-01T05:52:00.000+08:00

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

2007-06-12T00:52:00.000+08:00

"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!

2007-05-19T02:05:00.000+08:00

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

2007-04-19T13:12:00.000+08:00

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

***
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

2007-04-09T00:39:00.000+08:00

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. ^_^

***

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...

Acquiescence /n/

2006-12-27T02:53:00.000+08:00

You’re probably wondering why. Why I’ve been giving you the cold shoulder. Why I haven’t returned any of your messages or calls. Why I went from open and warm to civil and cordial. Don’t get me wrong, I’m extremely pained to be doing all these things to you. I’m confused and I guess a little disappointed that you could just let it be without getting upset or demanding an explanation, but rest assured I am bothered by my own behavior.

The truth is, I’m just bitter. Remember that stuffed pug I promised to get in advance to give to you when I’m finally “man enough” (as you so bluntly put it) to confess my true feelings? Well, it turns out you’re not getting it anymore. I guess times have changed, decisions were made, and now, stocks have stopped production.

So there I was in front of Sleepcare’s glass window, looking so pathetic into the eyes of the stuffed pug, almost as if wishing it would magically find a way to come to life, speak up, and tell me what to do. I know that I must have looked freaky for the people milling about. Heck, at some point a salesgirl even approached me to offer her assistance. Guess what I replied? “No thanks, I’m just wallowing.” I’m not sure she understood the word “wallowing”, though. She had this completely stupid look plastered on her face afterwards, that, if not for the emotionally distressing circumstances that have brought me to where I was that time, I would have condescendingly made fun of without any form of remorse. Well, the pug never came to life, even after our seemingly endless staring contest (and he was winning too). I don’t know if that’s good news or bad. Of course I’m glad that it didn’t, because that would indicate that my sanity was still intact. But at the same time, I was still left not knowing what to do next.

With a last surreptitious look at Atticus (I already named the stuffed animal, how sad am I, huh?), I left. At the time, I decided that buying it would only be a waste of my rapidly diminishing supply of funds, and since buying it had already lost its purpose, right after I read your text message informing me that you were no longer available, I opted to forget the entire concept. I know it seems very cliché, but after I read your text message, I swear I felt the world slow down as I tried to kick my brain to full gear to actually start processing those few words that managed to crush my heart and spirit. Ugh, love really does make you say the corniest of things. But nevertheless, it was then that I was finally able to admit to myself that I really did have these so-called “love” feelings for you. The fact that I even fell in love didn’t even dawn on me immediately, because I find that to fall in love is such a normal human quality that I thought myself completely incapable of, that something this big in my life should be considered news. At the time, all that I could comprehend was you… and that I was not your boyfriend.

In retrospect, all the blame does fall on me. Not you. I never mentioned any of these in your face. I was too chicken, too torpe. I don’t know if you’ve known for quite some time, or had an idea perhaps, and was only feigning ignorance, and don’t even bother to care, but I think I was secretly hoping you’d just catch on, feel mutually the same way, and that things would just fall naturally into place. I guess no matter how much I preach about life not being anything remotely similar to movie storylines, I was still expecting myself to be that one exception. Honestly, I just find this whole situation I deliberately brought upon myself to be so stupid and pathetic. I went on and on about not wanting to tell you so that I would be forever close to you, and yet here I am, heartbroken. What I thought I wanted turned out to be not what I wanted at all. And now, unable to face the simple truth that we will never be “together”, I’ve become bitter. I just can’t seem to get it past my head that you actually found someone else. I know it was something inevitable anyway, but I’m jealous, and it feels like my heart got stomped on, and now, I can’t even manage to pick it up off the floor. I just can’t deal with this, or I just don’t know how. Either way, I somehow came to the conclusion, amidst all these drama-induced crap I’m feeling and experiencing, that if I can’t have you as my girlfriend, I’d rather not have you in my life at all. For some reason, I’m grasping at straws, and I just can’t seem to rationalize how and why I should still be friends with you. It’s too frickin’ hard. Life doesn’t have to be this complicated. It shouldn’t be, even for losers like me. I can’t go on living my life, looking you in the eye, and not seeing the girl of my dreams unsuspectingly pretending to be my best friend. I just can’t. Do you even know that I can’t look at you now? I bet you don’t. Our lives are already meshed in such a way that it’s kind of inescapable that our paths will and will cross. Do you even know how much it hurt to see you in that pizza place? I bet you never will. But at that point in time, it’s forever burned in my memory how beautiful you look. You were simply glowing! And it’s so painful to realize that I wasn’t causing you to bloom that prettily. It was someone else. It was so saddening to see you so happy, because I know that the other man is treating you right. Forget what I said before about seeing you happy is all that mattered to me, that’s all bull! I need to be that guy! So yes, I’m selfish, and I’m cruel, and I’m an awful person. I know all this already. I’m so bitter I even ended up saying all sorts of mean and negative things about you to anyone who would even care to listen. And you know what? I tried so hard not to care, and I swear to God, I really did, but I can’t. I care too much, I’m in too deep. You’re beautiful, and you deserve to be happy. Simply put, you deserve someone other than me.

I’m bitter. And I don’t think I’m ever going to change. And because of that, I’m saying goodbye to our friendship. I’m never speaking to you, ever again, except in cases where others are involved and that I have to be civil and cordial. Because as excruciating as it is for me, as ugly as it sounds, it’s the only way of coping I know how.

Once again, at the end of the day, all I have are maybes. And in this life, you, or the mere idea of being with you in a romantic context, are never gonna be more than my wishful thinking. I’m bitter, and you’re just gonna have to understand that this is me accepting, or at least trying to accept, the plain and simple fact that you’re not mine; not now, not ever.

P.S.
Today is Dec. 27, 2006. Advanced happy birthday… just in case.

:-(

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

Someday, you're gonna realize
One day, you'll see this through my eyes
By then, I won't even be there
I'll be happy somewhere
Even if I can't

I know, you don't really see my worth
You think, you're the last (girl) on earth
Well I've got news for you
I know I'm not that strong
But it won't take long, won't take long

'Cause
Someday, someone's gonna love me
The way, I wanted you to need me
Someday, someone's gonna take your place
One day, I'll forget about you
You'll see, I won't even miss you
Someday, someday

Right now, I know you can tell
I'm down, and I'm not doing well
But one day these tears
They will all run dry
I won't have to cry, sweet goodbye

'Cause
Someday, someone's gonna love me
The way, I wanted you to need me
Someday, someone's gonna take your place, woh
One day, I'll forget about you
You'll see, I won't even miss you
Someday, I know someone's gonna be there

Someday, someone's gonna love me
The way, I wanted you to need me
Someday, someone's gonna take your place
One day, I'll forget about you
You'll see, I won't even miss you
Someday, someday

- Nina, “Someday”

Tempestuous "/@%#/"

2006-09-09T06:04:00.000+08:00

Mother Nature can be a pretty nasty bitch when it wants to be. That’s all I’m saying.

Last night, as I desperately prepared to cross my perpetually tardy self across the street to meet my friends, thunders roared, and lightning struck across the dark and heavy skies. And in just a matter of seconds, heavy rains submerged the street in wetness. This was no drizzle. There was no soft pitter-patter of watery droplets on your arms, clothes, or hair. I’m talking huge raindrops, no, globules of wet liquid streaking down from the skies and splattering every inch of ground it can get its hands on. The damned road was immediately flooded.

In a flurry of hurried impulsiveness, I said, “Screw it!” and jumped out from our building’s ingress’ roof thing and started what should have been a short walk. I took a step forward, frail umbrella clutched tightly in hand, looked to my right for any wary vehicles passing on the one-way street, and headed on out with full determination. I was mildly halted when the sidewalk came to an end and I was left with no other choice but to cross the flooded street. As I looked on, I could see the raindrop’s splatter jumping several inches above the water’s surface, and the collected water on the ground running off like white river waters along the cemented road, all of which are indicative of a pretty high waterline. For some reason I have yet to determine, my stubborn-assed self decided my mind was only playing tricks on me since it was relatively dark even with the orange glow from scattered streetlamps. So I took my first ginger step forward, on tiptoe even, not to gauge the water level, but to make a run for it. At once, the fabric of my slip-on sneaker started to absorb the water molecules of the grimy semi-flood, and as I muttered a meek “Oh, shit!” to no one in particular, I brought my other foot in front of my other foot, and as I saw it make a big splash upon breaking the surface of the runny waters as it searched for solid ground, I merely cried a quiet “Aaahh!” as panic crept up my mind. Frantically coming up with my next move, I came to the conclusion that since my second step landed on deeper waters, and my sneaker completely soaked as opposed to my other foot-filled shoe, that spot was probably the deepest part of the flooded road. I decided to take a bigger step to sort of get me across faster, all the while thinking that the waters would be lower. But as my foot connected with the paved road underneath the huge splash it made, I was outraged to find that the water level had only gotten higher there. Now, not only are both my feet soaking wet, part of my leg and pants is too. When I realized this, my idiocy even made me decide to just go back, so for an entire minute and a half, I was standing there, my body clearly torn as it went one way then the other while I debated on my next move. Feet firmly planted on the ground, the water had started to creep up both my legs now as the rain continued to pour down on me. I decided to just walk the rest of the way in big, hopping steps, each time thinking the waters would recede as I walked on. Alas, it never did, and the water level just got higher and higher. As I stood there to survey the damage, car headlights blinked as a signal to me. I looked at the source to find a parked car, whose driver was laughing hysterically over my humiliation. I could only glare back before I turned around and walked away to meet with my friends, all the while nursing my poor, mortified ego.

In the end, I got out physically unharmed, emotionally outraged, with grayer shoes, and two-toned jeans as the water got me mid-calf… and nine hundred and twenty pesos worth of new shoes and socks. Argh!

:p

***
Quotable quote, not exactly related to this post, but noteworthy nonetheless:
“I think it’s a little presumptuous to assume that my chair is the wrong chair when my chair could just as easily be the right chair.” – Rory Gilmore, Gilmore Girls…

An Act of Contemplative Decision-Making

2006-09-04T00:33:00.000+08:00

I sighed. Why must a simple choice be this hard? As I contemplated on my choices further, I clenched my hands into fists. I didn’t even realize it, but I was pacing the glossy, tiled floor. I glanced around, afraid I might seem conspicuous to the others as they droned around me toward their destinations. I sighed again. Could this actually be God’s way of punishing me? Had I unknowingly done something that even remotely deserves the wrath of Karma’s vengeance?

Like others faced with a need to make a decision, I decided to weigh my pros and cons. Pros. Cons. Pros. Cons… on and on my mental list went, yet still, I came up with nothing. I was left with the same dilemma I had been mulling over for the past forty-five minutes. For God’s sake, what is this?! My frustration had built up so, that I didn’t even notice I had stopped my pacing. And as I blasphemed God’s name into my own personal hell, I looked up from where I was standing, and there it was, the sign, staring at me in the face the entire time. The goofy smile on my face couldn’t have been more asinine as I chuckled at my own idiocy. I slowly but surely made my way inside. There was not a single doubt in my mind as to why this is the right choice...

...Dahil sa Jollibee, bida ang sarap.

*rawr*

:p

***
Quotable quote, not necessarily related to this post, but noteworthy nonetheless:
"When you're tasting anything, the first taste acclimates the palate, the second establishes the foundation, and the third is to make your decision." - Emily Gilmore, Gilmore Girls...

Oh, Crap...

2006-09-03T23:57:00.000+08:00

In life, we always expect more than we should, only to end up in disappointment. We keep wanting the best out of everything, only to get nothing in the end. And when we do end up with the crappy things in life, we tend to complain and drown ourselves in self-pity. It’s like a sedative, almost euphoric in some ways too. It provides us with solace, and at the same time, contempt. But we like it anyway. Sure, it’s easier to blame someone else for all the trouble we go through, but sometimes, blaming ourselves is just what the doctor ordered. I guess you can call it penance for our guilty souls. Our conscience finds it unbearable to come across such unfathomable circumstances in our lives, and we really only have ourselves to blame for it. It’s the way of Karma. No matter how hard we stare it in the eye, it will follow us home, just to bite at our asses.

But if we’ve already repented for our bad choices, bad judgments, and bad everything else, why do crappy things keep happening in our lives? At some point in time, isn’t everyone entitled to the good stuff? We try and we try, and yes, we do try some more, yet somehow our asses just keep getting bitten. Until we find that the question has now become, how long do we hope for change?

Yes, there are times when wallowing in our own self-pity seems to provide us with a sense of comfort. But if we keep doing it over and over, doesn’t it just get tired? In addition, it really does nothing for the ego. It brings us down even further, and when we’ve hit rock bottom, suddenly we find it very hard to get back up. And isn’t it always harder to let others see these moments of weakness and vulnerability? Because, let’s face it, all of us are predatory scavengers. We take what we can, and we gobble it down. It’s always better to see yourself on top, looking down on others, making them feel lower than they already are. The humiliation that we manage to scrounge from them is somehow gratifying for our human natures.

Somehow, buried deep within the twisted recesses of our very beings, we love pity. We bask in the glory of it. That’s why we keep taking so much crap in our lives. We put up with it for all we’re worth. The thing is, it’s just too much. Life will always present us with crap. And if we want to stop receiving crappy things in life, isn’t it high time we stop accepting crap and demand something more instead? Like I always used to say, life is like a box of crap, you never know what you’re stepping on until you’re already in deep shit.

