Conversations of Reconcilation

TODAY'S THE LAST DAY OF THE OCTOBERFEST - and still I haven't celebrated the event! Man! I'm such a LOSER!

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Finally, I have watched Tim Burton's Corpse Bride. It was haunting and dark, and I am so inlove with Victor. I would have liked Victor to be married to Emily though, she seems a lot sweeter than Victoria. A great deal more interesting really, but considering should the plot be that way, Victoria would eventually end up in the land of the dead, and thus wouldn't Victor be torn between two women? On a more graver note, how can one fall in love in a minute or less? On second thought, play me a song on the piano and I'll grovel at your feet.

I loved the way Emily and Victor reconciled, it was the most romantic moment in the movie. Playing the piano side by side. Unfortunately though, I can't really play the instrument, I can only uio (spelling suggested by my classmate, (widow -according to my mom)). I wish I'd have a relationship like that, would really be an intersting thing noh?

Talking about reconcilation, my friend and I have at last begun to sort out the threads of our petty little situation. He and his male ego, and myself and my own big ego. Okay, so he said sorry first and I kinda extended the whole thing to a couple of weeks, the least. It was a misunderstanding that I cannot really say to be glad to have occured, yet am glad that it did- I enjoy arguments - worrying about things you shouldn't worry about had you did something else.

In the course we ended up conversing about my um.. let me say constant desire for deviation, which he finds rather un-amusing.

Me - Thinking about it, apologies are not confined to words, although they convey your meaning quite efficiently, words can be just mere words. I'm a cynic, what else is new? In addition that it was magnified realizing how much you seem to detest me for my ideas and at times, actions.

Ben - Only the heartless rejoice in the pain of others.. No matter how much I may resent a person, I would still feel guilt if I had wronged him, much more in your case since you are a close friend, I admit I do not agree with most of your actions and opinions, and I find your disregard for rules and laws to be troubling, but I will not severe our friendship just because of that.

Me -I don't think this particular argument is getting us anywhere, may I suggest we end it?
- The norms dictate and yet it is us who act. It is ideal to follow rules and yet it is partially giving up our democracy.

Ben - Hmm.. I've been honest with how I feel about your ideas and actions.. But am sorry that I wasn't as understanding as I could be.. I really am uptight.. Even with rules :)
- Freedom is an illusion.. For to have absolute freedom means sacrificng the freedom of others.. It is a measure of one's maturity to respect laws placed to protect what degree of freedom is allowable.

Me - Freedom is not at all a true concept. For freedom involves the interplay of one's onceness and thus we cannot deviate from its consequences regardless of our place in the chain of events. If we speak of freedom to the max which could be lent to us, rules are a form of discipline which stifle the very nature of freedom.
- Thinking about it, to have a nature is by itself contrary to the concept of freedom. And thus to be deviant by itself is to be captured into the box of rebellion, which is by itself another form of entrapment - no man could possibly have utterly complete freedom.
(At this point, I've absolutely contradicted myself and thus surrendered - Ben won this round!)

While on the topic of common sense and freedom,

Me - if it is against man's nature to kill, why do we kill?

Ben - You got a point there.. I could say that I don't want to kill which can be disputed by the fact that I like playing violent games.. Perhaps its just self preservation.. Haha ewan.

Now we're back on track.. Friends again.
(I love conversations like these! Welcome to my world!)

Another point of question in my head before I end this entry:
If it is true that demons and angels put ideas in our heads, like devils and their temptations or diabolical schemes and angels and their honest to goodness plots to aid humanity.. then is there really any idea that we actually do come up with? other than of course, "Free Will"?

Lesson from Snail Mail - The Ephemeral Nature of Life

Never thought snail mail could be so costly! Imagine, 67 bucks for a bunch of stamps. I learned one valuable lesson.. Stationary pads are for hand mails. Yellow pads and really light writing materials are snail mail materials. Alrighty. Lesson learned.

Frustrating is the thought, that after writing it, the receipient would get it when the news are already irrelevant. As of now, the contents of the letter should be altered, 'stead for the five promised examinations, two were transferred to next Thursday! Prob is got a midterm paper due next week. For some reason, I'm beginning to detest papers. They drain the life of me. So many changes in just one day. One day, just one day, a minute, a second could be the difference of all that is and that will be.

Random

This would officially be hell week for me. Although it is not finals, midterms is one way of saying how well you're performing, and at the rate I'm doing, I have a weird feeling that I ain't doing spectacularly, nor anything close to passing. Call me pessimistic, though I know I am already.

Five tests on Thursday, how could anybody cope with something as suicidal as that? Not to mention my laptop is acting freaky this morning, and I intend to get to the bottom of the problem as soon as I get home from school.

Had my hair cut yesterday, although it still looks the same, feels slightly similar, it doesn't change the fact that it's a wee bit shorter than it was.

