August

AUGUST

August is the eighth.

not too soon not too late

a rarity that precedes the cold

a beauty that renders the twin old

August was the time

when forces caused our worlds to collide

as if in a syzygy we stood still

and in unforeseen rapture we revel.

Once in the dark screen I wrote

to which a friendly conversation then followed

and into an exquisite romance it transpired.

For that, I must thank I wasn't a ludite.

This part of year I feel special and blue

for August reminds me of you

Reminiscing over the memories we made

each time July vanishes from the page.

I hanker for your presence even before the Yuletide.

Oh how I long to be by your side!

It must be the promises you made over the phone

I yearn for your voice whenever August is on.

A couple of forthnights in desolation

is not the best idea for a celebration

no I mustn't spend the month in isolation

but when you're not here I am in total desperation.

In your absence I am a tourist without a map,

a sundae lacking a cherry on the top,

a salad shorn of dressing.

You see it is you that I keep on missing.

I am not sure if this is a serious malady

or just a plain sign of a lifelong insanity.

Whichever it is, you are the only remedy.

A matter that does not require a colloquy.

Soon to August we'll say our valediction

Still I'll hunger for your love devoid of repudiation

as August comes on and on,

I will be waiting for you ad infinitum.

Panawagan ng Isang Lambana

Ako ba ay lubos na nangungulilala?

Sapagkat ang iyong tinig tila aking naririnig

kasabay ng pag-ihip ng malamig na hangin

ay ang aking dalangin na ang iyong himig ay muling mapakinggan.

Dito sa Kaluwalhatian ako'y isinalin

mula sa kagubatang minsa'y naging atin

Ngayon ako'y lumuluha at naghihinagpis

sapagkat ang ating pag ibig ay sadyang tinapos

ng aking amang hari na ngayo'y ako'y ginapos.

Sa kabila ng pagiging lambana ako ay inibig

ng isang mortal na minsan aking sinagip

sa hagupit ng mapangahas bagyo sa lupang tinatawag na mundo

ako'y nabighani sa kanyang kundiman na pawang makapangyarihan.

Ngayo'y ako'y nalulungkot sa paraisong aking minsan naging tahanan

sapagkat nasa iyong kanlungan ang aking tunay na kaligayahan

kay Bathala ako'y muling mananalangin

ang makapiling ka'y aking taging hangarin.

Ako man ay nasasaktan sa aking paglisan

sa lupang aking minsang inalagaan

at sa lalaking umibig sa akin ng lubusan

at ngayon ako'y nagbabakasakali

na sa paglipas ng panahon ika'y muling mapasaakin

sana ikaw ay muling masilayan

kahit paminsan minsan

at sa paglubong ng araw sana ay madama

ang init ng iyong yakap aking sinta.

Subalit waring ako'y mangangarap

hanggang sa dulo nga walang hanggang

sapagkat ako'y isang lambana na minsan ay umibig

sa isang mortal na tila di mawala sa aking isip.

A Shakespearean Summer

Most people would often associate summer with pristine white sandy beaches, bikini tan lines, seemingly unending parties with the fire dancers, and the rest of the eternal array of fun and excitement that we have been looking forward to since the beginning of each year. I love savoring the tropical flavors – four seasons except for the pineapple maybe. I love soaking on the shore and watch the horizon as it patiently waits for the sun to bid goodbye while feeling the warmth of the sand as they cling to my sole. I love listening to the whispers of the sea as the waves go by and kiss the rocks with fervor as if they have been reunited after a long time of being apart. I love dancing with the beats of reggae music as the night takes control of what was once a quiet afternoon. I love summer because I love the beach life or the other way around. I can’t seem to pin point which is the cause and which is the effect. Nevertheless, the bottom line is I love summer!

I’ve been thinking of going to Boracay to partake on what has been a long practiced summer tradition of hitting the beach, partying really hard, and guess what? Going home broke! I thought it’s a great idea. Well, it was until my mood swing relapsed and my brilliant mind had a paradigm shift moment. Suddenly, the beach party idea along with the Umberto Eco reading session under a coconut tree felt mundane.

My penchant for the cherry blossoms began long before the Pacific tectonic plates went into a pugnacious mode. I’ve been painting my toes with intricate floral details even before the cherry blossoms blossomed. I even dreamed of migrating to Japan for the ultimate experience. Sitting on a Japanese park where dozens of trees bearing hundreds of dainty pink on white petals and doing nothing but just marvel at nature’s wonder seemed to be a very good excuse to hunt for career opportunities in the Land of the Rising Sun. Not to mention that sushi bars, sumo wrestling, geisha and Saki were some of the things that I had in mind while I was having a high noon hallucination. This is one of the rationale why they say that too much Discovery Channel viewing is bad for your health.

My dreamy days finally went into a halt after the whole world was shocked and terrified by a news flash that almost made me conclude that the world was nearing its finale. Along with thousands of people, millions of assets, and unquantifiable emotional burdens, my cherry blossom plan was abruptly washed away. My hallucination stopped and there I was back into the sad reality.

I don’t know what is wrong with me but I can be very over dramatic sometimes. Like when someone or something whacks my object of obsession or when things disrupt an idea or anything that stirs my imagination I would often find my thoughts wandering aimlessly until I will one day wake up weltering and finally settles into something that I coined as “unreasonable depression.” Call me crazy but that’s what I am.

It was Jephunie who told me about the local cherry blossoms (if that’s even the appropriate term for that) known in the local dialect as “arbor”. As an Assumptionista, she swore she have seen some bloom every summer within their campus during her high school days. She described the local counterpart in details and it rekindled an excitement within me.

