tirades of a huge ego

The Ender

2009-12-28T03:29:00.000-08:00

Change is overrated. Or is it? Depends on the kind of change you're talking about. If it is the sort that political hopefuls spout, then it is overrated. If it is the sort that you do with yourself, where you pull your innards out and spill all the blood and gore for everyone else to see, that is praiseworthy, if I do say so myself. There is nothing more difficult, more raw, than to see yourself in all your imperfect glory, to see all the scars and the mistakes and the dirt of the days that hours of reflection had failed to cleanse.

It shatters one's illusion of oneself, and so we realize that the blood and the gore are much better, much easier on the eyes than the self-imposed filth, and we turn ourselves inside out, finally showing to the world who we really are, and we drop all masks, all walls, baring ourselves to the harsh eyes and miscalculations.

The bullets are dipped in acid. And they pierce, and go through flesh and bone, and they break free of the earthly barrier, specks of our soul scattered in their wake. We are left with nothing. And so we start with nothing.

And so I start with apologies.

To the soldier- no...the man who left his heart where no bullet could ever pierce it...
To the squid who sucked and took and abused until nothing was left of her victims...
To the gods and goddesses whose mortal shells were taken and used...
To the snowman who remained ignorant of the adoration of the abyss...
To the jack-of-all-trades who was mistakenly hit by my dagger...
To the comrades who were pushed away, their captain left to sink with her ship...
To the mother who never deserved an ungrateful daughter...
To the girl who would always stare at the snowflakes, the tiny complex forms fading away into nothingness before they ever reached her palms...

To everyone. To no one.

And so I end with wishes.

And other wishes that I choose to keep locked behind closed doors, sleeping and untouched. I fear the inevitable, more inevitable than death, that they may never come to a realization.

Can't Really Think of A Title.

2009-11-05T21:09:00.000-08:00

This is the last time that I'll put shit of this kind here. Pardon the incoherence.

There's shit that we just can't let go of, no matter how much we employ wicked muscle action or how much laxative we pour down our throats. That's the kind of shit that sticks really bad, leaves a stain wherever it lands, and emits a fucked-up stench that may be worse than your brother's gaseous and disgusting posterior propulsion. That shit made my chest hurt and exhausted my tear duct reserves, as it stank to the high heavens.

You're the kind of shit that leaves a lasting stench and stain. But I wouldn't have it any other way. Dude, you're one kind of shit that no one else finds just anywhere. But I guess you found me and not the other way around. You started this beautiful mess, and we played in it with the eagerness and innocence of children (on your side anyway, since something was eating me up inside the whole time), and then things took a plunge down the Marianas. Really. I thought we were going down forever. Well I wouldn't mind if that happened. But things end sooner or later, specially things that weren't really supposed to go that deep. Or that serious.

So I told you more shit that was enough to drive away a steel-gutted Marine or even Superman, but they backfired. Everything. I say I hated this, turns out you hated it, too. I say I like something, turns out you're crazy about it. The freaking universe conspired for me to fuck up some more. You latched on. So did I. But I can't let the charade go on. I wanted to go on, but you can't. You were leaving for a place where you could possibly lose your life, and I can't let you hold on to shit. So I cut the string. I did it as slow as I could. But the connection was severed.

ROSIE, my cardiac organ does exist. The horror.

I can't listen to Chevelle and Lifehouse without remembering. I can't hear the words "yellow" and "coke" without wanting to throw myself down the nearest manhole. And I can't believe I said I hated Marilyn Manson. This sucks.

That bear better come back alive and whole. Or I wouldn't know what to do.

Para Sa Manunulat na si N.

2009-09-08T22:31:00.000-07:00

Anong buwan na nga ba ngayon?

Ah. September.

Masarap pala mag-cut ng isang walang kakwenta-kwentang class na kung saan ang prof ay dakdak lang ng dakdak kahit tulog na ang mga estudyante niya. Mabait naman si Sir P.E., kaya lang sadyang hindi siya stimulating. Well, kung gusto mong ma-stimulate ang melatonin (N-acetyl-5-methoxytryptamine) mo, go ka lang sa kanyang class.

Remember yung Bio1 class natin? Pag nag-cut ako, andun ka. At kung kelan naman ako umattend, dun ka wala. Saya. Salisihan. Taguan.

Did you know? Gumawa ako ng blog tungkol sa'yo. It's nothing spectacular. Actually puro ramblings lang 'yun tungkol...well...tungkol sa 'yo. Duh.

Ilang buwan ko na din yun hindi na-update. Kahit ito ngang basurang blog (wow! alliteration!) na ito ay hindi ko na masyadong nababalikbalikan (obvious ba?). Well, at least alam kong may isa o dalawa akong masugid na mambabasa (i.e. tagabantay. HI TAY!).

Back to the blog. Binasa ko ulit ngayon. Natawa ako (i.e. humagalpak) sa mga pinagsususulat ko. Gusto mo mabasa ang ibang excerpt? Sige. Ihahain ko sa'yo chronologically.

---

March 18. Wednesday.
UNO.

"Pero inaamin ko. Napukaw mo ang interes ko nang makita kita sa pagitan ng double doors sa room natin sa NIGS. Papasok ka ng room, at ang naisip ko na lang, "Waw. Parang si Raymond Marasigan." - O ha. Para kang si Raymond Marasigan. Flattered ka no? Aminin. :D

"Siguro nangyari nung nakasalubong kita at sinabi kong, "Uy, walang class ngayon."

Sabi mo, "Ah walang class?" Sabay ngiti." - I know, I know. I am mushy. Go tell the Pope.

"Nagbasa ako.

At nag-increase ang speed (o acceleration? Ewan. Di ako physicist.) ng free fall ko. Writer ka nga pala. Hindi nag-sink in sa kamalayan ko until mabasa ko ang mga saloobin at gawa mo.

Wala akong masabi. Hindi naman ako established writer. Lalong hindi ako critic. Basta, ang blog mo ang propulsion.

Sino ang stimulus?

Ikaw." - isa pang ka-mushy-han. I don't do this often. Actually, this was the first time I've written in this way. And I don't think kaya kong i-replicate ito. I don't think I have any reason to.

March 19. Thursday.
DOS.

"Hindi naman kasi lahat ng babae eh gusto ang matangkad, maputi, chinito. Hello. You don't see me fawning over Chris Tiu, do you? On the contrary, I find him too...bland for my tastes. He's like a lapdog. LOL." - Sorry sa mga mahal kong kaibigan sa admu na makakabasa nito. Joke lang yan ha. For the sake of my (nonexistent) argument lang yang jab ko kay Chris Tiu. Honestly, what's not to like about him? He's nearly perfect, it's disgusting. JOKE. :D

March 20. Friday.
TRES.

"Hindi kita nakita ngayon.

(Cue chorus of wailing souls from the depths of Hell.)"

"Lahat ng tao complicated- biologically, psychologically o financially man 'yan. Pero ikaw? Sa tingin ko tinalo mo pati babaeng nagp-PMS (pre-menstrual syndrome) dahil sa complexity mo. Hoy, compliment 'yon. I mean it when I say that..." - Haha. Hanggang dun na lang. Nakakahiya na yung sunod kong sinabi eh. Too mushy. Too un-Rona-like.

"You trashed structure and replaced it with freedom." - Oo. Idol kita hanggang ngayon. Sana maging Palanca Awardee la, or National Artist sa hinaharap. Aabangan ko yan, ha?

March 21. Saturday.
CUATRO.

"...eh di sana tumalon na lang ako mula sa billboard ni Edu Manzano sa Tandang Sora. Mas madali pa.
Quick and painless, kung tamang anggulo ang pagbagsak ko." - Nope. Hindi. Hindi ako suicidal. Gago. I'm not really saying what I meant to say. Capische?

March 25. Wednesday.
CINCO.

"Naka-pink polo shirt ka noon. With white stripes pa. Naisip ko, Ayan ang patunay na real men wear pink." - Yeeeeesh. Manly ang pink pag ikaw ang nagsuot. :D

May 29. Friday.
SEIS.

"Akala ko, nawala na ang turbulent emotions that I pegged as childish admiration. Bakit ngayon, nang.." - and once again, ni-cut ko na dyan. Overly mushy and so unlike me.

"Ang pangit mo 'pag nakainom ka. Okay yung ruffled-look mo na parang kakagising na rockstar, pero 'pag hinaluan na ng alcohol...eeeew. Tsk."

"Inimagine kita na lasing na lasing, pagewang-gewang, mabantot, masangsang, namumula ang mata, mabaho ang hininga, at nagsusuka. Inisip ko kasi, baka maturn-off ako.
Aba! Masochista 'ata ako, kasi hindi nawala.
Hindi nawala." - mind you, vivid ang imagination ko. The mere fact that I still found you cute kahit malala ka pa sa presong pinakawalan sa strip club ay REMARKABLE. EPIC.

----

Ayan. It's either you're freaked out, or indifferent, o sanay na, o kaya naman ay flattered sa mga sinabi ko. Buti nga, excerpt lang yang mga yan. Kung gusto mo pang mawindang, hingin mo sa'kin yung URL.

On second thought, wag na. Kasi dedelete ko na din eh. Bakit?

