Monday, April 27, 2009

Fast-tracking my Road to Hell

There's no need to waste words why people hate spam mail. Aside from the fact that they assume things about your sex life, they also spell really badly. They also pretend to care about your well-being, that's why they want to give you their great-grandfather's money, or some other shit about the lottery.

Spammers are already in hell, but I don't know why hell would have an internet connection. My version of hell wouldn't have one, or maybe, but the connection would monumentally stink. They can still send emails, those fucktards.

Equally, I also detest chain letters. Yes, those letters that you just have to forward or else someone's gonna die or lose their job or their sex life. More often than not, they paste religious shit in there to threaten you. I hate it more when they come from my friends. Guys! Please! You know better than that.

If you are absolutely and truthfully scared that something bad will happen, please don't include me on your list. Seriously. Please don't. Pick some dead email addresses, or make up some for the sole purpose of forwarding your stupid chain letters. But please, not mine.

Friday, April 24, 2009

Happy Birthday to Me

I just crossed over while writing an article here at the PDI office. How fitting.

Thanks to HP for the Bizu pastries, Pammy for the Sango Master Cheeseburger and fries, and to everyone who greeted me.

Life is good.


HP stands for Happy Pirthday.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

I Didn't Forget

On a lighter note, here's my annual wishlist:

  1. New Apple earphones.
  2. iSkin for my MacBook.
  3. Bigger and badder iPod speakers.
  4. More raket.
  5. Books, books, books.
  6. A pair of size 7 Nike Dunks (I don't have a single pair).
  7. Ticket to New York, USA.
  8. iTouch 32gb 2nd gen.
  9. David and Goliath shirts. Or just shirts.
  10. Lip gloss.
  11. Spa gift certificates.
  12. A new bed.
There, that's it. I'll probably get some of those myself, my fairy godmother is such a lazy bitch. But then again, she's given me so much the things on the list are such triviality.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Time for That Thing

I'm turning a year older in a few days, and this birthday marks a very huge turning point in my life. I turned my back on something stable, to leap off a 100-foot cliff full of sharp stones. I gave up my day job to do something I love, after a year of tossing and turning in my bed. Contrary to popular opinion, this was not an impulse decision.

Exactly a year ago before I turned in my resignation, I began to have disturbing thoughts about what I really want to do with my life. It wasn't easy to say no to a steady 15th and 30th paycheck and other benefits and I tried to be realistic. I sat on that decision for a year because I thought I just needed perspective on things.

But as time passed it cannot be ignored anymore -- trying to do two things with equal passion is virtually impossible, and something's gotta give sooner or later. That something is my day job. People were ready to behead me and I was willing to head over to the guillotine with no remorse. I knew I sucked at it and I'm sorry for causing inconvenience, but every single day that I got up to go to work and face my computer is like taking out my soul piece by piece. Time came that I was literally dragging myself out of bed.

The point of bitter realization that I had to get out was one sunny afternoon at the courtyard, where I was taking a cigarette break. The stick was nearing its end and I thought, crap, I have to go back to my workstation now. And I nearly threw up. That's when I broke down and called Pammy, crying on the phone.

After heaving a deep breath, I knew that I've made my choice. After that, there was peace. I know the future will take a lot of work and I'm scared shit, but dammit I'm excited as hell.

It was a difficult decision but a necessary one. I figured that after more than 10 years of doing this, maybe it's time to shift gears and do something I really want for a change. I've paid my dues to the corporate world; it gave me a lot and also took a lot. Now I'm ready to say, finally, that I love my job.

Saturday, April 18, 2009

No ID, No Entry

In communications there is what we call the gatekeeper theory. A core assumption of this theory is "The gatekeeper decides which information will go forward, and which will not. "

When I started writing for the newspaper I was only concerned of how I will look to the readers through my writing. It has to be grammatically and syntatically correct, straightforward, and will catch their attention. I was thinking of myself and my image.