***

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

"Yes, everyone loves a scandal, no matter how big, or small. After all, what could be more entertaining than to watch the downfall of the high and mighty? What could be more amusing than the public exposure of hypocritical sinners? Yes, everyone loves a scandal. And if you find yourself not enjoying the latest one, well, the next one's always just around the corner." - Mary Alice Young, Desperate Housewives...

"Cosmedienne"

2006-09-02T00:30:00.000+08:00

One of my usual hobbies is reading scripts of my favorite television shows off of the Internet. These days, Grey’s Anatomy had been ranking way up in my favorites list. So there I was reading an episode away when spunky Dr. Bailey delivers a striking line I still find so intrinsically disturbing that I felt compelled to write about it: “We’re all part of the cosmic joke.”

If you have been religiously watching the show as I am, you would know that Grey’s Anatomy is about Meredith Grey, a medical intern at Seattle Grace Hospital, and her group of doctor/surgeon friends, all of whom are trying to save the world, one 3-day shift at a time, while juggling their lives together with it. Each episode brings a window to various life stories as the doctors face one patient after another. On this episode that Dr. Bailey made me stop reading in my tracks, Dr. George O’Malley comes across a patient who jumped from a 5-storey building and lived to tell the tale with no more than a shattered leg bone. Yeah, it does sound like it probably hurt, but apparently if you jump from such a height, you’re expected to have incurred more damage than that (i.e. crushed lungs, and the like). And while George thought that it was a “carpe diem” moment, the patient wasn’t exactly in a seizing-the-day mood. It turns out that the reason why he jumped in the first place is because of some girl who works in the very same hospital, the one he considers to be the love of his life. So while they prepped the patient for surgery, and after reconsidering his original motives, and much of Dr. O’Malley’s continued arguments of surviving for fated second chances, George goes off to find the girl, only to find that she doesn’t want anything to do with him. When the patient asks kind and gentle O’Malley as to what had transpired on his meeting with his girl, George simply tells him she was on vacation, to spare him the disappointment and probably hurt. Realizing his newfound purpose in life, they proceed with the operation. And just like that, just when the anesthesia first kicked in, he dies. And George desperately tried to make sense out of what had happened, Dr. Bailey goes on to shed some light, and according to her, we’re all part of the cosmic joke.

Could it possibly be true? Could we have been living lives based on some joke by the cosmos? I don’t really believe in fate or destiny, but I won’t deny that there are times when I just can’t help but wonder if certain things are just meant to be and are just out of our control. The patient’s tale was a perfect example. He tries to kill himself, but survives, leading one to immediately assume that there’s something bigger planned out for the remainder of his life. A chance. A second chance for repentance, for rekindling what was lost, for whatever. He survives so he could be with the love of his life, and she doesn’t even want to see him. So, really, what was the point? And just when he realizes his reason for living, he dies. Again, what’s the point? What’s the point of having been given a second chance when it was taken out his hands just as easily? Was that the cosmos mocking him, telling it to his face that he made a mistake? Was that really something that fate had in store for him, a fleeting chance to find purpose, only to have it taken away? Seriously, what’s the point of all that, then? Was that some sick joke that the gods all across the heavens contrived for their amusement? Could cosmic fate be God’s version of irony?

I’m just baffled, is all. We make so many choices in our lives everyday, and we don’t even fully understand half of it. The other half we could probably second-guess, but there’s no certainty as to why we’re doing it either, is there? How ironic that we have to go through all sorts of trouble in life when we don’t even have a purpose for doing it in the first place.

Realization. Could that be what life is truly about? We only get to live our lives to realize the errors of our ways, and before we even realize it fully, it’s too late. It’s always already too frigging late…

***

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

"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women are merely players. They have their exits and their entrances." - William Shakespeare, As You Like It...

Anguish /n/

2006-08-27T02:32:00.000+08:00

Just in case you’re wondering, the answer is yes, I am avoiding you. Somehow, my overanalyzing brain had wracked itself senseless to come up with the insane idea that “distance” will help me lessen the pain and the torture that I subconsciously self-inflict upon my own poor heart with these so-called feelings I now have towards you, but still refuse to admit.

I’m guessing you must’ve been getting pretty frustrated with me for not returning your text when you message me, or for not bothering to chat with you online, or for not concerning myself with how you are everyday, or even for refusing to hang out. But these are things that, even though I know non-romantics like me will be reluctant to do altogether, are stuff relationships are made of. I’ve always said that relationships need effort to stay afloat. It’s because girls are just programmed that way, they have needs for pampering and special treatment. And for me to do all those things, though they pain my heart so, is just so confusing because in case you haven’t noticed, we’re not a couple. And you may not realize it yet, but I don’t want to be just your friend. And it sucks so bad that I can never be more than that to you, that you will never ever see me as anything past that. Who am I kidding? Even if you did see me with romantic potential, you still wouldn’t want to be with me. And as much as I keep telling myself that I’m content with the kind of relationship that we have, friendship can only go for so long. It has limitations of scope too, and boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed, otherwise feelings start to get complicated and confusing, and emotions tend to run high and wild. I wish there was some way I could get some radioactive bug to bite me (just a little, I’m allergic to pain) and suddenly give me telepathic capabilities, because I can’t read vibes real well. Actually, make that at all. Sometimes I feel like I should make a move (you have no idea how close I’ve come to doing so), but then you make a random comment about not wanting to be in a relationship right now, or about some guy that you went out with the other night, and suddenly, all bets are off again. That’s the thing with signals, I guess. They’re often misread for something the other party means entirely differently. And since I’m the biggest torpe this world has seen in decades, I really can’t get myself to trust and rely on signals or vibes that only pose for an inadequate amount of certainty for something that could significantly affect my currently nonexistent love-life. So I wait. Still.

The way I see it, I have been patient. But how long must a guy wait for something that may never happen anyway? What does it take for you to realize that I’m right here? Time and time again I hear your endless commentaries on how there’s a guy, believe me, I know the drill. The thing that makes me wonder is how there’s always a guy. And why is that, by the way? Why must there always be another guy? I mean, you read about it novels, you watch about it in movies, you hear about it in your friends’ stories. There’s always a freakin’ schmuck. But I guess the real question I should be asking is: why can’t that guy be me? And sadly, there’s never an easy answer for that. It’s a sad reality, but it’s just what it is.

But what you fail to recognize is just how much I bleed figurative ounces and quarts of smitten blood every time you would date countless men behind my back and have the decent courtesy to rub it in my face afterwards. What pains me more is that you hardly even know you’re doing it, and I can’t put any blame on you for doing what you’re doing at all! I mean, how could I when I’m a mere nobody in your life? I don’t have any goddamn right to feel this way. Oh, wait. I am a somebody in your life. I’m a friend. That’s right, a friend; nothing more, nothing less. But given the circumstances of our relationship, I’m a bad friend who couldn’t muster any relative quantity of self-control over his emotions and plainly allowed himself to fall for the one person he knows will never ever remotely reciprocate the same feelings. I’m a bad friend who’s hysterically green with jealousy over your happiness with somebody else. And I know I shouldn’t be feeling jealous at all because again, as I futilely keep reminding myself, we’re not together. There’s no us, no we, no you and I. But so help me God, I am jealous! I’m jealous that someone is making you smile, and it’s not me. And at times when I find your arrogance and overconfidence to be just unbearable as hell, I detest that I find it so easy to find forgiveness for you right away, when I despise people who feel that they’re all that when they’re not. I loathe the fact that deep down, I can never be too angry at you for too long. And I hate that I can’t find any other reason as to why I feel this way, other than simply because… I’m in love with you. And I hate myself even more that I can’t get enough backbone to actually tell you all these pathetic factoids of my thoughts and emotions to somehow get it all over with. The silence is just eating me up inside, and I’m allowing it to do so. It’s not healthy, and it’s just got to stop soon. I can’t keep torturing myself this way. Dammit, I deserve better! I need to learn to respect myself because I, too, should get a chance at happiness. Everybody does, Dr. Phil said so himself.

So why can’t I just come out and say it you? I pondered long and hard, and the only answer that I could come up with is because I’m scared. I’m afraid to find myself heartbroken because you will never ever say yes to me. I know that everyone experiences these things at least once in their lives, but I don’t want you to give me that experience. Because even when reality dictates that “it” will never ever happen, I’d still like to think of you as my fairy tale, I want you to be my happily-ever-after. God, Love is indeed a fickle-minded son of a bitch.

+++++

One of these days, I’m going to buy a Sleepcare stuffed pug. I figure things won’t work for us no matter how long and hard I hope and wish it to anyway. So when I do decide to tell you the truth, and when you turn me down like I know you would, I’ll be ready. I’m going to give you that stuffed pug to remember me by, and also for you to understand that I know that I will never ever have another chance to give you any other gift for any or no occasion at all whatsoever since you will never ever be mine, and we will never ever have monthsaries, and Christmases, and birthdays. At least with closure as my rationale, I have a solid excuse to give you something. And why the pug, you ask? Like I said before, I’m not romantic, and I’m not into flowers since they wilt and die easily. The stuffed pug is the next most adorable thing I could think of; the way it splays its little puppy dog limbs outstretched beside its little pug head as it lays serenely on any surface, as if lulling himself to a deep slumber, the way its passive face remains so lifeless it could come to life at any moment, and the way its special Sleepcare stuffing conforms to any hug you decide to throw at him on a whim, or for when your heart gets broken again in the future and you badly need a hug with no one there to give you one. My stuffed pug will be there. Really, I think cute is an understatement for it, and it’s the most romantic thing I could come up with, so just take the goddamn thing if and when I do give it you, will you? Consider it as a parting gift, with no strings attached.

P.S.
Again, dear reader, the bringer of my agony and anguish is not you. It will never be, so stop being narcissistic and self-centered. Newsflash: the world does not revolve around you, you know.

:(

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

It’s funny when you find yourself
Looking from the outside
I’m standing here but all I want
Is to be over there
Why did I let myself believe,
Miracles could happen?
Cuz now I have to pretend
That I don’t really care
I thought you were my fairy tale
A dream when I’m not sleeping
A wish upon a star
That’s coming true
But everybody else could tell
That I confused my feelings
With the truth
When there was me and you

I swore I knew the melody
That I heard you singing
And when you smiled you made me feel
Like I could sing along
But then you went and changed the words
Now my heart is empty
I’m only left with used-to-be’s
And once upon a song
Now I know you’re not a fairy tale
And dreams were meant for sleeping
And wishes on a star
Just don’t come true
Cuz now, even I can tell
That I confused my feelings
With the truth
Cuz I liked the view
When there was me and you

I can’t believe that I could be so blind
It’s like you were floating, while I was falling
And I didn’t mind
Cuz I liked the view
I thought you felt it too
When there was me and you

– Gabriella Montez, High School Musical…

Dare Me Dare You

2006-08-18T23:22:00.000+08:00

If there really is a life still within this world,
Dare it make me take that one step forward,
Dare it open my eyes to reality,
Dare it slap me in the face,
And let my heart soar uninhibitedly…

If there really is a God,
Dare He show His face to me,
Dare He take me back unto His hands,
Dare He give me life,
And reveal Himself, that I may understand…

If there really is such a thing as love,
Dare it make my whole world crumble,
Dare it redeem itself to me,
Dare it make my heart beat faster,
As you stop, look behind, and finally see…

If there really is a you,
Dare me to unmask what I’ve kept hidden,
Dare me to finally speak the truth,
Dare me to make you mine,
And I dare you, love me too…

: /

***
Quotable quote, not necessarily related to this post, but noteworthy nonetheless:
"The truth is, deep down, I'm really superficial." - Lola, Shark Tale...

Epiphanies

2006-08-07T10:41:00.000+08:00

Epiphany /n/ (e-pif-a-nee)

A sudden manifestation of the essence or meaning of something, OR, a comprehension or perception of reality by means of a sudden intuitive realization…

**********

About a month after I up and left my only source of income, I suddenly came to the startling realization that I don’t really want to work for anybody else. I’m the only one who’ll ever really take care of me, so God dammit, I should be putting up my own empire instead! It could be something like DC inc. or Chris Enterprises… Sadly, my state of undue poverty automatically eliminates this fantasy. God, I hate being poor.

**********

I was watching Along Came Polly last week on HBO when it just dawned on me. I am exactly the personification of Ben Stiller’s character. Well, maybe a slightly tweaked version. His character is efficient and hardworking, whereas I’m perpetually late, and probably the laziest slacker-slash-procrastinator in the known universe. And if I want to start living my life anytime soon, I need to find myself a Polly… fast.

**********

Last night, I realized what actually made me stop watching Smallville. I had always held an admiration for the extraordinarily beautiful Kristin Kreuk, and I love her character, Lana Lang, on the show. But for some unknown reason, the writers of the show felt that Lana needed to become this sort of empowered girl, and I guess I wanted her to remain as that damsel-in-distress stereotype. After that, I just didn’t feel like I need to be that guy who saves her at the end of the day, or in this case, to be Superman at the end of the episode, so there’s really no need to watch the show anymore.

**********

Today I realized that I want to be a writer… more than anything else.

***

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

"Men are obsessed with cleavage, women are obsessed with shoes. Everytime these things are presented to us, we have to look. We cannot not look." - Jerry Seinfeld, Seinfeld...