Gago ka ba? Do you expect me to rot away in this hole I've dug for myself? NO THANKS. I'd rather disprove the existence of my cardiac organ. Magpakasaya ka dyan sa bundok mo.

HIndi ako galit. Badtrip lang. Kasi naman bumabagyo na naman pero hindi nila sinuspend yung classes. Tsk. M*therf*ckers.

Napansin ko lang. Nowadays I'm prone to rambling on and on and on about crap-knows-what. Without any direction whatsoever. Tungkol ba saan ang blog na ito? Noong una eh akala ko isa itong pamamaalam. On second thought, alam kong isa itong pagalala.

On Random Shiz

2009-08-03T17:51:00.000-07:00

Exhaustion comes in many forms. There is the fatigue of the flesh, the feebleness of the mind, and the weariness of the *cardiac organ, depending on the events that transpire in an individual's life. This sense of tiredness may stem from the countless staircases that one has to climb in a day, or the pile of books one has to finish within two days, or the kind of life that one constantly sees from other people. Or the pressure from one's peers, the burden of having to wake up every morning. Once that sense of tiredness overcomes completely, one will know nothing save the persistent want for rest, to stop for a while. The body ceases all activity, but the worst case scenario is for the heart to tire of caring.

- - - - - -

Faith is a string wrapped around The Thing. Depending on who you are, that string may be tightly coiled- like a gnarled hand tightly clutched around a wad of dough- or slack- like the relaxed embrace of a dear friend. It could be entirely uncoiled, exposing what it had once hidden.

- - - - - -

I had an epiphany. We've been given enough shit to deal with that could last us more than a lifetime. Other people have been given more shit than they could handle. So they go over the edge. And they die. Just like that. Sometimes (those rare moments in human history when we actually give a shit), we care enough for a few lives to be saved. Or, we spend our waking moments worrying our asses off for the future of our country, planet, etc. We're not completely heartless. We do care, sometimes, when the ugliness and the stain of poverty on society presents itself right in front of our faces. We do care, sometimes, when the mistakes are so tangible and thick in the air that we can't breathe. Heck, we breathe in that miasma every single day we travel across the city, or walk to the sari-sari store to buy a bote of toyo/mantika/suka/etc, or go to the mall to shop/window shop, or watch the evening news (usually about who's pregnant, who broke up, who died, whose house was robbed/*insert random event of human suffering here*). We breathe in that fucked-up air of same mistakes every single second of our lives.

It's killing us, ain't it? We don't know, because we're so absorbed in surviving and studying and working and breathing. And seeing without really seeing. And hearing but not listening. And combing our brushes through our brains just to come up with a way to get by.

So here's my epiphany. It's a lot easier not to care. I've tried the other side, and it's given me nails on my fingers. And blisters on my toes. So I'd rather not care.

We'd rather not care.

Am I right? Or do you want to stone me now to death for saying that? I implore you to read. And dig. Don't just read. Dig deep and dig hard. Dig as though you're digging through a mountain of cash. That's the way to dig.

Posting for the Sake of Posting

2009-07-10T04:41:00.000-07:00

It's only been a month. I'm still alive, so don't get your hopes up. It will take more than just schoolwork-from-hell to snuff my life out. :D

Hmm..so what can transpire in a month? Quite a lot, apparently. New people, new friends, new ahemprospectsahem...it's been a good, albeit exhausting, month. I've also made a number of realizations, one of which is the reason why my French was disastrous beyond compare during the last semester. The reason has been revealed to me through Divine Intervention...nah I kid. I merely exercised my self-control, refused to touch the computer (and the Internet, but that's intangible anyway), stopped myself from blogging and bloghopping, reading fanfiction, playing Neopets (what? It's fun.) and instead focused all my dreary nights on French (14 and 15) and German (10 and 11). And believe me, what I've learned within this month is more than what I've learned in a whole year (not to mention that my class standing is looking waaaaay better than Robert Pattinson. Take that, Twitards!) :D

Er..yeah. Hehe. I was that bad of a slacker. BUT I've changed! Swear! :D

Speaking of classes, I have the best set of professors a student can have within a single semester. First up, is my French 14/15 prof, Monsieur Ecclesiastes Papong. He is a RIOT! And I mean that in a totally positive way. He will enter the room in a no-nonsense way while toting his huge boombox, say "On va commence" and then...the learning and the bullshitting and the crazy fun starts. He's definitely the best French prof I've ever had. Next is Frau Roorkee Ong, my Deutschlehrerin. She is, again, as undescribable as Monsieur Papong. She's this tall, stately woman who looks like a rockstar despite her stern countenance. And for me, she is! And she draws upon personal "Europe" experiences in class, which makes learning from her all the more refreshing and worthwhile. I haven't been this relaxed in a language class. Ever.

Oh. In less than a week, Harry Potter and the Halfblood Prince will hit the theaters. Do I need to tell you how psyched I am? Nah, I don't. But I'll tell you anyway (just for the heck of it). I. AM. SO. UNBELIEVABLY. ABSOLUTELY. UNDENIABLY. PSYCHED. Really. Truly. Deeply. (Do I sound like I'm obsessed? Nope, not obsessed. Just...enamored. Caught. Entranced. With what, you ask? Why, with the story's pure genius, of course! Harry Potter (the book, not the character) is actually what attracted the millions of readers, not some undead pedophile from some obscure book. (Sorry. Can't resist.) :D

Anyhow..I am aware that my writing right now isn't exactly lucid..so..I'm going to make myself scarce. Right now. Ja.

Since I Can't Say It Out Loud...

2009-06-07T05:06:00.000-07:00

WARNING: Bound to get personal, mushy and downright asinine. No particular direction, really. This is going off in countless ways, like a crossroad gone crazy. Again, watch your step.

I have no clue if I should be thrilled that classes have been moved to a later date because somehow, the pros outweigh the cons (read: allowance *wink wink*), but whatever. I think I'll kill sometime here, and release virtual crap into the void. This could be about anyone, could go anywhere, and just be anything, really.

So, yesterday, my friend since preschool celebrated her first foray into womanhood, AKA, her 18th birthday. I've been reacquainted with some friends whom I haven't seen for more than a year, and I realized that I no longer am updated with what's going on in their lives. We've all moved on to other things...greater things. Some are moving on with a leisurely stroll. Some are running and pushing themselves as if the hellhounds are at their heels. We are all moving, and the only constant thing is the fact that we are all different- no longer on the same page, no longer following the same goals, no longer moving at the same pace.

I know that people change, but I haven't realized until lately that relationships also do in such a short span of time. But what the heck, they are my friends. And I know very well how difficult it is to put up with me. I am a slanderous, narcissistic, cynical, hypercritical, sanctimonious bitch (with a capital B) who's not easy on the eyes AND certainly does not deserve enduring friends. But still, I have them in epic proportions, and that's more than what other people can say for themselves. I am thankful, but since I'm an emotionally-constipated cow, I do not let them know how high up in my priorities they are. Maybe I've let loose a couple of mushy words in their blogs or cellphones or in person (which is rare), but that's it. I think I'm taking them for granted.

Nah. I AM taking them for granted.

Friends, I know that some of you have read, are reading or might read this, so lemme tell you one thing: just tell me to SHUT THE HELL UP and CUT THE CRAP if I'm being too much to handle. Really, I won't bite your heads off if you tell me to shut up once in a while, and you are my friends so I'm bound to listen to you, yeah? Seriously, I can listen to you guys, too. All I need is a tiny, microscopic magnitude (talk about contradictions :D) of trust.

Now I feel like the lowest low-life on the face of this god-forsaken place. I am lightyears away from being a good person, but I'm trying my damnedest to get there, even if I'm doing it in a snail's pace. I know it's going to take me a whole lifetime because change isn't a split-second phenomenon, and it's actually harder than we think to take into consideration what other people tell us, and morph the 'beast' into 'beauty'. But the point is, I am more than amenable to metamorphose into a more agreeable creature who bites and barks less. I won't go psycho on you guys if you point out a not-so-likeable trait, or an attitude problem (well in that case, I might have to change EVERYTHING. :P). If I do freak out, you could always threaten to call B.S.C. (aka Astroboy) or watch HP6 without me. That would do the trick.

So, to LeaIaKrisannRayDreiAjRuthRoselleClaireAdrian

MarielleGabbiMikkaJoyNikkiRaymondMarkXela

KatrinaMishMegBetsyAnalynRovelleJennicaNicole

YoyaTentenSarahMiggyCheskaTheaJenCharo (but most importantly, to the first twelve names mentioned), thank you from the substratum of my filthy, evil cardiac organ.

If I have one, that is. :D

My Crappy Soundtrack

2009-05-23T07:31:00.000-07:00

CRS is being its usual, annoying, slow-as-molasses self, and it's pissing me off. I'm pretty sure some of you can sympathize with my plight, so excuse this product of my boredom.

Here's the sorta-kinda-maybe soundtrack of my life (I wanna feel like my life's a boring movie, so just humor me, okay? Thank you). So far. Some songs just leave a lasting mark, some actually tell a story about me, and some I like just for the heck of it.

T H E P L A Y L I S T ;)

30 Seconds To Mars - From Yesterday - 'On a mountain he sits, not of gold, but of sin' - Sometimes, we stay seated, and the mountain grows higher and higher until we could no longer see the bottom. The mountain never stops growing anyway, but we could retard its growth, erode its body with measures only we know of. But we never do, do we?

