31.10.08

Happy Halloween! :)

31.10.08
It's Halloween. Ya know, the time for spooks and ghosties to pop out of nowhere and scare us chickens to death. Well, I don't exactly have to wait for Halloween to experience spooks, 'cause my place could have passed for a haunted house sans the rickety staircases and cobwebs and all that jazz. I can't explain it, but there are a lot of times that I see and feel other presences in the house, especially when I'm alone. I don't usually let these things affect me, because I am steadfast in my belief that once people die, they cease to be. But there were a few circumstances when the presence was so strong, to the point that it could have been a real person. And it was very hard not to freak out.

Okay. Let me explain what I meant by a strong presence. Just imagine that living people have a certain light inside of them that tells you they're there, sort of like a burning fire that releases heat and light that can be felt and seen. Like chi, I suppose. So that's how it felt like. And on some occasions, I feel more than one presence, though I am not quite sure how I was able to separately sense them, considering that they are supposed to exist metaphysically and could not possibly be disjointed into two, different entities.

I'm babbling. Sorry. Right now, I feel so freaked out about this, 'cause my folks and pesky brother are grocery-shopping, and I am alone in this cold, dark house. Well, I do have Sasuke for company, at least. But he's not much use, anyway, that lazy dog. He's a timawa! Haha.

Happy Halloween, people! (I have always wondered how Halloween could be happy. Tsk. So weird)

Toodles.

P.S. I keep seeing Twilight everywhere!It's so annoying how people would fuss about that ********. What is the world coming to? What have I done for the Fates to punish me so?!

28.10.08

I Had an Overdose of Troyella

28.10.08
Today, I watched High School Musical 3 with my family, and it was weird. It didn't really suck, but Gabriella was like a freaking brothel dancer. WARNING: MAJOR spoilers and severe language misuse and character-bashing. And Disney-bashing. And Ryelsi-shipping. Not for the faint of heart and die-hard Troyella fans. This is not really a serious review, after all, HSM3 is not really a serious movie, yeah? And before anything else, I love HSM, so the bashing and shitting are just part of loving it, heh.

Needless to say, I almost had a heart attack when Troy's face suddenly popped up on screen in the first scene, panting like a dog in heat. It was hot, yeah, if you ignore the fact that he had excessive pink lip gloss on and he was sweating buckets of fake sweat. Then there comes the proverbial deciding shot where the unknown player (in HSM 3, the Rocketboy or whatever) makes it and the team wins. Whoop-de-fucking-doo. (What team? WILDCATS! What team? WILDCATS!)

Then there's the post-victory party, in which the puke-inducing scene of Troyella on the oh-so-secluded tree house (which just came out of nowhere) made me throw up all the cheeseburger and fries that I gobbled up during the previews (that House Bunny movie seemes hilarious. must watch it). The next scene is...AGAIN...full of fucked-up Troyella. This is the part where Gabriella dances a la brothel style, and I got hit smack-dab on the face by a hot, dripping Troy. (You just gotta admit it, Troy's man-bangs is hot. I mean, girly hair on a manly guy? Come on.)

Let's go to the new characters, shall we? Jimmy the Rocketboy is downright freaky, man. He's started following Troy around like a whore in heat ever since the Wildcats' win, and he's asking for Troy's old locker. He says that it will give him an edge or superpowers in basketball or something, but let's face it, he's a gay stalker who's got the hots for the hot captain. I seriously think that he totally wants to steal Troy's gym shorts and sleep with it. And then there's Tiara Gold. I think she's an annoying, little cockroach. And unlike what Sharpay said, her accent is so not sweet, very far from Daniel Radcliffe's steaming British accent. It's like she's got a huge wad of hair stuck in her throat and it made me want to wring her by her skinny neck, that hideous scene-stealer. She's not replacing Sharpay that easily.