Lengthy Confessions of a Pathologically Slacked Professional Bum

2006-07-30T07:36:00.000+08:00

Date: 27th July, year 2006
Estimated Time: around 8:50 in the morning
Mood: dark, woebegone, and definitely out of sorts…
Last-Song-Syndrome Tune: Goin’ Crazy (Natalie)
Bookish Fix: “Blink * The Power of Thinking Without Thinking” by Malcolm Gladwell (Introduction, Sub-Chapter 2: The Internal Computer, page 16)

The sun was almost elusive today, as I solemnly trudged the long, grueling road toward my ominous destination. Up above, overcast clouds pushed their way in front of the planet’s only source of daylight once again, just as it had done these past couple of weeks. I guess it’s rather inescapable, as the storm that recently hit our motherland had only just begun to leave our country skies after all; this according to the insignificant bit of news I happened to catch a glimpse of that same foreboding morning. And while admittedly, this was the sunniest it had been in a really long while, it still left a gloomy, almost somber mood hanging in the air. I was completely at peace with it, though. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly the jovial type. And although I terribly worried that rain might start pouring at any moment then, I have to admit that it did suit my tepid disposition at the time. As I took another weary step along the cracked, cemented road of the said dismal street, the same question ran through my preoccupied thoughts once more. Why am I doing this?

It had been nearly four months since I decided that (get ready) I didn’t want to work anymore at my call-center job, for reasons too personal, not to mention quite humiliating, to recall. Actually, that’s a flat out lie. Granted, I did feel very lonely working for that company (God, give me strength), but the only real reason why I “left”, so to speak, was because I was overcome with a strong sense of monotony, stronger than any I have ever felt in all my twenty-one droning years of the pathetic existence I frequently, some days more than others, refer to as life. It was pure, unadulterated tedium, what I was doing every single, debilitating day, and the lethargy of it all plainly burned me out. And as I am a self-confessed slacker (and apparently damned proud of it), it was easy as pie for the last remaining shreds of my weak convictions in life, and whatever sorry sense of professional ethics I have somewhat accumulated over several years of corporate industry immersion, to succumb to temptations of slothfulness and idle indulgence, however marginal the stimuli are. Ah yes, that’s us for you, the inadequate dregs to a suffering human society, perpetual dark horses to your venerable hypocritical farces. Yeah, I really won’t be the least bit surprised when humanity finally decides to oust me from sentient planet-life. Nevertheless, I digress. As I was saying, the work had become seemingly inane and pointless from my sordid perspective. Clearly, the chances of growth within the company were becoming slim to none with every passing week. New procedures kept piling atop continually reducing call-handling minutes, while the evident requisite for flawlessness and fastidiousness, as is the actual nature of the job, is given even more emphasis, unnecessary though it may seem, so it had become virtually impossible to garner acceptable monthly scores required for any decent promotion. Again, I feel the need to reiterate that the tedium that came with the job after eleven and a half months definitely suffices the deluge of anguished company employees to the nth power. With no more than the same stagnant position to look forward to, every passing day of every passing month, it simply is no wonder that one can and will inexorably lose his motivation, however self-motivated they primarily claimed to be. At the end of the day, the job just doesn’t seem as sound and unassailable as it used to do anymore. And if the motivation cannot come from within, I steadfastly believe that it must then come from outside sources, in this case, the immediate superiors, and in turn, the company itself. Unfortunately, this was not the case in my team. And should this not be addressed by the ones placed in authority? I say nay. For without the force of the subordinate masses, will there be end result? Will there be progress for the company, profit and productivity-wise, if their own employees are subconsciously revolting against the exhaustion and weariness brought about by (so help me God) each and every long, thankless, unrewarding day, when there are much greener pastures to be grazed further along this booming industry’s roads? Seriously, though, forget compensation, I wanted loyalty! The very same loyalty I exhibited for the company whom I thought would take care of me. My defense rests herewith.

Subsequently, after a much-needed vacation in a somewhat humdrum beach, only made pleasurable by the company of friends and acquaintances, I was compelled, by my own slacker jurisdictions, to emancipate myself, of my own accord mind you, from the shackled lifestyle of C*nv*rgys life. My only regret is that I wasn’t able to reclaim my Christmas Party bean bag from the internal fraud perpetrator, who ostensibly claimed said object of my grief, under the false pretenses that he was my person. Of course, none of this would’ve happened if it wasn’t for the foolhardiness of the Human Resources employee on shift that sad, unfortunate day, when she failed to check for identification. Now, I have left the company with a heavy and, most deploringly, couch-less heart.

So what exactly came over me that uber-depressing day that I had to walk around puddles of muddy water, down the long, meager streets of Legazpi Village, when I could have been hibernating away with unlimited hours of languid sleep on my conventional bed with its stale, unchanged sheets? (What? I’m a guy, so sue me.) Elementary, my dear Watson. I was coerced (by my oh-so-kind heart, of course) to accompany my good friend in her present search for a new place of employment. And before anyone of you starts with the mushy aw’s and ooh’s, not that it’s even possible to deny that this was an exceptionally sweet and endearing gesture, even for the likes of little apathetic me, let me just explain that I was also feeling the pressure to resume working status, due to my piling mobile phone bills, and my recent, undeniable lack of new clothes. Yes, as difficult as it is to sell my professionally bummed self short, it pains me to admit that I, too, have now joined the ranks of commoners who have financial responsibilities and whatnots. I have become… normal. And as I sigh myself to sleep at night, wondering if tomorrow would once again be Groundhog Day, I replay a famous quote over and over in my head. “Swallow your pride, it’s not fattening.” And indeed, the insurmountable tub of lard, ballooning itself around my midsection and man-boobs (yes, you heard me right), from eating way too much fast food and sweets without any means to burn off (or stress off, as I always like to put it when work is involved) the excess fat and goo, had engulfed all my qualms about losing all the glorious freedom brought about by non-work, enough so to actually make me start looking for my new employment venture. So while it isn’t really pride that’s holding me back like in the saying I had just quoted, it is, nevertheless, still a regrettable episode in my slack-filled lifestyle, that I have to now go against my utmost honor and life-long oath as a bonafide affiliate and substantial component of the professional bum society of lazy-assed humans all over the world, for the sake of actual, laborious drudgery. Just imagine the amount of free time I’d have to give up! The mere fleeting thoughts of losing such a necessitous luxury send shivers down my spineless spine. But, as a man, however naïve in the ways of life still, I have to face the fact that… I’m now flat broke. In short, I’m desperate. God, I hate that word. It’s just so… desperate. So much so that for me it deserves to be made obsolete. That way, people like me with similar circumstances wouldn’t have to exhaust their vocabulary, just to end up using it in the end.

And that is why, much to my dismay, I am doing this (God forbid) humanitarian act of colossal proportions, even when armed with the knowledge that I will also selfishly benefit from the whole thing.

(To be continued…)

:p

***
Quotable quote, not necessarily related to this post, but noteworthy nonetheless:
“Stand firm for what you believe in, until and unless logic and experience prove you wrong. Remember, when the emperor looks naked, the emperor is naked. The truth and a lie are not ‘sort of the same thing.’ And there’s no aspect, no facet of life, that can’t be improved with pizza.” – Daria Morgendorffer, Daria – Is It College Yet?...

To Kill a Pink Elephant

2006-07-09T02:45:00.000+08:00

(A very short story.)

“Do you believe in movies?”

It was a question Cohen always asked himself, time and time again. And even now, as the words stared back at him through the luminous screen of his laptop, he failed to come up with an answer. Cohen took another sip from his Starbuck’s Caramel Frappuccino, his favorite caffeinated drink, in the hopes that it would help his creative juices start flowing again. But even as he felt the caffeine work its instant magic through his overworked body, he still can’t seem to find the words to answer the simple question.

“Shit!” he exclaimed, after glancing at his wristwatch. It had been exactly five hours since he first sat down here to work on his next article for his column on the Saturday paper. And he called himself a writer. Sheesh! He closed his laptop shut, took one last, long sip of his beverage, and stood up. No point wasting more time here, he obviously wasn’t making any progress. He crossed the throng of people waiting in line for the slowest order-taker in the entire store to take their orders. Poor girl; must be a newbie, he thought. This particular Starbuck’s was always full of people. He often wonders how he’s able to write in such a noisy place. Then again, most of his best articles were written here, right there on the very couch he sat on a while ago, wouldn’t even have it anywhere else. Perhaps it was the feeling of familiarity, provided by his favorite couch, in his favorite coffee house, that provides him with a sense of normalcy, and the idea that he has something that holds him back to the real world whenever his writing has sucked him in, and had closed off the rest of the noisy world around him from his consciousness, making it easier to get lost and absorbed in his own writing, the only time he feels his works were ever acceptable. Perhaps it was for this reason that he keeps coming back to the place, and is able to produce some of his best pieces over and over.

So what happened today? His editor wanted something about movies. God, this was supposed to be the easiest topic for him. He was always the passionate one for movies among his few friends. And while he wasn’t exactly the movie buff, his passion for watching never disappoints them. So why can’t he write this ‘passion’ down? Why can’t he put it on paper?

Cohen treaded his way back to his apartment. He stopped by the bookstore on the way, just to see if there were any new interesting releases. He was definitely not a reader. He’s probably read one or two books that he found he liked, but never found himself feeling the urge to join a book club or whatever. But he believes in the power reading can and will provide a person, and he knows it only takes the right book to get him interested, so he hasn’t given up on reading at all. Every time he would pass by that way, he would check the shop to see if anything would interest him. No such luck today, though, not that he minds, considering his workload. What he did love, were movies. So if he believes in books, and he doesn’t like books very much, why can’t he manage to say he believed in movies, and justify it?

**********

Cohen entered his apartment and, by habit, immediately checked for his messages.

“You have one, not two, one, just one, message,” said the answering machine in his head. Geez, he needs to get a life. And lo and behold, the message was even from his editor. Whoopee. “Hey, Coh, it’s me, Grace. Listen, I sent you a copy of your article for this week’s issue with the revisions. They’re just minor typos, no biggie. By the way, loved-it! You should definitely write more about vulnerable stuff. I want the same vulnerability on your next article. I know I told you it should be about movies, but I want your readers to be able to relate to it still, so I want the same level of sap, got it? Oh and we definitely need to talk about who that girl is that’s on the article. You have been keeping me out about this kind of dirt in your life, so you better dish out next time. Okay, honey, cheers!”

Hmm. The last article… He opened his email and re-read his article for the nest issue. It was definitely not fiction. It was kind of like an open letter, his secret confession to the one and only girl he loved. Yeah, you could say he was pretty preoccupied these days. Maybe that’s why his creative juices just won’t flow. Maybe.

Come Saturday morning, and the article came out. It was critiqued and revered later on as one of the paper’s most outstanding pieces.

**********

Cecilia was just reading the newspaper while waiting for Cohen. They had been close friends for quite some time now and their friendship was getting stronger and stronger. They were just planning to have lunch today.

Cecilia always read Cohen's column last. He was a good writer and she liked his articles fresh on her mind after reading. This article seemed different from his usual work, thought Cecilia. After reading on, she realized that it was his love confession, and from the scenarios described in the article, she could tell that it was about her. She was still processing things, when the doorbell rang. She rose up to answer the door, and there stood Cohen, and somehow, he looked different. Cecilia was finally seeing Cohen for the very first time. Cohen just took her by surprise with this open letter crap, and it showed him to her in a different light. She told him so, and Cohen just about passed out. This was something that he’d been waiting for his entire life. But before he admitted to her that the article was indeed about her, he coaxed her to give him the go signal, something that would assure him that she wants him, and his love for her, just as bad. It was like there was this huge, pink elephant in the room now, and they both refused to acknowledge its presence. They both know what they were talking about, and yet they both still won’t admit to each other what they know. It was for this very reason that Cohen absolutely hated pink elephants. They are the worst form of awkwardness he knows, and he loathes and despises awkward situations. They're just so... darned awkward, and off-setting.

Cohen sighed. They pressed each other on, but she never wavered and gave him his go signal, so he never confessed. Probably, she was feeling sad that she’s alone right now and only wanted to make him admit his feelings to her, so that she could feel pretty again, and important to someone, and just… loved.

When Cohen realized that what he was hoping for was just never going to come, He stood up and started to leave. It was probably for the best that she decided to keep silent about her true feelings too, after all, they were friends, best friends, and she probably wanted to spare his feelings. Because the sad truth is, she just won’t feel the same way.

“I know that you know that I love you,” Cohen said solemnly, as he stood just outside her door. He paused dramatically for Cecilia to respond. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. She just stared at him with the saddest expression on her face. He felt a tear begin to fall, and before it fully found its way down his cheek for Cecilia to see, he turned and left.

**********

A few days later, Cohen dropped by his favorite coffee house to, once and for all, finish his overdue article. Once he got his order, he went to his usual couch. What he saw made his heart stop. There she was, in her most beautiful smile, laughing at what her male companion was saying. He longed to be the guy that gave her that specific laugh, but they only pop up her lovely face when she’s with a guy she loves. So she's in love again. At least she'll be happy again, that's all he ever wanted anyway.

Cohen looked closely at the guy. His face suddenly contorted with unmasked fury as recognition dawned on him. It was one of her ex-boyfriends. His anger suddenly knotted his already queasing stomach. What was going on? She said this was the boyfriend she was most ashamed of, the one she couldn’t understand why she ever went out with in the first place. Why would she tell Cohen all those lies, when the truth is, she loved him all along? God, he needed to get out of there. He mustn’t be seen by them.