The Cardigans - Lovefool - Ia-chan knows my fascination with this song when we were high school seniors. She knows it sooooo well since I can't help but belt it out every time the beautiful Narcissus named Michael Blancaver would pass by in a swift sprint, his hair rippling in the wind, his supple limbs carrying him away to...*ahem* Sorry. Got carried away.

Switchfoot - You - This made me realize that faith is a precious gift I have yet to receive.

Jason Mraz - A Beautiful Mess - Practically every song of Jason Mraz could leave a mark (because he's a songwriting genius, who's hot to boot, but that's beside the point), but this one...just surpassed everything he has ever written. In my opinion, at least. I won't go into detail why this song is here. It just is, and I'm happy for that.

Jason Mraz - Love for A Child - 'What about taking this empty cup and filling it up with a little bit more of innocence' - For someone who deserved a carefree childhood, one with lesser pain and responsibility, you know who you are. Thank you.

Hawthorne Heights - This Is Who We Are - Just plain wicked. I don't need a reason to like it. :D

The Used - Paralyzed - The song's kooky and fun, despite the highschool drama lyrics.

Staind - Everything Changes - Because everything changes. It's just too bad that we realize it a little too late, sometimes.

Jimmy Eat World - The Middle - Never fails to inspire without sounding like a guidance counselor on crack.

Alanis Morissette - You Oughta Know - 'Does she know how you told me you'd hold me until you died, till you died, but you're still alive' - Always makes me think of the typical bastard who cheated on his girlfriend, only with this song, the scenario in my head involves his tied-up corpse, lots of blood, a satisfied ex-girlfriend and the bottom of a nearby lake. :D

Smash Mouth - All Star - 'Your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb' - The best wake-up call that I've ever had. Statistics isn't everything. Numbers do not make the world go round. We can go on with our lives believing the crap that others feed us, but at the end of the day, those figures don't and won't matter. What will matter is you. Me. Us. After all, it's our lives. We make it happen. Not the diploma. Not the number of digits in our paycheck. Not those exchange rates in the newspaper. Not the amount of people above the poverty line, nor those below it. It's easier said than done, but it's probably for the best.

...

So...that's that. I most likely will encounter more songs that would tickle my fancy for good in the near future, but as of the moment, that is IT. Share your own soundtracks, will ya? ;)

A Public Apology (-_-)

2009-05-19T18:41:00.000-07:00

I can't believe I'm doing this. Sarah, you crazy woman. This is damaging the (nonexistent) reputation of my blog! Heck, I don't even know how to do a public apology. Demet.

Friends and non-friends, this so-called public apology is issued due to the demands of one Sarah Kristine G********.

Tsk. Hindi naman malalaman ng madla na para sa'yo yung article na Silly Rants that Nobody Reads kung hindi ka nagreact sa cbox ko. At nilagay mo pa yung totoo mong pangalan! Hay. Baliw ka talaga.

Before anything else, I need to refute your claims that said article is a defamation of character.

(1) It should be a derogatory AND false statement concerning another.

Sarah dear, it is sorta-kinda-maybe derogatory, but even you cannot deny that what I wrote is nothing but the truth...blah blah blah. You said that yourself. Heck, you ARE proud of it, and I love you for that friend, but I gotta speak my mind, ya know?

(2) Damage to the plaintiff (this is you, Sarah).

Did my post expose you to ridicule, contempt and injury? *waits for answer* Hmmm. I thought so, too. Only a few people find it in their precious time to drop by this waste of virtual space, and most are my highschool friends and family relatives. Only a handful are from the university. And even then, they don't even know who you are. And you said yourself that there's no damage done. (Why am I doing this again? Oh yeah. Because if I don't, you'll tell that fratboy friend of yours that I think he's an arrogant, pompous jerk who thinks he's God's gift to women? Damn I hate him.)

Ahem. Moving on. This is my apology:

Hehehe. Sorry. That was a bad joke. Well, there are a couple of things that I really am sorry for. Let me take excerpts from the article, yeah?

(1) "...I'll just take all these precious BLESSINGS since I deserve them. GOD wouldn't give them to me if I didn't deserve them.
Oh, and I suppose your precious God thinks those penniless college kids deserve to be penniless, and those abused wives deserve the abuse?..."

That was waaaaaay out of line, I admit. So I apologize. You respect my state of religious disarray, and so I should respect your religious stability, too.

(2) "...I'm just hanging on desperately to that slim chance that you'll realize the MASSIVE insignificance of your Nine West shit when you bite the dust. Permanently. ..."

THAT one, I REALLY regret. I shouldn't even have thought of that. Damn I'm such a bad person. I think I was listening to Queen that time so I thought of using that line. Meh, I shouldn't even be trying to spout pathetic excuses. Point is, I'm so sorry. This coming semester, I'll treat you to turon every week. Swear!

So there. Sowweee. *grovels*. Je suis tres desolee. I know that most of the time, I write before I think and someday I'll be killed because of that. (feeling isang mamamahayag) But what I can't bear is losing a friend like you to my harsh and thoughtless crap. I can't promise that I won't do it again, though. :D

Edit: So you're THAT loaded, dear. Damn I wanna be like your Dad. Well, go buy more of that Louis Vimajig that you like so much. I doubt that it'll even put a dent on your riches. Damn. I think you can buy Johnny Depp for a night with your dough. Tell me again, why are you even putting up with peyups when you can study in an Ivy League university?

Edit: Sure kang ayaw mong i-sub ang Louis Vimajigs mo for...say...a backpack? They have more space for your stuff, are more practical and easier to carry...Haha I'm dork. (-_-) Or, you can ditch those Luichiny-whaddayacallems and just use...er...cheaper brands? And you can't even use UGGs in this scorching country, for the love of cows! (-_-)

Silly Rants that Nobody Reads

2009-05-13T18:03:00.000-07:00

WARNING: Severe preaching. Cuss words. Occasional crap scattered about. Watch your step.

Sigh. There's only so much one can rant about THE great blunder, Twilight and Co. As of the moment, I cannot think of more shit to dish on the cliche-turned-bestseller, not that it's due to lack of trying. There are just more pressing issues to vociferate on and on and on about. Take, for example, people who measure their self-worth with the pairs of shoes that they have, how much dough they trash on handbags, clothes, bling... ya know, all that shit that's supposed to make a woman's world go 'round.

Psh. What a load of bullcrap.

I don't really have a say with what you do with your parents' hard-earned cash, but I'm going to do it anyway, since this waste of virtual space is MY blog. *insert evil cackle here*

I've always wondered how you could sleep peacefully at night with this hanging over your head(if you do have a conscience, that is).

Wait. You probably don't sleep at all. And methinks it's not because of your conscience bothering you.

Tell me, what kind of perverse atonement do you derive from flaunting your plastic wares for all to see? And when questioned about your unorthodox garbage choices, why do you spout psychological, marketing balderdash that just makes you look more like a faker than you already are?

Rona: OUCH! Is that a burn or is that a burn?!

You might be thinking right now, Ooooooh, it's the ugly green monster rearing its head, poor widdle teenie who can't afford even a single handle of my LV handbag!

Believe it or believe it, it's not envy talking. It's actually my indignant, self-righteous bullshit that's talking. And I admit, it's worse than the green monster because this cannot be soothed by mere delusions of a panoramic grandeur. Whatever that is. And hey, this isn't about me. It's about YOU. For once, someone's giving you the spotlight without you having to hog it all to your selfish self. How good does that feel?!

You talk about how you deserve all this crap because of countless Herculean tasks (ooooh) that you have to endure every single day of your life, but you never did walk the talk. It's human nature, really, to amplify one's suffering for the justification of one's hankering for worldly goods, but YOU took it to the next level. Bravo. Not.

Believe it or not, there are more people out there who suffer more than you do. There are girls who are not only dumped by their boyfriends, but are also knocked up and left to rot in child support. There are students who do not even have to worry about what clothes they should wear to classes the next day, because they're not even sure if they could go to classes at all. There are wives who have more things to worry about than just their kids and their husbands. They have to think about how to hide that hideous bruise from that ugly row last night, how to deal with the whispers and knowing stares of neighbors who have nothing better to do with their lame lives, how to survive the day under the pressure of abuse.

You have it easy. And you're probably thinking, with the way your twisted mind works, Okay, sure, I know about those cases, but I can't save everyone. What do you want me to do? I'll just take all these precious BLESSINGS since I deserve them. GOD wouldn't give them to me if I didn't deserve them.

Oh, and I suppose your precious God thinks those penniless college kids deserve to be penniless, and those abused wives deserve the abuse?

Okay, I'm getting off-topic. Back on track.

Lookie here, I'm not expecting you to help everyone. No one can achieve that (well, except maybe for Bill Gates, Warren Buffett and Carlos Slim Helu combined, but that's beside the point). I'm just hanging on desperately to that slim chance that you'll realize the MASSIVE insignificance of your Nine West shit when you bite the dust. Permanently.

If you can't, then just keep your sinful (LOL. I said sinful! That sounds so...Pope-ish.) lust on the down low. You don't have to flaunt it in front of people who do not give a damn about your latest purchases. You're just making more enemies along the way.

