Thursday, October 21, 2010


Monday, October 11, 2010

Pumbaa's Last Hurrah Up North

Glorious sunset at Poro Point La Union. I will surely miss Wow Philippines. Watch out for the whole post at House of Onika. Yes, because I now understand interior design.

My Salad. I really thought we're just having salad as it was mid-afternoon already. But what do I know.
There was steak! Medium.

Pumbaa checking in.

Nice ceiling.

The pool. But it's raining.

Saturday, October 02, 2010


In the next few weeks I will be doing a major unloading of unused and hardly used stuff. Short of tipping over my room, I would need several garbage bags and boxes to sort out things. I had been living in this apartment for almost six years now, and you know how things just pile up when you have the illusion of permanency.

The other night I was getting a change of clothes when I opened my closet and there was an avalanche of clothes. I'm only probably using less than half of what's inside it, so tomorrow those clothes are going to be categorized. It's a sad thing that we pass by people everyday who don't have decent clothes, yet a lot of stuff just sits inside our wardrobe. Some maybe I'll sell, some I'll just give away.

When I last moved (where I lived in a rented room) I couldn't believe how much unnecessary things I have accumulated over the years, gathered in such a small space. Now that I am sharing an apartment, there are a lot more to get rid of. I seriously don't know where to start. Maybe I'll begin sorting the piles on the floor.

I'm tempted to put up a table on the street and start peddling my wares, because almost all of these unused things will be sold. This is serious fundraising.

Friday, October 01, 2010

Confronting the Unavoidable

First of all, I am raised Catholic. My family from my mother's side are staunch church-goers. When I was living in my mother's hometown, my grandmother would wake us up at three in the morning to say the rosary with her. On the months of May and October, we would recite the rosary every evening, without fail. I know the Apostle's Creed and other long prayers by heart, and I can explain to you what  every mystery means.

As much as it was ingrained in my person, they're all memorized prayers. When I was younger I resented being woken up at dawn to pray against my will. I have great respect for prayer - if I can't put my whole heart in it, I'd rather not pray. I think it's an insult to God to have your mouth moving, saying those things in a mechanical way but your thoughts somewhere else. I don't get it.

I studied in a sectarian university, and I had taken 12 units of Religion in order to graduate. Again, it was imposed on me. Most of the time I thought it wasn't an education per se, but a heavy dose of guilt trip. I don't disagree with the basic principles, e.g. Jesus sacrificing himself to save us from eternal damnation, doing good, the Ten Commandments.

The Catholic Church had been waving their big stick over the country since the 1500s, and until now we're under their heavy doses of guilt-tripping us into submission. Religion is supposed to help you become a better version of yourself. But the way the Church is acting right now, they're losing fans.

Vatican's stand against birth control is of course echoed into the smallest of parish all over the world, but the Constitution is firm and definite on one thing: Church and State should be separate. CBCP's bullying of the President is childish, equivalent to a three-year old having tantrums because you won't let them whack your laptop. Finally, we have a president who's not afraid to go against what the Church says, and Bishop threatens him with excommunication.

Seriously, what happens when the church you grew up with cuts you off? Roman Catholicism is also known as the convenient religion, because you can show up to church or not and no one would know; unlike some who checks attendance and would even pay you a visit at home if you haven't shown up in a while. Would they block the President from entering a church? Deny him the sacrament? Is that what God would want?

Birth control shouldn't even be an issue - it should be made readily available by the government for those that require it, in a public health point of view. It's so much more than curbing the population, it's preventing the spread of diseases. If it's the Church's point of view that artificial contraception methods are sinful, then so be it. But don't bully the whole nation into getting them to follow their way. Not everybody is Catholic, and not everyone wants to risk having another kid they can't feed or send to school.

What bothers me the most is the uppity, self-righteous attitude CBCP is having. How dare you say that people who use artificial contraception are sinful, when the issues of priests worldwide molesting young children and having families are being ignored by the Pope? Don't cast the first stone, right?

This is not the 1500s. People think for themselves now, they don't follow blindly anymore. You can't spoonfeed your agenda on a country that's one of the most populated in the world, by ratio of land area and population. Have you seen how many children are on the streets and not in school?

To be clear, I am not against God or religion per se. What I don't like is organized religion, and all their agenda and power trips because they're so rich and powerful. Priests take a vow of poverty, yet the Catholic Church is one of the richest groups in the world, with vast properties, rare art collection, and the works. It doesn't jive.

I would still pray and have my personal relationship with God, but I refuse to be led to a path where closed minds are encouraged.

Thursday, September 30, 2010

Well, Hey, Who's Six Today?