But as his luck would have it, Cecilia saw him, just as he was turning around and dashing for the door. He failed to hold back his tears, and they started to pour own his face.

“Cohen, wait,” Cecilia cried out as she caught up with him outside. “Please, let me explain.”

Cohen just gave her the most pained smile she had ever seen on him. “What’s there to explain?” Cohen mustered, furiously wiping at his wet and flushed cheeks. “I’m the one with the problem, right? You should go back inside, your date’s waiting.”

“Come on, Coh, don’t be like this.” Cecilia pleaded.

“Like what?” Cohen replied, still trying his best to smile despite the circumstances. “Like my usual self? This is who I am, Cecilia. If you really are my friend, you need to accept me for what I am. I just wish I could do the same. For some strange reason, I just can’t seem to get it in my stupid head that no matter what I say or do, you’re just… never gonna love me. Not now… not ever.”

**********

“And so I ask myself, ‘Do I believe in movies?’ The answer is simple. Yes, I do believe in movies, and the power it has to give an escape route to its viewers from the sadness, the problems, and the oddities in the real world. But the thing is, I also believe in life. And as I’ve learned from experience, real life will never, ever be just like in the 'reel' world.”

There was applause from the entire room, as Cohen’s editor finished reading his next column to the staff. She then remarked that it might just be his most beautiful work.

"Thanks, Grace," Cohen just smiled at her compliment. “I appreciate everything. However, please consider this my two weeks notice.”

***

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

Matagal ko nang gustong malaman mo
Matagal ko nang itinatagu-tago to
Nahihiyang magsalita at umuurong aking dila
Pwede bang bukas na, ipagpaliban muna natin to
Dahil kumukuha lang ng tiempo
Upang sabihin sa iyo
Mahal kita pero di mo lang alam
Mahal kita pero di mo lang ramdam
Mahal kita kahit di mo na ako tinitignan
Mahal kita kahit di mo lang alam

Matagal ko nang gustong sabihin to
Matagal ko nang gustong aminin sa yo
Sandali, heto na at sasabihin ko na nga
Ngayon na, mamaya, o baka pwede bukas na
Dahil kumukuha lang ng buwelo
Upang sabihin sa iyo
Mahal kita pero di mo lang alam
Mahal kita pero di mo lang ramdam
Mahal kita kahit di mo na ako tinitignan
Mahal kita kahit di mo lang alam

Ngunit kumukuha lang ng tiempo
Upang sabihin sa iyo

Mahal kita pero hindi mo lang alam
Hindi mo alam kasi hindi mo naman ako tinitignan
Ayaw mo naman itanong sakin
dahil baka nga naman hindi rin naman ikaw
At hindi ko rin naman sa yo sasabihin
kasi ayoko pa sa ngayon ang manligaw
Mahal kita pero hindi nga lang halata
Hindi halata kase wala nga naman akong ginagawa
Hindi ako kumikibo, di ako nagsasalita, wala
Pero hindi ako torpe
Hindi ko lang talaga masabi sa yo ng harapan
Mahal kita pero de-hins mo pa rin ramdam
Hindi mo ko titignan, hindi rin kita titignan
Lagi mo lang akong pakikiramdaman
Lagi rin kitang pakikiramdaman
At araw araw tayong magde-dedmahan
Hanggang sa tayo ay magkabistuhan
Pero ngayong malapit nang matapos ang kanta ko
Nais kong magkaalamanan na
Nais kong ako na rin ang magsabi say o ng harapan
Dahil alam kong doon din naman ang tuloy nyan
At dalawa lang naman ang posibleng sagot dyan
Oo, o hinde
Kaya’t eto na
Sasabihin ko na para matapos na at hindi na magkatsismisan pa
Sasabihin ko na para wala nang problema at hindi na rin kayo nabibitin pa

Mahal kita pero di mo lang alam
Mahal kita pero di mo lang ramdam
Mahal kita kahit di mo na ako tinitignan
Mahal kita kahit lagi mo na lang
Akong dinededma

- Rocksteddy, Lagi Mo Na Lang Akong Dinededma...

Castles and Apathy

2006-07-01T21:57:00.000+08:00

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, there lived a princess who was cursed at birth by a wicked witch, to have no friends. All the gentlemen in the kingdom who befriends her were to fall helplessly and maddeningly in love with her, and all the maidens were to treat her with scorn and jealous mockery as a consequence. So the princess grew under such circumstances, and naturally lived a very lonely life.

Dejected and exhausted, the lonely princess locked herself away in the castle’s tallest tower. There, she made friends with the castle fool, the Court Jester. She told him about her problems with all her suitors and all her enemies, but the jester just laughed at them all. The jester then taught the princess how to become apathetic, and eventually, the princess learned to just follow her heart in whatever she does, no matter how selfish her heart’s desires may be. And so when the first brave knight on a white horse came to take her away from her prison tower, she allowed herself to be rescued.

Unexpectedly, the princess started to fall for her knight in shining armor. Unfortunately, as she now lived outside the kingdom, her brave knight, regrettably, didn’t return her affections. Crushed, the princess returned to her tower home, and cried… and cried… and cried. And she became lonelier than she ever was.

Little did the princess know that since the court jester was also a gentleman, he couldn’t stop himself from loving the lonely princess, for that is her curse after all, therefore, it was inevitable. For the jester to see the princess in so much pain and sadness, simply broke his heart to a million tiny pieces. He decided to traverse into the depths of the enchanted forest, to seek out the wicked witch, and finally put an end to her evil curse.

After countless hours of a painstaking search, the jester found the wicked witch’s lair. When the witch learned of his story, she merely laughed maniacally at the cavalier pretender. She found it amusingly peculiar that there exists in all the land, an apathetic castle fool hopelessly trying to be a fairy tale prince. But the court jester didn’t care about her criticisms. All he wanted was to see the princess smile again, and to do this, her curse must be lifted.

Smug with abstruse certainty that the jester will fail, the wicked witch then chanted a counter-charm. “Only on the night when the moon shines full,” she began, “at the stroke of midnight’s hour, may true love be professed.” The jester looked on, and focused all his attention to the witch’s spell. “Only then will the curse be lifted, but if, and only if, pure love is what was confessed.” The jester was saddened. He knew the princess’ heart was recently broken, so she may not trust her heart to love again anytime soon. He hurriedly started to leave, but his plans to become informant for the princess was suddenly thwarted, when the witch magicked him into a disgusting gecko.

Meanwhile, the lonely princess was still crying over her misfortune. She looked up desperately to the night sky. As if in answer to her silent prayers, the first star of the night twinkled, and a small child with sparkling wings appeared before a disbelieving princess. He introduced himself as the princess’ fairy godchild. He quickly told the princess of the jester’s heroism and his unfortunate predicament at the moment. Touched by the jester’s valiant efforts, the princess realized what a fool she had been for not realizing that her true love had been right under her nose all along. It was the court jester she was in love with!

She hurriedly summoned for her green royal carriage, “Gladys, as the castle’s royal coachperson, I command you to bring me to the jester’s whereabouts within the secret confines of the enchanted wood. To the wicked witch’s lair!” And with that, the meager, but able coachperson raced their chariot to deep within the depths of the enchanted forest.

The princess arrived, and found the disgusting gecko, sprawled on a most dirty rock. And upon seeing what has now become of her dearly beloved jester, she shed her tears once more. She knew not how to reverse what the witch had done to the jester, and all hope lost, she knelt down the gecko’s side and planted a long, firm kiss on the amphibian’s slimy lips.

At that very moment, the town clock clanged midnight in the distance, and the dark clouds above parted to reveal a full moon casting its luminous beams upon them. A few seconds later and the two of them were engulfed in a shower of golden sparkles, and the gecko transfigured back into a human. The curses that had been cast upon them both by the wicked witch were broken! Her kiss was the princess’ own profession of true love. The princess was overcome by indescribable joy.

Just when the princess thought everything would be back to normal, the witch’s maniacal laugh reverberated once again throughout the surrounding trees in the enchanted wood. The princess feared that something wasn’t right, and ever the damsel, she turned to her foolish prince for security. She looked into the jester’s eyes, and tears welled up in her eyes. Gone was the love that once shone brightly in his eyes. He was after all, merely enthralled by the curse as well, and now that the princess’ curse was broken, he was jaded no more. He was never truly in love with the princess from the beginning.

Needless to say, the princess was mortified, and grew old and sad, while the wicked witch lived happily, ever after.

:p

Author’s Note:
Let it be known that, unfortunately for me, karma had already struck me with its vengeful means, as I suffered from several fits of incessant coughing while writing this ludicrous testimonial…

***
Quotable quotes, not necessarily related to this post, but noteworthy nonetheless:
“Here’s the thing about crushes. They always hurt in the end, that’s why they’re called crushes.” – Mandy, The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy…
“Ang pagsubok ay kasali talaga sa pag-ibig. Kung ‘di mo kayang harapin iyon, mas mabuti pang ‘wag ka na lang magmahal.” – Mirmo, Mirmo De Pon…

Agony /n/

2006-07-01T21:52:00.000+08:00

“He has had to watch you go from one guy to another, and then the engagement, and then the engagement was off. And patiently he’s waited. And now, in walks this kid, and he says, ‘My God, will she date everyone else in the world before she’ll date me?’”
– Sookie St. James of the hit Warner Brothers’ television show, Gilmore Girls, in reference to Lorelai Gilmore’s clueless obliviousness towards Luke Dane’s affections…

(big sigh)

Okay. This may actually take you by surprise, but I think you’re really stupid. You have absolutely no idea what you do to me, and the thing is, you probably will never know. Because if you ever find out, I know I would lose you, and I just can’t take that risk. I wouldn’t know what to do, or how to act without you in my life. I cannot possibly face the rest of my life knowing we can never be as close ever again.

All pretensions aside, I think I’ve fallen for you. There, I’ve said it. Actually, I think I’ve been falling for you ages, no, eons ago, but I’m only just realizing it now. And the thing is, I may have never really ceased falling for you during all those months that we’ve not seen each other. I guess it just really took me a while to admit & figure it out for myself.

I remember that day we got to see each other again after what seemed like forever. You merely uttered one, plain “Hello,” together with your trademark sweet, fleeting smile, and damn, suddenly my whole world was turned upside down. All those feelings I assumed to have died already just came rushing back to me, and what I’ve felt, or have been feeling over several years of silence, just got instantly reaffirmed. I could’ve sworn I thought I was over you. Turns out, I was only missing you. So much so that when we got to see each other again, I fell for you like a ton of bricks harder.

I cannot even begin to elaborate on what it is that’s going on inside my neurotic head. All I know is that I’m more nervous around you than anybody else. When you lean your head on my shoulder, or when you touch my arm, my heart just palpitates faster as electricity courses through my nerve endings, and I just can’t comprehend why. The mere whiff of your languorous hair, to me, is intoxicating, and it always takes my breath away. You leave me babbling and blundering over the most nonsense of all meaningless things, and yet I don’t end up feeling ashamed. Your smile easily lights up any room you’re in, and it’s all that I see. When I’m around you, I feel like I can be King of the world, and not the pathetic loser that I really am. Your mere presence just causes me inexplicable joy. With you, I could want nothing more than stand at your side, at the ready for your every beck and call. With you, I feel… That’s just it.

Call it stalking or call it love, all I know is that it’s real. But sadly, whatever I’m feeling is and will always be both gut-wrenching and bittersweet. Eh, it’s only natural. After all, it just wouldn’t be my life if there wasn’t a catch, right? Let’s see… You’ve made countless commentaries on what you want and don’t want for a relationship that I could not possibly deliver in this lifetime. Your description of the ideal guy, I couldn’t even imagine to exist. You’ve been serious with guys I can’t even compare to, how does one simpleton compete? Because let’s face it, I’m boring and dull, I’m a total dork, and I am the least romantic person I know. I probably won’t bring you flowers, because we both know they wilt and die anyway. Balloons easily deflate after their, what, two-day glory? Why should anyone bother? Chocolates are no good either. I’d have eaten them before they get to you. I’ll probably be too lazy to pick you up or bring you home, or maybe just make up some totally lame excuse. Lord knows I’m uber-famous for those. I won’t do stupid little-things-that-matter, they’re little and they’re stupid, why the hell should I bother? And no, I wouldn’t do all those things and gestures just for you or the sake of it. Chivalry is dead, and we both know I’ll only be doing it because I have to. It just wouldn’t really be me. Yeah… you would rather be dead than get caught introducing me as your boyfriend.

It’s sad, I know. Actually, no, it’s really ubiquitously me. But this is exactly how it is with me and you. And as pathetic as pathetic goes, I’ll probably grovel and beg for the fleeting chance to be a temporary fling, or for any God-given sign that there’s the slightest inclination to the remote possibility that somewhere in the deep recesses of that oblivious heart of yours, there could actually be a cramped little nook for little old me. Unfortunately, you’ve obviously made it a point that you want me nothing more than as a friend. So much that I think you might even be considering me as one of your girlfriends, and I hate that! That is just about the worst thing that could ever have happened. It is a bit confusing, and if you don’t get it, you won’t, so don’t bother trying. It’s a guy thing. See, when you meet a girl you like, you’re never supposed to cross that line of friendship. Because after that, you just become the best friend, and there’s nothing you can do to change her opinion of you after that. There’s no turning back. Everyone knows you never ever fall for your best friend. It’s like this universal unspoken rule.

