longing for eden

a new home

2007-01-20T00:20:00.000+08:00

after a long time of silence, here it is...

the eden has moved to the dreamworld.

~~~

moving on...

2006-12-04T22:36:00.000+08:00

there's this song that keeps playing in my head. i haven't memorized the whole of it yet, but i'm putting the lyrics here.

The Scientist
by Coldplay

Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry
You don't know how lovely you are
I had to find you, tell you I need you
Tell you I set you apart
Tell me your secrets, and ask me your questions
Oh let's go back to the start
Running in circles, coming up tails
Heads on a silence apart

Nobody said it was easy
Oh it's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said that it would be this hard
Oh take me back to the start

I was just guessing at numbers and figures
Pulling your puzzles apart
Questions of science, science and progress
Do not speak as loud as my heart
Tell me you love me, come back and haunt me
Oh and I rush to the start
Running in circles, chasing our tails
Coming back as we are

Nobody said it was easy
Oh its such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be so hard
Im going back to the start

Call me a latebloomer, but I just came to appreciate Coldplay recently. I had the chance to watch this film called "Wicker Park" last sem break, and the song above was part of the movie's soundtrack. The song was played at the very crucial moment that the guy and the girl - who had been kept apart by 'selfish forces' for soooo... long - finally met once more. They, or at least the guy, had this intense longing to meet her again, especially since they had been separated in a very cruel way. Somehow when you watch the movie you see how hard it is to wait and wait and wait without any assurance from the one you're waiting for. I don't actually know if the guy waited for the girl. But even if not stated outright, you somehow knew that he was still longing for the girl who seemed to have vanished in thin air, and that he was still waiting for the day when they could meet and talk again.

But the reason why I'm posting this and pondering upon this movie and this song is because I've decided to go back to the start, that is to say, to move on to another blog. Ain't it weird that I had to rant about Coldplay and Wicker Park before getting to my point? But I think you should also go back to the start, that is, the title, and so we can laugh about this weird play of words. Haha! English majors rule! :P

And so, dear Reader, thank you for taking the time to read my memories, my rantings, my blunders, and loooonnnnnggggg lists. *wink wink* This shall not be a sad parting because it will be just be another leap toward something better (hopefully...) A very wise mentor of mine once wrote to me: "...and remember that it's not what happens to you, but inside of you." I don't know if anything has changed inside of me during the past two years, but I'm deciding (and convincing myself) that it's time to change. It's time to dislodge some stuff which aren't really nice. These days, I'm praying how to become nicer to people. I'm choosing my friends over myself... whew! Nasabi ko rin. That was difficult to say and admit. But I hope that you pray for me in this. You know how terrible I am at relationships. :P

And lastly, let me just paraphrase what the Wind-Listener told me when my emotional levels went high again and I couldn't stop myself from crying: "You just love others no matter how hard and painful it is. Jesus loved us without seeing what He could have had in return. If someone loves you back, then look at it as a reward." Thank you, Wind-Listener. I wish there were more people like you...even if you say that there'd be chaos if that were the case. You listen very well and you give wise advice. And you made me remember something very crucial, something I knew the moment I accepted Christ into my life, but which I occasionally forget: to be able to love is a reward in itself, because we wouldn't be able to love if God had not loved us first.

i'm coming back to the start...

~~~

announcement

2006-12-01T22:42:00.000+08:00

the postpins link is no longer working. i just noticed now. apparently, somebody already got the url postpins.blogspot.com which is why i'm confessing now that i had changed the url for my poems blog a long long time ago. hehe... sorry... can't tell you where it is.

---

sad song

2006-11-30T00:08:00.000+08:00

someone sang this song to me a long long time ago. we were on the hospital fire exit, looking down at the empty street below.
i only understood him now.
i'm afraid i'll have to sing this too...

Diary
Bread

I found her diary underneath a tree.
And started reading about me
The words she'd written took me by surpise
You'd never read them in her eyes.
They said that she had found the love she'd waited for.
Wouldn't you know it, she wouldn't show it.

Then she confronted with the writing there,
Simply pretended not to care.
I passed it off as just in keeping with
Her total disconcerting air
And though she tried to hide
The love that she denied,
Wouldn't you know it, she wouldn't show it.

And as I go through my life, I will give to her, my wife
All the sweet things I can find.

I found her diary underneath a tree.
And started reading about me.
The words began to stick and tears to fall.
Her meaning now was clear to see.
The love she'd waited for was someone else not me
Wouldn't you know it, she wouldn't show it.

And as I go through my life, I will wish for her, his wife
All the sweet things she can find
All the sweet things they can find

.

sigh..

2006-11-29T23:46:00.000+08:00

hmmm... i've been thinking a lot. and somehow i don't like what's happening with my life. with myself in particular. i don't exactly know why. somehow i want to escape from these big circles where i belong. because most of the time i don't feel that i belong. and somehow whenever i feel this feeling, it gives me the sense that i'm being irrational. some have asked me why i feel this way. some have asked for concrete instances in which i have been made to feel out of place. and actually and honestly, my answer to these questions is "i don't know." i don't know what has brought me all these feelings. but i'm sure they're not self-induced. and they're not there just because i feel like feeling them. i don't like feeling these feelings at all.

~~~
i've been keeping in touch with some of my high school classmates. i dreamt of some of them once. that dream made me realize how out-of-the-circle i'd been back then. i never really had close friends.

~~~

for cl 111

2006-11-28T12:36:00.000+08:00

Character and Theme Analysis of Guy de Maupassant’s “The Necklace”

Character Analysis of Madame Loisel
Madame Loisel was an unhappy woman. She wanted more than what she already had. Somehow she knew or she thought that she was made for better things. She was born into a family of artisans. This meant that although she was very pretty and charming, she could never be married to a wealthy man and she could never afford the luxuries she had often dreamt of. She was married to a clerk from the Ministry of Education. She lived in a shabby apartment in (very aptly!) Rue des Martyrs. She did not have any exquisite gowns or expensive jewels, which was why when her husband got them an invitation to a ball from the Minister of Education, she felt disheartened all the more because she had nothing to wear. Monsieur Loisel was earning just enough money for the two of them, and by the happy tone of Monsieur Loisel when he saw that their dinner was Scotch broth, they seemed to have an average household—not too rich but not too poor either. Nevertheless, Madame Loisel was still dissatisfied with these apparently satisfactory conditions. Her “feminine heart” longed “to charm, to be desired to be wildly attractive and sought after.” Curiously, this longing is juxtaposed with the longing for the “only things she loved”—clothes and jewels—which she felt were made for her. This dissatisfaction was further emphasized when days before the ball, she already had a beautiful dress (thanks to Monsieur Loisel who yielded the 400 francs he was saving for a gun), yet she was still unhappy because she did not have any jewel to wear with her dress. This led her, under her husband’s suggestion, to borrow the diamond necklace which would later cause her and her husband more misery.
The diamond necklace which Madame Loisel wore to the party made her very beautiful and very much sought after. Curiously, there is no mention of any reaction from Monsieur Loisel when the male guests and the important people wanted to know Madame Loisel’s name and waltz with her. The complication came when Madame Loisel lost the necklace when they got back to their somber apartment. They had to look for a replacement which cost them 36, 000 francs. It took them ten years to pay off all the debts and the interests, and after such time, Madame Loisel had become old, unattractive and rough. She had learned how to work hard, how to do the chores without the maid around, how to save up every penny, and how to be contented with the garret where they moved into. Although she was then poorer, she had become less demanding, and she somehow lost her longing for jewels, clothes and luxurious stuff.
I think it was no whim for the author to choose the Ministry of Education for Monsieur Loisel’s occupation, because after all Madame Loisel learned a lot from her experience. Monsieur Loisel somehow served as a contrast to Madame Loisel. When she was dissatisfied with the average lifestyle that they had, he was very much contented. When he announced joyfully that he got an invitation for them, she cried. When she lost the necklace and just sat motionless and unable to do anything, he went out to look for the necklace for her. He also looked for money everywhere just to find a way to replace the diamonds. At a glance, he seemed to love his wife very much, especially since he was the type of guy who would be “broken-hearted” upon seeing his wife cry, who would give up 400 francs just for his wife’s dress, and who would not mind if so many guys were attracted to her. But somehow, they also fall into stereotypes. He was the doer and the rational. She was the whiner and the emotional. Somehow, Madame Loisel’s character was intensified because of this martyr-like characterization of her husband. But also, the experience itself had caused her character to change. She changed upon having experienced poverty, ironically for nothing more than an imitation.
Theme Analysis
I think one theme of the story is the fact that individuals are always dissatisfied with what they have. Somehow they always want more, and with this longing for something more, they create a certain emptiness within them. They strive to fill in this emptiness with material things. Underlying this emptiness though is the reality that they are just longing to be accepted and to be loved. Somehow they think that this acceptance and love will, in the end, make them happy.
Another theme of the story would be the fact that life is ironic. “How strange life is, how fickle! How little is needed to ruin or to save!” Madame Loisel thought. And indeed, the little diamond necklace had caused her a fleeting moment of victory and then led her to a ten-year life of poverty. The little actions that an individual does everyday can lead to bigger consequences in the long run. If Madame Loisel had told the truth to Madame Forestier in the first place, she would not have had to experience poverty. But then, she somehow had to experience poverty to know how silly she had been. It is not really wealth or a good marriage or a good name which makes a person respectable. What makes a person respectable is the honesty and the courage to accept what he or she is and be contented with what he or she has. Nevertheless, this is no reason for one not to strive to be the best that he or she can be. This striving though does not mean one should pretend to be other than what he or she is.

snippets

2006-11-27T00:29:00.000+08:00

"Love is not love 'til you give it away... wait a year or two."
-Maria in Repertory's The Sound of Music

~~~
Extra Latino Penguin: "You have such a very big ego, you know."
Ramon (Latino Penguin, Robin Williams): "Wait, wait! I hear the people wanting something..."
Silence.
Ramon: "ME!!!"
-Happy Feet