Speaking of Sharpay, she actually had the guts to suggest a one-woman show, and it's no secret who that woman is, yeah? Sharpay, you're cool and all, but sometimes
you tend to overdo things a bit, ya know what I mean? Good thing there's Kelsi to shoot down your stupid...I mean...err...less-than-stellar ideas. (Kelsi you totally rock!) It was funny how she signed up the whole class to the musical to prevent Sharpay's disastrous plans. Haha.

Then there's lunch, and East High's cafeteria is transformed into Sharpay's (and Ryan's, probably) world. "I Want It All" is one of my favorite songs because it's fun, it's flashy, and it's full of Sharpay glam and Ryan hotness. Then...and then...Sharpay suggests her MOST BRILLIANT IDEA EVER. She wants Ryan to seduce Kelsi with his blonde and blinding hotness, and s
he says,
"Polish her glasses, buy her ruby slippers, take her to prom!" Sharpay, Sharpay, Sharpay. You are one smart bitch! Yes Ryan! Listen to your evil twin sister and take Kelsi to prom! Yeah! Take that, ya mothafudgers!

Ahem..hehe. Sorry. Got carried away. Then there's the scene where the gang performed "A Night to Remember", and Ryelsi's entrance is
grand! Just grand, I tell you! They just look so damn good together, the Composer and the Choreographer. Cue Ryelsi shippers' screams and giggles. Man, I am so smashed.

And then..and then.... *Tentenenententeeeeeeen!!!* We come to one of my favorite parts: the grand scene of Ryan and Kelsi where they drink tea and sing together! (cue *awwwww!*) It was perfect, and I bet my brother's balls that they were totally made for each other. *Sigh*


We all know that when good things happen (i.e. Ryelsi), then foul things must come right after (i.e. Troyella). I hate this part, hate it to the bottom of my long intestine, and I can't even bear to see the overflowing Gabriella emo-ness. The whole thing reeked of the most annoying sap I've had the misfortune to watch, and I almost empathized with Troy (and his hot man-bangs).

Then we come to another favorite of mine. The whole let's-act-like-toddlers-and-play-with-plastic-swords thing was cute, and the choreography was downright nifty, though the kiddie version of Troy looked slightly...off. Little-Chad is cute, though.

Gabriella's emo-song...is unmentionable. "Walk Away" is aggravating, and it's grating on my nerves (and ears). Y'know what, let's just NOT talk about it.

Moving on..moving on...Troy has a fight with his Dad, and he runs off to the school (how the hell did he get inside?) and suddenly, there was a thunderstorm (it rains waaaay too much, if you ask me). The following scenes are either oozing with hot Troy manliness, or still hot Troy gayness, I was spazzing and going nuts. There was grinding, bumping, shaking, swaying, leaning and over-all STEAMING gyrating with lots and lots of dreamy emo-ness. Oh freaking gods.

Then the freakiest thing happens. Miss Darbus suddenly appears from out of the darkness, and starts yapping about finding yourself and self-discovery and all that jazz...Ms. D, we love you and all, but that appearing-out-of-the-darkness thing is just...plain scary. Don't do that again. And how many teachers stay at school until late at night? No one. Besides murderous teachers from hell.

More Troyella shit. I can't even begin to think about it. Yeah, yeah. We get it. Troy loves Gabriella, Gabriella loves Troy. Now that we've settled that matter (repeatedly), I think it's high time for some RYELSI!!!

Then, there's the play. Ryan and Kelsi fluffiness! I love all the winking-and-smiling-at-each other part. I've said it once and I'm saying it again. Ryan and Kelsi are totally made for each other. FREAKING YEAH!


I wish that they could've included Zeke, Jason, Martha and Kelsi in the last part and not just the main six. It would've been awesome to the point of ultra-awesomeness. To sum it all up, Gabriella is sickening, Troy's man-bangs are hot, Troyella is sickening, Chad is cute, Taylor is funny, Tiara and Rocketboy are weird, Sharpay is her usual exaggerated self, Ryelsi is AWESOME, the scores and songs are waaaay better than HSM2, and I enjoyed it. Really. You guys should watch it.