The shame and humiliation doesn’t end there too. Oh yeah, it gets more complicated. Somehow, you would always tend to ask the most difficult of questions. Have I ever experienced heartbreak? Do I have prospect girlfriends? Who do I think is the perfect guy for you? Well, I’ll be damned. How in heaven’s name, do you propose I answer those, exactly? Yes, I’ve experienced heartbreak, over you. I could definitely think of a prospect girlfriend, except she’s a good friend who’s completely aloof and oblivious about me. No guy would ever be perfect or even remotely good enough for you, because I should be that guy. How do you suggest I tell you these answers, huh? Oh, and don’t even get me started with your cute little comments about other guys being cutesy sweet, or incredibly gorgeous, because dammit, I do get jealous. A lot. See what hell you put me through? And you know what else I find to be so frickin’ infuriating? I’d gladly put the blame on you for all of this bull, except I’d have already forgiven you beforehand. What’s funny is that, you won’t find out about it in the first place, because I choose to just keep silent and mum about all this. Again. And again. The point is, I don’t care if I implode or go completely nuts. To me, it would always be better that you be left in the dark about my feelings. That way, nothing will change. You won’t have to feel inconvenienced or stressed out over such meaningless things. We won’t have to feel awkward around each other, we will remain close, and I can go on torturing myself with our forever platonic relationship, and the mere thoughts of our insane closeness that I am perpetually unwilling and unable to pursue and divulge into for reasons already mentioned. At least with silence as my solace, I can still be your friend, and we won’t have to drift apart due to awkward tension brought about by any rash and impulsive revelations, we both know you don’t want to hear. It may be overdramatic, but the truth is, real life just aint like in the movies. The guy doesn’t always get the girl, especially the one that didn’t stand a chance from the very beginning. It doesn’t play out like it does in your head, and it runs with excruciating slowness. What you see in movies only happens in dreams, and what we have… it’s nothing short of a nightmare.

Yes, you did and are breaking my heart. But please know that I am not holding you accountable for my pain, for it is completely self-inflicted. So don’t put too much thought into it, alright? Because whatever “it” is, is undeniably one-sided. Yeah, yeah, I get it. And I’ll have you know that I intend, with all my willpower, to keep you clueless about all this crap; because at the end of the day, this suffering is what keeps me going. And this agonizing torture might just actually be that thing they call Love, and I strongly believe that Love should never be selfish.

(big sigh again)

You know what? Love is absolutely, 100%, not all that it’s cracked up to be. In real life, Love aint no saint. Love is just a retrospective name, given by hopeless romantics, to situations in each other’s lives, which garnered desirable and idealistic circumstances. Love is nothing more than a mere underdeveloped concept. So fuck Love! It’s all bullshit and crap! (sigh) But for what it’s worth, I found Love in you. And I say this from the bottom of my heart, that in my book, you, or anything else associated with you, can never be a bad thing.

P. S.
If you happen to read this post by any chance, please don’t flatter yourself. I am most probably referring to some other girl whose relation to me just happened to have a striking resemblance to ours. This would never be about you, so don’t bother confusing yourself with thoughts of how it might just be.

:(

***
Quotable Quotes:
“Can a heart still break once it’s stopped beating?” – Lord Barkis, Corpse Bride…
“Why is it that when your heart is broken, all you hear are love songs that make your heart hurt even worse?” – Brooke McQueen, Pop-u-lar…
“I’m the girl of your dreams masquerading as your best friend… I decided to live a lie… because I know you might get scared… I’ll let you go for now, hoping that you’ll fly back to me… because I think you’re worth the wait.” – Chloe Sullivan, Smallville…
“Do you think it’s possible to love someone your whole life and not really realize it, until something happens that makes you see?” – Rosalee Futch, Win A Date With Tad Hamilton…
“He took this guy’s head, and shoved it into a wall. The guy’s eyeball was dangling from its socket. He’s a monster! But he’s my monster, you know? Love is a really complicated bitch.” – Ursula, Dawson’s Creek…

***
Just because two people are meant for each other,
Doesn’t mean that they’re meant for each other now…

Get Your Freak On

2006-03-19T05:44:00.000+08:00

Several months ago, I made a startling realization about myself: I am a dinosaur. Somehow, the present world just can't help but keep slapping my face with the fact that my knowledge on technological luxuries belongs in prehistoric times. It certainly saddens me that I hardly know anything about techie advancemnets (so designed to actually ease modern living, which could greatly intensify my procrastinating, the subject in life I practically majored in) and that I am unable to utilize the world around me due to my incapacity to cope up. Take, for example, Zip files. I have no idea what it actually is and why it even exists. What're their functions in the computer world? What will it take for me to actually feel an overpowering need for one? What is it really for? Even more boggling to me is when there's a file "zipped" inside a zip file. How did it get there and how will I get it out? And despite all this ignorance and humiliation, zip files are a mere percentage in the vastness of the computer world that I am clueless about. Okay, so I'm a stupid neanderthal. I get that already, to the point that I'm actually considering buying the complete collection of "For Dummies" books, in the hopes that it could somehow alleviate this distressing truth. But this article isn't exactly about this. It's just an extremely long and rather unnecessary prelude to the actual topic.

Recently, I made another realization about myself, a bigger, more thought-provoking realization, paralyzing, quite frankly, to any human being who should be capable of feeling remorse: I am a rock. I hardly feel anything the way normal people do, and I don't mean it literally. I mean I am emotionally out of sync with the world. A cold, lifeless shoulder to society. Stoic as stoic can be. The likes of compassion, charity, et cetera, mean absolutely nothing to me. I say this because I just don't care about the normal things normal people care about. In fact, one can even say that I just don't care. Period.

Okay, so we've already established that I'm not normal, that I'm some kind of freak of nature that cannot feel. But my self-assessment keeps falling short on the going-beyond-that part, and that's what really bothers me. And the worst part is, I could care less that I'm stuck with this kind of self-assessment. I'm absolutely fine with it. It's just like that scene from Cameron Diaz' uber chic movie, The Sweetest Thing, where Cameron's character starts sniffing around Christina Applegate's cahracter's car, and finds that her nose had lead to Christina's character's decaying takeout of several weeks ago amidst all her other filth and rubbish of God knows what at the backseat, which she apparently had gotten so accustomed to already that her body just doesn't respond with what would have been revulsion anymore, to the rotting nastiness and foul smells of trash over countless trash of her everyday life, which she had subconsciously built, take-out after painful take-out, inside the enclosed space to create a semi-private (yet undeniably disgusting) landfill that underneath is still her very own car. It's exactly like that! So, am I trying to say that I have become the male embodiment of Christina Applegate's character? Yes, but only in this given aspect, you know, the part wher I've gotten used to this facet of my life so badly that I am no longer bothered at all by the unnaturally weird fact that I DO NOT FEEL.

But going back to it, I can't stop wondering why in the world am I unable to go beyond that fact? I've accepted that I have always considered myself as above the norms in life, why is this any different? Why can't I be above this? Why can't I over-rationalize this particular issue the way I usually do with the rest of the world around me? Could it be that when it comes to human emotions, I really don't have another level? Could it possibly be, that with this newfound realization, I have now become the "Joey Tribbiani" of my own life's tv show? In the hit WB comedy, Friends, Matt LeBlanc's character, Joey Tribbiani, takes pride in having a one-leveled mentality. It's actually the source of all his comedy in the show, because it, in turn, leads to a multitude of idiotic antics and ways (no offense to Joey fans). And if this is what I have become, then it is unacceptable! Don't get me wrong, Joey's a great, fun guy, but I refuse to admit that when it comes to levels of thinking, we are on par. I've always thought that I'm at least a Chandler, or even a Monica, but certainly not a Joey. I'm actually a hybrid of Ross, for his dorkiness, Rachel, for her cluelessness, Chandler, for his sarcasm and bitterness, and Monica, for her obsessive compulsiveness. See how well thought out I am when it comes to even the cast of Friends as basis of mere comparison for my own personality? It just proves how much time and energy I pour into overanalyzing such an utterly unimoportant aspect of my life. And for this, I simply would not be able to accept that I am stupid. That, my friend, is treason!

(sigh) I guess it should be okay to become stupid about some things. After all, it is healthy and it makes one human. But who would want to be human, when you can become a freak instead?

Great, so now I'm some form of earth completely devoid of human emotion, who managed to rise to the social rankings of stupid, but healthy, people, all the while still living in fricking pre-history. Great... just great.

***

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

"Excellence does not demand perfection. Or, is it perfection that doesn't demand excellence? Or is it demand that doesn't require excellence or perfection? Ooh! Or is it mandate?!" - Dr. Frasier Crane, Frasier...

The Big Bad World vs. My So-Called Lifestyle

2006-03-11T02:06:00.000+08:00

Having lived my life the way it is, of course I wouldn't really know any other way to live it. The world is harsh, cruel, and merciless. As the popular song goes, "Life's a bitch, and then you die." I strongly believe this, yet so far, I know I have lived the easy life. It's a pretty boring life, quite frankly. And listening to other people tell their tales of drama and hardship, my so-called life doesn't even stand a chance. The way I see it, it's been reduced to a mere existential presence.

But despite all that, I can honestly say I'm cool with it. After all, I don't really have the right to be jealous of other people's trials. I mean, any person who'd be jealous of such is mentally ill and should be locked away.

WEAKLINGS RULE!

I remember back in high school, a science lesson mentioned of Darwin's (of course it might not exactly be by him, he just happened to be the only scientist I know with works in that field) evolutionary theory, Survival of the Fittest, and it sometimes dawns on me that it doesn't just happen with evolution, but with real life as well. The weak ones die out, while the tougher ones live on. After all, life can really be a pretty nasty bitch when it wants to be.

AH, YES. LIFE...

My life was very sheltered. Away from pain, away from dire need, away from most difficulties. I have no experiences of dramatic traumas, no troublesome affairs, no major crises that deeply affected my adopted lifestyle. Sure, I'd go through some problems, but nothing that really influences me emotionally or psychologically. It's nothing life-changing. Especially now that I live a quasi-independent life, my usual problems have now become thinking up numerous ways to splurge on my excess petty cash (can you believe it? My petty cash actually have its own petty cash! Hey, no complaining here...), and daring myself to actually get up from my bed (that's me, such a daredevil!), away from the wondrous powers of television, and actually drag my unwilling behind to eight hours of excruciating work (I've said it before and I'll say it again. Being a call center agent is a thankless, thankless job). I also constantly think up ridiculous excuses to deprive myself of simple hunger-satisfying grub (and it's supposed to be a basic need) just so I don't have to move a muscle (hey, if someone else can do it for you, why bother doing it yourself?). Believe you me, I procrastinate to the fullest degree possible. It's not even an art anymore, I have it down to a science.

So yeah, if you think about it, I think this way of living passes for an easy life. Granted, it ain't luxurious, but so long as I'm no pauper, it sure as hell can work for me.

ME, FOR PRESIDENT

So how do I compare my life to that of the people around me? Easy. It actually all boils down to one thing. Read: I am not "masa". I obviously don't deal with the normal issues "masa" people deal with. I don't speak their language, our brands of humor differ, and I just don't get whatever it is that they get (see? I can't even name their thing).

PEOPLE ARE PEOPLE

The problem with "masas" is that they're so many. I mean, it's like a population explosion in their parents' sleep. And then there's me. Poor lone me. It's like everywhere you go, they creep up on you like your own shadow but the sheer majority of the lot is enough to overpower you till you're in an awkward, left-out rut. They gang up on you because you become different, apart from the rest of the world. And you're left feeling more alone than ever because you can't seem to connect with the majority. Just like high school, all over again.

Life for me is so "wala-wala lang", no matter how big and bad the world gets to be, that sometimes I feel like I'm already above and beyond living. But is that really such a bad thing? More importantly, can that even be considered a good thing?

Eh... I'll let you know when the answer hits me in the face with a brick.

***

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

"No matter where life takes you, big cities, small towns, you'll inevitably come across small minds. People who think that they're better than you are. People who think that material things, or being pretty or popular, automatically make you a worthwhile human being. I'd like to tell today's youth that none of these things matter unless you have strength of character, integrity, a sense of pride. And if you're lucky enough to have any of these things, don't ever sell them. Don't ever sell out. So when you meet a person for the first time, please don't judge him by his station in life. Because you never know, that person might just end up being your best friend." - Joey Potter, Dawson's Creek...

The Pondering of Drew Carey

2006-03-03T02:00:00.000+08:00

I was watching the last episode of Tru Calling, which happened to be one of my favorite shows at the time, one lonely Tuesday evening, when Star World suddenly interrupted it with a Drew Carey Show commercial. I didn't get to start the show, but luckily, Tru, the lead character (duh), has only just been asked by the cadaver for help, and her day had just rewound, so I hadn't really missed much. Anyway, I was no more than mildly annoyed about the whole thing, but this one line in the commercial just struck me. Drew Carey was holding hands with some girl in a diner, apparently lost in the girl's eyes. The scene was made so that the audience will see that he was in love. Meanwhile, for comedic purposes (after all, the show is a comedy), the outside world was ironically the opposite. Seemingly unaware of the riot going on just outside the diner's large window, despite all the people fighting and flying all over the place, police car sirens blaring, lights flashing, car alarms alarming (*rawr*), the whole world literally crumbling to its demise, he manages to just sit there, and gaze lovingly at the girl's eyes still. And after a minute's worth of dramatic pause, he finally delivers his one line: "Do you ever get the feeling that all over the world, people are falling in love?"