~~~
A thought upon observing my brother's courting cycles:
Not all guys are visual... but I hope there are more of them.
-me, of course

~~~

poring again...

2006-11-24T23:38:00.000+08:00

someone who's signing off had this song on her blog...
i was looking at his photograph and thinking about surrender.
suddenly, i cried.

i hate good-bye's...

The Valley Song
by Jars of Clay

You have lead me to the sadness
I have carried this pain
All my back bruised and nearly broken
I'm crying out to You

I will sing of Your mercy
That leads me through valleys of sorrow
To rivers of joy

When death like a gypsy
Comes to steal what I love
I will still look to the heavens
I will still seek your face

But I fear you aren't listening
Because there are no words
Just the stillness and the hunger
For a faith that is yours

I will sing of Your mercy
That leads me through valleys of sorrow
To rivers of joy

Alleluia, alleluia
Alleluia, alleluia

While we wait for rescue
With our eyes tightly shut
Face to the ground using our hands
To cover the fatal cut

Though the pain is an ocean
Tossing us around, around, around
You have calmed greater waters
Higher mountains have come down

,

sad fact

2006-11-24T00:36:00.000+08:00

One cool evening, on the Yakal front steps...
Kuya Jaydee jokes. Razel laughs.
Neutrino jokes. Wind-Listener and Razel laugh.
Neutrino tries to make somebody laugh but he can't.
Wind-Listener zeroes in on Razel.

Wind-Listener: O, si Razel naman patawanin ninyo?

Neutrino: Ayoko. Walang challenge si Razel!

Razel: Ha?... I'm low?

Wind-Listener: Aha-ha-ha-ha!

Razel: Hahahahaha!

Neutrino gives an I-told-you-so look.

+P

irony

2006-11-24T00:23:00.000+08:00

My teacher in Indian philosophy had these to say:

"India is a holy land. It was Moses's wish to die there. Even Jesus went there, according to the Gnostic gospels. You know the Gnostic gospels? The ones mentioned in the Da Vinci Code?"

"The best way to learn Indian philosophy is to go to India. The second best way is to learn from somebody who has been there... I've been to India... and it's a very holy land."

"You know the Pentecostals?... They're a new brand of Christianity. They speak in tongues. This speaking in tongues is somehow a form of yoga. They sing and they dance wildly, as if they are in a frenzy. And after the whole ordeal, they exclaim that they have been raped by the Holy Spirit. Go see the Pentecostals and witness the stupidity of your fellow human beings."

...

global update

2006-11-21T23:47:00.000+08:00

I really have nothing important to say today.

Miss Sanchez used another Biblical metaphor a while ago. She said that she'd like to call "revenge" a "double-edged sword" because as you hurt other people, you also hurt yourself. We were talking about a short story entitled "The Cask of Amontillado" by Edgar Allan Poe, and its main theme was revenge. So that's that.

On another part of my own globe, the weather is slightly hazy. Some people have been relating their love lives to me lately. And it feels weird. But it's okay. It's nice hearing people talk about love... instead of hearing myself talking about the said topic... for a change.

Personally I don't want to talk about LCM (love, connotations, misconceptions) at this point. I don't want to remember details of past romantic relationships or hurts or even dreams. It really relieves the soul to talk about your heart and its condition. But somehow at this point, I'd like to keep things private. I just want things to be between me and God.

But of course, loads - as in LOADS of people - know about me and my wretched love life. Sad fact. But well, thanks for those who have the patience to listen... or read.

On another island in my tiny globe, the weather is sunny and sparkly and happy. I have recently prayed for a disciple. And voila! God gave me two. We'll be starting our sessions next Wednesday. I'm not sure what to do really. But somehow I know God will give me equipment with detailed instruction manuals.

And still on another side of my globe, the weather is gloomy. I have been thinking lately about my relationships with people. And I have come to the conclusion that I really hate being ignored and I'd rather be hurt than be ignored. What exactly do I mean by this? I'm not entirely sure myself. But maybe you could read this in this context: to be in a relationship - even in a friendly one - entails a lot of sacrifice. You can get hurt. And the deeper the relationship goes, the greater the hurt that may be inflicted. However, to have these deep relationships is rewarding. Despite the pain, you know that you've given a part of you to that person. That in itself is fulfilling for me.

But then again, somehow nobody's willing to accept this part of me that I'm offering. What I need the most now is a friend. Not a boyfriend. Not a best friend. Just a friend.

.

structuralism and Miss Sanchez

2006-11-17T22:23:00.000+08:00

The first class that I've come to like this semester is CL 111 or The Short Story. Supposedly, The Sir Butch Dalisay is our teacher. But he is in the States at present, which is why, Miss Anna Sanchez (spelling check!) is filling in for him. The first things that she told us in class were: "I'm a fan of Sir Dalisay" and "I'd enliken my filling in for him to that of John the Baptist's preparing the way for Jesus Christ." Weird no?

But I like the way Miss Sanchez teaches in an objective way, very much different from the way my past teachers have taught their classes. Most of the CL teachers have biases. Most of them are Marxists and well, you just have to live with them. Otherwise, you'd be battling against a tsunami of some sorts. This is to say that living with them is not the same as agreeing with them.

Anyway, the first thing that we talked about in class is the short story as a structure. This means that the short story, just like any other genre of literature, has a framework or a pattern. It has parts and elements. You know, the plot, the characters, the theme, the symbolism, etc. etc. What amazed me much was this anti-structuralist opinion that as a structure, the short story loses its human-ness. I read through my year-old readings on the structuralist theory. And strangely, there were many notes on anti-structuralism on the structuralism pages. Weird.

Since I didn't get to give my opinion in class, I'd just state it here: I think that giving a literary piece some sort of structure doesn't make it less human. After all, the structure is made by humans. What makes the piece less human is when the author becomes more concerned with the mechanisms underlying the story than with the story itself. As with our everyday dealings, if we focus more on the 'work' and lose sight of 'why' we do the work, we become somewhat mechanical. I don't know if you're getting my point.

.

emptying boxes

2006-11-16T23:54:00.000+08:00

Recently, I erased someone's cellphone number from my phonebook. I didn't have a grudge against him. I didn't hate him or whatsoever. On the contrary, I liked him too much that I was afraid of what I felt for him. No, I don't think it was love. It wasn't as dreadful as obsession either. Perhaps it was the perilous and mischievous feeling of infatuation that I felt for him.

I don't know if you've ever been familiar with the feeling of infatuation, dear reader. But let me just tell you the things that I do whenever I'm infatuated. I wait for his text message or his call at each break time that I get. I look through his profile in Friendster. No, I don't doodle his name at the back of my notebook. But I doodle his name at the back of my mind. Sometimes, strangely, I don't hear the professor talk about the holiness and magnificence and spirituality of India or the oppression and the subjugation of the female species according to the feminists. All I hear is his name echoing inside my head. Sometimes also, before I go to bed, I imagine him. What must he be doing? What were the things that we did? Why'd he look at me like that when we were walking around the acad oval? I daydream about him and me talking about student life, Manila life, love life. I picture myself and him laughing and joking around until we get tired of the trivial stuff and start talking about the things that matter: Christianity, faith, rebirth, destiny… love… Yes, my thoughts about him become corny and cheesy sometimes.

I liked him this much perhaps because he was the type of guy who would gladly adore women. Perhaps he fed my ego so much. He was a gentleman, of course. He opened the door for you, carried your bag (no matter how small it was), walked you to your dorm, and walked on the danger side of the street. He went to wherever you were each time you texted him to come. He listened to you rant about how difficult it was to fall in line during the enrollment. He listened to you rant about the guys in your life, those in the three boxes labeled 'like,' 'in love' and 'love.' You wondered if he ever thought of himself in any of those boxes. You wondered if he would like to be in any of those boxes of yours. He liked listening to your whims. He liked listening to you laugh and making you laugh. He loved being around you and just enjoying your company. And somehow, when you were around him, you felt 'loved.'

I became afraid of this infatuation. I liked him but I didn’t want to like him this much. It would be selfish if I continued with this 'ego trip' especially since he wasn’t a Christian. I liked him so much that I had to let him go. I had to erase his phone number in order to avoid banking on him for comfort. He didn't know how tempting it was to text him and tell him how depressed I had been for the past few days. He didn't know that I wanted to talk to him about my struggles with God: how at times I felt cheated and neglected, how I felt out of place, how I felt like I wasn't growing spiritually at all, how I felt as though nobody trusted in me, how I felt alone… He didn't know how much I yearned for someone to listen to me like he did. He didn't know how much I wanted to feel 'loved.'

But anyway, he wouldn't understand much of my rantings. Perhaps God wanted me to rely on Him for comfort. He was teaching me to empty the boxes and just give my heart to Him. I'm sure He knows how difficult this is. But no matter what I feel at this moment, I'm sure He knows what He's doing. No matter what I feel about God moving in my life, no matter how much I rant, I'm sure He won't ever change His faithfulness, His love.

God, the boxes are empty. Please fill them with YOU.

,

emptying boxes

2006-11-16T22:37:00.000+08:00

Recently, I erased someone's cellphone number from my phonebook. I didn't have a grudge against him. I didn't hate him or whatsoever. On the contrary, I liked him too much that I was afraid of what I felt for him. No, I don't think it was love. It wasn't as dreadful as obsession either. Perhaps it was the perilous and mischievous feeling of infatuation that I felt for him.

I don't know if you've ever been familiar with the feeling of infatuation, dear reader. But let me just tell you the things that I do whenever I'm infatuated. I wait for his text message or his call at each break time that I get. I look through his profile in Friendster. No, I don't doodle his name at the back of my notebook. But I doodle his name at the back of my mind. Sometimes, strangely, I don't hear the professor talk about the holiness and magnificence and spirituality of India or the oppression and the subjugation of the female species according to the feminists. All I hear is his name echoing inside my head. Sometimes also, before I go to bed, I imagine him. What must he be doing? What were the things that we did? Why'd he look at me like that when we were walking around the acad oval? I daydream about him and me talking about student life, Manila life, love life. I picture myself and him laughing and joking around until we get tired of the trivial stuff and start talking about the things that matter: Christianity, faith, rebirth, destiny… love… Yes, my thoughts about him become corny and cheesy sometimes.

I liked him this much perhaps because he was the type of guy who would gladly adore women. Perhaps he fed my ego so much. He was a gentleman, of course. He opened the door for you, carried your bag (no matter how small it was), walked you to your dorm, and walked on the danger side of the street. He went to wherever you were each time you texted him to come. He listened to you rant about how difficult it was to fall in line during the enrollment. He listened to you rant about the guys in your life, those in the three boxes labeled 'like,' 'in love' and 'love.' You wondered if he ever thought of himself in any of those boxes. You wondered if he would like to be in any of those boxes of yours. He liked listening to your whims. He liked listening to you laugh and making you laugh. He loved being around you and just enjoying your company. And somehow, when you were around him, you felt 'loved.'

I became afraid of this infatuation. I liked him but I didn’t want to like him this much. It would be selfish if I continued with this 'ego trip' especially since he wasn’t a Christian. I liked him so much that I had to let him go. I had to erase his phone number in order to avoid banking on him for comfort. He didn't know how tempting it was to text him and tell him how depressed I had been for the past few days. He didn't know that I wanted to talk to him about my struggles with God: how at times I felt cheated and neglected, how I felt out of place, how I felt like I wasn't growing spiritually at all, how I felt as though nobody trusted in me, how I felt alone… He didn't know how much I yearned for someone to listen to me like he did. He didn't know how much I wanted to feel 'loved.'

But anyway, he wouldn't understand much of my rantings. Perhaps God wanted me to rely on him for comfort. He was teaching me to empty the boxes and just give my heart to Him. I'm sure He knows how difficult this is. But no matter what I feel at this moment, I'm sure He knows what He's doing. No matter what I feel about God moving in my life, no matter how much I rant, I'm sure He won't ever change His faithfulness, His love.

God, the boxes are empty. Please fill them with YOU.

,

senti mode

2006-11-16T00:25:00.000+08:00

Sometimes I feel that people are afraid to get close to me because they're afraid to hurt me. Someone actually told me a few days ago that I was so fragile it was difficult to be near me. But you know, I'd rather be hurt than be ignored.

In the same way, I'm afraid of hurting people. That's why I'm also afraid to get close to them. These complications are what I'll call "the perils of intimacy."

I just finished tidying up my part of our room. I'm exhausted… not so much because of the heavy box of readings or the dusty shelves and the piles of books but because of these thoughts which have fluttered into my head.

Hayyy… I'd rather be hurt than be ignored.

,

complicated post

2006-11-16T00:18:00.000+08:00

november 13, 2006

Things could get so complicated sometimes. So complicated that as I write this entry, I don't even know where to begin or if I really want to begin. Actually I just want to sleep not really because I feel tired but because my bed is so inviting. I just came from the DCF camp in Laguna. We got home late (it's 1 am already!) because we got caught in a traffic jam somewhere in Los Banos.

I tried studying for my Japanese literature assignment while waiting for any sign of vehicular movement, but I found that I couldn't. Aside from the noise, these thoughts kept on bothering me. I kept on thinking about what's going to happen in the next few months. What's the deal with the guy who wanted to become a priest? What's going to happen to my INC grade? What should I do with Hazeru, my seatmate in the bus, because she felt nauseous? What should I do with the bruise I got from the camp? (I jumped from the upper bunk of the double deck I slept on and got the three-inch mark on my left arm.) What's going to happen after college?

I think I'm becoming paranoid.

Much as I don't want to worry about guys, there's always some guy in the picture. And I really hope this cycle stops. I want to concentrate on my studies. But if my 'emotion syndrome' regarding guys doesn't stop, I just hope that I'll get used to this nonsense and move on with my life as if they are just ordinary occurrences from which I can learn something.

To the Wind-Listener, in case you were wondering, I like Tita as much as I like the other two in the second box. But I think I won't commit to a guy who is not a Christian in the first place. Please bear with my 'temporary admiration(s).' I rant, yes, but pretty soon the admiration goes away.

I just want to be happy sometimes. But I think I'd choose to be joyful… even if it's difficult.

meeting and letting go

2006-11-08T20:29:00.000+08:00

i just realized that i talk too much about my lovesickness in this blog. oh well! who cares anyway? =P

last sembreak, the loneliness of this life somehow overwhelmed me. i mean, it really is so lonely out here. when all you want is comfort, you get a lecture. when all you want is friendship, you get indifference. it has been so tempting to break the rules and go beyond the bounds just so i can get a taste of that 'happiness' that some people who really don't care about 'religion' and 'faith' and 'belief' seem to experience.

then i met this former schoolmate who had wanted to become a priest when we were still in high school. we met in our high school reunion and somehow we seemed to have formed a connection. i mean, we understood each other's language and began to form our own. we both scowled at the people at the reunion who looked like they were dressed up for a party when there actually was none. we both found it ironic that the theme of the 'celebration' was the school's "transformative education" when the people somehow got worse after high school. we never ran out of things to talk and laugh about.

the reunion was the usual drab 'program-style celebration' we had in high school, organized by the pious sisters and teachers. the big surprise was the 'gay federation.' the gays were all dressed up in seductive tube tops and mini-skirts. i even mistook one for a real girl who was 'just big.' back in high school, the pious sisters and teachers would have sent those gays out. but of course, they didn't. there was this 'prayer service' (part of the program) in which we had to light these pencil-thin white candles and face the north, south, east and west. and each time we faced some direction, it was a symbol of something like "our continuing faithfulness to the Lord and our growth as we venture into our own destinies" yadida-yadida. of course, each student there snickered like a hyena at each statement of "we face the north as a symbol of yadida-yadida..." back in high school, our principal would have flared up when this happened. she would get mad at the slightest squeak. but at that moment, not a word escaped her lips. after all, they needed this reunion to (hehe...) raise funds.

so anyway, i became an errand girl for the teachers once again. and i was tired afterwards that i had to sit down on a bench (that wasn't there yet when i was still in high school) under a tree. actually, the guy who wanted to become a priest made me sit down. and he sat beside me. and that's when we began to talk. the conversation went like this:

him: kumusta na?

me: okay lang naman... pagod... ikaw?

him: ayos lang! takbo ka kasi nang takbo. magpahinga ka naman.

me: oo nga eh... hehe! kumusta ang uste?

him: nasa adamson na ako eh.

me: ha? bakit?

him: kasi may mga units akong hindi naipasa (he goes on to explain the complicated process)... eh, ikaw?

me: ako? nakakapagod ang UP. gusto ko nga sanang magpahinga eh kaso itong reunion kasi... hindi ako actually pupunta dito kaso gusto kong tulungan si Rachel (student organizer) sa pag-aayos nitong reunion. kinakawawa kasi siya ng mga teachers eh.

him: oo nga! lagi siyang nauutusan...

etc. etc. etc.

what surprised me about this conversation was how easily we got to talk. there was not much inhibition. there are only a few people in this world that i can talk to this way. and it's surprising that he's one of them. at that moment, i felt my loneliness flutter and go by and evaporate. i felt happy being with him. to use the words of Gabe in "Little Manhattan," i've never felt so alive!

but about ten o'clock in the evening, my brother who was also in the reunion came to tell me that our 'sundo' was already waiting outside the gate. the guy who wanted to become a priest asked me to stay for a while please please please... i thought for a moment before standing up and saying good-bye, i shall see you later.

what he didn't know was that i had wanted to stay. stay as long as i could stay awake and talk. i had wanted to talk some more. dig deeper into details. know what's the reason why i was so happy with this guy. i had wanted to sit there beside him for like forever.

but i had to go home. a few days later, i also had to refuse his offer that we went back to Manila together. it's hard doing these things. it's like letting go of happiness and choosing something else... or it's more like giving up your happiness but you really don't know why but somehow you know you have to... it's really complicated.

still, i hope i had managed to tell him by my actions that i enjoyed talking with him and that if i had no other alternative, i would have chosen to stay.

.

handsome guy

2006-10-21T00:01:00.001+08:00

i sat beside a handsome guy a while ago (or rather, he sat beside me), on the air-conditioned bus on my way home from Sucat. he had a goatee and had a rugged sort of handsome-ness which went really nice with his neat striped polo. it was actually quite paradoxical, like seeing a rocker sort of dude wearing a crisp suit (?). weird, but since the guy had a nice angular but boyish face, it looked good on him. the guy didn't have long hair by the way. just the normal length of hair for guys. but you wouldn't say it was a neat cut. he was carrying a black foldable umbrella and a black bag whose shape (and the way it's supposed to be carried) looked oddly familiar. he just looked...hmmm... cool. and all the time, we were watching the TV on the bus. he didn't look at me... it's understandable.

earlier, i had attended the rehearsals of the ICA Community Orchestra. that was the last practice that we had for this semester. i was actually surprised that these kids from the orchestra had a sem break just like college students. in my school, they only instituted the sem break rule when i graduated. my school hated me that much, joke! i was also surprised by the fact that the Baton-holder (and may he forgive me for naming him as such) was unusually nice. it's not that he isn't nice. of course, he is nice. he was just extra nice this afternoon. i bet he didn't notice! he kept on making everybody laugh. Astro Boy, one of the Second Violins, looked like he was enjoying the time (and himself). quite contrary to his usual grumbling and complaining countenance. the Third Violins "Club" were having mistakes as usual (like everybody else, only more pronounced) but they somehow were not that dreadful (as in nakakaiinis or naiinis dreadful!) i noticed that they were more, hmm, let's say, humble. humble (or humbled) in the sense that they didn't get all scared and defended their tiny selves (maybe except for one little boy); they just admitted they had mistakes. but, well, they'd never admit that they had not practiced. considering that the rehearsals were actually part of an exam, everybody was just happy. and excited actually! none of that 'oh no, practice again!' mood that had been prevalent some fridays ago. and oh! Jes, one of the cellists taught me some stuff about the cello!!! i think the Baton-holder's mood had some effect on everybody's mood. and i'm not fawning or something. considering that you're in front and everyone else is looking at you, who wouldn't be affected by what you do or say?...is it because it's sem break already? or is it because of some unknown ICA thing that i, an outsider per se, wouldn't know?...squirt, squirt!?

after the rehearsals, i stayed behind to listen to the Baton-holder and Sir Carlo, a funny classical guitarist, practice some Irish piece. it was an uber fast piece. but it starts real slow. and it doesn't sound Irish at first. (i wish we'd play some Irish piece in the orchestra, heeehheeee!!! joke! i don't think we'll manage.)because the room was closed and air-conditioned, it felt like listening to a CD. i liked the combination of the violin and the classical guitar by the way. i think that's how a guitar and a violin should sound like. i say this because somehow i couldn't get along with some guitar players when i play the violin. it's only in some weird instances when we do get along. but let's not talk about that.

i went home alone, oblivious to the fact that i would be seeing Kuya Derf in Mercury Drugstore when i go to buy boxes for my packing. i bought Kuya Derf some pistachio ice cream. then we saw Ate Vinz, then Ate Patty, then Kuya Arbie. we took a cab back to Yakal. i didn't also know that i would be seeing the Wind-Listener prowling the grounds of my beloved dorm, scattering his wind-talk. and well, i just had to tell him that i dreamt about someone. i've already had four dreams about this person. the dream's not really very significant. but whenever i tell it to the Wind-Listener, i tend to sound like it was something significant... so maybe it is significant?... nah! no! no! it's not. since the Wind-Listener was with his sons, they just had to show me how normal it was to bite each other and carry each other around like sacks of rice and tickle each other and do all sorts of sumo wrestling plus the sumo laughs. they also had to show me that they've memorized the 100 stuff about them that i have observed. tsk,tsk! guys...

