The Woeful and Chaotic Diary

Evil Cursing Monster

2012-02-11T20:43:00.006+08:00

I’m so busy – this is my new way of saying “Hi, how are you? Okay, bye. Take care.” Not such of a sweetie this Valentine’s eh?

Don’t expect me to be your lover this month. I’ve already told you I will be busy all throughout the twenty nine days of February. My “busy-bee-business” has already started. I’m always so tired. I’m always so occupied. I feel that I’m always sleep-deprived. I don’t even have the time to watch The Secret Circle, New Girl and American Idol anymore (and yep, I don’t miss an episode of The Vampire Diaries, no matter how busy I am – this is a must). I always wake up wanting to sleep more, and always go to bed achingly to catch some zzzzs. I always go to school with a rather unexcited disposition, and always go back home with sore feet and used voice. This has been my daily routine ever since the month had started. Maybe I should list February as my least favorite from the twelve.

Although not that I’m not enjoying my “busy-bee-business”, because heck, I am! I can’t explain how I enjoy my body’s soreness or my tight schedule, I just do. We’ve already started our Legally Blonde rehearsals. I will be playing as one of Delta Nu (Elle Wood’s sorority) members, as part of the ensemble and as the weird-tigress-but-an-overt-flirt Paulette. I like Paulette’s personality: she was Elle’s closest friend in East Coast; she owned a beauty salon; she talked like her words could eat you; her hair was weird; she had a fondness for a guy named Kyle Brendan; and she can freakin’ perform the Irish dance! I’m really excited for Literary Musical this 7th of March. Yes, it was fortunately moved to a much more convenient date. Thank you, Jesus Christ! That way, we could rehearse more and perfect our numbers and beat our competitors’ asses off! We are really aiming to win this year because: 1) we want more bragging rights; 2) heck, we have been sacrificing a lot of classes and note-taking sessions and me-times to practice; and 3) they said it was a “legacy” of the Institute of Liberal Arts – since they had always won first place in LitMus for the past several years. Geez, no pressure there at all!

I’m so happy doing this – this really tiring but fun musicals and acting. I’ve always dreamed of trying theater (and continuing ballet and trying painting, photography, sky diving – and okay, this list will go on and on and on as long as your mother’s mouth when you did something bad) but couldn’t because I don’t know how and where to go. I’ve done some acting in high school because we were required to present scenes from our Filipino books. It’s really fun. But this doesn’t mean that I want to be an actor or a celebrity – geez, not at all. I just like getting into character and playing out personalities I never knew existed.

Another thing: there’s something wrong with me (I didn’t use the word “weird” since that’s my norm): I keep on cursing and using inappropriate words that would totally give me minus points from Sam Concepcion’s parents the moment we are introduced (remember my wish counter?). I already told myself to swear less and gradually erase them in my verbal dictionary. I even wrote it down on my New Year’s Resolution. This is bad. It gets worse and worse each day. Every time I see cute, energetic kids dancing or playing or flying paper planes, I’m like, “@&*$, I hope you would all just stay that small and young.” Or when I see a high school student whose height won’t even pass as a fourth grader, I’m like, “@&*$, seriously?!” (this is so bad – I can’t believe I think of others that way when I’m just a 5’5” myself). Or that moment when I met a senior from our institute whom I thought was a woman because she has pretty hair, I was like, “@&*$, she’s not a she? But she’s so pretty!” (and until now, I don’t want to use "he" as a pronoun when talking about this person, and I still call her “Ate *her name*”). I don’t know why the small things make me swear like I’m a professional in swearing, which I’m not. My mouth is so dirty; it’s like I shoved mud into it. Ha! This makes me remember high school days when my schoolmates would say “gargle some holy water” to clean one’s cursing mouth. But seriously, I need to work on this. The Concepcion family wouldn’t be happy with me and my words if this continues.

This is my new pair of rubber shoes from my aunt! I named her “Pegasus” – or “Pegs” when I’m lazy – because I’ve read from its label that it is a Nike Zoom Air Fitsole Pegasus 28 (collective words I’ve seen printed on the shoes – inside, outside and under). I’m not sure about these labels because I don’t know the types of shoes and how to distinguish which is which. Isn’t it the cutest? I like the color because it isn’t the usual baby-I’m-such-a-girlie pink – it’s hot pink, plus white and light gray. And when I put it on, it makes me taller by two inches. Wow, it makes me 5’7”. She also sent me some clothes which are too sexy for me to wear in normal occasions – but, hooray, the tops came just in time for Legally Blonde (the girls of Delta Nu dressed like “hoochies with class”). Thank you so much, Aunt Edma!

I’ve been listening to two songs lately, both sung by Filipino artists, both came from YouTube, and both are apparently friends: Krissy and Ericka (I count them as one) and AJ Rafael. I may be swearing a lot and criticizing people lately, but I’m gradually liking, listening and supporting local talents in the music industry. I’m such a bad Filipino citizen. Oh well, we all have this little evil monster inside us. No excuses.

Cause it’s 12:51 and I thought my feelings were gone. But I’m lying on my bed thinking of you again. And the moon shines so bright but I gotta dry these tears tonight. Cause you’re moving on and I’m not that strong to hold on any longer.

© 12:51, Krissy and Ericka

Wake up, feel the air that I’m breathin’. I can’t explain this feeling that I’m feelin’. I won’t go another day without you (without you). Hold on, I promise it gets brighter. When it rains I’ll hold you even tighter. I won’t go another day without you (without you).

© Without You, AJ Rafael

The Blonde and The Beard

2012-02-04T16:32:00.005+08:00

What a busy month February will be for me!

And that’s how I open my first blog entry for the second – or more popularly known as the “romantic” – month of the year. But truth be told, my February 1st was draining – mentally draining, that is. I got to school and was slapped with a schedule and list of projects good for the whole month. What in the world was that? Our professor is apparently unavailable because of more important matters. It pissed me off because: 1) one month? Seriously?; 2) I haven’t learned anything worth knowing about the subject; and 3) one month? Are you kidding? But what the heck, college isn’t college without shits falling from time to time.

Here are other reasons why February is and will be my half-most favorite half-least favorite month (so far):

Legally Blonde, the Musical. One of the things I like about the school I’m attending to is their annual Literary Musical. From what I’ve learned with the help of my annoying queries, Literary Musical is like the College Intramurals/Sportsfest. But in the case of LitMus (this is how they call it), students are grouped according to the majors their taking and will present a musical performance (thank goodness, this isn’t sports) in the most creative way they can to impress the judges. Think of a talent contest and Glee combined. And for the Institute of Liberal Arts: AB Broadcasting, our assigned director Mikko Angeles (the only dude I personally know who acts on stage, which makes him a hundred times more awesome than other dudes) proposed us several popular musicals that we can adapt and present: Legally Blonde, The Rocky Horror, Hairspray and In the Heights. I have chosen The Rocky Horror because: 1) it was once shown in Glee; 2) it was part of Charlie’s life in The Perks of Being a Wallflower (Stephen Chbosky); and 3) it is the freakin’ Rocky Horror. Enough said. But only .00069203% of the AB Broadcasting students voted for this particularly eerie but epically epic musical. Legally Blonde won by knock out. So Legally Blonde and Elle Woods, it is.

I’m not sure yet how we’re going to pull this off with just a 5-8 rehearsal days. But we can do and win this! We have Mikko as our director and Marion Pagcaliwagan as Elle Woods! I may be unsure about the tight schedule we have, but heck, I’m sure we can make this work. So what if we win? I don’t think there is a tangible prize, but bragging rights are enough. I will update you about LitMus, promise.

Literature Reporting. I’m excited for this, really. I love Literature and nonstop message relays. I’ve gotten the hang of class reporting, and weird stares from classmates sitting in the first and second rows, and inattentiveness from those who are at the back of the room, and my body’s reaction (massive blushing and inconsistent pulse rate) while talking infront. I’m excited because I seriously want this to already end. Prolonging my jitters won’t do me good, will it?

Draining-like-laundry-machine Softball Practices and Friendly Matches. If I’ve already gotten the hang of reporting, this – this thing we do to pass Team Sports while excrutiatingly killing ourselves in the process – I haven’t. I have something to tell you though: as much as I’m hating myself for being such a weak player in every physical game imaginable, I’m quite... enjoying this game. Just this Friday, we had a friendly match with the College of Teacher Education students, and guess what guys? A ball (and yes it was the mushy ball again) was pitched, I swung, I missed. The second pitch came, I swung, I hit, I ran to first base without getting tagged (and yes, I know this game and the terms already). Another batter batted, she missed, but I was allowed to run to second base, I got there safely. The same batter batted, she hit; the defense team all scurried to get the ball; I ran like a mad killer to third base, I almost got tagged, but I got there first by a painful millisecond; I accidentally stepped on someone’s foot, I said sorry, he said it was okay. A new batter batted, she missed till third pitch and was struck out. I held on to my base. Another batter batted and had the same fate with the one before her. And still I held on. The team was out (what’s the right term again?). My team was out. I was out. I didn’t get to home plate. Such a fate.

Yes, I only got to third base. No home run, guys. Although I would have wanted to complete the bases and give my team a score, third base wasn’t at all bad. I was so happy about what I did that I suddenly had the flicker of a hope that, maybe, I could pass Team Sports and not have a written-in-bloody-red-5 in my scholastic card. And I hope my teammates could, too.

Valentine’s Day. What can I even say about this.

Semi-finals Exams. Meh.

One more month (plus several days) till The Hunger Games movie release. FTW! I will see you in the Seam and the Arena, Zandro and Kathleen. Peeta Mellark, I will buy and eat your breads till I become as broke as your backyard mouse and as green as one of Katniss’ people from her prep team. Liam Hemsworth, please be a good Gale Hawthorne. Jennifer Lawrence, I trust you completely. Seneca Crane, I will finally witness the glory of your fantastic beard.

And oh, by the way, Wonda has already been born. She isn’t that ready yet ‘cause she still hasn’t bloomed to an acceptable-by-blog-standard way. But she will, soon enough. And I swear by the berries, I will tell you about what the results of these things (or shits, perhaps) are in my future posts. Have a good and romantic and fantastic-as-Seneca’s-beard February everybody!

Bitter Coffee

2012-01-27T16:58:00.004+08:00

23 December 2011, 4:35 - 6:29 a.m.

My three had-beens, one what-happened-between-us, two had-almosts and a couple of had-not-but-wished-it-hads; my grade school closest girl friend and my high school best friend: all either in a relationship or a part of the impossibly possible world of mutual understanding. One dating for more than two years; one just starting out; one in a complication but hanging on; one with a baby; one in a long distance relationship; one single but might be in love. They truly had found love in somebody else, maybe even in a hopeless place (it’s a love I’m feeling, I just can’t denyyyy).

Me? The introverted, weirdo and boring me? Here. Writing this in a very inconvenient time, when everyone is still lost in the unfathomable wonders of dreams, when it isn’t even the crack of dawn but I already had consumed a cup of coffee (which isn’t really my thing), when it’s so serene and pleasantly quiet that I just had to think things over and achingly write it down at the back page of yet another customized notebook of mine. Feeling stupidly alone – literally and figuratively. Feeling so alone to the depths of missing my family. Alone to the depths of having the unwelcomed feeling of not having friends. Alone to the depths of unhappiness. Unhappy to the depths of loneliness.

It’s just... hard to understand. Why, that after two years and ten months, do I still haven’t found love in even the most hopeless of all hopeless places? Why, that after two years and ten months, am I still not ready for a relationship? Why, that completely moved on, do I still feel that nobody loves me, a love in all its wonderful forms? Why do I want and/or need love and don’t want and/or need it at the same time? Why do I think that I’m ready but still so afraid? Why are my whys still whys?

And why, why freakin’ why, do I still feel a tiny bit of pain and jealousy when one of my had-beens had found love? It’s seriously annoying that I feel like it’s all so wrong and an act of pure selfishness – a selfishness that couldn’t be accepted, that is frankly immoral in the book of dating, that is always a bad thing in all its entity. I honestly can’t and don’t understand the aching stir of my emotions when I learned that he isn’t in a “Status: Single” anymore. I know – oh, how I know – that there isn’t romantic between us, completely nothing. No flicker of feelings that would spark up when applied with a little friction. No switch for affection that could be turned on and off through the course of time and civility. Nothing. Just a little care picked up and gathered from the amiably awkward past and years of shared platonic friendship. I know in my heart that I had completely moved on from the feelings I once had for this particularly funny, sarcastic and gentle of a guy.

Or maybe I haven’t. Maybe I once had the longing, the yearning desire for his time and his presence. Maybe I once thought of our short or maybe long time together when the second shot on love comes. It selfishly occurred to my mind that maybe there’s still a second chance and an endless hope for both of us. I once wished of having him back – which was unacceptable, which was impossible.

Maybe I just miss him. Maybe I just want someone to listen to my drama. Maybe I’m just used to having him around – physically or not – whenever I feel like nobody else is there for me. Maybe I grew fond of his late night phone calls. Maybe I took him for granted. Maybe I looked at it beyond the line, pushed unacceptably too far, falsely hoped too high, which frequently happens to me. Maybe I still like him but won’t consider it. Maybe I still haven’t moved on, albeit all the convincing I took like a bitter pill every waking day. Maybe I want that first ever millisecond hug we shared to last for more solid seconds, for more pleasant minutes. Maybe I felt that pull of my heart again, but he didn’t. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe he will never love me again like he used to. Maybe all we’d ever have and need is a special, harmless, caring friendship. Just friendship: such a painful fact.

Maybe I should stop feeling this way and start moving on – for real. Because if not, I would just be living in a glass case of a past, blindly preferring the amiably awkward but cannot be undone memories; blindly disregarding the other world of the present and the future that are only half-gratifying but still awkward and can always be maneuvered and leave with no dash of regret and bitterness. Maybe I should stop relating my life to a Lady Antebellum song “All We’d Ever Need” and start living with “Ready To Love Again” as my mantra. Yeah, maybe I should. Maybe I should stop writing drama this early and not drink caffeine anymore.

I sincerely hope I won’t be hurt and affected again had my had-beens, what-happened-between-us, had-almosts and had-not-but-wished-it-hads found love in the hopeful and hopeless places. And I hope I won’t feel alone to the depths of unhappiness and unhappy to the depths of loneliness anymore.

012412 Diecinueve

2012-01-21T14:55:00.003+08:00

Nuestra Cita

(Our Rendezvous)

I first met him in Hogwarts’ Great Hall

Sitting alone, mystic and oh so calm

From Gryffindor, I’ve heard, strong and all

Serious? Heck no, just funny as a clown

I met him again in the dark, greeny, little Forks

Head down, walking with rained, tousled hair

I kept up with him, not minding my feet sore

With his laughter, the pain I almost can bear

I met him once more in the depths of lonely Seam

Looking so far away, lost in his own space

I sat with him, talked, and we made some team

I will not forget his smile, el hombre and that face

I met him again – oh wait, I met him always

He was still the same: brave, calm, a clown

Still the same, wandering in this life maze

Smiles that always reaches his big, big browns

We may face hovering, soulless Dementors

Rally against the Volturri and the Capitol

But we just knock on each other’s familiar doors

Dementors, Volturri, Capitol, all just trolls

We may have the most unfortunate of times

Caused by hunger, some stress or just because

But we’re cool, young, roll like colorful dice

We go loco, foolish and dougie like a boss

Four years since the lucky day I met him

The day I had some amigo to call the best

Un amigo whom unto I can forever lean

Whom I can run to and talk endless

I am forever grateful for this Gryffindor dude

The one I met in rainy Forks and the quiet Seam

The one with the big browns and changing moods

And always, I will all over again, gladly meet him

Happy birthday, Zandro! I wager my life you’re hysterically laughing your butt off while reading this. Heck, I know that you know that we both know that I haven’t any writing talent and creativity with poems. But I tried my best. Yes, this is the best I could come up with. But I hope you get my point. The Great Hall, Forks and the Seam are representations of the movies we religiously have seen, are seeing and will see together (and now with Kathleen – our new recruit). And in two months, we will meet again. I love you. I’ll see you in the Seam soon.

PS: Don’t you ever brag this to your friends. They’ll realize how troll and epic failure your best friend is with poetry. Have mercy.

Ultra Mundane Cats and Bees

2012-01-17T14:42:00.006+08:00

Everybody’s been so busy, don’t you think? Even I. Yes, finally, I can now completely say that I’m busy, both because of external (meaning school activities, projects and all types of shits) and internal (meaning activities that I come up with and do to make myself busy) reasons. Pack is not good right now. He is under a very pitiful condition, caused by unshielded viruses and complete carelessness of the owners (which are my brother and I). I have no idea how to repair laptops. I’m not a computer engineering student. I know HTML (wow, that’s something new), but not commands and deadly codes. I hope Pack will get better soon.

My student life is going well. My Biology professor knows my name already; he uses either Christine or Faye when he calls me (which is unusual). Because of that, I’m not so much of a scaredy cat around him anymore, unlike before (he gave me uneasy feelings and ridiculous paranoia). What I’m now anxious and worried about is my performance in Music and Sound Effects. Weird, I do well in my minor subjects. But in my majors, I flunk like whatever flunks the most. I don’t find the stated subject interesting. I want to, but I just can’t. Maybe because we don’t have hands-on exercises and pushing buttons and adjusting volumes yet. I’m really worried because I feel that my participation grades are just as interesting and exciting as how I find the subject. I gave my professor one word answers and no further explanations every time I was asked about particular topics. Seriously, I cannot explain music. I can listen to it all day (or maybe forever), learn its words and all until I can sing it in my sleep, cry while listening to it, but geez, I can’t explain them. Can I explain why I cry? Can I explain why I’m addicted to a song? Can I explain why I play and replay a song a lot of times to the point that I become responsible for the 500,000 views in a video with a million hits? Attempting so is like explaining the wonders (I’m kidding) of Trigonometry to a cat.

I know you guys are curious about the “internal reasons” of my being a busy bee. Ha! I know you do. I haven’t any idea what’s wrong with me: I have lots of school requirements and responsibilities but I still stupidly look for things to make my loads heavier. Maybe it’s my way of saying that school stuffs aren’t cool but my discoveries are. Ah, this is bad. Is this still part of the tempting power of a friend named procrastination?

What tops my “internal reasons of my being a busy bee” is my career as a confession typographies-maker. Yes, I can see myself doing this for a living (and whoever believes me believes that I can talk about Trigonometry to a cat). Eff Yeah Sam Concepcion (EYSC) blog’s Sam Concepcion Confessions is still running smoothly. I’ve already made, maybe, fifty confessions and posted them online for free reblogging, liking and loving. Although I make ten to fifteen typographies every session, I can definitely say that I’m running out of ideas. I don’t have lots of Sam Concepcion confessions myself, and okay, some of them I don’t want to share (what, I’m keeping them between Sam and I!). EYSC followers aren’t submitting their own. This is not good for the work flow of the blog, and definitely atrocious for my future as a typographies-maker (again, Trigonometry and cats).

Weird enough, I’m currently not reading anything right now (except for my academic books). I still haven’t finished Modelland (Tyra Banks). My brain is still not ready for impossible fictions and hardcore imagination. But I will get back to reading. I will, I swear. I will finish Tyra Bank’s brain’s product and hungrily and excitedly read The City of Ember Series (Jeanne DuPrau), The Hobbit (J. R. R. Tolkien) and Clockwork Angel (The Infernal Devices book one, Cassandra Clare). Amazing, more characters to love and hate, more stories to share (Mom once said that when I become a hag, I will probably talk about and share Harry Potter to my grandchildren – I find this really true and sweet), more typographies to make. Yes, I not only make EYSC-SCC typogs, I had also “ventured” into quoting the books I read and making them their own (x, xo, xox). They’re really simple. I only use one format, one consistent font and one that is changeable, background colors that somehow remind me of the story or the book cover, and one photo editor installed in Pack. Because they’re inspired by books, they don’t get that much notes in Tumblr. The most popular of my typogs are the ones from The Hush, Hush Saga (x, they have maybe 30-50 notes). I hope books and/or reading won’t ever die. I don’t understand people who don’t like reading, really.

I also count my weird dreams as “internal reasons”. I’m having weird, weirder and weirdest dreams. They are either so weird that they’re fascinating and wonderful to think about, or are so weird that they bug and disturb me in my yoga time (yoga time, meaning my time for inner peace and productive loneliness, which I can insert in my schedule whenever I wanted to). I’ve dreamed for Sam Concepcion again – one in late December, the other just the last week. The former was “so weird that they’re fascinating and wonderful to think about”; the latter was “so weird that they bug and disturb me in my yoga time”. The former gave me a giddy dose of butterflies and the desire for it to happen in real life; the latter gave me sadness, the feeling of selfishness and oddness, and the desire for it to not happen in real life. The latter was really weird, and to make it even weirder (I make it weirder), Sam tweeted something about being the happiest he has ever been in his dream, even happier in real life. He was happy in his dream, while all along, he was crying in mine. And I’m seriously making a big deal about it, as if our dreams are connected, as if it was a coincidence, as if it was fate. I sound crazy and obsess, don’t I? I think so, too. This is the reason why I want to make Wonda already. I want to share that and my other dreams with you guys (so I won’t sound so unnerving anymore). Wonda, come now, eh?

I hope my dreams about Sam crying won’t happen again. I hope I will find Music and Sound Effects interesting someday. I also hope I can talk about Trigonometry to a cat (what, if Allison Harvard can do it, it’s not impossible that I can too!). I hope I can balance and juggle these external and internal reasons on my helpless, calloused hands. I hope I can still hope after all of these. And I sincerely hope you can still, too.

Wish Counter

2012-01-10T14:30:00.007+08:00

01 January 2012, Saturday, from past 7 - 9 p.m.

Dear Wingardium,

Do you like your new name? I had a change of heart about keeping “DOWAC” as your nickname, because I’ll be naming your sisters “Wonda” and “Willow”. And I think that you should also have a name that starts with the same letter as theirs. I like Wingardium – Wingardium Leviosa – one of my favorite charms taught to me by Prof Flitwick in our Charms classes back in Hogwarts.

How are you, Wingardium? Can I call you “Wings” from time to time? “Wingardium” is a bit long of a name since I’m just writing this down at the moment. Yes, Wings (Ooh, I like the word “wings” – reminds me of Patch Cipriano and flying), I’m using my pen and the back of my notebook just to talk to you. I don’t have the family laptop with me. But I hope Pack – what I now call him, since he’s a Packard Bell – will be back soon. Your blog is long left behind. It’s upsetting to see it with only a month old post on its Home Page. We’ll get back to serious and acceptable blogging soon enough. Don’t fret, Wings.

I’m all alone this time. Good thing music is blaring – it isn’t that much of a creepy loneliness. I decided to write because... I’m tired. Yes, I can now write even if I’m dead beat. I realized that I can think of the things that bother and don’t bother me when I’m tired and exhausted. I came up with a theory about this phenomena: I use my brain more when I’m drained like shit since I can’t use my body to exert effort, so maybe my brain can do more. But I’m not sure if this theory always applies to me.

Anyway, I’m quite sad because I lost my rosary bracelet. I put it in my pocket when we were having deadly practical exams in our softball class. Maybe it fell when I pulled my handkerchief out. I have a 1% chance of finding it again since I haven’t even an idea where I lost it. I’m so sad about it. I thought my relationship with the blessed bracelet would last for a year or two or more. It didn’t. We only had shared eight safe months together. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m not really a keeper.