I can't believe this blog is six years old today. Technically, six years and one day. But it's still September 29 in some parts of the world, so it still counts.

Anyone who has read this thing from start to present (aside from me of course, but I doubt that such a person exists) would probably say I'm this crazy bitch who's always angry with the world. On the contrary, not at all. I am actually polite and kind of quiet when you first meet me; and if I like you, I would eventually show you my nasty, giggly self. It's true.

Since starting this blog I have gone through three different jobs, several breakups (yuh huh), and a lot of things in between that made my life beautiful, horrible, happy, sad, crazy and mundane--sometimes all at the same time. I have ADD, I think. I apply it to my everyday life.

The next few months will be spent in a frenzy, a good one. Because it's so characteristic of me to introduce drastic changes every few years to my life, I'm again embarking on the biggest adventure of my life. (I was actually reserving that line for when I get married, but I don't see that happening.) This one is of epic proportions.

Stay tuned.

Meanwhile, in honor of Abby's Spongebob Squarepants-themed birthday party, here is the sponge himself, smiling his creepy psycho smile that every pre-schooler loves.

The Bucket List, But More Like a Murtaugh

There is someone in my life whom I've known for a very long time, but unfortunately the planets were never aligned perfectly for us to be doing what friends do--see each other. Through the years we've made up this sort of Bucket List that we'll do when we're finally on the same GPS coordinates. It ranges from crazy to just plain wrong. Off the top of my head, here's what we've come up with:

Climb a tree in full scuba gear
Mud fight
Frost fight
Organize a jello wrestling contest for the hot girls in the neighborhood
Put up a trampoline for rent business with free alcoholic drinks
Eat hotdogs. And steak. And a big burrito.
Sing "Total Eclipse of the Heart" together, with him doing the "Turn around..." bits
Me riding a hoverboard while he tries to destroy me with his laser eyes while riding a rocketship
Ice skate using roller blades
Ostrich racing (his idea)
Get drunk together (twice)
Horseback riding
Prank people using a broken iPhone

I'm sure there are more, but he was assigned to keep the list updated but I never saw it. And I am the boss of him so he has to do it. Right?

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Maybe This is Why People Have Kids

I spent the weekend at my sister's house, and come Monday morning I was lolling on the bed, not wanting to get up and leave the soft mattress. Joaquin was having his morning bottle beside me and making faces at me, while my sister was still sleeping. It was a lazy early morning.

Suddenly my back itched, somewhere I couldn't reach. I was trying to contort myself into several positions to get to the itch, when Joaquin suddenly said, "Ako na ninang. Saan ba itchy? Dito? Dito?" He was trying to scratch several places on my back and finally found it. For a very, very brief moment, I thought that maybe having kids isn't all that scary.

Monday, September 20, 2010

I Guess We All Grow Up

The wonders of Facebook never cease to amaze me. Has anyone ever noticed the proliferation of all sorts of reunions lately? Grade school, high school, college, ex-officemates--name it, I bet some sort of get-together and reminiscing had happened in the last year or so. Thank Mark Zuckerberg for bringing you all back together.

Earlier today I had a Friend Request from someone I absolutely don't know. Our mutual friends were all grade school classmates, but I still don't remember him. Maybe he thought I was someone else he went to school with. After a few minutes he sent me a message, asking me if I was indeed another girl, a namesake. I replied no, sorry, but wait I do remember you! Only I didn't actually type the second part of what I was thinking, which was "You sonofabitch how dare you forget who I am when we were mortal enemies for at least five years and we punched each other in the schoolyard and on the way home and in front of your house with your mother watching."

He was my nemesis; the Lex Luthor to my Superman, the Doc Oc to my Spiderman, and the Cruella de Ville to my 101 dalmatians. I hated his guts back then and I wished a hundred times for him to be found dead in a ravine somewhere. We bullied each other all the time, but however bad the name-calling got to be I never, ever cried in front of him. In the sixth grade life as I know it ceased to exist and I left everything I had in a heartbeat, including the devil boy.

Fast forward to 6 hours earlier today, when I corrected him and introduced myself. "Ah oo, ikaw yung mahinhin dati di ba?" He remembered my brother and our house but he remembered me as mahinhin. Really? I almost dropped a rock through your skull that one time you got hold of my schoolbag and threw it in muddy water. But I think he really doesn't remember, so I asked about his mother, who I liked because she would beat him up in front of me whenever she catches him bullying me. Both our lives had come a long way since then.

He's now married, with three beautiful children and is working overseas. Looking at his pictures, I would be scared of him now. Seriously, he looks like he could kill me just by having that mug. You wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alley. I am glad we got over the fighting early on, because now I wouldn't stand a chance unless I had a gun and knew how to fire it. I'm not saying he's a goon, he just looks like one. And if he reads this, I'm truly dead.