I found myself embarking on a 45-minute journey to Miag-ao, a town made popular by one of the oldest and perhaps the most sought-after church in the region. I’ve never been inside the church but I had the chance to take a peak on its perimeter the last time I was there. I felt bad for not being able to take a vivid look at one of the UNESCO’s heritage site. But the church will forever stand there and the local cherry blossoms can’t wait. The more apt description was actually I can’t wait to see them!

Soon my most hated part of traveling, which was traveling itself, came to an end and my dreamy summer was about to happen. Not even a sumptuous plate of oysters at Doming’s can stop me from my quest for the truth. I’ve been a skeptic about the existence of a local cherry blossom. It wasn’t until I painstakingly walked up the stairs of the hilly campus of Southern Iloilo Polytechnic College that I finally believe in its existence. Right before my eyes, petal by petal, blossom by blossom, the white flower began pouring like a shower, the kind that fairies in the fantasy-themed stories lavishly enjoy. The wind sent the branches to gyrate simultaneously and I found myself lulled by the exhilarating, sweet and intense aroma emanating from the beds of blossoms laid on my feet. The soft breeze of the April wind soothed my then aching muscles, the price that I have to pay for the luxury that was worth all the sufferings I have endured that day. “Ah! This is the kind of summer I’ve been dreaming about,” a thought reverberated inside my head. It felt so right to read a romantic novel right there and then. I bet even Will can’t help but write sonnets under the refuge of the hovering blossoms. For a moment there I thought I heard Lady Olivia from The Twelfth Night said “Why, this is very midsummer madness.” But of course it was just a product of my imaginings. And no I wasn’t on peyote or LSDs. It’s just me and the wonders of the natural high.

There maybe no beat box, no island music like Diwata, no piña colada, no fire dance, no pictures taken with a sandcastle where you have to pay 5 pesos each time you hit the camera button, and no there were no sands on my feet but the rather unassuming and much more of a plain visit to a tree I never thought existed in the region was perhaps the most surreal summer I ever had. Except maybe if I get to meet a bikini-clad Ursula clutching a trident in one of those beach escapades. But for now, I am good with the whole dreamy scenario.

Happy summer everyone =)!

how not to miss you

How can I not miss you

How can I not miss you

when the dawn reminds me of your face

like a dew basking in a lily's embrace

your arms are my haven than none can replace.

How can I not miss you

when I see your eyes each time I close mine

when I hear your whispers even in my sigh

truly, it's the best endearing conundra of all time.

How can I not miss you

when the silence strikes a chord of melancholy

when the days are mostly consumed by the thoughts of you and me

as if in your absence I am a catastrophe.

How can I not miss you

when I can feel your warmth around me in the cold

when you secretly dry my tears even without being told

A sight that is worthy to behold!

How can I not miss you

when the world tells me that I do

when memories of us together linger

as sweet and as intense as a cherry blossom's or even better.

How can I not miss you

when my heart beats to call out your name

when the nights seem endless and the daylights mundane

Is it just me trying to reminisce or am I driving myself insane?

How can I not miss you

when countless hours are spent with you in a fantasyland

where a romantic melody may come from merely strumming a strand

a place where we can repeatedly write our names in the sand.

How can I not miss you

when it's obvious that I do

Smiling here in the dark dreaming with my eyes open

I can't help but giggle like I did back then.

Someday, somehow, somewhere

I know you and I will be reunited

and our love will no longer be unrequited

for you and I are two souls in one

just like the nighttime moon and the daylight sun.  

The Square Root of Three by David Feinberg

I’m sure that I will always be
A lonely number like root three

The three is all that’s good and right,
Why must my three keep out of sight
Beneath the vicious square root sign,
I wish instead I were a nine

For nine could thwart this evil trick,
with just some quick arithmetic

I know I’ll never see the sun, as 1.7321
Such is my reality, a sad irrationality

When hark! What is this I see,
Another square root of a three

As quietly co-waltzing by,
Together now we multiply
To form a number we prefer,
Rejoicing as an integer

We break free from our mortal bonds
With the wave of magic wands

Our square root signs become unglued
Your love for me has been renewed

A Skeptic's Letter to the Almighty

Dear God,

I know you're busy with a lot of things that's going on in the planet I am in right now. Your children must've been calling for your help, guidance, and forgiveness over and over again after the anguish we have brought upon ourselves. In behalf of my many brothers and sisters scatered all over the globe, I want to say sorry for being a disrecpectful caretaker. Some say you have done it on purpose. Others say that it was us who brought these extreme chaos to life. I believe in both. I am not proud being a part of a population who caused a havoc as huge as the one we are experiencing right now yet if this is what I was meant to do and participate in for a greater purpose then it is an honor to be a part of such.

Forgive for taking much of your time but I've been experiencing some terrible blow to my spirituality recently. I am writing you this letter not to implicate people but to find answers to the questions that I and the rest of the world is trying to figure out. I know I have been quite an absentee from your temple lately, your stone temple. I don't have to tell you all the details for I know that you already know what has been on my mind and what is going on inside my head right now but I feel the need to air myself, my story, my battle.

I was born a Catholic, raised by the same church, and even educated by the people from it. But it is no secret that my early life has been a juggle between other religions. I've been to several fellowships. I have heard the gospels and read the words of Jehova, Christ, Shiva, Allah among others. Yet I never felt I have betrayed you for I know that although you come in many names you are still God, my God, the supreme being who created everything. And I like that. It makes me feel like they're all my brothers and sisters. Isn't that what it is suppose to be? You said we are your children and you are our father and it felt right that way.