the handsome guy got off at Mantrade. my stop was in Magallanes. i watched him go down the bus. i watched him walking outside my dark window. i was thinking, 'oh well! there goes another attractive anonymous creature...' when the bus stopped and announced that we were in Magallanes, just a mere meter away from where the handsome guy stopped! okay, so i have no sense of direction, i admit that. and i easily lose my things. but this is just...grr... some figment of my stupidity: i don't even know that Mantrade and Magallanes are in the same place!

but well, i walked on, thinking about how stupid i was. and how the handsome guy would never remember my ugly face anyway...

100 things about guys (from a girl's perspective)

2006-10-19T20:23:00.000+08:00

unknown to many of the male species (except for a very privileged friend with whom i have previously disclosed this study) i've been observing guys. yup, i've been studying them. nope, i'm not a stalker. i just wanted to see their behaviour and here's what i found out. (warning: this is from a girl's perspective!!!)

1. some guys cry (even without tears)
2. some guys complain by scratching their heads
3. some guys keep quiet when they actually have something to say
4. some guys hate poems... or like the cheesy ones, for that matter
5. some guys really can't appreciate what is left unsaid... although they try to
6. some guys don't even hear words left unsaid!... or hate guessing if there are words left unsaid
7. some guys listen to the wind and hear words unsaid
8. some guys are just too talented they make you feel inadequate
9. some guys like weird colors (i.e. metallic pink or neon black)
10. some guys give immediate solutions without listening to the whole problem
11. most guys like videogames and adventure stuff
12. most guys love to eat
13. some guys actually wait
14. most guys don't understand girls
15. some guys don't know what to do when a girl is crying
16. some guys love to be listened to... at least, they look like it
17. some guys have no sense of time
18. some guys smell good
19. most guys don't want to make decisions
20. most guys hate airy philosophy and want to talk about the real tangible stuff (which means those who do are rare?)
21. some guys want to show the girl that they care but they are somehow misunderstood
22. some guys can cook really really well
23. some guys love teasing girls about their [girl's] crushes
24. some guys can't stand movies about love
25. some guys don't know when to hold an umbrella for a girl or when to carry her things or when to open the door for her
26. some guys hate being gentlemen
27. some guys pretend that they have won an argument even if they haven't
28. some guys love being outwitted by girls
29. most guys just want to laugh... even if they have loads of problems
30. most guys prefer movies to books
31. some guys love dark stuff
32. some guys don't know how to react when given gifts or compliments by a girl
33. some guys evade long serious talks
34. most guys just keep quiet when a girl is angry
35. some guys don't know if they are hurting other people already
36. some guys are just plain crazy!!!
37. most guys will always and always find means to ward off boredom
38. some guys hate walking
39. most guys will always and always find food
40. most guys don't feel awkward eating in front of girls
41. some guys don't mind telling a girl about their 'ideal' girl
42. some guys are just so shy...
43. some guys have conceited friendster pictures
44. some guys actually have combs and colognes
45. some guys use women's cologne
46. some men can be vain
47. some men can be vicious about their comments without meaning to
48. some men want to lead a group but find it disrespectful to offer a suggestion to a female leader
49. some guys daydream about girls
50. some guys feel awkward around a pretty girl but like stealing glimpses of her and hoping she'd see them too

***

guys look cute when...
51. they try their best to make you laugh
52. they make their own words and realize that they can't find their words in the dictionary
53. they admit they are wrong
54. they read books... or pretend to!
55. they smile when they know a girl is watching them play in the basketball court or something
56. they pretend that they have won an argument
57. they pass an exam and tell all people about it
58. they give a smart answer in class
59. they laugh at you
60. they smile for some unseen reason

***

guys are irritating when...
61. they feel as if they are close enough to you to hold your hand
62. they talk and talk without listening
63. they pretend to know the answers to your questions
64. they pretend to listen
65. they ask you to make their assignments
66. they pretend to know a lot
67. they make fun of you behind your back
68. they laugh at the things you find serious
69. they don't make an effort to understand you
70. they think they are superior over women

***

guys are scary when...
71. they have just lost a basketball game or something and they feel cheated
72. they don't pass an exam
73. they are jealous of another guy
74. they keep quiet without saying why
75. they don't laugh at your jokes
76. they don't listen
77. they look bored
78. they are too tired to be with you
79. they leave you without saying good-bye
80. they make you feel that they hate you

***

most guys like...
81. food
82. girls
83. videogames
84. compliments
85. challenges
86. stability
87. freedom
88. order
89. company
90. love

**

91. the bravest guys i know can make commitments
92. the toughest guys i know can cry
93. the wisest guys i know know they can commit mistakes
94. the funniest guys i know can resist making fun of others
95. the most courageous guys i know know how not to lose their tempers
96. the strongest guys i know know that they can't make it without Christ
97. the most caring guys i know can rebuke you gently
98. the most prudent men i know can choose very carefully
99. the most trustworthy men i know are those who think and who don't immediately say 'i love you'
100. the most loving men i know are those who love God more than this world (which is full of women)

.

i'm tired. i want something different to happen. but not that different!

2006-10-19T00:57:00.001+08:00

that's all.

on one of those solitary evening walks

2006-10-15T00:09:00.000+08:00

teach me how to love You
teach me how to love You more than this world

teach me to yearn for something more than what's temporary
teach me what it means to love You and obey

,

deadlines

2006-10-12T23:22:00.000+08:00

make me alive
make me suffer
make me feel...

i heard this song during the two times that i went to Oz cafe to study. alone. yes, i haven't been going with Jac to Oz lately. well, it's both for our good. me, i can only study efficiently in a place where there is no bed, no food and no friend. okay, there's food in Oz. and they're really tempting. but when i look at my wallet and see only oranges, i just go for iced coffee, which keeps me awake anyway. i just make myself content smelling the fabulous aroma of stuff in their ovens. hahaha!

***
it's been hell week for, well, weeks now. there are so many papers to finish, reports, research work. but well, that's life... or to qualify that, the U.P. student's life. let's just live it. :P

***
i made a great discovery today. Sir Butch Dalisay has a blog. yes, slow... the link has been lying around in Lance's blog for such a long time.

***
Philosophical Analysis is over. i just passed the (hopefully!) last of my requirements in the said subject this afternoon. i have not slept yet. i only had a couple of hours of nap. or i don't know, i've lost track of time. i've been doing the paper since two days ago. bad thing to postpone it really, since it was a term paper.

good-bye, Plato, Aristotle and Hobbes. i shall (not) miss you... :P

***
my wonderful brother aced his exam with the formidable Miss Yap. of course, i'm proud. hehehe! :P

***
i missed the deadline for the passing of questions for U.P. Sillag. i actually don't know when the deadline is... :(

***
kalcf sem-ender this evening. they gave us a scrapbook. i could cry now...

bye to you, too...

2006-10-12T00:32:00.000+08:00

i lost my phone by the way. i've searched for it for three days before declaring it officially 'gone.' i miss that phone. not only because it is my means to contact people. but it's because it's my father's birthday gift to me. it's one of the few things he has given me...

.

a slight glitch in history

2006-10-09T23:25:00.000+08:00

i prayed to God about this.
He answered me.
i don't know if i like the answer or not.
platypus. platypus. platypus.
i'm making a fool of myself...again...
and again and again and again...

a while ago, in my Comics class, i was surprised when this guy who rarely talked to me or who really did not talk to me at all, well, talked to me. he said,"Razel, tapos mo na ba yung paper mo kay Sir Aureus?" (he's also my classmate in Philippine Literature under Sir Aureus.) i had to look at my right-hand seatmate named "Recaredo" to make sure that the guy was indeed talking to me and to me alone. obviously Recaredo is not the same as Razel so i told him, "Opo, tapos ko na po." then he looked away.

then, coming to my senses, as if some invisible force drove me to it, as if i also needed to talk to him, i called out his name, "James..." he looked at me. then i asked him, "Ikaw? Tapos mo na ba yung paper mo?"

he said, "Hindi pa." he smiled sheepishly.

"Anong topic mo?"

"Comics!" he laughed at his own topic. i laughed too. clever.

"Astig ng topic mo ah!"

he laughed again. then we looked away from each other.

you couldn't say that my heart was beating fast or that i was blushing. none of that mushy crappy stuff. i was actually really surprised. although surprised is an understatement. dumbfounded was more like it. the moment was just so fleeting and so fast that it did not sink into me until after a few minutes when i realized, James and I talked. as in James and I talked to each other. let me repeat that again, James and I talked to each other...it's like a mantra... we talked... to each other...

the sad thing is, somehow it was difficult to keep this dumbfounded feeling. and the really really ironic thing is the Bible was involved. platypus talaga! you see, i managed to share the Gospel to 'the medium' (the one who went between me and the guy named James before). and that afternoon, i gave the medium an NLT Bible. i said that i was going to show him a very nice verse found in the book of James. yes, the book of James. and i thoughtlessly said, "I like James." the medium looked at me with his big malicious eyes. i don't know if my eyes deceived me or not (because i was still looking at the Bible) but i think i also saw James look at me. so i immediately said, "I mean the Book of James." and yuck, i blushed. okay, laugh.

the medium and i usually walked together after the Comics class from our classroom in Palma Hall to the Faculty Center where we separated. as i got out of the room, the guy named James also happened to be going out of the classroom. i said good-bye, told him that his topic was 'astig,' then good-bye again. whew... grace under pressure.

i told the medium that the NLT Bible was the easiest to read. then thoughtlessly, i said again, "But I like the King James Bible best."

then the medium said, "Kung kelan last day na, dun lang di natatago." platypus talaga!

anyway, it was an amazing day. i once prayed to God some weeks ago that if it was His will for me to be friends with the guy named James, then, so be it. but i also told God that i won't be the one to initiate any conversation with him. but if he did, i'll take that as an affirmation. well, the guy named James talked to me. hmmm... it makes me wonder, how am i supposed to become friends with him when we talk only on the last day?... platypus...

but thanks for the answer, God. i am humbled once again.

song of an oppressed people

2006-10-09T00:27:00.000+08:00

Opampogyakyena shinoshinonkarints
Sadness is looking at me

opampogyakyena shinoshinonkarintsi
sadness is looking at me

ogakyena kabako shinoshinonkarintsi
sadness is looking hard at me

ogakyena kabako shinoshinonkarintsi
sadness is looking hard at me

okisabintsatana shinoshinonkarintsi
sadness troubles me very much

okisabintsatana shinoshinonkarintsi
sadness troubles me very much

amakyena tampia tampia tampia
air, wind has brought me

ogaratinganaa tampia tampia
air has borne me away

okisabintsatana shinoshinonkarintsi
sadness troubles me very much

okisabintsatana shinoshinonkarintsi
sadness troubles me very much

amaanatyomba tampia tampia
air, wind has brought me

onkisabintsatenatyo shinonka
sadness troubles me very much

shinoshinonkarintsi
sadness

amakyena popyenti pogyentima pogyenti
the little worm, the little worm has brought me

tampia tampia tampia
air, wind, air

I just had to write this. Blockmate Betsy and I will be reporting on Mario Vargas Llosa's "The Storyteller" in our Latin American Literature class. "The Storyteller" is a novel which encapsulates the oppression done against the Machiguenga tribe in Peru. I bet you haven't even heard of them! I just did research on them. The Machiguenga have a long history of oppression. What the novel focuses on is how these people value 'serenity' so much that their countenance has become so passive and fatalist. They have been so subdued by their neighboring tribes and the Viracochas (the foreigners, mostly Spanish) that they have become so scattered and so withdrawn. They are even afraid of a mere sneeze! There are many Machiguenga on both banks of the Urubamba River in Peru. They always keep on transferring from one place to another. They have this belief that if they don't move, the sun will go down on them and they will die. What a sad life that must be...

thanks, God. i am humbled.

2006-10-06T22:51:00.000+08:00

amazing day today.

Jac went with me to the orchestra rehearsals in ICA. it's my first time to be caught in traffic jamsssss--from the Pantranco jeep to the Sucat bus to the jeep going to Fourth Estate. there's even a traffic of people in the elevator going up to the MRT in Quezon Avenue station. but anyway, we took the stairs. and i realized why people opted to fall in line.

by the way, it's my first time to see the Baton-holder disappointed... very much...

i got back my score in Sir Aureus's exam (Philippine Literature I). i got a +14 because this one part which i didn't review (because Sir didn't tell us to review it in the first place) became a bonus part, thanks to Blockmate Betsy. all of us got wrong answers in that part, i think. my Japanese classmate, Taiko (who is a girl by the way) is uber coooollll!!! she recited the whole fourteen stanzas of "Mi Ultimo Adios" in perfect Spanish. as in Spanish!

my and Jac's topics for our term paper with Sir Tangco (Political Philosophy) got approved just today. i'll be digging up notions of legitimacy from Plato, Aristotle and Thomas Hobbes (who are fast becoming my 'best friends'). Jac will be doing poverty and inequality. i was actually surprised because Jac and i were the last ones to submit our topics.

hmmm... what else? Blockmate Betsy kept throwing me nasty looks a while ago when the Unclear dude (who is mentioned somewhere else in this blog) almost always happened to be where we were. like when we were buying those anemic snow cones, he was there. and when we went to Katag, the Gloria's in the Faculty Center, he was also there... with his friends.

our petition for a major course (Japanese literature) already got approved and the schedule fit into my desired schedule. we only need five more people for the Research (Thesis Part I) petition to be approved.

more papers. but i'm still blogging so as to destress myself. i'm sleepy actually.

thank You, Lord. i am humbled...

melancholic me

2006-10-06T00:44:00.000+08:00

i did a terrible thing today: i cried in front of some classmates. i was just overwhelmed by the work load that's been thrown onto me. when you look at my calendar, you'd see deadlines on most of the boxes. i wrote a big "I AM SO DEAD" over all of it. i'm really really really tired. and the frustrating thing is, nobody seems to get it.

.

music from primitive times

2006-10-05T23:22:00.000+08:00

Note: "The Lost Steps" is a novel by a Latin American writer named Alejo Carpentier. It is a story of an ethnomusicologist who has been caught up in routine since he was uprooted from Latin America and was sent to live in New York. He was married to a stage actress whom he rarely saw. And he worked as an advertiser. He hated his job. One stormy night, he met the Curator, his former teacher in the university, who gave him a recording of a primitive instrument. 'This,' according to the Curator, 'was proof of his [ethnomusicologist's] theory about primitive instruments!' The ethnomusicologist got angry at this retracing of a distant memory when he still had passion for his subject in the university. And he shouted something like 'Can't you see? I'm empty! I'm empty!' Nevertheless, the Curator called the university professor and told him that the ethnomusicology dude was fit for the job of collecting the actual instrument. Here are some thoughts on art found in the novel (I hope it's not too long):

A while ago, there was this discussion on the commercialization of art and the subsequent classification of art: low art, high art, etc. I'd just post some thoughts on these and I'd focus on music.

Three semesters ago, one of my Music teachers, Sir Ramon Santos, who is an ethnomusicologist himself and who has just retired from the U.P. College of Music, said that the ethnic groups in the Philippines didn't really have a concept of "music." He said this when he was having a lecture on the Filipino tribes on the Northern highlands (Igorot, Kalinga, Apayao, etc.). He played some tapes for us. One of which was the sound of 'gangsa' (flat gongs) and chanting during the slaying of a wild boar (which was somehow creepy because it borders on the 'brutal.' You could actually hear the boar whining or screaming...) But anyway, he said that what we heard and most probably termed "music" was not music per se for them. It was probably just sounds. These sounds weren't there for mere aesthetic purposes. They weren't commissioned by some monarch or ruler just to please himself. These sounds were, in essence, part of their everyday life. I mean, when they go to the fields, the people sing a song. When they wash their clothes, they sing a song. It sounds ritualistic, but then again, most of the lyrics of their songs don't mean anything in their language at all, as opposed to, say, songs sung in the Catholic church where in a mass, there's some specific set of lyrics which should match a certain part of the liturgy. There's this ethnic song which was taught by Miss Gladys Balan, my other Music teacher in the said class with Sir Santos. And it goes: "Ilaylay, ilaylay... insinaali duma-ay. Salidumay, insinaali duma-ay" The lyrics, when translated is just "Lalalalalala."

But it's not just songs that permeate into this whole ordeal of sound-making. They also imitate the sounds of nature. As portrayed in Alejo Carpentier's novel, there was this instrument of fired clay which imitated the sound of the bird the tribesmen are supposed to catch. This imitation of sound is done before they went to hunt the bird. The sound is said to make the hunt propitious. (p.18) From these examples, we could see that the sounds they created had specific uses which were connected to their day-to-day activities.

In contrast, art has become commercialized in the sense that what is publicized is what becomes 'art.' One of the characters in the novel who had viewed the main persona's commercial said: "It's publicity that develops techniques." (p.28) Still another says: "The mosaics of Ravenna were nothing but advertising [...] All religious painting is publicity... Like certain of Bach's cantatas.... The Gott der Herr, ist Son und Schild comes from an actual slogan....The cinema is teamwork; frescoes should be done by a team; the art of the future will be the art of teamwork." (p.28) In this sense, what is advertised as art becomes art. We can see here that the society has a large bearing on what is to be known as art.

As regards the classification of high art and low art, there is this discussion we had in CL 171 with Sir Emil Flores. We were talking about comics and how it has become marginalized as a medium because of its content. When someone hears the word 'comics,' chances are he or she would normally think that it's definitely not literature and that it's just junk. Most people get surprised or even laugh at me and say "Are you kidding?" when I mention to them that I'm studying 'comics' in U.P. But then again, some artists such as Will Eisner changed this perception by creating comics which are serious in content. But what he created was called a 'graphic novel.' So there is still that stigma in the medium.

But interestingly, comics, which is dubbed 'low art,' is more popular to the masses than the 'high art.' Most people would choose to read comics rather than, say, "The Wasteland" (if I'm right in using "The Wasteland" to represent 'high art'). Chances are the masses wouldn't understand high art. And the commercial world exploits this by selling what is popular to the masses. In this sense, art is also 'commercialized.'

Now, the question is, where do you place ethnic art in all these? Ethnic art has been isolated and has been thriving since the birth of modernization. The tribes have been further and further driven to seclusion such that they have developed their own culture undisturbed. But since modernization is constantly growing, the tribes are given a smaller and smaller space. The tribes and their culture are slowly fading, which is why the persona had to retrace the lost steps. But, as mentioned, the retracing of steps is not just an academic work. It actually has become personal. It has become a retracing of his own origins.

my brother's (inaccurate!!!) portrayal of me

2006-10-04T21:24:00.000+08:00

Amoeba

I sat on the front steps of my sister’s dormitory typing a message on my K-700i. Without looking at the keypad, eyes staring blankly at the deserted street, my thumb pressed the keys rapidly finishing my message in less than ten seconds. A drawing of a yellow envelope appeared on the screen, below it were the words Message Sent.

Ate, where art thou?

Beep-beep, beep-beep.

Wait, I’m coming. (^_^)

Ok. Hurry up. It’s already 2:30.

Beep-beep, beep-beep.

I’m almost there. Wait a minute.

I was erasing her last message when a shadow hovered over me like a lost phantom in the afternoon. I looked up and saw my sister standing behind me, smiling. Her hair was tied in a bundle at the back of her head, secured by what appeared to be a chopstick. Silver beads were dangling freely from the tip of the chopstick, swishing left and right with every movement of her head. She was wearing a dress made of cotton that glowed yellow as it reflected the afternoon sun. Her bony hands were emphasized by the loose and baggy sleeves that looked like saggy skin hanging from an old woman’s arms.
At the back of my mind I remembered an old Chinese movie we used to watch as children. It was an action-packed movie about a kung-fu master known as the Iron Centipede. He was actually a Robin Hood type of hero who struggled against a corrupt clan of warriors known as the Flaming Bees. The Iron Centipede always wore a tunic with loose sleeves. Whenever he appeared in the scene, his clothes swished like a vortex, creating the sound of clothes fluttering against the wind. My sister’s dress resembled closely the Iron Centipede’s tunic.

“Was that quick or what?”

“If you call a thirty-minute delay quick, then I’ll agree with you.”

I puffed up my cheeks while my sister raised her left eyebrow threateningly. From a stranger’s point of view, we looked like rivals ready for a big fight, but actually, we did these whenever our “corny radars” sensed intruding jokes attempting to make us laugh. We struggled to control our laughter, but we ended up laughing at our distorted faces.

“Ading, what’ll you do next after you get your laptop?”

“I have no idea, but if you have other plans, we can stay there, ‘till say 5:30?—Just to avoid the rush hour?” I said.

“5:30’s fine with me. I’ll just check out some stores in Mega. It will be quick, promise, cross my heart.” My sister said while drawing an” x” mark over her chest. I smiled at her hoping that we had read the word, quick, in the same dictionary. I read mine in Oxford. I think she read hers in Chamber’s.

***

By three in the afternoon, we joined the long procession of shoppers passing the security check of SM Mega Mall. My sister joined the line for girls which was considerably shorter than our line. I was greeted by a stern-looking guard standing at the entrance, nastily clutching a metal detector in his right hand. His ears were sticking out in a peculiar manner, like that of dwarves minus the pointed tip. It gave me the impression that he was very eager to hear his detector beep. He glanced at a poster on the wall bearing the faces of the most wanted men in the Philippines, and then he shot a suspicious eye at me as if checking if I resembled any of them.