“Iyiyi” by Cody Simpson is playing right now. This song always reminds me of First College Crush. I don’t want to elaborate why because it would be too obvious, and he would realize that he is FCC if ever he stupidly stumble in you (blog) again. I still like FCC, Wings. I don’t know why, really. Maybe because I didn’t actually have the chance to know him more or talk to him without me getting all lost and floating in the power of his dreamy eyes and fascinating smile (this is an element of speech), and without me getting all painted with red from my scalp down to my chest. I didn’t have that normal and comfortable moment with him while I was still in his school. I didn’t have the chance to really decide whether I like him or not because I didn’t even know him. I left the school crushing on him – so up until now I’m crushing on him. And he’s always in my Friends Thumbnail List in my Facebook Timeline. I’m not sure if it’s really called “Friends Thumbnail List”, but he’s always there. I once formulated that it happens because he’s always checking my Timeline – but I just made that up to make my petty little self happy, and okay, to put a little dash of malice. I always see his face on that list to the point that it sometimes annoys me already. I want to know what that means, so I won’t think of unrealistic reasons again and get my hopes up when there isn’t hope to even begin with.

Wings, you know what, when I checked my Twitter account, I gained ten more followers. It only happens when: 1) someone retweets me and another person retweets that same tweet from that same someone and they fall in love with my tweet and they retweet and retweet and I become famous (which barely happens); or 2) a famous person or a celebrity replies to or retweets my tweet. Can you guess what happened? Number 2, eh? Yes. Number 2. Yes, number 2: a famous person or a celebrity replies to or retweets my tweet! And can you guess who that person is? Sam Concepcion, eh? Yes. Yes, my dear Wings. It was Sam Concepcion – my freakin’ Sam freakin’ Concepcion! He replied to my tweet, which I wasn’t really, really, really expecting. He’s been so busy lately that I think he doesn’t even have the time to tweet frequently, let alone reply to our tweets. Or that he doesn’t have the time to hit that dougie every time he hears the song. So that reply from him was really something. I feel so ridiculously special. What a way to start my year!

Although the tweet isn’t really for me, given the obvious fact that he said “Go Sam!” and not “Go Faye!”, I still feel so grateful. At least my username is in there! And I made that video – actually, I forced my niece to sing in front of the camera. Isn’t Sam, my niece, the cutest? Isn’t Sam, my future boyfriend slash forever lover (I wish for and dream about this 8739602115690 times every beautiful, waking day) the sweetest? Oh, how I know that they would get along when I introduce Sam Concepcion to my relatives when the right time comes (8739602115691). And don’t worry, Wings, you and your sisters will meet him to someday too (8739602115692). And he would silly laugh at me when he reads my ridiculous entries about him (8739602115693). And I would silly laugh at him too because I seriously agree that my entries about him are ridiculous (8739602115694).

This is the life I’m having at the start of the year. Mom said it’s my year since I was born under the Chinese year of the Rooster. I hope that’s true. I hope Chinese predictions and hoolah-moolahs work with someone without a Chinese blood. Let’s do this, 2012!

Feeling Infinite

2012-01-03T15:17:00.001+08:00

2012 Resolutions slash To-Do List

Hear mass every week.
Watch The Hunger Games movie. In 3D. With Zandro and Kathleen.
Religiously watch every living The Vampire Diaries and The Secret Circle episode.
Take make-up summer classes.
Look for a freakishly fun summer job.
Read and watch the news every day.
Finish “Teenage Dreams” for heaven’s sake.
Will I still buy Pop Class? And/or Forever Young? Geez.
Take care of Fourthy (my eyeglasses).
Put up a new blog (without leaving the old ones behind).
Take care of my babies, Wingardium, Wonda and Willow (I will explain about them in my future posts).
Save up for some new jeans, sneakers and endless books.
Meet the Skittles Babies (Cezkieth Linson, Trisha Caranto and Marie Castillo), Patricia Sayurin, and my girlfriend, Sai Edris.
Think more. Swear less.
UNOS!
Don’t be afraid to grow old (I’m creeping near 19).
Go and see Sam Concepcion’s concert.
Attend the Candy Fair 2012. With Diane, maybe.
Stay happily single.
Read the City of Ember series, Mockingjay, The Hobbit and etc.
Watch The Perks of Being a Wallflower.
Watch Breaking Dawn part 2. With Zandro and Kathleen.
Spend the holidays in Bicol.
Meet my grade school friends.
Take a 15-30-minute walk every day.
Try my best to avoid zits and unwanted entities on my body.
Practice a healthy lifestyle.
Make 2012 my freakin’ awesome year.
Live a God-oriented, God-fearing and wonderful life.

2011 Recaps

2012-01-03T15:03:00.002+08:00

2011 New Year’s Resolution slash To-Do List

Watch “Shoutout!” live (it ended too soon)
Join tours and conventions planned and organized by the school (x)
Write more stories and songs, and finish what I started
Leave a mark (a remembrance, in short) to my course-mates and my college friends (wasn’t able to meet them again)
Transfer to UP Diliman (or anywhere) and take the course that I really want (like Journalism, Mass Communication, or Languages) (Ya know what happened. I am taking Broadcasting right now, though)
Get a summer job in Fully Booked or any book store or anywhere safe (I didn’t. Crap)
Purchase that black high cut shoes from Reeva, please! (I haven’t gone to Market! Market!)
Join and sign up for a decent and active school organization or club
Have a simple celebration on my 18th birthday (‘cause I hate grand debuts and cotillions)
Gift for myself on my birthday (but I wouldn’t mind if you’d give me one)
Watch and cry for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows part 2 (Oh crap, so long Harry, Ron and Hermione – and Luna) (x)
Attend the Candy Fair 2011 (x)
Meet Sam Concepcion, the Elites and Samsters again
Watch Peter Pan, The Musical (featuring Sam Concepcion!) (my heart is breaking right now)
Watch The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn (I wanna see how Renesmee looks) (x)
Read Mockingjay and The Immortal series
Purchase Pop Class album (ha! I still haven’t)
Spend the Holidays in Bicol (x)
Meet my grade school friends again (x)
Stay healthy, alive and forever young (forever young? I doubt)

This Christmas

2011-12-25T16:53:00.006+08:00

25 December 2011, 12:10 – 1:17 am

I have decided to write this moment, this moment when Justin Bieber’s Mistletoe was followed by Taylor Swift’s Last Christmas, because it’s officially Christmas time. Because I find a lot of things funny. It’s Christmas and we don’t have the traditional deep-fried chicken. It’s Christmas and Lola is sleeping in her room. It’s Christmas and this house is only given life by white lights and classic Christmas songs revived by mainstream artists with mainstream beats. But things are still good. Things are always good when it’s Christmas, aren’t they?

The funniest and sweetest thing happened this eventful day. My 9-year-old niece, Ollen (or Orange, as what she prefers), gave me these Hallmark-wrapped presents. She’s the sweetest thing next to a Sansrival cake. She gave me this cute figurine of a mouse couple (which she said was bought for 10 bucks – which doesn’t really matter) and another box full of – guess what? – no, not figurines, but of chocolate fudges and hygiene kit. It is so weird. The fudges I get, but the hygiene kit? No. The kit, by the way, is composed of a small bottle of milk lotion, cologne, baby powder and a pink toothbrush. Good thing there isn’t any deodorant! It is seriously surprising – and, had it been given by a friend, would have been quite an insult. But it is still the sweetest act. I haven’t any idea how she thought of those things. Maybe she remembered the time when I asked her for a squeeze of a lotion when we went out once. Oh, this kid is cute. She’s thoughtful. And she hasn’t changed since. She’s nine – and she’s still as cute and sweet as when she was four.

I hope she won’t ever change her sunny personality, because I can’t ever imagine my little Ollen become a skeptic, unpredictable, troubled adolescent with a bad posture and horrible zits like her aunt, not to mention an aunt who haven’t any Santa Claus blood running through her veins (the one writing this today). What, I have no idea what to give her! And I’m the brokest of all brokes in Christmas, ironically the season to have some moolah. But I took her out. We went to SM Naga. I treated her ice cream. I treated her coke float and waffle. I took her to World of Fun and bought her tokens (because she wanted to get the bangles which were worth 12 points). I hope that’s already considered as an indirect Christmas gift. I feel so guilty right now. Seriously.

Anyway, I’m presently in love with another song by Justin Bieber (Oh, Bieber, how much you’ve grown! I want to rip your clothes off). I’m so obsessed with this song that I want it to be a for-all-seasons music. I want to remove the “it’s Christmas time” line so I could still loudly and repeatedly play it in summer and during the lonely and strenuous days of school.

This is the time of year we can / Give it, give it, give it all / One through ten on your list you can get it / Get it, get it, get it now / Make your wish tonight / When you open your eyes / When the lights go bright girl / I’ll be right there

Baby you deserve everything you want / It’s your night, ohhh / Wanna put my ear to your chest girl / Baby I hear melodies when your heart beats / Baby it sings to me like / Fa la la la la, Fa la la la la / Baby I hear melodies when your heart beats / Baby it sings to me like (fa la la la la) / Know that it’s Christmas time

You got on my favourite dress / You’re looking, looking, looking, good / Snow falling on your hair, and I don’t, I don’t / Wanna get it off / Even the stars in the sky can’t outshine your eyes / Wanna be your biggest gift

I’ll deck your heart with bells of holly / Fa la la, fa la la / Baby cuz you’re the reason to be jolly / Fa la la, fa la la

© Falala, Justin Bieber featuring Boyz II Men

A Creepy Christmas

2011-12-20T18:09:00.004+08:00

Wow. The time flies so fast, eh? Five freakin’ days to go till Christmas! I’m really excited for Christmas, although I know that gifts aren’t coming this year. But whatever. I just want to go to church and pig out. I’m sorry if I’m blogging this way – this ridiculously lame way. I’m using my cousin’s laptop, and also waiting for my Mom’s call. I have nothing much to share to you. But by the way, I’m already here in Naga. I arrived Sunday night. Also, yesterday my niece and I went to SM Naga because she was bored and was looking for ways to spend her cash. What is this kid? It was very… weird in a way. All we did was stroll and drink Zagu and stroll again and play and eat at McDonalds.

And oh, I already have the new Facebook Timeline. Funny, last year I blogged about not activating/installing the Facebook interface with the over exposed tagged photos. And now, I’m telling everyone – even recommending it – to try the new one. It’s really nice. I especially like the banner or cover photo. It’s quite addicting to change banners from time to time. I have mine looking a bit creepy. What, I like creepy things now.

This is my new timeline! Say hello to my annoying face, Chris Rene and Stuff No One Told Me. And yes, I take Charms Major in Hogwarts.

“The Nightmare Before Christmas” is fascinating. I haven’t seen the movie (how lame my life is), but I really think Jack Skellington is adorable. I also like “The Grinch”. I wasn’t the typical I-love-all-things-beautiful-and-sparkly kid. I like dark things because I always try to look for something beautiful and lovable in them. And I don’t usually jump in the crazy world of bandwagon. I love what others don’t love – well, except for Sam Concepcion, Harry Potter, Twilight and Boys Over Flowers. My Tumblr blog right now is infested with all things Christmas-y and Jack Skellington. I hope you would have time to check it out and also reblog some of the things I personally did.

I honestly have no idea what with this season that makesme a lame blogger. See this post, it’s seriously badly written from the firstword to the last. I just know.

Anyway, have a happy Christmas everyone! I hope you’renot broke like I am.

In My Throbbing Head

2011-12-15T19:10:00.004+08:00

14 December 2011, Wednesday (from 7:30 to 8:40 pm)

Something’s bothering me this moment – this moment when my head feels like somebody’s cracking it open, this moment when I really want to sleep but I can’t because of the current state of my head (I apologize in advance for possible gibberish language and bad grammar that would appear in this post), and this moment when I’m freakishly wanting to cry because Cameron Mitchell’s “How Deep Is Your Love” cover is playing on repeat (amazing). I’m not sure if what’s bothering me is really bothering me – or already annoying me. You see, one of my new friends in college had called me “emo” twice. I’m quite troubled because: 1) I don’t like the word “emo” because I don’t know what it means; 2) I don’t like myself being associated with anything emo; and 3) I don’t think I’m emo at all. Maybe I was before, when I still couldn’t properly handle my emotions, when I mindlessly cry at petty frustrations and upsetting internal and external matters, when I considered suicide as a way out of the crazy maze called the crazy life (because those were the meaning of emo I knew). But I’ve changed. Duh, I’m 18. I should have changed. I need to change. And included in my life changes is eradicating my being too emotional. It annoyed me that he called me “emo”. At the first incident, I just waved it off and smiled. But the second time… ugh, it didn’t sound funny and acceptable anymore. I was so pissed off I could have punched someone or something. I’m not emo, I’m not emo.

Although I know that I need not explain myself to anyone, I can’t help but do so. I just want everyone to know that I really have no idea what the true meaning of “emo” is. I have no idea who and what elements characterize emo: eyeliners maybe? Blood? Slitting wrists? Dark colors? Sad music? Undying love? Depressing stories? Oh! Maybe it’s the hair? I have no idea. I can’t and don’t want to stereotype emo. But I just want to clarify that I’m no emo. Not at all. Maybe I’m a sad little girl most of the time, but I don’t think that’s sad enough to pass as an emo. Maybe I usually want to be alone, but that’s because I need to think over some things that not everybody understands – and also because I like reading alone. Maybe I don’t talk or socialize a lot, but that’s just my way of calculating personalities and choosing the right words to say. Alright, sometimes I’m such an introvert, but still, that’s not emo… just dead on introvert.

I would have liked it better had somebody called me “weird” or “strange” or “weirdly strange” or “strangely weird” than being called an emo. I have nothing against people who like emo music or sport emo style. I also once thought that emos are cool and unique in their own little, dark ways (and I still think they are unique). We all have our differences and own preferences that give us bizarre rapture (like me, listening still to “How Deep Is Your Love” nonstop – and it makes me happy, and not to mention, Cameron is giving me hysterically frenzied butterflies), and I respect that. Maybe our differences will just stay as differences forever… but we can all still be friends, right?

Out of the weird topic: I’m currently reading “Modelland” by Tyra Banks. It’s a crazy fiction, and it’s funny because of the over exaggerated (do you think using “over” and “exaggerated” in one sentence is a redundancy?) use of descriptions about the characters, their quirks and obsessions, and about the land for the Intoxibellas (supermodels, in the real world) called Modelland. I’m just on Chapter 3, but I know this things because I’ve read the Acknowledgments and About the Author sections first, and because I had a flicker of an idea when I saw the motion editorial for the novel in America’s Next Top Model: All Stars (which, by the way, ended controversially because of Angelea being disqualified; and sadly because of my pretty and artistic Allison-slash-AlliCat-slash-Creepy Chan not winning). I want to finish this book before I leave for holidays (I will be back in Naga City) because I won’t have time to do so come Naga-Holidays (assignments and projects, a small grade school reunion maybe, more assignments and projects, holiday preps, pigging out, holy masses, and hopefully, more pigging out).

I’m excited to go back to Naga City, and play with my nieces and my nephew again (more tickling and coloring, guys? Or are you all too old for those things?), and meet my friends again (I don’t miss them that much – ha! – but I want to see them anyway). Happy holidays everybody! I will try to blog as much as possible (without humiliating myself with roughly written posts and bad grammar) when I get down and dirty with my holiday-school work (geez, I don’t even think the term “holiday-school work” exists). Oh, guess what? Cameron Mitchell’s “How Deep Is Your Love” cover is still playing. Ah, how I love being alone and listening to a song over and over again (free of other people telling me it’s annoying and abnormal).

Cheats of the Future

2011-12-10T14:24:00.003+08:00

I’m blogging a bit early this week (my last post was on Tuesday) because I really think the last one was badly written and that the story was dreadfully lame. Earlier this day, I learned that my college friend had read my blog – even the profile section. I was ridiculously mortified because… gah, it’s just so embarrassing. I told her not to read again but she just laughed at me, and I also apologized for my constant fangirling over Sam Concepcion but she said she understood because everybody has their own obsessions to pay attention to. But I’m still embarrassed. I want to repeatedly poke myself because, what the heck, why do I even blog publicly if I don’t want people to read it? SMH. But I’m blogging right now, and I’m keeping it public, and whoever reads this, just please don’t let me know. What I would never know won’t ever hurt me.

The things that had happened were crazy. I already had my exams in Introduction to Literature and World Literature last Thursday. It went… badly. My first exam was really, really hard. I was totally mental blocked that I just wanted to rip the paper to pieces and storm away from the room. But thank God that didn’t need to happen. And then there was World Lit. Almost every number from the enumeration section was like a slap on my face. It was really annoying because I had failed to remember everything that I had read from my notes. I seriously don’t want to fail in school. I’ve already had my fair share with bad grades when I was in high school, and I would never want to have another slice of it.

And also there was Team Sports. We already had our practical exam last Saturday, and that went – guess what? – utterly horrible. Every student need to throw or pitch the ball and have it pass through the strike zone (the space over any part of home plate between the batter’s armpits and the top of his knees, International Softball Federation). I was so helpless because: 1) I can’t throw anything unswervingly; 2) my ball was flying in all directions because it was windy and because they were the annoyingly-light-and-mushy stress balls; and 3) I’m the weakest of the weak when it comes to sports – or anything that requires exerting manpower. We were given ten chances; and every good ball (I don’t know the right term) that we had pitched or thrown will be our score. Surprise, I didn’t have any. Yes, in the end, I had this on my record: 0/10. I have a clean record, don’t you think? And then we had our written exam this day. We were all surprised because the original plan was to have them on January. But, what the heck, our professor was serious in giving the exams – and wasn’t when she said that it was easy. IT WASN’T. Not in any way. But it was so freakin’ funny because we all had to use our cheating and hearing powers. I was half glad and half guilty that I was doing it – looking for answers, asking some, giving some. Also, we were all laughing because I guess we all look like the culprit in a badly executed crime. I think our professor knows that we indeed cheated but won’t tell us because her exams were seriously hard on our butts. But it was really fun. I have no idea how it could be fun in any possible way, but it was. I hope it won’t happen again, because that would mean another surprise and ad hoc major test.

Today is my mother’s birthday. Happy birthday, Mom! Albeit all the squabbles we have gone, are going and will go through, my love for you is unfaltering. I’m sorry for cheating in our Team Sports exam. Also, can I have that black blazer I saw in your closet? Please? I love you, Mom.

Look everyone, I made these. They aren’t that fantastic, but heck. You can check the rest here and here. I wish that you would all feel infinite someday!

Confessions of a Fangirl

2011-12-06T16:40:00.003+08:00

I’m quite busy lately. The next three days will be our Preliminary exams. I’m really nervous and scared because I haven’t learned anything at all. I wasn’t listening and participating like what I used to. It’s really annoying and seriously frightening. What if I won’t be able to answer the queries correctly and fail? Oh, what an impression I will make! The new girl, who is supposed to prove herself (in a positive way, with a positive outcome), is gradually deteriorating, fading in the dark corner, vanishing to nothingness. Wait, that’s very dramatic. Let’s stop this, please? But still, this might be true. But I’m seriously hoping that it won’t be. I will study for the examinations. I swear by the Angel.

Anyway, I still haven’t written anything about Breaking Dawn (crappy reviews, everybody). I can’t think of anything else to say about it, and okay, I don’t have enough time to write something that would pass as an eligible review. And I already forgot what I saw. And I don’t have the “Twilight ecstasy” in me anymore. And I could still come up with a hundred more alibis if you want me to.

Remember before when I posted the link to a Tumblr appreciation blog for Sam Concepcion? It’s sad to admit, but we – Cez, Marie, Patricia and Trisha – really have forgotten about it. We are all students, and although we are aching to reblog and post anything about our “fangirl abilities receiver”, we can’t find time to do so. We had left Eff Yeah Sam Concepcion for some drastic eleven months. It was really sad, but now it’s back. Yes, it’s back on tracks! We are all trying to give life to it again because our Sam has been so visible lately, and we sincerely think and feel that we should give honor to him through this blog.

There is another existing blog regarding Sam and his career: Sam Concepcion Tumblr. I thought that blog, managed by someone who wouldn’t reveal his/her name, would be enough to at least have results when a Samster suddenly had the desire to search for the Sam Concepcion tag on his/her Dashboard. It is enough. It is a good blog. It posts updates, photos and schedule and reblogs appreciation posts. But I achingly miss Eff Yeah. So I started reconnecting with my babies (the girls) again [via Twitter] because I needed to have their opinion about my plan and because I missed them, really. I thought about posting several Sam Concepcion Confessions. I’ve been dying to share my own confessions but I didn’t want to post it on my own blog (because mine isn’t that famous, and it is cluttered to a great extent). So why not in Eff Yeah? The blog has more followers than I have. And in that way, we could also collect some of the followers’ own confessions and broadcast them to others through posting and reblogging.

I’m really excited about this. We had originally planned to start editing come Christmas break, but I’m just so thrilled so I already made some (and also because I’m starting to develop affection for a bad habit that is procrastination). I’m not actually good with style and fonts and effects, and I haven’t any Adobe Photoshop application in my computer because I have no idea how to use one, but I’m learning another photo editor called Photoscape. These are what I’ve done so far:

So if you have a Tumblr blog, and if you love or admire Sam Concepcion like we do, maybe you can follow Eff Yeah Sam Concepcion and reblog its posts! How many times did I mention his name on this post again?

Epic Chronicles

2011-11-30T13:59:00.005+08:00

I have so many stories to tell you guys! Funny, on my last post I didn’t have anything to share, but now, I’m aching to blog about things. Maybe last week wasn’t really the most memorable or momentous one. Or maybe, I was just too uninspired to write. I’m going with the latter. What, I’m always uninspired! It’s undeniably sad, trust me.

I’ve had a packed weekend (November 26-27). Last Saturday I went to an eye center (after my Team Sports class) and had my glasses fixed. I had its lenses replaced with undamaged ones (my old lenses were broken like it had been stepped on by enormous pairs of feet; it had seen its better days, definitely). And I also needed to have my vision checked. Tada, it got worse. Before, my vision was 125/175, but now, I already have a 250-something vision. Wow, that’s some news – but not a good one. And also, the optometrist said that I have astigmatism (a visual defect causing distorted or blurred vision, The New International Webster’s Standard Dictionary) but it’s still “tolerable”. My grandfather, Romeo Sirios (Mom’s father), also had astigmatism. Hey, grandpop, we click!

The next day, I met with my best friend Zandro Geral and my baby friend Kathleen Valle and saw Breaking Dawn part 1. Yes, finally, I was able to see the “number one movie of the year” (according to their poster-ads – which I gravely disagree with) and die with jealousy at how beautiful Kristen Stewart was and how exquisite her wedding dress looked. Seriously, the dress was amazing and the wedding venue was… ah, I don’t know how to describe it. And also, it was funny because of my favorite Charlie Swan (Billy Burke) and because of – okay, I’m planning on writing another movie review, so I reckon I shouldn’t say anything else yet. It was a good movie, but I’m sticking with my earlier statement that I’m more excited to see the vampire Bella, her superpowers and Renesmee Carlie on Breaking Dawn part 2. We weren’t able to see the beginning of the movie and probably the Hunger Games trailer (FML) because, well, we got lost in SM North EDSA and tada, we were late. It was extra arduous because, geez, the people! You couldn’t walk and feel comfortable at the same time.