On the other hand, you can flaunt all you want in front of me. It's so amusing to pretend that I'm sooooo interested in your latest designer piffle, while I'm really rolling on the floor guffawing. Figuratively, of course.

Sigh. I don't feel pity for people that often. You should be proud. :)

This Post Seemed Mandatory, So...

2009-05-05T07:39:00.000-07:00

Pacman bagged the match. Again. Well, that wasn't so surprising, considering the fact that he's the Pound-for-Pound boxer (or something like that. Heck, I don't even know what that means) and he beat the crap out of Oscar dela Hoya.

And Barrera. And Larios. And Morales (who I think is a damn fine piece of Aztec specimen. Yum. :D)

What shocked me shitless was the fact that Ricky "The Hitman" (psh. right.) Hatton barely lasted two rounds. TWO FRICKIN' ROUNDS! C'mon! That was pathetic.

Well I guess we can't blame him completely since his trainer is a pompous...um...posterior who probably underestimated Pacman. AND I've seen the replay of the legendary sucker punch that felled the British on slow-mo, so I guess he deserves a teensy bit of sympathy. I was surprised that his jaw hadn't dislodged or something.

Or did it?

Anyway, I'm no fan of Pacquiao, and I would rather he lost the match due to some reasons (ahempoliticiansflockingtohimlikeparasitesahem), but it's nice that another Filipino has hogged the screens and spreads. I was getting sick of Charice Pempemngco I could barf up my dinner everytime she appears on the news. Ugh.

2009-04-19T05:54:00.000-07:00

craptaker: *glances around cluelessly and scratches head* What the hell is this place?

rona: *appears out of nowhere, like a nasty fungus* It's your blog, shithead.

craptaker: *frowns and makes herself seem like a bigger idiot* What's a...blog?

rona: Dumbass. *rolls eyes and stomps off into hell-knows-where*

craptaker: *sprawls on the virtual floor and stares at the header* Hmm...blog...blog...

Merci beaucoup, mes amis :)

2009-03-28T04:31:00.000-07:00

It's over.

Rona: Yeah. It is.

Tempus fugit. Freshman year had been a blur. Parang rumaragasang Porsche Carrera GT lang. Wooosh. Speed.

Should I recap the events, my (mis)adventures and frien(emies) that I made?

Blah. Wag na.

Ngayon nga lang, hirap na hirap ako magisip ng sasabihin. Siguro dahil sabaw pa ang utak ko dahil sa finals. Oh baka dahil talagang nagbakasyon ang utak ko, inunahan pa 'ko. Sana neither.

Nga pala, salamat kay Thea at Cheska sa masasayang pagkakataong sinipag akong umattend ng English 1. Wala tayong ginawa kundi magdaldalan sa likod (at kumain, courtesy of Cheska). Ang dami nga nating natutunan. Hindi nga lang galing kay Ma'am. :D

Salamat kina Morgan, Ivy, Kenji at Nikki na kasama kong kinabahan sa mga pamatay na graded recitations ni Ma'am Gripaldo sa Kas1. Mamimiss ko ang pagiging boy-crazy niyo, lalo na sina Ivy't Kenji. :D

Salamat kina Venice (seatmate!), Danielle at Roxie dahil nagenjoy ako sa pangbabalahura natin kay Ma'am at sa kanyang aversion to heat and ceiling fan noise. Pinapatay niya lagi yung ceiling fan kasi maingay daw, pero naiinitan naman siya. Ano daw? Pati na rin kina Harmond, Vic at Precious na talaga namang masayang kausap, salamat. Mamimiss ko ang ating English 12. Except kay Ma'am. At ang tendency ng kanyang mind to...wander to places we (the students) cannot reach. :D

Salamat kay Ate (!), Cheska (ulit) at Jomar dahil at least di ako nakatulog sa NatSci1 dahil sa kakornihan ni Dr. Abastillas. Pero aminin na natin na ang kanyang halakhak ay certified shock inducer haha.

Salamat kina Carlito, Alvin, Pam, Alyssa, Noelle, Regine, Alyanna, Lord (tao ito), Hender, Rainbow, Eliza, Maricris at Angel dahil naging bongga ang French 10 at 11 ko dahil sa mga dynamic at kakaiba niyong personalities.

Salamat kina Jen, Andrew, Hazel, Ian Kim, Rosie, Claire at Chindie. Kayo ang mga kasama ko nang una kong maexperience ang ma-boycott ng isang propesor. You know what I'm talkin about. Enough said. :D

Salamat kina Morgan (ulit), Cheska (ULIT. haha) at Zy dahil sama-sama tayong nagrelax sa Bio1 natin kay Herrera. Uy ang taas ng grade ko dun, walang report-report yan. :P

Hindi ko maaaring makalimutan si Neil. Salamat sa 'yo. :)

Salamat kina Slegna, Martha, Miho, Lei, Kuya Justin, Armand at Lea. Masaya ang MS1. Si Ma'am, hindi.

Salamat kina Meilee, Ramil, Rea at Neil (ulit. *insert lovestruck sigh here*). Mabuhay si Ma'am Roderos. Pero ang mga exams niya, please lang. Kinailangan ko ng blood transfusion matapos lumabas sa classroom niya. (read: execution chamber). Kahit dugo ng manok pinatos ko na.

Salamat kina Trish, Faye, Aicel, Julie, Laura, Daryl, Melissa, Criselda, Nico, Jaimee, Abi, Ate Abi, Claire, Karla, Gorby, Philip, Angelica at Steff. Goodluck naman sa atin. Feeling ko probi ako. T___T

At syempre pa, hindi ko maaaring malimutan sina JIHAN, SARAH at ROSELLE na simula pa lang ay kasama ko na sa masalimuot na mundo ng EL. Mahal ko kayo, mga kaibigan. :D

Naging makabuluhan ba ang unang semestre?

Ikaw ang magsabi.

Coming Out the Closet

2009-03-13T07:00:00.000-07:00

I am an atheist.

Whew. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?

Self, I beg to differ. I might as well have said that I am a lesbian (which I am not), and I would have received a much calmer, and certainly warmer, acceptance.

Scratch that, I wouldn’t have been accepted. Period.

That is not my melodramatic self talking, nor is it the manifestation of my tendency to exaggerate. We would have to accept (and admit) the fact that atheism in the Philippine setting is like trying to piece together wrong puzzle pieces. The Philippines is a widely Christian country and a Muslim minority where religion is an integral part of society and culture. Our history is heavily influenced by religion; though we cannot be certain whether the effects of which have done more good than harm, it has, nevertheless, augmented the growth of our country. Moreover, it is apparent in Philippine history that the Church has had an encompassing influence over the governance of provinces.

Having established that, I can reiterate that atheism does not have a place in Philippine society, considering the fact that its foundations are deeply entrenched in dogma. It cannot flourish as a justifiable substitute for those who are starting to question their beliefs and it certainly does not help that most theists’ reactions are those of disdain or even disgust when an individual divulges his being an atheist. It is treated like a disease; probably on a level of intolerance that homosexuality receives. This pushes most non-believers into “hiding”- choosing to remain silent and “in the closet”, instead of speaking up, lest they be treated differently by their peers and family.

http://s202.photobucket.com/albums/aa144/Primate_bucket/?action=view&current=cartoon20060222.gif

On a more personal note, when I expressed indifference about a Christian-themed T.V. series that a family member absolutely adores, she said things that bordered on bigotry and discrimination. Naturally, they hurt coming from a family member, yet no matter how I forced the thoughts away, I just couldn’t help but think, Wow, those are your so-called Christian virtues, huh?

I ended up trying to keep my mouth shut and taking all the things she said in stride. Had you heard the words, you would have thought that I was in a cult worshipping Satan and killing innocents as offerings. Yep. It was that bad. (I just want to clarify that I have nothing against Satanists; we all have our beliefs, anyway. Or in my case, non-belief.)

There. I have “come out of the proverbial closet”, so to speak. Now, I am only waiting for the raised eyebrows (best case scenario) and disownment (REALLY worst case scenario) that I might receive from certain people.

Plato help me.

2009-03-02T04:01:00.000-08:00

Expect a month-long hiatus. College is squeezing my brain out of my nostrils, frying my hair into non-existence, crushing my metacarpals into fine dust, turning my eyes into a lovely shade of crimson...well, you get the idea.

If you ever find yourself in this situation (which is highly probable if you are in the same university as I am), fear not. There shall be light at the end of that dark, dank, stinky and professor-infested tunnel. At first, it will seem like the tunnel goes on and on and on and- well, you get the idea. Trust in...in the..erm..blue books. Yeah that's right. There shall be light.

And so my hibernation begins.

Advertising for Twilight

2009-02-13T17:52:00.000-08:00

*I apologize in advance to friends of mine who might be offended with this. But honestly, offended or not, you guys know it's true, right? :D

...And so, my friends, it is expected that with the mass-mania of Valentine's Day comes the biggest mistake of the human race since Demi Lovato. You know what I'm talking about right? Yeah. Twilight.