Few days ago my heart sank due to a disturbing remark. It had me thinking a lot about misguided faith. It's not new to me to hear questions from people regarding my religious belief. I've been openly declaring my stand. I am a skeptic Catholic. I don't want to lie about my view on the church. We know very well that I am hardly an epitome of a good girl. Many times before I have disappointed you, many times I have demonstrated an act of repentance, and commit the same mistakes over and over again days after. I know that in the future I will perpetuate more sins, maybe less, maybe the same wrongdoings I did yesterday, a week ago, months before. I know this because just like the rest of your children I am a sinner. Though many times I tried to get some redemption every now and then, I am certain that sooner or later I will do something wrong to someone because that's what I am, a human – gullible, selfish, frivolous, and most of all self-absorbed. I believe that you created us that way. We were born with free will, equipped with the gift of intuitiveness, the kind that would later on lead us to the oasis of truth, the path towards you. And of all the gifts you've given us, freedom, life, love, and wisdom are the ones I value the most.

A couple of days ago someone questioned my faith simply because I refused to go and hear a mass within your stone temple. Lately, with all the political and social issues that the church has been redundantly tacking during sermons, I had this sort of distaste from the church that thought me about the basis of the good and the bad. Suddenly, it felt wrong cursing inside your house over topics that are totally out of context. I am aware that they feel responsible for watching over our morality. I appreciate that. But shouldn't a church so well-established be confident enough to trust its members to make a choice for themselves? These among other baffling things about the religion I was born into had me privately conversing with you every night. And I like it. It felt less pretentious and more personal like you are my secret bestfriend for a long time. You have been.

I want to say sorry for the way people judge people just like that. I know that they don't have the right to do so for even you who have given us everything does not pass judgement on the mankind you have meticulously created. With all fairness to them, they're just being protective of the faith that they've been clinging onto for decades. Just like I did. It made me blue though to realize how a vast knowledge of your words can overwhelm their spirituality and how the chanting, the singing, and the glorification can contain them within the border they've created for themselves. Thus, they were not able to see what's beyond. It bothers me how they've given much emphasis on your words, memorized every word by heart and yet failed to see what's written in between the lines. It breaks my heart each time I see how a misguided peity or the erroneous translation of religion segregates us and put a wall between us. I know that despite the glorifications, the laud, the reverence I know that what you really want is for us to live in harmony regardless of by which name we call you. Each time I turn on the TV I am reminded of the consequences brought about by how people regard religion as faith and how they were enveloped and blinded by it. I may not know much about being holy because obviously I am far from being one and I would never be holy in my entire existence. I was once like that too – a bigot. I admit I've been confused before but after a long contemplation, I've come to understand that faith has little to do with religion, that unlike religion faith can exist on its own. I maybe wrong. If I am enlight me so that I may be able to comprehend things fully. It is true that religions are all born out of faith but I think that faith can be conceived independently. I don't even believe that religion really matters on a big scale. Sure they hone people and make them better individuals but I don't think that if we're going to see each other that's going to be a huge issue. I even doubt if you would ask me if what's my religion. That would be the least kind of conversation we're probably going to have because I know that you are a very compassionate being, the kind that never criticizes. If someone will ask me what religion I am in I will tell them this: I was born a Catholic, I grew up as a skeptic, and now I do not have any. For I do not have a religion. I only have faith.

They say I'm too rational that I been more a servant of science than of God. I say I serve both. Just because I believe in black holes, Big Bang, atoms, and multiple universes, just because I happen to like Hawking's String Theory, it doesn't make me “just” a person of science. If they're going to ask me how I think life started, I will tell them a story of the physicists' theories of complex elements and of Darwin's Origin of the Specie. And if they're going to codemn me for believing so, I will tell them that there has to be a supreme being who created the all the black holes and the antimatter long before the Big Bang. As oppossed to what most believe that you created us from dust, which is partly true in my opinion, I am more inclined to believe that an omnipotent God was so smart enough to design life in a more intricate and very creative manner. The same omnipresent and omniscent God who hears my thoughts, the one who listens to my cries, the same being who cares for humanity and answers their prayers. I am not certain on how the universe started or how life began exactly. It could be that you created Adam and then Eve or you have created eons of elemental fusion to give us what we have. Only you know the answer. I maybe right. I maybe wrong. But for now I hope you don't mind if I'll settle for the more complex one because you are patient and all-powerful.

There's one more concern that I find rather bizarre about us, your people, myself included. I often hear people saying that their prayers weren't answered. I think there is no such thing as unanswered prayers. We're just too busy dedicating our mind to that focal point of whatever that is that we want that we fail to grasp the idea that a “no” or “not now maybe some other time” are also answers. Perhaps we need something or someone so badly that we refuse to take any answer other than a yes. Or maybe we've underestimated your power that we often forget that you are indeed omnipresent and omnisceint that even before we whisper a prayer before we sleep you already know what we need and what we want.

I don't have much to brag about the scriptures and I am living in the world with many gods but I in no way ever felt small for I know that you are always with me, guiding me. There maybe some who would call me names and throw stones at me but it's alright. I don't expect them to understand the kind of faith that I have for faith is a personalized discipline. And although I am much of a redundant sinner, I would like to ask a favor from you. Please send us all wisdom that we may be able to appreciate faith and share it harmoniously with others. Touch our hearts with love, sympathy, and empathy that we may be able to unite as one delighted children of God. Open our thoughts so that we may see the horizon with much clarity. Enlighten our minds and help us know you more. Uncover our eyes that we may not live in a mock blindness. Sharpen our sense of hearing that we may hear the anguish not only of the oppressed but of the reclusive and misjudged as well. Whisper songs into our hearts that we may be joyous despite of the chaos. And lastly, we would love to have a get-out-of-jail free card for some minor mistakes we make.

I hope it's not too much. I'm not going to promise you lyrics of passions nor of expensive offerings but I will do my best to please you most of the time by doing little acts of goodness everyday. I am not going to pledge for something so huge I cannot possibly meet. I wish that a good deed a day will suffice. Let's start from there and let's see where it goes.

Thank you so much for the love and the life.