Now, I had to smile at that. Then I had to go "aawww". And only then did I decide (yes, it was a decision, for I battled with it for a couple of minutes inside my head) to ponder on his query. And so I asked myself, have I ever felt like the whole world was falling in love?

The answer came simply. Yes, I have felt like the whole world was falling in love. Unfortunately, I wasn't falling in love with it. Yep, once again the world has somehow managed to deliberately leave me behind unawares. Boo, hoo, and hoo...

***

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

"In the beginning there was the world. But in order to mark where the beginning was, we needed numbers. Which makes Math as big a part of life as language, although not quite as big as TV." - Sabrina Spellman, Sabrina the Teenage Witch...

To Save or Sever - A Mental Self-Debate

2006-02-24T02:09:00.000+08:00

Whenever affection starts to rot your brains out, corrupting everything you've ever stood for your entire life, it is always a clear indication that, however saddening it may seem, your emotions are already beyond your control. In other words, you've been struck by Cupid's arrow, my friend. And although my inexpertise in the relationship department justifies my confusion on why this is the usual case, I have come to terms with reality that this is common for normal people, very much unlike myself.

A couple of months ago, I was summoned to become a friend to a colleague that just ended a five or six month's worth of a relationship (I forget). She didn't cry, but I can tell she meant every word, by the way her eyes "glistened with the ghost of her past". And although the humanitarian in me tells me to believe in their love still, my practical side dictates otherwise, that she is better off with someone else, for I believe that good souls never prosper with assholes, and assholes are just that, life's holes with asses. Yet even as I've said my two-cent's worth of advice and stuck with it, that usual gnawing-in-the-gut feeling I always feel after having shared my thoughts resurfaced, and I am now worried about having just given the wrong advice. What if their relationship was actually worth saving? Could I have ruined the chances of that? What if they were the fated ones destined to be together in the grand design, you know, in God's master plan? What if they were soulmates?

Oh yeah, I just remembered I don't believe in soulmates, which of course, supercedes destiny or fate as well. I believe in living in the present, and that you have to work at and for love, in order to make a relationship work. It requires patience, time, and most importantly, effort.

The many IQ and personality tests I have taken (actually, just five) have one common denominator: I am a practical, concrete and literal thinker. This means that I prefer sticking to reality, or what I know is real, however harsh it may seem. So I gave the right advice, then? That, I still don't know. I believe in what I see as true, and the situation at hand presents me with two truths. The first is that they really love each other, the second is that they really are better off with other people.

I have to ask myself, can two people really love each other so much, that they need to be apart to love themselves? I believe so, yes. And it's sad, but if a couple already leads a destructive life together, no matter how much they say they love each other, no amount of patchwork can save that relationship. And if the 2 parties are no longer happy, or have already lost the essence of themselves, isn't it time to consider dating and seeing other people? Because if you believe that you love a person, you shouldn't have to sacrifice that person's happiness, just so you could both be happy together. The martyr in me tells me so.

Academy Award winner Julia Roberts said in one of her less-famous movies, Steel Magnolias (according to my friend Elaine), "anything less than mad, passionate love is just a waste of time". I personally believe this, because love should be the easiest thing and the most wonderful feeling in the world. It should never be the cause of unhappiness. Just look around. Isn't the world sad and bad enough already for the rest of humanity, that we should only be focusing on "happy" love?

A couple of months later, the two "worked around their differences" and are back together. And although I strongly disapprove still, who am I to meddle in other people's affairs? I guess some difficult relationships just need the presence of a "new life" to make them start over.

***

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

"The quickest way to ruin a relationship with someone, is to actually have a relationship." - Halley Martin, How to Deal...

Smoking Men in Jackets Mean Danger

2006-01-28T06:33:00.000+08:00

Have you ever woken up with a feeling, that feeling in your gut that tells you, today, something awful will happen? Today was one of those days. The sun blazed brightly, the minute I stepped out of our condominium building. And as my eyesight adjusted to the brightness, I remember putting my hand up to shield them. I quickly rummaged in the deep recesses of my pockets for my sunglasses…

Right before I put on my aviator shades, I know I caught the eye of a man. He struck me as a bit odd, as he was wearing a jacket amidst the intense summer heat. But to each his own, I guess. He was smoking, and was casually leaning against the wall. I thought him a regular by-stander, and paid no mind.

I started to trek my routine walk towards the office. Of course, as is the norm with my hair, it catches whatever slight breeze is blowing that day, and falls down my face, annoying the hell out of me. I stopped by this building whose windows reflect a great deal, almost like a mirror. I started to fix my hair, even when I knew it would be pointless. While my mind was preoccupied, a small flicker of movement caught my eye. It was a cigarette butt, being flung down the paved sidewalk. I looked up to the source, and was a bit taken aback when I saw another man wearing the same jacket. That definitely seemed out of the ordinary. I became even more suspicious when I noticed the man looking directly at me. I casually looked to my right, down the street I just came from, and was flabbergasted when my suspicions proved correct. There, just a couple of buildings away, was the same man from a while ago. He was following me. I immediately hastened my pace. I needed to get to the office fast; only then will I feel safe again. I could feel the presence of the two men following me from behind among the masses of people along the street. I was starting to panic.

I looked up, just in time to see another man wearing the same jacket block my path ahead. God, they were everywhere! I quickly ducked around the corner, in the hopes of losing them. But no such luck. I could hear the men’s shuffling feet as they quickened their pace to catch up. I knew at once I was in trouble, because I had unknowingly veered into a fairly deserted street. The height of the buildings blocked the sun’s light, and the masses of people are gone. It was only me, and the men behind me.

I broke into a run, but so did the men behind me. I ran, and I ran some more. They merely followed suit. Sweat now drenched my clothes almost to transparency, with every heaving step I took. Still, I kept running. I was almost there. I could already see my office’s building.

All of a sudden, I felt hands snag at my arms, pinning them to my side. One of the men had caught up. His grip was strong, and I couldn’t, for the life of me, break free. I struggled. Fending him off the best I could with whatever pitiful strength I could muster against his brawn. I could hear his comrades nearing. In about two minutes, they would catch up with us and I will be left with nothing but to face my doom. I struggled more, and this time it seemed to have worked. I broke free of his grasp, and ran as fast as my legs would allow. I could tell he was right behind me.

I was merely a building away, when I heard tires screeching wildly. A car was heading towards me with fury. I looked at the driver like he was insane, but to my surprise, he was one of the “jackets” as well. In my panicked daze, I blindly dashed to my right, just as I heard the car ram itself to the nearby wall. The collision was loud and the crash echoed across the empty street. I slowly stood up. Smoke billowed out from under the car’s dented hood. There was shattered glass everywhere. But I knew that I was safe. I had made it to the building. I reached into my pocket for me cellphone. I quickly browsed its contents, just to make sure that the “file” was still there. I knew this was what they were after, and it cannot fall in the wrong hands. There was too much at stake…

My breathing was hard, and my heart was pounding. I looked up, just as the same car drove by without a scratch on it. The driver was looking at me funny. I smiled as I turned to go inside the building. Sometimes, just for the heck of it, I let my imagination get the best out of me in these routine walks.

Quotable Quote:

"I think I would enjoy being an alcoholic, very much so. A drinker and a libertine. never in a relationship but always in love. At church, they'd call me a whore. But I would fancy myself a spirited individual of grand apetites, red wine, and finely-shaped men." - Cara-Ethel (Pizza)

My Critiquing Opinionatedness: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Movie)

2006-01-24T07:09:00.000+08:00

(Plot)

Harry Potter's fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry proves yet again to be a deadly one as his arch-nemesis, Lord Voldemort, makes it apparent that he's still out to get revenge.

This year, Hogwarts plays host to the legendary Triwizard Tournament, where one candidate (called "champion") from each of the three great schools of magic (Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang), gets magically selected and bound by the Goblet of Fire, to compete in three difficult, life-threatening, magical tasks. This year's competition, however, becomes more ominous as Harry Potter's name gets mysteriously selected to compete as the fourth champion, along with the other three. As the tasks grow harder, so does our hero's life become more at risk. Harry and his trusted friends desperately attempt to figure out how to survive these magical tasks, and think, with every successful completion of each, that the worst is already behind them. But with the enemy working inside the protective walls of Hogwarts unbeknown, evil is looming just beyond the horizon. Nothing could ever have prepared the-boy-who-lived from what the Dark Lord had in store for him next. In fact, the whole of the wizarding world could never have seen this one coming. Dark times are upon them from here on.

(Review)

The fourth installment to the internationally acclaimed series proves yet again to be another great hit, as Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire turned to the cinemas in the middle of November 2005.

This time, we get to see the much beloved cast once again, as well as a couple of new faces, up to their usual antics, only one year older, and dealing with more mature issues. The movie definitely boasts of the same dark quality Cuaron brought to the series in the previous movie, digitally enhanced by equally big and stunning special effects. Great cinematography and direction is evident throughout the entire course of the movie, from the introductory scene all the way down to the closing credits. And although I find myself more drawn to Cuaron's vision than to that of Newell's (I just love the Whomping Willow and how alive it was with antisocialistic sarcasm and human bitterness, and how Cuaron used it to tell the changing seasons; as well as the climactic-taking-of-Sirius-Black's-soul-by-a-swooping-swarm-of-Dementors scene, his execution is exactly how I imagined a wizarding world should be), the latter's overall execution is, I have to admit, better. Nonetheless, I can't help but compare the two directors. Easily noticeable are some habits the directors liked to use. Cuaron always used the "fade-in, fade-out" technique when changing scenes, whereas Newell liked to incorporate scenes that are too cliche to be expected in such a big production (i.e. The zooming in on the single mangly boot as the coveted portkey, for comedic emphasis; the Mary Poppins-like descent by the more experienced magical folk, for effect; the ominous closing of doors by the traitorous character, for audience impact, making people think they "know who did it now", and a lot more). Unfortunately, although I now hold the two directors in high regard, they still had their fair share of shortcomings. Cuaron failed to draw out the necessary emotions and personalities from his cast, ergo, character deliveries came short and somewhat poor. Meanwhile, Newell seemed to have been able to do just that, yet tended to cut scenes just when things started to get good (i.e. The World Cup match), and draw out and linger on the other more unnecessary scenes (i.e. The dragon scene). Still, kudos to Newell for his successful work and effort, the movie still had tremendous bearing and remained, in the end, effective.

The screenplay was awful, that is to say, for those Potter-fanatics, like myself, who might get seriously disappointed by the major editing that was done to the original story of the popular book. Sure, they can't include every single detail in the book for time and (probably) financial constraints, but did they have to miss out on some of the good parts? A lot of "stuff" from the book were missing in the movie, namely (in no particular order):

1) Hermione's political awakening about house-elf rights leading to the formulation of her self-created organization, SPEW, and how she forced Harry and Ron to recruit other students and failed miserably,

2) The great match in the Quidditch World Cup (where once again, they failed to pick up that Quidditch was actually everyone's favorite part in the first movie, and therefore became what they look forward to the most in each succeeding movie, and have been disappointed thus far in assuming that the match will have been a good one this time around), that showcased Krum's flying talent, giving reason as to why he's actually famous, and how our heroes watched his spectacular showmanship using binoculars that rewound the too-fast-scenes automatically,

3) Ludo Bagman's character, and how he swindled and seriously avoided Fred and George throughout the entire book, just because they won the bet when they predicted the unexpected results of the World Cup (the Irish team winning, but Krum getting the snitch), and how Harry ended up just having to give them both his prize winnings from the tournament of a thousand galleons so they would stop pestering the ministry official, and with which the boys will use later on to finance their surprisingly successful joke shop,

4) The appearance of veelas as the Bulgarian team's mascot, where their capabilities of alluring men were shown off, which could have been used to emphasize Fleur's character,

5) The vital role of the character Winky, the Crouch house elf, not to mention Dobby's appearance as an individualist Hogwarts kitchen staff, and his being the first elf with a salary (which apparently he spends on mismatched socks), and his involvement in Harry's second clue,

6) The actual weighing of the wands scene by Mr. Ollivander himself (though it doesn't have that much bearing to the plot),

7) Caring for Hagrid's blast-ended skrewts after his loosing confidence in his ability to teach since Malfoy's accident with the Hippogriff the previous year,

8) Some ordeals in the maze (i.e. the Sphinx guarding the path to the Triwizard Cup and her "spider" riddle), and how Hermione kept teaching Harry useful spells (i.e. Protego, the shield charm, or the four-point spell, which turned Harry's wand into a useful compass) in preparation for such ordeals,

9) Rita Skeeter's gossiping tactics, as well as the gravity of all her mean rumors, and how Malfoy had been helping get all the juicy stuff (i.e. The missing Divination class scene where Harry fell asleep and dreamt of Voldemort, which caused him to subconsciously writhe and scream in pain, much to Professor Trelawney's delight that her false predictions of Harry's demise had then started to realize), and how Hermione discovered her secret as a beetle animagus (wherein the deliberate secrecy of such, that one is an animagus, is illegal in wizarding laws), which Hermione then used for blackmailing the nosy journalist into quitting,

10) Percy's appearance as the rebelling Weasley son, and how he now disregards his family and only cares for his work and future in the Ministry of Magic (much to Molly's pain), this year as Barty Crouch's unnoticed assistant,

11) The actual parting of ways between Dumbledore and Fudge, which is of course, fundamentally crucial to the next installment of the series, when they disagreed on he-who-must-not-be-named's revival,

12) And a whole lot more (which seemed to have veered and flitted away from my suffering memory at the moment, thus disabling me to continue on pointing out missing parts from the movie without having to reread the whole book, not that I'm saying all scenes should've been included in the movie, it's just that it could've been nice *rawr*).