But hey! This is not just the usual, asscrack shit that Twilight never fails to be. It's actually worse! Aside from t-shirts, hoodies, TRACK SUITS and bags, there are actually Twilight-themed Valentine's Day Cards! How utterly deranged is that? Capitalism has never made a bigger blunder, but let's face it, it hasn't made a bigger profit before this, either. I've seen multitudes of this zoophilia-craze worshippers sport "Mrs. Cullen" , "Team Cullen" , "Bite Me" and "Do I Dazzle You?" statement shirts that project no statement at all besides "Me: Stupid", but Valentine's Day cards? You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Me.

A Twilighter-friend of mine told me about these...things. She's actually planning to order some online and even told me about this site where one could buy all Twilight-related crappola..I mean...stuff. Here is something that gave me helpless LOLs:

Did you know that Bella Swan is into necrophilia? Given that she let Edward Cullen's bee partake nectar from her (formerly) virginal flower of forbidden pollen in Breaking Dawn, technically, she's a necrophile. And now you're all jumping into the bandwagon? Being a necrophile means you're messed up in the head, people. Wanting a dead, sexually-deprived, teenage-boy-poser ancient man pop your forbidden cherry isn't awesome. It's a massively epic mistake. Tsk, tsk.

This is the card that I was talking about. Well, this and a lot more. "The outside world holds nothing for me without you." Apparently, Meyer must have dreamt of a guy saying that to her, but it didn't happen so she poured out her mushy, school-girl necrophilic sicko fantasies into the greatest shit* that ever hit the shelves. Wow, I am finally a Twilighter.

NOT.

If you want to waste cash and get a hold of these things, I got them here.

And the craptaker's verdict on this perfect crap? A shining, shimmering, sparkling 10 for necrophilia and bestiality.

(*Hey. At least I wrote "greatest" shit. That must count for something.)

The (Non)existence of traffic laws. really.

2009-02-10T02:34:00.000-08:00

You get used to the heavy traffic and smoke-belching after a while, especially if you brave Metro Manila's streets everyday. The trip to and from the university won't be complete without jeepney drivers spitting fire at each other, shady guys hitching free rides and unruly kids thrusting dirty envelopes at you even after you say "No". Yeah. I got used to it after a couple of months.

But there are some things that you just can't get used to, tulad ng garapalang pangongotong ng mga traffic enforcers. Just take my trip home this afternoon as an example. I was in a jeepney, and we were somewhere in the Luzon area when the driver pulled over and scrambled out of his seat. I thought something was wrong with the engine and we had to transfer to another jeepney, but then more PUJs and PUVs pulled over and I had an inkling of what was happening when I saw a man in uniform (wearing a, probably, fake Ray-Ban). He didn't have a beer belly, which was unexpected, and he was smiling and being an all-around nice guy, which was also unexpected. What I expected was bravado that came in raging bouts and a holier-than-thou attitude.

I would have fallen for his act had I not seen drivers "surreptitiously" hand over what seemed to be rolled-up wads of money. And the smile of Manong Pulis grew even wider, and his pockets fuller.

Heh. I should have known. Tiba-tiba si Manong. Bumabawi sa gastos nung bakasyon. *rolls eyes* Kaya pala parang namatayan si Manong Drayber when he went back in the jeep. Baka pinatos na lahat ng gahamang pulis.

Hmm, I guess I shouldn't put the blame on traffic enforcers alone, huh? Drivers are to be blamed as much as the street demi-gods. Just a couple of weeks ago on my way to class, the driver of the jeepney I was in pretty much ignored the turn signal of a freaking Mazda6 ahead of him, stepped on the accelerator and sped ahead of the probably pissed driver.

All I thought was, bastos 'tong si Manong. Unahan ba naman ang Mazda6. Ambisyoso.

And the craptaker's verdict on Philippine traffic law enforcement? Or just plain Philippine traffic?

A highly disappointing 9.5 on the Crap-O-Meter. T___T

Nothing Else Matters

2009-02-06T22:16:00.000-08:00

I got this from Ia-chan, who got this from Lea. Seems fun, so I tried it. :P

RULES:
1. Put your MP3 player, iTunes, Windows Media Player, etc. on shuffle.
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS.
4. Tag at least 10 friends (this is not necessary, I think) :P
5. Everyone has to do the same thing.6. Have Fun!

IF SOMEONE SAYS 'ARE YOU OKAY' YOU SAY?
Famous Last Words by My Chemical Romance

I am not afraid to keep on living,
I am not afraid to walk this world alone..

Okay..emo much? LOL.

HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE YOURSELF?
Fences by Paramore

And it's obvious that you're dying, dying
Just living proof that the camera's lying

So...so. This is wholly inaccurate, I assure you.

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Californication by Red Hot Chili Peppers

First born unicorn
Hard core, soft porn
Dream of californication

...I am getting freaked out.

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
We Are Broken by Paramore

Cause we are broken
What must we do to restore..
Our innocence
Give us life again, cause we just want to be whole

Again, highly inaccurate. My "emo" phase has long been done. Puhlease.

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?
This is How I Disappear by My Chemical Romance

No. I swear I am not suicidal. LOL.

WHAT'S YOUR MOTTO?
Minsan by Eraserheads

Ngunit ngayon, kay bilis maglaho ng kahapon.
Sana'y wag kalimutan ang ating mga pinagsamahan.
at kung sakaling gipitin ay
laging iisipin na
minsan tayo ay naging tunay na magkaibigan.

I miss my friends.

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Teenagers by My Chemical Romance

I am getting sick of MCR.

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Under the Bridge by Red Hot Chili Peppers

Wow. My parents are cool.

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
Maselang Bahaghari by Eraserheads

If you've been my friend since high school, then you'll know that this is so accurate, even from the title. Damn. I am freaked out. LOL

WHAT IS 2 + 2?
Alive by Pearl Jam

...

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND? (this applies to my closest friends)
Forsaken by Dream Theater

...No! Definitely not!

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Before It's Too Late by Goo Goo Dolls

And hold on, before it's too late
Until we leave this behind
Don't fall, just be who you are
It's all that we need in our lives

Yes. I shall hold on. You can count on that. :)

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
Overdrive by Eraserheads

So...I'll be a driver? As long as the ride is a Lamborghini, then it's fine. :P

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Leave Out All The Rest by Linkin Park

and when you're feeling empty
Keep me in your memory
leave out all the rest

Kinda sad but...somehow it fits.

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Misery Business by Paramore

This song is actually about prostitution, but whatever. Yeah, a wedding inspires misery. Fortunately for me, I don't believe in weddings. :P

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Let the Flames Begin by Paramore

So...this means that I'm going to burn in hell?

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
In the Presence of Enemies by Dream Theater

Yeah. I like bashing up things. And making enemies along the way. :P

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST FEAR?
For A Pessimist, I'm Pretty Optimistic by Paramore

I never wanted to say this
You never wanted to stay
I put my faith in you, so much faith
And then you just threw it away

I guess, in a way, we're all scared of rejection and abandonment.

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
Superproxy by Eraserheads

I don't even get this song that much.

WHAT DO YOU WANT RIGHT NOW?
Soul to Squeeze by Red Hot Chili Peppers

Oh yeah. I want a soul to squeeze. *insert evil snort here*

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
Kamasupra by Eraserheads

mahal kita..pero miss na miss na miss ko na ang aking kama
at ang malupit kong unan
ba't di ka na lang sumama?
hihiga tayo at kakan...taaaa. :D

Strange. Everytime we drop by Ambida's house, we cluster around (and on) his bed and belt it out on his Magic Sing. Strangely accurate. LOL.

WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS?
Nothing Else Matters by Metallica
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Fun. And freaky how most songs seem to fit the questions. Try it out. ;)

Para Kay Petras

2009-02-06T02:42:00.000-08:00

Have you ever felt that strange heaviness when something you never gave a damn about is suddenly, brutally snatched from your grasp? And because of that loss, you suddenly care. But you can't do anything about it, because the damage has been done and you can't take it back.

Earlier today, something horrible happened in my Panitikang Pilipino 12 class. My professor asked a question, something that we should have easily answered had we read the references, yet we didn't utter a single word. Not one of us said anything.

That triggered a series of unfortunate events where the professor scrapped the previous roll-call and instead based attendance on whether we brought our readings or not. It was a disaster because not even half the class brought theirs. So we received an earful- how he was so disappointed, how he cannot believe that we are students from UP...stuff that a teacher, who actually teaches, would say. Then he dropped the bomb. PanPil12 Section WFR1 would no longer hold classes and would meet only for exams and submission of papers. Then he dismissed us and walked out of the class.

He actually said more that cut us to the quick, but it's either I forgot them or I just can't bring myself to face them again. The turth hurts, huh.

I felt and still feel like crap. And believe me, it's a lot worse had you heard his words first-hand.

I need to cheer up. Maybe I should go bash Twilight. That never fails to give me the LOLs. :D

P.S. Hi to my PanPil12 classmate, Rosie! Check out her blog, Stercus Accidit (i.e. Shit Happens. You gotta love anyone with "shit" in their names/blognames/etc.) I finally got to visit your space. Loved it, mon amie.

2009-02-03T01:03:00.000-08:00

Hiatus. Another seemingly endless bout of writer's block has hit me. Now I wish for those blissful days when hypergraphia would force me to regurgitate streams and streams of words that do or do not make sense. I had a release, at the very least. But now...

Can I rant? Just a little bit.

Okay here goes.