Sincerely,

An unorthodox yet genuine believer.

You'll love Paris

In my desperate attempt to find a sort of inspiration for the book review I'm on right now and perhaps my relentless effort to fight another bizarre depressive episode of my seemingly more apparent bipolar condition, I packed my laptop, GieGie, here and departed to an awesome place modern people call cafe. I always feel like a nerd each time I sit in the corner and open my laptop and start typing even if I'm just actually tweeting. It's funny how the idea of being in the cafe and being watched by the patrons give me this sort of a hyper-genius feeling. It seems like when you're holding a book or typing something in a place like that people think you're some sort of a nerdy asocial creature and they kept on looking at you as if you're a part of a circus or something. Ironically, I like that feeling. It doesn't freak me out at all. It pushes me to create something may it be a masterpiece or a disaster. I feel like I'm obliged to live to their expectation regardless whether they actually expect something good or they don't expect any at all.

So there I was trying to start my day right after an abrupt episode of idiopathic depression. A cup of tea. Check. A sandwich. Check. Then there was this guy, an American who frequents the cafe as well. He was here for a vacation and he's staying at a hotel next door. We exchanged a familiar smile and the next thing I knew we were chatting over a cup of coffee. He's not the scary stalker type and although I have this sort of phobia of foreign people he was OK to me. We chatted about a lot of things and it was an intellectual conversation. Taught me some English lessons (he was an English professor back in LA) and I really appreciate it. Although his main purpose here is to figure out what sort of business he would venture into, he's been into observing Filipino culture for quite sometime now. And so far we both agree on these matters:

1. I am unusual. Well I was let's say convinced that I am considering the number of people who think that I am weird. I am unsual according to him because I read a lot of books of different genre, I seldom text (hmmm..try to turn back the hands of time...say...five years and you'll think otherwise), I don't dress up much. I don't know what he means but yeah I was on this granny shorts and a shirt this morning.

2. Filipino women are obsessed with whitening products. True. Once in my life I too was convinced that I need all those papain and skin whitening bars to look really good. Now I refuse to use any otherwise I might end up looking like a ghost. I seldom see the sun. That's my secret. But yeah what's the deal with whitening products? It's so sad that Filipinos think of their color as a curse. The mentality has been in our system since the Spanish era. Remember the Indios vs Mestizos battle for supremacy. Apparently, it's still evident up to now. Blame it too on the TV ads that invest on inferiority complex. They've made Pinays believe that if you're not fair enough, you're ugly!

3. The education system here is cheap and of quality but is slowly delineating. You know how I always say that what's wrong with the education system here is not the education per se but the system. Well, I got a vote just this morning. "Do away with the multiple choice and help the students think and create ideas not just give them the chance to depend on wild guesses, " he explained.

4. Manila is no good place to stay. BUT Iloilo is. Consider the traffic jams, the pollution, the crimes, the slums, and the people who are dying to take advantage of the cultural ignorace of a tourist. Then consider the friendly and hospitable ambiance, the laid back life, the not-so expensive cost of living, the pretty ladies (?), and the blooming business opportunities.

5. Boracay is OK but unexploited beaches are way better. We think Boracay is too overrated and overpopulated and Guimaras is way better. As opposed to posh hotel rooms, huts are still the best.

Glad the guy went back to his hotel room. The two-hour chat finally ended and I now have time to review books on my fake day off. I changed day off (just for today) because of some minor neuroelectrical glitches. Must see a shrink soon. i think I need it so badly. Anyway, funny thing is. We've had a conversation for a couple of hours but I forgot his name. Now I have to call him the English professor guy or Prof X. LOL!

Got a gift from Ryan....this book.

Bipolar diet for a bipolar

Just before I left home this morning I caught a glimpse of a local TV show Salamat Doc and they're talking about helpful diets for a bipolar. I learned that cashew, fish, cabbage, and cucumber help lighten up the mood.

I've been remunerating on my diet lately and yes even my diet is bipolar too!

I been having a dressing-less garden salad for lunch for few days now. Ironically, I too been devouring some..let's say not so healthy food (such the oil-bathe potato chips, the carbo-loaded pizza, and the oil-flooded mushroom aglio olio - now I know why it's called olio) lately as evidenced by these photos.

Me on Mezzo: Women's Month

"I think the society has been accustomed to giving importance to women and to value their capabilities and skills. I am very thankful that I was born in a country where women are given the opportunity to become what they want to be, where they are allowed to give a shot at the male-dominated industries, and where they are respected and esteemed. Sure there are underlying issues regarding which of the sexes is better. It's a sort of a vicious cycle that we're born into and there's not much we can do about that. As a woman, I say let's just keep on defying the notion. We may not end up as the better sex but at least we're quite sure that we end up as a better version of ourself."

It's 2:40 AM and I was just done writing reviews for Jessica Zafra's Twisted series and Virginia Euwer Wolff's Probably Still Nick Swansen..Will try to write something about Harper Lee's To Kill a Mocking Bird later...I think I need to sleep. I still have work tomorrow...eerr...later at 7am. Got home at around 10pm from a housecall...whatta Sunday-Monday!

10 things to do when you're bored

1. Tweet. I am known as the_squint on Twitter. Write about anything just make sure you don't start a cyber war or something like that.

2. Upload photos on Facebook. Do this and try not to swoon over how smart is Mark Zuckerberg for creating this online shopping center of friends (and possibly stalkers?)

3. Donate your old stuff to charity. It's time to clear your closets from unwanted clothes, shoes, and accessories. Donate and be happy!

4. Plant a tree. The real one not a pea shooter and help the environment. Invest in your lungs. (You can maintain the equilibrium by smoking a cigarette while planting).