Sunday, September 19, 2010

It's the Hamster's Day Off Today

I want to write something, since I swore I will regularly blog again even if there are days when it hurts, like now. Not heartsick hurt; more like the way it hurts when you try to extract water from cracked soil. There's nothing here.

It's one of those days when I can't process anything, even the shallowness of showbiz talk shows and the seemingly life and death situations they're always in. I notice the host's ever increasing girth, this person who is considered the ugly twin. Sucks to be one, especially when you're considered identical.

I switch to the rival channel, and these reality show winners are being interviewed and the girl is so loud I can't stand it. No one ever thought of enrolling her in a personality development school? She sure could use it. 

Now switching to Cinema One. Oh hey, Angel Locsin and Piolo Pascual. I like them both but not together, sorry. And it's set in the outback where everything is dry, like their chemistry. I don't think having sex inside a stable is enjoyable, much less sanitary. 

Switch back to the showbiz talk show, where a young actress denies being rushed to the emergency room because she and actor boyfriend was stuck together, in a dirty way that requires medical attention. I think the medical term is vaginismus, and it's anyone's worst nightmare.

I've heard about the issue from friends even before it came out in the media, but as a blind item and no names were ever mentioned. We had fun guessing who it was because no clue were ever given, except that they're a well-known showbiz couple. Then the next day there it was on the Internet. Then I lost interest. Like now. The interview was totally walang kwenta.

I'll just eat ice cream. Maybe the world will change.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Height of Delusion and Fantasy

Lately I feel like I have been blindfolded for years and someone just took it off. Or at least had very bad eyesight and I didn't know it until someone forced me to wear eyeglasses. I'm all, well hey isn't the world a colorful place and everything's just in focus? But no, it's not really like that.

It's more like seeing something in a whole new way, you know. When I was a kid (and this is a gross example) my brother and I found this rubbery thingie individually wrapped and in different colors. We opened one and unrolled it (you probably know where this is going) and thought it was a balloon, although a little slimy. So we blew up several of those and decorated the house with it. It was a little irritating that the balloons were too thin; they would pop on a tiny little splinter.

Of course, years later we eventually discovered that they were actually balloons for penises, and it was an incredible parenting flaw that our parents let us blow those up and act like we were staging a dirty bridal shower where the highlight of the night is a gyrating thonged man named Joebert.

So my point is (and I was actually building up to one, believe it or not) I used to see condoms as innocent playthings. They were just there lying around, not to be taken seriously. Fast forward to, well, I can't say exactly when I started to be conscious about birth control because that would be TMI. Let's just say that now I think condoms are very very serious things and you never know when you're going to need them. And I say this with the fervent hope that none of my elderly relatives are reading this, most of all our great aunt who is a nun living in the Vatican.

How I ended up talking about condoms and be-thonged men named Joebert I don't know. All I know is there are people in our lives who are just there in the background for like forever, and you don't see them as anything other than as a background for your fabulous life. No, my life isn't fabulous. Not right now, anyway. Then some things happen and gears just click in your empty little head where the lone hamster on the wheel is overworked, and suddenly this person gets to be {insert your pick of celebrity here, but mine is Steve Carell} who hogs all the spotlight.

It's not the worst thing to happen actually. The worst thing would be if you can't do anything about it, because you're too tardy to the party. At the back of my mind I hope this is only a phase, please let it be only a phase, because I know myself too well and I have phases of delusion. I might want it so badly now but I'm sure there will come a time when I will not want it. I am waiting for that time.

It's the guys that can make us laugh.

Friday, September 10, 2010

Eyes Wide Shut

My astigmatism has returned, it seems. After a couple of hours of staring at words my head would feel like I'm wearing a tiara. It would be fabulous, only this tiara is made up of 5 kilos of solid steel and has clamps that digs into my skull through my temples.

I found my old eyeglasses from 5 years ago, but it wasn't fitted anymore for astigmatism. I don't want to spend a lot on eyeglasses since after a while I will stop wearing them anyway. But if this goes on for another week I might be forced to. My eyes are now tearing up and I can't properly see, much less think when an oompa loompa is making a nice little fort inside my brain.

When I started wearing contacts some 14 years ago they still didn't have ones for astigmatism, so I still wore my glasses to treat it. But now, Acuvue has come up with disposable lenses specially for astigmatism. I'm still thinking if I can afford the contact lens (they are expensive) or just suffer the eyeglasses. I don't hate wearing glasses per se, but I tend to lose them. The pairs I have lost over the years were not cheap too.

I don't know. Maybe when I run out of Advil I will decide.