But still, with or without the Hunger Games trailer or the opening credits of Breaking Dawn, it was hella fun because of Zandro and Kathleen. I couldn’t even count the many stories and laughter that we shared. We laughed at the most shallow mistakes and least weird instances, like when Zandro said that, next time, we would see a movie in “Greenbolt” (instead of Greenbelt), or when we gave every food we have to Kathleen because both Zandro and I were full-we-could-almost-throw-up, or when he said that I should get braces too (he has braces now) because I have such bad teeth [especially my lower front teeth – they look like uneven fences made by a blind man] and I said that maybe I can just use sandpaper and file them till they’re even as whatever-even-there-is. We are witty and hottie like that. I’m lucky I have friends like those two, and I trust that I would always miss them (geez, I can’t even say these exact words to them in person).

And then Kathleen and I talked about college crushes and things that Zandro can’t know. And then I ridiculously remembered First College Crush. It’s extremely annoying and hurtful. I don’t want to remember him in an inappropriate way. I told her that FCC and I aren’t really close of friends, but he’s really nice to me and he said things to me (via Facebook) that a not-so-close friend shouldn’t (i.e. saying that he misses me, duh – nothing much better and nothing much worse). And about the fête tickets, the movie poster (and I hope he isn’t reading this because I’m going to freakin’ die of shame because these clues are dead on easy). I’m actually trying to look at and appreciate the exterior and interior beauty and splendor (wow, splendor) of other males, so his name would go down to number three (number 1: Sam Concepcion) on my Top Crush Roll (this is revolting). But it hasn’t happened yet, so… Heck, this is really, really horrendous. Can we just forget about this?

I’m adjusting well in school. I just find my other classes really annoying and scary. I’m serious when I say that I’m not doing well in any one of my classes. I barely participate. I barely do extra studies. Deep inside, I want to say a lot of things and explain my peculiar perspectives and ask questions because I’m awfully curious. But I can’t and I don’t because I don’t want to create a scene or something. But these cowardice and apprehension will only give me bad grades. I want an uno again. I’m really nervous about this.

I’m leaving you guys again with a song (because I don’t really have the writing talent to end a drastic post). This song crawled into my heart the first time I’ve read the lyrics (the actual song wasn’t released yet that time), and when I finally able to hear it, oh my freakin’ wonderful God, I cried. Yes, I have no shame. I bawled my eyes out. And every single time I hear it, there’s always something in the song that makes me feel sad – and also giddy. I know it’s shallow and all, but some songs can indeed make us snivel like little stubborn kids.

I finally asked you to dance on that last slow song / Beneath the moon that was really a disco ball / I can still feel my head on your shoulder / And hoping that song would never be over

I haven’t seen you in ages / Sometimes I find myself wondering where you are / For me you’ll always be eighteen / And beautiful / And dancing away with my heart

I brushed your curls back so I could see your eyes / And the way you moved me was like you were in my mind / I can still feel you lean in to kiss me / I can’t help but wonder if you ever miss me

You headed off to college at the end of that summer when we lost touch / I guess I didn’t realize even at that moment we lost so much

© Dancing Away With My Heart, Lady Antebellum

Stalking the Dead

2011-11-25T13:04:00.006+08:00

This will be one of them weird and random and egotistic posts. I haven’t anything worth to share. I’m actually not in the mood to write… but I’m trying. I don’t want to leave my precious blog inactive. I don’t know what’s wrong with me not having anything to write. Ah, school works plus little petty problems led to an uninspired little petty (not pretty) girl.

What to talk about… school? I’m gradually adjusting. I already have friends (thank goodness), but they’re not what I can call “friend-friends”. A “friend-friend”, in my own made-up dictionary, means someone who is a forever companion, someone who eats lunch and does extra reading with me. My new friends are just friends – friends in a class, not outside it. But I’m not dissatisfied or anything. Maybe I would stumble into someone I can call a “friend-friend” someday in some other place. Diana became my friend-friend not until after a month, after all. And I can wait. I like to wait.

My classes aren’t so bad. I like lots of my classes. I’m taking both Introduction to Literature and World Literature this semester. It looked and felt funny at first. But I like reading, so heck. What’s even funnier is that these two classes are scheduled on the same days. So after my Intro to Lit, my next class is World Lit. The funniest thing, I have the same professor in both classes! I’m not sure if I should feel advanced or feel wearisome. It’s quite insane. I also have Sociology, Biology, Music and Sound Effects in Broadcasting, Broadcast Advertising (which I’m really excited about) and Team Sports (softball, guys). I’m only allowed to take twenty units, so I only have seven irregular subjects, in my forever irregular college life.

I’ve been spending my ‘no-friend-friend’ time in the library. I arrive at school early, and most of the time, I go to the library and check the fresh bulletin (although I only scan the Entertainment section and read my daily Horoscope and the comic strips – I already told myself to really read the important news so I could pursue my dreams in journalism). And after reading funny comics and un-crappy movie reviews about Breaking Dawn (which I haven’t seen yet, for heaven’s sake) and Happy Feet 2 (and maybe some latest developments in Justin Bieber’s baby scandal), I would go to the library’s books section and grab an Encyclopedia Americana or any subject I’m particularly interested to at the moment. Yes, I like to read the encyclopedia. It’s really fun. Mostly I would read about literature and biographies of famous, oldies writers. I’ve read Milton’s, Dickens’, Browning’s and the Brontës’. I check them out either because I need them in class or because I’m just interested in stalking dead writers. Do you think I should really start looking for a potential friend-friend and get on with my social life because stalking dead people is bad and strange?

But speaking of stalking, look what I found. No, it’s not a nude photo scandal; it’s not a new artist I found somewhere and started drooling over. It’s Sam Concepcion. Tada! I really like this photo of him because, oh my freakin’ crazy hormones!, when did this happen?! I didn’t notice that he’s growing like this: muscular, almost ripped, hot, seriously attractive. Oh, the wonders puberty can do. He’s 19, by the way – 19 and looking ASDFGHJKL. I’m so happy for this little guy. He has come a long way, and he can hit that dougie with the craziest swag. Did you know that he’d go international next year? Geez, I don’t know what else to say. If I’m a guy, I’d definitely be jealous of him. No bias or anything, but really. This guy, he’s insanely amazing.

I’d leave you guys with a song that ‘I really find hard to sing but still hopelessly trying to’.

Light on my heart, light on my feet / Light in your eyes I can’t even speak / Do you even know how you make me weak?

I’m a lightweight / Better be careful what you say / With every word I’m blown away / You’re in control of my heart / I’m a lightweight / Easy to fall, easy to break / With every move my whole world shakes / Keep me from falling apart

© Lightweight, Demi Lovato (Unbroken)

Forever a Screwball

2011-11-15T12:36:00.008+08:00

I’m back to school, you guys! It feels good to wake up early and write notes and hate professors again. And it also feels quite funny. Funny, bittersweet, weird feeling. Already a week had passed since the start of the semester. And guess what? I’m still scared on my pants. I’m always very nervous and all every single time I enter the college building. It’s really annoying, trust me. But I guess this is what transferees really feel. I hope I’d adjust soon enough. And I should take note to be friendly to new students next time. I now know how it feels like. Another weird thing: I still haven’t met second year students (I’m writing this on a Sunday, November 13, 2011). I’ve already had classes with the babies (freshmen) and the juniors. I badly want to meet them already because… just because! I need a friend. I’m praying that I would meet a Diana-like version of a friend in my new school. A not-weird thing: we are almost allowed to say “fuck you”, “bitches” and “assholes” in class. Ah, this is why I love the Liberal Arts.

Anyway, I’m currently obsessing over books (that’s new, right?) and new upcoming series and movies. I’ve already finished Silence, the third book from The Hush, Hush Saga by Becca Fitzpatrick. I’m planning on writing another crappy book review about it, but I don’t know what to actually write because I might just talk about how hot Patch Cipriano is and how much I’m wishing that I would stumble into someone just like him on the sidewalk someday. Really, these fictions and impossibilities are making me sad and forever alone. Also, I still haven’t finished The Time Traveler’s Wife (Audrey Niffenegger) because it’s really long, and it’s, according to my best friend Zandro, “a mind-fucker”. It really is. Do you know the novel Paper Towns by John Green (go nerd fighters!)? I want to read it. I love John Green; he’s a proud nerd.

Have you heard about this new movie with Logan Lerman and Emma Watson? It’s an adaptation of the novel, The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. I’ve already read it a long time ago (here is my crappy review), and bam, I fell in love with it. So this movie, which will be released in Fall 2012, is making me cry with excitement. Logan will play as the ever-understanding and total “wallflower” Charlie; Emma will be the artistic and punk-rock type Sam. I hope they would include the “kissing-and-lying-on-the-carpet-still-kissing-quietly-with-an-occasional-moaning” scene in the movie. I’m so stoked – and I’m already feeling infinite this early.

Movie releases I’m also as stoked about: The Hunger Games (starring Jennifer Lawrence as Katniss Everdeen, Josh Hutcherson as Peeta Mellark, Liam Hemsworth as Gale Hawthorne); The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones (starring Lily Collins as Clary Fray, Jamie Campbell Bower as Jace Wayland); The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn part two (starring the famous Twilight stars. What, I guess you already know them). I still haven’t seen Breaking Dawn part one, but I’m more excited about Renesmee Carlie and the vampire Bella with her freakin’ cool but odd superpowers (spoilers for those who haven’t read the book yet). I also heard that Looking for Alaska (John Green) will also have its movie adaptation. Ah, that’s great news! I hope all the novels I had and will read would be turned into films, too. Life’s great, don’t you think? It’s just sad that I haven’t any real, living, functional (wow, my choice of adjectives) friend whom I can talk about these great and phenomenal things with. I need a friend who reads.

On the less boring side, my heart is acting weird again. First College Crush (read this for those who don’t know about him) have been visiting me in my dreams again. And it should have made me happy and inspired had I not been missing him. That is what’s wrong in my dreams: when I dreamed of someone special, either I find it weird or I miss them to a great extent. And my dreams about him were not the usual “was-here-gone-next” drama. He was really there, in his entirety, hanging out with us, laughing, freakin’ hugging (crazy), intertwining hands (crazier), a little peck on the cheeks from time to time (craziest). It’s making me sad because they could never happen, and revolted because, what the hell, they could really never happen. Also, my dreams are making all my emotions heightened – like what happen to vampires in The Vampire Diaries (what, you don’t know about that? You should probably start checking the epic series out). Every time I see him in Facebook and stuff, I immediately look all stupidly infatuated. And when he tagged me in his post one time, I got all giddy and on the verge of performing my “I’m-so-happy-I-wanna-cry” affair. I was quite happy that he remembered me. And the most freakin’ awesome and scary thing happened: HE WAS HERE. In my blog. In my tag board. I don’t want him here because he might take time to really read my posts and accidentally read about FCC and ultimately and roughly guess that I’m talking about him. I don’t want him back here again. However weird I may sound, but seriously, I would ban him if I could. FCC, I like you alright, but please don’t make it hard for me.

I have a crazy life – and I’m making it a lot crazier. Would you like to join me in my ride to the crazy land? Geez, and I’m seriously attempting to sound swag and cool.

Six Feet Under My Pillows

2011-11-05T15:53:00.002+08:00

(A sequel to “Under My Pillows”)

I’m having weirder dreams again. Funny, when I looked the word “dream” up in a dictionary, it says “extremely pleasant”. Yes, my dreams are indeed extremely pleasant. But they are just so ridiculous and hopeless that they don’t feel extremely pleasant anymore – they already hurt. And right now, I will be sharing to you, my dear readers, two of my weirdest and most outrageous dreams to date.

“Status: In a Relationship” | 24th October 2011

With Michael Trevino (Tyler Lockwood), Candice Accola (Caroline Forbes), Kat Graham (Bonnie Bennet), Zach Roerig (Matt Donovan), Steven R. McQueen (Jeremy Gilbert) of The Vampire Diaries

So I’ve dreamed of the whole (almost whole) Vampire Diaries cast. It was awesome just as how much as it was impossible. And it was seriously weird. The settings of my dream kept changing as my sleeping positions changed. What I could only remember were: 1) I was friends with Tyler, Caroline, Bonnie, Matt and Jeremy; 2) my Paul Wesley (Stefan Salvatore) wasn’t there (FML); 3) even Nina Dobrev (Elena Gilbert) and Ian Somerhalder (Damon Salvatore) weren’t present; 4) we were on a long, winding road trip; and 5) I was dating Tyler Lockwood – I WAS FREAKIN’ DATING TYLER FREAKIN’ LOCKWOOD!!! Oh, Tyler: the horny jock turned hornier werewolf turned sired jerk hybrid. Awesome – but hurtful. You see, in real life, I’m a big “Forwood” (Forbes-Lockwood) shipper, so I was kind of sad and confused that Tyler dumped Caroline – oh, my sweet Caroline – and settled with me – oh, the awkward and lame me. I was like, Tyler, had you lost your taste?

But it was good (for all its worth). And Tyler turned out to be a very sweet guy. He laughed with me, carried my things, held my hand, sat beside me on the bus (or van – whatever) and didn’t care that I was not as hot as his past girlfriends/hook ups, or that I wasn’t as horny as he was. Anyway, the witch Bonnie was still dating the ghost whisperer Jeremy; the Barbie vampire Caroline was back into another ghost whisperer Matt’s arms. So I guessed everyone was happy.

The second scene from this dream was freakin’ weird and horrible because I turned out to be married to Tyler already, and that we were expecting a freakin’ baby. Who’s horny now, eh? But there was this villain named Axis or Iris, and she said that every pregnant woman who got out of the shade and felt the sun’s warmth would lose their poor, helpless babies. And it was creepy, trust me. Strange, were the preggos all vampires and didn’t have a ring to protect them from the sunlight? Even stranger, didn’t the vampires burn to ashes under the sun and not lose their babies (if they could even conceive)? It was the strangest of things, but it was so bad because it happened. One mother from where we were staying lost her baby. And yes, because of the sun. Scary.

And that was the end of my dream. I didn’t want to know what happened next because the thing with the sun and babies was creeping the heck out of me. The dream was over, and so pregnancy over, boyfriend-turned-husband Tyler over, hanging with the TVD cast over.

I just hope that Stefan Salvatore will visit me in my dreams, too. I love you, Stefan, ripper or not ripper.

“I’m Going Glee” | 23rd August 2011
With Damian McGinty, Samuel Larsen, Lindsay Pearce, Marissa von Bleicken of The Glee Project

This dream was impossible, to begin with. I hadn’t any idea how I could relate this to my real, complicated life. Not in any way. Could you imagine yourself in one room with Samuel, Lindsay, Marissa and freakin’ Damian of The Glee Project?! This was what I say point zero, zero, zero, zero probability.

It was a short dream. We were waiting and hanging out in a room, and I was sitting next to Damian and the other three were standing (weird, the others were standing, and I was beside Damian – but I liked it). Someone suddenly came in and handed everyone something. She said that it was like a token or remembrance from the show’s staff and crew. The girls were given red flats (yes, shoes. Weird), and Samuel received a necklace (awesome), and for Damian was a ring (fancy).

Damian didn’t like the gift at first. I didn’t know why. Lindsay was trying to give it to him and trying to put it on his ring finger. He declined. Maybe Lindsay liked him and was being extra sweet and nice. Maybe Damian knew it and didn’t like the idea or didn’t like her back. That was what I thought (remember that this was just my dream and not happening in real life. No hates and bashing on both parties).

I stepped into their scene and tried to convince Damian that the ring would look good on him. Not because I liked him, like Lindsay [in this dream] (‘cause I like Cameron Mitchell, not Damian), but because I thought that it was kind of weird and rude to refuse a gift in the first place. I persuaded him, and he didn’t rebuff anymore. I put the ring on his finger, and he didn’t try to take it off. The ring was weird. It looked like something extracted from the pages of a Harry Potter book – or something about the Victorian or Medieval Age. It looked cursed. Maybe it was vintage. Maybe it was just the design. But Damian liked it in the end. Oh, the convincing powers of mine. Oh, the convincing powers Lindsay didn’t have. There was some physical touch, did you notice? Eep! PHYSICAL TOUCH WITH DAMIAN FREAKIN’ MCGINTY!!! I hope next time Cameron would be with us, too (gee, and I was seriously thinking it could really happen).

Photo Blog: Souvenirs Heureux

2011-10-28T16:53:00.011+08:00

Souvenirs Heureux – French: Happy Memories

CHANCES

(with Javy Gil @ the Candy Fair 2011, September 24, 2011 | ©)

So this is Javy Gil. I don’t know much about him, except that he’s Enrique Gil’s brother – and that he’s so timid and adorable. This photo (look at my overexcited, wrecked face) was taken at the recent Candy Fair 2011 (right, this is such a late post). It’s quite funny how I had this photo with him. I first saw him in a booth surrounded by girls, and I was like, “Javy! It’s Javy!” He’s the only Candy Cutie around that I actually know by name and by face. My friends wanted to have a photo with him, but he was so busy (girls, girls), so we had decided to just look around for him next time. Then I saw him again near the restroom (of all places). I wasn’t sure if he was to use the john or was to go backstage. I almost bumped into him, and heck, he blew me away. HE FREAKIN’ BLEW ME AWAY. Face to face with Javy Gil was really... something. Trust me, he’s so much cuter in person. And his eyes, oh his eyes. And he’s so timid and shy-looking. He looked so harmless. Then I was just stuck in that spot for a moment while he went to wherever. And, again, I was like, “Was that Javy? Whoa.”

After some time, after visiting booths, checking the Cuties out and doing it all over again and again, we grew tired and bored. One of my friends wanted to meet him badly. We started looking for him, but poof, he wasn’t around. And my friend was sad because she was thinking that he had already left. I was half comforting [her that he was still around, maybe resting or something] and half teasing her [that he had already gone back home for he didn’t want to see her. lol]. We didn’t see him at the booths. Meh. We even sang while looking for him, “Where is Javy, where is Javy? Where are you?” It was annoying that we’ve seen him walk past us a couple of times, but never got to meet him, like the photo opportunity was there, hanging before us but we didn’t grab it. Pfft.

We only saw him again during the program [where the Cuties where to give prizes to the contestants or give hugs and kisses, and kill us all with jealousy in the process]. Then I didn’t care about him anymore because, well, Sam Concepcion was performing. Ya know, Sam Concepcion. Fangirl. My heart. My world. Just Sam Concepcion.

And back to Javy Gil and that photo. I actually got that before he left. The friend I told you who was dying to have a photo with him was actually the one who spotted him. I turned to her direction and saw him – surrounded by girls again. He came from the backstage and was heading for his ride maybe. Finally, Javy. Finally. And that was it. Flashes. Smiles. His eyes. His height (I love how tall he is). His timidity. Oh, Javy. I didn’t get to talk to him or say something relevant because I was so tired and sweaty and ugly, and he was also tired but not sweaty and ugly. And okay, because my Sam Concepcion euphoria was still lurking inside me. But really, Javy is awesome.

Note: He was the only Candy Cutie (from Batch 2011) that I wanted to have a photo with. Only him.

UNFALTERING AFFECTION

(with Kathleen and Zandro @ Kath’s Debut, October 1, 2011 | ©)

From left: Christine Ordas, Kathleen Valle and Zandro Geral

If I could win a VIP invite to a party with two of my friends, I would contact these two and check their schedules and hook ‘em up in a heartbeat (but unfortunately, random miracles aren’t for me). Kathleen and Zandro are just few of the people who can understand my mood swings, bad attitude, inconsequential insecurities, teenage drama and ever-changing preferences and still hang out with me in the end. I don’t know how they do it, but they just do in a snap of a finger. I can’t ever be as open minded and flexible (physically and emotionally) as these two. And have I mentioned that I love them?

I always remember that April 1st that I shared with these two – an April 1st of crazy emotions and stories and not a Fool’s Day. It was that day that I realized that the UP Diliman Oblation Statue wasn’t as glorious as I thought it would be, that random Cello’s doughnuts had weird taste, and that maybe we can’t always have what we want and do things in our way, but with sets of helping hands and bunches of caring love (geez, the words I use), what we want doesn’t matter that much anymore. What we need does. And what we need is this kind of friends (plus a good education, a warm home and some killer shoes). I have always known in my heart that they will be with me through thick and thin, that they would understand my obsession for fictions and Sam Concepcion, that they would read anything that I have written (be it shitty or significant), and that – good day or bad – their love is forever unchanging.

Note: This photo was taken at Kathleen’s birthday. We were lucky that we got to share this photo booth moment with her because she was so in demand that time – and dead on gorgeous, not to mention.

THE CONCEITED BAND
(with the Vanity Band @ Kath’s Debut, October 1, 2011 | ©)

These are the rarest photo of the Vanity Band together – although technically, those little jerks in these photos weren’t really complete. These were taken at Kathleen’s birthday celebration. And blah, blah.

Second photo, from left: Carla Montes, Kim Mateo, Albert Landayan, Eric Inoy, Jerome Factor, Christine Ordas (not in photo – probably at NLEX: Mark Tulop)

I freakin’ don’t know what to say about these photos – or about the band itself (‘cause, trust me, I don’t have the faintest idea or a string of memory why I’m in this emo-rock-punk-whatever band). I don’t know how I found myself hanging out with these talented slobs (I’m kidding about the ‘slobs’) with their instruments and a malicious sense of humor (no hates, guys) – and a couple of teenage angst included.

For quite some time, I always find myself in a practice room (or a studio – whatever) with them, sitting and listening and staring and just listening. I find myself wandering to places and trying to figure things out (with their music in the background – adds the melodramatic touch), and still ask myself why I’m in this band. Why should I – I who doesn’t know how to play, I who can’t even sing audible enough for another person to hear, I who doesn’t even like the music they play, I who can’t freakin’ relate to their inside jokes, I who is a nerd and not a cool-rocker-Hayley-Williams-type, I who is rarely (or not at all) present – be in this band.

Then I realize one thing: I’m in this band (although I’m a present-this-day-gone-the-next member) because I love these slobs (Carla, you’re not in the ‘slobs category’), because they are the kind of slobs that could make fun of you but you can still outsmart them in the end, the kind of slobs that you can sit next to and just talk about relevant and irrelevant things and thrown in some of your excess baggage in between (and you can harmlessly hit them when you suddenly just want to have a human size punching bag) – AND THEY WOULD STILL CARE FOR YOU IN THE END (assuming they aren’t pissed off at the moment).

PARABATAIS

(with Diane @ the Candy Fair 2011, September 24, 2011 | ©)

So this is Diana Agulto and I, the former still fresh and light, the latter sweating and sticky like glue, having fun, shuffling, dougie-ing and screaming our lungs out at the recent Candy Fair 2011.

Diana is my first closest college friend. I met her in Treston Int’l College. We didn’t click right away the first time we met. I think because we were the type who was too shy to make the first move to befriend somebody. But eventually, we got along – and hell how we got along! We were inseparable, Diane and I. We were too close that people had a hard time distinguishing who was who. They even said that we looked related! We were always together: we waited for each other each morning and took the same ride to school; we hated the same professors and laughed at the same reason which we two only knew; we both walked from school drained and tired like shit and took the same ride back home. We loved to talk about what we thought of this person and felt guilty for bashing them in the end. We both loved Candy Fair (I went with her last year too) and checking Cuties out. We didn’t share the same preference for songs and artists, but heck, we both loved music.