I can't wait for the long break next week, but on second thought I don't have anything to do but to begin another book - I have my eyes on Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code, which I tried reading thrice but never found the patience to complete.

I want to go out, but I'm grounded. I want to go out. I want to go out and enjoy. I want to go out and explore. I want to do something other than stay at home and read like I always do. I need to do something new. I need... I need.. I need.. I need.. I need.. to grow up.

Yesterday I was priviledged to be the one to burn the folded joss papers during our cementary service. I loved the way the fire consumes the curling papers, its golden designs shimmering against the rolling smokes that have begun to form. I love fire. I love playing with fire. I've always been playing with fire, ever since I was a child. I love the power of fire. Literal and symbolical. I'm psychotic.

Get A Grip

I've just finished finishing another Dean Koontz novel called Mr. Murder. At this point, initially after having read the novel, I have this sense of unfounded disturbance within me. It is not that I had been extraordinarily engrossed with the whole suspense thriller story, but perhaps part of the story has caught up with my flow of thoughts. I wonder how much of what I have now would remain with me?

I am a cynic as most of my friends have informed me in an absurdly outright manner. I am a pessimist by all means, a personal characteristic which I cannot attribute to any formidable encounter in my past - especially the fact that I cannot account as many episodes to prove me to be downright pessimistic a few years back.

When I was seven, eight, nine, though, I remember lulling myself to sleep. Tears would constantly stream down my eyes as I rest my head on my pillow, my heart would be gripped in an intangible clutch from within - and thus I know that I was afraid. Even now that I’ve matured eleven, ten, nine years wiser than I had been, I am still plagued by this fear, often baseless in nature that I find myself crying, weeping, sobbing for no apparent reason. My breath seems to lose its rhythm; my guts feel knots and my eyes are waterfalls of running tears - like an untended faucet. I was afraid, as I am afraid. I am afraid to lose all that I have, all that I hold dear. I am afraid of change.

I am sure many people would agree that although change is most desirable especially in the growth of man, it is not always beneficial to the emotional expansion of an individual. Many speak that change is good, and that in change one learns to experience the vastness of life - being held back, cooped up is a sin to existence. And yet, I admit although I am a social nihilist who dares to question and at times deviate from norms and conventions, I too am inflicted by the joys and sorrows that change could inflict, for I too, as much as I'd try to oppose it, am still part of the system.

I've often been quite defiant of my parent's wishes, although not in a form of utter rebellion, but in my lack of affection towards them. I would often justify this conduct as culturally influenced since Asians are less emotionally responsive compared to Westerners (although Philippine movies would like to portray the Filipinos to be quite Westernized in their ways). I don't remember hugging my mother after every quarrel despite how often I see that scenario in television, and I would blame this behavior on the grounds that it is not my manner of expressing my love.

Love, being so abstract, could be expressed in so many ways, with so many mediums, that the typical (stolen from the movies) manner in which it is shown cannot be the only and absolute means as to how it could be translated. And despite the fact that I doubt my parents would really take time out to read the rigmaroles of their demented daughter, I would like to write it here out for all to see that I love them very much, despite their imperfections, despite their human "fallability", despite their occasional failed attempts to remain faithful to their teachings - I am grateful for their kindness and care and hope that one day I may repay my debts when I'd have children of my own (God forbid).

Serenade Me, Please?

A Wednesday couldn't have been more stressful. At this point, I would like to express my utmost gratitude to my friends who have been so supportive of me and of the endeavor, which I have submitted myself to undertake. One friend in particular had been with me not only throughout the whole production (formal and informal forms of rehearsals, in addition to countless encouraging words which has boosted my confidence despite its at times de-constructive nature) of the presentation; she had been with me as confidante and a pacifier to all the blows of reality which has riddled and thus destroyed the mundane quality of my week. And for that and all else which she had done for me, I am exceptionally grateful.

Few are acquainted of the events that have corrupted the unflustered nature of my week - which would more or less drag on for a month or so depending largely on the ease as to how long a volcano forgets its eruption. I would not take the liberty of elaborating its details here since I understand it to be of a grave personal sort. The presentation, on the other hand, is far more exciting and less daunting occurrence which I intend to focus on for this entry.

The presentation, which was executed by myself and a talented young chap (from Xavier, God!), garnered many positive remarks from our peers and audience, despite occasional criticisms regarding... (that which cannot be said, will not be said). We practiced our song number for.. (I deduce to be) three if not two weeks with a duration of an hour, once a week, until the week of the event proper, which forced us to practice more longer hours - cramming the song, not to mention the choreography which was considered a day or two before the presentation itself. I wonder how we managed to pull it off and yet I am very proud of the feat - yes I am vain. I guess, for most part, I had the upper hand with regards to the presentation since we sang my "signature song", while he had to "play along" with my whims for I am the current choirmaster of our organization's choir division.