Tales from the Sunshine State, #1

The Beverly Wilshire Hotel in Beverly Hills, where they shot Pretty Woman some 20 years ago. Julia Roberts was 19 then.

We got here from walking through Rodeo Drive in the blistering sunshine. My friend brought me here as it was my last day in LA, and it was a tourist spot. Hell yeah it was a tourist spot. You couldn't go three steps without another person trying to get his picture taken in front of a store. (I got mine in front of Tiffany's, all the while humming Moonriver in my head.)

It was where the rich and the beautiful shopped and lunched, and they paid no heed to the swarm of tourists wielding cameras that made them mere backgrounds of what was to be their Facebook profile pictures. I've seen expensive cars being driven around, but then again I don't really care about cars. For the first time since I arrived I felt the first trickle of sweat run down my temples. The sun was really high up and I feel a sunburn coming. I was tired from days of 5-hour sleep and the endless roaming around, I was getting dizzy it wasn't fun anymore.

Days before that I always stayed in the sunshine, because the difference in temperature if you're in the shade is very noticeable. I didn't mind walking a lot because it staved off the chills, and when you're wearing short shorts at 8 in the evening it's not a good feeling when a breeze comes. I welcomed the heat.

I almost have no concern for expensive brands and their stores; honestly they were just stores to me, it's not like the mothership was calling. I just wanted to sit down and have a drink. We entered this snotty crepe place and I had some iced coffee to wake me up.

My friend asked me if I wanted to stay. I couldn't answer. For me it was a tourist spot, somewhere you go to when you want to see something new. I can't say if I would want to live there. I don't drive. You can't survive there if you don't drive. Buses come every 45 minutes, and the trains don't go everywhere. Counties are so far away from each other that taking me to San Fernando Valley would get him a two-hour drive back to his own place. Tagaytay is only an hour with no traffic. Their definition of traffic in rush hour is very different from our rush hour.

People would ask me what I thought of the United States of America. I have the same answer everytime: it's big.

Thursday, September 09, 2010

Let's Start Over, Shall We?

For all intents and purposes I shall treat this period of my life as a new year, i.e. fresh starts and a new lease on life. Exactly why, I cannot tell you. Yet. Because in the future we might get drunk together and I would feel mushy and decide drunkenly that you are worth sharing my feelings with and then I will inadvertently tell you about that part of my life, and then the next morning I would totally regret it. But because I have pride I will try my damnedest to be good friends with you so I can justify telling you the secret.

Not that ever happened. Yet.

I realized I skipped August, but you'll have to forgive me that one because gave me problems with my domain so we're still on that now, but in the meantime we're back to good old Blogger. It's free and it works.

Right now I'm sitting in a desk, with only a laptop in front of me and nothing else. No files, no papers, no in and out trays, and not even a drawer. I come in the morning (well sometimes I come in the morning) and sit and turn on the laptop and work, then I leave after 8 hours. Very minimalist, the way I've always dreamed my workstation to be. That if you know me personally and seen my past workstations you'd know how I feel about this.

I used to have nightmares about the growing piles of paper in my desk, and everyday more comes in. Sometimes I wonder that if a genie appears and grants me only one wish I'd waste it on wishing those papers get filed magically. If there is one office thing I absolutely loathe, it's filing. I get papercuts and the dust from the folders give me rashes. Plus the fact that I really don't like it. But it was part of office duties and everyone does it so I drudgingly did the same. I wasn't good at it, not that I don't know where to file things, I just wasn't good at getting around to the actual filing. Hence the growing pile.

This is one of my fresh starts. I hope there are more coming.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Murder I Can't Write

I cannot write fiction. I know I have an overactive imagination sometimes that entire telenovelas play out in my mind before the characters even actually meet, but I have trouble writing that imagination down, mainly because those telenovelas suck big time. Hence the term I used, "telenovela".

Every time I attempt to write something not about my life and not true it just ends up being some bastardized version of it. Like I would change the characters' names (duh), the places (duh), and exaggerate a bit on what actually happened, but basically it's not really fiction. Like poems, I define fiction as something I cannot do. Really, I don't do poems. I cringe at my own work, especially because they rhyme.

(Digression: Once upon a time I was so into this boy and so depressed and shit because he could not see it, that I wrote these...verses, if you could call it that, and asked a friend [who will not be named] to turn it into a song. I didn't actually hear the whole thing, just snippets of it but damn it was so sad that people would have slashed their wrists. Fortunately that version of my writing did not see the light of day. End of digression.)

So anyway. I told my friend Tin that I can't write fiction, and she invited me to this group called LitCritters. I've heard about it from years ago from Dean Alfar's blog but of course I never thought to join. I joined this Saturday's meeting and we were supposed to have already read three short stories and discuss it with the group.