When the novelty of seeing my name on print gradually subsided, I took to googling my name to see if my articles were mentioned anywhere else, especially for the features (stories which we had to write from scratch, or non-events) just to see if people found them interesting. I found blogs that mentioned them, and when I read the blogger's comments on the article or other people's comments on the entry, I realized that I had been selfish.

I discovered that there are people who take what they read in the newspaper as gospel truth, or take it to heart. I write for the Lifestyle section, and I've written stories like shopping in Multiply or about being independent, or about that girl who condemned gays. I also wrote something like "10 ways to rock 2008", a piece I wrote in ten minutes. I found someone who admitted to clipping that article and putting it up in his cubicle. I didn't know what to feel - should I be proud that he found it inspiring, or guilty that something off the top of my head is regarded by someone as a sort of guide? Not that I didn't mean what I wrote. I was dead serious when I thought it up (we were just rushing for layout). I just doubt the reader's judgment that I can be trusted.

Ever since I have always been careful of what I write, like if a certain word can be misinterpreted, or is the food really good. The media has a very big responsibility to the public, and gatekeeping is one hell of a job. Thankfully, I am not in the news department. I think by now my veins would have busted out of my eyeballs from stressing over what or how I should write something.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

A Drunken Post

I am writing this off the top of my head, with no real concern for spelling and grammar, and I swore not to edit it. I got home two hours earlier, somekinda drunk from all the tequila shots that 5 years ago I promised never to imbibe again. I don't know what it is with tequila -- ten years ago I got drunk in a bar when someone bullied me to down four shots in a row, and (I honestly don't remember this except when the proof was shown) I gave out my number written on a ten-peso bill. God. Luckily my best friend was there with me and yanked me out before the guy could "drive me home". I know, yuck.

So now I'm staring at my open, unpacked suitcase, with all the Singapore debris still inside. I've managed to yank out the dirty laundry for Igor, but all the rest of it are still there. I see the box of the portable hard drive, the Nike watch case, the toiletries, the Muji loot and assorted shirts I scored from Bugis. Mustafa is the shizz, yo. Twenty-four hours of shopping heaven, except that their regular clientele leave a trail of Stink all over the place. Sorry, I'm not racist but it's really true.

When I got home from the airport I took a shower and slept for 9 hours. I got up to eat and Internet for a bit, then slept again for another 9 hours. I didn't realize I was so tired from the trip. For five days, my feet screamed and bled from the inside from all the walking we did. Not to mention that I only had one free day between the Boracay and Singapore trips. I didn't leave the house for two days, because I wanted my muscles to heal first. So basically I just camped at the couch (the bedroom was just too hot) and watched movies on my laptop, Plurked, Facebooked, and emailed.

Finally had a reason to get out of the house for a meeting, and after renting out some of my brain cells I joined my friends in Operation: Get Wasted, which was a success. Nobody went home sober. And now I'm still on the Internet, and the sun is up and I just have a couple of hours of non-burning sunlight before the full strength of the ultraviolet rays hits my vampire skin and wakes me up.

I think I'll hit the sack now.

Friday, April 10, 2009

Sleepless in Singapore

I'm happy (or not) to report that the schedule was followed, but I made it on time at the meeting place.

View from the Microsoft building at Raffles. You can see The Fullerton and The Esplanade, but it's kinda microscopic.


Meanwhile, I'm just so tired going around that I'm going to bed now. Tomorrow is another day.

Thursday, April 09, 2009

This is Called Procrastination

Five hours to go before I leave the house, and what do you know, I still haven't packed. So to put some order in my non-schedule, I decide to write things down.