I am most impressed by his confidence during the presentation that I cannot help but smile occasionally. I dare say he was a convincing actor, with an undeniably soothing voice. Listening to him (repeatedly, in a video clip of our performance), makes me seem to fall for him, although not in a lustful manner, but more on feeling a connection with him and his song. I cannot explain the whole situation in this entry, but I have to be honest that performing with him seems to "endanger" me to a certain inexplicable magnetism towards him.

I do have to admit that I have a soft spot for sensitive men - more specifically "artistic intellectuals"as my friend coined the term in describing my taste for males. I am drawn towards males who are capable of expressing their ideas freely, unbridled by fear that society might reject his thoughts. I do love men who could be creative in their dealings with me, capable of integrating beauty, art and nature in their endeavors. Innovation perhaps is key in winning my favor. More so, I love artists - regardless of whether it is the visual, musical or culinary - for they bring forth the "spice" which I seek in my unattached life.

When I was in high school, I often hope a guy would, despite its already worn-out and traditional characteristic (I mean nobody does this kind of thing anymore!), serenade me. (Until now, it still has never happened except perhaps in make-believe, and do I actually hope for some Prince Charming to come with a guitar and sing me some romantic lullaby? Heck I don't even want to hear any Air Supply or David Pomeraz songs! Not to mention, if he can't sing then its better that he stay away from trying to do so) It was the only thing that has caught my fancy compared to the usual chocolates and flowers, which many are so fond of, and which I detest mainly because of its lack of originality and thought. A male's voice following a melody is perhaps, for me, the most personal and intimate confession of love that I could possibly imagine. No wonder Elvis Presley won the hearts of many fans, his voice actually melts my heart (especially Are You Lonesome Tonight?).

To "my Raoul" - you were a wonderful and sensational partner and I am truly honored to have performed with you.

I Saw the Sign!

Got this from a friend.. Wonder how accurate it is... Grammar wise, it sucks!

CAPRICORN WOMAN

A tall slim, cool and quiet woman. (Liar! tall? pwede na. Cool, pwede na rin. Quiet? Hmmm.)Once she is mad she can be very fierce. (you've been warned)
She can work better than some men and she is very high confident woman. (I am?) In her opinion, woman is not just a flower or decoration at home or at an office and certainly not a weak sex who needs protection. (Feminist Movement, on the roll)

She likes to control and hide her weak emotions. (sometimes) She will never try to change anyone, but she will learn to accept them as they are. If she does not like someone, she will not comments or criticize but she will completely ignore that person. (um....)

She hate plastic and an artificial flower because it make her feel that you are not being sincere. (bingo!) She loves real flower and it's scent. (guess my favorite flower... I am not being green minded here!) She loves a guy who wear after shave cologne. (Just don't smell like shit) If you are a type of a guy who wear your Jean one month before washing, or wear an old sneaker, then you can forget about her. (I am not that high maintainance, but hygience is a big plus factor!)

She loves music and nature even there is a rare case otherwise. She loves to go picnic in nature, so if you don't have so much time for her, you can take her fishing too. (I like nature! True so far)

She is not as jealous as Aquarius or Leo woman, but do not cross the line O.K. Better not to see she gets mad, especially in front of public when she feels like loosing face. (Losing face) She loves to make up and dress perfectly and very neat, so never rush her for this matter. (Depends on the mood, buster!)

She has her own goal in life and does not care if you have a doctorate degree or not, if she thinks you are not bright then she will not care about you at all. She likes smart people by character not by certificate shown. If you can not show her this quality, go and take a bus and go to the next stop. (So true, I want artistic intellectuals so if you're not one, hit the road buddy!)

She does not like a dreamer who talk about his dream but never put his hands in action to make it happens. Don't bother to tell her "everyone is doing it, you should do it too", or "I think you should do it, it's good for you", because she will do what she wants to do only. (Oh yeah baby!)

She is a neat and tidy person, (No way!) so if your apartment is a pigsty , do not take her there. (That's called protocol, you clean up before letting anybody in) If you go out on a date with her , try to be presentable such as nice and clean dress, clean nails or else it will be your last date. (Shows just how much a girl matters to you, look like trash, be treated like trash)

She is a cool type and will not nag, so easy on your ears. She is a slow but sure type. (Am I?) She will always respect and honor you and will never try to make you loose your face. (Quite contrary to the earlier paragraph's claim!) If she loves you, she will help you in anything you do.

She likes to help people and expect nothing in return. If she asks you for a favor and does not get one, she will feel very disappoint. She has a high hope and a high faith and beliefs in her own confident than believing in "Luck".