Goddammit, screw those blood-sucking bitches with doctorate degrees who can't do anything but torture dying students with fucked-up inane statements and force them to swallow their dignities like thick, white mancrap! Those motherfreakingfucker assholes should get a life before they bite the fucking dust! Get ya heads outta your loose fucked up posteriors, dammit!! God damn it.

Dammit. Dammit.

Just Setting the Record Straight

2009-01-06T05:14:00.000-08:00

Do you say that bitter gourd ice cream tastes like shit just because you like vanilla ice cream? Do you say that Demi Lovato is a lame, Disney freeloader just because you like Vanessa Hudgens? Do you say that pork isn't good for the body just because you like chicken?

No, you don't. You say that bitter gourd ice cream tastes like shit because IT DOES taste like shit. You say that Demi Lovato is lame because SHE IS lame. You say that pork isn't good for the body because IT ISN'T good for the body.

Just like I say that Twilight is a pathetic excuse for a novel, not because I like Harry Potter, but because IT IS a pathetic excuse for a novel. Do you people get it now? Me liking (or loving) Harry Potter (the series, not the character) has nothing to do with me disliking Twilight.

Scratch that. I do not just dislike Twilight. I abhor it with every particle of my animus. And this is, predictably, because of rabid fangirls who just don't know when to stop, who just can't get it when their brainless comments are not wanted, and who just can't get a clue that their aggravating squeals are doing serious damage to my ears.

Those hellish things, I can endure. But when you say that Harry Potter is, and I quote, "a boring and sucky book COMPARED to Twilight," that's where I would have to draw the line. Heck, that's where most accomplished authors and literary circles who laud Harry Potter would have to draw the line.

You have your own opinions, yes, but nobody said that ludicrous statements such as those cannot be reprobated, no?

First of all, literature is literature because it is decided by certain authorities in the field. One cannot just say that a written work is a piece of literature just because it has a plot, characters, setting, etc. Being a bestseller doesn't cut it either, because what does sales mean when the very people who read the book in question have a lamentable taste and feel for literature? What do figures mean when the fans (most, not all, because I do not want to generalize) are anencephalic, shrieking hounds with little to no literary refinement? Nothing. Literature has to have a cultural impact, a lasting impression that would make that work immortal- alive through the years even after its maker has long been dead. Dickens, Dahl, King- those are just a few examples of what I'm talking about. Harry Potter certainly And Rowling sure had earned her rightful place among that level of genius.

Do you want me to prove to you why your statement IS anomalous and unfounded on all angles?

Here are a few evidences.

I apologize for the incomplete data on the awards and nominations of Harry Potter. It was quite taxing to hunt down each and every award that the series garnered. Thankfully, I couldn't say the same about Twilight.

And as for your laughable allegations that (heaven forbid!) Harry Potter is, I quote, 'boring", I can only think of one feasible justification. Your pitiable ability for apperception (read: your pathetic brain ) wasn't able to handle the presence of a plot, proper character development and lack of unnecessary adjectives, hence, you were bored.

It seems to me that Harry Potter will, and I quote Stephen King, "indeed stand time's test and wind up on a shelf where only the best are kept; I think Harry will take his place with Alice, Huck, Frodo, and Dorothy and this is one series not just for the decade, but for the ages."

With that, I rest my case, Your Honor.

P.S. Did you bimbos know that over 72 million copies of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows were sold worldwide in just 24 hours? This is according to TIME Almanac. How does that compare to your precious Twilight, hm? I didn't include this in my argument for the purpose of maintaining consistency. Just thought you wanted to know.

The Act of Crapping

2009-01-04T18:25:00.000-08:00

Disclaimer: I take no credit for this image. All I take credit for is the very true crap I've written here.

WARNING: Humourless Twilight fangirls, proceed at your own caution. Intelligent Twilight fangirls (though I'm not really sure if there are such creatures because the statement is a fallacy), maybe we could have a mature debate on why Twilight is a shitbag vampire romance.

I don't know why, but it's just so FUN to make fun of Twilight. Probably because fangirls transform into werewolves at the slightest hint of anti-Twilight stuff. And don't forget their heartfelt declarations that Twilight and its sequels are the "best pieces of literature in the history of everything" (Dickens must be rolling in his grave). Please, people, I still have a tiny, teensy bit of hope left in the human race, and don't crush it by being gigglish dumbasses who have no taste whatsoever in literature. You have to realize that you need help, and quite a lot of people are more than willing to extend a helping hand.

Let's start with these few steps, shall we?

1. Go burn all your Twilight books and sequels. Gather the ashes and scatter them to the four winds.
2. Visit the nearest bookstore and purchase some books, preferably the works of Voltaire, Chinua Achebe, Mark Twain, etc.
3. If you really are a vampire lit fan, then there is still hope for you. Get the Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice and indulge yourself in manly vampires. There are quite a lot, and not just one wussy, pasty douchebag like Edward.
4. Get rid of your downloaded/pirated Twilight movies/books.
5. Change your Edward desktop wallpaper into anything BUT Twilight-related shit.
6. Separate yourself from webgroups (read:cults) dedicated to worshipping Edward's skinny, undead self.
7. Stop dumbing yourself down just to be on the same wavelength as other fans. But if you really are that much of an airhead then I can't do shit about it.

Well, those are just some steps you gotta take. But I hate to tell you that some damages cannot be reversed, such as the death of some of your innocent brain cells or the sudden drop in your IQ. Treatment for these requires much patience and lots of reading books that are actually written by an author with a working, lucid brain.

---
This is a little something I've found on the Net, so I take no credit for it.

Quite a lot of lines cracked me up. One is "Twilight iz mature and sexier then HP!" - Sad. Just sad. I feel sorry for those fangirls whose lives revolve around trying to be Mary Sue and dreaming about Edward Cullen's sparkling balls.

Another is "You're just jealous cos you'll never get a hot guy like Edward!" - Oh, and you could? Not to mention that he's a 107-year old undead virgin, and guys like him exist, right? RIGHT? (yeah. RIGHT)...

And another.. "ur just jellus!!1!" - I am not even going to start about spelling...punctuation...

It's painfully obvious what kind of people Stephenie Meyer (bestselling author and comedienne) has for fans- utterly clueless preteen/hormonal/deprived girls who dream of having their anorexic cherry popped by Edward's pasty (yet sparkling), undead sausage. I would feel sorry for Meyer if only she didn't bring into the world the little piece of shit that started it all. But then again, if she didn't, I wouldn't have this much fun bashing up a book.

For the Rain

2009-01-02T20:35:00.000-08:00

I expected to feel a shifting in the air, a sudden blast of light from the horizon, or even- well, I didn't really expect those, though subconsciously, I had been waiting for it to transpire.

New. It implies quite a lot if things. By "new", do we mean an overall, 360-degree change? A complete renaissance? Or do we mean the birth of something through the death of another? The decay of life that is to be replaced by feeble seedlings? Of life through death? Of joy through pain?

The new year that had everyone on their toes in giddy anticipation was dampened by the quite heavy drizzle and bitingly cold breeze. It had also- quite considerably, I might add- lessened the dark smoke that usually permeated the air every New Year's Eve. But I was rather pleased with the presence of the rain. It felt good, like it had fallen to purge all the atrocities, the mistakes, the pain. It felt like it was salvation. Or some shit that sounds like that.

The New Year festivities had never really held something of importance for me, which led to my conclusion that it is hugely overrated. Come to think of it, all festivities are overrated, because these things force you to share in that terribly overbearing feeling of camaraderie and joy despite the fact that the mask of the joker is slowly freezing, cracking under the pressure.

Though I have to admit that celebrating New Year is good for some things. There is just something about ushering in new year that makes people want to consider change. Change. Hence the New Year's resolutions.

Resolution. Do they even know what this entails? Resolution is determination- a strong will to achieve something and not mere promises and vows that should be thrown around thoughtlessly. Yet this is what we do, what most people do, because intent should be honored as justified once it is verbalized, is it not? Because weightless words should hold meaning when it is merely said? Utter rubbish. Crap.

Knowing this, I still find myself wanting that elusive ideal, that impossible change most people yearn for. Yet I want it without truly knowing what I want. I still walk in circles, I write in senselessness. A nomad- homeless and, under the erratic stream of pressure and bitter memories, dreamless.

There is only one thing that I truly wish to achieve this 2009. I hope to let go. Of what? Of everything that had taken hold of me and made me into this acerbic, vile person. It is easier said than done, and this is something I have come to realize very painfully. Yet I realize, and I know, that the person who started it all has moved on, has forgotten. I may be wrong in this assumption, I may be right, but it doesn't change the word abandonment. The act of forsaking. And you know what? Though thinking about it makes my chest hurt and my hands shake, I'll make sure that this year, nothing is all I'll feel. And when that happens, I have forgiven, but not forgotten. No, never forgotten.

"Di na kami kasama

sa mga pangarap

ni Rizal."

To the Hero with Rockets on His Feet

2008-12-30T05:11:00.000-08:00

You don't say you want, only to take back the words later. You don't say you will, only to back out at the slightest hint of danger. You do not do any of these things, but you still do, you still did, because you're only human, are you not? Like a frightened animal, you bowed your once proud head and submissively retreated from the snarling creature who towered over you.