5. Read Zafra and laugh. She completes my day :)

6. Read. Read. Read. get it?

7. Adopt a pet and make sure they're happy all the time!

8. Start an argument with your longtime imaginary friend. Let's see if who'll win. Or just watch the on-going senate hearing on the AFP corruption. I bet you'll have lots of things to think about after five minutes or better yet it might set off an undiagnosed aneurysm and whoala you now have something to worry about other than not having anything to do.

9. Sweat out. Jog. Do some core exercises. Try if you can hold the plank position for more than 30 minutes the good for you. Been aiming for 15 and all I can do is 10. pfffttt!

10. Blog! Write about the things that's been on your head since you left the house this morning. Try to keep the explicit details to yourself. We don't really wanna hear your cursing (we can do better). We don't really wanna hear about your sex life (who knows maybe we can do better on that part too LOL!).

Food and other earthly things

Emancipation is a good thing...I think

I've been thinking for days about emancipation and its pros and cons. I've been let's say very patience and condoning for years now. And I think just like any other matter in this world, I've reached the breaking point. Malleability is something that I've been clinging to since I've been a rabid follower of solitude. And at this point in my life, when people seem to loose their sense of sensitivity over things that matter to me the most, I would love to embrace solitude with all seriousness. I have had enough of people.

Silence is a bit of my signature. It's something that I do so as not to harm other either by gouging their eyeballs and feeding them to the cats or by the sharp edge of my linguistic sword. I seldom get mad. Although I'm not much of a happy person, I am a non violent one. I would always try my best to understand people. At this point though I cannot seem to understand any. The rationales seem hazy and the intelligent explanation seem muffled. I don't get it. I have a more than average IQ and I cannot find any logical reasons as to why people seem to harass me on a daily basis over a certain how-much-is-the-effing-thing-is-going-to-earn (still on a cursing spree here). I find it funny how they easily forget the harshness in their words when you asked them favors, favors which by the way remained unrequited. And it's OK if you get a straight "no" for an answer but if you get a total silence, not even a muffled white noise, it settles into my frontal lobe perfectly. And they seem to forget it all when they have to be nice and really sweet because they want something from you. And that's just ok because I am a less of an evil than most people think. So you get to do stuff for them and they get to ask for more from you although you kept on telling them that's not the only thing in the world that's trying to eat your entire brain. Anyway, that's not the worst part. The dumbest thing other people can do to you is when you're trying your best to earn yourself something like a scholarship maybe and then you already told them about it yet they keep on hollering at you to do this and that just because that's the way they are - sweet,really sweet insensitive bunch of morons. Did I just mentioned that the favor was all about the whole scholarship thing and they ditched the idea, maybe resent it, I don't know I can't speak in behalf of any of them. Yet it's amazing how they manage to have the guts to relentlessly destroy what you are just starting to build with your bare hands. It's like you're molding a sculpture and you asked for a hand yet they refused to help you yet with all their wits and all they still have the guts to ask you to let's say hold a glass of water just because they want to as you both watch the whole pigeon sculpture melt. And all of these was because you're very accommodating. Hey I'm not claiming to be the best here. Sure I have flaws but I'm pretty sure it's not scalable to their own. I ain't perfect but I know I was good. I graduated from college with the scholarships and all. I worked all sorts of job to suffice my needs and some occasional taste of luxury. I was never knocked up in my 28 years. I've never been the kind that gives people a headache in short and no I don't have any intentions of marrying a whore.

I guess this is what you get when you're a strong person. You're so strong that people often assume you're just ok with almost anything. I've always long to have that someone who'll take care of me the way I wanted to. I've never had any. it's always been me, myself, and my imaginary friend. LOL!

I think the rabbit hates me

First there was the near abduction thing on New Year's night. Then there was the I-fainted-just-because case few days after. Don't forget the goddamn-I-effing-hate-you-all feeling after being constantly harassed by my beloved family members which had me popping some antidepressants. And then now my phone isn't working. It's like I'm sort of in a bad shape this year of the hare. I do have a pet hamster. Now I am wondering if I should buy a pair of rabbit just to get a little of a good luck for this year. I don't really believe in the Chinese astrology but I do like Chinese food on the other hand. Tikoy is really good.

I suddenly remember someone really special asking me on a chatroom (way back mirc days) "What sort of a dog are you?" And I stupidly said "Chihuahua". Of course I know what he actually means. I was just playing around, my prelude to juvenile flirting 101. I bet I always cross his mind each time he sees a chihuahua or maybe not. We'll never know really.


Going back. I've been hooked to Good Times With Mo podcast lately although he's not really my forte. I mean the guy talks about sex and sex and sex like it's a bunch of kangkong in a wet market. By the time you're done with let's say four episodes you don't want to bang your wife anymore. It's exhausting. Although just for the heck of a good laugh it's a good alternative to telenovelas on TV which makes your day bluer than it is. Plus the show makes you wanna say f*ck and b*tch like it's a noontime show jingle. Hey it's a good cursing therapy. The show makes me feel like an angel without wings...really.

And since I've been lured into a cursing spree this last week. I decided to at least attempt to get some sort of redemption. I found this mass celebrated by Fr. Abad (Rafa's brother) on his facebook link. Now the little devil will get some pardon. Allow me to share.