If she is your wife, you will have nice and clean home and a gourmet cooking. If your parents visit your house, they will be please. She is a 3 in 1 means , a perfect mother, a perfect housewife, a perfect wife or you could say "happily ever after". (I like the advertisement, thank you but no thanks - no intention)

Grounded

I am officially grounded (for a year). Why? I'm not telling! :D

This morning, I left the house at 4 in the morning to train with the DLSU Dragonboat team. We arrived at CCP close to 5 am. We had to wait for some time before the rest of the group arrived. Thank God for sports bra, and thank God I remembered to wear them - we had warm up exercises among which are my favorites (sense my sarcasm) - jogging and jumping jacks, whooee up and down! the agony! I am most grateful that I did not see any guys looking at me while I was doing those stunts! Imagine my embarassment seeing my shirt bulk up and down as I jump.

Anyways, the "orgasm" of my entry is not about my physical struggle, its more of the enlightening sensation I received after Dragonboating. When asked, I would have to say that I don't think I regret taking part of the training - it was so invigorating that I want to just keep going despite the muscular pains that were starting to bother my right arm.

The water was smelly. And the boat had small cockroaches (not the kind you see at home) crawling all over the place. It took me a split second to snap back into reality, hey no pain, no gain. The experience was really worth it.

After rowing, we rode to the university to take a bath, and my, the wonders a cold shower could do! I felt so refreshed and new, despite my extreme lack of sleep (I feel like I barely slept at all, not to mention that I am now cramming some papers due today)

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Manila Bay was so pretty - when the sky is dark and you can't see the grime and garbage floating on its waters. The lights from the buildings not to mention the horizon was adding to the flavor of the whole experience. The sky, before dawn, was pinkish and violet, and I wouldn't have minded having a special someone around - it felt romantic (not that I am a sucker for this kinds of things). I love the fleeting moments just before the sun creeps in and spoils all the magic of semi-darkness.

Two Weddings and A Bachelorette

I will love you forever, until the last of my breath.
(Oh yeah, sure.. who actually believes that crap?)

It is not that I am bitter, but does love really last a lifetime? A friend of mine answered that question for me when I began doubting the ability of man to actually stick to a decent one man-one woman relationship, "How long does a guy's feelings last? Depends on how he feels.. If he truly loves u, its gonna last til his last breath". How comforting!

And yet, I still remain stubborn to the idea that feelings are inconsistent and easily wavered by the passage of time. The "perfection" of your precious beloved would eventually fade into the form of reality that one doesn't want to take responsibility for. People change; and in my opinion, it is in the state of initial ecstasy extractable from the symptoms of love (shallow perhaps), that people tend to discard or underestimate the potential poison of change. (Thinking, I'd cope. I love him enough to sacrifice, I won’t mind, etc. - bullsh*t!)

I've been told, in courtship, the girl walks ahead of the guy; when they become an item, they would walk side by side, eventually when married, the guy walks ahead while the girl follows. The comparison of gait to one's relationship seems significant not only in its literal sense, but also in the give and take relationship of the couple. I presume that the above statement would require no more explanations, since its been said over and over again, exhibited in many circumstances - that illustrations nor word by word clarifications would no longer seem necessary lest one is not in any manner involved in current trends as movies, reading articles and even daily conversations.

I understand that the philosophy may be quite old fashioned and outdated compared to the girl power modern generation, but does it not hold any important lesson that perhaps could have spared the many heartbreaks caused by lack of compromise? I guess the only way I'd answer the question is - I married (allowed him to take over my life - heck I left my family for the guy) the m*ther f*cker, so I got to live with it. Like a course you take in college, I would dare remain loyal to the chosen course despite many temptations to shift to other easier and less expensive subjects for two reasons - (1) I am willing to take responsibility for my choice, (2) Fickleness is not a flattering attribute, being able to take a stand and have a conviction seems to be more fulfilling as well as more directional compared to unsure searching for the ideal course, which could take forever - waste of time and money.(Remember, duality - pros and cons always exist).

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I attended two wedding banquets today and had to say that it was quite an experience to be out of the house the whole day to dine with groups of people you don't even know. (Darn, I think I had enough Chinese food to last me a month! - the two weddings have more or less the same line up in terms of their menu) Not to mention, sharing a couple's special day when in your opinion, the day holds no other special-ness other than the fact that you are actually wearing make-up and crimp free clothings, trying to act cultured and respectable while other people, even in their most formal attires, could be so unrespectable.

I wonder though if the bride and groom would actually consider the day to be truly special. I cannot help but remember my feelings when I was going up the stage for my fourth year graduation. Although for many it was a memorable experience, I did not find anything memorable about the occasion aside from the formality of actually being sent out of the school I've known for heck, over 12 years of my life. I spent the whole ceremony thinking to myself, "Is this the time when I should feel the blow of special-ness overwhelm me?" and the answer evidently was no. I did not find my eighteenth birthday to bear any outstanding recollections, other than the fact that I am another year older than I was a year before. I don't recall my first day in the university to be a handful, or extravagantly unique from every other day, feels just like going to an unfamiliar terrain and asking for directions as to how to get here and there.