I opened my backpack and he inspected it rabidly, moving the metal detector on every corner of the bag. His detector remained silent, and when he finally realized my innocence—no bomb, no ammunition whatsoever in my bag—he allowed me inside, reluctance painted on his face. My sister was already waiting at a telephone booth when I saw her. Waving her hands furiously, she beckoned for me to move faster.

“Villman’s Computer Shop’s located in the third floor”, I told my sister while reading the address from their claiming receipt.

“I remember that. It’s even beside an art gallery. But I don’t remember whether we used this elevator or the escalator in the Department Store.” I was about to answer her when she blurted out, “Wait! Don’t talk! Memory… Memory… Don’t fail me… I remember now! We took the Department Store escalator. Ok, this way then!” She started walking towards the Department store while I trailed from behind.

“Ate, wait! I think it’s faster if we take the escalator near Celine. That will bring us directly to Villman’s.”

“Are you sure about that? But we took the Department Store’s escalator when we went for repairs, remember?”
“We did take that route but the Department Store’s so packed with people it’s difficult to move around. It took us forty minutes to reach Villman’s, remember?” I exaggerated my question to prove my point.

“If you insist…”

“I insist”, I said firmly.

My sister grinned.

***

Why did I fall for that one?

I found myself bathed in the yellow light of Celine sitting on a long wooden bench among several women stooping down, their hands on either foot, trying to fit their choice of sandals. My sister was sitting on my left tediously counting the beads on the shoe she was fitting. An apparently well-off lady embellished with golden bracelets like overweight snakes was sitting on my right. She was having a heated debate with a saleslady in peach about the sizes of shoes in the store.

“Miss”, croaked the lady in a disparaging voice, “I have always worn size seven shoes, so don’t tell me that my feet have grown without me knowing.”

“Ma’am, it happens to everyone. One moment you’re size seven, the next you’re eight. Be thankful you’re not nine”, the saleslady retorted wearing an irritated face.

“Not to ME!” said the lady firmly.

“Ading, hello? Are you still there?” my sister said, nudging me on the ribs, bringing to an end the radionovela episode I was rapturously listening to.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing”, I answered promptly, not wanting my sister to realize that I was eavesdropping.

“Ok. What do you think about these shoes? Nice, huh?”, my sister drawled. She stood up and walked back and forth in front of me, flaunting the glittering shoes.

“Er—I don’t really know. In a girl’s point of view, are they supposed to be nice?”

“Look at the beads! They glitter! Look! They’re beautiful! Tell me they are!” My sister implored, gathering her hands piously, her voice sounded desperately like a child bawling for candies.

“Hmmm.. They’re beautiful? If you say so.” I shrugged.

“Don’t you find them lovely?” She voiced, fixing her gaze on the shoes that glittered against the polished floor. She fell silent, as though entranced by the playful sparkle of light on the glistening shoes.

I felt a pang of guilt. After all, it took my sister more than an hour hovering over the racks and searching for the perfect pair that would match her taste, like Cinderella with her glass slippers—except of course, hers was an awfully beaded one.

I should have told her they were just fine, I thought, wishing I could find a way to console her.

But at least we could now leave this store, my mind’s other half argued, and my lips suddenly curled meaningfully.

“Ading?” My sister’s voice sounded hoarse. Her head rose slowly as if reluctant to detach her gaze from the floor.

Just bear in mind, the storm shall pass, I whispered to myself.

“Ading—“, she was now facing me. I couldn’t make out the expression on her face.

Is she angry? Is she sad? This is it, I crossed my fingers behind my back.

“Can I have one more hour?” My sister implored, clasping her hands again, her voice squeaking like china colliding with each other.

“Please, please, please… Just one more hour. Please.”

“But how about—“

“Please, Ading. Just one more hour?” She was leaning closer now, her eyes were half-pleading, half-demanding.

The argument’s over. Nothing’s stopping her, I thought miserably.
My neck now felt like thawing gelatin, and I found my head bobbing back and forth in an unmistakable nod.

“So much for hoping”, I sighed as I watched my sister disappear behind a cabinet of sandals.
Hands propping my heavy chest, my back created a gradient brae as I contented myself watching the saleslady in peach. Through the corners of my eyes I saw her placing a size seven sticker over a size eight while the lady with snake-like bracelets busied herself giving the store manager a free lecture on her feet size’s history.

***

“What time is it?”

“Half past five”, I said.

“Already?”

“Yes”, I answered in an it’s-about-time-you-realized sort of way.

“Can you hold this for me, Ading? My ice cream’s melting.”

“Let me have that”, I said, taking the glossy paper bag that held her sandals.

“Thank you.”

“Quick! The ice cream’s spattering on your dress.”

It was too late. Two large blotches of brown ice cream had fallen and trickled on her left sleeve. They spread rapidly, forming a horrible swastika that clashed violently with her white dress.

“That’ll leave a mark”, I said, feeling sorry for my sister’s besmirched outfit.

“Definitely”, she remarked in an unusually delighted manner, “But someone’s going to let me look for a new dress.”

“Not me.” My answer was cold.

“You guessed it right! It’s you!”

“No, I’m not allowing you. How about my laptop? It’s nearing six. We’ll go get that first.”

“You’re not allowing me?”

“Yes.”

“You are?!”

“No! I’m—not—allowing—you”, my voice sounded crisp as I emphasized each word of my statement.

Sensing my clabbered patience, my sister stood transfixed unable to speak. For a moment she appeared apologetic, then she stirred from her reticence and began using her well-coiled reverse psychology against me.

“Can you endure the humiliation your beloved sister will go through because of this stain?” She murmured, trying to sound miserable as she stretched out her left arm giving me full view of the terrible stain on her sleeve. It now resembled an amoeba with its undulating pseudo pods about to swallow food.

She opened her mouth again, and to my horror, she began her usual speech of plea accompanied by seemingly choreographed gestures. She clutched her fist, raised her head to the ceiling, straightened her arms, bowed her head and rested her clasped fingers over her heart.

“You’ll choose a laptop over your own sister? Oh! The pain! The excruciating pain! I can’t take it. My heart—“

“Ok! You win! You can look for a new dress! Just stop that terrible monologue! You’re attracting too much attention”, I blurted out, pulling my sister’s hands down to hide the gestures that were catching people’s eyes and curiosity.

“Really?” My sister purred, almost shrieking, the hint of exuberance teemed in her voice.

“Yes, Ate! Let’s get this over with as quickly as possible!”

People were still shooting glances at us; their faces wore lopsided expressions. I even heard a child tell her mother, “Mommy, when I grow up, I don’t want to be like them.”
“You better not be baby, or mommy and daddy will be extremely unhappy.”

My sister took no notice of the people. Instead, she pulled me by the elbow into another shop in psychedelic shades of pink, white and crimson. I just had enough time to make out the name of the shop—HerBench.
I wondered if I would ever see my laptop again as I watched the amoeba engulfing more of my sister’s sleeve.

Note: My brother submitted this to his cw 10 class. It's supposed to be a humor piece.

is it too early yet?

2006-09-28T01:01:00.000+08:00

'wake up, razel.
look at the real world.
you're getting old. stop complaining.
someday you'll have to listen to someone complain.
try learning to control your emotions
or better yet, surrendering your emotions to God.

shut up, razel. stop complaining.'

-told by me to me

j'ai faime?

2006-09-26T22:41:00.001+08:00

i envy Poy. whenever he's stressed out and he panics, he tends to relax. i wonder how he is able to do that. me, i really don't relax. i tend to panic some more when people tell me to relax. most of the time, the feeling begins with a simple worry, then it grows into a bigger worry, then it grows bigger and bigger and huger and more humongous until it reaches a climax. then i either break down or just slump on my bed and wish that i don't exist.

these days, i have lots to worry about. i'm making a book for my British Literary History class. i'm having my final exam on my Philippine Literature class on Friday. we were supposed to have the exam this day, but for some strange reason, Sir Aureus forgot that today was our finals day. i also have to re-read "The Sun Shines Over the Sanggan River" for my Chinese Literature class. i've read this book two summers ago. the sad but convenient thing about having the same teacher over and over again! i also have to attend a make-up class on Latin American literature tomorrow. we're still discussing the solitude-inducing "One Hundred Years of Solitude." then, there's the report on "After Eden" by Arnold Arre on my Comics class on Thursday. then, there's also the dreaded final paper for my Philosophical Analysis class. then there's the petition for Thesis next sem. hay... there's really so much to do.

but more than these, i worry over my relationships with other people. i tend to forget about them and wallow in my own misery. i have this do-or-die mentality which makes me want to think that i'm in a game of survival--much like Battle Royale. grrr...

one thing that bothers me about my relationships is that i don't trust people that easily. i tend to be critical... too critical, i guess, to the point that i build a wall that will separate me from possible friends.

i wish i were a kid again. i wish i could have this certain sense of security which allows me to trust in people no matter what the cost. but then, as one grows up, one is taught 'prudence.' and i think i had an overdose of this medicine such that it had a become a 'poison' in my dealings with people. (note: i really don't know the workings of medicine. this is just a metaphor. :P) i wish i could find the balance between trusting people and not trusting people. i wish i knew when to give my trust and how much trust i should give. but then again, trusting people is not that easy. the irony is there has to be a relationship between the parties so that trust may grow. it's a cycle... hay...

but i think when you trust somebody with the object of forming a relationship with that somebody, it's called 'faith.' at least, that's what i've deduced when i gave my life to Christ without knowing the entirety of Him. of course, i already knew stuff about Him back then. but by giving Him my trust, i gained the position of knowing more about Him and building a relationship with Him.

anyway, i'm ranting. i'm tired and hungry. i'm waiting for my dinner. it's eleven o'clock in the evening.

God, help me!

a merry little Christmas

2006-09-25T00:18:00.000+08:00

Have yourself a merry little Christmas,
Let your heart be light
From now on,
our troubles will be out of sight

Have yourself a merry little Christmas,
Make the Yule-tide gay,
From now on,
our troubles will be miles away.

Here we are as in olden days,
Happy golden days of yore.
Faithful friends who are dear to us
Gather near to us once more.

Through the years
We all will be together,
If the Fates allow
Hang a shining star upon the highest bough.
And have yourself A merry little Christmas now.

my roommate has this weird streak of playing Christmas songs. she's been playing them since February. she has this playlist of Christmas songs sung by Chipmunks. i had LSS on those for weeks.

but now, she's still playing them and it's not so weird anymore. September has long begun and for most of us, Filipinos, it's already Christmas. that's weird, but well, it's... happy. Most Filipinos like being happy, right? (i guess i'm an exception to that)

anyway, i've always loved the Christmas season. but since fifth grade, i've come to realize that i'm loneliest during this time. it's kind of ironic. i like the season. there's something happy about it. something magical. but there's also something lonely about it.

when i was in fifth grade, i had this aunt and this uncle who were only a few years older than i was. we became really close. we would build tents using thick blankets, hung on the clothesline in our room with clothes pins. we would pretend that those tents were corals and that we were fish. i was a piranha, i think. but a 'friendly' piranha. weird, really. we would pretend to swim--none of us knew how to really swim, by the way--as we wound our way from the blanket tents to the other coral pillows below the bed. sometimes, we would hide on the huge green closets. every room in our house had that kind of closet. those were our childish hours.

sometimes, though, we would sit on the balcony on the second floor and just look at the starry evening sky. the stars twinkled behind the silhouette of the guava and kamias trees like minuscule points of white light. instead of a bulb overhead, there was this giant parol which blinked different colors and played instrumental Christmas tunes. our favorite tune was, if i remember correctly, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas." we would talk about life in grade six and high school. we would talk about their weird teachers and their funny classmates--those who drooled while they slept and those who licked the tips of their ballpens. we would talk about the two groups of kids in our street--the U.D. and the KoolJacs. we belonged to the U.D. which meant 'Unique Decagon.' it's so corny but we thought we were the cool ones because the term 'KoolJac' in our dialect had negative connotations. we were the 'nice' kids and we were in constant war with the 'bad' kids in the other group. even then, i had personality problems. i have reason to believe that i was more choleric then. well, i just punched boys and pushed them on stacks of hay. after doing that, i ran for my dear life. hehehe! and i also ordered around my best friend who happened to be older than i was. i told her that i would drive the bike because i drived faster than she did and she would just ride on the sidecar.

anyway, back in the balcony, we would talk about how was it like to live in a 'city.' they were from Cubao. i thought they had the glamorous life since they were only some paces away from SM. SM then was my dreamland. every December, our family would go to SM to do the Christmas shopping. my Lola would buy glittering red and gold Christmas balls, rolls of red ribbon, tiny candy canes, tiny gift boxes, tiny socks, plastic hollies, and plastic candles which we would later on decorate the plastic six-foot Christmas tree with. i had a grand time picking out the candy canes and socks. then, my Mama would buy me a Barbie doll. it was from this yearly trip that i later made a collection of these dolls. most of them are headless now. my brother, on the other hand, always got a Gundam or a Lego which 'crumbled' and got scattered over time.

that December of my fifth grade was the time we fetched my aunt and uncle from Cubao. and that same December after the Christmas season was also the time that we had to give them a ride back to their city. that was my first time to become lonely in Christmas. it seemed as if the Christmas season was just a fleeting moment of childhood in which nothing really mattered except who won the U.D. vs KoolJac war. after my aunt and uncle had gone, i sat on the balcony alone, listening to the "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" sung by the giant parol.

bye...

2006-09-22T21:44:00.000+08:00

dear friend,

you've been in my mind for too long. you were my friend only inside my head. well, we never talked that much in person. i see you everyday and i act as if i don't see you. in the same way, you see me everyday and you act as if i was a speck of dust on your eyeglasses.

i didn't hear your voice very often either. you rarely made any comment in class. but this one time you did raise your hand and gave your opinion on the use of English and Filipino as media of instruction, i thought you were really bright.

if there was one thing that i always noticed about you, it's that you often slept before Sir Aureus came to class. one time, i was outside the classroom reviewing the wretched Leviathan for my philosophy class. i saw you from the door. you set aside your eyeglasses and laid your head on the wooden desk. i was actually distracted by the yellowish color of your face and the sight of your eyelashes with your eyes closed and with your glasses gone. i couldn't really say that you were that attractive. but well, i ended up drawing you on my readings. can you believe that? instead of seeing the essential concepts of a state and its formation and the way the people should give up their personal freedom for the sake of order and the preservation of all, your face was on my readings!

anyway, we had a common friend who seemed like a medium. i talked to you through him. i asked our common friend about you. you could say that i 'fished' for information although you were actually seated right in front of me. i could easily have asked you but, well, you must know that i couldn't. i couldn't even look you straight in the eye! there was this one time that you came near my seat because you were going to talk to your friends and i pretended to be sleepy all of a sudden so that i had an excuse to lay my head on my desk and enjoy the sight of darkness instead of the sight of you. in truth, i was contented seeing the back of your head.

anyway, our common friend told me that you were his acquaintance in high school and that you were an honor student. i told myself that that was fair enough. he could not have been more blatant when he suddenly blurted out, "Crush mo ano?" what malicious creature! i got more information from staring at your friendster account than from our common friend who always teased me whenever i threw casual questions about you. you talked to him a lot. but he's really a malicious creature! as in savagely malicious!

i dreamt about you two days ago. i was on an ice-skating rink and for some strange reason, i knew how to skate. but that did not prevent me from sliding and falling on the temperately cold but terribly hard ice. i sat against a bush on the middle of the rink. yeah, there's a bush on the rink! then you approached me. and you asked me stuff about me which i couldn't remember when i woke up.

it just occurred to me after that dream that that was what i wanted to happen in real life. i wanted you to approach me. but not as much as i wanted to approach you. i wanted you to become a real friend, not just a friend in my mind. i had wanted to know more about you. i wanted to share corny jokes with you, laugh with you, ask how your day was, share stories about your childhood, make caricatures of some of our boring teachers with you, play S-O-S or hangman with you, discuss the different literatures of the world with you...

i wanted to talk to you, not just talk about you...

but now i think every thought that i have of you is in vain. we're not really friends. we're just acquaintances bound by a savagely malicious medium.

it is for this very reason that i'm admitting to you that i am attracted to you. but that's all there is. i like friendship better than this endless daydreaming and hallucinating. but friendship is something we don't share and something which i don't think i can offer you nor you to me. so for now, i'm giving you up...

good-bye, James. life won't ever be the same without you.

my fault

2006-09-17T21:57:00.000+08:00

so many people are aching and suffering these days. it's an unexplainable fever that sweeps through the heart and washes the brain with mud. i wish i could do something. but maybe, just maybe, i am the cause of some people's fevers.

to those i've hurt, i'm sorry.

it's not J.... C...'s fault. it's mine.

reality bites

2006-09-17T00:22:00.000+08:00

i'm searching for what is real.

it just occurred to me that some things about God have become so trivialized that there's no longer a difference between what is genuine worship and just mere tossing around the words "Praise God!" somehow we have developed a certain set of standards by which we can 'praise God.' when you don't get into that set of standards, you're basically not praising God... enough. i'm not saying that we should not do the right things. i'm not saying that everything about praising God is totally individualized. seeing that we are a society, there's still really an unavoidable set of norms. what i'm saying is that the act of praising God has become a way to be accepted by fellow believers. it has become a relationship between society and individual and God, not just individual and God. the main thing here is where do we draw the line between really praising God and doing what society expects you to do as an act of praise? when does praising God become not superficial but genuine and at the same time acceptable? the sad fact about living in the society is that one way or the other, you still have to think of the people around you.

i think what i need to develop is trust. somehow i need to trust that this or that person is really praising God when he or she says so. and i need to trust that God really deals with this person whether he or she's saying the truth or not.

help me, God!

falling in love for the first time

2006-09-15T23:50:00.000+08:00

i just finished watching two movies from yakal forums. one's Battle Royale which i started two days ago and which i had just finished and which i'd rather forget because it's so gory and anti-human rights. one of the characters had this line and i think it pretty much sums up the whole movie:

we could all have survived. but now we killed each other. we're all so stupid.

then the other movie's Little Manhattan. i liked this one better not only because it's really cute but because it's innocent. it's not one of those stupid romantic films that has, well, sex, in it. you can look up the story in the link. but to drive home my point, Little Manhattan is about a kid, a ten-year-old boy named Gabe, who falls in love with an eleven-year-old girl named Rosemary from his karate class. the thing is, it's his first time to fall in love and he doesn't know what he's feeling. he tries to describe his feelings in all sorts of ways and well, he ends up, holding her hand, giving her a smack on the lips (he says:"this is the moment, i just know it, she knows it, heck! even her parents know it!" because the parents suddenly decide to leave the two of them alone). then he decides to impress Rosemary in karate class. he has this rival in class who's really good. when the teacher asks who among them wants to try for the yellow belt--the one next to the white one that he has--he suddenly raises up his hand and shouts "ME!!!" then he gives this look which says, "uh-oh! did i really say something?" he fights with the teacher (with his imagined Chinese karate teacher at the background telling him what to do). he's good until he tries to break this piece of plywood and ends up getting an arm braise (did i spell that right?) then, when Rosemary calls, he tells her that he hates her. and of course, he realizes in the end that he really loves her.

oops! me and my big mouth. hehehe! i love the movie because the kid who plays Gabe is so very much bagay for the role. there's this scene where he cries and cries and shouts "ROSEMARY." then his mom comes to comfort him. his parents, by the way, are divorced but they still live on the same house. so his dad sees how and who his mom dates. and well, back to the scene, his mom comforts her and she says very aptly, "Love sucks." and i think that pretty much sums up the movie. hehehehe!

hala! i'm such a spoiler. anyway, watching it felt like going back to the first time i fell in love when i was like nine years old. hahaha! but i'm not going to relate the details. this is the fault of J.... C... (for those of you who know! haha!)

anyway, napaghahalatang lovesick... gaya ng iba diyan!

english major

2006-09-13T22:50:00.000+08:00

i don't really know why but my heart goes out to my blockmates these days. it's probably because i see them everyday and i experience the same agony that they experience. perhaps i know the feeling of being required to read 'banned' books of 300 or so pages per week and the sinking feeling you get when you're not able to finish the required book and the merciless teacher asks you to comment on the socio-cultural context blah-blah-blah. perhaps i also know the tension of having to finish a reading (to non-cl folk, simply "paper") of a text using a required theory that you wish wasn't invented or even thought about in the first place. perhaps i also know the boredom of having the same teachers every sem plug in marxism and social construct and the longing to shout out "yeah, right!" at every plug-in. perhaps more than becoming more like dormers, i've become more like them: holding onto a thread for dear life, at the mercy of alligator professors who wouldn't mind giving you a sickly-looking five for a lame reading. the english department has long been a garbage disposal unit for students from engineering or any science-related courses. it's like english is so easy. yes, our cut-off grade may be lower and the expectations lower and the mortality rate lower, but still, it's hard work to be and to stay an english major. sana hindi kami minamaliit... though i'm sure i won't get a decent high-paying job with this course after college, i'm glad to be here. i'm glad to be an english major. i've come to love learning literature and what it says about our being human. i've come to love how written works speak through time and space about the human soul and how it hungers for something greater than itself which it doesn't know. i've come to love how books can change me by making me see reality through the eyes of a different person. i've come to love every bit of my course despite the hardship and the pangmamaliit that has always come with it. i won't be as rich as most of you will be, but i know truly truly well that i've been happier here in this course than in anywhere else. and to say some corny line: this is where my heart is.