I have no idea how we became friends: the exact date when, the exact reasons why, the exact way how. I love this girl, seriously. I can’t imagine how I pulled through my first year in college [with too much stress plus girl problems about insecurities and First College Crush] without her. I have other close friends in college, but she is my favorite among all of them (not that I’m saying I have a lot of friends). We truly are partners in every girl-related crime I know of. I’m lucky I met someone like her.

The First Time

2011-10-17T14:49:00.004+08:00

19 years old. 10 years in the business. 6 years with the Samsters. 4 albums released. 240,000 Twitter followers and counting. Innumerable number of films, shows, theater projects, awards, nominations, endorsements and advocacies. Numbers that merely depict what this man had already accomplished. Numbers that, when put all together, would only run short on the countless reasons why we, the ever-supporting and unfalteringly loyal Samsters, love this man: this man who shows us to reach for our passion and to take risks. This man who drinks too much coffee and hits that dougie whenever and wherever he desires. This man who wants to be a blessing to others. This man who believes in fairies and flies because of happy thoughts. This man who serves God through what he can do and does everything for His glory. This man who grew up from a skinny, overexcited tween to a charming young man before our very eyes. This man who doesn’t let bad air infiltrate his head and who still has his feet planted deep on the ground. This man who remains humble, faithful and God-oriented and doesn’t take anything for granted. And to this only man, I dedicate this really, really, really sincere appreciation post.

I first saw Sam Concepcion in a talent search cum reality show when he was twelve. Maybe you can say that there was this “Oh my God, I’m going to marry him someday” drama that had happened on that day, or maybe you can just simply say that I was instantly smitten by this little, skinny guy with a fedora who can sing and dance. And since then, I’ve always shrieked with delight every time I see him performing. I even cried (because of sadness) when he didn’t win in his first week because I thought that he wouldn’t come back anymore, and cried (because of happiness) when he won the title in the end. He was the first artist that I had a super, deep, real crush on. He was the first artist whom I had Googled and stalked online. I was a twelve-year-old fan of this little, skinny, twelve-year-old guy. For sure.

I first met him in an event where I went just because he would perform there when he was fifteen. My feet nervous, my knees shaking, my hands sweating buckets, my anticipation unimaginable, and my heart beating frantically. I almost cried in front of him when he said “thank you” and smiled at me. Imagine that – it was just a thank you and I almost bawled my eyes out! Now I can’t believe how I survived without humiliating myself before his eyes when he said that I looked familiar and when he put his right hand on my shoulder. Or kissed the computer screen when he tweeted me back for the first time. Or ran around the neighborhood screaming “Destiny! Freakin’ destiny!” when I learned that he would be portraying in a musical the lead role in Peter Pan – the book that I apparently gave him for his 18th birthday.

Of course, out of all the encounters that I have with him, the first time is always the most awkward and has the what-the-hell-just-happened-scene. And of course, the first time is also the most memorable. Hands down. And since then, I’ve always tried my best to go to his mall shows or whatever to meet him again. It’s either I get to be near him or watch from afar; either I get to have a photo with him or not; either I get to talk to him without choking my words out or stutter all throughout the small talk and mortify myself in the process – at least I was there; at least I know in my heart that I have seen him in person again. And every time it happens, it always feels like the first time.

The undeniable euphoria before, during and after the encounter, the peculiar super power to remember every little detail that I instantaneously have, the agitated nights, the inerasable smile on my face, the aching desire to tell it to everyone, the giddy and soaring feeling in between. And the utmost yearning to experience it again and again and again.

He will always be that guy. He will always be my ultimate knight in shining Supras and a hot plaid button-down. He will always be my dream duet partner (my singing ability sucks – so it’s just an impossible fantasy). He will always be that one person whose tweets I will check every time. He will always be that guy whom his jokes I would laugh to even if they’re actually such failures and still think they’re epic in the end. He will always be the one performer whom I will be thrilled to meet again and again – and constantly feel the same way. And it will always be very awkward and memorable. Just like when he was fifteen. Just like that moment. Just like before. Just like the first time.

Photos © x | x

In Between the Wars

2011-10-06T15:29:00.000+08:00

It’s silly and stupid.

It’s silly and stupid that I’m feeling this way right now – right at this moment when I only have less than a month to go back to school and to start gradually building my hazy future using my currently unexploited brain and whatever I find inside it. It’s silly and stupid that I’m back to feeling guilty and selfish and useless all over again. I’m guilty of not attending school while my friends are apparently working their asses off to pass prelims, midterms and finals. I feel selfish of not going to school because some kids my age and adults in their mid-life are trying their hardest and would give everything up just to attain better education and graduate with a degree. I feel that I’m such a brat and taking everything for granted and letting time slip away every second of everyday. I feel so useless because I’m just plain, damn useless.

I wanted to say these things to a friend of mine who apparently had gone through the same situation, but I decided to just write about it because I think it’s better that I use the medium that I’m much more comfortable with (and okay, because I haven’t been blogging much these days). Maybe I should cease watching current affairs shows about unfortunate families who can’t send their children to school so my level of guilt would stop increasing and this feeling of trepidation and misery would just go away like a smelly fart in the wind. But maybe, just like a smelly fart (oh, for heaven’s sake, I’m seriously comparing this boggling situation to a – of all things – fart!), it would just come back again and again, and I would go back to zero and think that way again. Guilt and egotism would always eerily pop in my face from the dark corner just as how much a normal human being releases bad gas every day. And that’s like several times each day (worse if that normal human being has diarrhea) – several times of disturbing feeling followed by driving one’s fist on the wall or writing a dramatic entry down to the trusted, battered, tear-soken diary. Maybe I could bear it until October ends and eventually start going to school. Maybe this will just pass and become tolerable enough for me to keep my sanity and not try to physically hurt or blame or repeatedly poke myself. Maybe this is just a phase that will soon end. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t.

And then there’s the problem with time – how to spend time wisely, how to not stupidly waste it, how to stupendously start the day, how to end it, how to work with it harmoniously. Every passing day for the past five months (excluding the summer holidays) have been just about trying to live through it until it ends and waking up the next day and doing it all over again. Every day, I lie awake on my bed, oblivious to the busy world and busy people outside the comfort of my little room, thinking what I will do this day, what book to start, what book to end, what good show there is on TV, how to make these drastic five months less drastic, how to convince myself that these drastic five months aren’t at all drastic. Sometimes, my everyday life gets tedious and more tedious and more, tada, tedious. My everyday drill is so short it could be scribbled in a candy wrapper and crumpled like a pebble and thrown in the air and poof, gone, gone like a little weak flame blown by the strong, menacing wind – or, said less dramatically, stuck into someone’s nasal passage and that someone will never even notice.

But I’m quite glad that I get this long break from school and stress and acnes and more stress. I’m quite glad that I don’t come home from school really tired and drained out. I’m happy that I get the chance to try simple home activities that I like and read the remaining books in our blue Fine Living plastic trunk (which to say are a lot). I’m ecstatic that I get to catch up with the current headlines and events that are life- and world-changing, and that I’m not left out and could talk about smart things. I’m even more ecstatic that I don’t miss the sensible TV shows that I’m gluing my eyes on. Every week I excitedly wait for The Vampire Diaries to be aired and not miss any second of it, and more excitedly wait for the next week to see the next action-, vampire- and six-packed episode, and try to figure out if: 1) Stefan Salvatore will have the balls to betray the Original Klaus and run back to Mystic Falls and kiss Elena Gilbert like he could eat her alive (maybe he could); 2) Damon Salvatore will have a happy ending with someone who’s worth his undying love, fascinating eye-sex and ripped body; 3) the Forwood (Caroline Forbes and Tyler Lockwood) tandem will really last (not unless Tyler the werewolf will accidentally or purposely bite Caroline the vampire); 4) Jeremy Gilbert will have a colorful career as a ghost whisperer or a creepy psychic; or 5) Klaus is really homosexual and just keeps Stefan around not because the latter is a damn good wingman-slash-ripper but because he’s secretly in love with him. But heck, we’ll never know.

On the more serious side, I’m not sure if everyone who is in the same situation as mine is going through what I’m going through. I’m not sure if they feel the same guilt and the same gratitude that I’m feeling right now, and try to decide which side to consider – the guilt side or the gratitude side. Or maybe they choose the little, peaceful and wonderful space in between both wars. I’m not sure if, like me, they blog about it and let others know how they feel and what they think about their every living day. I’m not sure if, unlike me, they have better everyday plans inside their bags. I’m not sure if they’re ready to go back to the chaotic and diverse world of education, teachers, rowdy schoolmates and devoted studying. I’m not sure if they have already figured things out. I’m not sure if they think that all of these months are worth it. Maybe they do. Maybe they don’t. And maybe they are. Maybe they aren’t.

Restless Baby Freaks

2011-09-12T16:02:00.005+08:00

Unknown to many, I like studying people. I like reading them and making assessments about their personalities. I like trying to figure out their stories inside and outside their homes. I like knowing a lot. I like knowing who they are deep inside, because their stories are what make the world colorful and fun and life more meaningful and interesting. People are interesting. People’s stories are interesting – and colorful.

Sure, I’ve seen and met professionals, simple people, those who bully, those who are being bullied, those who are contented in life, and those who are still seeking for answers. But what interests me the most are these kids, the younger ones, those in the awkward stage of puberty and trying to figure things out, those kids who hang out with their friends and feel like everything’s perfect and in their favor, those who try to look mature but fail because they still look like kids who just find happiness in celebrity crushes and vanilla ice cream. I’ve always liked kids. I’ve always been interested in adolescents. Not that I haven’t gone and currently going through what they will go or are going through – of course, I was once a little kid with wobbly scraped knees, an adolescent, an awkward human being. Oh, screw the last one – I’m still an awkward human being (I’m never going to surpass that stage). I’m just too fascinated in their own perspective (“perspective” is one of my favorite words) about their lives, about love in all its forms, about the world, about religion and faith, about politics, about world peace, about everlasting beauty, about having fun, about vampires and werewolves and magic, about this and that TV show, about these uncomfortable changes. Knowing makes me understand things more. Listening to their stories makes me understand them more. Communicating makes me understand those ‘what the hells’. Understanding makes me perceive life in a different way, beyond its complications and imperfections.

And what a better way to explore stories that make up this world than to ask those who are just starting to make their own – their own stories, their own little chaotic world, their own purpose, their own lives. Young minds? That’s insane, you may think. Why not ask those who know life already, those who had seen and experienced triumph and failure in their lives, those who actually have the knowledge? I don’t know. Maybe because I think that they know too much already, to the point that life isn’t exciting anymore. When we want to try this thing that we’ve heard about somewhere and we’re all thrilled about it, and we ask this ‘experienced’ person and he tells us what it can do to us and some of it are not actually good, and we become scared about failing and hurting and embarrassment so we back out and lose all the excitement and let go of that chance. That doesn’t sound good, does it? There are these quotes from novels that I always believe to be true. One could be as straight as this: “It’s not good to know things ahead. It screws up your life.”^[1]; or as spelled out as this: “There were so many of us who would have to live with things done and things left undone that day. Things that did not go right, things that seemed okay at the time because we could not see the future. If only we could see the endless string of consequences that result from our smallest actions. But we can’t know better until knowing better is useless.”^[2]

Why ask those who don’t even have the slightest bit of experience and understanding about the life outside their perfect world, about the life that isn’t just about going to school and playing and Disney Channel? Indeed, their minds are quite young and fresh and inexperienced yet, but their minds are more interesting. You may think that I’m insane to be interested in minds that are not even filled with wonders yet. Well okay, let’s say that I’m insane. I can’t actually give you exact reasons why I am. Young minds amaze me. Young people are always so excited about everything – new school year, cute guys, academic clubs, sports to try, arts, Ian Somerhalder, music, fashion, experiences, growing up. We’re always up for anything, always trying things out, always on the move, never stopping, never ceasing, always so restless. Heck, screw what they say, screw ‘limitations’ and ‘you’re-too-young-to-knows’. We’re invincible, we’re out to rule the world, we’re young and strong, we’re looking cool and bad-ass. Perfect kids, perfect adolescents, perfect awkward human beings, perfect life.

When adults say, “Teenagers think they are invincible” with that sly, stupid smile on their faces, they don’t know how right they are. We need never be hopeless, because we can never be irreparably broken. We think that we are invincible because we are. We cannot be born, and we cannot die. Like all energy, we can only change shapes and sizes and manifestations. They forget that when they get old. They get scared of losing and failing. But that part of us greater than the sum of our parts cannot begin and cannot end, and so it cannot fail.
- Looking For Alaska, John Green

But then all of sudden, everything crumbles down. Shit happens. And we, the invincible, cool and young people, abruptly stop trying to rule the world and run to a dark corner and regret everything. Shit always happens. Shits may come in varied forms: family problems, peer pressure, heartbreaks, drugs, unmet desires, unidentified identities. But then, gradually, we get back up again. We leave that dark corner and stop regretting everything. We compose ourselves and try to rule the world again. Young life is like that: we feel good and lucky this day, we feel crappy and doomed the next, but we wake up from that day and start the cycle all over again, and we just learn to accept that cycle and live within it and try to make those ‘crappy and doomed’ days a little better. Being young means having a big room for opportunities and new things to try, but when things don’t work out, there’s always a bigger room for second chances.

That’s why I like being young and am interested in the younger generation: we seem like we’re genetically made up of adrenaline cells and euphoric nerves. We can curse a lot and screw everything but still be fragile little kids who just need some delicate care at the end of the day. People may think that we’re just these misunderstood freaks who are hopelessly in dire need of appreciation and attention. Maybe we are. Maybe we really are misunderstood in every way – our taste in music and fashion, our beliefs, the friends we hang out with, our interests, what we want to do, where we want to go. But that’s who we are. We are young, we are out to rule the world, we are free, we are unceasing. We are the restless, and we are the freaks.

Notes:

1 Henry DeTamble, The Time Traveler’s Wife (written by Audrey Niffenegger, 2003) | 2 Miles Halter, Looking For Alaska (written by John Green, 2005) | Photos

Teenage Dreams: Paranoia

2011-09-05T15:19:00.000+08:00

After that night in the club, my best friend kept calling me, almost every hour of everyday. She couldn’t stop talking and gushing over little things, especially when it came to the jock that she dated. She excitedly told me the things that happened after, not realizing that she already had said them for a couple of times that it felt like it had already become her own personal tagline. Though it really irritated me, I couldn’t stop being happy for her. Of course I was happy for her. I was her best friend, and I’d be happy for her even if it meant listening to her raves about boys and silly crushes over and over again. I asked her if she was in love with him already, although I could literally feel that she was. The words were like written on her forehead: Head-over-heels-in-love.

“Umm, I don’t know. Maybe? Can I just say that I’m getting there?” She giggled – that giggle was the ultimate answer to my question. She wouldn’t giggle that way unless there wasn’t something more to just liking a guy because of his hair or the perfume he had used.

“Alright, I can accept that one. Just be careful, okay? Don’t let him break your heart. If that ever happen, I’d break his jaw –” Reading too much had influenced me into saying things like that – breaking someone’s jaw. Although of course I couldn’t do that. “– and put electric blue dye in his hair wax, and flush his perfume in the toilet and –”

“Okay, I know. I know. But you won’t actually do that, will you?” She sounded quite worried – and it was ridiculous.

“I don’t know. If he forces me to, maybe I will. So, did he ask you out again?”

“Yes. He told me that he really had fun, and that he would like to know me more.”

“I just hope he won’t bring you to that club again. That was such a failure. Do you want me to enlighten him about creativity and proper dating etiquette? Because he could really use one.” She laughed at that. “Your cousin told me that it was like hell in that club, and I totally agree.” I said.

“Oh, about him... He wanted to say thank you for coming and for the excellent time you spent with him, and for hating that club, too. He was really happy. You should have seen his face!”

I told her that the gratitude was unnecessary. Anyone who hated that place would be very happy to have at least one sober person to talk with. “But tell him I enjoyed his company, as well.” I said.

“I won’t. You should tell him that in person, face to face, in the flesh.” Had she been eating the Thesaurus? “He’ll be there, maybe at past three.” No, it wasn’t the Thesaurus she had been eating. Maybe she was on drugs? Or on a trance? What was she talking about? Or maybe I was on drugs. It was hard to tell (although we weren’t actually taking drugs, for heaven’s sake).

“Whoa. Stop, stop. What? He will come here? Why?”

“Duh, he wants to talk to you again. He had never met anyone like you – at least that’s what he’s been telling me for, like, all day. I have never seen or heard him that way. He really wasn’t the chatty type, but now he is. Do you think it’s because of his endorphins or some internal reactions?” When I didn’t answer, she continued, “Oh, maybe it’s you! I’ve told you before you have this, umm, psychological powers in you. You can make people feel light and confident by just talking to them, except, of course, for jerks you could have killed just by looking at them coldly.”

“I don’t kill by looks! I can’t! And almost all boys are jerks, so your “psychological powers and inner light aura theory” is not true.” I objected. “Duh,” I added as an afterthought – and okay, to annoy her a bit (which turned out to be an epically lame attempt).

“So, so. You always say that. Can’t you just accept that there’s really something in you? That maybe not all boys are jerks and would just break your heart? That you can fall in love with someone? That not all loves are, for the unfathomable sense of life and hairspray, unrequited?” Unfathomable? Unrequited? Who used those words? And hairspray? “But I guess all this stuff I’m saying is pointless since you won’t listen and believe me. But I hope you’d realize this someday. I’m not losing hope. Okay then, have fun!” She had already hung up even before I could say anything: a protest maybe, or a cry of rage or surprise. Or maybe a word of understanding, of acceptance.

It was already three, and I still didn’t know what the heck will happen. Why would he come? He had never met anyone like you, my best friend had said. That was weird. Everything was weird. I couldn’t stop pacing. I couldn’t stop flinching every time I heard tires screeching and a car’s machine dying. Then I laughed halfheartedly to myself because I realized that I shouldn’t be paranoid. “He will just drop by and say thank you. And you will just say thank you, too. That’s easy enough.” I repeatedly told myself.

It didn’t work. I swore I’d kill my best friend after. I never had a guy inside my house. They were only allowed when it was a matter of life and death (which hardly ever happened), and when they were with some of my other girl friends. I was always getting uncomfortable around them, and most of the time they were annoying and rowdy. I had only a couple of guy friends – a couple, meaning you could count by two hands, and almost half of them were gays.

I never asked my mother about the opposite sex. When I was hitting puberty, I never had the interest to know more about them. All I cared for was music and studying. And I was very close with my Superman, so he was the only guy whom I looked up to – and the manliest I knew. And, all right, I’ve been watching kick ass movies where the guys were jerks and could be thrown down by independent and tough girls. Those movies had influenced me a lot on thinking that independent and tough girls didn’t need jerks because they can take care of and protect themselves – and yes, kick ass.

Not that I didn’t actually have a bit of experience with relationships and love. There were some males who took interest of me. Well, that was what my best friend had perceived (and some of those males had connived with her just to set me up on a date). I had no idea what they were doing or what their intentions were. But they annoyed me so much, so I didn’t take the time to know. And they were not like my father. I didn’t hate them. They just weren’t included on my list of priorities. And my “Epitome of a Perfect Guy” was hard to find.

My reverie was interrupted when the doorbell rang.

© Christine Faye Ordas

TEENAGE DREAMS
xo 01. Superman 02. Acquaintances 03. Invited 04. Wallflower 05. Paranoia 06. Swapping 07. Stories

The characters and events portrayed in the story are fictitious and are from pure fantasies. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the [aspiring] author. Excerpts or lines borrowed from novels, songs, or any source will be properly credited.

RAQs

2011-08-25T16:51:00.007+08:00

RAQs - Rarely Asked Questions; pronounced as raks or racks or rocks. Whatever.

Trust me, I thought about that meaning for several nights. Ha! These are the questions that people never ask me, although I would be very delighted to answer them. People usually ask for my name (of course), my age, what school I go to, what degree I’m taking, etc. My friends usually ask about my not-very-interesting love life – which is very lame right now. “I’m single” has always been my automatic answer every time they grind me with questions about love and relationships. I’ve been satisfying myself lately with daydreaming and constant fan-girling (yes, fan-girling is now a verb). I like talking about other stuff (books, arts, music, moral ethics, religion), but I guess my friends are too busy to listen or even ask. Or maybe they just don’t care. But I’ve met some people who can talk about those “other stuff,” and it’s amazing. They’re amazing. But nonetheless, the following are the RAQs and their respective answer, because I don’t mind explaining; I don’t mind sharing, and because I don’t have anything creative and consequential to write about.

What type of music are you into?

When I was young, I was into the bouncy-type, like Nelly’s or Usher’s songs. I even remember singing “Dilemma” and “Confessions.” My cousin was an RnB fanatic, so I grew up listening to that genre. I was more into the bar music. Ironically, I’ve never been in a bar. I’m afraid to enter a bar. But I was young that time. I haven’t found what my own version of “good music” was. But at this moment, my music folder is composed of Pop and Pop Rock and Country songs. I’m currently in love with Parachute and Lady Antebellum. I also love Kristina and the Dolls, Hey Monday, Demi Lovato, Michelle Branch, Cameron Mitchell and some songs from the Vampire Diaries. But I still like RnB, especially Chris Brown. And I love Eminem – he’s a very clever songwriter. So my music taste is quite… diverse.

Well I’m not sure what this going to be / But with my eyes clenched all I see / Is the sky line through the window / The moon above you and the streets below / Hold my breath as you’re moving in / Taste your lips and feel your skin / When the time comes / Baby don’t run / Just kiss me slowly
© Kiss Me Slowly, Parachute

Why do you like reading?

Who doesn’t like reading, seriously? Had this question been asked on my earlier years, I wouldn’t know what my answer was. I started reading novels when I was in third grade. I actually started with pocket books (yeah, those Precious Hearts and feel-giddy plots and stuff, plus the random beautiful people’s faces on the cover). Then as I grew older, I ditched them and went for the thicker and deeper ones. My mom forced me to read “Where the Heart Is” (Billie Letts) when I was in sixth grade. It was a very good novel. I actually cried because the protagonist was very unfortunate and the number seven hated her, but she found life and meaning once again when she had her baby. Then it started from there. The number of books that I’ve read is increasing as I grow older. I started reading Harry Potter when I was a high school sophomore (it was very late because I wasn’t into fictions and sci-fi and magic before, so you can say that it all started with Harry Potter). I like reading because I sometimes feel that when I read, the world around me is shut down and it’s just me and my book. I even sometimes feel that I’m one of the characters from the story – I can feel their pain, their joy, their anxiety, their triumph. And every time I read a book, my imagination just bursts out like crazy monsters, and it makes me want to write my own story. Books are inspiring. Writers are smart people. Also, when I’m just so frustrated, all I need is a good book and a well-lighted and silent room, and everything is fine. The key to my happiness could be as simple as that.

Why aren’t you in school?

I have a lot of reasons – or maybe alibis: 1) my transferring plans didn’t work. Yes, all of them; 2) I don’t know what school to attend; 3) I’m not sure of what I really want to do; and 4) I’ve lived half of my life eating stress and pressure every day. It’s kind of very selfish and shallow, but I think I just need a break – long, drastic and seven months of a break. Sometimes I feel that I’m taking everything for granted, that my family has the capability to send me to college, but here I am, not in school, apparently wasting my time. But will you think that it’s cliché if I say that I’m still looking for myself? I thought before that “looking for one’s self” is not true, that it’s just some form of an alibi to leave home and grow beard and become a mountain hermit. But it’s true. It happens. I think it happens to everyone – it’s just a matter of when and where and how and maybe why. If I continue schooling without my heart on it, it’ll be even worse than not attending classes.