Toodles.


15.10.08

A Bitter Bite from Twilight

15.10.08
I see myself as an ardent reader who is up-to-date with the best (and hottest) works of literature that ever hit the shelves. I usually make frequent forays to different bookshops and booksales to keep up with all things literary. But on top of all these, I am a passionate vampire literature bibliophile. I was Lestat de Lioncourt's lover before Harry Potter came along. I was Anne Rice's faithful disciple before Jo even finished writing The Sorcerer's Stone. And imagine my surprise when one of my college friends gushed about Twilight, THE vamp-lit by Stephenie Meyer, a book I haven't even heard of.

I was undeniably and utterly intrigued. A new vamp-lit, you say? Well, I do love you, Lestat, Marius and Khayman, my dahlings, but I must move on to...ahem...greener pastures and newer conquests. And so, I rushed to the bookstore and (miraculously) found a copy.

Somewhere at the back of my mind, my non-existent conscience kept muttering that I would be terribly disappointed with my new purchase, because it is, primarily, a romance lit. Like a normal human being, I ignored my (again, non-existent) conscience. Halfway into the novel, I can't help but feel a sense of foreboding, an unshakeable feeling that the book is just that, full of dark romance, perfect knights-in-shining-armor and forbidden love. Disappointed, I am, yet somehow I expected it. I am not going to delve into the most intricate technicalities of the novel since I have better things to do (i.e. write my English 12 term paper, yet I don't know why I'm wasting my precious time with this), but let me just give some of the things that have been persistently bugging me since I've finished the book.

I was, at first, wondering how this became so popular among young adults since this generation is not known to be fans of the supernatural and fantastical. I know that vamp-lit would have appealed to the more mature readers and not to a younger (female) audience who rant and rave about Gossip Girl, but after finishing the book, I understood.

Allow me to raise my points on two, different bases. Academically, there's nothing much laudable with Meyer's work. Sure, she was able to establish impressive contrasts between downright opposite variables, e.g. Phoenix and Forks, man and vampire, and was able to paint an alluring picture of light in darkness that tickled my imagination, but Meyer must have been using Twilight to practice her descriptive-narrative writing style, because there is an omnipresence of excessive descriptions that, ultimately, subjugates the more critical elements of plot development. There is a recurrence of how
prodigiously perfect Edward is to the point of exaltation, and trust me, it gets aggravating after a while. I was saying to myself, "Yeah, yeah, Edward's scorchingly hot and could give Lestat a run for his money, but do you have to rub it in and repeat it every goddamn page?"

Another anomalous element that I've spotted is the conflicting developments made on Bella's character. She was made out to be an awkward, run-of-the-mill teenager, yet she somehow managed to ensnare the hearts of the boys of Forks. Not to mention the hot yet frostily unattainable vampire. Was this an attempt of Meyer's to incorporate a touch of realism in her characters and, in due course, develop Bella's characterization? If so, then she failed miserably in that area, because her stab at realistic characters ended up in quasi-pragmatism.

On a lighter yet not necessarily positive note, the relationship of Bella and Edward disturbed me greatly. I don't know if it's just me, but Edward's character practically consumes that of Bella's, to the point that she cannot and WILL not live without Edward's presence in her life. It became obssessive to a subtle point that Bella's existence depended on Edward. At one point in the book, though, I had this impression that Edward was Bella's father with the way he steers her to the right direction.

To all Twilight fans, don't fret, the book isn't wholly devoid of commendable points. Primarily, I would have to laud the nearly-imperceptible theme on morality that runs its course through Edward Cullen. This is most perceivable in his entirely apparent reluctance to turn Bella into a vampire, and his relinquishment of human prey, along with his "family". There are more impressive complexities that Edward's character encompasses, such as his inner struggle conceived from his awareness of the inherent danger on Bella's life. Anytime, he could lose control of the blood lust that he feels in the presence of Bella, and add the band of vampires who want Bella's blood into the mix and you get a histrionic amalgam of suspense and romance. The sexual tension is so palpable, I could almost taste it.