The Story of a Huge Pink Train

There's a little girl who always wanted to ride a train, a huge pink train. She grew up imagining what the train looked like and what sort of emotions a ride can evoke. So when she was seven, she packed her books and sat on the old train station. She wasn't sure if the train still existed but she tried anyway. With nothing on her pocket but a few pennies, not even a ticket, she sat on the bench and waited for the huge pink train. Few days later, she got tired and decided to go home. She picked up her books and left the station but as she crossed the street she caught a glimpse of a huge pink train as it stopped! She ran towards the opposite side of the road and yelled "wait for me!...wait for me!" But it was too late the train left just as quickly as it came. The little girl's heart sank. Tears ran down her soft pale cheeks. She'll never get the chance to ride that train but "hey at least I know the train existed and now people can stop calling me crazy for believing so", she tried comforting herself. As she was slowly drying her eyes she saw a little boy on the end part of the huge pink train. He was waving and yelling something. "I'll comeback for you," said the little boy. And then her eyes opened with utmost glee. "I will wait for you!" she replied as she waved back to the little boy. So she went home and told her friends about the huge pink train but no one believed her. They all thought it was all a lie. From then on, everyday the girl would sit on the bench from dawn until dusk hoping that maybe the next day or the day after that the huge pink train will arrive and so will the little boy. Years passed and yet there were no signs of any train yet. The then little girl, now a young lady, stood there and waited for the train although she wasn't sure anymore if they still make railroads but she took the chance anyway and waited...and...waited...and waited. Sometimes a bus or two would stop by and offer her a ride but she would always politely refuse. Until one day a nice car stopped by and somehow encouraged her to join the ride and she did, for a few blocks at least. She found out that she doesn't like to be in that car as much as she wanted to be in that stupid almost non existent huge pink train. So she got off the bus and walked back to the train station and waited for more until she was left with almost no hope. And then out of nowhere the huge pink train finally arrived and she was quite unsure what to do. Should she go for a ride or just go home and forget about the whole trip? She kept asking herself. "Why not give it a try..." she concluded. "I can still get off the train on the next station if I'm not happy with it anyway," she muttered. And so the then little girl got on the train. It was nice. No, it was more than that. It was everything she dreamed of. It was beautiful, exhilarating, freeing, and comforting. It's as if all the emotions in the world were contained on that space. She finally met the then young boy on the train. He's been there for a very long time. It was his train after all. And for so long he waited for someone to get into a ride with him but no one seemed interested in the old huge pink train. Kids would prefer to ride in nice cars, a massive bus, or something other than the huge pink train. There were some who tried to get into the train but he refused to let them in. Neither of them caught his attention. And the young lady with him in that huge pink train was something he never saw before. The two had fun, talked about almost anything, laughed, giggled, and shared stories and the then little girl automatically forgot about the stations and her plot to cancel the trip. She then realized that a stop button was nowhere to be found and she was almost in the state of panic, happy and scared at the same time, in a huge pink train whose destination they don't know about. "What if one day I want to get off?," she asked. She wanted to get off at that very instant not because she's no longer happy but because she's having a great time that it sacred her. What if one day it will hit dead end and stop? It'll make her blue. The thought of it was so painful, almost unbearable. It's to late to halt. She just hoped that the train won't stop soon and although she knew that it will come to a halt someday for some reasons, and she knew very well that there will be high and low times, she decided to stay. She's not naive to the anguish of the world. She had seen people get on and off the bus and she was well aware that most of them got on full of hopes and most of them too got off teary eyed. "No matter what I'm just so happy to be on this train that getting off it is impossible. After all I waited for it for years. This? This is the ride that I've been dreaming of. So who really cares where the train is heading to? I'm just glad that you're in it too" She said to the young boy as she laid her head on his shoulder.-jvb

*This is for the then little boy on the train. Wherever you are, know that you're loved by the then little girl who waited for the huge pink train.*

It gets into my nerves

I've been mum for quite sometime (at least here). Let's say I've adopted a bit of a new lifestyle brought about by numerous complicated factors that made my what used to be a very complicated a head-cracking nonsensical argument very sensible. I'm talking about ditching my fascination of ala Aerosmith music to a soft, classy, and intelligent one such as Stravinsky, Bach, Beethoven, Mozzart, and some meditation tracks. I also managed to take some time off from the love-inflicted flicks. Now I am officially addicted to musicals. (Have you watched the Les Miserables 10th Anniversary concert? It's like being lulled by Victor Hugo himself). I also traded my night life into more of night ins with plenty of meditation and essentially healthy conversations with not so many people. And if you're going to ask what keeps me busy after work? It's pretty easy. I've become a mom to a 3 month old hamster I named Cu (Copper) and I'm planning to expand my mini zoo soon. LOL!

I've also noticed that my keen observation has somehow become affluent lately without any efforts of cultivation on my part. It's perhaps because the whole hormonal issues (I'm not pregnant! My doc says I have some minor hormonal glitch) or maybe because the clock is really ticking.

So far these are the top 5 most annoying things/ issues/ ideas that somehow managed to get into my nerves:

1. Women who's wore the skimpiest clothing available in the planet as they swirl and sway on the most crowded places during street parties and still have the guts to file complaints of being harassed by half wasted men. argghhh! why don't you buy some common sense? since you seem to be a little short for let's say a pair of jeans.

2. People who lack respect as to privacy. In layman's term "chismosa!"

3. People who never seem to develop a sense of independence as to minute things in life. Like they think you have all the time in the world to do things for them and you aint got any life of your own. And then they'll brag about how great they are. I say they make life a burning pit of fireball.

4. Bookstores that sell nothing but crappy literary works. Why don't you sell black and white horoscope komiks instead. Remember the 80's?

5. People whose breeding is a lot lesser than let's say a terrier. Why don't you learn from dogs? They might teach you a thing or two.


Those are just some of the reason why I'd sometimes want to crack their brains with a shovel. The same reason why spitting plants and groovy zombies still rocks.

I'm just glad that the musical adaptation of Victor Hugo's Les Miserables saved me from committing murder on the first degree. Check out their 10th Anniversary concert. I wish there's a Jean Valjean in my life or a Marius is good too as long as I am Cosette and not Eponine.

The warrior is not a child. He's a lunatic!