Of course, being the obsessive compulsive perfectionist that I am, I have naturally found some inadequacies in the film, SOME of which include (in no particular order):

1) Karkaroff's scene where he ominously closed the doors to where the Goblet of Fire was situated, which was obviously used to lead viewers into thinking that it was the scene where he puts Harry's name in the goblet. This, for me, is inadequate, for it really was supposed to be Barty Crouch Jr. who did it in the book, who of course is pretending to be Alastor Moody at the time, the current Defense Against the Dark Arts professor in Hogwarts,

2) The Patil twins being Gryffindors when Padma is, in fact, a Ravenclaw in the book. Parvati's companion during her scenes should've been Lavender Brown,

3) The revelation of Barty Crouch Jr.'s character as a fake Alastor Moody, for he was supposed to be trance-like after taking Snape's veritaserum, and how he was supposed to be instantly killed by Fudge's dementor and its kiss, when Dumbledore originally wanted him to be sent only to Azkaban so that he would still be able to testify, which in turn caused the unfortunate disagreement between the two famed wizards, which paves the way for the wizarding world's stature in the next book.

As for the actors' performances, they were, much to my dismay, mediocre...

1) Daniel Radcliffe (Harry Potter), me thinks, needs to spend more time in acting classes. Though there had been some improvements from the last installment, I still can't see and feel the exact emotions from his passive face and stiff body language. Somehow I can't help but feel that after three wizarding years of playing the same role, he should by now be able to put more emotion to his otherwise lacking performance, say, grasp how Harry truly dislikes the attention brought about by his unfortunate fate, for instance, and somehow portray that on screen.

2) Michael Gambon (Albus Dumbledore), to me, is not very effective in his role. Granted, he can act, but he needs to have read the Potter books more and research on Dumbledore's character further, for I found his portrayal too intense, in the sense where you automatically know that he's already out-of-character. Dumbledore is the type of "great wizard" that commands respect from his pacifist ways, very much unlike the aggressive wizard of Gambon's performance.

3) Emma Watson's (Hermione Granger) acting is, true to the definition of the word, "acting". It's too theatrical that it's no longer natural. Though I still think she is the best among the three lead actors, I feel that somehow, she lost the essence of Hermione's character she used to play with such satisfactory accuracy. I think she's bringing more and more of herself in the role, rather than the other way around the way it should be, regardless of whatever the director's instructions were.

4) Maggie Smith (Minerva McGonagall) is consistent with her acting, portraying her supporting character to just the right degree, not overstepping on the other roles or anything.

5) Robbie Coltrane (Rubeus Hagrid) still disappoints me in his characterization. After three wizarding years, he still can't relate to how overly emotional or aggressive he actually should be for his size.

6) Ralph Fiennes (Lord Voldemort), whose being cast in the role surprised a lot of people, was also a bit theatrical, yet unlike Watson's portrayal, it was rather believable and sufficient enough. Kudos to him.

7) Brendan Gleeson's (Mad-Eye Moody) delivery of the role was honestly better than I expected, a little less scrawny, scruffy, and grumpy than from what I'd imagined, but effective nonetheless.

8) Katie Leung's (Cho Chang) portrayal was refreshing for a first-timer, though I fail to see her capable of anything heavier.

9) Matthew Lewis (Neville Longbottom) looks to be, unlike his character in the book, growing thinner. I've said it before and I'll say it again, remaining "chubby" should've been included in his contract. His acting was too lax, and too geeky. He needs to be more bumbling and spaztic (if differentiating the them is even possible).

10) The rest of the cast was average, no glaring inefficiencies or whatnot for me to comment negatively (or slightly positively) on. As for the casting itself, I was a little disappointed with their choice of Clemence Poesy for Fleur Delacour. Although beautiful, no doubt, I find that she lacks that Veela-esque quality the character is supposed to exude. Her features are too strong and assertive, whereas I imagined Fleur's to be more angelic, matched with utter delicacy in her movements, topped off with the arrogant air of nobility. A bigger surprise was Frances de la Tour (Madame Olympe Maxime), for most people seriously imagined the character to be fat-lady-of-the-opera big, not the mere unbelievably tall-and-thin woman in the flick. I also couldn't fail to notice the major change in Warwick Davis' (Filius Flitwick) character from the olden goblin (which I have read to have shocked even Rowling herself) to the more human midget he should've been in the first place. That, for me, was a good call, though still baffling as to why they hadn't done it sooner.

Overall, it was a great movie. Though, if you happen to be like me, too many differences from Rowling's version to appreciate the movie in all its grandeur upon the first screening, a second trip to the moviehouse might be in order. Only then will you be able to get over the fact that it was edited to such a great extent (sacrificing so many great scenes) in order to fit the story in a two-and-a-half hour film, and appreciate it for the good fantasy/suspense flick that it is. Don't worry because beneath all its differences, the movie actually does work (yes, even without so much detail), especially for those who never bothered reading the books in the first place. Plus, I really think it's that good a movie to be worth a second trip. To all Potter fans, this is one movie you should not dare miss. Although I strongly suggest not to bring very young kids. It's way too dark for such innocence.

A 4.5 out of 5. :p

***

Quotable quotes, exactly related to this post, and totally noteworthy:

"Hey! My eyes aren't glistening with the ghost of my past!" - Harry Potter...

"No, no. Remember I told Hermione, that Seamus told me that Dean was told by Parvati that Hagrid was looking for you? Well, Seamus didn't really tell me anything, so it was really me all along!" - Ron Weasley...

" I won't be going alone because believe it or not, someon'es asked me... and I said YES!" - Hermione Granger...

"Try to say that five times: Babbling, bumbling band of babboons. Babbling, bumbling band of babboons. Babbling, bumbling band of babboons. Babbling, bumbling band of babboons. Babbling, bumbling band of babboons!" - Fred & George Weasley...

"I'm not wearing those, they're ghastly!" - Ginny Weasley...

"You know the prefect's bathroom on the fifth floor? It's a good place for a bath. Take your egg and mull over the hot water." - Cedric Diggory...

"Harry, feel free to treat yourself to a licorice, snap. But be careful, they're rather sharp." - Albus Dumbledore...

"Harry! I'd almost forgotten you were here, standing on the bones of my father. I'd introduce you, but rumor has it you're almost as famous as me." - Lord Voldemort...

***

Ron: What are those?

Harry: My dress robes.

Ron: Well they're alright! No lace, no dodgy little collar...

Harry: Well, I expect yours are more... traditional.

Ron: Traditional?! They're ancient! I look like my great Aunt Tessie!

Penguin!

2005-11-10T02:07:00.000+08:00

(My recent testimonial exploits apparently gained the interest of a poor, sorry soul, tsk, tsk... And who am I to resist such an unfathomable opportunity to deliberately fabricate the truth, cast in the sarcastic and cynical text of nothing more than my highly exaggerated, remotely fictitious, and brutally astute, yet often comically falsified, observations?)

Among the many sights and sounds of the corporate grasslands of Habul Peké, one creature naturally stands out. The large, flightless bird, the Rhea (scientifically named, "Cumlaudeum numberfiveus"), is truly a beast of wonder, one whose peculiar behavior causes instantaneous alarm to nearby dwellers, who wishful-thinkingly flee at the mere presence of the loud and obnoxious beast. Often, you'll come across the large, flightless bird with a smug look on its face, what with its haughty attitude and stuck-up mentality, it being fifth (and steadily rising) in the hierarchical ladder of the common species after all.

Recent studies prove that this wondrous creature has personality synonymous to the stereotypical "superficial high-schooler", as you'll often see it prancing around the perimeter with a supposed cheery disposition, all giggly and giddy and such, especially during mating season, when it smittenly, almost stalkingly, crushes on a member of the opposite sex. Meanwhile, if it doesn't have its way, it will pull off what appears to be a passable human tantrum, very much like that of a small, snooty, and spoiled five-year-old brat. Even more surprising is its inclination to the queer lingo of post-modern human society. You'll often hear strange noises and bizarre sounds escaping from this being's mouth, eerily resembling homosexually slurred and intoned words, whether for mimickery, mockery or otherwise, by accident, by choice, or by sheer, dumb stroke of natural freakshowness, it is beyond human comprehension.

The large, flightless bird is of no noble origin, it seems. It moves with such ungrace, its mobility exemplifying its blatant disregard for the art of delicacy, equipped with its almost-monstrous-sounding guffaws & greetings (variations of which include high-pitched, irritating gaiety, or weak attempts at a scary war cry, completed with attacking monster-raised limbs), it is no wonder the majority of the bestial kind all get taken aback at first encounter with this beast. After the initial introductory shock has subsided, though, it is all a matter of deciding whether to be pleasantly surprised, instinctively threatened, immediately repulsed, or whatnot. This momentary lapse in judgment, due to the complexity of the presented situation, is apparently the creature's favorite form of attack.

There are many other qualities that the large, flightless bird possess that still baffles and boggles the human mind. For instance, its undeniable urge for popularity, recognition, and camaraderie. Or its obsessive compulsion towards its self-proclaimed greatness. Or the hypocritical desire to stick to its convictions. These are just some of the things the corporate grasslands of Habul Peké have to endure and tolerate with this monstrosity of nature on a daily basis. Keep in mind, though, that these traits and attributes prove that this creature is on a self-evolutionary mission, reshaping the future for its own, selfish reasons. Yet no matter what we choose to do with this creature, whether love it or hate it, preserve it or hunt it down to extinction, butter it up or pull it down to its demise, we should always remember, this bird is large and flightless.

***

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

"I know that guy in those emails is inside you. But I can't wait for him. Because waiting for you is like waiting for rain in this drought, useless and disappointing." - Sam Montgomery, A Cinderella Story...

She Walks By Night...

2005-10-25T01:14:00.000+08:00

(A Friendster testimonial, recounting the falsified events of an adulterated tale.)

...in all her long-legged glory, pausing dramatically to allow for prying, estranged eyes to bask in her statuesque beauty. Eyes adrift toward the nearby glass windows of the flippy, floppy shop she so unabashedly adores, her mind wandering, not really caring for the feet merchandise contained within the enclosed space, but more inclined towards the primal animalistic craving for the attention that she knows is for her and her alone, her one human need: the deeply hidden urge to be seen, to be heard, to be noticed.

Her face a blank passive slate at the surface, almost askance. Yet behind her jaded eyes one simply needs to look to see the soul of one who secretly, yet knowingly, is aware of all the eyes cast upon her... and is loving it. Raising a hand delicately to caress the cold glass of the window she leans closer and pretends to peer inside, while still maintaining her consciousness of the hustle and bustle of the world around her. She hates the feel of movement. The more her surroundings move, the more it connotes the lack of commonfolk, peasants more like, admiring her unearthly beauty. She cringes her forehead a little, though not so much as for people to actually take notice.

The crowd quickly thins, and she feels the visual penetration diminish. The utter lack of gawking overwhelms her, as if they provide for her warmth, almost as if she suddenly feels the cold harshness of the superficial world without them. Feeling a small amount of desperation to reclaim those once staring eyes, she starts to move, majestically, her self-portrayal of a moving photograph. The desire quickly building from deep within, she makes a sudden play for her languorous chocolate hair, and takes an abrupt turn. The liquid smoothness bouncing to the side, she knew she was on center stage again.

She looks up for the first time, and behold a prettier girl than she, walking languidly towards the flippy, floppy shop. And she was struck with the realization, that she had not been the center of the masses' devout attention. Crestfallen, she takes a stride to sort of even up the score, what with model-like walk, no one stands a chance...

...but she trips.

Soft murmurs envelope her. Scandalized, all pretenses gone, she looks at her cloudy reflection from the light bouncing off the mirroring glass window of the flippy, floppy shop she used to so unabashedly adore. A single tear, so pure & innocent, the extention of vulnerability and weakness long pent up beneath a false exterior, drops slowly, almost as if on purpose, almost as if on cue, down the side of her reddened cheek. Shame had caused her to bow her head so low.

And then a voice, "O Pauline, anong ginagawa mo diyan?"

She looks up and beams. Her hope returning. Her pulse quickened. She was once again alive. But by the time the drama subsided, and her mind was focused enough to register the face to the floating voice, Dc had gone and left. He dared not be thought of as in acquainted relations with such an embarrassing feat.

She realizes so, and shame engulfs her again...

***

Quotable quote, not necessarily related to the post, but noteworthy nonetheless:
"Destiny is a name often given in retrospect to choices that had dramatic consequences." - J.K. Rowling, The J.K. Rowling Official Site...

Old Poems Die Hard...

2005-10-20T01:00:00.000+08:00

Woe Is Me
by moi

Although I jest,
I am no fool.
I know it's just an act.
For beneath the masks
Of laughter and friendship,
Lies the plain and painful fact.