People write about their first experiences to be their among their most unforgettable incidents - first day in college, first boyfriend, first kiss, first whatevers - and yet are these occasions truly special or is it because it has been used far too often that people illusion them to be laden with exceptional events. Now, I ask, do the brides and grooms actually feel that the day is special?

I would like to think they find it tiring, and I'm not talking about the wedding night. Consider the stress involved that everybody is actually watching you for the entire day. A camera is stuck on your face, following you around like a stalker which you acknowledge and pretend to ignore. In addition, the couple would also have to worry at the back of their heads, if the guests are really enjoying themselves, making a connection with their supposed special day. Among other concerns, they would also be wary of potential problems that may occur during the reception, as well as after (who wouldn't be pessimistic - the wedding night, in my opinion, seems to be among the scariest experiences a person could possibly encounter).

While watching the itinerary of the event go fluidly, there are some chances wherein the crowd gets a bit malicious (but in my perspective, they're either being really immature or they're just releasing some pent up sexual impulses) and begins tapping their glasses, demanding a kiss from the exhausted although still smiling couple. Being forced to kiss, not to mention, in front of an anxious crowd, isn't exactly the most efficient way of showing how much you love your significant other, although it seems to please and entertain the audience - just like a kilig moment in a feel good chic flick.

Seeing the poor couple comply, I could only sympathize (I'm just guessing here as to how they feel) and feel their embarrassment at the awkwardness of the situation - I mean kiss in front of your overexcited parents and your seemingly interested relatives is a really creepy moment don't you think? In addition, having a nosy camera shoot the whole sequence, and a perverted host who keeps asking, "Show us what your daddy taught you!"

Now I am asking myself, do I really want to get married?
The expenses, the trouble, the pains.
And we're not yet exploring the pregnancy that may come after – wedding night! rings any bells?
God! Is this going to be my fate too? – I'm actually traumatized!
Hah, childhood fantasies, what a bunch of crap when faced with reality.

I am not Artistic, I am just Impulsive

Yesterday, during our LEAP class (Scrapbook making), I was shocked at how many tools the art would require. Truly, fixing a scrapbook is an investment - and I thought all that I needed was just scraps! I completed a scrapbook about my high school life when I was in my fourth year high, and I thought that it already bore the idea of scrapbooking. It had everything I want to remember. On the contrary, the art of scrapbooking dictates the use of select photographs, acid-free materials (as for the photographs not to yellow over time), careful designs and much thought - now who would have thought of that. After the speaker's discussion, we were given some cardboards and wraping papers to begin making a scrapbook page.

My friend, who accompanied me, took a yellow green cardboard and a yellow wrapping paper with pictures of limes. I, on the other hand, took a violet cardboard and a rather multi-colored wrapping paper with heart and curly waves design. My friend managed to capture the attention of the speaker because of the innovation she implemented for her page - she cut the limes and made it the theme of her page. On the other hand, I felt mine was more neutral, the typical scrapbook page teenagers would think of making. As I progressed in making my page, I realized how contrasting and empty it seems despite the many accessories I have included. It felt like the page was divided into two different worlds, serving the same purpose, wanting to meet, but can't - duality, perhaps my thoughts are beginning to find reflection in my works.

A girl from my right commented, "I can't do this, I am not artistic". I don't think that being artistic is actually the reason though. I whispered to my friend, "I am not artistic, I am just impulsive" - I work with spur of the moment thoughts, ideas which hit me right there and then, and I dare to experiment with them (cutting the cardboards, gluing the papers, etc.) even when in my head I still can't picture the finished product. I rarely work with themes, and when I do, I tend to deviate them at some point. My only defense to my spontaneity - If this scrapbook is supposed to be a memento of times which I'd like to remember, and I'd like to be remembered, then it will be designed the way I want it, in accordance to my taste and not to anyone else's. What do I need the professional look for if I cannot enjoy the freedom of creating the world I want to be in? I don't believe that conformity to the ideal, pretty, professional look would allow future generations to see the person that I am - which scrapbooking is supposed to relate to them.

I am not the constant focused, obsessive-compulsive that people often associate to success.

I am an extremist though. I either am too sloppy or too meticulous, too ecstatic or too depressed, too lazy or too hardworking. I never find balance.

Katrinian Literature

I wrote these poems on October 5th, a day after my mother's birthday. I was reprimanded for my insensitivity regarding my responsibilities and I do admit of my lukewarm conduct in our household. It is like seeing crime go unpunished, I am aware of what I am to do, and yet I no longer have the spirit to go about fixing things - apathetic. I am a spoiled little girl who doesn't know a thing in the world except perhaps to gain pleasure for myself - hedonistic me.