Because I'm delinquent, I only picked one story written by someone I'm familiar with. Lamb to the Slaughter is a short story by Roald Dahl, he of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and James and the Giant Peach. By the time I got to where Mrs. Maloney picked up the frozen leg of lamb from the freezer, the flashbacks came so fast they burned my retinas.

I was 11 and bored, and as always I looked for something to read. I picked up a tattered copy of Rod Serling's The Twilight Zone from my father's bookshelf. We used to watch the Twilight Zone every Friday night, so I figured the book would be interesting. And interesting it was. Until now I cannot go past a freezer full of frozen meat without murder entering my mind. That short story got me to read Lawrence Sanders after that, and any parent today would not let an 11-year old child touch one book of his. Especially The Third Deadly Sin.

When I was younger I couldn't connect the Roald Dahl of Chocolate Factory and the Dahl that wrote that short story. Now I realize that Mr. Dahl kinda hated children. Look what he did to the disobedient children inside the factory. One was miniaturized, the other went through giant rollers, and poor Veruca Salt with the squirrels.

Next time I attend a LitCritter meeting I promise to read all assigned stories, and now I know what to look for. Grammar not included. My brain is full today.

Wednesday, July 07, 2010

Dear John, Here's What I Really Wanted to Say

I have never been a fan of those tragic love story movies that featured young and heartbroken protagonists. They're usually subjected to so much heartache and heavy life-changing decision that it almost borders on child abuse. I call it the Nicholas Sparks genre.

I think it all started with A Walk to Remember starring Mandy Moore. I've never seen it and I don't intend to, ever. They say Mandy dies in the movie, and based on the rest of what people have told me, it's a ripoff of the classic Love Story.

There were so many more that followed, like The Notebook and The Last Song. All of them I haven't seen. Recently a friend wanted me to see this latest snoozefest called Dear John. "Why should I watch it?" "Amanda Seyfried sang a beautiful song in the middle of the movie." "Maybe it's more practical to just watch the song on YouTube?" "No, you have to see the whole movie to get the song."

I highly doubted his advice, but what the hell. Maybe in the future I will be asked some trivia question worth 1 million dollars and it would be about this movie. I don't want to regret this someday; that I had the chance to watch it and I didn't. The fact that this friend is a straight guy made me doubt his sexuality too.

So there's this soldier named John (duh) and this girl named Savannah. Yeah, who names their daughter Savannah? They get their freak on for two weeks then John leaves again to fight somewhere. Actually, they never got their freak on. They just talked about the moon, and coins, and autism. Frenzied letter writing follows between our main characters. They tell each other the "story" behind their respective shits for a year. A year. Then John gets a two-day break after 9/11 so naturally he goes and spends it with Savannah. And still they talked and talked and talked. They even argued.

And finally, they get their freak on.

I mean, who spends two weeks with a hot surfer dude who is also a soldier and can probably kill you with his bare hands (I said that to emphasize further the testosterone factor), and just talk about the moon and lie on the beach? To cut the story short they break up through a letter and they didn't end up together yada yada yada blah blah.

The best part of a summer fling is the knowledge that you will, come the end of summer, never see each other again. That sucks, yes, but it also makes the fling more intense. It's like condensing a year's worth of dating into 8 weeks or less. Logic dictates that if you don't have that much time you won't spend it arguing or discussing whatever profundity. You do that in normal relationships.

Besides, would you argue with this? Dear John, you should have taken off your shirt more. People wouldn't have been as bored.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

The Itinerary Designed by Road Runner

Written at Gate 12 of Honolulu Airport, 10:57am.

The past week had been a frenzied flurry of activities for me. I have logged in more flying time in a week than some people do in a whole year, and believe me, while it was an adventure, it wasn't always fun.

There were times I would slump over the toilet seat at the airport restrooms on layovers, too tired to even go number one. My body clock is now completely screwed up, having gone through 4 different time zones for the past 7 days. I don't know what this will do to me when I finally land in Manila and getting back to my daily routine (I'm writing this at the Honolulu airport, waiting to board for Tokyo/Narita.) I'm hoping my irregular sleep and eating habits will save me from horrible jetlag.

At LAX airport while waiting for the Mexico City flight, my eyes were shutting down involuntarily that I had to stand up while waiting, otherwise I was afraid I wouldn't be able to wake up and get on the plane. I never bothered to change the time on my watch - i'll be gone only for a week anyway and it would be silly to adjust every 2 days. Whenever I need to know what time it is I just pull out the World Clock of my cellphone or iPod, it's more convenient that way since it would show 5 cities simultaneously.