pagod

2006-09-05T23:22:00.000+08:00

it's raining and i feel terrible. instead of enjoying the chilly evening air and the sound of raindrops against the cemented quadrangle that is the basketball court outside our room, i just feel terrible. my throat is dry, and i'm hard up in swallowing anything. the liquid stuff that i take in feels like it has minuscule thorns that scratch my throat. my feet are cold. my chest feels tight like some huge boulder is over it. and the air that i breathe in just feels so damp i almost want to give up breathing. these are the 'symptoms' again of an up-coming asthma attack. and i hate it.

after some bouts of fever and anemia, now this. i just plainly hate it. my friends have been telling me to rest. but with the amount of work that i'm doing--that is, reading the uber thick "Leviathan", book one of "Maus," the weird "Pedro Paramo" and the solitude-inducing "One Hundred Years of Solitude," i can't get any rest at all. sometimes i just want to shut myself from the world and stop thinking about my worries.

rest is proving to be a difficult ordeal. a luxury i just want to have rigt now. but i hope somehow i can manage to get through all these...

the unwilling platypus

2006-09-05T00:00:00.000+08:00

i feel like a platypus right now.

a while ago, before coming to a major class, i read a certain chapter of the Bible. it was just a random choice. what struck me about it was that there were two verses about wives and husbands.

"Better to live on a corner of the roof than share a house with a quarrelsome wife."

"Better to live in a desert than with a quarrelsome and ill-tempered wife."

questions brewed in my mind as to what God meant and why He meant what He meant. but i completely forgot about the verses and even the book and chapter number as i walked to class.

as i treaded that familiar cemented pavement to that yellowish new building which i had attended since two years ago when i started college, many faces went pass me, but i didn't seem to notice them. i walked and walked but felt like i was floating, as if i was moving effortlessly. all the while, my mind toiled over battles against thoughts about somebody. i had to mumble under my breath again and again to stop thinking about him because it didn't and wouldn't do any good to think about him. at some point i didn't even notice that i was crossing a pedestrian lane and that many cars and trucks were actually rushing by. at some other point some sort of a furry leaf or a flower from one of the fire trees was blown toward my direction and went flying right smack on my face. and i nearly panicked thinking that it was a millipede. i had a trauma with that horrendous insect a year ago.

upon learning that we didn't have any classes for that particular subject, my blockmate, Betsycola, and i went to a cafeteria to eat lunch since it was nearly 12 noon anyway. i told Betsycola about the madness that i felt. she was very reluctant to acknowledge that my feelings were consequential. she seemed to think that this was just one of my outbursts that exploded one minute and poof! vanished into thin air the next.

little did she know that for a time now, i've been arguing with God about marriage. i didn't (and still don't) want to get married. but He seemed to be impressing upon me that i would get married. to think that this impression came to me when i got to know this someone more deeply is utterly absurd and uber uber crazy and just plain stupid and mad. but it did.

Betsycola advised me to read Proverbs 21. i'm not quite sure why she told me to read this chapter. i did know of a verse, Proverbs 31, that some guy once told me to invest some time in while it's still early(?). that verse was all about the honorable wife blarblar. perhaps Betsycola meant Proverbs 31.

i went home and read Betsy's prescribed chapter all the while arguing with God that i didn't want to get married whether this chapter meant some sort of a revelation from Him about His will for me. (ain't that weird?) and horror of horrors! Proverbs 21 was the chapter i read before going to class.

i was so stumped that for a few seconds i just stared at the Bible before shouting waaaahhhh!!! to the surprise and laughter and curiosity of my roommate. i sent an sms to Betsycola and told her all about this horrendous ordeal. and she laughed at me and said that if i wanted to know if God had any sense of humor, i just had to look at a platypus.

Just let me say how much i love you

2006-09-03T23:26:00.000+08:00

Just let me say how much I love You
Let me speak of Your mercy and grace
Just let me live in the shadow of Your beauty
Let me see You face to face
And the earth will shake as Your Word goes forth
And the heavens can tremble and fall
But let me say how much I love You
O my Savior, my Lord and friend

Just let me hear Your finest whispers
As You gently call my name
And let me see Your power and Your glory
Let me feel Your Spirit's flame
Let me find You in the desert
'Til this sand is holy ground
And I am found completely surrendered
To You, my Lord and friend

So let me say how much I love You
With all my heart I long for You
For I am caught in this passion of knowing
This endless love I've found in You
And the depth of grace, the forgiveness found
To be called a child of God
Just makes me say how much I love You
O my Savior, my Lord and friend
Just makes me say how much I love You
O my Savior, my Lord and friend

i nearly cried while singing this song in front of the DCBC congregation this sunday in the 'praise and worship' portion. it's not entirely because of the emotion that goes with the song. it's not entirely because of the lyrics either. but it's because i know that deep inside me i've always wanted to tell God that i love Him.

but my concept of love has long been distorted... i nearly backslid a month ago. for a week i didn't attend any fellowship or gathering. i avoided any Christian i knew. my quiet time became 'totally quiet.' i prayed, but my prayers were complaints. i complained about how unfair life was, why i had to undergo some sort of a difficult 'molding' process, why i didn't receive any encouragement, why i felt unloved. somehow, i couldn't see love even if it was laid out in front of me.

at that moment that i was singing the song, i felt like a wretched hypocrite. i didn't want to look at the congregation. i was ashamed. i felt like i shouldn't be leading the praise and worship at all. i felt like i didn't deserve to be there in front leading people to worship God. if only i could have stormed out of the hall and locked myself in some tiny cramped room where no one could see me and no one could sing along with me, i probably would have done so. i wanted to sing that song alone just to know and confirm deep within me that what i was singing was true.

i don't know what to say anymore...

deciding factors

2006-08-31T21:57:00.000+08:00

this year is a time for making many decisions. hard decisions. just thinking about making these decisions is difficult. what more the actual act of decision-making?! i think what makes these decisions difficult is the fact that i'm nearing that age when i have to live alone and independently from my parents. it's scary. but not because i haven't tried living away from them but because i don't know if i can cope... or even survive! what with my abysmal managerial skills as regards my finances, my energy and my time! sigh... and add that with a rediscovery of a stage fright long kept at the back of my brain and a lack of confidence regarding my relationships with people. i'm hard up in dealing with other people because i'm scared of being rejected. there. plain and simple. double sigh... it's as if the time to become independent is smacking me on the face when i'm not ready yet. wah!!!
anyway, regarding relationships, i get frustrated especially when some word of encouragement turns into one of those lectures about what a Christian should be like. you know, when people tell you to be happy because it's not right for a Christian to be sad etc etc etc. that's not very comforting... sorry. although i appreciate the act of kindness. sorry. i just need some time to think and rethink.

speechless

2006-08-30T20:54:00.000+08:00

Imago Dei

2006-08-27T21:53:00.000+08:00

to begin with, let me just say that for someone who's starving and who has only Php 200 to budget for five days, the initiative of the Ladies' Fellowship to sponsor a free dinner-fellowship is indeed nothing short of a miracle. thank you very much, dear ladies. and to your husbands, as well.(^_^)'

but aside from the food, i got to talk to Pastor Bel. astig din siyang kausap. hehe! he's not your typical theology person. we talked about literature. and i mentioned to him that most of the 'great' literature that we're reading are a pile of junk... well, because they're very worldly. and he said that yes, our criteria are very worldly, but the greatness that emanates from these works of literature are actually something from the divine. to put this simply, let's answer the question: what makes great literature great? it's not just our criteria as humans that make them great. it's something we can't help but get attracted to. it's the image of God. so what we're seeing as 'great' literature is not just a product of some subjective or ideological judgment. it's actually this bit of the divine that we can't help but get attracted to. the sad thing is, we don't often realize that we're not drawn to the greatness of the book per se but to the image of God that's embedded in the literature.

thoughts on love

2006-08-27T02:59:00.000+08:00

hehe! this time, i'm very blatant about the title.

after music team practice and dinner this evening, we had some chat about monstrous creatures, cockroach delicacies, dorm blunders, personalities, human desires...until at some strange turn of the discussion, we came to the topic of marriage. i think this was the time when, as GTI was explaining this theory of personality based on one's desire (power, fame, adventure, love), he said, "Eventually all people want to be loved."

i think this is true. but i also think that apart from the desire to be loved, people also want to love. and the sad thing is, most of the time, we, human beings, have it all wrong. we don't love the person. we love the pleasure of being with that person and whatever perks there are that comes with being with that person. on other occassions, we love not humans but things, those very desires that were aforementioned, i.e., power, fame, adventure... and yes, we also love the idea of being loved basically. i don't think God didn't intentionally make us this way. we were meant to love in the purest purest sense. and when we think about it, it's actually very hard to grasp what this pure sense is. and it's even much harder to do it. it's always difficult to pursue the right things. and it's difficult because we want things to be easy. whatever is easy makes us happy. so in the long run, apart from wanting to love and be loved, we all just want to be happy. but the thing is, we don't need to be happy. we need more than happiness, if let's say happiness is of this world. we need joy, something transcendental, something everlasting. we need God. that's it!

mixture iii (in prose, not in bullets obviously)

2006-08-20T01:09:00.000+08:00

today is officially Jacq's birthday. a while ago in her 'suprise' party, i humiliated myself by crying. hahaha! i cried because i remembered Jacq's mother. she's in the States. and well, it's a complicated story which i'm not sure i'm qualified to say here. i remember the first time Jacq made me cry by telling me about the condition of her family. she was the one who even patted me on the back and said, "Soorryyy, Razeru... wag ka nang umiyak," as if i was the one who experienced the things she did. she was saying all these sad stuff and still she could smile and still be the person that she is. optimistic in a way. and easy to get along with. i mean, there's no sad, grievous and lamentable cloud or something that surrounds her such that you could easily open up to her or in my case, cry in front of her, without any fear of rejection or feeling of intimidation. that's a feat i'm trying to emulate.

speaking of intimidation, some dormmate of mine shyly told me a few months ago that she rarely talked to me because i was actually 'intimidating' because i played the violin and all. and that came as a surprise. me, intimidating? what's so intimidating about me and my violin? suplada matatanggap ko pa. but intimidating?

anyway, this comment led me to think about what 'intimidate' meant. and it brought me to this dictionary entry:

2. daunt: to create a feeling of fear, awe, or inadequacy in another person
Microsoft® Encarta® 2006.

fear, awe or inadequacy? such interesting juxtapositions.

anyway, i further looked up the meaning of 'awe.' (it's the shortest word but to me is the most interesting of the three) and here's the meaning:

1. mixture of wonder and dread: a feeling of amazement and respect mixed with fear that is often coupled with a feeling of personal insignificance or powerlessness

Microsoft® Encarta® 2006.

hmmm... how bizarre humans are! i mean, how complex! for me, it's such a weird but amazing thing to have a mixture of wonder and dread. it's like saying, you love someone, but you're afraid of him or her. this sounds Machiavellian, but well, that's the point of Machiavelli's The Prince but i'm not going to talk about that here. the point is, in a way, just this simple-sounding word 'awe' speaks much about our relationship with the divine. i am led to think that we have this built-in capacity to have a certain amount of "amazement and respect" for God but not without a certain amount of "fear" that is in a way connected with our "insignificance and powerlessness." the fear i'm talking about here is not 'God is so holy i'm so scared He'll punish me for being such a wretched and sinful creature.' but it's the kind of fear that comes from losing the most important person (or thing) for you.

i feel like i need further explanation. well, imagine that you're in a car. it's just you and a driver. you don't know how to drive. what if the driver suddenly falls asleep while driving? you'd be crazy or manhid enough not to be scared. in the same way, if we don't have the One who practically knows how to drive the cars of our lives, i think we'd be scared to death. or worse, dead. period. i don't know if i'm driving my point here. but well, you'd be crazy if you don't feel scared about losing God in your life. but then, blessed we, we don't have to be that scared because He never leaves us nor forsakes us (nor falls asleep on the wheel). we could be confident of His presence in and sovereignty over our lives.

in relation to this, i'm not saying that my dormmate is in awe of me just because 'intimidate' is a word that relates to 'awe.' i think she has a worldly sort of 'intimidation.' what do i mean by worldly? speaking from experience, some people rarely want to be around somebody who they think would remind them of being not good enough, not intelligent enough, or not talented enough. that's the 'personal insignificance' that the definition may also point out. (i've felt this before.) and another thing is, there's this certain amount of fear that comes from the thought of being rejected. well, imagine some 'popular' performer like, say, Kitchie Nadal. so, if i'm her fan, i think i can't just go up to her and say, "Hey, Kitch! How've you been?" more often than not, there's just this dream of meeting her in person just lingering at the back of my head all the while there's this obstruction that keeps on chanting, "i'm not worthy, i'm not worthy." that's really saying pano pag di n'ya ako pinansin? (i hope you get my point although Kitchie Nadal's not such a good example, hehe! pardon me...)

so, here's another observation... now that i've experienced being the object of somebody's 'intimidation' (not that i'm proud of it) i think i'm qualified to say that some of these people we think are intimidating for one reason or another are just ordinary people who also need some sort of company who accepts them for who they are. more often than not, these 'intimidating' people don't need and even want praises but friends.

and speaking of friends, this leads me back to Jacq. it's an honor for me to be counted among the three people of the lot who know her best. Jacq's been my friend since we were freshmen in Kalay. and i really don't know how we became friends but it also started with her birthday two years ago. cool no? and the first thing i knew about her was that she liked green, er, A LOT. she was given this huge green leafy(?) Bible and she was woohoo-excited about it. she still had short hair back then. i still find her expression(s) funny (and easy to acquire unconsciously) up to now. anyway, being friends with her was not just 'okay, we're friends.' period. it was rather a long process. a process of finding common interests. a process of unveiling and unmasking. a process of finding a language that we both were comfortable with. a process of leaning onto each other while leaning onto God. a process of talking and listening. a process of growing together yet growing individually. a process of sacrificing and accepting. a process of drinking hot and cold tea. a process of finding an ample respect and interest for both our conflicting colleges. a process which we couldn't have gone through on our own. if i may use the word 'grace,' i'd use it here. well, i just did. and anyway, i think that's what kept us from not being intimidated with(?) each other. i mean, i think i'm not afraid to cry, and act like a lunatic or a severe case of manic-depressive disorder, and even to fall silent in front of Jacq because i don't think she'll reject me... unless... haha! joke lang!!! ;p

anyway, i think this is my longest post up to date. and if you've finished it. congratulations. and thank you. (^_^)'

by the way, i rarely become in awe of people these days. there are just an exceptional few who i really think are worth being in awe of. but i just realized... maybe they're not keen on receiving my praises of them... unless they like being feared. hahaha! ;P maybe they want something better than that, though. and it's called friendship.

...

2006-08-17T22:13:00.000+08:00

it's my birthday today.

and i didn't even remember...

until some people sent me messages
and advised me to remember
what this birthday is for.

a while ago, i thought it was difficult
to remember.

but now, i know. and it's overwhelming...

i just want to disappear.

philosophy

2006-08-14T23:54:00.000+08:00

Socrates' selection of rulers is also dangerous because the same people are always ruling, which can cause factional conflict. In addition, even the guardians themselves are not happy; their aim is the happiness of the city of the whole. But happiness cannot exist in the whole if it doesn't exist in individual parts.

~Aristotle, Politics, Book 2 Chapter 5 (some part of it)

Spectacles

2006-08-10T23:58:00.000+08:00

Blockmate Betsy: Raz, ang taray ng eyeglasses mo ah!

Razeru: Bakit? May angal ka?

Blockmate Betsy: Ah, wala, wala... bagay mo. hehe!

another mixture

2006-08-10T00:22:00.000+08:00

it's so difficult to please people. why even try?...

if you can't trust people, trust in God.

why did God put the tree of knowledge of good and evil in the middle of the garden of Eden?

leaders are not exempted from being mere human beings.

when you hate life, does it hate you back?

i love my brother... not because he's rich, but because he's very open, and not to mention, very talkative. (btw, he doesn't read my blog.)

some people are just afraid to make mistakes. i'm afraid i'm one of them.

i want to go to Japan. la lang!

but i want to teach here. shucks! i'm so undecided.

my roommate's the best roommate in the world. =D she's addicted to Pacman.

why are so many people addicted to Pacman?

i hate unsolicited advice. but i often get one. don't ask me what i do with them.

it's difficult to follow people when you don't trust in them.

my mind's a mess. but i love being this.

mixture

2006-08-09T23:36:00.000+08:00

nightmare

last night i had a nightmare: i had a boyfriend. D=

kalcf kids

one of the kalcf girls informed me that she and her friends would be making the nametags for next meeting. nice. they're growing.

rich and poor

i went to sm with my brother. he bought a flashdrive (which would be borrowed, of course, by the poor and needy... ehem... ehem), some ink for his printer, and an accesories organizer. he's rich.

first midterm exam

exam with Sir Aureus (Philippine Literature) was fine. i forgot the ones i usually remembered. duh.

rebellious

the world would be so much better without pasaway people like me.

restoration

our group in British Literary History would be reporting on witchcraft. hmmm... old knowledge still useful.

silence is something worth hearing

2006-08-06T23:45:00.000+08:00

portraits

2006-08-02T23:27:00.000+08:00

to follow sanguine Lance's example and to minimize the amount of drama of my ranting today, i drew these portraits.

anyway, what i was about to say is: i'm one of those people who are difficult to deal with. and i'm tired of being the person that i am. that's all.

p.s. i've always wanted purple hair and big loop earrings. i wonder what my roommate has to say about her teal-colored hair.

closure

2006-08-01T23:39:00.000+08:00

warning: to skip the drama, read the other segment!

i just want to go out and look for any sign of the moon or of the stars tonight. i just want to stop thinking and stare at the inky black sky. so many things are crowding my mind right now. and i just want to throw them all away. i'm tired. i'm tired of living. honestly. i'm tired of being such a wretched human being. i'm tired of everything, even hating myself. (forgive me if this doesn't encourage you much.)

hmmm... do people need to know about this? i guess not. but, well, who cares anyway? shucks! ang drama! hahaha! i've been ranting to a friend all afternoon, and until now i'm still ranting. it feels good to rant. sarcasm to the max.

one of the best things i've heard today was this comment from a blockmate when i was trying to hold my umbrella and my plastic envelope with loads of readings inside. she said, "hay, kawawang nilalang!" thanks very much, blockmate, you've described me accurately.

***

i'm kind of reminded of a topic in CL 171 Comics. there is this concept called closure. this is the way people look at the big picture by looking at the small details. for example, there are two comics panels: one contains a picture of a crying girl and the other contains a picture of a coffin. from the two images, the most obvious deduction is this: the girl is crying because that someone in the coffin--who may be dear to her--is dead.

on a larger scale, we use closure to make sense of things in the world. obviously we can't see that the world is round except through a photograph. through the pieces of evidence--like how the mast of a ship disappears when out to sea--we believe that the world is round. and this is an act of faith. we have faith on the evidences, the little details.

but do we need to see evidences to believe?

"...blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed."-John 20:29

acceptance

2006-07-31T21:42:00.000+08:00

just the other day, i was reading a high school friend's friendster account. what struck me about his writings was that he was very angsty... or at least, he made himself appear that way. in high school, he was just this big silent guy who always sat at the very back of the class and who occassionally made jokes which only a few (well, including me) found funny. according to the weird standards of my high school society, he was a nobody. and actually, nobody paid any real attention to him. this is why i was just surprised when i read his friendster account. he seemed to have become a different person--swearing all the time, claiming he could do this and that, and that he was an expert in rock music. even his picture looked, well, devilish.

then it struck me how most of us have these games of pretending. according to this one docu in national geographic, pretending is the oldest game known to man. we could pretend to be kings and superheroes and not mind the rest of the reality because we're in the safety of our own imagined world. but in the game called life, the real game, most of us project certain images just to be accepted. and ultimately, we want to be accepted because we want to be happy.

ministry

2006-07-30T00:00:00.000+08:00

today let me just direct you to 41 Malinis Street, the home of our kind Ate Flor. the house is where the DCBC Music Team practices every Saturday afternoon. and the house is also where the five-year-old Music Team has just had its Anniversary/Reunion.