I love you.
I know I do,
And that I can no longer deny.
For I have been hiding
For the longest time being
Pretending I was your ally.

And now, I fear,
Friendship will no longer suffice.
My sanity, I feel it slipping.
For when each agonizing day passes,
And every lonely night transcends,
My heart, it keeps on falling.

But despite my lies,
My friendship was true
And it shall remain so until forever.
Because death shall befall upon meIf I lose you twice;
As a love, and as a friend, altogether.

My secret, it has been let out,
That my poor, poor heart fell so deeply.
And now that the truth has been revealed,
I hope and I pray to God almighty,
That you, dearly beloved, take me seriously.
For if you leave, I fear I won't survive,
Though I know a friend is all how you'll see me.
But what more if you decide to return the favor,
By putting a nasty little joke on me,
And break my heart into a hundred and fifty?

Woe is me...

:(

***

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

She chose to walk alone
Though others wondered why
Refused to look before her
Kept eyes cast upwards toward the sky

She has no companions
No need for earthly things
Only wanted freedom
From what she felt were puppet strings

She longed to be a bird
So she might fly away
She pitied every blade of grass
For planted they would stay

She longed to be a flame
That brightly danced alone
Felt jealous of the steam
That made the air its only home

Some say she wished too hard
Some say she wished too long
But we awoke one autumn day
To find that she was gone

The trees they say stood witness
The sky refused to tell
Yet someone who had seen it said
The story played out well

She spread her arms out wide
Breathed in the break of dawn
She just let go of all she held...
...and she was gone.

- Ginger Foutley, As Told By Ginger...

My Critiquing Opinionatedness: The Giver (Book)

2005-10-18T04:49:00.000+08:00

(Plot)

Jonas lives in the futuristic world of Sameness, where color is too individualistic to be real, weather is controlled to perfection, comprehension of emotions require specification into more simplistic verbs, and people's lives are predetermined and designated by a special committee. Reality, as we know it now, is but a distant memory.

During the auspicious Ceremony of Twelve, when children are assigned what they are to become for the remainder of their lives, Jonas gets selected to become successor to the Receiver of Memory (who then becomes the Giver), the one person in the Community who holds life's secret memories. Under his training and tutelage, Jonas learns that life should hold more to it than what has been the norm over the years. With now-open eyes, he sees the "wrongness" of their picture-perfect world, and with this realization in mind and in heart, Jonas embarks on a journey of rediscovering the life that should have been, the life that is actually worth living.

(Review)

The Giver definitely proves to be one of the greatest coming-of-age stories of its time. It gives new meaning to the word "soul", and it will satisfy you at a different, mature level. I actually believe that it is rather human of Lowry to have recreated such an unfolding of a life, ironically towards our present (which is their past), through the innocence of a small child, who is then forced into maturity so early in life in order to save that which he holds so dear, and pursue what his heart dictates as right.

For her writing, Lowry sometimes overanalyzes the situations presented in the story, which could leave her readers somewhat bored, and forget about the actual gist of the scene. However, the idea of this brand new world (which I still find utterly ingenious), is so enticing and piquing, that one would still continue to read on to continue exploring how this particular world, and all its wonders, is actually like.

The book also leaves more questions unanswered than conclusions. Readers can only make up their own theories about what happened after the book, leading me to the notion that the ending was rushed, unless it was the author's intention to essentially and purposefully leave her readers hanging like that or what have you. For whatever reasons they may be, though, I find this to be an unsuccessful conclusion to a great build-up of eventful accounts. I can't help but feel, much to my dismay, that the gradual swell of emotions this book brings forth along with its chapters fell quite flat, and the breathlessness it causes subsided rather quickly and insipidly.

Regardless of its finale, however, I still hold the rest of the book in high regard, and recommend it to young adults, as well as for mature adults, who may be feeling lost in life. The values and lessons this book instill will provide a better perspective on anyone's present life. I sense, however, that some parts this book illustrates to the imagination may be a tad bit morbid for very young children, and might possibly leave them dazed and depressed. Let them live a little first, I say.

A 4 out of 5. :p

:)

***

Quotable quote, not necessarily related to this post, but noteworthy nonetheless:
"Sometimes you have to see what you're not, in order to see what you are." - girl God, Joan of Arcadia...

Do Think to Outdo

2005-10-16T04:40:00.000+08:00

For a lost iPod...

Outthinking, outdoing. This is Convergys' slogan. Highly regarded for its excellence, & widely popularized by its standards, Convergys has become somewhat of a legend in the industry, and with it, the responsibility to uphold the name it has created for itself over the short period of time from when it started operating. Be that as it may, Convergys has now imparted upon itself the difficult task of quality control. It may not seem much, but maintenance is actually a much harder challenge than it presents itself to be. So how does the company keep up with the everchanging problems of daily operation?

Thinking perfected by doing, & doing perfected by thinking. This is the Convergys way. Or at least the ideal company's way. Meticulously speaking, perfection is impossible, not to mention unattainable. This is a known reality. Yet Convergys has proven its worth, not by aiming for perfection, but for standardization, for control. By eliminating perfection as an option, it actually becomes perfection in its own right.

To think before acting is what the company imparts on its associates, while still ensuring that their acts remain deeds of a working mind. Ingeniously imagined, this connotes the continuous utilization of the mind, as it so commonly chooses to deteriorate over daily abuse in fields of operations. This, in turn, allows for close proximity between that of quality and efficiency. Numerous problems arise in the work environment daily. This mentality ensures that the workforce tries to minimize such problems from recurring, if not from happening at all. It is a continuous learning process.

Although I have not experienced any problem that majorly affected the effectiveness of the organization, more evidence it seems that the workplace is closely monitored, I find that it is not the larger picture that we should be looking at but the more minute details, unto which the picture structures its foundation. By ensuring that the simple things are accounted for, the workforce makes preventive measures which eliminates the need to deal with larger, more difficult problems later on. Even fixing a broken phone immediately can help improve the organization's productivity. A lot of times I myself have had some problems locating a usable phone upon the start of my shift. Ensuring and accommodating for such a small and simple detail would not only eliminate the pre-shift hustle and bustle, but would also get the organization closer to 100% effectivity. In business, time is always of the essence, and every minute lost always accounts for an equivalent monetary amount. And what business in its right mind would choose to allow losses to be incurred without any compensation whatsoever? The main idea, after all, of any business organization is to generate greater profit than that of its losses.

To sum it up, there is no one scenario that I can specifically identify and pinpoint with which the organization exemplified exceptional operation, what with the short time I have worked here. However, it is my own understanding that excellence, in whatever aspect, is accomplished through the people who work for its achievement. So Convergys, to me, has exemplified excellence in its operation when it lucked out and hired the right kind of people. For it is through the people, those who withstand and work under the daily demands of the workplace, those that actually and continuously choose to use their wits and common sense to play to their strengths and maximize their potentials, those that have the integrity and dedication to work incessantly, productively and wholeheartedly, and finally those people that work together as one team with a common goal, that Convergys actually maintains the excellence in operation it so truly deserves. It is a two-way relationship where both parties learn to give and take from each other for the sake of producing and delivering actual, feasible, and tangible results.

Working for Convergys has allowed me of the privilege of realizing a very important work ethic: the workplace is not a playground. It is not to be taken lightly & it should not be compared to any sort of playful rendezvous. And in spite of the severity of it all, it is always safe, if not a necessity, to admit to oneself that the workplace is not perfection. It ironically is like a sheltered child, constantly needing parental attention, or a delicate mechanism requiring the employment of continuous maintenance. I took it upon myself to notice such observations not for the sake of it, but to realize the beauty of it all, amidst all imperfection, the beauty that is the company's organization. For the beauty here is not the company's aesthetic implications, but what it does and what it can potentially accomplish, and what it tries to achieve. This, to me, is how every business organization should operate - with excellence.

***

Quotable quote not exactly related to this post but noteworthy nonetheless:

"Nothing is as big as your first love." - caption, Little Manhattan trailer...

"Biro lang," - An Overanalysis of The Martyr's Ultimate Response

2005-10-13T04:48:00.000+08:00

"Biro lang," would never mean the same again. It's so ironic how the phrase used to make one realize that the acts that just transpired between persons are nothing to be taken seriously, a phrase that usually connotes laughter and fun, can just as equally be a truly sad, sad phrase. It struck me as odd that "biro lang", a phrase i have used my entire life, carries so much truth and honesty in between its lines, and yet I've never really stopped to read them. Somehow it had always been just that fun phrase for friendly musings, and yet, if used in such a certain appropriate manner, can mean so much more. More, here, in the sense where the fairy tale is taken away from that ubiquitous romantic movie, and the guy is suddenly forced to accept the harsh reality that maybe, just maybe, he might not get the girl in the happy ending after all.

HOW TO TAKE THE ROMANCE OUT OF THE ROMANTIC MOVIE

So where exactly does the martyr fit into all this, you ask? He's the one who said "biro lang". He's the hero in the aforementioned movie who chose rationality over fantasy, when he made his choice not to delve in the possibility of love, when asked of the romantic tension between him and his leading lady, in order to salvage what little closeness he has with her, the ultimate dilemma whenever love is concerned, one of his dearest friends. Yes, unconventional as it may seem that a happy ending is not what's in store for this so-called romantic movie, it seems like the mind ruled over the heart in this story, not exactly the element plot twist most producers look for in a good romantic movie. So what made this hero opt for misery instead of one shot at a possible life of happiness brought about by love? Simple. Uncertainty caused by the lack of visible signs. Practicality made it easy for the mind to dictate to the heart to let this one pass, it seems. The guy would much rather settle for comfortable, laughter-filled friendship, than awkward, tension-filled acquaintance. Yes, truly a classic martyr's love story.

TO BE, OR NOT TO BE

Here's a scenario. Boy meets girl, and boy goes crazy. Boy gets close, girl acts nonchalant, even somewhat remotely irked by the mere possibility of a hovering relationship. Boy tries to pretend everything's a joke, jesting about his concealed affections toward her, girl keeps him at bay and retaliates, using his issues with a different girl as ammunition. Boy keeps up charade, perfectly content with their constant flirting, and girl finally notices, she's not stupid, after all. So what does boy do when girl pops him the "ano-ba-talaga" question? Boy confesses, right? Wrong. Boy thinks, overanalyzes the situation, and in world record-breaking speed, delivers the martyr's most unceremonious ultimate answer - "biro lang".

THE TRUTH, AND NOTHING BUT

There are many possible reasons why the martyr would choose to act on impulse like that and opt to lie about his feelings. But the one thing that easily comes to mind is fear. Fear that he might get rejected. Fear that she would not return his sentiments. Fear that they might drift apart afterwards because of the would-be-present malice she would incessantly associate with his motives. Fear that in order to uncomplicate things, she would much rather choose not to speak with him ever again, and keep the tension-filled air around them unresolved, his own heart left a-flutter, dwelling on the things that could have been. Fear that he might lose whatever it is that they have right now, never to be brought up again in any conversation, not even as a common household joke. It is so easy for the martyr to keep up his pretenses if the happiness of the one he likes is at stake. It is so easy to focus on rationalizing the situation and coming up with the less adventurous (in other, more simplistic terms, safe) solution to the pressing matters-of-the-heart. Martyrs are no risk-takers. They would rather settle for something at their own expense unless the path is completely cleared of any and every obstacle that blocks it. Sometimes, however incomprehensible it may seem, they would be contented by seeing their special persons happy, not bothered by such trivial issues as that of their own measley, stupid affections. Sometimes the martyr finds it alright to love that one special person just along the sidelines, and not bother to be on center stage. This is what the martyr does, apparently, no explanations necessary. After all, he considers the world of her, and to the martyr, that is justifiable reason enough.

Academy Award-winner Angelina Jolie once said in her scandalously delicious movie, Original Sin, "You cannot walk away from love." If this is really the case, then to the martyr, love will just be, always and forever, a never ending chase.

***
Quotable quote, not necessarily related to this post, but noteworthy nonetheless:
"The past is like a foreign country. They do things differently there. But the past continues to live on. It haunts us in our every move. We should not fear the past for it is already over. It is the unknown future we must fear." - Splinter, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles...

French Fries and a Soda Drink

Movin' On Up

Good Signs Gone Bad

Trademark

Dc vs. The Collections Agent, Round 1

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

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

Like Life, The Dream Is Always More Spectacular

The Wait House

She's Effing Fourteen, People!

Curiouser And Curiouser

Exacerbated Gibberish

Acquiescence /n/

Tempestuous "/@*%*#/"

An Act of Contemplative Decision-Making

Oh, Crap...

"Cosmedienne"

Anguish /n/

Dare Me Dare You

Epiphanies

Lengthy Confessions of a Pathologically Slacked Professional Bum

To Kill a Pink Elephant

Castles and Apathy

Agony /n/

Get Your Freak On

The Big Bad World vs. My So-Called Lifestyle

The Pondering of Drew Carey

To Save or Sever - A Mental Self-Debate

Smoking Men in Jackets Mean Danger

My Critiquing Opinionatedness: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Movie)

Penguin!

She Walks By Night...

Old Poems Die Hard...

My Critiquing Opinionatedness: The Giver (Book)

Do Think to Outdo

"Biro lang," - An Overanalysis of The Martyr's Ultimate Response

Tempestuous "/@%#/"