I witnessed sunset and sunrise with only a 3 hour difference while on the plane. I got an 8-hour afternoon transiting from LAX to Honolulu. I had to ask the Filipino hotel shuttle driver what day it is. I was that disoriented. My body tells me it's 4am in Manila and yet the sun is shining here in Hawaii. My meal times were not disturbed at all, since I don't have regular eating hours anyway. I eat when I'm hungry.

I took the Greyhound shuttling between LA and San Diego, and on the way back the bus made like 3 stops - Santa Ana, Long Beach, and another one that escapes me at the moment. It took quite a long time to make it to LA but I was thankful because I got to see more of South California. It was also a little surreal to walk around downtown San Diego with Fifi, eating pizza at Little Italy and scavenging bargain bins at H&M.

And because I don't care if my baggage goes straight to Manila without me, I went to Honolulu on a golden ticket. Overnight stay with free hotel and meals is enough bribe for me to get to see a new place. I was able to walk around Waikiki Beach and see the nightlife, the surfboards, and the topless surfer dudes jogging on the streets. Life is good.

There are a lot of stories to tell, and it will come trickling in when I finally get enough sleep in my own bed. Right now I feel incredibly sleepy and the sunlight is hurting my eyes, and I think I'm hungry. Boarding in ten minutes. Aloha Hawaii, thanks for having me.

Wednesday, June 02, 2010

It Didn't Come with a Manual

I always read instructions, whether for a complicated gadget or a lowly instant noodle packet, I make it a point to read the 1-2-3. I do this so I can't blame myself if the whole thing explodes or turn into a soggy mush. There is one thing, however, that I don't need instructions for, and yet I execute it perfectly every single time I do it. The instructions? Open mouth, insert foot.

I've said a lot of stupid things before. I am all too familiar with that sinking feeling in my gut as soon as the words leave my mouth. But as they say, once it's out there, you can never take it back. Unless you have the following equipment: the dagger from Prince of Persia, Hermione's locket, or a mad scientist at your disposal to invent a time machine for you. Otherwise, you're pretty much screwed.

So what do you do when you suddenly find your big toe tickling your uvula? It depends so much on what you have said. A couple of words can ruin entire friendships, relationships, and even lives. Saying a measly sorry wouldn't be enough for that. It would also depend whether those words are true and if you meant them. But sometimes, it's just the Stupid cells in your brain kicking into high gear that make you say insensitive things. Things that you never really meant, if only you had taken a breath to review that sentence before blurting it out.

I can say sorry a hundred times or even grovel, and that would be the extent of what I can offer. Now if someone would give me a hand in removing this limb from this orifice.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010


Anong nilaro nyo sa Resorts World?
Russian Roulette.


Yaya: pano po yan ate pagtanda nyo wala kayong kasama, wala kayong anak?
Me: eh hindi naman lahat ng babae pangarap mag asawa at magkaanak. Madami na pwede gawin ang mga babae ngayon.
Yaya: ay oo ate totoo yan, yung iba nagdadancer sa club.


Hi classmate! Kumusta ka na? Di ba dati blah blah blah (proceeds to tell detailed stories of our "adventures")...sandali, natatandaan mo ba ko?
Me: sa face lang. Sorry.


Monday, May 10, 2010

It's Time

Wake up Philippines.

Today is the best day to be heard. Today is the day when you can let the world know who you want to lead the country. You can finally stop taking your friends hostage at dinner so you can discuss the pros and cons of your candidate, or posting endless Tweets and Facebook shout outs about it. Finally, the day has come.

I don't care who you're voting for, I am not and will never be the person who will try to sway anyone in favor of my own choice. I just hope that whoever that person is, you have thought about it well. I hope that it was an informed choice for you, that you have gathered enough information about him as much as you can, and that you are voting for him because you believe in your heart of hearts that he is the right choice to make. Not because of anything else.

I take my vote very seriously. I spend a lot of hours hemming and hawing about it, and up until yesterday I was still hedging. Finally I decided, and it was so comforting I fell asleep at 9:30pm. And now I have been awake for a full three hours, preparing to trek to the precinct and shade that damn circle.

If you can't vote, I hope you will next elections. If you can but somehow don't want to, I hope I never hear you complain about the outcome.

Friday, April 30, 2010

Claiming the Right to Change my Mind

I never liked the rain. It makes me melancholic and sad and makes going around the city a big hassle for carless people like me. Rain makes cab drivers greedier than they already are, and won't take on passengers that will take them more than 5 minutes to drive. Water on dust makes mud, and that mud would eventually find my way into my clothes. I don't know how, but they somehow do. Sometimes, if I'm really unlucky, I get splashed by speeding vehicles. My blood pressure shoots up to Alert Level: Murderous when that happens, especially if I'm wearing something white or I don't have anything on me to wipe off the murky water that's making my mascara run. One time, I even picked up a stone to throw at the car that splashed me, but a friend intervened.