“I go to seek a Great Perhaps.” © Francois Rabelais
(Looking for Alaska, John Green)

What do you do every day since you’re not in school?

Not being in school makes me discover, rediscover and do things that I never thought I would try. Maybe I was just very busy with school works before that I didn’t give enough attention to my interests and the little things that apparently make me happy. Every day I read – a novel or the New Testament or my journal or my college English essays; I doodle and color; I try to play the guitar; I write about my dreams or about anything and choose what to post in my blog; I continue writing my shitty story: Teenage Dreams; I write some songs (although they would barely make it as songs); and do what I think I should do.

To be honest, I always feel sad and shitty when someone says that I’m wasting my time because I’m not in school; because I could excel in class but, tada, I’m not in school; that I’m missing a part of my life because I’m stuck at home and not in school; that my future will be rocky because, guess what, I’m not in school. Hearing those words makes me feel like: 1) I’m a hopeless kid without a purpose; 2) that I will be forever an out of school youth; 3) that I couldn’t make up for the lost time; and 4) that my academic life will never be the same again. I try to shrug them off and perceive life differently. Sometimes it’s just a matter of perspective – if you see your non-school life boring and a waste of time, then it’ll be boring and a waste of time; if you see it as an opportunity to discover and rediscover things, then it’ll be an opportunity.

What do you really want to do when you grow old?

I’ve thought about that a hundred times. You see, I’m a very indecisive person. I like to be everyone and do everything, like teach little kids, be a social worker, travel around the world, be a major supporter of a charity house, or shoot a documentary, so I didn’t really have that precise and shining ambition before. Now I just want to be a writer and a media researcher at the same time. I want to be involved in searching for interesting stories and facts that matter. I want to be the next Associate Lifestyle Editor or the Editor in Chief of Candy Magazine (just like Ms. Marla Miniano or Ms. Mia Custodio, respectively). I want to be one of the brains and hands behind a public affairs show. I want to inspire people with my writing and psychological powers that I’m not even sure exist. Maybe writing and publishing a bestselling novel is pretty much a long shot (given my crappy and shallow writing skills at the moment), but I’m willing to learn more, strive harder and take it, and see where it takes me in the end.

Under My Pillows

2011-08-08T12:17:00.005+08:00

I’ve been having weird dreams lately. They were funny so I’ve always been trying to remember them and write them down before they escape my memories. And since this is my blog, and I write everything in here, and I don’t have anything worth reading to put, and everything is lame right now, I will be sharing to you three of my weirdest and funniest and latest dreams.

“The Closest” | 23rd July 2011 ©

With Sam Concepcion, a bunch of pretty girls I haven’t really met

It started with a usual receiving area scene. I was with some girls, reading magazines and waiting for something or someone or whatever. I had learned that one girl, the one with long hair, was crushing on Sam Concepcion (although I wasn’t sure if I had eavesdropped or I asked her myself). I was quite… ironically relieved that there was someone in that room that shared the same “interest” as mine. But I wasn’t really certain why I was there. In that room. With those girls.With strangers.

Then Sam Concepcion entered the room slash the scene slash in my dreams. I was surprised with lots of things that time: 1) I was surprised that Sam Concepcion was there (imagine my luck); 2) I was surprised that I didn’t go all red and possibly faint when I saw him – I just acted normally, like I could have said: “Okay, he’s here,” deadpanned; 3) his hair was hideous; and 4) everyone in that room apparently liked him, too. I didn’t know what he was doing there. Maybe he was that “something or someone or whatever” that we were waiting for. Maybe we were the lucky ones who had the chance to meet him backstage or something. He started saying something about his shows and stuff. And he ingeniously added voting for him on Candy Cuties 2011 poll. What a segue. I told him to always do that – remind people about Candy Cuties so they wouldn’t forget. What a suggestion.

He agreed and sat in front of me and held my hand. HE FREAKIN’ HELD MY HAND! He said that he was quite afraid that he wouldn’t again be hailed as the Top Cutie this year (he didn’t win last year). I told him that it was okay, that it didn’t really matter because he had already proven himself as a performer and as a Top Cutie for a couple of years (four consecutive years, to be precise). I said it while stroking his hideously-cut bangs. I FREAKIN’ STROKED HIS HIDEOUSLY-CUT BANGS! He held my hand, and I stroked his hair – physical touch on both freakin’ parts!!!

Then the long-haired girl who liked Sam came. She was apparently awe-stricken when she met him. Maybe it was her first time. I couldn’t blame her. Sam gave her a handshake and maybe a hug too, and they had a little chat. I was quite anxious because I was secretly thinking – and not wishing – that maybe Sam kind of liked her and wouldn’t talk to me anymore – and it was hurtful. WTF, even in my dreams I was still such a selfish and an idiotic and a rabid fan. But, tada, because it was my dream, after he talked to the girl, he came back and sat in front of me, and he held my hand again, and we were talking again, and I was just bursting with joy again, and my dream was phenomenal again, and I was seriously in love with him again!

This was the dream, the closest we ever got physically and emotionally (before it was all just about staring at him and feeling that I was invisible to his big brown eyes – and once, singing together, which was ridiculous), that had compelled me to go head over heels for Sam Concepcion all over again. I was actually in the process of trying to decrease my fan love for him since it wasn’t healthy, but I dreamed of him, and poof, decrease what?

“Malabo” | I Don’t Remember When

With my First College Crush, a couple of my high school friends, his friends, his girlfriend (or fiancé)

It was such a weird dream. It started with just my friends and me. We were summoned into this auditorium slash gym, and we were surprisingly wearing our high school uniforms. I found my FCC and a girl standing on a podium with their friends in the background – he was all decked out in a suit and the girl was all pretty in white. I suddenly realized that he and the girl was a couple. And they were getting married. THEY WERE GETTING FREAKIN’ MARRIED! What?! My First College Crush – oh my modest, determined, smart, first college crush – was getting married. WTF.

I unexpectedly found myself walking towards him and actually talking to him. The guts I had in my dreams were non-existent in reality. I asked him (these were the exact words), “Why so early?” He said that it just happened, that they woke up one day wanting to get married, that he really loved this girl, blah, blah, but they had agreed to not have kids yet. Getting married at eighteen without a baby bump complication? True love. But still, WHY SO FREAKIN’ EARLY?!

The scene switched. I didn’t know if the ceremony was already over or if what I’d seen was just the rehearsals. I wasn’t sure how the hell it happened, but FCC and I were miraculously exchanging phone calls! But it was so weird because the phone that I was using (or maybe he was, too) was so… impossible to exist or even invented.

The phone looked like a usual phone – with the receiver, dial pad, etc. But it didn’t actually function like the normal ones. You still had to insert tokens – yes, tokens; not monetary coins – so you could make a call. Perk: it was unlimited. You could talk for as long as you want without the need to insert new tokens after a minute or two. Another perk: you could send an audio or a video. It was amazing but eerie. I remembered FCC sending me a video of himself singing “Happy Birthday” or the “Happy, Yippee, Yehey” song – I wasn’t sure which of the two. I didn’t know how he did it; it just popped in front of me like a creepy and funny hologram. And that’s the best description that I can give you about that bizarre phone.

Also, he was blurting out jokes that were really not that funny. He was really such a failure in jokes, even in reality (I’m sorry FCC, but that’s the truth!). But I was laughing – partly because I was shallow, and partly because I’d always try to find him funny. AND I WAS REALLY LAUGHING. I woke up because I was making these laughing sounds while on bed. In reality. What the hell?

I wasn’t sure if he really got married in my dreams. And I wasn’t freakin’ sure if he will soon in real life. Hay nako, kahit sa panaginip malabo ka pa rin.

“Voldemort versus Glee” | The Next Day After The “Malabo” Dream ©

With Lord Voldemort, the New Directions kids

It was such a scary and funny dream. It was in the dead of night, and the cold was bone-breaking. Imagine a very frightening movie with a lunatic and psychopath in it – and it was trying to slay you. Lord Voldemort was ridiculously creeping in my house, and I was in my room (although it didn’t really look like my room; the real one had hideous wall color). I was freakin’ scared on my pants because I was just so sure he was aching to kill me (and I was really hurt because I really liked him, evil or not evil). I didn’t know how to fight him off. I wasn’t even sure if I could fight him off. I tried locking my doors, which was a very effective move – what a way to save my life. I was really, really terrified because I knew it was a dreadfully lame defense, and there was the “Alohomora” charm. Or he could just kick it open or use any destructive spell (maybe a “Stupefy” or something) and kill me with “Avada Kedavra.” What a way to die.

But, Merlin’s beard, a rescue came! No, it wasn’t Potter and his friends; it wasn’t the Order or the Ministry. Tada! It was the New Directions kids! Yes, those singing underdogs in that musical show called Glee. But WTF, they had wands. I didn’t know how they got inside my room. Maybe they flew through the windows or apparated. They chanted some spells on the door (maybe several protective enchantments), and thank God they weren’t singing when they did. Mostly it was Tina, the Asian. She said that if Lord Voldemort tried to do counter spells on the door and not be successful after seventeen tries, he’d die. Lord Voldemort tried and failed the seventeenth time, so he was gone. I wasn’t sure what was with seventeen, but sure it was hell of a help. And well, that was easy.

I had Lord Voldemort in my dreams before, and he was always trying to kill me. Why, Tom Riddle, why? I loved you, but I guess my love was unrequited.

Photo Blog: Instituto Cervantes

2011-08-04T15:32:00.004+08:00

¡Hola! Estos son mis nuevos amigos en Instituto Cervantes de Manila: Sofia, Sandra (nuestro profesora), Christopher, JR, Christian, Jay-Z, Syreel, Emma, Blossom, Gabby, Isabelle, Michelle, Jazmine, Sophie y Karen.

Nuestro profesora. ¡Es timido!

Instituto Cervantes de Manila
21 Julio 2011
© las fotos: Michelle V. Panuncio

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

2011-07-25T20:37:00.006+08:00

I don’t have any written reviews for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows book or the movies, so since this is the much-awaited finale of the series that had made our childhood complete, I think I’m obliged to write something for it.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows is my most favorite book from the series (second in The Goblet of Fire), so I was really excited for the last movie to come out, although I was aching to see it end. I was ridiculously afraid to watch it because I didn’t want to see magical people die – even Lord Voldemort (Ralph Fiennes). And okay, because I couldn’t bare the reality of my favorite series ending. Endings, however “happily ever after” they may be, are still endings. And endings are sad.

Part one of the movie was really good. I liked everything about it, especially the narration of “The Tales of the Three Brothers.” It was fascinating in every way. The “Seven Potters” was also fascinating. My jaw was dropped all throughout the transformations. The movie was also funny. Remember the part where Harry Potter (Daniel Radcliffe), Hermione Granger (Emma Watson) and Ron Weasley (Rupert Grint) copied the three officials’ faces to sneak into the Ministry of Magic? It was very hilarious. Ron was like, “Oh my God. What am I gonna do? My wife’s all alone downstairs,” (when he was told that his wife was in trial). And Harry told him, “Ron, you don’t have a wife.” And who didn’t love the moment when Hermione and Harry were dancing? Obviously, Harry couldn’t dance, but it was very cute.

Also, the part where Ron came back to join Harry and Hermione destroy Horcruxes again was really funny. A mad and frustrated Hermione was amusing to look at, and Ron’s face was also ridiculous because he looked so guilty.

“Hey.”

“You – complete – arse – Ronald Weasley! You show up here after weeks, and you say ‘Hey’?”

And that “ball of light from the Deluminator” was supposed to be something serious, but to me it was just so funny. Everything Ron Weasley did was always so funny to me. Later, Harry said, “Just keep talking about that little ball of light touching your heart and she’ll come around,” (when Ron asked how long Hermione would be mad at him). And he casted an “Engorgio” spell on the flames Hermione made using his new borrowed wand. It was really hilarious! It just showed how young and playful they still were.

Dobby’s (Tobby Jones) death was sad. I shamefully cried at that part. “Such a happy place to be with friends. Dobby is happy to be with his friends.” I could still remember Dobby back in the second book. He was very annoying, and I hated him before because he was such an over-protective house elf. He should have listened to Harry about not trying to save his (Harry’s) life again, but he didn’t. So he died. But his death made me like Harry more. He insisted on burying Dobby in a non-magical way, and it was such a moving and caring act. The characters definitely had grown over the past years. They became smarter and braver and more loyal to family and friends.

“I want to do it properly,” were the first words of which Harry was fully conscious of speaking. “Not by magic. Have you got a spade?” And shortly afterward he had set to work, alone, digging the grave in the place that Bill had shown him at the end of the garden, between bushes. He dug with a kind of fury, relishing the manual work, glorying in the non-magic of it, for every drop of his sweat and every blister felt like a gift to the elf who had saved their lives. (The Wandmaker, Chapter 24)

The second part of the movie was very action-packed. It should be. The anticipated “Hogwarts Battle” was amazingly done. One of the best parts in the battle was when Professor Minerva McGonagall (Dame Maggie Smith) headed the battle and asked all of the stone warriors to protect the castle. It was really good because McGonagall was adorable (“I’ve always wanted to use that spell!”). I had never seen her so excited. Neville Longbottom (Matthew Lewis) had grown the most. He was just that buck-toothed kid with his frog, Trevor and his poor memory, but he had always been very loyal and brave… just ungainly and awkward. But I liked how awkward he was. The part where he was jumping with bliss and confidence when the Death Eaters couldn’t go pass their protective charms was very hilarious! Oh, Neville. I was also excited to see him lead the Dumbledore’s Army and kill the snake with Godric Gryffindor’s sword. Did you notice how he refused to let the sword go out of his hands after the battle? His parents were surely very proud of him.

I loved Severus Snape’s (Alan Rickman) every scenes. His death was tragic, and I almost cried when he cried. It was very moving and his past, as well. “Look at me. You have you mother’s eyes.” Snape has one of the most incredible story lines all throughout the series. Who could have thought that first love never really dies? He was the most loyal and most loving. He could even have his own book!

“I have spied for you and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep Lily Potter’s son safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter –”
“But this is touching, Severus,” said Dumbledore seriously. “Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?”
“For him?” shouted Snape. “Expecto Patronum!”
From the tip of his wand burst the silver doe. She landed on the office floor, bounded once across the office, and soared out of the window. Dumbledore watched her fly away, and as her silvery glow faded he turned back to Snape, and his eyes were full of tears.
“After all this time?”
“Always,” said Snape. (The Prince’s Tale, Chapter 33)

I didn’t like Fred Weasley’s (James Phelps) death scene, though. I didn’t see how he died because I wasn’t looking. It was so fast, and I didn’t cry when George Weasley (Oliver Phelps) was crying. It was annoying that I didn’t. It could have been better if Percy Weasley (Chris Rankin) was really there, because in the book, he was so devastated when Fred died (it was also when they all made up and had forgotten that Percy was a “Ministry-loving, family-disowning, power-hungry moron.”).

“No – no – no!” someone was shouting. “No! Fred! No!” And Percy was shaking his brother, and Ron was kneeling beside them, and Fred’s eyes stared without seeing, the ghost of his last laugh still etched upon his face. (The Battle of Hogwarts, Chapter 31)

He and Ron had both grabbed Hermione and pulled her to the floor, but Percy lay across Fred’s body, shielding it from further harm, and when Harry shouted “Percy, come on, we’ve got to move!” he shook his head. “Percy!” Harry saw tear tracks streaking the grime coating Ron’s face as he seized his elder brother’s shoulders and pulled, but Percy would not budge. (The Elder Wand, Chapter 32)

Also, Kreacher wasn’t in the battle. I loved Kreacher. He was such a loyal elf.

The house-elves of Hogwarts swarmed into the entrance hall, screaming and waving carving knives and cleaver, and at their head, the locker of Regulus Black bouncing on his chest, was Kreacher, his bullfrog’s voice audible even above this din: “Fight! Fight! Fight for my Master, defender of house-elves! Fight the Dark Lord, in the name of brave Regulus! Fight!” (The Flaw in the Plan, Chapter 36)

The much-awaited kiss between Ron and Hermione was quite fast and less memorable than how it was written. I remembered what Rupert Grint had said about the whole idea of him and Emma Watson kissing: “It’s quite uncomfortable. I’d rather kiss Daniel.” And I’ve also learned that they had shot the kissing scene when Daniel Radcliffe wasn’t around because he’d tease them. In the book, Harry was beside them when the two had kissed. I was actually looking forward to that scene because it was just humorous (why did I always find Harry Potter funny?).

There was a clatter as the basilisk fangs cascaded out of Hermione’s arms. Running at Ron, she flung them around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. Ron threw away the fangs and broomstick he was holding and responded with such enthusiasm that he lifted Hermione off her feet.
“Is this the moment?” Harry asked weakly, and when nothing happened except that Ron and Hermione gripped each other still more firmly and swayed on the spot, he raised his voice. “Oi! There’s a war going on here!” Ron and Hermione broke apart, their arms still around each other.
“I know, mate,” said Ron, who looked as though he had recently been hit on the back of the head with a Bludger, “so it’s now or never, isn’t it?” (The Battle of Hogwarts, Chapter 31)

But I loved how the Horcruxes were made – and destroyed. Lord Voldemort really was such an awfully ingenious wizard. I also loved the last part! After nineteen years, Ron grew fat and hairy; Hermione looked as young as before; Albus Severus was really such a good-looking kid; Harry’s scar had not pained him since Voldemort died; and all was well.

Harry Potter will never die. It will forever be part of our childhood. Harry Potter is like our own Horcrux – if it’s destroyed, somehow a part of us dies, but it will live as long as we let it live in our hearts, as long as we won’t forget how it had made our lives magical, as long as we will always feel young when we hear about it, as long as we will hold it as part of our lives forever.

More Inconsequential Matters

2011-07-18T18:24:00.006+08:00

(A sequel to “Inconsequential Matters”)

Hello blog! Hello dear readers! My less serious, more fun and happier posts are back again! I call such posts as “spontaneous ones” because of the name itself. These particular entries are more like unplanned and the words are more like they haven’t gone through meticulous thinking and alteration. I missed my blog like this. I always do. And I don’t want to share childhood stories and family struggles anymore, because they make me sad, and my level of self-pity is gradually increasing, and it’s annoying. Let’s go to the brighter side. Cliché, I know, but brighter sides always work.

Life and faith and God have been good to me this month. As you know, I am an out-of-school-youth (but I’m aching to go back to school next semester). But out of school as I am, I also am quite busy these days. I didn’t find work – I just turned eighteen. I – or maybe Mom – found something and somewhere to kill time productively. See, I enrolled in Instituto Cervantes de Manila, and it’s a language school. It teaches Spanish. I’m on my last three sessions, and it’s been very fun so far. I didn’t have any problems with our professor or making friends. My classmates are quite older than me (I am one of the younger ones; the youngest is fifteen) – and successful. It’s amazing how I get to know people who work in a cruise, in hospitals, in tutor schools and in publishing companies. I admit though that I sometimes feel figuratively small when I’m with them, because I’m out of school and have no life in the moment, and they are all successful and could somehow have the control of time in their bare hands. They aren’t show-offs; they’re modest and funny. It’s good – I learn a third language and meet new amigos.

My grandmother is currently in our house here. She’s here because of some insurance works in Veterans. I’m cool with it – I missed her. I’m just scared of her knowing that I’m actually not enrolled in a normal college and that I’m just taking language sessions. I hate disappointing her; I always feel guilty. Oh God, expectations haven’t really been my thing – at all.

As for my hobbies – reading and writing, to be precise – I’ve also been preoccupied. I’m currently reading “The Mortal Instrum ents” series by Cassandra Clare. The series is about the world of Shadowhunters (the skilled and blessed people who kills demons in their badass all-black gear and with their seraph blades) and the Downworlders (creatures who are part-demon and part-human: werewolves, vampires, fairies and warlocks). I know, having all those unnatural elements in one series is a bit overwhelming, but Clare had written it very well. It’s funny and it has a lot – I really mean a lot – of twists. I even cried because the characters’ pains and shock from believing in a lie and realizing the truth are hard to even imagine (and because I always feel like I’m one of those people in novels). And, the characters are beautifully describe – I mean, they are all gorgeous in every way. I heard producers are making it into a movie, and I’m freakily excited. It’s really something to look forward to after Harry Potter and Twilight. I’ve also finished “Demonglass” (Hex Hall sequel by Rachel Hawkins) and “Beastly” (by Alex Flinn). After The Mortal Instruments, I might “venture” into classic titles, maybe a Jane Austen or a Bronte.

Also, I’m currently working on my poorly-written and totally-and-officially-cliché short story “Teenage Dreams.” I’ve started this “grade school project” (as what I categorize it) November last year… and so now I’m trying to bring it back again and eventually – in Merlin’s beard’s time – would finish it, and with a better plot and improved writing skills.

By the way, if you’ve seen the epic and unforgettable and blockbuster finale of the “Harry Potter” series, please don’t spoil too much. Just please don’t. I know I’ve been spoiling a lot myself, but don’t take this one on me. I’ve read the book, hence I know the ending. But the trailer has shown a lot of events that I don’t actually remember reading and coming across to in the novel, so I’m guessing it’ll be a bit different from the original one. I am utterly hyped and stoked to see it, but my friends and I had decided to see it on Sunday (the 24th) because of some schedule problems and, all right, dime. I can wait; I’m prolonging the desire and the anticipation for the finale. I’m not actually ready to see it end yet, what with all the dying and destructions and stuff, but I should face it. All good things come to an end (another cliché)… and I am glad that Harry Potter and J.K. Rowling had given us a good start and an awesome ending. I am glad Harry Potter exists, and forever it will.

I will let you know if I’ve seen it already and what I think of it (oh goodness, my crappy movie reviews will be back again – such unfortunate times). But for now, I should end this post. All good things come to an end, indeed (although this really isn’t one of the “good things”; it’s actually, beyond doubt, inconsequential). (c)

730 Days of Wonders

2011-07-14T19:25:00.003+08:00

14 July 2011, Thursday

Dear Diaries of Woes and Chaos,

Happy second blog anniversary, (or should I call it blogiversary?) baby D.O.W.A.C! I’m sorry if I couldn’t press my brain further to come up with a better nickname for you. At least I don’t call you “bloggie” anymore. We’re adults now – you’re two years old and I’m eighteen – so let’s skip all the goochie-goochie part. Although I don’t really know what a “goochie-goochie part” is.

If you are aware, I assume all nerds and movie buffs all over the world are talking about the epic finale of the Harry Potter series. Yes, today is the international release of The Deathly Hallows part two. And I know that you know that we both know that I am in love with this series, but since it’s your birthday, I would spend my July 14th with you. I would not think of Harry Potter right now and just focus on what we have shared for the past two juvenile and superb years. And I love you for believing in me although you clearly know that I won’t be able to not think of the series. I’m sorry, but I really am sincere when I say that I love you and that our past two years are juvenile and superb. But, to be honest, I almost had forgotten about your birthday because of my anticipation for that damned finale. I’m sorry, but see, I am not in the cinemas right now because I want to be with you today – this is true, and also because I don’t want to join the crowd on its first day.