I am currently reading Joseph Girzone's Joshua and the Children. Fr. Burong, a patient who happen to share my love for the poetic and the dramatic as well as for my fascination with art and Gregorian music, brought the book one day for me to read and ponder on. I'm not exactly a huge fan of spiritual reads as evidenced by C.S. Lewis' Letters to Malcolm that has been sitting idly on my desk for weeks now but I somehow find Girzone's novels as lightweight, touching, and insightful. Despite the fact that I haven't read his first book that was aptly titled Joshua, I'm starting to like how he makes a parable less biblical without losing the heartwarming and often enlightening touch that most, if not all, parables in the Bible possess. In fact I've only read the first nine chapters and I feel spiritually affluent already. This is exactly the invigorating and  relaxing read that I've been yearning to have since I finished the rather odd, inspiring yet disturbing biography of a world-renowned author Paulo Coelho.

My editor was right when she said that what I was reading was heavy. She's a fan of Stephenie Meyer that's why. Not that I have a sort of personal vendetta against the Twilight people.  I neither have anything negatively serious against Meyer nor I resent my editor for often "harassing" me when deadline comes knocking on her frontal lobe. I don't want to lament on other people's taste on things although I often do it involuntarily sort of a reflex but don't worry I often conk myself with a huge steel bar whenever I am aware.

Girzone just taught me an important lesson: Fighting is for the morons!

Let's get into the wormhole and go back if we can (I have to ask Stephen Hawking for the probability of this one) couple of weeks ago. 

So there I was finding excuses to flip the pages of a thick soft bound, a long enduring roller-coaster journey with the bizarre Brazilian author. If I weren't in anyway busy, I could have finished the book in no time. But I was compelled to wake up early each morning and work until late afternoons because just like the rest I need to do something not ridiculous, something that our demented society would consider as normal.

I don't mind being labeled as eccentric by the many. Neither I care about other people judging me for staying awake until the wee hours of the morning to read books. I don't even have the time to bother or care about the fact that I am being harassed in a tyrannical sense by publishers working on random write-ups and literary attempts just for the heck of it. It's an investment they say. Investing in your name is not as bad as it sounds. It's not an easy task either. For instance, your reputation gets whacked by critics and pseudo critics alike, the first one being those who went to universities to study the language and the latter those who can't seem to love literature. I understand their concern.

Going back, Coleho's life was indeed riveting. After flipping few pages, I found myself unable to come into halt. Just like a speed racer in a grand prix, I craved for more. And although his life was almost like his work - a marriage of reality and fiction, I was amused and was baffled by his eccentric ways and apologetically uncanny unorthodox beliefs. I felt like I was wounded in his battles with himself, his own demons and the evil that lurks within the confines of his world. Much to my surprise, I was captivated by his ambition. A dream that he is indeed living today.

Although I share the happiness, joy, and bliss that he is basking in right now after his long perilous and admittedly extraordinary duel with the devil himself, I cannot help but feel a gnawing pain of pity for the author- for the little boy who was a bit lost, for an adolescent who was astray,and for the man who once worshiped Satan. All his life, he was a slave of his ambition. His thirst for fame was like no other. His need to be recognized from pole to pole turned the once dreamy-eyed boy in Rio into an ego-feeding monster. I must admit though that his works are extraordinary. And like a tiny window into a mad genius' mind, I was drawn to peep through a seemingly small hole. I personally like Pilar's story in By the River Piedra I sat Down and Wept. It was moving. And now after knowing the author a bit intimate, I now know where he drew all the inspiration and the ideas from. I'm starting to understand his mellow dramatic nature, his philosophical conjecture and his magical pure nonsense madness.

I admire his work. That's no secret. But between Coelho and the dozen other authors whose works I dearly adore, I still am a huge Salinger fan. It's not just his works but his philosophies about writing that lead J.D. Salinger on the top of my list. Unlike Coelho who used writing as a medium to catapult himself to world fame, Salinger wrote not to become famous. According to him, he is a writer and writing is his life. Was his life to be exact. That's what makes Coelho as an author and Salinger as a writer. And honestly, between the two, I think being a writer rocks better.

I'm starting to think that maybe my time hasn't come yet. I know that there are thousands of lessons out there that I have yet to learn. And as I patiently and silently wait for my Christina, for that strange soul that would one day enkindle the fire within me, I'll be just a fan of hundreds of literary prodigies. And as I wait for that moment of eureka, I'm fine with being just another wanna-be. And as long as I don't asphyxiate myself with cannabis, peyote, and LSDs, I'll be OK. 

Note to self: Just hang in there Mrs. Salinger!

A Wanna-be Writer huh?

I write like
David Foster Wallace

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

I happen to cross paths with this computer program that analyzes your writing style. Thanks to Jessica Zafra for that. I chose the savant post that I have here from long time ago as the sample of my writing and this is what the software has to say: David Foster Wallace. I was actually expecting for the computer to spit on me and conk my head with a baseball bat while screaming in a really vengeful voice "What the hell! Did you just entered a whole load of crappy words grouped together by such miserable grammar?" Luckily no slapping or cursing took place just a bit of confusion as to Wallace's identity.

Thanks to the go-to page of the computer literate idiots called search engines, finally Wallace and I met. I've done enough googling to realize that Mr. Wallace here was once dubbed by The Los Angeles Times as "one of the most influential and innovative writers of the last 20 years."(Wikipedia)  His writing featured self-generated abbreviations and acronyms, long multi-clause sentences, and a notable use of explanatory footnotes and endnotes—often nearly as expansive as the text proper, Wiki explained further. No wonder I can be a bit of a jargon type oftentimes. I just love confusing people.hahaha.

But don't take the result seriously except if it says "You write like Zafra!" That's the time for you to start sending your friends an exaltation message and claim that this whole software program is not just a game but a prophetic testimony of your exceedingly brilliant creativity.