When Ondoy happened, I felt that my dislike for the rain was justified. Because really, who could forget the wrath of that storm that left thousands of people homeless and wet? I always said that I'd rather be hot than shivering and dripping. The memory of that horrible night in Mt. Pulag was still vivid in my mind, so vivid that if I closed my eyes I could still remember how I fervently wished to be dead.

For the past couple of months the temperature continued to climb up, leaving us all icky and sweaty and a little crabbier than usual. Closing my eyes to remember the 6 degrees and wet night at that mountain was proving to be more and more difficult every time I tried, especially when the electric fan blows hair dryer air at my sweat-soaked back.

Last night it finally rained on my part of the city. The rain traveled slowly, hitting the south in the afternoon, Ortigas in the early evening, and the north near midnight. Hours before the actual rain the air smelled like it - clean, fresh and somehow welcome. The day before that we hit the record high of 37.3C, and I was afraid if that continued people's heads would start exploding - our brains would swell so much our skulls couldn't hold it in any longer. Although it can cut down the population, I don't think there would be enough people left willing to clean out shattered craniums and smashed medulla oblongatas.

The rains continued earlier today, a little stronger this time, bringing with it some thunder and cool breeze. I actually turned down the fan because I was getting cold, but I wanted to soak up the cold so I didn't wear my Christmas pajamas. I had to go out, so I brought an umbrella but didn't use it. For the first time in my life, I willingly went out in the middle of a rainshower and actually enjoyed it. I even got splashed with muddy water on my arms, but I just calmly and quietly said "motherfucker" and got out a hankie to wipe it off.

See, people can change.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Pseudo Parenting

Lately I have taken to hanging around my sister's house for days at a time, mainly because the heat is more bearable at their living room where I camp out when I'm there. In my own apartment it's a toss between an open-air sauna (if there is ever such a thing) and a brick oven. Sometimes I'm tempted to sprinkle quickmelt cheese on myself to see if I can be a baked good without tasting so salty from all the sweat. I know, it's gross but this heat is gross.

Hanging out here means hanging out with Joaquin, who's now two and a half and really really terrible at times. If he's happy he's a hoot, but even then you have to watch out when he's too happy because he tends to jump a lot and most of the time he'd land on some vulnerable part of your body, mainly the boobs. Even if my eyes are watering from the pain I manage to hold out on the bloody screams, because he mistakes those for cries of joy and ecstacy and would repeat the action until someone takes him off me.

To be fair, he does it to everyone.

When he wakes up at the wrong side of the bed he would swat anyone who attempts to speak to him. He shouts a lot too, and I don't know how parents do it, because when I can't take it anymore I shout at him too. I'm not proud of it, but sometimes he shuts up and says "Sorry, don't be mad." So I think I'm doing the right thing.

He talks a lot but I only understand about half of it, and he's fairly articulate. But there are times I know this conversation takes place, he just can't say it the right way:

Me: Why don't you play in the other room?
Him: Why don't you burn in hell?
(Actual conversation between Mom and Stewie, Family Guy)

Monday, March 08, 2010

Oscar Thoughts

Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin I think is getting to George Clooney. Clooney is not smiling. Oh oh oh and they sprayed off the Avatar sprites.

Up won for Best Animated Feature! Yay!

Oh God. Miley Cyrus. Why does she sound like an 80 year old lady? I mean woman? And she's wearing a corset with a skirt.

Robert Downey Jr. wears a blue bowtie! Presenting with Tina Fey.

Why is Sarah Jessica Parker chewing a gum?

John Hughes's wards Ferris Bueller and Pretty in Pink! She was never cute.

Oh, they al turn up at the stage for the John Hughes tribute. They are old. And Macaulay Culkin is too.

K-Stew is still a sourface. Blech.

That Logorama short animated film feature winner is inneresting.

Who hijacked the mic from the best documentary winner?

Ben Stiller as Avatar presenting Best Make Up! Fuck he's a hoot.

Haha Star Trek won for Best Makeup then focuses on a real live Star Trek eyebrows lady. Wonder who that is.

Wow Mo'nique Hairy Legs wins Best Supporting Actress!

Keanu Reeves is alive!

SJP presents Best Costume Design. I do not get hers.

The winner of the award, Sandy Powell, looks amazing in her dress.

Bella and Jacob presents. Where is Edward? And why is Bella so... bored?

I snoozed. When I looked next, J. Lo is on the stage, with some bearded guy.