Our past two years are juvenile – youthful, young, childish, fun, carefree – and superb. Remember when I blogged about my first week in college, or that moment when I cried in school because I was so afraid of needles when we had our medical exams? I was so excited about college those times so I write about those days everyday, as much as possible. But later on, it didn’t get so exciting anymore, so I stopped… but I continued blogging about school, about my First College Crush, about our NSTP outreach programs, about my problems with my friends, school, family, more school, missing someone and more school (don’t you think almost all of my problems were because of school?). But, tada, you never gave up on me. Although I bet my posts were all about the same issues, you had still accepted them and didn’t reject or not let me publish them. You’re an understanding blog – should I change your URL to http://diariesofthoughtfulthoughts.blogger.com now? Nah, I’d stick with Diaries of Woes and Chaos and your baby D.O.W.A.C. nickname. I was actually thinking of putting up a fan page for you in Facebook, but I think that’ll be too much. I don’t really want inquisitive and strange eyes reading my posts and – probably – stalking on you. I’m already settled with just my affiliates, their visits and words. I love you enough to protect you from evil schemes and online prejudice.

Also, remember when I joined this blogging contest in school where your sister blog won? I don’t really have a nickname yet for your baby sister. The Girl Who Eats Books isn’t really a good pet name; it’s kind of mouthful. I haven’t canceled it yet because I’m planning on using that blog to possibly join more blogging contest in the future. Even though it was The Girl Who Eats Books that won and not you, Diaries of Woes and Chaos, you still have the praises for the priceless achievement because: 1) you both are under one account and one handler; 2) I wouldn’t have done all the writing techniques (whoa, techniques) and template tweaking without my experience blogging with you; and 3) your sister blog doesn’t have a tag board, so all the words from the readers go directly to your tag board. So don’t be jealous; I love you both.

Some of my posts this year are all about life and God. Aren’t you proud? Not only did we survive another year, but we also had improved spiritually! The moment I started posting my takes on life, love, hopes, strength and believing in God, my affiliates have been giving us nice words and hence, making me want to write more that way. We’ve gained love, D.O.W.A.C! We’ve gained views. We’ve gained friends and new links. We’ve gained stronger faith and ties. That’s really awesome, don’t you think? I guess that’s what we get when we work together amicably and blog all our hearts out.

I’m hoping to spend more years with you, baby D.O.W.A.C! Hopefully, when your tenth-year anniversary comes, we’d both be famous (ha!) and both have a better outlook in life and I would have better writing skills and grammar – and, I won’t blog about heartaches and false hopes and Dementors hovering above my head anymore. I love you, my blog. I will never give up on you, not now that our posts are getting longer and deeper each time.

You are my blog. You will still be until I grow old, until I stop obsessing over Sam Concepcion (which will take forever, mind you), until I stop loving books and fictions (which is impossible), until I find it hard to look for letters and punctuation marks on the keyboard already, until I couldn’t read from the monitor without wearing thick reading glasses because of my poor eyes anymore, not even when Tumblr or any other microblogging sites dominate the blogging society already. You will be my blog forever, I promise.

Always with love,
CF S. Ordas

Legally Childish

2011-07-06T15:36:00.003+08:00

Today is my birthday.

I am already eighteen years old – and I still don’t know how to open blog posts in a creative manner (“Today is my birthday” – how unadorned and annoying and childish and amateur). But that’s right, I’m already eighteen. I’m now part of that stage – that stage when someone tries to be mature and responsible but also still wants to be juvenile and careless at the same time. That’s one of the “lifetime lessons” I’ve learned while growing up: that sometimes we don’t want to be considered an adult because we are afraid of responsibilities and committing mistakes, but we also don’t want to be looked upon as a child because we don’t want to be guarded all the time and because we want to try such “adult activities” like drinking, smoking, partying, making out, even sleeping with someone without our guardians telling us not to (although I wager everyone who had the guts had tried them already – teenage hormones). Well, I did. I had. I’m already eighteen, and I’ve tried stuff that kids under eighteen shouldn’t. I’ve tried drinking something alcoholic but not (definitely not) smoking cigars or pot or drugs, partying (kid’s party – wait, is that counted?), and making out (I had my first kiss when I was fifteen) but haven’t tried sex (in my case, sex can wait).

The experiences and challenges I’ve went through for the past eighteen years may have influence the way I’m acting right now – part adult, part child. You can say that I became mature at a very early age. When I was very young and could get away from my mischiefs with just making a cute face, I’ve had a normal and happy life. I had a nanny, a birthday party, a cute dress and Barbie dolls. But the time I went to middle school was the time when my life became complicated and sour (and I wouldn’t try explaining why because it would take me forever). Hence, maturity came insanely fast and early. With my family’s state, immediate maturity was a must. Childish matters weren’t entertained. I couldn’t bawl my eyes out every time I didn’t get what I want. I couldn’t throw tantrums when someone switched the channel while I was watching my favorite series. I couldn’t complain about my allowance. I couldn’t cry in front of them every time I missed my mom. I couldn’t curse my life when I didn’t celebrate every passing birth days I had.

Not that I hate the family that had raised me, because I really don’t. I am not a hypocrite. I owe them everything. I love them. They didn’t do anything wrong, nor did they hurt me. I was just too selfish and insecure to still ask for a perfect life. I could have asked for a different life had it been allowed. But while I was growing up, I realized that maybe life’s really like that. We can’t just ask for something life changing and magically have it in our hands the next day. We all go through tough times; we all have our own crosses to bear. Those who can successfully bear their crosses are the ones who can see and live life beyond its imperfections. And those who can bear them with grace had undergone rigorous poising, refinement and personality development trainings.

Growing up was – is – hard, but definitely fun. Because of becoming mature early, my mind suddenly becomes tainted with silly and childish thoughts. I suddenly have the desire to buy coloring books, stickers, balloons, plastic balloons; ride the carousel and Ferris wheel; watch cartoons over and over again; learn magic; believe in fairies; play tag and hide-and-seek with children. All the activities I’ve done before – and have not – come rushing back and push me to act all child-like again. I like it. I like the feeling. I never would have wanted to forget about my past – to forget that I had a lot of bruises and wounds before because I tend to fall down all the time, that I once had a butterfly hair pin which was destroyed the next day because it was so cute I just had to play with them till they fall apart, that I once cried and ran back to our house’s safety because my childhood friend scared the hell out of me when he showed up with a gorilla rubber mask (he also had an ugly- and scary-looking clown mask – that was more terrifying), that I played in the rain naked (when I was very young, of course, not, like, puberty stage – I don’t think playing naked on puberty is a good idea), that I always had to stay in the bedroom or the comfort room until Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” finished playing because I was so scared of it I almost had the burning desire to break the disc into pieces (though of course, I didn’t; my father would have killed me), that there was this boy whom I was very close to that our friends had made us a love team – which was insane (I met him again last summer, and it was really uncomfortable). I had a very awkward childhood, very complicated past, but never had I regret them (maybe some of them I hated and would never do again). My childhood is what I can always look back to, recollect, and find myself laughing or crying or laughing and crying at the same time. My past is what helped me become who I am today, after eighteen years.

I am eighteen years old now – although I would have wished to stay fifteen or seventeen “the vampire age” forever – and I’m still myself: old soul, young mind, careless, weird and wonderful. And I’m lucky that I have tons of stories and pasts I can freely look back to, recollect, and find myself laughing or crying or laughing and crying at the same time.

If you’re wondering if I had a debut or a bash party, I didn’t. I’m not that type who likes throwing party till the sun goes up. I hate the idea of cotillions and cheesy dances and messages from friends with those unnecessary tears in their eyes. And how do I celebrate my birthdays? I treat myself to shopping and watching Harry Potter. I can be as simple and weird and kill joy and practical like that.

Constantly Faltering

2011-06-27T18:48:00.006+08:00

“The purpose of your life is far greater than your own personal fulfillment, your peace of mind, or even your happiness. It's far greater than your family, your career, or even your wildest dreams and ambitions. If you want to know why you were placed on this planet, you must begin with God. You were born by his purpose and for his purpose.”

- Day 1: It All Starts with God, “The Purpose Driven Life,” Rick Warren

Ever since I’ve started dreaming and writing down my own list of “What I Want to be When I Grow Up,” I have always been too focused on achieving them. I was so eager to accomplish them and hold them in my hands and never let them go. I told myself that doing so – being successful – would make me happy, would give me this moral boost that I badly needed, and most of all, would make my family proud of me. I’ve grown up insecure and jealous. I was jealous of those little girls with long, braided hair and cute ponytails. I was jealous of those kids who grew up with their parents. I was jealous that they have a normal and complete family. I didn't have those. My hair was very short I almost looked like a boy. My parents were separated even before I was born. I didn't have a complete family. I lived with my father with his other woman and my step siblings. I grew up under the care of my aunt. My mom? She was away, apparently working her ass off to save money for our (me and my older brother's) studies (later, she'd collect us from our aunt and let us study in Metro Manila). I didn’t socialize with people I barely knew. I wasn’t very friendly even in family gatherings. I’ve made some friends, played tag and stayed out all afternoon with them. But that was it. There weren’t any people to whom I could really talk to – you know, family problems and insecurities. I was barely a teenager that time, and I was already thinking of family problems. Imagine that. So achievements would be good for me – that was what I thought. I wasn’t athletic, artistic and friendly, so I poured all my heart out in excelling in studies and bringing home honor medals every year. I also joined story writing contests, but I guess I lost my medal from that one. I wasn’t even sure that there was any.

My “What I Want to be When I Grow Up” list continued to grow. I didn’t care what my parents would say, what other people would think, as long as I was doing what I loved to do. It was all about what I wanted, not what others wanted. I was too self-absorbed; I was selfish. During grade school graduations, advisers would ask their students what their ambitions were and put them in year books together with their hardly pretty photos, names, addresses and birth dates. That was when I really started thinking of what I really wanted to be. When I was very young, I wanted to be a nanny, because our nanny was the best person I knew that time. Then I loved Science, so I wanted to be a scientist. Then a singer – how absurd, given my cracking voice. They told me I should be a nurse and continue the long line of white-dressed caring nurses in our family. I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to be a nurse. I hated needles and the smell of hospitals – up until now. I thought hard, which wasn’t actually necessary. It was just a year book – words didn’t matter. I ended up wanting to be a journalist, a writer. And it hasn’t changed since.

I didn’t know what “purpose in life” meant. I thought our purpose – my purpose was to be what I wanted to be. I had set my own purpose. I wrote what I thought my purposes on this world were. The list was long. It wasn’t particularly what my family wanted. I didn’t consider anything that they had said. Their words hung around buzzing before my shielded ears. They weren’t allowed to enter in, and if they were able to, they would just fly out of the other ear, not affecting my choices, not even influencing my decisions. I was trapped in my own box full of wild dreams and selfish resolutions. I grew up not listening to their advices, so I grew up hard and weird – and, for heaven’s sake, indecisive. I guess my indecisiveness was my own share of karma.

I wasn’t aware that finding one’s real purpose required only one thing – knowing and welcoming God in our lives. I’ve done it before – I knew God and welcomed Him. But still, I haven’t really found my true purpose. Maybe I was taking it too fast; I wasn’t giving enough time. I guess it doesn’t come in a single snap. But I’m always open for waiting – I’ve lived my life waiting: waiting for my birthday, waiting for Mom to come back, waiting for my friends, waiting for my favorite series to come out, waiting for Teletubbies on TV, waiting for the peaceful rain to pour, waiting for Christmas and summer, waiting for my sarcastic, funny and messy-haired knight in shining armor who can rock an all black outfit without looking like a funeral attendee, waiting for a change, waiting in vain – because I know it would be worth it.

Absences

2011-06-16T14:39:00.005+08:00

The Great God is always there with His open arms.

Have you ever felt like you don’t know what happened, what’s happening, and what will happen in and with your life? Have you ever asked yourself these uncertainties: “What will I do? Where will I go? What do I want to do? Do I even have a life at all?” I know most of us are dubious of what we are doing right now, most especially to teenagers (who are just starting to discover how complicated life can be). Whether you admit it or not, you also, at times, question yourself if what you’re doing and where you are heading to is good for you. We don’t know if we’re doing the right thing or just wasting our precious, little time. We all have our doubts; we all have our mistakes; we all have our regrets. When we realize we did the right thing, we celebrate, we are grateful. We had succeeded. But when it turned out to be the other way around, we blame ourselves, we cry. We had failed – and unfortunately, it happens every time.

And it happened to me. It is still happening to me. And I know it will happen again. You see, I’ve made a decision. Well, it’s not really a decision yet. I’ve just made up my mind… but I’m still open to alternatives. I’m out of school. For now. My Plan B – which is about this other school with a slim chance of luck and availability of slots – didn’t go well. Tada, my plans don’t always work. Since I don’t know where to go, I went back to my… room (but I didn’t think of people and rain and how I’m just a drizzle and he’s a hurricane – rubbish and petty matters to fixate myself with). I have to start from scratch again. I reckon I won’t attend college this semester. Fat chance. My mom suggested that I take short writing, communications or English programs, just so I wouldn’t be stuck here at home and eventually decay like a corpse – not to mention a fat and lazy corpse. I like the idea, but I don’t know if there’s a damn school or organization or whatever you call it out there that offers the said programs. I actually want to work so I won’t ask Mom for movie and small shopping money. But you see, I can’t work without my mom’s or best friend’s or someone’s company. I’m so lame. I don’t have a life.

If you’d ask me why I’m stressing over this stuff when all of the opportunities – being part of the legacy batch, small population of students, the facilities, the organizations I was into, my ranking, the 1.00 GA I’ve worked for – are laid out for me in the comfort of the school I went to before, it’s because I don’t feel that I like what I’m doing with the course I was taking. I’ve always been indecisive and weird. Not that I hate the school or the students or the faculty. I just want to do what I really want to do, and my mom and I aren’t keen on spending a lot of dime on the fancy expenses the program demands. But now, I don’t know what to really do. I want to be a writer. I want to write and write for a magazine or a newspaper. And in the long run write a book. But history and the humanities also interest me – and arts especially. Sometimes I want to teach kids. Sometimes I want to work behind the cameras, be a researcher or an editor. Sometimes, guess what, I want to be a firefighter or a soldier. Sometimes I just want to watch movies, discover undiscovered phenomena that may contribute to the wellness of mankind (yeah, right), talk to people about their problems (be it serious or trivial), counsel, read books, volunteer on public welfares, blog and read more books. I want to do everything. I want to learn all the professions this world has. I want to serve my countrymen (how patriotic). I want to do this and do that. I want to be everyone, because maybe I don’t know who I really am. I am not anybody, so I want to be everybody.

I’ve asked the Big Man all about it. I pray every time I’m confused and in dismay. I pray every night. I’m reading the New Testament. Maybe He had shown me the answers already but maybe I haven’t seen them yet. I need clarity and purpose in life, because if I won’t have them, I won’t have any future and I’d be forever a burden to my mom. Trust me, I don't ever want that to happen.

But the Great God has plans for me. And I trust Him. I should. If I don’t trust Him, then who’s there to run to? I don’t even trust myself. God is waiting for me in my future. I’m not sure if that future is bright or muddled, but I’d embrace everything because He’s there. And everything will be fine.

So if our plans didn’t turn out the way we hope them to be, we can cry, and we can run to Him. And, no doubt, He’s always there with His open arms.

Strange Roads

2011-06-08T18:35:00.004+08:00

“If only we could see the endless string of consequences that result from our smallest actions. But we can’t know better until knowing better is useless.”
– Miles Halter, “Looking For Alaska” by John Green

They say life is an existing time that doesn’t have any guarantee to when it would end. It is a journey in the never-ending road of challenges and discovering one’s self. It is about accepting truths and ignoring lies. To others it may be about living the dream, fantasies, unicorns and little kittens, or maybe endless responsibilities and struggles for perfection. It can be about taking risks, grabbing opportunities, learning and growing. It is about committing mistakes and facing its consequences.

We all make mistakes, because we are all given chances to make our own choices. And not all of these choices are the best. We may be too stubborn to even acknowledge that we indeed made the wrong decision… but deep inside, we all know that we were incorrect. Mistakes may come in different forms. We may have a blunder when it comes to choosing the perfect dress or shoes for our first date, or choosing gum flavors in the gum store. They can be as little as those… and can be so big that it may affect our entire future, like choosing the right major to take, or choosing that guy over the other one. We make choices every day, and we also make mistakes every day.

All of us are afraid of committing mistakes. We all try to avoid doing so. Sometimes we are successful, sometimes we are not. Sometimes, because of the fear of walking on the wrong side of the road, we don’t even try to make choices, to decide for ourselves. We let others decide for our benefit. We give them the right to control our lives. Then one day we’ll wake up in a world we are not familiar with, a world that we don’t like and is not good for us, a world that other people had built around us. And we ask ourselves why this world exists. Because we let it! We didn’t build that world ourselves, but we let others build it around us, when all this time we should have said no, we should have decided that we will live the way we want to.

We can’t run away from slip-ups. It will always follow us wherever we go, would haunt us every time we are to decide. But should this prevent us from not making our own choices? Should this thwart us from taking this strange road instead of the usual one? We don’t know what awaits us at the end of the strange road, but how will we know if we don’t take it? How will we learn if we don’t make a decision, take a risk, and possibly commit a mistake?

Life will not be as fascinating and exciting as we know it to be if we can see how our little choices will affect our lives. We will not be able to welcome each day with thrill and curiosity if we are all given the power of forewarning like Raven and Alice Cullen. That’ll be dull and definitely boring. Good things happen. Shit happens. And we should all face these consequences and not constantly blame ourselves for not knowing better, because we can’t know better until knowing better is useless.

Silly Robots

2011-05-30T15:49:00.011+08:00

This will be my first time to post something just because I was tagged (by Tricia Sayurin). And all right, I have nothing exciting and worthy to blog about. The zombies came back and ran away with my brain, and I hope they won’t eventually eat it… Oh goodness, this made me remember Cole Sprouse (Cody Martin)’s line from The Suite Life on Deck movie – “But I’m the brainy one, Zack. If I’ll lose my brain, I’d only be… the one.” Ha! Nothing, I just remembered. Moving on…

RULES:
1. Each tagged person must post ten things about themselves.
2. You have to choose and tag ten people.
3. Go to their blogs and tell them you tagged them.
4. No tag backs.
5. Have fun.

For a first impression: I'm a boring person. I don't and can't do small talks, and I can be silent as the dead. I enjoy the deafening silence. I don’t know. I think I’m just the silent type. How many times did I say silent? Geez. I’ll only be interesting and fun to talk to when we have something in common, like maybe love for books, Harry Potter and Sam Concepcion (insert blushing gif here).

I want to be a novelist, so freaking' bad. Writing 'bout the things I never had. I want to be on the cover of Forbes Magazine, smiling next to Rowling and the King (Stephen King). Oh every time I close my eyes, I see my name with bragging rights… I think that says everything. (c) Edited “Billionaire”, Travie McCoy

I'm a bookworm. I eat books. My life is practically all about endless books. They are like my own kind of endorphins – they make me euphoric and talkative. I try to read one or two books every month. I prefer mostly fictions and sci-fi. I hate true stories and sad plots.

I'm hopeless romantic. I fall in love with fictitious characters and sulk at the fact that they can't be real. Who can blame me, seriously? Who wouldn’t fall for the caring, soft-hearted and artistic Peeta Mellark (of The Hunger Games)? Or swoon over the funny and strong Ronald Weasley (of Harry Potter)? I swear, if they’re real, I’d go hunt for them guys. Damn it.

I have poor eyes. I don't know if it's inherited or from those nights that I've been reading without enough lights. I’ve been in too much trouble and humiliation because of them… but still, I couldn’t live without my poor, blurry eyes.

Sam Concepcion is my man. Enough said.

I am claustrophobic… or at least I think I am. I hate crowds and narrow spaces. Yes Sir, including concerts and trains. I always feel like I’m being enclosed in this locked vault with nowhere to escape and sucked into this silly black hole that’ll lead to Hades’ kingdom… how dramatic.

Dementors are my ultimate nemesis. They make me lose trust in myself and what I can do. They suck all the remaining happiness in me, and how unlucky, I haven't mastered my Patronus charm yet. “Expecto Patronu-hum! Err… Expecto Pat – crap!” See how fictions and books influence my dull life?

I would want to have kids someday and name them: Peeta and Pierro (boys) and Prim, Perrine and Prairie (girls). I love kids, everything about them – even their annoying tantrums and peevishness.

I love my God. I love people. I love everyone. I’m lucky to have a crazy family and even crazier friends.

So that’s it. If I’ll have my own way, I’d expand this list to a thousand. There are a lot of things that I like, that I hate, and that interest me. But albeit my long list of “This Is Me”, I’m still a boring, dreary person. Let's leave it that way.

Speechless

2011-05-27T16:49:00.002+08:00

God is awesome. This is awesome. We are all awesome.

I wish I could give God a hug and a kiss right now.

Live or Perish?

2011-05-20T18:44:00.006+08:00

Hello baby DOWAC (yes, that's what I call this blog) and readers! I'm on my writing mood again and will post some relevant stuff that I should have blogged before. I'm sorry for my insanely profane use of words on my last post. All of it was a product of a broken heart, false hopes and initial shock. I’m really sorry. I’m not promising you all that I won’t do it again, because I don’t think that will happen. Yes, I use curse words a lot, and I’m sorry about it.

Anyway, have you heard of the news about the “end of the world” phenomenon? It’s widely known as the “Judgment Day” and I’ve read about its history and stuff. It was said that 2011 is the 7000th year from the flood. If you can still remember, and I know nobody forgets about this, 7000 years ago, God asked Noah to build a huge ark that would carry all kinds of animals in pairs and Noah’s family, and a great flood washed the earth and the individuals that were not inside the ark. In short, the world was destroyed by the flood and the catastrophe. The flood lasted for forty days, and all that was in safety started a new race of humankind.

But contrary to what has been spreading like wildfire all over the internet, May 21st isn’t really the end of the world. It’s the day when Jesus Christ will return for the Rapture – a reference to the being caught up referred to in the Biblical passage 1 Thess 4:17 when in the End Times the Christians will be gathered together in the air to meet Christ*. Those who will be saved, approximately 3,000,000 true believers, will be sent to Heaven, and hence, it’s the end of their world. The others, who will not be saved, roughly 6,997,000,000, will suffer a different fate. They will be punished to five cruel months of disaster, disease, mayhem and everything that spells suffering. After those unfortunate months, called “End Times”, the sufferers will now ultimately face the “End of the World.”

If you may ask why they need to go through grueling and tough times, it’s because they do not believe in God. They don’t respect and fear what God is and what He can do. The trials that they will face will make them realize that there is only one Father, and guess what, He’s very powerful that He can make us all suffer in one snap and live in tranquility in another.

For the record, I do not believe that the world will end tomorrow – washed out, burned or any other way – because the Great God is the only one who knows when and how we would all perish. If you believe and have faith in God, then you will not be afraid if Jesus Christ will return and choose only three million people and leave others on mortal peril. You will not be afraid if the Rapture will indeed happen this Saturday. If you trust and believe in Him, you will live.

Maybe our own little world would end in any other way we can think of – a singer’s world might end when she loses her voice; a mother’s will end when she loses her child; a lover’s will end when the one she loves leaves her for good. We may have it in any way… but we’d all end up in this: Our world ends the day we stop believing in God’s love and care.

Notes:

* Rapture - Wikipedia | Judgment Day 2011 | E-Bible | Photos - Tumblr

I Pushed Too Far

2011-05-15T14:11:00.007+08:00

I just had my heart broken – again.