Honestly, I enjoyed it. I enjoyed lambasting it. It was thrilling and had the "danger" factor in abundant heaps, and offers a fast-paced turn of events (so fast it elapses the character and plot development, but that's beside the point).

I think that I lost a couple of IQ points by the end of the novel. It's no Shakespeare, and you don't even have to be an educated reader to appreciate this. My only advice is, don't think, just enjoy, and you'll probably forget that you squandered your precious, hard-earned moolah on this not-really-thought-provoking romance tale. It is, as they say, a vampire story for people who don't like vampire stories.

A part of me still can't understand how this managed to crawl its way up to the Times list, but predominantly, I know that it's because of the colossal popularity (and profit) that it managed to draw from millions of love-struck teenagers that jumped mindlessly onto the bandwagon. And unbelievably, yet predictably, Twilight is still garnering more fans by the minute. Just wait for that movie adaptation with Robert Pattinson as Edward. I bet my brother's balls that nearly every seat in every theater in every country will be occupied by a squealing/giggling/lovestruck female and/or an unwilling/reluctant/embarrassed person of the male species forced to take said female on a date.

And all I can say is, "Good luck, boys. At least you can drag your ladies to the next Jessica Alba movie without them complaining."

14.10.08

The UP experience

14.10.08
Reading the following article made me realize a lot of things about my university. Seven months ago, I had to force myself to accept the fact that my parents cannot afford an Atenean education, and that UP would have to suffice. I had to say a bitter good-bye to BS Health Sciences, and say a reluctant hello to BA European Languages. Inside, I was kicking and screaming a fit like an immature child. Now, I am thankful that I ended up in UP, because I learned more than academic knowledge that I'm sure I wouldn't be able to derive from just any institution. Being the premier national university doesn't have anything to do with it. Being the most desired choice for a tertiary education is irrelevant, because what UP offers is beyond that superficial drivel, and cannot be taken from just any other institution. I do not mean this as an affront to other schools. On the other hand, I really want my friends from other universities to experience this kind of exposure, because it evoked from me such an overwhelming sense of solidarity, such a precious feeling of empowerment and a desire to help and improve society. Being in its endless grounds made me realize, truly realize, that I am a Filipino, and that I have a responsibility to my compatriots.
---
The following article is taken from
Mish's blog
---
This in no way should be taken as an affront to those who came from other institutions of learning.
First published 6 June 2008
The Manila
Standard Today
INTEGRATIONS
maya baltazar herrera
Voyage

The value of the UP Experience
There are no children here

This week, I went to a meeting at the UP School of Economics and I came
away with renewed belief in the value of the UP experience.

If you speak to anyone from UP – student, professor, alumnus - you will get
no Latin slogans or apologies about how the school teaches values in spite
of its outward materialism. This is not a student population that thinks about
basketball games or memorizes school songs. This is not a school that
chooses one statement to drill into the minds of its students.

This is not, of course, to say that UP does not care about values. It is that
UP, in its own inimitable way, believes that values cannot be force-fed.
The statue of the naked man that guards the entrance to the campus in
Diliman best represents UP's approach to all education and the respect for
students that is the center of its educational philosophy. All who come to
this university, regardless of origin, bring themselves naked, carrying nothing
but their thirst; like the proverbial empty teacup, making an offering of self,
waiting to be filled.

Adults

For many students from private schools, the first lesson that is learned
here is that this is a school for adult education. There are no children here,
and that is why no parents are allowed either at freshman orientation or
during enlistment.

The spirit of the oblation lies not in a mother or a father offering up his
child to the world, it is that of the newly adult, freely offering of his self.