the old and new members of DCBC met for the Anniversary. we had a mini-fellowship with Kuya Caloy as the speaker. then the old members gave five-minute-or-so speeches where they 'encouraged' the new members. i put single quote marks on the word encouraged because they did more than that. they actually related their experiences when they were still "young"... in the ministry, that is(hehehe!). those experiences spoke much about them. i didn't know for example that Ate Joj once had a weird hairstyle and that Eigen-sensei was teasing her about it. Ate Joj doesn't want anyone touching her hair. i didn't know that Kuya Butch came to bring doom to the whole Music Team when he was asked to songlead on his first time to join the MT. he seems so 'gentle and tame' now. hahaha! i didn't know that Eigen-sensei, whenever he was the song leader, held practices for three or four hours and those sessions terrorized Nay Junette. i didn't know that Nay Junette's first instrument was the tambourine. i didn't also know that Kuya Arvin (pat on the back!) wore an orange shirt with a blue Adidas jacket over it and khaki pants during UP CC's concert and that made him look 'awesome'(?) i also didn't know that because of Kuya Lolomer, there was this girl in Kalay who literally became crazy (she had hallucinations about him). i also didn't know that Ate Shii many times wanted to quit the MT and that one time, she forgot that she and Ate Joj were to lead the praise and worship and Ate Joj went hunting for her in Kamia. i didn't also know that Kuya Arvin (pat on the back!) and Eigen-sensei would walk home and buy McFlurry with the money they were given supposedly for taxi. haha! =D

there's so much i didn't know about them that now i know. more than what they have mentioned in their speeches, i see in their lives how God has worked in them through the ministry. more than the music itself, there is God to whom we sing and play instruments.

awit ng isang windang

2006-07-29T00:50:00.000+08:00

You And Me
by Lifehouse
written by Jason Wade & Jude Cole

What day is it
And in what month
This clock never seemed so alive
I can't keep up and I can't back down
I’ve been losing so much time

Cuz it's you and me
And all other people with nothing to do
Nothing to lose
And it's you and me
And all other people
And I don't know why
I can't keep my eyes off of you

What are the things That I want to say
Just aren't coming out right
And tripping on words
You got my head spinning
I don't know where to go from here

Cuz it's you and me
And all other people with nothing to do
Nothing to prove
And it's you and me
And all other people
And I don't know why
I can't keep my eyes off of you

Something about you now
That I can't quite figure out
Everything she does is beautiful
Everything she does is right

Cuz it's you and me and all of the people with nothing to do
Nothing to lose
And it's you and me and all of the people
And I don't know why
I can't keep my eyes off of you and me
And all other people with nothing to do
Nothing to prove
And it's you and me and all other people
And I don't know why
I can’t keep my eyes off of you

What day is it
And in what month
This clock never seemed so alive

i went to sm north sometime last week... i can't remember the date. haha! windang. i went to buy a string for Kezia in JB and some envelopes for my beloved readings in National Bookstore. inside the bookstore (the basement branch), i was picking up a mint green envelope from a stack of brown ones when the radio suddenly played this song. i kind of automatically stopped with the envelope in hand as if i was frozen on the spot. a guy walking behind me nearly bumped against me even.

i suddenly remembered taking this cheesy test called "What's your love song?" and after answering the cheesy questions, the result showed that the song above was my love song. now that i think about it, the song is apt for me. why? because it's a windang person's song!!! look at the lyrics.

What day is it
And in what month
This clock never seemed so alive
I can't keep up and I can't back down
I've been losing so much time

translation:
anong araw na
at sa anong buwan
ba't parang ang bilis ng oras? (or something like this... tough line! =P)
hindi ako makahabol at di naman ako pwedeng bumalik
nawawalan na ako ng oras

What are the things That I want to say
Just aren't coming out right
And tripping on words
You got my head spinning
I don't know where to go from here

ano nga ba ang mga gusto kong sabihin
di ko nasasabi nang tama
nabubulol ako (hehe! =P)
pinaiikot mo ang ulo ko
di ko na alam kung saan pupunta (hahaha! =P)

then, in these lines, the singer changes pronouns:

Something about you now
That I can't quite figure out
Everything she does is beautiful
Everything she does is right

he must really be confused! or is he talking about a different girl now? =P wehehe!

i'm sorry if i'm messing up the 'romantic fluff' of this song... (although it was kind of fun translating it, hehe!) hey, don't feel bad. it's my love song after all. wehehe! =P just to let you know, this is the kind of stuff we do in CL... well, sort of... we're not that brutal.

but anyway, putting back the song into its romantic context, let's just say that it's a guy's feelings toward a girl. he goes windang when he is with her or something like that. let's say that we can change the she to he and imagine that a girl is singing this.

now, with that context in mind, i wonder why this became my song... hahaha! =P

di naman ako laging tumitingin sa kanya ah! JOKE!!! hahaha!

iconography

2006-07-27T23:16:00.000+08:00

i'm a bit disappointed with myself today because i got myself another 'absent' mark in my CL 166 professor's records. the reason? i wasn't able to go to class because i fell asleep. told you my sleeping habits need fixing.

i went back to the dorm to review some essays required for the said subject. i even printed those wretched essays. and having read them, i kind of fell asleep. i woke up and voila! it's already 12:10, way past the start of my 11:30 class. if i made it to that class, i'd probably be marked absent anyway since the rule says if you arrived after 30 minutes you're as good as invisible. and ever so reluctantly, i dozed off again only to wake up at exactly 1 pm, the hour of my next class. good thing i was able to drag myself to AS 317 despite the reluctant eyelids. they finally peeled themselves from my eyeballs when they felt the joltingly cold afternoon after-the-rain air.

so i made it to my next class, CL 171 (Comics), and what i learned in that class is what i'm actually going to talk about today. Sir Emil Flores was just discussing manga, manwa and manhwa, different comics of different Asian countries. manga is japanese. manwa is korean. manhwa is chinese, i think. and i thought, 'they all sound alike; the creators look alike... so what actually is the difference?' this question is what the creators themselves are trying to find out. what makes japanese comics japanese? or korean ones korean? as we have concluded last meeting, it can't just be the style or the content. it was a question of national identity. bringing this question closer to home, i wonder what makes filipinos filipino? weird no? it can't just be the toothpaste and colgate thing. hehe! =P

after the manga, manwa, manhwa dilemma, we were brought to the realm of 'iconography.' i bet you've never heard of this concept before. or if you have, you probably never cared what it was supposed to mean. iconography is the way that cartoons are drawn, to put it simply. for example, this is an icon =) or this =( or this =P. what you are seeing are 'representations' of the face. yup, i bet you're not seeing just an equal sign and a closed or open parenthesis or a capital letter P. Scott McCloud, the author of this book where we get this iconography thing, claims that we, human beings, are very selfish creatures. we see ourselves in all our belongings. so if a car hits another car, chances are, the man on the wheel will say, "shucks! i have been hit." not "my car has been hit by another car."

so anyway, the more simple the drawing, the more it becomes 'iconic' or 'representative.' and the more people can identify to it. if a photograph which is so realistic represents just one man, a smiley can represent thousands of people. people can see themselves in a smiley but not in a picture of Orlando Bloom. he just can't be anybody else... except perhaps if he has a twin or something.

the paradoxical part is that the more iconic the drawing, the more simple it becomes. i mean 'simple' in the sense that only the necessary details are drawn. think smiley. it's just a circle, two dots and a convex line. so in a way, it's just like us, people, again. the more simple the concept the more people relate to it. we don't appreciate the complex very much. there are a few exceptions, of course. usually they're the very dedicated ones or just simply the weirdos... i don't know, you try figuring them out.

and well, in the case of relating to other people, we often like it when the person who talks and relates to us is very clear and very intent upon the important details only. we rarely appreciate complex people... those we don't understand very much... those who one minute are smiling and the next they're roaring like lions or shedding buckets of tears... like the melancholics... hahaha! :P

again, these are just my opinions. you also have your own. =P

under repair

2006-07-26T22:36:00.000+08:00

Photo by QT Luong

right now, i think my life needs fixing. my perspective needs fixing. my 'emotion syndrome' badly needs fixing. my side of the room needs fixing. my time management skills desperately need fixing. my sleeping habits need fixing. my holding the violin bow needs fixing. my heart needs fixing. every single detail of me needs fixing. but of course, i can't do all the fixing. it's beyond me to fix this wretched life. only God can make things better. He's the one who provides mentors, friends, emotions, finances, convictions, dreams, and even rainy days without classes. everything works according to His will.

why am i saying these? well, the answer's in the photograph above. when i was twelve, i went to the sea port in San Fernando, La Union and took a very similar photo (the photo above is way better, though). but the long bridge-like structure, the sunset, the waves rolling on the sand all seemed so familiar. somehow it's like transporting myself back to that age when i had my first personal camera (a manual point-and-shoot) and my first studio (the shore), and i was dreaming of becoming a photographer. i was with two friends that afternoon--one is now studying nursing in Trinity, the other is a women's rights advocate here in UP Diliman. funny how at that time i wouldn't dream of us turning the way we turned out to be. i never thought of myself as one loving literature and music the way i do now. i never thought i would know Christ and accept Him as my Lord and Savior.

***

just this morning, i felt very groggy and dull like it's going to rain again and the frogs will be rejoicing but not me. but then, as i was approaching the waiting shed on the way to PNB, somebody lunged at me and i kind of screamed. i thought it was some psycho doing a morning scare but it was only Berto-kun. i finally got to laugh with my heart thumping like race horses. he asked if he could borrow Jemima (the bonggos). i said it was okay and he went on his dark gloomy way. somehow, though, the fact that he remembered me, corny as this may seem, made my morning much much better. then, eating monay and looking at the display of eyeglass frames in Sarabia, this other guy called me. it was Aya Yeo (Kuya Howell), and somehow he started calling me 'dude.' ngarkz! how many 'cool' people are there in this planet? but the fact that he also remembered me added to the brightness of my morning.

the evening before, Ate Vinci-tot came lumbering toward me at the lobby asking if i could do an exhortation on prayer for the YCF. halfway between panicking and fainting, she 'convinced' me that 'logically' i was the only one who could do it. i agreed after nearly transforming into a lioness and roaring at her for not informing me earlier. at 2:00 am i gave her my laptop so she could recharge it in her room because we weren't allowed to plug any electrical appliance yet in our wing. and as i was about to close the door behind me, she called my name. i opened the door again expecting another 'persuasive' command. but instead she said, "Razeru, maraming salamat." i walked back to my room with the sensation that i couldn't say anything because i was deeply and truly happy.

so in ways we never know God works in our lives. He holds everything, manages everything, fixes everything. despite my groggy somber keep-away-from-me-or-i'll-bite-you attitude, He still knows how to deal with me. funny and weird. but boy i'm glad He's in control.

when will the rain go away?

2006-07-25T23:51:00.000+08:00

Photo by Russ Curtis

these are the times when i just want to curl up in bed or sit in front of my pretty laptop and read Kimagure Orange Road or some other cheesy manga via the adobe reader. it's been raining since two weeks ago... at least from what i can observe (not counting the time from the Flood). and since saturday, i haven't attended any classes in AS or CAL. just this morning, at 8:00 am, every girl outside my door can't stop repeating that there are no classes because the security guards in Palma Hall and Faculty Center say so. amid the endless echoing of walang pasok, walang pasok and occassional let's celebrate!, i found it difficult to even prod my eyelids to open. it's like tapping the shell of an ever-reluctant sleepy snail.

but anyway, i managed to drag myself in front of my waiting laptop and begin the construction of our midterm paper in philo 176 Political Philosophy. all the while, weird visions flooded my mind: a stalk of Celery carrying a green umbrella and shouting 'whheeeeeeee!' while being tossed and hurled by the winds; an old thin professor who doesn't codeswitch ever and who sounds like Joey Ayala asking us again if we have read Plato's 'Republic;' Queen Elizabeth's powdery white face and her bejeweled gowns (which must have weighed tons); and a Baroque violin bow with an inverted camber. i must be neurotic already to have these images mingling like dear old friends. otherwise, i'm just dead sleepy.

halfway through the day, i swallowed a self-asceticizing pill so i never left our room. i only went out to meet Jacweru for Arvin-san's birthday card (pat on the back!), to retrieve the yummy piaya (which kept me in high spirits for the whole afternoon that there was no electricity) from dear Hazeru, and to give Monster-kun the birthday card which he would later on pass to Kuya bArbie. (i really do enjoy giving new names to people, don't i?)

interspersed with these ascetic moments is my practice time with Kezia (my violin) and Nameless (my brother's guitar). i'm finding Eigen-sensei's composition rather exciting. it's blood-pumping to say the least. i swear, the whole corridor and even the boys' wing shut up when i play it, haha! but i don't think i'm playing it loud enough. it's the cavernous structure of the dorm that makes it sooooooo looooouuuudddd and sooooo heart.stopping. as for Nameless, i just discovered that he has quite a nice musical quality. i don't know, he's the kind of guitar you would want to play when singing a sad song. weird. Job (my guitar) is hibernating in Monster-kun's room so i didn't use him.

so that's for today. i'm running out of batteries. we can't plug in our appliances yet although there's power already; the brownout was caused by a short circuit. i hope the rain stops. i do so want to get out of this room which by the way is named Timon.

depressed

2006-07-23T23:27:00.000+08:00

'depressed' is one of the words i haven't used for such a long time. i even had to check my dictionary to know if it's a double p or a double r or a double s. an angel in a black skirt and gray blouse told me a while ago that melancholic people such as myself tend to be happy when it's raining. well, usually i am happy when the frogs are croaking and water is dripping from the clouds and the branches of trees. but right now, i'm not so sure...

funny how raindrops, like tears, tend to blur our vision.

an orchestra

2006-07-21T22:43:00.000+08:00

i boarded a jeep to the Quezon Avenue station this afternoon at 2:30 PM right after my Philo 176 class (from where i got a surprisingly high score in a seatwork... thanks God!) my mind swimming and daydreaming of beloved sleep, i decided to text Sir Eigen about further directions to International Christian Academy. this was my first time to go to the school where my mentor taught music. and this was my first time to join the practice of the ICA Chamber Orchestra. yup, i couldn't believe it! i'm finally joining the orchestra. wheee!

so after an MRT ride, another jeepney ride and a tricycle ride later, i entered the sky blue gates of ICA where children and teens, clad in equally sky blue skirts or jogging pants, played chase or clustered together like a colony of blue mushrooms. i was given this visitor's pass which kind of reminded me of my old high school's visitor's ID. the only difference was that the guard who gave me that pass spoke in English. amazing!

my mind was still making direction-less backstrokes when i entered II-Charity, the classroom where Sir Eigen and the rest of the kids were already 'preparing,' that is, paunahan sa pagkuha ng music stand! there's only a limited number of music stands. me, i didn't get one but i shared a music stand with a fellow violinist named Lyndon(?) i'm not sure about the spelling of his name.

as i sat on the chair where the first violinists were supposed to sit (yey, i'm a first violinist!), i suddenly remembered that i was nearly robbed and nearly taken advantage of by this maniac in the bus. the woman i sat beside with in the bus was looking at the contents of my bag (unashamedly!) when i opened it to search for my cell phone. i could swear she was eyeing the 100-peso bill (which Jacq graciously lent me) and the atm card that were naively exposed on a pocket inside my bag. after that, when the lady had gone ahead to Bicutan, this drunk-looking guy on a seat to my right was looking at me from head to foot (again unashamedly!) as if stripping me of my clothes. i actually forgot these and only remembered and began to panic (?) when i sat down on one of the first violinists' chairs. pentium I brain.

but anyway, we did the first piece, Aeguk Ka, the Korean national anthem. i don't know how i fared because i couldn't even hear myself, or my violin for that matter. there was just this tangle and jumble of melodious sounds which kind of made me a little deaf and a little shaken afterwards. the more interesting part was the exercises. most of us had trouble following the rhythm. everyone was rushing! Sir Eigen told us again and again and again to sllloooooowwwww ddddooooowwwwwwnnnnn. he even had to change his 'beating' style three times. the funny part was after Sir Eigen had told us to slow down about a hundred times, especially to the six or seven-year-old third violinists (who actually nodded and looked like they had been scolded yet already knew their mistake), the small kids still played fast. when told to stop, they each gave their own version of a sheepish grin while, exasperated yet laughing, Sir Eigen told us to start all over again.

the orchestra was far more interesting than i imagined it to be. as you may have deduced, there are six or seven-year-olds. and i'm not the only college student there. yipee! i'm not that old! if your impression of an orchestra is this group of virtuosos you see in snippets of the MTV playing the Star Wars theme or if you're imagining the Philharmonic or the CCP or great big stages with humongous lights and bow ties and black suits, you're actually wrong. we just practice in a small (sky blue!) grade-two classroom. and we come in all ages.

the orchestra is hard work and commitment regardless of age or talent. you come as you are.

vile

2006-07-21T00:19:00.000+08:00

i'm uber tired. as in tired tired tired. with the drooping eyelids and the bulging eyebags. the slug-mode heart rate and the pentium I brain. i finished the paper for Ms. Ick at 4 am. the curious thing is the moment i hit the sack, i couldn't sleep. so that's the paper problem and the insomnia combined.

anyway, my next project for Ms. Ick's class is to look for an object that kind of represents the renaissance. and i figured that i would bring my violin to class and play a hymn since during the Protestant reformation, hymns in the vernacular were prolific. but then, i found out that Martin Luther wanted the congregation to actually sing the hymns and not just listen and stare at the choir singing Latin who-knows-whats during the praise and worship. and hmm... eto pala ang simula ng praise and worship!

my problem was that if violins were used during that time, it would be kind of weird for the instrumentalist to be singing along. so i thought maybe they were using some other instruments. thank God for the CAL library. they have this whole shelf dedicated to music. so i learned that the renaissance people used lutes, guitars and the viol (pronounced as 'vile'), the 'forerunner' of the violin. it's actually weird to call the viol the forerunner of the violin since it looks like a hybrid between a guitar and a violin... or cello perhaps? i imagine it to be that big. think violin with frets. or guitar with a bow. that's the viol, i guess. Eigen-sensei did mention something about this, i think. i better ask him again.

pray for me. thanks. (^_^)'

updatey-update

2006-07-19T00:34:00.000+08:00

i've been able to sleep for eight hours last night after a horrendous ordeal of insomnia attacks. and before the ycf, i've been able to sleep for a total of four hours. i thank God for these. (^_^)'

my roommate's joining the Ambassador of Goodwill pageant. and she's coercing me to pledge for her so that she'll have less chances of winning. that's their rule, i guess, no matter how weird it is. okay, roommate, be good and i'll stop teasing you about... well, you know.

Pechay and Celery didn't have their class today, which is sad. Pechay kind of missed that old witty prof who doesn't codeswitch.

i'm still doing my paper on the Early Modern Period of English literature for Ms. Ick. i started doing it two weeks ago, and until now, i'm not yet done. haayy... Monster-kun, that must be the reason why, as you have said, pumapayat ako. wheeeee!!!

i just realized something about myself: i don't know how to receive compliments. and i easily cry when receiving criticism. i don't know if i defend myself. i just cry. haha! weird.

insomnia

2006-07-16T22:32:00.000+08:00

i woke up at 12 noon today. and i felt like my brain was rubber. i had no sense of time, since i thought i lost my cell phone and had no way of looking at any instrument that indicated what hour it was. all along my elusive cell phone had been crammed inside my violin case's pocket along with my violin strings. i just realized that half of the day was gone when i found my old watch lying placidly in one of my drawers. before my soft bed had a chance to tempt me again, i forced myself to get up and look at myself in the mirror. of course, i was horrified by what i saw. hehe! not that eyebags and messy hair were new to me.

the night before i had a hard time sleeping. thoughts roamed inside my skull back and forth as if they were race horses running amok, tramping on my badly battered and swollen brain. i had a conversation about this with a friend in a coffee and tea shop. and she said that she had the same problem but only in the morning whenever she woke up. actually it was she who brought the topic up. and her problem was that she couldn't suppress the thoughts that came making unannounced morning visits to her.

anyway, i think i'd had too much caffeine. perhaps the substance works way after i've taken it in. grr... does caffeine settle in the brain like a harmless little bean and spread its deadly juices at night? can someone help this insomniac?

the depp of his acting

2006-07-16T00:27:00.000+08:00

he is this...

and this... (the guy, of course)

and this...

and this...

and this...

before this evening, he became this...

no matter which face he puts on--clean-shaven or not, Johnny Depp's still my favorite Hollywood actor. he's not just looks but also talent and intellect. his versatility as an actor is amazing.

last night i got a chance to see him on the big screen in SM Megamall. "Pirates of the Carribean 2: The Dead Man's Chest" was showing. unexpectedly, many familiar faces showed up. even CYDS members were there. speaking from a literature major's point of view, i liked the title. it's because the 'something' in the chest was rightly placed where it's supposed to be placed, and that place was part of the dead man. wahaha! i'm speaking in vague terms. just go watch the movie. i'm not going to spoil it for you. i also liked the punch lines. the action scenes were nicely choreographed. Captain Jack Sparrow in one scene actually looked like a 'kebab'! Oops... sorry! the music was rich in timpanis (i think) and strings. then there was also this organ piece that was creepy (not that all organ pieces are not to a certain degree creepy, joke!). the music was composed by one Hans Zimmer. but the Jack Sparrow... i mean, Captain Jack Sparrow was more restrained in his unique inebbriated (lasing) movements in this second movie than in the first one. and what else? i liked how the Captain became a 'many-eyed god in human form.' that was hillarious and really ridiculous! but i couldn't understand half of the language and i didn't like how the movie ended. haha! i'm spoiling things for you again. just go watch it. if not for the action scenes, do it for Johnny Depp's acting. he's brilliant! (the producers should pay me for this advertisement. joke!)