I know, it’s really weird and pointless since I haven’t been talking about me falling in love or the horribly familiar butterflies coming back inside my horribly big stomach. I have been mum about my romantic life’s status, and I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry that I’ve been keeping all of these to myself and for not giving you a tiny bit of a hint about my heart’s state. And now that it has been shattered again, I’m running back to you.

Okay, I get it. I’m selfish. I only think about myself. I only remember you when I’m sad or depressed. And when all shits don’t fall into places, I always come running back to you with my heavy shoulders and wet-with-tears pillows. It’s a bad habit, and I’m totally aware of that, but what the fuck, I’m not doing anything about it.

What the fuck, I’m stubborn. What the fuck, I’m stupid. What the fuck, I don’t know where I’m going. What the fuck, I don’t know who I really am. What the fuck, I fucked everything up.

It’s pointless again – how I got my heart “broken” when I know that it really shouldn’t have been. It was a small infatuation, and clearly it wasn’t love. I was happy when he was around. I felt special, but it was merely love from friendship. We were just friends. That’s all we’ll ever be.

And I don’t know why I’m acting like this. I don’t know why my heart busted with pain when I saw what I saw. And what I saw should have been good had it not affected me. I should be happy that he’s happy. That’s what friends are for, isn’t it? I’m his friend. And I have no right to be hurt like this and eventually blame him for this wretched twinge I’m feeling inside. This is insane.

I now believe that infatuations can seriously go “out of hand.” It really can, and my mistake was not guarding my emotions and pushing it too far.

I shouldn’t had look at it beyond the “friendship line.” (c)

Wretched, I am

2011-05-11T10:23:00.005+08:00

Dear You,

I miss you.

I haven’t seen you for a while. I haven’t gotten in touch with you except for the help of a powered processor called the computer and the wide range of the famous internet. But still, I am not satisfied with “virtual touch.” It is limited – time, characters, use of words, personal touch, feelings – in all ways, and I won’t be able to say what I want you to know. And you probably won’t believe if you only read them on your radiation-emitting screen. Trust me, some words are better said in person.

Like how much I miss you – and it’s so bad.

And that I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for everything. Oh, wait. I hope you won’t perceive this as a “Back to December” type. It’s not about relationships or regrets or wishing-to-turn-back-time-and-making-it-all-right. I just want to let you know that I’m not proud of what I’ve been doing to you, of how I’ve been treating you. You probably don’t notice; you probably wouldn’t understand. But I’m really sorry.

I’m sorry that I’ve been so hard to deal with. I’m sorry for being so selfish and self-centered. I’m sorry for just thinking about myself and what is good for me and not considering your own thoughts and feelings. I’m sorry that I forgot that you’re also human just like me – someone who gets hurt and has his own problems to deal with, too. I’m sorry that I’ve been bugging you every time I need help. I’m sorry that you’re the first and only person whom I can run into when I feel all shitty and fucked up. I’m sorry for making your shoulder the wettest ever because of my tears. I’m sorry for making your arms painfully numb for holding me for too long until I stop sobbing like a kid. I know that you have had enough of my problems, and that they’re getting into your nerves already. I’m sorry for not stopping even though I’m very aware of your annoyance and exhaustion. I’m sorry that I took you for granted.

I’m sorry for over-using you as a friend. I’m sorry for disturbing you when I’m so bored, and I have no one to talk to. I’m sorry for not thinking over first if you’re busy and not available. I’m sorry for thinking that you’re always there for me. I’m sorry for thinking that you cannot say no to me and my petty needs. I’m sorry for not reciprocating what you’re doing for me. I’m sorry for not helping you like what you do to me. You’re always the giver, and I’m always the receiver. And it hasn’t changed since.

I’m sorry for not thanking you every time you comfort and help me. You know I’m not so good with showing gratitude. I’m sorry for just walking in with my heavy shoulders and walking out with a light heart without appreciating your company and not treating you ice cream. I’m sorry for being insensitive and abusive. And not doing anything about it.

I’m very sorry. I don’t know how to say it in any other way. I’m just so sorry.

And thank you for everything.

And I miss you.

Always,
I

Drinks and Perceptions

2011-05-02T18:47:00.005+08:00

Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose.
- The Wonder Years

One fine Saturday afternoon – fine, meaning no rain, not too much sun and cash on hand – four (three males with a variety of sizes and a girl with pale skin) young people – young, meaning almost legal but not there yet, full of teenage hormones and up for anything – met for the first time after almost a year. For a moment there was that awkward silence that people always get when slapped with nostalgia from upfront. Who could even blame these kids?

Let me tell you about that four young people: the first (who was also the first to arrive) was a tall, scary-built lad who has nice eyes and smile that will either make you love or hate him. He was wearing a plain, v-necked shirt, pants, the usuals and a red-to-almost-maroon bonnet. His silhouette says one thing: Don’t you mess with me. The second was a funny young lad with full-of-funny-thoughts eyes and an only-funny-things-come-out-here mouth. In short: he’s, surprise, funny. The third was a lad with thick-rimmed glasses, thin arms, and loved lotion. And yes, he’s really smart – and he can’t walk slowly. He always looked busy and on-the-run. The last was a girl with a young mind, an old soul, full bangs and poor eyes, and as what the funny young lad said, “Looks very anemic.”

They were friends from grade school, were fortunate enough to still be able to keep their friendship and were thankful for the wonders technology can do. Sometimes Facebook can be very useful, even beyond what its purpose is for and despite all the applications it offers that are really unnecessary.

For a long time, all they did was walk around the very small shopping mall. I reckon they’re planning on putting blindfolds and still be able to walk around without getting lost. Yes, that was how long they were walking. They talked about the present – school, grades, professors who talk about ghosts and unknown history, professors who don’t give a damn, friends who eat sardines with coffee, friends who listen to “medieval period” music, and petty matters that infuriate them and their petty reasons. They even got into criticizing fast food chains and how ice cubes take half of the glass’s space and less was left for the actual soda.

The guy with the beanie shared what he had learned from his History professor. “Once there was a datu who ordered one of his officers to go around town and take every woman’s v-card.”

“What?! True?”

“True.”

“Who was that datu? Tell me!” the funny guy asked. They all had to laugh at that!

“Whoa. What a job! And the officer was actually being paid for that?” the girl with poor eyes asked despicably.

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s a tough job – having sex with different woman you come across to. That would need a lot of energy. Tiring job, indeed.”

“Yuck,” the girl stated.

“And I’m saying this as if I know how it feels like,” the funny guy said. He pointed the guy with the beanie. “Wait, you know how, don’t you?”

“Damn, no!”

“Yuck, still.”

Once, they stopped to check out some of the pins on sale. The funny guy with the full-of-funny-thoughts eyes was actually aiming for the balloons which he thought was free. He was wrong, by the way. They spent almost a quarter of an hour just to pick pins and assess what was ugly and what was funny. The smart guy with thin arms wasn’t interested because he was busy waiting for his cash.

“Hey,” the girl with poor eyes passed a pin to the guy with the beanie.

“'Dancer Inside'… No.”

“Really?” she asked, dubious. She rummaged the container for more. “This,” she passed another one.

“'Engot Inside'… Maybe.”

The girl with poor eyes sniggered. “Maybe.”

Their afternoon went on like that: walked, stopped by and talked, walked, stopped by and talked, laughed, reminisced.

“You look like Sam Concepcion,” the funny guy said, referring to the guy with the beanie beside him.

“What?!” the girl with poor eyes disagreed. She was idiotically infatuated with that Concepcion guy and wasn’t keen on unreal comparisons.

The guy with the beanie laughed. The girl hoped he didn’t actually believe what the funny guy had said. The thin-armed guy was busy waiting for his money again. Better not disturb him!

Surprisingly, they got tired of doing nothing, and they could literally walk blindly in the building and still come out unscathed. Finally, someone had suggested having a drink – drink, meaning not anything plain, but something with alcohol. You know, teenage hormones and adventures.

So they finally got out of that boring mall and set off to a place they’re all familiar with. It was the same place they’d gone to, and they sat on the same couch they’d sat on before.

“This was the place where you’ve talked about bacteria and all the trivia,” the funny guy recalled, referring to the guy with the beanie.

“Ha! I told you so,” the girl with poor eyes said, egging the guy further. You see, the guy with the beanie has multiple personalities: at times he’s too private – he wouldn’t say anything; other times he’d talk about his perceptions and opinions about issues that bother him and he wouldn’t stop; he’d talk about religion and ignorance and government and outer space; and sometimes he won’t talk about anything – too snob. Teenage hormones, always the issue.

They had two buckets of beer and some stuff to feed their stomach. The guys talked about the past – their love lives before:

“She can’t look me in the eye,” the guy with the beanie said, referring to the girl he had dated even before he hit puberty.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“She even had a song for you. What was that again?” the funny guy contemplated. “Oh right! ‘I Love You, Goodbye’.”

“Yeah, right,” the guy with the beanie snorted.

“I even researched about that song,” the funny guy continued, and then he sang. “'Wish I could be the one…'”

“Geez.”

Friends who got pregnant:

“She was?!” the girl with poor eyes asked, surprised.

“Yes. Her baby’s three months old.” The thin-armed guy provided the details.

“Unbelievable. She was just into sports before. And I even thought she doesn’t do boys,” she recalled, still a bit incredulous.

Friends who were actually bisexuals and a whole lot of negativities:

“Is he really gay? Seriously?” The girl with poor eyes was always the naïve one.

“Yes. You didn’t know?”

“I do. But wasn’t he, you know, in denial before?”

“Couldn’t accept what he was yet…”

“And now he’s out. Wow.”

The girl with poor eyes was quiet (she only said something when she knew what the guys were talking about, but other than that, she was as silent as the dead) because she was not good with small conversations and talking about the past. She just swigged down glasses of beer until she had finished almost four bottles. The guys were talking; she was listening along.

“Are you okay?” the guy with the beanie asked.

“Yeah, sure,” the girl who’s been drinking too much answered, although she was sure the world was spinning.

And all the shits fell into places.

Note: It didn't end drastically. There wasn't anything illegal that happened. Nothing was "sacrificed" or "surrendered." Oh God, don't think of it that way. I just don't know how to end that story.

And another thing, all accounts are what my revolving brain can remember. I wasn't really sure who said what, but it was said. Fun, fun, fun Saturday, not Friday!

Sometimes being a friend means mastering the art of timing. There is a time for silence. A time to let go and allow people to hurl themselves into their own destiny. And a time to prepare to pick up the pieces when it's all over.
- Octavia Butler

Days Of Summer

2011-04-30T11:32:00.003+08:00

27 April 2011, Wednesday

Today, in this place:

Here I am, by myself again, staring at a blank screen with nothing in mind to write about. Shifting my eyes, all I can see are the trees, tall bushes and the wet grass. Everything that my poor eyes see is green. Every scent that my flat nose can smell spells nature. Every sound that my little ears can hear are the chirping of the birds, barking of dogs and every other noise animals can make. Other than that, there no more sound that I can hear. Human voices are nearly inaudible. Oh, right. If you feel something brushing on your legs, maybe that’s the cat. If it’s not, probably those are flies. I don’t need a fan because there is a breeze – and it is cold. Mr. Sun isn’t around right now. Not that it’s already night time. It just rained, and yes, it’s summer.

Other days, on the other place:

I’m probably sweeping off fallen leaves and watering the plants had it not rained. I’ve been doing that for almost a week already. It’s been part of my daily drill, and it feels good to get in touch with nature. You can see progresses on your plants; pull out weeds that are becoming parasites; pick out fruits that are already ripe; talk to stubborn plants to grow; get bitten by mosquitoes and ants. After my session with nature, more or less I’m playing with my niece, walking with my grandmother, watching Disney Channel, or reading a book. I don’t usually check my phone because signal bars are so low that sometimes they don’t exist anymore. I don’t usually go out and stroll around because I’m alone and I couldn’t leave my grandmother. If you can see me, you’d be a little surprise that I don’t have a tan or that I look pale. I try not to look pale. I go out for sun sometimes, if it’s not too late for morning sunshine. I haven’t visited the pool or tried summer activities that are worth the adrenaline rush. I go out sometimes – with my grandmother. Sometimes those are for errands or for hearing masses. Sometimes I don’t use my brain so much. Some things in life do not need too much thinking anymore. On weeknights, I would watch Disney Channel’s 11 pm to 12:30 am shows: Phineas and Ferb, The Suite Life on Deck and Sonny with a Chance. On weekends, if lucky enough, I’d see new episodes of The Suite Life and Good Luck Charlie. I’m very much into those shows that I don’t miss any episode, and that I’m starting to develop affections for the television and remote control. I haven’t seen my grade school friends (whom I miss so badly) and haven’t drank light rusty-colored drink with them. I haven’t ruled out not seeing them this year, by the way. I’m still hoping and waiting.

I live in an everyday drill. I live summer in an everyday drill. I’m not like Phineas or Ferb – I can’t build a rocket, I hate mummies, and how I wish I've been to Paris to climb up the Eiffel Tower.

And yes, it’s lame.

Gone Too Soon

2011-04-17T09:56:00.003+08:00

So I was awoken by this mad text message about AJ Perez dying or accident or whatever. I do not believe on those silly things. But I've seen the news, and there, there was a wrecked van. And written and flashed were the words: Teen actor AJ Perez dies in a car accident. I don't want to go into details. It's devastating. Let this video tell you:

‎18 and young. 18 and making a difference. 18 and active. 18 and a good man. Aj, why'd you have to leave so soon? So sad that I'm not in the Metro to go to your wake. :( Rest in peace, Dido. :((

He was such a good man, although I barely got to meet him. So sweet and God-oriented. We will miss you Antonello Joseph. God bless your soul. All hearts will be praying for you and your family.

Adventures and Stupid Thoughts

2011-04-04T12:03:00.002+08:00

April 1, 2011

I was supposed to write/blog about what happened today the next days, but a delay would definitely lessen my euphoria (and sadness) and in the end would lose the essence of it. So before I go to the point where I don’t want to write about it anymore, I might as well start doing so. I actually don’t know where to begin. Okay, I’ll try.

fayeistheflyest, atzs, katunicahija @ tumblr! ♥

Photos (c) Kathleen Valle

Earlier this afternoon, Zandro and Kathleen went to my place to fetch me for our “planned” spree. When I say “planned,” I meant it the other way around. I actually didn’t know that we were going out. I thought Zandro just wanted us to visit him and do some usual walks around the area. They had planned spontaneously: go to Quiapo to buy some flair something; to Katipunan just to eat at Cello’s; to Gateway to do I-don’t-know-what; to Trinoma just for the sake of doing so; and to SM Marikina because it’s the nearest mall to go to. After all the squabbles about where to go and weighing every option, we ended up going to UP Diliman. We actually didn’t know how to go there, so we just let our feet and the jeepney driver take us to where we need to go. We got there successfully, and so it was the start of our so-called “adventures.”

It was my first time to actually see the renowned UP Oblation statue, exposing the muscular body of Fernando Poe Sr. and the famous fig leaf covering his “sword downstairs” (okay, his genitals). I thought I was going to be moved by its mere presence. I was waiting for the glorious light of wisdom and freedom it symbolizes to shine on me, but it didn’t come. I wasn’t influenced at all. It was a bit odd, but I guess I had just overestimated that immobile stone or whatever-it’s-made-from can do. So we went to the College of Arts and Letters, and bad news popped at my face: deadline of submission of application forms was on the 31st of March. And just like what I said before, the Greek Atlas had given me the burden of carrying the world on my shoulders all over again. Maybe even twice as heavy. I was so stupid to be so sure of this plan, and now that it’s all ruined, I don’t have any alternative plans on my list. Maybe UP Diliman isn’t really for me. Maybe God has other plans, and going to that university is not on it.

I really don’t know what my reactions will be: frustrated? Mad? Sad? Depressed (again)? I wanted to scream or cry, but I couldn’t, because why would I? I was with my best friend and my baby friend. I couldn’t imagine crying in front of them, and what will be my tears for? Nothing. Maybe tonight I’d cry and start thinking alternative plans again. When would this stop, really? I hope there’s someone out there who could help me or maybe send me to other countries through scholarship. Fat chance.

So after that, I tried to temporarily remove those depressing thoughts, and maybe replace them with happier ones. We ate a variety of glazed Cello’s doughnuts courtesy of Kathleen. We talked about random stuff in college. I learned that: My babe Zandro is in love already, and it’s not imaginary; Kathleen was having small problems with making friends but still survives; we are all struggling to balance our life inside and outside the school; we all think that high school reunion this early is a ridiculous idea; some of the glazed doughnuts have weird tastes; befriending a pregnant schoolmate would guarantee you free snacks (not that I’m advising you to take advantage of them and their cravings); and that I’m still worried about my future in college.

Goodness, I don’t know what to do. I want this to end already. I don’t want to be the estranged student with no future but to transfer every year to different schools and to read books and blog all day. What’s the point of graduating with the highest honors if I’d end up wrecked and with a bad record? I guess I won’t be going to my dream university anymore. I just know. It’s like a slap on my face. I don’t really care. I just wanted to finish a degree and land a good job in the future. I’m just afraid of what my friends, professors and college deans would think of where I ended up. There are a lot of expectations hanging around me, and okay, it’s a shame if I end up unsuccessful. Maybe I’m too insecure and thinking too much about my reputation. Ugh, I want to die.

On a cheerful note (sarcasm applied), I don’t really know how this day went. I’m happy but still sad. I had fun but there are a lot of things to do. I’m euphoric but also worried. I want to just be happy but I also want to cry. Great God, please help me understand these things, because I’m going to die if I don’t.

Blame It On Me

2011-03-31T17:53:00.001+08:00

One word: Depressed.

I’m so pissed off right now that anyone who’d mess with me will receive nothing but a stare that would make them hate me. I don’t know what to do and who to talk (except for the Great God). And the only medium I know that could possibly help me is by blogging. Pathetic, too pathetic. I wouldn’t blame you if you’d think my depression is too shallow for me to act like this. But that’s the only thing that I can do. At least I don’t slit my wrists or hang myself. My mind is still working properly, despite the fact that this pathetic depression is eating me.

See, I’m running errands for my please-be-possible transferring plans to University of the Philippines Diliman. Of course, I need to have all the authorized credentials and certificates that would make it more possible. I’ve been working on it since Monday, and still, I haven’t been given a date to when I would receive this “Transfer Credentials Package.” So what’s keeping it on delay? Everything. I finished my clearance today (Thursday) and thought that I would finally get hold of that claim slip. Guess I was wrong. Guess I was wrong for thinking this day would be successful. An official from the registrar told me that they still don’t have my form 137, which is the complete list of all subjects and respective grades all throughout the high school years. I was agape when I heard about that, and all the frustration from that building seemed to have possessed me. ‘Cause, what the hell? It’s the end of the school year, and you’re telling me that you don’t have my F-137 yet?! She told me that they had already sent the request letter to my old school and didn’t receive any response. So I visited my old school and asked them all about it. They said that they didn’t process anything because there’s a certain amount that should be paid for it. Why didn't they inform us? Hello, there are cellphones, telephones, email. Are you not aware of the word "technology?" So I asked them what I need to do, and how many days it will take to release what I needed, badly needed. Guess what? 2 weeks! It felt like the world crashed into me, or if put into a more creative manner, the Greek Atlas had given me the world and the burden to hold it on my shoulders. Okay, maybe that was a bit exaggerated. But it’s like my whole life is on that simple piece of computer paper, that crap computer paper. I checked the calendar and did a little assumption to when I will finish everything. Let’s see… If I’d request for that crap computer paper tomorrow, I’d probably receive it by the 15th (of April). After that, if I’d be able to go to school on that same day, I could get my credentials on the 29th. Okay, just one day left for the last day of application. Not too bad, right? I might as well die.

It’s not that I need the credentials right away. From what I’ve read on the guidelines, credentials such as Good Moral Character certificate and Honorable Dismissal are only needed if a student is accepted and is given chance to enroll. So I don’t really need them yet, because I’m still not so sure if I’d be able to pass the departmental examinations and interviews and make it to the quota. What I badly – very badly – needed is the copy of grades, and I don’t think I’d get a hand on them immediately. Yes, I have the scholastic reports – the small papers that they mail to our parents – but I assume they are also called class cards. Bad news: “Strictly, class cards are not accepted.” So I don’t have a choice but to submit the grades, which are not available yet. What do I need to do? Tell me, guys. Is it really this hard and complicated? I really want to go to UP. I badly need to pursue this. I don’t care if I’d mess up with my fate. I know God knows what is good for me, and this is what could challenge and develop my abilities. And that’s good, isn’t it?

I need to pray more, and just keep believing. I’ve been writing it on a random piece of paper. You know, words like, “Believe and it will live” and “Never say never.” Maybe Justin Bieber’s songs had influenced me a lot lately. But I also scribbled harsh words like: “I’m going to die,” and “I’m stupid, depressed, frustrated, poor (in every way), wrecked and wasted (not the other meaning).” Yes, I become very rude to myself when I’m really depressed and have no one to blame. At least I don’t get to hurt anybody, but not if you consider that random piece of paper and my hideous pen anybody.

My mother just got home, and she’s not too happy about it. Not at all. She’s mad, and when I say mad, it includes pointing the entire fault to everybody and shouting until everyone can hear. I can’t blame her. She has all the point, and I don’t have one. So maybe these are my entire fault, and I’m open to paying for all of these in any possible way just to correct and flatten them out. Oh Great God, I need Your help so bad.

First College Crush

2011-03-23T15:10:00.005+08:00

After my unusual post about faith and praying, here I am blogging about infatuations and silly butterflies. I have been mentioning my FCC on a lot of my posts already. And for those who don’t know what or who the hell FCC is, FCC stands for “First College Crush.” Do I need to elaborate more why it’s First College Crush? I don’t think so. That’s like straight fact gawking at your face.

If you think my life is very interesting and worth the thrill, why thank you! If you think my love life is just as hell as interesting as my life, you may be wrong – well, I think you’re wrong. For all you know, I’m just as hopeless romantic as you are (although some of you won’t admit it). I had my first crush even before I learned how crazy mathematics (the day when our adviser showed us the multiplication table) can be, and I fell in love just before I hit the complicated stage of puberty (don’t tell Mom, okay?). Yes, you can say that my love hormones went nuts very early. I wasn’t even a teenager yet when I met my first love! Does “first love” sound mushy? I think so, too. But I don’t have a choice. It’s really called first love… or first real crush, or first unfathomable attraction, or that first crazy feeling for someone.

While growing up, I fell in love, got my heart broken, got my feelings hurt, and fell out of love. Because of the experiences that I went through regarding my romantic life when I was in high school, I had a self-made contract of not having to do anything romantic with the male species (bitter, bitter). I “signed” the “No Boys Contract” summer last year, before I entered college. That same summer, I had something going on with my grade school friend. I didn’t think it was mutual, and I hope he didn’t know about the little crush I had for him. It was just a crush, but I tried to erase it out of my system eventually, because just like what my friend said, “A little crush can go out of hand.”