I remember quite vividly that moment that drove home how different the
UP education continues to be. It was my daughter's first semester in
university and she had invited a group of her high school friends to our
house. One of them asked a classmate whether she had gotten her parents
permission form approved for that weekend's outreach activity. From the
UP population around the table came the mock horrified responses of:
"Permission? " and "Outreach?"

I thought about it and realized that all of these students were, in fact,
legally adults. I thought it interesting that only the UP students appeared
to appreciate this fact.

Even more interesting was the "outreach" comment. I think back to my own
university years and the last three years that my daughter has been in UP
and am certain there is no lack of civic activity. There are medical
missions, house building projects, tree planting, community work and barrio
work and so on. I realize now that the reaction was not to the activity as
much as it was to the use of the word.

One of the most important differences of the UP campus from all the other
campuses my children considered going to is that this campus has no walls.
Many parents fear this. They are afraid their precious children will not be
protected from the ills of society in a campus that is so open to the rest of
the world.

But UP is open to the world in more ways than just not having the physical
walls.

Community

Being in UP means much more than being a student. This campus is
enmeshed in a community. This community is made up not only of the
transient population of students who go home each night. It includes the many,
many students who lay their heads on dorm pillows each night, enduring time
away from families in the firm belief that this campus will bring them closer to
their dreams. This community includes the families of faculty and employees
who live on campus. It also includes the many people who work not for the
University, but nevertheless work on campus. This community includes the
lady who remembers the brand of cigarette you smoke and automatically
hands it to you in the morning. It includes the gentleman who remembers you
like pepper on your egg sandwich or the one who knows you will dip your fish
balls into two of his sauces, who patiently waits for you to eat your three
sticks before being paid. It includes the woman who saw all her children
through college by selling peanuts every day on campus.

To a UP student, the daily heartbeat of the school is never far away from
the realities of the country. The word outreach suggests that civic activity is
something outside of the normal, something you do once in a while. It must be
immensely difficult to think of community as a thing apart when your campus
experience brings you face to face with all of the world's realities every day.

Character

All of this probably explains that unmistakable sense of self that you will
find from students who come from this campus.

Here is a campus where all have the same opportunities to learn. But also,
here is a campus that will give all the same opportunities to fail. There are no
guidance counselors who will chase after you because you have been skipping
classes. The attitude this university takes is that you must take the initiative –
for learning, for seeking help, for realizing you need help.

That is not to say that no help exists. But it is help that is not forced upon you.

This is a university rich in both introspection and conversation. On this campus,
the student is constantly exposed to people – faculty, administrators, community
members, other students – who care deeply and passionately about the world.
The conversations are almost never purely cerebral. A single graph can provoke
comments about government policy and its effects on people.

As a result, UP is home to a student population that looks at the world and cares.
It is easy to see pictures of protesting students and dismiss it as radicalism. But
there are few campuses in this country where students go beyond a passing curiosity
about what is happening in the world beyond their own lives. There are even fewer
universities where students not only care but also actually believe they have a
responsibility to make a difference – not in some hazy future – today.

And that, I believe, is what truly forges character. Character is not molded by
speeches or long classes in ethics or theology. Character grows from within. It
begins by being handed the keys to your own self and being told you are in charge;
you now have power over yourself and your own actions – and with that power, you
take on responsibilities.

Each student in this university goes through his own unique voyage of discovery.
On his voyage, as he decides what he cares about, what he will fight for and what
he will sacrifice, he crafts his own personal values. That is what education is truly about.

12.10.08

Like, the hell?!

12.10.08
Okay. Something really freaky happened today. I saw Bayani Fernando on TV, in the show called Celebrity Duets. He was with the esteemed Pelita Corales, and they were singing some sort of groovy song. Trust me, it was unintentional. My father was the one watching the show and I, unlucky me, stumbled upon it.

I mean no disrespect, but I find the presence of a public servant (this is in reference to Bayani Fernando and all others) in a TV show other than a news program highly disturbing. It's like an actor-turned politician, how the actor has become a prototype for our next leaders, only this case is in reverse.