There are things which I would like to do, and yet I hold back, without knowing why. Whenever I see my siblings sick, as much as I'd like to help and comfort them, I stay put in my uninterrupted medley of thoughts, pretending to be ignorant, acting unconcerned, detached, uninvolved; as I've always been to all affairs which I am usually pulled into. (Why is it that man is drawn into affiliations?) Whenever I see someone cry, I dare not approach him or her, for I find it awkward and unnatural, it is not of my nature to be a lover, a nurturer, a thoughtful caregiver. Perhaps I've been accustomed to be on the receiving end of things that I've grown selfish, gluttonous of my personal benefits, indifferent. I don't know how to act - my hands, my virgin, pristine hands - unblemished perhaps by hardship.

Perhaps I'm being hard on myself, this entry seems to be laden with I's. Am I such a bitch? Am I really worthless? Did I ever do anything worthwhile? What is my purpose in life? - to blabber endlessly of my life like I have one.

Torpid

I see him ogle at my breasts
My eyes read his
Like tarot cards laid down
On a fortune teller's table.
Dare he say
In the voice of the devil
That he dreams, too
Of flowers
As I dream of trees
Us and our irrevocable natures
And we'd dream
Of wild rivers gushing down
And headstrong salmons running upstream
But the pine doesn't
Want to grow in the valley
Nor does the valley want to cater
To the spawning of
The family of the pine.
Thus we'd dream
Unfathomable sterile dreams
Holding dearly to our disease
- such virginity.

I dare wish to be just an observer of life - to live life mainly to observe and record and ponder and wonder; detached and involved in the process at the same time. I dare wish to be among the mortals, but not among them in the sense of living exactly their lives. Do I make sense?

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I found many of my unfinished stories in one of our old computers. Reading them, reminds me of my wave of thoughts when I was younger. At certain points, I simply amaze myself at the composition as well as the maturity I find in my work, such thoughts that I have been lost from me now that I've aged. I dedicate this poem mainly to the idea that I never ever had a finished work - on second thought, whoever gave license to stories to ever have an end?

Incomplete

Does my pen remain
Faithful
To the bullets
Of my gun?
Arched backs,
Roll out your twisted bones
Out of my womb, my fetus,
Scream your silence
Wax,
still my music.
In a moonless night
I shall not once again
Gain sight of you.

Play with me,
Play with me
Sandman, my philandering lover,
(you spare no one, wise or fool, Adam or rib)
Play with me,
Give me my child,
New, fresh, sweet
From our matrimonial bed
Of perpetual yesteryears.

I've killed them all.

Bled them till blood
Drops from their eyes,
Massacred (all our children)
In anticipation of a new pregnancy.
Excited with the mask of nausea, vomit
But never the contentment of motherhood
All babies aborted
Before they take true form.
Never nursed to health,
Since and until when?

Do I permit
That - Will I grow old alone?


I am beginning another story, which I hope to actually find the justice it deserves – its end. I don't want these thoughts to remain thoughts. I want to give birth to at least one of my babies.

I will post here the introduction of my story, although it barely says anything of importance - just the theme; it's another untitled love story.

A vision of idealism rolls itself like a blind film over the eyes of a girl in love. Romantic books and "happily ever after" movies are perhaps the best culprits of which such whimsical reveries could possibly be drawn - where a kiss is accompanied by a million firecrackers exploding on the ebony sky, or the union between two long lost lovers would be glorified with the flight of a hundred white doves. Could reality possibly par itself to the fanciful and perfect dreams that the mind creates?

Why is it that the images that are flashed before the television screen become the basis as to how a relationship should progress? Why does it seem that all couples are required to kiss at one point of their togetherness in order to confirm not only to the public audience but also to themselves of their complete devotions for each other? What therefore is a kiss? Could it be just the simple act of puckering up one's lips and meeting the other's, eventually adding the accessory of hands wandering consciously or even unconsciously like a snake slithering across the partner's body? Could such a simple act bear only the mundane symbolism of lust or is it possible to have more weight than what was just mentioned?

Time has been awfully kind with me. His punishments for my poor insight regarding love were faint, and yet I cannot help but yearn for more aggressive blows from the divine emotion; blows grave enough that I would no longer stand as I do now, critical enough that I would no longer recover the fullness of my esteem or worse, my being. Am I savoring the pleasures derived from my masochism, or am I challenging the possibility of perhaps the frightful encounter with a mature affair?

Thus I question, have I truly loved?