I know your story. You once loved that monster, though in your eyes it was never such. You saw it one day when life was at its liveliest, when things seem to be falling into place. You saw it, and hated it, very much like how you hated, at first sight, every one you meet. Because that's all you can do- hate first, love later.

But when you love, you fall endlessly, never mind the fact that anytime, you might hit rock bottom and barely survive. You fill the empty crystal glasses on your nightstand with tears without fail every night, before you let yourself fall into living oblivion. You were foolish, and brave, for daring to care for such a creature with the unfathomable eyes and leathery wings, but you were whole.

It seemed to me, that it was all that mattered. You were whole.

It didn't matter that you were ravaged, desecrated within an inch of your life for even stepping near the creature. It didn't matter that you returned with shreds of cloth barely hanging off your emaciated frame, with purplish bruises littering your alabaster skin. It didn't matter that there were dry tear tracks down your once-plump cheeks, didn't matter that your hair hung in greasy clumps around your tired face. It didn't matter that sorrow nearly killed you when the creature left.

You were whole. And it was all that mattered, because being whole allowed you to see yourself in the mirror and fool yourself into thinking that there are no cracks on the surface, that the mask of the joker remained as what it is- a visage with a painted-on smile.

I could only laugh at your demise. You were alive, yes, but barely. Seeing the creature in your memories and dreams could not sustain you for long, for you yearn to touch, to taste, to feel with your bare palms. Tangibility.

We do not know how much time had faded into waste. You went on hating, then loving, every person you meet down the path. We do not know how deep the lacerations had become, how large the gaping holes had grown, because you smothered them all with pretentious peace and silvery talc.

Until it returned. And the barriers you erected around yourself started to fall, one by one.

Until you were left as you were before the creature vanished.

Until you were nothing more than a bruised bag of bones.

Until nothing, save the creature, could liberate you from the prison you made for yourself.

Lies spewed from your mouth in endless streams. You no longer love the creature, you say?

I could do nothing but laugh. I laughed and watched your face crumple, watched as youth left your body through a rattling breath. I laughed and felt the disease consume her from the outside, eating away at her vitality, at her exuberance. I laughed at the absurdity of it all, that you loved and I hated, though we were trapped in the same shell.

See, we are one and the same. I always came first, so I hated. And you were a mere second, so you loved.

To the hero with rockets on his feet.

She never stopped, though you thought she did.

She never resented, though it appeared she did.

The only truth is that she loved.

She loves.

When Boy Meets Girl

2008-12-29T03:48:00.000-08:00

A canine love story. Enough said.

Boy.

Girl.

The first look.

His bashful question.

Her blushing reply.

They meet.

And sparks fly.

* Photos captured by my bro and sis. Check out his and her Flickr site.

Caught in His Web

2008-12-26T19:20:00.000-08:00

It's official. I am definitely, positively a follower of the deity in human form named JASON MRAZ.

If you are wondering how that seemingly impossible phenomenon came to pass (if you know me personally, then you are aware of my quite different musical tastes and influences), then let me bring you to enlightenment.

He kinda looks like Hugh Grant here, but whatever. It's Jason Mrazzy enough for me ;)

I became aware of his glorious existence through my dear friend, Drei. The first song that graced my ears was "Melt With You" and that was sometime during March of 2008. Quite far back, if I may say so, because the next thing I heard of him is "I'm Yours", September of 2008. And you know what? I fell hopelessly, positively, downright in love.

He's not as hot as Joe Jonas, nor is he as dreamy as Josh Groban. He's got an unruly nest for hair, he's skinny and well...he's short. But you don't see me caring, do you? Well then, what makes him stand out among the endless line of musical deities?

His voice, as clear and free-flowing as aqua, is one of his strongest points. Only a handful of singers could boast of possessing that joie de vivre, and he is one of those blessed few. One could never tire of listening to his crooning, chocolate-to-the-ears voice, and right now, as I try (to the best of my abilities, might I add) to capture in words his flawed perfection, I listen to one of my favorites, Details in the Fabric feat. James Morrison from his album We Sing, We Dance, We Steal Things. I don't think I could listen to My Chemical Romance all day long (no offense to the guys, I still love this band with all my heart).

And have I mentioned his poetry? I admit, I'm not some bigwig poet or poetry critic, and I don't read much of the stuff (I adore Poe's work, though), but I know clever wordplay and glaring yet subtle innuendos that only a master word weaver can pull off when I see it. And he's got it. Jason Mraz got it in heaps.

His song "Love for A Child" (again, from his latest album) appealed the most to me for reasons other than the soothing, catchy melody and witty metaphors. This song showed me that one thing is sure about him. He just doesn't pull words out from nowhere and slap them together with music. He writes them, and he means it. He means every single word.*

I could say no more. As Thomas Mann once wrote in his novella "Death in Venice", language could but extol, not reproduce, the beauties of the sense.

- - -

*I know that I may sound like a complete idiot with that fangirly statement, assuming that I know the man behind the music, but just humor me, will you? "Love for a Child" tugged something nasty at my heartstrings, and it made me realize quite a lot of things about myself, hence that statement.

2008-12-26T19:19:00.000-08:00

Not gonna post anything about Christmas.

The Birthday Post

2008-12-21T07:29:00.000-08:00

I feel no different. No sudden accelerated growth of cells nor unexpected bouts of maturity. For one thing, accelerated growth only happens in science labs and sci-fi movies/books, and maturity does not come in unexpected bouts. So I think a birthday isn't everything it's cracked up to be.

I am not disappointed, no. Disappointment, I feel, shall not come easily to me. For one thing, memories of the Saturday get-together with my high school friends keep replaying in my head. No, they're not just friends. Such an overused and underrated word would not and could never do them justice.

They are my brothers, my sisters- those select few of similar wavelengths, those who match my wits, those who could bear my callous attitude with graceful acceptance and knowing smiles. We spent most of the day in laughter (and amused annoyance- with Ray's overly bubbly little bro) and happiness in knowing that nothing changed between us. We may have changed and grown in the span of time that we were apart, but the unyielding camaraderie remains. (Krisann, Ray, Ia, AJ, Drei, Raymond- THANK YOU) And that is the best gift I could ever receive from them.

Then there's my family. Every carefree moment spent with them is precious to me no matter how taciturn I may seem with these matters. I know too well how we came dangerously close to falling apart, how I once harbored bitterness towards some of them, how it is possible for one (or several) of us to leave and never go back. Paranoid, I may be. But I learned from the best*. And being like this makes me appreciate the things that are normally overlooked by people who have a loving family.

I am not fussy with birthdays. Many people get the idea that I want a huge bash or tons of gifts to make me happy, but all I really want are the happy smiles of the people who matter.

That's all.

***

*This shall be discussed further in another post.

Of Inky Zeniths

2008-12-14T02:07:00.001-08:00

I haven't raised the pen in so long. It might have become rusty with alienation, dry with abandonment, or useless with uncertainty. I haven't raised it in so long that the mere thought of having it in my grasp, while feeling its unfathomable power, makes me fear its existence.

Why have I forgotten it?

No. I have not forgotten it. It is a lie just a few steps from the truth, yet I cannot face it in love or remembrance. For brief moments in eternity, I had it. I loved it. It ran in my veins and was one with me for so long that parting was hell and heaven at the same time. I wielded a power so potent that for interminable moments, I was my own god. I was the essence of the universe. I created life, and took it back. Exhilarating, addicting. It is a power that very few could brandish and still retain their sanity. The screaming contrasts would overcome and consume. Its pliancy would seduce and beckon, and once you are in the power's grasp, it would, in turn, bend you to its will.

I thrived in it, in that intangible ambrosia that would soothe and burn. Burn. I burned with it, each lick of fire had left gaping yet impalpable wounds. They had never closed, never healed, and to this moment, I am left gasping for the hand that will never reach out. I am left longing for it, thirsting and wanting, until there is nothing more left of me.

I haven't raised the pen in so long. And I may never will, in this lifetime, and all the lifetimes that may come after.

Beautiful Riddles

2008-11-27T04:07:00.000-08:00

Vol de la mort.

Flight of death.

A beautiful vision, is it not? To have the ability to evade death's playful arms paints a picture of utter purity. Flight...suggests freedom and brings to mind vivid pictures of immense meadows and endless blue skies. But we know better. I know better.

Voldemort is the picture of pure evil, of unadulterated sin that could not possibly exist in a human. Thirst for power, immortality and dominance. Greed. Utterly human. Well, Voldemort was human. He was human when he was still Tom Marvolo Riddle.

He's brilliant. Absolutely so. And beautiful, I must not forget that. A perfect mind in a perfect shell. Raven locks, alabaster-pale skin and unfathomable, cunning eyes that shone with pure artifice and ambition. A sculpted face hid the snake rearing just below the surface, and slender hands concealed spidery appendages. Such a perfect mask.

He had armies at his disposal before he even became Lord Voldemort. He had powerful families to command before he became a god.

Fear. They say that the icy, all-consuming hands of Fear would choke me, bleed me dry, once his blood eyes met mine. They say that I would feel the magic crackling in the air around him, that I would be on my knees without me knowing, that I would be kneeling before a mortal god.