I wish I could dance like those dancers.

Well hey, it's Aniston's men Brad Cooper and Gerard Butler.

Sandra Bullock wins. I love her.

Barbra Streisand speaks! In a tattered blouse/negligee with a tux jacket.

Hah! Kathryn Bigelow beats his ex-husband for Best Director! Suck it, James Cameron!

Tom Hanks!

Hurt Locker wins for Best Picture! I should watch it I guess.

Saturday, February 27, 2010

Because They Ruin Nice Things

Here's my deal with kids: I don't like every kid I meet. Yuh huh. As a general rule, I only like my siblings' kids, my godchildren, children of my close friends, some of my relatives' spawn, and incredibly cute ones. And orphans, because they don't have parents who are obligated to love them. I have this theory that if I liked their parents the children must have inherited some of those likable genes. Yes, I will say now that I don't necessarily like kids just because they're related to me. And you're a hypocrite if you say you do.

Over the years I have developed certain tolerance for little people 10 years old and below. When I was younger I made them cry when the parents are not looking, taunting them to a screaming fit complete with snot and fake tears. I didn't care if that incident with me would make them serial killers.

When my hormones had settled down and normal body parts have all arrived completely in order I made peace with the little people. Whenever I find that a particular child does not delight or provide entertainment in any way, I just completely ignore them. I wouldn't even look at them or God forbid, answer any stupid question that all begin with "Why?" I just usually stare them down (I always win) or stick my tongue out. Yeah, real mature.

If you think all children are angels, well, they're not. They can be scheming little demons, can lie through their teeth when they do something wrong and is being grilled about it, and they rat you out. They can also be very manipulative with their adoring public, and they carry a host of germs and all sorts of cooties on them. I once contracted head lice from a nasty four-year old. They also destroy things (more often than not it's the expensive ones), but you're not allowed to retaliate because that would make you very evil in the eyes of those who love kids.

If that's mean, then I'm mean. As far as I know I'm not violating any of their rights by ignoring them. Hell, it's not like I deny them basic necessities like food, clothing, and shelter or I don't know, trafficking them for child slavery (those who do deserve to be burned alive at the stake, skinless). I'd like to think that I'm giving them a life lesson, that you can't please everybody, and they shouldn't even try. That leads to more screw-ups in life. If people like them, then good. Milk it. If not, it's perfectly ok to ignore them back. That's what parents are for, to provide you all the love and delusion in the world.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

This is the Part Where I Laugh That Evil Laugh

I know it's evil, really evil, and still there are things way more evil than this, such as actually offing people or kicking kittens, but whenever I'm sad I just go to this website and GLOAT. Like gloat so much I'm considering breaking this self-imposed vow of being incommunicado and the silence after a very long time just to point and laugh.

Yes, I want to point and laugh and just do this annoying dance that Rumpelstiltskin might have performed around the fire while the housewife tried to guess what his name was. Schadenfreude is just too delicious to resist, and right now I'm swimming in a vast pool of it.

I never offered much argument back then, partly because I had no energy left, and partly because I know it was a good thing happening. It really was the best thing. I don't think I could have survived the subsequent and and consequent dots on the timeline that would inevitably follow had I stubbornly persisted. I still had pride and self-respect, and I have a strong suspicion that those two would be the last to go if I die; probably even after my sense of hearing goes too.

Although sometimes I manage to find situations where I compromise my well-being, I get miraculously extricated from those and after a while, find myself whole again. I guess gloating isn't a very nice thing to do, and the next thing you'll tell me that whenever I gloat a puppy dies or something, but goddammit I deserve to gloat. And point and laugh.

Friday, January 01, 2010

I Successfully Killed the Bitch That Was 2009

No apologies. I wanted to cut the crap out of my life for the longest time, and hey, it happened! Never underestimate the power of wishful thinking. I haven't blogged because I don't have anything new to say, except I had dinner here and there, watched some movie and it was amazing/great/meh/vomit-inducing or something or the other, went places, partied, got drunk, met people from my past/present/future, bought things, and details which I felt you won't care about.

But hey look, it's another year. The year 2009 was a hard year, as if all the flagellation of the past 8 years wasn't enough, it went out with a bang. The 9/11, the dot com bust, the wars, the recession, the natural disasters -- it was a mighty ten-year long buffet of kicking our asses.

And we survived it. The last decade was when I really became an adult, graduating from petty love problems to having real responsibilities and worrying about the future. I was forged during hard times. I don't relish making life-changing decisions but it had to be done, and I had to be brave about it.

I'm expecting a big, huge, humongous change this year and I will be very disappointed if it doesn't happen. Hello 2010, I hope you're better than the last.