1:00 a.m. - Get the suitcase from the top of the wardrobe.
1:01 a.m. - The blue one, not the brown one.
1:02 a.m. - Struggle to get the right suitcase, bump elbow in the process.
1:04 a.m. - Finally.
1:04 - 1:10 a.m. - Check out the 7 new responses in Plurk. Reply to some.
1:10 a.m. - Decide that the suitcase acquisition was tiring, get something to drink.
1:10 - 1:20 a.m. - Drink and smoke.
1:21 a.m. - Start putting clothes in the suitcase.
1:22 a.m. - Wait, which ones? Remembers the shopping bag from the mall adventure earlier.
1:22 - 1:35 a.m. - Admire purchases. Try it on again.
1:37 a.m. - Fold them neatly and stuff in suitcase.
2:00 a.m. - Still folding. Plurk in between pieces of clothing.
2:02 a.m. - Laugh at some Plurks.
2:03 a.m. - Realize that now only three hours are left.
2:03-2:05 a.m. - Panic for two minutes.
2:05-2:10 a.m. - Smoke another stick in honor of panicking.
2:10-2:30 a.m. - Blindly throw clothes inside suitcase.
2:40 a.m. - Realize some clothes are not Singapore-y. Start pulling them out.
2:41 a.m. - Count days and nights, count subsequent clothes.
2:42 a.m. - Too much clothes. But then again, might not be in the mood for the purple shirt.
2:43 a.m. - Pack everything anyway.
3:00 a.m. - Clothes in. No room for shoes. And chargers.
3:01 a.m. - Make room for them. Oh wait, 15 new responses. Click a posted link. And another. And yet another.
3:15 a.m. - Notice open suitcase. Fuck, oh yes not done yet.
3:20 a.m. - Suitcase would not close. Take out a pair of shoes that's borderline stylish and will-kill-feet.
3:40 a.m. - Yesssss!!! Done!
3:41 a.m. - Facebooking/Plurking/Blogging.
4:55 a.m. - OHMYGOD isitfiveinthemorningfuckitfuckitfuckittheywillkillme.

Hey, at least I'm realistic.

Wednesday, April 08, 2009

No Time For Staring into Space

I've barely unpacked from the Boracay trip, and here I am packing again for Singapore. Different outfits, different suitcases -- so I can't just transfer garbage from one bag to another. The age-old question still remains though: what should I wear?

I'm a little apprehensive of flying now, after what happened at the flight back from Caticlan. Flight 5J902 of Cebu Pacific announced that it would be leaving 15 minutes earlier from it's scheduled departure. Great, I thought. But we had a bad take-off. It's like the plane just rose perpendicular from the ground, no angles. My stomach reacted like I was on Abyss.

Halfway through the flight, the plane began shaking like there was turbulence, but the skies were clear and it was very sunny. Then the lights inside blinked, and I felt like the plane was dropping 6 feet at a time, then go up again, like it was correcting itself. My stomach won't lie.

I don't know if I was being paranoid, but I think we were too slow and too low. I could see the fishing boats in the sea, and it turned out that the flight took almost 1.5 hours. I have flown lots and lots of times, but this time I seriously thought we would crash. I almost brought out my cellphone and called my family.

I was, for the first time, scared shit.

Friday, April 03, 2009

It's So White Here

This is where I am right now. And yet, I'm blogging. It's just too hot to stay outside.




Thursday, April 02, 2009

Goodbye Alkie


It's been a short stay, but we had fun, didn't we? I miss your whining, and when you climb on my laptop when I'm Plurking.

Have fun in kitty heaven.

No Words

There are things so evil you don't want to hear even if it happened to other people. Somehow there's a cloud of denial over these things; you're convinced that it wouldn't happen to you or your loved ones, because you're good people.

Then that cloud bursts, and everyone gets their heart shredded to bits and you're not even sure if your own will grow back fixed. But since it's expected that you're capable of holding your shit together, you hold your shit together. Even if all you want to do is crawl inside a closed space and rock back and forth in total darkness.

You get up, still clutching your tattered heart to bits, and cross the road with a blank face. The world will never know what no words can describe.

Today my heart has been broken into a million tiny pieces and I don't know if it can be put back together.