 

Neverland Euphoria

 (...because it's a Sunday...because it's raining...because I've been redundantly reading Allan Poe's Annabel Lee...because I'm a wanna-be poet...because I can't break the time-space continuum...because I'm missing you...because no amount of book shopping can obliterate the thoughts of you...because I can be emotional at times...because I can make up a thousand and more alibis to write little notes of desperation just for you...haha...you know who you are...)

Days and months have passed

Since I have seen you last

I can no longer fathom the pain inside

Every minute I long to be by your side. 

I tried my best not to think of you

But the stillness of the night made me blue

A kiss, an embrace, a whisper will do

Enkindle my aching soul like you always do.

Leaving it all behind seemed futile

For I still succumb to such bewildering emotion oftentimes

No amount of Zafra or Salinger can put a smile

To a heart burning with utmost desire.

Shall I close my eyes and pretend that you're here?

Or must I tell myself the truth my Dear?

That the emptiness won't go away

'Til you're lying here next to me.

I should have made myself believe that it was all a lie

But tell me how can I?

It's so strong we can't possibly deny.

I promised to be yours, I reckon

I'm certain we've met again for a reason.

Neither a Zeus nor a Cupid can change a thing

For you and I know this ain't a fling.

All these years I've been dreaming of us

Like a real-life fantasy slide show, a series of flashes. 

A dream-guy-breathe-into-life that's what you are

The most bizarre occurrence by far

I've always known we're both destined

It's as if an angel from heaven you were sent.

I'm thinking  of you each time the rain falls

Each time the sun sets and the silence of the evening calls

And when I'm not, I'm dreaming of you

For I miss you so much, I really do. 

Why don't you hold and kiss me in my dreams?

For I badly need you to ease my fears.

If you don't mind I'll sleep now

So we can be together as silly as it sounds. 

Goodbye for now my dear

Can you wake me up later with a whisper in my ear?

Then we can bask in a Neverland euphoria

Admit it, it's not such a bad idea :)

On Losing My Virginity to College Boys Who Were Dying to Get Laid.

I'm officially nearing the unfathomable 30s! The thought came to mind while Melrose, Dee, and I were waiting for the pasta as the rain poured that night, the night before my birthday. So what? What's wrong with being a bit older? Nowadays that cougars mean not only slender cats there's absolutely nothing to worry about your age as long as your face doesn't scream that you're almost Triassic. I'm not worried at all. Well at first I was and although I'm really good at freaking out the thought of adding another year into my existence didn't scare me at all. "As long as I am learning and capable of imbibing new ideas and able to create hilarious but nonetheless genius arguments, I'll be fine."

And there I was, grinning sheepishly as I turn the page of Ben Mezrich's The Accidental Billionaires. The book was a birthday gift from a friend. A second birthday gift to be exact since I finished reading the first one (which was delivered early) during the Holy Week. Few months ago I caught a glimpse of a documentary or at least the latter part of it about Mark Zuckerberg, the once boy genius who founded the now popular social networking site called Facebook. Since then his story kept on reverberating inside my head. I've searched online to know more about the guy but the details on how the Facebook was actually founded were not precise. Lucky me, my prayer was finally answered!

I have always known that I have a knack for geeky guys. I always find them sexy especially when they generate brilliant thought. Sexier even if they turn that ingenious idea into a multi billion company. I had one helluva of a time reading the book. It's as if Mezrich transported me to Harvard and Silicon Valley in a bat of an eye. No wonder my former editor Erly liked the guy so much. Mezrich narrated with such wit and subtle humor that putting the book down made it feel like a felony.

Even more enticing is the story of a geeky college genius whose desire to get laid and of course whose wit catapulted a once college dorm project into a worldwide frenzy. Mark Zuckerberg together with a fellow Harvard undergrad and young entrepreneur Eduardo Saverin created a social networking site that would in few-years time would engulf billions of dollars of investment and made Mark as the youngest self-made billionaire.

The story was gripping, exciting, hilarious, and even baffling. I can't help but love Mark's eccentricities. You'll love him too once you read the book. And because I like it so much, I'm going to share some of what I think the best lines in the book.

The predator-prey relationship in the eyes of a college entrepreneur: "It's not that guys like me are generally attracted to Asian girls. It's that Asian girls are generally attracted to guys like me. And if I'm trying to optimize my chances of scoring with the hottest girl possible, I've got to stock my pond with the type of girls who are most likely to be interested." - Eduardo Saverin, The Accidental Billionaires by Ben Mezrich. 

"There are an infinite number of designs for a chair, but that doesn't mean everyone who makes a chair is stealing from someone else." - Mark Zuckerberg's argument on thefacebook. 

"The best thing about Harvard is that it's always there." - Bill Gates. 

It was as if a moment of Eureka when my then business-moron brain was suddenly turned into a huge churning marketing engine. Inspired by the geek-always-win story, I am now officially embarking on a series of reads about serious entrepreneurs and tycoons despite the fact that I have a bizarre sort of dyslexia for binary codes. Turn the Tv on and switch the channel to Bloomberg and I'll be instantly in a state of voluntary coma. No magic spells required just plain annoying and intimidating digits! Numbers make me dizzy. Sure I can run a business but I prefer to leave the Math to the Decartes fans.

 Currently, I am trying to lose my virginity to Richard Branson, the Virgin Empire mogul. Nah! I'm not sleeping with the guy! You and your perverted mind! I'm halfway his autobiography Losing My Virginity. And I'm picking up some serious entrepreneurial tips as I carefully absorb essential business ideologies along the way. Who knows someday I might make it as an ovum magnate? But for now, I'll just settle with the thought that being dyslexic is not a hindrance to make a Virgin I guess. (records, cola, bank, cosmetics, etc. pervert!)