i missed church today...

2006-07-10T00:48:00.000+08:00

the lady with red nails sat beside me on the blue plastic seat inside the MRT. she tried to look outside the window behind her, at the statuesque infrastructure, the soulless calculated heaps of cement and metal. they reminded me of sandcastles built with blueprints. and she reminded me of no one in particular until i took further notice of her hair, curly and graying, and her peculiar way of holding onto her leather purse. her feet, shoed with black suede heels, were on a tiptoe as if she was afraid of being held down by gravity. i wondered if i would become like her someday: struggling to look at heaps of cement and metal that didn't belong to my age.

now why am i saying this?

i don't want to be afraid to be held down by gravity. i don't want to marry my age and stop thinking of my own time. i don't want to miss church again...ngarkz.

yes, i'm this weird.

Transcendental

2006-07-08T22:28:00.000+08:00

Great music is music which is greater than any human faculty can ever achieve.

listen to the pessimist

2006-07-07T23:30:00.000+08:00

life is both amazing and lonely.
hmm... sometimes it amazes me how i can be so lonely when there is practically so much to be joyful about. :)

some more thoughts:
1. you learn a lot about people by watching them inside the MRT.
2. you learn a lot about people's wants and needs by looking at friendster accounts.
3. you learn a lot about faith by being hurt.
4. i wish there was a 'smiley' that could represent the 'sad smile.'
5. i keep forgetting to ask people the essential things about them.
6. i think i'm beginning to sound weird.

to Celery, the Pechay is joyful although she is tired. i hope the Celery is also joyful. she's in my prayers.

Kuya Caloy is back!!! Yeheyyyy!!! :D

gash

2006-07-04T21:41:00.000+08:00

it takes time for a heart wound to heal.

update

2006-06-28T10:56:00.000+08:00

no update! joke!
no, too tired to update.
...
thinking
...
me? teach?
yeah, of course!
...
i was the only one who wanted to teach
in a class of UP students who wanted
to do law or forensics.
...
thinking
...
that's cool. :D

weak and wounded sinner

2006-06-21T20:21:00.000+08:00

"Weak and wounded sinner, lost and left to die,
O raise your head for love is passing by.
Come to Jesus, come to Jesus,
come to Jesus and live."
-Untitled Hymn by Chris Rice

i've been tired for the past few days. i've been running back and forth from fc to cal to as, staring at bulletin boards which contain class schedules, and searching for a kind teacher who would take me in his or her class. i've been knocking at doors like a beggar, hunting my advisers around corners for their signatures, falling in mile-long lines, and arguing with "pa-aircon-aircon lang" staff at as 101. now i know what it feels like to have your class dissolved.

but apart from these, i've been battling with myself. specifically with my frustrations. i want to be good, but most of the time, i end up doing bad things. creepy me, but i actually talk to myself. one time i suddenly blurted out, "Stupid!" while around a group of bewildered blockmates. i hastily added, "Stupid me! A-and s-stupid thing to do, yeah, that's it, stupid thing to do." one of my friends in CL 166 even saw me singing to myself while waiting for the teacher and watching the rotation of the ceiling fan inside an empty cal classroom. she hastily texted another friend of ours, asking for help while giving me wary looks.

now, what am i getting at? it's this: i'm tired. maybe i'm relying on my own strength. maybe i'm trying too hard. but then again, i'm hanging onto a thin thread while below me, crocodiles are snapping their powerful jaws. but i won't be shaken. He is holding my thread.

i'm not getting any younger

2006-06-20T23:39:00.000+08:00

"That's the difficulty with time: it never waits for anyone." -Sir Tangco on our Philo 176 class

after the ycf this evening, i saw a group of students singing and playing the guitar on the sidewalk adjacent the Yakal Tambayan Complex. apparently they were the newbies in Yakal. it seemed like it was only yesterday when i and a handful of my wingmates were also singing and dancing and acting and doing crazy stuff on the Carillon on evenings like this one. i remember playing the role of a hysterical mother who harped on and on about having a "substandard woman" in the house. well, there was one mistake in there. i forgot to wear the costume. haha! i was too busy supervising what was happening backstage that i forgot when i should enter the scene. when the singing of the "Kampanerang Kuba" song was over, i just realized that i had to go onstage already and make "talak." up to this day, my "son" in the play is still my friend and we still laugh about the stupidity of it all.

anyway, it dawned on me that i was getting old. in the university, you don't usually notice people's ages (especially if you're from Fine Arts). but in a way, you feel it in your veins that somehow the privilege of being prioritized in the enlistment and staying in the Kalayaan Residence Hall must be passed on to the "younger generation." but that's not a lost per se because becoming older has its perks, too. you get to answer where NIGS and Math are; you know the places like the back of your hand. you get to tell your younger brother that there is a shortcut from the gym to Kalay when you walk on the Hostel and at the Bahay ng Alumni. you get to have higher subjects and electives. time for the more serious stuff. then, you get to see the awed and surprised faces of the younger ones when you tell them that you're already in your third year.

to you who are younger, you'll have your time. to you who are older, continue running the race. (^_^)'

something from Joanne's book

2006-06-20T00:26:00.000+08:00

"We tend to think that what we have to say is more important than what others have to say." -Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J.K. Rowling

some things to think about

2006-06-20T00:17:00.000+08:00

because of the guy who hears the wind, i just found out that there are many Christians in the English Department of U.P. and that's nice. and thought-provoking, especially for an aspiring teacher such as me.

and then i realized something about myself: i need to rest because i think too much. i magnify details that aren't worth magnifying. i hurt myself and others in the process. i get angry immediately. i get hurt immediately. haha! stupid me. i tend to forget how God should be in control of my life, especially the aspect of me called F.E.E.L.I.N.G.S. (my greatest weakness)

to the people i have hurt (because of my angry outbursts and mood swings), i am sorry... (i hope i don't sound Gloria-ish)

blessings

2006-06-18T02:31:00.000+08:00

i have loads to thank the Lord for:

1. an article got published in the Philippine Daily Inquirer this tuesday. if you care enough to decipher it, you can view the original draft in this link:

article...

2. a camp in one of the most beautiful hills in Montalban, Rizal, fitted into my busy schedule

3. a conversation with a former dcf chairperson provided me with much information as regards a Christian's life after college and after dcf. i rode back to U.P. with this kuya on an FX, then on a taxi. i had to go to Ortigas and leave the camp early.

4. a laptop fell down from heaven for my life's journey in the university.

5. an opportunity to become a child again popped out like a mushroom when my younger brother (the fourth-grade one), my cousin (who is in first grade) and my 'tito' (who is two years old) decided that i was their playmate and not some pesky grown-up.

6. an opportunity to talk to my other younger brother (the college freshman) walked toward my direction when he asked me to tour him around the campus. he was grateful for the shortcuts and the free tea and pitawich in Oz. i was equally grateful for the free monay and the C2.

7. a lesson with my favorite mentor taught me about 'teaching' (i hate to admit it but i did miss him, haha!) the guinea pig (joke!) was a third-year-high school guy from Notre Dame. hello, Makati! i'm back! i hope i don't get lost again.

8. an hour to fix my room loomed in front of me this morning after my quiet time with God.

9. a few realizations about being misunderstood fluttered in from the window of an FX while going home from ASCM in Makati and followed me all the way to the MRT cart where women were busy with their thoughts, their dreams and their compact mirrors.

10. a few other realizations about being a confused woman rode with me on the jeepney to 41 Malinis Street. and well, they were nice realizations: they just told me how confused i could be if i planned things on my own and not mind what God has in store for me.

au revoir!

when classes vanish in thin air

2006-06-17T02:29:00.000+08:00

this sem, i'm all major subjects and comparative literature electives. that is until my CL 154 (Philippine Women Writers, a most fascinating subject indeed) gets dissolved. so i end up in "enrollment limbo" and in a subject called Philo 176 (Political Philosophy or Philosophical Politics, whichever one may view it; in both cases, the thing gives me the cute reaction, "WHAT? Razeru, what are you doing in a Polsci course?") so what am i doing there anyway? well, i happen to be #10 in the said class. that means that the class did not get dissolved because of this oddball prerog called, "Binibining Comparative Lit" by Professor Tangco (old prof, hehe!). there were 11 students originally until two weirdos cancelled their slots and the remaining nine struggled to search for that tenth savior slot-filler. then,successfully, this eighteen-year-old female polsci major who loves jokers and green things and who has discovered new principles regarding her ever-present foe-friend called Food, discovers the perfect prey in AS 101 waiting for Sir Pabs to give her her form 26A, the ever-dependable, ever-ubiquitous, everlasting, ever-green change mat form. and well, the naive polsci major invites the equally naive comparative lit major to the class where the prof screams, "Did you say 'prerog'? Shucks! I thought I was going to get a holiday." (well, that's an exaggeration.)

but anyway, on a more serious note, i enjoyed the class although i admit i'd have to work extra hard on it to pass. imagine, we're reading the first four books of the Republic! the Republic???!!!! but, well, that's literature too. i wish there was a Politics and Literature course somewhere. but i bet that'll get dissolved too. polsci and lit have extremely different language games. hmmm... perhaps it's by God's grace that the naive polsci major and the naive comparative lit major still understand each other. =P

p.s. i'm back. (^_^)' again.

Miss Tragedy has Joy, don't worry

2006-06-17T01:03:00.000+08:00

i am melancholic. in fact, i'm a super melancholic. if you don't know what melancholic means, it's the word for sad people. i'm usually sad not because for some strange reason i was born a sad loser and melancholy is all there is in the blood that flows through my veins. i am usually sad perhaps because my primary weakness, which i really cannot pinpoint yet, leads me to become sad often. it's like this: i have an internal compass and that compass is an alien thing inside me. then this alien compass points to the direction of "Razel, be sad, be sad. See there's something bad happening." in essence, my primary reaction to the things that are not quite good to me is sadness. instead of seeing the light or something, i frown and stay in one corner and gasp for air while drowning in murky gray reverie. i am not very optimistic. i don't trust people easily. but i do fall in love so easily that it now hurts in the heart, in the head and in the knees to fall again. (hay! where did that come from?)

but anyway, so what if i'm melancholic? and so what if i have an alien compass that always points to the "Be sad" direction in my emotion meter? i think i still have the choice. even if there is some wicked temperament that tells me what i often tend to do, i still have the choice to follow it or not. to be sad or not to be sad: that is the question. at least, for melancholics like me. being a melancholic may mean that i have the tendency to become sad. but that doesn't mean that the only facial reaction i am capable of is a frown with a downpour of hidden tears.

anyway, i bet i am misunderstood again. yeah, that's me. the misunderstood melancholic. but anyway, i don't care that much. i just want to be taken in my own context. but sadly, my own 'contexts' are not always apparent either. some people tend to think that i write some universal stuff. yeah, right. (pero okay lang yun! wala lang sa'kin...sana.)the thing is, i'm only writing about myself (although occassionally i write about the few people who motivate and understand me, and the stories about them get published in some prestigious broadsheet, haha!).

so, melancholic me... what's the point? the point is, i may not be happy all the time, but i know and i firmly believe that true joy is in me. such joy is not found in this world. what is in this world is 'happiness' which is ephemeral. 'joy' can only be found in knowing, believing in, and having a relationship with God.

p.s. did i mention that i was back?

Unhappy

2006-05-26T03:41:00.000+08:00

Yes, my quiet time with God is consistent. I have written two short stories and I am rewriting them at the moment. I have finished the English part of the college entrance exam review that our org will be offering to the U.P. student wannabes here in La Union. I have watched T.V. (hoorah!) after a looooonnnngggg abstinence from Jang Geum and Sabina. (Jang Geum's become a doctor??? And Sabina... oh well! recycled actors and actresses...) I have watched Baby looney toons for about the dozenth time just to keep my five-year-old cousin from screaming "GUSTO KO NG CARTOON NETWORK!!!" in my ears. I am in the process of learning the 2nd and 3rd pages of "Violin Concerto in A Minor" by Vivaldi, a "Gavotte" by Bach and the first part of "Canon in D" (for a lady dorm mate who wants to learn how to play the violin and a lady who'll be having a big event next year with a guy who makes girls cry... hope he stops that. haha!).
I have a fever right now. And my throat is terribly itchy. (Stupid weather!) I've been unwillingly on a diet of chicken, pork and watermelon for about a week now. And well, I just played pingpong with my dear brother this afternoon.

It's funny how I can still feel incredibly unhappy after what seems to be a "fruitful" vacation. You don't believe me, do you? Well, sometimes, sadness is left unspoken and replaced with lacy pretty happy words to compensate for the lack of something to talk about.

Perhaps this just goes to show that the world we are living in now is imperfect, and the real joy belongs to the perfect world which will come after this.

a dream realized

2006-05-22T15:53:00.000+08:00

Dream:
I once had a dream late last March. In my dream, I was with my brother in the old master's bedroom in my Lolo and Lola's house. We were sitting on the antique king-sized bed with a royal blue bed sheet over it. The lights were dimmed because the window was boarded with a flattened carton which once contained Lola's grocery items. And over that carton, there is still this thick dark green curtain. I guess it was afternoon then, judging from the blurry sort of sun light that managed to filter through the window.
It seemed in the dream that I had just come home from Diliman. My brother and I had an animated discussion about faith. I told him about Christ, dying in the cross to save us. I told him about good works, being an overflow and not ways for us to get to heaven. I told him that salvation was a gift which could never be repaid. He seemed to take everything in until I asked him if he was willing to accept Christ at that very moment. He raised his two palms as if to say "Nah! Not me!" Then he said, "Uhm... uhm... I'll think about it first." He said this with a polite smile which saddened me.

***

Reality:
When I went home last Saturday, my brother was in the van with me. We were talking animatedly about life in the university, about his travails in U.P. while our parents, our youngest brother and our other relatives went shopping in Megamall (he had insisted on staying in U.P. for that day but refused to ride the MRT, the poor boy), about how the entertaining freshmen orientation went, about how he also wanted to learn how to play the violin, etc. etc.
Then, when we stopped in Chowking in Plaza Luisita, Tarlac, we started talking about what he termed as "religion." I said I didn't have that. So we turned to the word "faith." I asked him about it. Then, he said, "Ate, don't even think about converting me because I'm sticking to my faith, otherwise, I'd get kicked out of YFC."

I'm now entrusting him to Him. There's not much I can do. The evening I arrived in La Union, my quiet time with God was spent reading Mark 13. Verse 13 of the said chapter spoke so loudly to me I had to realize that I didn't 'convert' other people. It's God who 'converts people's hearts.' To God be the glory.

Revive Me (A Sort of a Confession)

2006-05-17T13:22:00.000+08:00

He began the painful process of revival by making me see that I was blind.

For a long time, I've been averse to any profound and godly advice. I have somehow closed my ears to any abstract word that my teachers have hurled onto me: faithfulness, faith, goodness, gentleness, kindness, truth, love... Somehow I couldn't entirely understand these words. I mean, I started questioning myself what were the physical, actual and tangible manifestations of these very words. Down to the level that one can see, smell, hear, feel, what does goodness mean? what does faith mean? what does love mean? These very words didn't take root in me. They sounded like obligations. I must be this. I must be that.

Good works. I have long heard that these were an overflow of the love that we have experienced from God through the knowledge of being saved. But come to think of it. It's not that easy to be good. It's not that easy to overflow when you feel like you are empty.

I flipped the abstract words and the questions again and again in my mind. It was like juggling letters and question marks that were so jumbled you couldn't form any sensible word from the heap. This was why I wrote that previous entry. I couldn't make my brain shut up and stop thinking about words and words with no definite meanings. (Yet if my brain did shut up, I'd be dead by now.) But more than the words, I needed to see the objects that these words represented. It was by God's grace that I did not become crazy or worse, backslid.

I once asked a friend how he was. And he told me that it was not good to tell me how he was because it was not edifying to tell me about his condition. I respect his decision not to tell me. But that got me thinking about my own self and how I sometimes found it hard to tell others that I wasn't okay. (There are only a few people in this world that I can confide in.) I think sometimes we're very concerned about what is edifying to other people that we fail to keep things real. I mean, so what if we're not okay? Is it not okay to tell other people that we're not okay? Do we have to appear okay all the time just to edify other people?

And He made me remember: it isn't because I'm good that He has saved me. It isn't because I'm always okay with Him that He loves me. It isn't because of me that He keeps on teaching me and reviving me, giving me new strength each day to learn and learn and learn no matter how difficult His lessons may be.

It's difficult to become a Christian. But the difficulty there doesn't mean that we should stop living the way God wants us to.

the truth is...

2006-05-06T02:48:00.000+08:00

i'm tired. so shut up, please.

Oh well...

2006-05-06T01:47:00.000+08:00

My friend who loves jokers and I once had a conversation while walking. And we found ourselves uttering "Oh well" many times. Consequently, it became our theory that the expression "Oh well" is another one of those we use to say, 'that's the way things are,' to just accept something without any well-thought of reason. It's probably in the same category as "Wala lang."

These past few days, I have done crazy things, things which have no well-thought of reason. I'm usually a sensible person, one who always asks, "And what will that do to you?" or "What will happen afterwards?" But, I don't know. I had veered away from that side unconsciously. So what did I do?

1. I created a friendster blog. haha!

2. I stopped updating my blog for about a week.

3. I listened to a number of adults complain.

4. I absented myself from my one and only class this summer.

5. I criticized a U.P. professor.

6. I talked to my guy best friend.

7. I told someone he was crazy in front of his friends.

8. I played the violin in the eng'g steps.

9. I talked with someone for 5 hours.

10. I ate dinner at Jollibee and had dessert at McDo afterwards.

11. I shot robbers, battled in Tekken, and bombed alien aircraft in the arcade.

12. I ate pepperoni pizza in Sbarro. ahaha!

13. I ate Sundae twice in a day.

14. I bought a sketch pad, three Staedler pencils and a Staedler eraser.

15. I solved two Stat 117 problems.

16. I ate baguette with my mentor.

17. I gawked at designer bags and ethereal salespeople in Gateway.

18. I asked my mentor about his love life. hahaha!

19. I imagined myself not getting married.

20. I sent an entry to Youngblood.

21. I removed and replaced my violin bridge.

22. I did not kill a giant ant.

23. I thought about other people's problems.

24. I told myself to stop thinking about boy friends.

25. I told my mentor that women are made to follow and men are made to lead, that's why women don't have a sense of direction.

26. I finally admitted it to myself that I am angry and depressed.

haay... wala lang...

birthday girl

2006-04-26T14:19:00.001+08:00

happy birthday, Hazeru!!! (^_^)'

violin lessons

2006-04-26T13:55:00.000+08:00

Now I'll confront that bad thought that has long been lingering in my mind.

To be honest, I'm not "qualified" to teach the violin. "Qualified" in the sense that I don't have a degree in music, I haven't had much experience, and I haven't even performed in public yet. It may seem like a whim or a get-rich-quick scheme to have this summer job.

But in truth, I didn't expect my student to agree to become my student. I didn't even expect God to me provide with a summer job. I'm just thankful that I can do something that I want to do. It's a difficult task to teach. After our first lesson, I was so tired I had fallen asleep before dinner and early after I accompanied a friend in Philcoa. More than the physical tiredness, it's the emotional toil that's more challenging to handle. Now, I am to be responsible for somebody else's life.

Crossing Over

2006-04-26T12:20:00.000+08:00

"Pity is the feeling of well-intentioned people who are unable to act." --Pramoedya Ananta Toer, This Earth of Mankind

I had a tough job listening to older people these past few days. And it's not just listening to the pieces of wisdom that they had gained. It's also listening to their whims and their weaknesses.

It's humbling to listen to them. It's humbling to realize that I am young and I still have a lot to go through. And it's humbling to finally actually see concrete examples of what people have always said but have not entirely accepted:

Age is not directly proportional to maturity.

It's a privilege indeed for a young person such as myself to be listening to these older people as they entrust their secrets to me.

I called her Jenny!

2006-04-24T13:04:00.000+08:00

I'm becoming forgetful these days. And of all things that my memory fails in, it's in remembering people's names. I hate it when I don't remember people who I know I've seen before, but I just can't remember their names. Grr!

I can remember the very image of a girl cousin of mine who wore her hair long only once. That's when I was still about three years old. And we were still playing with plastic pots and pans because we broke the clay ones.

And I remember the name of our dogs, as seen in that previous entry about me being a cat.

And I remember my first heart break when my girl best friend decided to go with the new girl on our street. That was the time I started playing alone. At four in the afternoon, we usually pretended to be designers (with our Barbie dolls) or to be teachers, teaching the stuffed rabbits that I owned. Or sometimes we went to the stretch of grass at the end of our street where all kids congregated to play patintero or shatong or entrance or hide-and-seek. When the new girl came, I missed my 4 pm activities. I was left alone without a co-designer or a co-teacher at home. I only had my stuffed rabbits to keep me company.

Then I remember that one of my birthday dresses was pink and I hated it.

Then I remember my discovery of my parents' civil wedding as opposed to what I assumed (that they had a church wedding) because of a photograph. That was sometime in my elementary years.

Sometimes I ask myself or my memory to be exact why I don't remember the important facts... like people's names. I even called my roommate Jenny last night. Her name is Candy. My abysmal memory of course doesn't answer back.

I think it's time to sort things out and be serious about the essential things.