I don't like to think of the extreme, but our leaders have a history of getting into show business whenever the...ehem...elections draw near. Commercials, or INFOmercials (as they like to call those sudden appearances of senators/congressmen/who-the-hell-are-yous yapping about this-bill-that-ordinance that they passed/ratified/vouched for or adverts about skin whitening products/champion Pinoy boxers), start popping about twelve months before the elections and highly-suspicious talk show guestings about their fashion sense/family/latest business/whatever invade the boob tube.

I guess our statesmen have realized that the masses look to television for a possible candidate and derive from them a sense of security that sprang from the actors' lives being so out in the open. This kind of mentality shows that Filipinos have truly lost their trust in politicians. Instead, they take the actor and choose the lesser evil during elections. And so our politicos thought, "Hey, why not get into show biz, too? Might increase my popularity ratings a bit."

It's one thing for actors and non-political celebrities to step out of the tube and into the office, but it's completely another thing for respected (relatively speaking, of course) politicians and public servants to invade the equally dirty world of show business.


And, another thing. Saying "I. Am. Sorry." on national television with an obviously fake remorseful face isn't going to score you any brownie points, either.

5.10.08

An Open Letter to the Blindfolded One

5.10.08

When I was a kid, I have always imagined that I'm talking to God. I was so steadfast in my belief back then, to the point that I would pray every chance I got. When other kids would bully me, I would curl up in a bed and sob my heart out to an invisible friend. But that was years ago.


Fast forward to nine years, and here I am, a person who can't even bear to think of believing. It's like a roaring fire was suddenly extinguished by a swift, cold wind (pardon the poor metaphors). What's left? Just a pile of boring, lifeless ash, with no sense of purpose whatsoever.


Don't get me wrong. I am enjoying this state of non-belief, this exhilarating freedom where I have no obligations whatsoever to a Higher Being. And contrary to the belief of most believers, I still keep my morals intact despite the fact that I am what they would call an atheist, thankyouverymuch.

But there's just something missing, and I would feel really out of place when my friends or family would pray, as if I didn't belong because I don't believe in a Higher Power. But no matter how I try, I just can't bring myself to believe again. There's just so much decadence in the system, so much SIN, that it would feel like I'm just making a fool out of myself if I pretend.

My Catholic friends can't understand how I am able to live without seeking Divine Providence, without the assurance that someone up there, someone omniscient, omnipotent, omni-everything is watching over me. They'll ask, "Saan ka pupunta pag namatay ka na? To heaven or hell?"

And I'll answer, "Wala na. Eh di patay kung patay. I'll cease to exist, in particle and in being. And that's it. No after-life adventures for me. And certainly no sojourns as a different person in the far future."

And they'll reply, "That's sad."

I do agree, of course. The prospects of life after death, of a paradise so perfect, or of a chance to once again walk the earth as a different person are so alluring, like promises of a presidential candidate, so alluring that you would have no choice but to believe, so beautiful that you would have no qualms about living in despair and poverty, because as soon as you die, those sweet promises would become reality. And that's what matters, right?

I envy those who believe. Not because they have those gifts, those promises of paradise after death for as long as they live blameless lives, and certainly not because they have someone to watch over them and account for their mistakes. I envy them because they have the strength of heart, their ardent faith, and their fearlessness of the unknown, for it is certainly not easy to put your life in the invisible hands of an invisible god.




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Image taken from http://zalandria.files.wordpress.com/2008/03/housemate_atheist.jpg

4.10.08

It's Not Wholly Their Fault

4.10.08
It started with the music. What followed were the eyeliners and square-rimmed glasses. Oh, and don't forget the side fringe that obscured half their faces. It started with a handful of teenagers parading around in their black clothes and black auras. A year or so later, it managed to take nearly half the youth population by storm.