I never felt fear. And I prostrated myself before him, as a Death Eater would, before he even became the serpentine deity. The ability to inspire love had never been one of his strongest points. No. That exquisite monster never knew love, and so he never gave it and believed in it. He had been denied the love of a mother and of friends. He never had the pure love of another soul. He condemns love. Yet we loved him- I loved him, like a child would love his mother, a follower to leader, lover to lover.

Tom Marvolo Riddle could have had the world to himself. He had us, he had me, at his fingertips. All he had to do was reach out, and grasp. But he suddenly walked down a path where no others dared to venture before, and sought immortality. His name could have been immortal, but he also wanted his form to persevere. And so he delved deep, much deeper than anyone has dared before, into the Dark Arts.

Commoners could not understand what became of him. They shirked from his snake-like visage, they feared his brimming power, they wondered at the sick perfection of it all. When commoners fail to understand, they choose to oppose. And that's what they did.

He thrived from the hate. He grew from the fear. Greedily, he drank and drank the viscous ambrosia that seemd to flow from the masses in endless rivulets. He would have not grown more formidable from any other substance. Not the Elixir of Life. Not unicorn blood. Not vampire blood. And not Harry Potter's blood.

When he became Lord Voldemort, he was still beautiful. Of course he was still brilliant. What changed was that his human nature, which was so entrenched in unspeakable evil, became the nature of a god, albeit an imperfect one.

Whoever said that gods should be perfect?

***

Mon ami, c'est pour toi.

I once saw an awkward boy who loved his books as much, or probably more so, as I loved mine. That was not enough for me, and so I did not befriend him. He was quiet, and I did not know much.

He loved machines. That was what I knew next. Nothing really significant. An awkward boy who loved books and computers. That was all. That was all.

I didn't know better.

I didn't know that he was a man, not a boy, in the more profound sense of the word. Yet his masculinity is different and far more alluring than that of commonplace egos and unwanted machismo. His strength lies in his enduring soul, in his precious ability to withstand all his pains and immortalize his rare joys. He does not feel the need to verbalize afflictions, and instead bears it alone to nurture his immense strength. His hands, rough from countless days of perfecting a warlike art, are the most striking of all. Pens are blessed when he uses them to weave words into splendor, words that rise from the superficial papyrus to form corporeality, words so vivid and compelling that they take a tangible form.

He is more than a man who loved his computers and his books. I know this now.

They could not see you. Commoners, the lot of them. Sadly, I was one of them, too, before I ever saw beyond the books, the computers, the strangeness. And, as pointless as this may be, I am sorry. I was a kid. That alone probably speaks for the blunder.

Flight. Go on, Loki, the Skywalker. Take to the air and shed your earthly form.

Ascend to the skies, and be. Be.

Starbucks: L'endroit de la pretentieux

2008-11-23T02:18:00.000-08:00

Hindi ako regular sa Starbucks. Hindi ko rin yun second home. At lalong hindi kape at latte ang tubig ko. Mabibilang ko lang sa dalawang kamay ang mga pagkakataong tumambay ako dun. Kadalasan, mga barkada ang kasama ko, pero minsan nililibre din ako nila Kuya Ram at Ate Apol. (Tsk, when are they gonna get hitched?) Sa mga pagkakataong tumatambay ako dun eh talaga namang nakakaloka ang aking mga experience

Nangyari ito one week prior. Nilibre ako nila Ate Apol habang nasa grocery sila Nanay at Rjay. Eh di siyempre tatambay kami dun sa loob habang tinutungga-tungga ang pagkamahal-mahal na inumin (kapitalista!joke.) (strawberries and cream frappe ang pinili ko). So, with nothing else to do, I indulged in one of my favorite wala-akong-magawa-activities. People-watching.

Siyempre, pasimple akesh sa pagpipeople-watching (anu daw!?), baka kasi isipin ng mga tao ay isa akong psychotic freak/stalker/moron. Sa table na katabi namin ay may isang grupo ng mga kababaihan na parang mga kolehiyala, pero hindi sila naka-uniform. Sigurado akong hindi sila taga-UP, kasi iba ang vibes nila. One thing I'm sure of is that they're high-class peeps. Kung paano ko na-draw ang conclusion na iyon ay hindi ko rin alam. Anyways, lakas ng tawanan ng mga girlash. Parang sila lang ang tao sa loob ng coffee shop. At dinig na dinig pa ang mga tsismisan nila. Dyosko! Kaloka.

Pero ayos lang yon. At least, they're not pretentious. Get real, ika nga. Mas ayos na iyon kesa dito sa next person na sumagi sa aking paningin.

Honestly, maganda naman talaga ang babaeng ito. She's got the complete, physical package that most guys would fall for (id est, hair, face, body, clothes). She was not worth observing, actually, but she did this little thing that made my eyebrows rise beyond my hair line.

To girls out there, I'm sure you know this. Most girls have done this to other people who have, in their opinion, questionable fashion sense/I.Q./etc. HECK. All girls have done this sometime in their lives. Admit it. Anyways, this woman, upon entering Starbucks, made a beeline for the counter. Since our table was located directly beside the counter, I was in her line of vision. Upon seeing me, she gave me a once-over: starting from my hair down to my flats. She had this nasty, little smirk on her face, and as she passed me, she flipped her long, shampoo-commercial-worthy hair and held her chin high.

Papalampasin ko na sana 'to kung hindi lang niya inulit. Susmariajosepidal! Inulit pa niya! She went back to the counter to get her drink, and repeated the bitchy process all over again. I wanted to do something, like, stretch my leg out and trip her, or splash her java-chip all over her preppy clothes, but I don't want to sink to her level. (Haha. How terribly cliche.)

Marami pang phonies dun. Some are, literally, fakes. Mga fake na babae, id est, gay men. Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against homosexuals. In fact, I love them and their spontaneity! They are actually being real when they flaunt their gayness. It's when they become shiny, hard and pretentious plastics that they annoy me.

It was probably more than a couple of years ago that the Starbucks fad literally hit the country. If you want to get technical, it was approximately a decade ago when the country's first Starbucks Coffee retail location opened in Makati, Manila's leading financial district, on December 4, 1997. But I'm talking about how it became a fad, especially among the youth. (I define youth as individuals within the age range of 15-24, in accordance with the United Nations General Assembly)

Aminin na natin. The allure of Starbucks lies predominantly on its capacity to boost one's social status. Once you're seen hanging out in Starbucks, you're automatically regarded as rich and part of the high-society. Psh. Katarantaduhan. Your friends would not let themselves be left out of the loop, and would start hanging out at S-bucks as well. This process works like a water ripple, and would just get bigger and bigger until all "contaminate-able" parties are affected.

But let me give Starbucks some credit. I'm no expert on coffee, but they make their drinks with a distinct taste and smoothness that probably attracted the sensible individuals. Not to mention the fact that the ambience is conducive to getting our creative juices flowing. Er...well...this was before sosyaleras, sosyaleros and the conio race invaded the formerly laid-back atmosphere of Starbucks and polluted the air with their foolish chatter that's primarily composed of phrases that they ripped off from Kris Aquino.

Again, I have nothing against high-society peeps. In fact, one of my circles of friends is composed mainly of rich kids from UP (how anomalous is that? Rich kids from UP?!). What annoys me is the sort of people who are not really conio but they still force themselves to act in that way, and they buy fake Louis Vuittons and Havaianas (id est, Havana) just to fit in and they blow their allowance (their parents' hard-earned money) just to buy ridiculously-expensive coffee. And to top it all off, they try so goddamn hard to speak a la conio english, never mind the fact that they sound like complete morons.

Eto sample:

"Like, how kainis is that? I mean, like, they're not even sosyal like us! Like, they're poor, di ba?"

"I know, right?"

Haha. Hilarious. And pathetic, at the same time.

One of Countless Ramblings

2008-11-12T05:16:00.000-08:00

"Forgive, O Lord, my little joke on Thee and I'll forgive Thy great big one on me." - Robert Frost. Funny, funny man.

I'm at a standstill. I find myself in an irredeemable situation where I lose on both choices. I find myself at crossroads where each one leads to rocky cliffs that would lead to certain death. The proverbial yellow brick-road crumbles into a dirt path where nothing is certain, and everything is a myriad of abstracts and non-existence. I want to cry out to the skies, but then I remember that I have no right. No right, no right- a fiend cast from the lofty realms.

But then again, on the plane in between, are beings higher than those above, and deeper than those below. I find myself among them, in the company of immortals who chose the void, of creatures who thrive in non-belief, of men who are their own gods. It was beautiful, so impure, that I found myself drawn to the dark allure.

I wake. It was not a mere dream.

And so the week-long hiatus becomes longer than a week.

Happy Halloween! :)

2008-10-31T03:04:00.000-07:00

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?!

I Had an Overdose of Troyella

2008-10-28T05:00:00.000-07:00

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 she 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.

A Bitter Bite from Twilight

2008-10-15T04:57:00.000-07:00

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."

The UP experience

2008-10-14T03:33:00.000-07:00

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.

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The following article is taken from Mish's blog
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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.

Like, the hell?!

2008-10-12T04:46:00.000-07:00

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.

An Open Letter to the Blindfolded One

2008-10-05T19:13:00.000-07:00

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

It's Not Wholly Their Fault

2008-10-04T22:53:00.000-07:00

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.
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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

2008-10-04T02:51:00.000-07:00

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.