Humor Me

I went to National Book Store this evening with the intention of buying a packet of acid-free paper for the LEAP (LaSallian Enrichment Alternative Program) class tomorrow which is scrapbook making. Since I have no idea what that is, I ended up drifting through the shelves checking out the books. One book, in particular, managed to catch my attention. It is called "Gay Haiku" written by Joel Derfner. Finding it interesting, as well as expensive, I skimmed through the pages. Haikus being of three lines only, I decided to copy one in my cellular phone.

French kissing
Is not a holy, exalted art -
At least not your way.

Makes sense to me. This was copied from the forty first page of the book. Other interesting books which I found lined with this book are "Bored of the Rings" and "Barry Trotter and the Dead Horse". Although I didn't waste any time reading the back cover, its an obvious parody of the international bestsellers Lord of the Rings (by J.R.R. Tolkien) and Harry Potter (by J.K. Rowling).Other books which I found were "Stress in the Workplace and How To Cause It" by Howard Edwards and "The Best Case Scenario Handbook" by John Tierney.

At first, the satire counterparts of the original masterpieces seemed interestingly witty. Unfortunately, with further contemplation, I cannot help but consider with disgust how unimaginative and "trying hard" these folks sound to be (but who gave me the right to say such things if I haven't actually read the darn things). With so many spoofs of Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings, I just feel like saying, "Not Another Teen Movie!"

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Last Saturday night, I went out with my high school friends to Makati. Initially, the motive of the outing was in lieu with Boy X's kind intentions of treating us to dinner since he just celebrated his birthday earlier last week. I wore my Japanese red shirt in the large-scale public for the first time and I had to stuff tissue in my bra because of the non-padded nature of my minimize-r sports bra. Why are the most mundane things so important? Things we used to take for granted, now seem vital to existence, or perhaps to decent existence.

When I was in fifth grade and had to endure the itchy first time bra-wearing experience, I can't help but count how many more years I have to sacrifice before my breasts would again be liberated from the support of the undergarment. Now that I've grown older, not only perhaps because of being used to the garment, I cannot imagine not wearing one ever again. Having your nipples bulk through one's shirt seems to be such a big no-no, although when you think about it, what difference would it make; especially with the consideration that everybody has nipples. It's like having a bellybutton, why are people so particular with the middle torso, how different could it possibly be from the face which everybody has?

Listen to the Rhythm of the Falling Rain

Last night it rained heavily, causing the streets to be congested with trucks and cars. The whole affair was disgraceful, having left the university at 9:30, we managed to arrive home at 11, a little before midnight. In the car, my head was throbbing, for no apparent reason, side from the fact that yesterday marked the first choir practice. The airconditioner was cool for the benefit of my mother and brother who were kind enough to fetch me despite the pounding rainshower; unfortunately having been drenched with rain water, I was shivering. The street just outside our university was flooded, and in order to get to the car, I would have to walk in the lake of heaven's tears mixed with the grime of the streets and perhaps canal water.

On our way home, I saw a man pissing in the flood, his exretions would definitely be part of the accumulation of liquids swaying with the waves caused by the cars. This situation perhaps demonstrates how ignorance could be blissful.

It was ironic though that the water from the skies inundated freely, flowing enthusiastically, dripping, dropping... while the cars are all halted, stopped by the overpopulation of vehicles on the streets.

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Whenever I go to our bathroom to do my thing, I always seem to see the September 15 issue of The Philippine Daily Inquirer with Gloria saying I am politically stronger - and in my head I am saying, "Oh sure, but economically, were not getting any better. So who cares if you're politically stronger (you whore of a bitch! - I'm anti-administration, doesn't it show?)"

Although I am no longer as updated with the news as I was - having not read the newspaper for weeks, nor watched the news on television (having no cable at home loses the magic of tv viewing for me). I wonder if Santiago's claim of the threat that would occur should GMA not meet her resignation deadline (October 15) would hold water. Philippine Politics is sure interesting, we are not only led by morons who are vainly pursuing their own selfish purposes, we being the people have more or less been conditioned to view their outrageousness as if we're just watching another tele-serye. Our media is corrupted, backed primarily by capitalists and politicians, where is hope? Justice is dead. Our convictions, not founded on principles and evidences, but on sitations and unproven perceptions. We are blind mice - see how we run.

Reviving My Culture

I wrote this poem last October 2 at around 2 to 3 am. It was a little after cleaning up the villa we rented in Fontana for our teambuilding (He Hu Po Youth Association). I have no idea why I wrote it. It's been quite a while since I last wrote a poem, and its about time I rewind and go back to my idle ways. It's a breakthrough really, since I've been stuck to writing rhyming poems which don't really mean anything significant at all, the traditional way, my traditional way. For most, this poem may sound junky, it may not mean anything at all, but to me, I guess its more of pent up emotions taking its toll on my mind.