there's something wrong with blogger

2006-04-24T13:01:00.000+08:00

grr... why won't it publish my entries and updates?... :/

cat

2006-04-22T20:59:00.000+08:00

To a dog, you're a companion. To cat, you're staff. -one of my mentors

In one of my violin lessons in U.P. village, I got irked by these two jumpy dogs, one of which kept trying to lick my toes while the other one was busy trying to get the toe-licker to notice him. I lifted my feet up the sofa and scolded the two of them. They didn't seem to care. Or maybe they just didn't understand. That's the way dogs are. And sometimes, that's the reason why I don't like them.

Over the years, we've had a number of dogs at home. They only lived for about a year until they got bumped by a truck or got roasted on the stake. The oldest dogs I remember were named Richard and Ringo, if I'm correct. Richard was a big brown dog who hated taking a bath. Ringo was a small cream-colored one who kept growing longer and longer, not taller, each month. I didn't know how they died. One day I just didn't see them and then, I kind of forgot about them.

After these two ancients came Whitney. I was in nursery school then. They named her Whitney because about this time, the theme song of "The Bodyguard" was becoming very popular. Whitney was a splash of white, gray and light brown. She was given to us as a puppy. She was rather shy, and she always had these gooey yellowish secretions on her left eye. She kept on squeezing her tiny body in between the rattan chairs in our front porch. We had to tempt her with food when we wanted her to come out and play with us. Her favorite toy was a tiny red and green plastic dump truck which she pushed with the tip of her nose. Before she even grew up, Whitney died of some sort of disease. I witnessed how they burried her in the grassland at the end of our street.

M.C. belonged to my tita. She was so named because we got her during Christmas. I don't remember much of her because she died a few months later during the summer.

Batdog came next. He was so named because of the movie "Batman Forever." Of all our dogs, he was the smelliest, but he was the only one who reached two years until some lunatics in the neighborhood stole him and cooked him. But he was this sort of macho dog who had many wives, and therefore, left a legacy. His puppies just sprang up in all places. He was handsome for a dog. His brown mane was smooth and shiny. And he was big enough for me and my brother to ride on. When he stood up on two legs, he's even taller than my tita. But, well, he died a most tragic death and ended up in the stomachs of those hungry thieves.

I can't remember the name of the next one, but he was a hairy cream-colored dog which belonged to my tita again. He was a cowardly dog, and I didn't go near him because by that time, my asthma was becoming worse.

So I'll skip that one and go to Onyok. By this time, you probably could guess why the dog was named as such. If not, well, Mansueto "Onyok" Velasco won the silver medal in boxing in the SEA games, I think. And the dog was appropriately named because he was a small bushy caramel-colored dog who, like Ringo, grew longer and longer and longer and never taller. The boxer Onyok was supposedly short. My brother loved this dog very much that he even cried when my father accidentally ran over him while driving our van. Our dogs usually ran toward our raging van to meet us when we came home. But Onyok didn't die there. He died of food poisoning. And my brother cried as they were burrying the dog a few paces from our house.

I don't know the name of the dogs who came next. They probably didn't know me, too. By that time, I had moved to my lola's house, and the only dog there was this black and white female whose name changed every month. She belonged to my tita, and they tied her at the back of the house. She was named Baleriana once because my tita developed a liking to Bal David, the basketball player. I don't know what's her name now. She's still alive and living with an outrageously hyperactive dog, tied in front of the house whose name I also don't know.

I don't know if I ever loved the dogs at home. Sometimes they're comforting. But ever since I started to become "anti-social" (according to my lola and mother), I stopped playing even with our dogs, these smelly creatures who wagged their tales when you're holding their food, licked your toes with their slimy tongues, ran around you in circles when they wanted to play, sat or rolled over when you told them to, and cringed under the chicken coop when they're afraid of the fireworks during the New Year. In short, they did everything to make you laugh, to make you happy. Good for these dogs they still like people who are unlikeable. But anyway, I cannot be a, let's say, "dog's best friend" because I am a cat. hehe!

Cats rule.
But dogs will always be "man's best friend."

the art of manipulation

2006-04-22T20:41:00.000+08:00

The Songs He Used to Sing to Me

2006-04-21T13:54:00.000+08:00

Now and Forever
by Richard Marx

Whenever I'm weary from the battles that rage in my head
You make sense of madness when my sanity hangs by a thread
I lose my way but still you seem to understand
Now and forever I will be your man

Sometimes I just hold you too caught up in me to see
I'm holding a fortune that heaven has given to me
I'll try to show you each and every way I can
Now and forever I will be your man

Now I can rest my worries and always be sure
That I won't be alone anymore
If I'd only known you were there all the time
All this time

Until the day the ocean doesn't touch the sand
Now and forever I will be your man
Now and forever I will be your man

You Were There

I guess you’ve heard
I guess you know
In time, I might have told you
But I guess I’m too slow
Thats overly romantic
But I know that it’s real
I hope you don’t mind
If I say what I feel
It’s like I’m in somebody else’s dream
This could not be happening to me

But you were there
You were everything I’d never seen
You woke me up from this long
And empty sleep
I was alone
I opened my eyes
And you were there

Don’t be alarmed
No, don’t be concerned
I don’t wanna change things
Leave them just as they were
I mean, nothings really different
It’s me who feels strange
I’m always lost for words
When someone mentions your name
I know that I’ll get over this
For sure
I’m not the type who dreams
There could be more

But you were there
You were everything I’d never seen
You woke me up from this long
And empty sleep
I was alone
I opened my eyes
And you were there

Can I take your smile home with me?
Or the magic in your hand?

The rain has stopped
The storm has past
Look at all the colors
Now the suns here at last
I suppose that you’ll be leaving
But I want you to know
Part of you stays with me
Even after you're gone
Like an actor playing someone else’s scene
This could not be happening to me

But you were there
You were everything I’d never seen
You woke me up from this long
And endless sleep
I was alone
I opened my eyes
and oh no Im not alone! no!!! Im not alone!!!!
I opened my eyes...
And you were there
You were there

The Guitar Man

2006-04-21T13:28:00.000+08:00

Two nights ago, I cried because I missed my father. It was a pretty senseless thing actually. I didn't even cry and miss him when I was in Kalay.

He used to sing to me a lot of songs, using the guitar he has now passed on to me. I now call that guitar Job because he is quite old. My father has had him since he was in high school, I think. Job is a Craftsman, a now-rare brand of guitar, I guess. He has bought him for what is now equal to Php 6,000.

Every night, when I was still too small to handle the huge guitar, I sat beside him on one of the beds of our room and listened. He sang mostly the mellow songs, the old songs. David Gates, Don McLean, Kenny Rankin, John Denver, Richard Marx, etc. One of my favorites was "Vincent," or what people now remember as "Starry Starry Night." It was my father who told me who Vincent was. He was a painter who was never quite accepted because of his unusual art and more noteably, because he was crazy. He once cut off one of his ear lobes and offered it to a prostitute in a brothel! He nearly bled to death. Those who took compassion on him brought him to a hospital. But later on, because of the outcry of his neighbors, Vincent was confined to a mental asylum. There he painted what was to become his most famous piece and what was to serve as Don McLean's inspiration for the song which people now know as "Starry Starry Night."

My father once told me that he could have made a singing career for himself. But he chose not to. Besides being a guitarist, my father has always been acclaimed for his great voice. Whenever I hear him, I am reminded of a cross between a Frank Sinatra and a Richard Marx and an Andrea Boccelli. He started singing when he was in grade two. He once joined a band in college. Now he sings for whoever calls him to sing in weddings. He does that for free. My tita got married when I was in third-year high school. He sang during the picture-taking part. And although nobody really took notice of the singing during that part (usually people are already out there driving toward the reception area and those whose pictures are being taken are busy smiling and doing their best to look thin), I listened to my father.

He once composed a song about the environment. I don't know what he made that for. He sang it every night when I was in grade two. He once even told me to play outside the room so he could concentrate on finishing it. He didn't know that I kind of memorized the song already and that I was singing it to my girl classmates in my high-pitched schoolgirl voice. I asked them, "Who wrote this song?" and I would sing my father's song. They would often say in their equally high-pitched voices, "I've heard that before!" or "Wait! Wait! I think it's Joey Ayala." Then I would tell them that my father composed it. And nobody ever believed me.

My father bought me a guitar when I was in grade three. It was a very small one. And my father taught me how to play it. He always tuned it whenever it went out of pitch. It was rare in my elementary school during those years to have someone play an instrument like the guitar. It was even rarer if the guitarist was a girl. Instead of seeing this as an accomplishment, though, I was kind of shy even just to practice playing it because I thought it was a boy's thing. As a result, I did not become serious with it until my father left me alone to figure things out on my own. I never got to play any other song except "When You Say Nothing At All" and "Leaving on a Jet Plane." I guess I still needed him to teach me. I couldn't even tune the guitar without him!

I haven't lived with my parents since then for a reason which I can't tell you for the moment. For a long time now, I have not heard my father sing or even strum the guitar. I'm hoping to hear him again. Soon when I finally get it in my senses to live with them just like before.

some friendster message

2006-04-21T13:05:00.000+08:00

Adrian Xtian wrote:
> ask ko lng kng frend mo na c drin.. frend ko un d2
> friendster.. papakilala sana kita sa kanya pwede..?
> kng gst2 mo chek mo profile nya.. why? because
> pag nakikita ko xa eh naaalala kita..
> hehehehehehe!!!!! bagay kau!!!! jowk.. take care
> always!!!!
>

Razeru:
when you think you know what i really need,
you actually don't.
my life has changed.
my life is no longer confined in a classroom
or even in a poem which i allow you to read
or even in a boy that i might like.
don't you see that there is something greater
than the things which give you immediate happiness?
don't you see that there is something greater
than all the things of this world?
i cannot by myself make you see
what He has taught me to see.
it's still your choice.
i don't need what you are offering me.
i have done the right thing and left you behind,
although at first, i thought otherwise.
i don't regret my choice.
my choice is to live not for someone
i might think i love
nor for myself
but for Him who is greater than all things and all people.
don't hate me because i have done the right thing
and i have made the right choice.
sometimes i feel bitter towards you,
but then again, i'm much much better right now.
i'm better off without you.

thanks. but no, thanks.

my guy best friend in high school usually thought that i needed a boyfriend. whenever i complained to him about my then-boyfriend, he would usually say, "May boyfriend ka na nga. Ano pa ang kailangan mo?" until now, he thinks the same way. for a long time now, he's been 'introducing' me to a lot of his friends in Baguio. there has been a number of friendster and text messages from people i don't know. and when i check their profile they are connected to him. he has even given my cel number to his board mate without me, knowing. whenever someone unknown texts me and asks me if we can be textmates, i already know that it is my guy best friend's doing.

it's such a shame that he doesn't know that people can change. it's such a shame that he still thinks i'm the same stupid person that he once thought he knew.

making decisions

2006-04-17T17:52:00.000+08:00

it's really a shame when you don't know what to do, specially with your life. it really came as a shock to me when one day, i decided to finally ask myself what i really wanted to do after college and the days afterwards, and realize that i didn't know.
for a long time now, the question has popped in my mind. i remember when i was in first grade, i was asked what i wanted to become when i grew up. i said that i wanted to become an architect, and the whole class was in awe of what i dreamed to become. the very word "architect" sounded so grown-up, so mature and so well-planned. but then again, i think i only chose the profession because i've heard the word from my father loads of times and i loved the sound of it.
we had this information sheet when i was in elementary school. we had to answer the same set of questions each year in one-fourth sheets of paper. the teacher wrote our answers down in the real information sheet. only he or she saw the info sheet. it was only when i reached grade six that i got to see the thing. and i was surprised to find out that i wanted to become an architect, an artist, a programmer, a hotel manager, a pilot, and a school teacher.
of all the things i wrote down, what puzzled me the most was the desire to become a school teacher. i gave that answer when i was in sixth grade. my parents and grandparents have time and again prodded me to become a doctor or a lawyer. surprisingly, i didn't have those professions in my list of what i wanted to become. the same relatives have objected to my longing to teach. but most of them were teachers, themselves.
right now, i'm taking up comparative literature. many people--my parents and grandparents included--have asked me what job i would have after college. i am not like a nursing student who will later on become a nurse, or an engineering student who will become an engineer. actually, i don't know. besides ending up in a call center, i'll probably be a teacher. yes, some underpaid overworked member of the labor force. poor. but happy.

dear God

2006-04-01T02:26:00.000+08:00

**as i was fixing my things in Yakal, i saw this notebook which had a cartoon of a girl, crying, and the words:

"Dear God, I think I've broken my heart...can You fix it?"

**and inside were these poems.

Sometimes I couldn't understand
why we use words we couldn't comprehend.
Throw in 'love' between 'songs' and 'sing'
I've heard them a lot, but do they mean a thing?

Still I could not understand
how 'sad' and 'happy' could go hand in hand.
Every minute I become crazier still,
hoping to find dreamland in a tiny pill.

Oh, I've heard these silly songs about heaven's bliss.
They point to the ceiling when I ask where heaven is.
So I sing this song many might not be interested in.
I sing this to the One who knows what these words mean.

He has seen my heart, its many question marks,
its holes, its rubbish, its days in the dark.
He gave it new life as He took it in His hand
and sang to me, "Child, you will understand."

**above this poem was written:
I attempted to write a song, but I couldn't write another word.

**then there's this other poem.

Dear Lord, I was tempted
by the devil today.
He said I'd be happy
if I just walked away
from the marvelous plan
You have for me.
It was a tempting offer,
I was too blind to see.

I remember the day
I decided to end my life.
I wanted to cut my wrist
with an angry knife.
I shut myself in my room
and thought, 'No one loves me.'
But You came and made me realize
that I was too blind to see.

No word could describe
how You made me feel.
You made me see the world
and told me it was real
that 'sadness' and 'joy'
were hard to understand
but eternal joy came
once I took Your hand.

I have been attempting
millions of times
to write a song for You
that doesn't have rhymes,
all to express
how lonely I am
when I'm not walking
with You hand in hand.

If only I could untangle
the devil's clutch
and ward off these "I's"
and not think of "me" so much
(the thing is on my own,
I can't because...)
You are the only One
who can fix my heart
that has long been suffering
from breaking apart.

My mind's a mess,
I'm not sure what to say.
May I just lift up my hands
and sing to You my praise?
It's one of those attempts
of a million times.
I hope You don't mind
that the lines are in rhymes.

**i must have been sad when i wrote these poems down. but God dealt with me during those times. He continues to deal with me. hmm... wait! i'll just change the "d" in the word "deal" to "h". that way, it will become "heal." deal and heal. rhyming words.

p.s. my two previous posts are not the last ones, after all. hmm... (^_^$

donut, bay!

2006-03-31T21:17:00.000+08:00

i'm going home

2006-03-31T20:19:00.000+08:00

this last day for this sem has been an interesting one.

1. i managed to review for my chem 1 exam, actually, better than my previous chem1 exam. i woke up at 8:15am after struggling with insomnia the night before. (i always have insomnia attacks before big events which supposedly require me to sleep early.)so, upon reaching the last set of readings, i succumbed to sleep. at 10am, Ate Vinz came into our room and wrote her reply to my letter the day before. half-asleep, i recognized her thin frame and wondered what she was up to until i fell asleep again, not having read her reply. at about lunchtime, i woke up again, finally energized, and Ate Vinz again came into our room. we had some "dramatic" moment that ended in a hug. she is the most makulit ate in this world. she can make me laugh even if i'm angry or i'm in one of my mood-swinging moments.

2. lunch time. my roommate, Charito-san, and i ordered strawberry shake in LB although the weather was freezing.

3. Jacq, who had the same exam as mine, walked with me to our testing areas in Palma Hall (i in PH114, she in PH116). as we walked, we talked about those protocols for the environment that made you wonder if they really existed, those vitamins that dissolved in water and fat, those drugs that came from willow barks and chichirica plants and molds (we had a sort of issue with the salicylic acid), and those nucleotides that i'd gladly dispose of from my memory bank (since i've wasted precious brain space for them in MBB1, joke!) had they been not part of the exam.

4. exam was easier than the last one. my roommate's JPIA friends were my classmates in that subject. she said that up until that last day, they wondered who i was. they never got to know me although i very well know who they are. ***hehe! evil laugh***

5. Jacq and i went back to the dorms, eating kamote-que (is the spelling correct?). one of the chunks i had fell from the stick (kamote talaga o!).

6. i nearly got bumped by a car. i didn't see the green light. my fault. i would have died had Jacq not pulled me back.

7. Charito-san and i went to Cello's. we had two donuts and a cup of ice tea each. she, strawberry and cheese. i, oreo and strawberry. (we really do like strawberry, don't you think?) we didn't have dinner after that. we bought two boxes for the remaining YCF peoplettes.

0. i'm going home. i failed to write that yesterday, i did a Lance and went to SM, too. i had a great time watching people, drinking a caramel drink that reminded me of Harry Potter's Butterbear, "ruminating," and writing poems (i do get inspired to write poems whenever i go places, maybe because by going places, i get to see how close He is to me, and how far he may be).

so after this, i'm going home. this is the last entry for the sem that i'm typing in Charito-san's mighty PC (it didn't get damaged by that cruel virus). it's only now that i realize that my sem is over. my sem is over. my sem is over. it's nice hearing that again and again. my sem is over. (^_^)'

au revoir!

beautiful words part 1

2006-03-30T00:20:00.000+08:00

one of the most beautiful things about becoming a Christian is that you get to have other Christians--older or younger--tell you the things you're supposed to know. i praise and thank God for these people and what they had to say:

***i once told Ate Arlene, the security guard in Yakal that it was very hot. she said, "Malapit na ang katapusan." and i said, "Di ba masaya yun?" then she said:

oo, pero pa'no naman yung mga hindi pa nakakaalam?

***then, there is Kuya Butch. i once asked him what it felt like to fall in love. he said:

cherish the moment, and yet be prudent. [to love] is to choose to commit to a person in heart AND mind. you are not in love because you are forced to by a burst of emotions although emotions DO play a part. you love because you feel, you know, and you affirm this commitment with this person. and as you know, commitment brings with it a whole lot of several issues.

***i once had a conversation with Eigen-sensei, and he made me realize a lot of things. when i said thank you, he replied:

pay it forward.

more to come...

He heard my call

2006-03-29T00:23:00.000+08:00

Razeru: Jacjac, it's so hot! I'm a frog. reh-bet! reh-bet! I'm calling for rain.

**reh-bet is froggish for "Thank you", "Praise God", "Hear me, Lord" etc. etc. just as the cat says meow each time it wants to say anything.**

Jacjac: May you do your paper well. Just don't mind the heat. (in the usual singsong phleg voice)

**then, paper, paper, paper. afterwhich, YCF...Kuya (b)Arbie spoke. This one line struck me: "What are the things or who are the people God wants you to give up?"**

Razeru: Ate Jo, it's so hot! reh-bet! reh-bet! i'm calling for the rain. reh-bet!

Ate Jo: okay lang, kanta lang tayo! sa ilog ang mundo'y tahimik...

**then i thought about frogs living in rivers, calling for rain (reh-bet!), and giving up certain things and certain people.**

**more songs, I worship You, almighty God; there is none like You...**

then it rained.

i woke up, crying

2006-03-26T22:57:00.000+08:00

a while ago, i dreamt that i was in front of a huge crowd of Yakalites. funny enough, their attention was all on me. but not out of admiration or what. i was the center of controversy. their blank faces stared at me before they whispered to each other. i began to speak. i tried to convince them that there is a God! but they kept on whispering to each other. finally, some people asked questions. they interrogated me. i don't know if i was able to answer their questions well, but i knew that i was frustrated. frustrated because they weren't convinced no matter how hard i tried to tell them the Truth. then, when on the verge of tears,i was going to talk about His ultimate sacrifice, someone said that it was time already. time to go to a certain debut in a fancy hotel restaurant! they started leaving the room. they didn't listen to me anymore. then some girl patted me on the back and told me sadly to go along. i didn't want to go, but i did! but i was left outside the hotel. i sat on the dark parking space in front of the glittering hotel. then two familiar faces came and sat with me. they asked me some questions, talked to me some more, and empathized with me. then i began to cry... i woke up, crying.

i have to remember this

2006-03-25T16:48:00.000+08:00

sometimes you make me want to hate you. i often ask myself if i really do want you. but of course i do. i would not have chosen you if i didn't like you. in fact, i'm growing more and more in love with you... now that i realize that i'm not spending that much time with you anymore.

it's difficult to be around you, that's for sure. many have wanted to be with you, but i guess they just can't stand being with you every single day. like me, they hadn't thought that it would be this hard to spend time with you. you're a brat most of the time! you're not very responsive. sometimes, you even make me feel inadequate.

but, like me, you're just misunderstood. and don't get me wrong, i do like you.

and i guess i just have to get to know you better. that way, i would also get to know myself better. that way, i'd be more confident and more able trust in Him and in what He has said before: that He is with me as i live this life with you.

my mentor once said that for me to be able to cope with being misunderstood, i should look for somebody like myself and make his or her day brighter. now, i found you. although you are gloomy, (we both are anyway) i would want to look forward to brighter days ahead with you. days that would get brighter and brighter and brighter until the brightness becomes something we cannot understand right now but which we would see later on.

do forgive me... please.

dedicated to my friend who resembles the picture above.