Emotional. Or "emo", if you would like to abide by what pop culture dictates. These are very different things, in my opinion. Being emotional is expected of every human, while being emo is not. Many sites define "emo" as a genre of music that stemmed from punk sometime in the late 90's, but in this generation, it is certainly more than that. It has evolved into something more significant, something that warrants careful attention and something that attracts discrimination.

I asked a friend to define emo in his own terms. Here is exactly what he said:

"They're those suicidal guys, right? They wear black stuff and eyeliner, and they slash their wrists to attract attention. And the hair, it's either covering half their faces or it's stiff with wax. They need serious help."

It was, admittedly, quite bigoted to say despite the fact that it is quite real in some cases. Alarmingly, "emo" reached a point when it is no longer just a fashion statement. It became more than just an expression of teenage angst and it went beyond the appreciation of emo music. It evolved into something bigger than a fashion statement. Some people took it much, much further, to a point when even they cannot handle the consequences. I'm talking about self-harm. And the extreme: suicide.

This is the point where everything goes down the drain. People who look the least bit like emo receive the worst treatment possible. They are accused of being deranged, attention seekers, homosexuals. They get bullied, jeered at and teased maliciously. Been there, done that. I admit that I was once charmed to the allure of the emo culture. And I like their style of dressing up. But that was it. There was never any self-harm involved. The phase ended there. But that, and being female, didn't spare me, and I was just lucky enough that all I got were cruel words. Some even get roughed up. And this, this blatant and heartless discrimination was what drove some kids, who were not even thinking of self-harm before, to commit suicide.

I don't know what to call it. Is it merely a trend, a fad? Or is it something much more to those who follow it? Is it a culture, a lifestyle to which a person must live by? Is it worth dying for? Is the glorification of this culture worth your life and everything that you've lived for before you even became "emo"?

It's fine to use eyeliner and tight, dark clothes. It's fine to dye your hair black, to write poetry and it's definitely okay to cry. But it's not okay, and definitely not cool, to use the blade.
-----
Oooookay. One of the reasons I ranted about "emo-ism" is the fact that I have to write a term paper about it. I can't figure out where to start, and then I realized that, maybe, writing a blog entry about it would get the creative juices flowing. But another reason is the fact that the problem exists, even here in the Philippines. Even kids below 12 years of age are becoming hooked to this. But they shouldn't be. I swear to Immanuel Kant that they shouldn't be.

This is sooo NOT cool, people. Hurting yourself and taking your life should never be an option in the first place.

And these are not right, either. Do you know what these are called? It starts with "b" and ends with "y". I think I don't have to spell that out for you. All I'm asking is, please, let's behave and don't judge other people by what they wear or by the music they listen to. It's just as bad as self-harm, because you're hurting others.


Disclaimer: these images are not mine and were just taken from: http://i261.photobucket.com/albums/ii48/boroP/, i275.photobucket.com/.../anti-emo-1.jpg

Again


This is the nth time that I've made a blog.

If memory serves me right, I have three blogs that remain unused after some time due to a couple of things: a) I forgot the passwords and everything and, b) I got tired of having to maintain it. Yes, I know. I have a bad memory for my age. And I ran out of things to say.

Now, nearly a year later, I realized that I can never run out of things to say. Especially now that I am constantly ensconced in a very different environment that deals a serious culture shock to my poor, sheltered self. Everything is completely different that I had to pause and check if I'm not trapped in a very realistic dream.

I'm talking about college. You know, that proverbial circus of diverse people with uncontrollable and questionable hormones? Add nutty professors to the mix and you've got a pandemonium on your hands. Yeah, you know. Who doesn't?

Now, I'm rambling. I have the tendency to do that, especially when I'm doing something while I should be doing something else. Does that make sense? Let me cite an example. Right now, I should be wholly immersed in the completion of my term paper instead of indulging myself in the addictive arts of blogging. But I don't feel the least bit guilty, the reason why I'm still typing this right now.

Well, it is good to be back. At least, my little brother won't have to be the receiving end of my daily tirades about inane things.