A Poem For No One

He knows me
as he tears away
the cobwebs that cocoon my body
He drank with his lips - such luscious lips
my stagnation in my hermitage
and on his lips - those painful lips
did he confess of caverns found and voided
with the wisdom of a fool
and I such maiden
from the belly of a rib
to be mongst the letters
whose seals are knifed off with lips, ethereal lips.
Seals that are meant to encase and spell,
more than just mere letters,
from lips, godless lips,
that do tell upon the gossiping windless air
And shall my breath
reveal my hick,
be my hex, the curse of surrender
as my contentment
be my most disquieting of times.
Most turbulent for fear
that there be more
holes into which the ball (golf, perhaps)
may fall into.
More blankness, loss trials
(thus the first accomplishment mean less than the last)
I dare wish be last,
yet dare wish be nay
For I say nay to contentment,
to the prospect of our covenant
I say nay, but I mean ay
thus I say I am woman
and being such
entitle myself
to become capricious.

Come Out, Come Out Wherever You Are

Night time sharpens, Christine is a muffin.
(My brother's version of Andrew Lloyd Webber's Music of the Night)

This week, our university is celebrating the rights of gays and lesbians. In the Philippine context, where conservatism is held in such high esteem, being among the minority makes one easily oppressed and discriminated. Gays and lesbians are highlighted to be lecherous imbalanced individuals who don't seem to exhibit normal human functions, not to be taken seriously, not to be respected.

In Philippine movies, I would daresay they have formulated quite an exaggerated stereotype of homosexuals - cross dressers with really outlandish accents and unforgivably insatiable desire for the attention of boys, more often the star actor of the said movie. Lesbians have been imaged to be girls with trying hard "punching" accents, loose shirts and a cap worn the other way round, occassionally having superman punches that throw normal bad guys flying to the wall. Are these the people we actually see on the streets?

So many people leaving their stains on the streets of the metropolis, how many perhaps are homosexuals, aside from the self confessed, deluded maniacs who actually wear the opposite sex's clothes professing of God's mistake in assigning their bodies. Are gays and lesbianss supposed to be that superficial? Why become flustered with physical limitations, when one can become far more in the bowels of one's innermost thoughts?

I've known friends who have been involved in same sex relationships. I am in fact in favor of such despite my rather old fashioned upbringing. They prove to be more thought provoking, not to mention open to possibilities and to odd activities compared to normal males and females who are afraid to leave the comforts of the norms. "Decent" males and females who dare not compromise the views of society of them, blindly following standards which define what is male and what is female.

In addition, our society has become so illusioned by stereotypes that actions becomes exclusive to only a particular sex. Watching the film, West Side Story, the men danced gracefully with their torsos tossing and turning with the rhythm; should these men survive to see our times, would they perhaps be mistakened for homosexuals? A girl, angry at her life, frustrated perhaps by the tribulations that burden her, would translate it all with a punch at the wall, does that equate to sexual imbalance or a lapse in one's gender identity? What makes men men and women women?

As vanity is considered to be a "girl thing", or "green-mindedness" associated with manliness, why is that should a girl exhibit a sense of ease with her sexuality or a man be interested in his physical appearance, they are easily labeled as "having a tendency". Aren't such stereotypes limiting rather than fruitful to the well-being of an individual?

Living by such standards, how dare we say we are democratic when we cannot even accept other's freedom of expression? I do comprehend that it is in the acknowledgement of limitations that one could experience true freedom, and yet why limit what is innate? How could the addition of such sexualities become potentially detrimental to the welfare of our society? Would they not in fact be an advancement of man's willingness for change, of man's enticement with evolution or perhaps of man's unbounded capacities?

I welcome relationships with males, females, gays, lesbians, bisexuals and transexuals, for who are we to judge them? They too are human, they too can love, they too deserve to be loved and respected.

Powder Puffies

I had taken the courage to recite in my marketing class.
Question: How does knowing targeted demographics aid in marketing (aside from demographic specific products)?

My answer: In terms of age, of course physically, kids would have smaller sizes. Also children would like certain designs which may not be appealing to other age groups. Such as cartoon characters on their clothings, bedsheets and the like..

Our teacher kept throwing me questions and I kept answering them, until I ended giving the example of the Powerpuff girls.

"What are the powerpuff girls?" My teacher asked and I replied
"They're Frankensteins in the bodies of three cute little girls." The class went silent.

Okay its not exactly ideal to compare the cute Powerpuff girls with a monster such as Frankenstein, but in truth, he is no monster. He is a kind hearted fellow who just wants to find his place in the world, while the world torments him because of his difference (becoming the real monster). My analogy of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein and the Powerpuff girls in simple, they are not human, they are created more specifically as an experiment, one as a success, and another as an accident.

I got the humor of the class back when my professor asked, "What do they do?"
I replied "They fight crime and save the world!"

Blossom, Bubbles and Buttercup kick ass!