So then I entered college, and what did I get on my first day? Well tada, a new crush. He was this famous guy that had attained his fame from Facebook. Maybe he was just friendly and active, so people knew and greeted him – high-fived, waved, smiled, called his name – that first day. Then I found myself staring at him, not because I think he’s cute (which I think he was, by the way), but because he looked surprisingly familiar (later, I’d realize that he looked familiar because I’ve talked to him before online and because he looked just like my old classmate and all the *insert-his-name-here* I knew). I looked away eventually, because it was creepy. I didn’t want to build scary infatuation for him, and I didn’t want to be caught staring at him. That would be very stalker-ish. So my life went on, got good grades for the semester, saw him on random days, was successful on trying not to grow my crush-feelings for him, and spent my semester break. I didn’t like anybody in school except for him, but it didn’t grow into something else. Just a little, harmless crush. I guess I even got to the point of not liking him anymore. I reminded myself repeatedly about my “No Boys Contract,” chanted it on my brain all the time.

But have you ever experienced that moment when all of the feelings – both welcomed and unwelcomed – rush back into your system? That one moment when one small thing had happened that messed it all up? Like you were already okay with everything, that you’ve settled and had forgotten, but one moment and then bam, it had hit you all over again. I was so ready to welcome the New Year with no crushes except for Sam Concepcion – my ultimate knight in shining armor, but he came around. And I went back into basics and had to start all over again. See, I was very much into Facebook and Harry Potter during the holidays, and he was, too. So we had something in common, and unbelievable as it may seem, the Harry Potter madness that we shared gave way to a higher form of friendship. We were just into a Hi-Hello basis, but after all the talks about Bellatrix Lestrange and Dudley Dursley, we got into a Harry Potter friendship basis. I couldn’t really explain what a Harry Potter friendship basis was.

So we all welcomed the New Year, and I welcomed the same old feelings. I kept calm, and I didn’t pass out or squeal with delight every time I saw him at school, but the aftermath of my feelings were very obvious. My friends noticed it immediately. Can I deny it? I can’t. Come on! Weren’t blushing and eyes fluttering obvious? Of course they were! And I’m not a good liar, so I really couldn’t deny. I didn’t have a choice but to bear all their teasing and just carried on. Then one morning, we met him and his friends on our way to school. He called someone “Hermione.” I made a face that spelled confusion. I didn’t really understand him. Maybe he was referring to our other friend. It couldn’t have been me, because I wasn’t really like Hermione Granger – not at all very smart and alert, without that bushy brown hair, couldn’t speak English with an accent, and didn’t look like the beautiful Emma Watson (and how ridiculous that I even made those comparisons in the first place). But we met him again at school and also called someone Hermione, and our other friend wasn’t with us that time. So that meant… gah, I wasn’t sure!

From Harry Potter friendship basis, we went on into Blogger friendship basis. Their course had their first academic week, and they had this Blogging Contest. I was planning to join (not because he was in-charged – screw that), but I learned that non-seminar attendees couldn’t compete. It was sad, but I think odds were in my favor. They had conducted another seminar, and I was an attendee, so that meant I could join already. Wasn’t I lucky? So I joined, made a new blog, hastily wrote something for my entry, and tada, I won. Wasn’t I even luckier?

After that week, I met him on the hallway. He tapped my shoulder and told me that my blog was nice and then walked away. I hurriedly ran back into our classroom because I couldn’t hold back my immediate astonishment and, all right, giddiness anymore. It took me everything not to pass out. It was nice to hear him say that. Then I checked my blog and cursed so much when I saw that he left some words on my tag board. It felt embarrassing to have him on my personal blog. But his words were very nice again, so I didn’t care if he’d think that my blog wasn’t really that cool and would take back all the compliments. We got virtually and technologically closer (although we weren’t ever close, to begin with) through our own blogs. But we didn’t talk so much in person, only greetings and smiles. I think the longest remarks that he said to me was that he thought I was mean to and hated him (Translation: “Bakit ang taray mo sakin?”). I was not! I did not! I was just shy. And guess what I said in return? An “uhh” with a stupid face – how smart and creative.

This is the edited version of my First College Crush. I’m not really good with editing, but I hope my amateur skill is enough to conceal his face from your inquisitive eyes and hinder you from recognizing who he is. Don’t even bother going through researches just to identify him (because that’s really too much). And I also hope that he will not have that certain instinct that this is his face and realize that I’m talking about him (although I wager that he’s too modest too even assume).

(c) Photo: Whoever Owns It

For the record, I wasn’t in love with him. All right, maybe at first I thought I was. Once, I saw him on the stairs and he was sitting beside my other blockmate. They were just talking, but my system acted idiotically: I blushed and then was, heck, troubled. I didn’t actually know why I felt that way, or maybe I just didn’t want to know why. I already knew that time that he kind of liked that girl because I heard his friends teased him before (I wasn’t eavesdropping; their voices was just so loud). I was kind of… hurt, but it was nothing, just a little stupid jealousy. That was one of the countless reasons why I made my “No Boys Contract” – because I easily got hurt over insignificant reasons and found it hard to forget and move on. But I had managed to – I needed to.

I wasn’t in love with him, but I also didn’t hate him. Oh no, not at all. He’s an all-around good guy; smart, hardworking, motivated, an awesome blogger, a big Harry Potter fan. He was that someone who gave me butterflies, put a smile on my usually austere face, and could make my eyes wide at the sight of him, my heart beat so fast that it almost hurt, my face burn – from my upper chest up to my forehead (and maybe also my scalp). It was just a little – or maybe big or normal or beyond normal or harmless or harmful – crush, and thank goodness, it didn’t go out of hand.

The Greatness of God

2011-03-16T12:32:00.008+08:00

Even if you're living under a rock, you would feel and know what has been happening in our world today. Yes, I am talking about the disasters that the countries all over the world are experiencing, not only last week, but also for the past years. People may ask why these unfortunate events happen. One may say that these disasters happen because God wants us to learn from our mistakes, that He's making these events because we haven't been good sons and daughters to Him. Others may say that we're taking everything that the God has been giving us for granted, that maybe He's taking everything back, for we don't use them for good purposes. We haven't been doing what He asks us to do -- to take care of what He had given us, to live a life with purpose, to just be the sons and daughters that He wants us to be.

People may blame one another. People may even blame God. People may lose faith and trust in Him. They may hate Him for taking the lives of the people they love, for taking all the things that they had worked for for so many years. But seriously, who should carry all the responsibility for all of these? Try to stand infront of a mirror, then point your finger forward. I guess now you know who.

Mind you, I am not the devoted type of a Catholic. I don't hear masses every Sunday. I don't visit the church every week. I haven't read or even touched the Holy Bible. I don't know the prayers to the rosary. I don't even know how to use the rosary. Mind you again, I am not anti-Christ. I love God. I love Jesus Christ. I love Mama Mary. I am just not into churches and masses and all the paganism. I support the RH Bill, to top it all. But is not visiting the church every Sunday makes me evil, makes me forget about the greatness that the Lord gives? No, I don't think so. I may not be the all-good daughter of God, I may not know all the songs devoted to Him, I may have the most number of absences in the church's attendance record, but I know God. I am aware of what He can do, which I reckon is everything.

I’m in a band. I don’t go to church every Sunday. I love punk rock music. Sometimes I use swear words a lot. I respect and admire gay men and women. I’m obsessed with horror films. I know what shame feels like. And guess what old man? Jesus is still my Savior.
-- Hayley Williams, Paramore

I do pray. I pray a lot. I pray for my family, for my friends, for other people. Just last 2009, I lost my grandmother and my aunt, which for my mother is her mother and sister, which for my cousins are their grandmother and mother. I also blamed God. I also asked Him why He took them. I also was mad at Him for not giving them more time. I was sad for my cousins for losing their mother. I was sad for my other cousins and my brother for losing our grandmother. It was hard for me to accept everything, to believe that they're gone. The last time someone died from our big family was when I was in grade school. So that time it still felt so new to me. But I prayed, and I found peace. I understood. He talked to me, not verbally, but I think you know what I'm saying. I realized that He took them for a reason. He made me feel that I should not be too sad for they are with Him. And I was sure that He'll take good care of our Lola Amay and Tita Cy.

Through praying, my faith and trust in the Lord grew stronger. Through praying, I learned to face my fears and find solutions to my problems. Through praying, I became happy. Through praying, I found peace and tranquility. Through praying, I found God.

And the things that are happening now, how small or big they are, can be faced. How? Through trust and faith in Him, and yes, through praying. I know, praying seems technically useless -- I asked that once, too. But if you can help people personally, if you know you have the "resources" to help them, then go ahead. You can. But if you think you don't have the capabilities to lend a hand, you can always pray. It's free. It only requires time and devotion. Praying makes wonders, and faith makes possibilities that are beyond what you can imagine.

They say that everything happens for a reason, and I don't know the reasons behind all of them. In fact, nobody ever knows what they are. Only the Great God knows why these things happen. And the only thing that we can do is to be ready for anything and to have trust and faith in Him. We should not be afraid of what the future might bring, because God is already there. He has plans for us, and we should trust and anticipate these plans. We should not be afraid, for He is the Great God.

(c) Photos: Tumblr.com

American Idol Season 10

2011-03-08T18:50:00.008+08:00

So as you all know, American Idol season 10 has already started airing and dominating your Wednesday-Thursday / Thursday-Friday nights. And this week will be the start of the competition amongst the top 13. I know I can’t vote, so please America, vote wisely. Vote because of the performance, not because he’s hot or she’s pretty. If I could only vote, I would have voted for Adam Lambert (of Season 8) to victory. Oh yes, I still can’t get over that one. Oh, Alex Lambert, too. Mushy banana, why didn’t you audition again? I miss you.

If you’re living under a rock, you wouldn’t be aware of the phenomena that the new panel of judges brings. I hate to break it to you, but Kara Dioguardi, Ellen DeGeneres, and Simon Cowell were already out of the group. What I heard was Ellen couldn’t take all the drama anymore (which is reasonable for she’s a comedienne); Simon just needed to move on (which I’m not sure of); and Kara? They won’t tell us. Anyway, if you know what’s happening in the Idol industry, they added two new judges: Jennifer Lopez and Steven Tyler (of Aerosmith). The new judges, together with Randy Jackson, are to judge the performance of America’s Top 13, and it’s up to America to keep that contestant, or send him/her home. And why am I explaining this all to you? I don’t know, too.

But since I get too absorb with this thing, I of course have my favorites. I only had ten because I didn’t know that they will have thirteen. Also, I made this list even before they had announced the Top 13, so some from my list didn’t make it. Here they are:

From top left: Casey Abrams (larger photo), Robbie Rosen, Scotty McCreery, Tim Halperin, and Jordan Dorsey
From bottom left: Karen Rodriguez, Lauren Alaina, Naima Adedapo, Pia Toscano, and Thia Megia (larger photo)

(c) Photos: americanidol.com

As your good eyes can see, Casey Abrams and Thia Megia took the larger portion of the frame. This is because they are my favorites. I like Casey Abrams because he’s a very talented musician and a funny guy. Once, Ryan Seacrest told him that he made history because he played a large bass in Hollywood week. And he blurted, “So am I like Neil Armstrong now?” WTF, right? And for his last audition for Top 24, he stated before he performed, “I just want you all to know that I’m sexy.” I really think he is sexy. Funny and geeky guys are sexy, don’t you think?

I like Thia Megia not only because she’s a Filipino, but also because she really is good. Her voice is unique and husky and mellow and everything! And she’s only fifteen, only fifteen! What’s happening with time – and her hormones? When I was her age, I only sing Paramore songs for our band. I wasn’t talented at all. Oh goodness! Also, because of her, I learned to love “Chasing Pavements” by Adele. I’m practicing that song, and so far, I’m not giving justice to it.

American Idol Top 13

Scotty McCreery
Jacob Lusk
Casey Abrams
Paul McDonald
James Durbin
Stefano Langone
Lauren Alaina
Pia Toscano
Karen Rodriguez
Thia Megia
Haley Reinhart
Ashthon Jones
Naima Adedapo

I wasn’t too happy about the results, actually. But I also like what happened. You know, it’s a bittersweet feeling. Tim Halperin, Robbie Rosen, and Jordan Dorsey didn’t get in, but Paul McDonald is around, and I think I’m starting to admire his talent and his smile. Oh, that smile! All the girls I like got in, too. I hope my bets will be around for a long time.

So, as what Scotty always sings, "Baby lock them doors and turn the lights off." Heck.

Good Vibes

2011-02-24T21:30:00.006+08:00

Hello blogger! This will be my first random and spontaneous post for this month. I'm sorry my bloggie if I haven't been "entertaining" and minding you for a couple of weeks. I'm just too lazy to think. Oh my goodness! I'm lazy to think -- to even think! Whoa.

Anyway, what's happening right now? And why is the title of this entry "Good Vibes"? Just because! Good vibes first day in the morning are great. I joined this blogging contest in school. The CS-IT students of our school held their first ICT Week: iCreate 2.011 (which I think was an awesome theme). I was quite hesitant about joining because we still need to pay for the registration fee, and I don't want to spend my spare one because we'll be having a tour the next day. But I joined anyway. Thanks to the persuasive powers of my co-Tres Marias Diana and Scarlet (Yes, I am a Maria now. Hard to believe). I wrote a very messy post for the contest for a couple of hours (we had to pass our entry before 10pm that night). I was quite afraid of sending the link for I wasn't confident about what I wrote, but what the heck. It was more of a motivational essay, and you can actually read it on the blog that I put up just for the contest. CLICK ME. You can't read my entry if you're using Google Chrome. The layout's better in Mozilla Firefox.

So earlier this day, the winner was announced. Well, not actually announced. Maybe picked is the right word. Guess what? I didn't win... Nah, just kidding. I won! I won! I won! Okay, okay. I know you got it already. No need to repeat, right? I wasn't really expecting it. When our president (Hello Angelo!) gave me the medal and prize, I looked at him like he was from the asylum or someone just trying to bluff around. But he wasn't. So my speech? Read this: "What the fuck?!" Best one you've heard yet, isn't it? Ha! I went wild, like wild. Winning in a blogging contest is just so awesome.

We're on our Hotel Familiarization tour right now. We checked in Hotel H20. Visit their site if you're interested. I can't tell you anything about it yet, because I just don't want to. Sorry. Here are some little photos of us inside the hotel. I'll leave you all with those. Good night, and hop off from your bed and turn your swag on tomorrow morning!

Gerald Angus, Alain Chen, Nedith Rocillo, Scarlet Castillo, Faye Ordas, Angela Vinoya and Diana Agulto | Angelo Ampil, Diana, Scarlet, Faye and Alphonso Marasigan

(c) Photos: Diana Agulto

Photo Blog: HM Week

2011-02-16T15:33:00.011+08:00

Hospitality Management Week
ICONS: Images and Competencies of the New Leaders of Service
January 19-21, 2011

Poster Exhibit by the Tourism and Travel Management Students

Preparation for the exhibit (January 18, 2011)

Awarding of Dean's Lister (Gold category, number 3!) and inauguration of the HMSC officers

Hospitality Management students with speaker Mr. Flores, Ms. Gela, Mr. Ilagan, and Dean Joy

Diana, Scarlet, and Faye; Jeremy, Diana, Scarlet, Faye, Angela, and Ingrid

Photo booth (January 21, 2011)!

Friends, always.

HM Girls; HM Officers

Travel and Tourism Students

Hormones and Zombies

2011-02-07T12:21:00.002+08:00

I was supposed to post a photo blog of our Hospitality Management Week, but I’m just so excited and euphoric about this entry that it couldn’t wait another time to be posted. Anyway, remember my notebook dedicated only for Sam Concepcion, where I write my takes on his performances or his projects? Well, hooray, it’s back! I want Sam to read this, and I don’t care if I’d lose face because of this. I just want him to know what I want to say… I hope he gets to read this. Baam!

Samuel,

Hey Sam! I just want you to know that I’m very happy for what you’ve been achieving this year. I know, it’s just the start of 2011, but you opened it with a bang, bang, and bang! I’m really happy for and proud of you. Like, imagine, you’re still very young, but your accomplishments are beyond your age. You’re just so cool.

Let’s start off with your recent achievement: Taylor Swift’s concert. When I first learned about it, I was just like this: :O Can you imagine that? Eyes wide open, mouth gaping. I wasn’t sure if it was true, so I checked your tweets, and it’s true! Seriously. I wanted to scream, cry, and dance all at the same time. You’re opening for her concert not just in Manila, but in her Asian tours, as well. Whole Asian tours! ASDFGHJKL! I became quite illiterate because of that news. I don’t know what to actually say, except for “Oh my God,” “What the hell?!,” “Freakin’ cool!,” and “Awesome!” You always make me say senseless stuff. HAHAHA. Just kidding. Plus, you’re actually handpicked by the Swifty herself. What if you were also chosen by other foreign artists after Taylor? Like maybe, Justin Bieber for his concert in May? OMG, that’ll be so cool.

Next, your MMK episode was really cute. Even though you just showed up for three scenes, it was phenomenal. I’ve got loads of reactions and comments for you and the “Tropeo” episode. First, your voice was, umm, sexy. HAHA. Sexy, really. I laughed when you said, “Siya ang first crush ko. ‘Pag nakikita ko siya, kinikilig ako.” I felt giddy, as well, and that’s ridiculous.

Second, your shorter hair looks good on you. Some Samsters say that they miss your longer hair, but I don’t. I think it’s really awesome. It’s manly and clean, and that spiky-thing that you do with it is cute. And you’re so tall already! How tall can you go, eh? The last time I met you (which was your birthday), you were taller than me by almost half a foot… but now, it seems like I can’t reach you anymore. Your growth hormones are crazy! HAHA.

Third, why didn’t you sing? I was actually waiting for it. I told my Mom and my brother to not sleep yet, because I want them to hear you sing and prove that your voice isn’t that high-pitched (like what they say) anymore. They teased me when the show ended and you didn’t sing. But it was fine. At least you get to act and say, “Mahal na mahal kita Solly. Bata pa lang ako, mahal na kita.” It was really awkward, and I thought you were going to kiss Toni, but you didn’t. And I was waiting for her to slap you. I was like, “Toni slaps so hard. I hope you wouldn’t get one.” Thank goodness she didn’t, or I would have laughed and cried (yes, I can do both). HAHA.

Lastly, when I was watching the first part of the episode, I learned that Ernesto JR’s family is musically inclined (and that’s when I started hoping that you’re gonna sing). Then, I remembered the dream I once had, way back in 2009, I think. In my dream, you were the main character in an MMK episode where you played a less-fortunate but talented singer. And you were tan. Yes, TAN. You were a school cleaner, and you were singing while mopping the cafeteria. It was a bit weird, but the story’s inspiring. I’ve always wanted to see you play a role like that. I hope it’ll happen in the future. You with a tan = interesting. :P

Anyway, I hope your blessing will come hundred-fold. You’re such an awesome guy. Stay that way, and rehearse for Shout Out and Taylor Swift’s concert, okay? I hope I’d get to see you soon. Take care always, sleep, and don’t “Zombie Mode.” HAHAHA.

♥ always,

Faye

Dear Notebook

2011-02-03T19:14:00.003+08:00

I have this customized notebook where I write anything about everything and decide if I should post it here on my blog. It’s like a draft notebook, and it’s usually messy – both in penmanship and grammar. Anyway, this is what my nth (‘cause I have a lot, so I lost count) notebook looks like:

I’m sharing to you, my dear readers (if I have any), the latest entry that I wrote last January 22, 2011. I may have to edit some, because what I wrote should be actually kept in confidence. But what the heck, I have nothing to post here… So yeah, don’t tell anyone, okay?

Hello Notebook (yeah, that’s what I call it)! I’m sorry if I haven’t been dropping by lately, and if every time I drop by, I always use you as my outlet of anger and depression. You know for a fact that you’re the only one whom I can tell all my problems with, except for the Great God, of course. So thank you for always being there and for not giving up on me, even if I already had left you. :( (Yes, again, I talk to my precious little things that way.)

Anyway, I don’t know what to write actually. Lemme think… Should I rant? Okay!

Let’s start with college. This week (January 16-22, 2011) had been crazy and tiring. We just had our first Hospitality Management week… and I’m hoping it’ll be my last. Yes, I know it’s a bit mean, but I’m actually praying and hoping that I’ll be admitted to and accepted in UP Diliman. I can’t – and Mom can’t – shoulder all the fancy expenses in our school anymore (But I’m not talking trash about this college; it’s up to you if you’d look at this that way, or just a harmless rant from a little depressed girl). I cried the last time because I don’t know where to get financial help from. I even asked God for money, though I know that’s improper and wrong. I am desperate (I always am). I need money for the tour expenses, and I can’t miss this tour again. It’s compulsory. Do you know where I can get extra money or a part-time job? (Yes, I’m desperate like that.) How I wish I had transferred earlier, or I didn’t enroll in that school in the first place. I wish I could turn back time… I need to turn back the time! Oh Great God, please help me.

I’m also having small problems with my friends and the way I act toward them. I have this girl friend that I’ve been sharing classes with for almost the whole year. She’s always too shy and has less-initiative, but too much (or too less) of it is already irritating. I don’t like such type of people – the type where they can’t try things even if they like to just because they don’t want to be exposed or embarrassed. I know, no one wants to be embarrassed, but how will you learn if you don’t take risks? And a little mistake won’t actually socially kill you. Your isolation will likely lead you to more shame. Seriously. I know that everybody goes or went through that stage, but when will you start stepping up and moving on to pass that phase? Don’t get me wrong. I love her – and I’m saying this because I care for her, and I want her to be ready when the situation demands it. I might be telling her this stuff if ever I’ll be leaving the school. Am I despicable? I don’t think so.

Let’s go to the brighter side, okay? Positive vibes, come on! Remember First College Crush? I may be having feelings for him again! Oh goodness! The butterflies came back last December through Facebook (see what this social networking site can do? Insane!). I was always online and obsessing over Harry Potter. I learned that he loves Harry Potter, too, and yes, he’s always online. He said that he’s Dudley because of his former DP, and just this week, he called me Hermione. Awwyer! What the hell. We don’t talk most of the time, but we say hi and hello every time we see each other. I may be just looking at this beyond the line. I don’t know. It’s just a little, harmless, stupid crush. I still love that Sam Concepcion guy more than any other non-relative boys! Hey Sam, hey Sam!

So that’s everything I want to say. I was actually planning to write about what happened earlier at home, but that’s too shallow – and I won’t write about family hates anymore. It’s not healthy. So yeah, thank you again Notebook for your hospitality and openness! I love you!

And I love you too, my blog. No bitterness, okay?

Love always,
Faye

Legally Macho

2011-01-26T19:26:00.001+08:00

24 January 2011

Dear Zandro,

Hello Babe! Happy Birthday! Happy 18 years to you. You’re of legal age now, so what’s your plan? Are you signing up for car driving lessons? Let me ride with you (when you do well already), okay? Teehee.

Anyway, I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to greet you personally on your exact birthday, and for not seeing you much often. I was so busy with school works and extracurricular activities (we just had our Hospitality Management Week) that I can’t even sleep well or read a novel. Yes, I haven’t read anything since the start of the year… and my writing skills are going down. Fail. You know that I’m writing a teeny-boppy love story, right? Well guess what? I still haven’t finished it! I’m having a hard time looking for inspirations and thinking what correct words to use. I couldn’t even update my blog! Oh damn, I’m telling you my problems already! Beating around the bush, like what they say.

Let’s get to the point: I am sorry for not always being there when you’re down and depressed, when you need someone to pour your emotions and anger with, when you miss your full-time best friend and part-time girlfriend. I know that you’ve been going through a lot these days. Well, I can’t tell how and why, but I just know. I guess that “Count on Me” song (by Bruno Mars) is the opposite of what I’m doing to you. It says, “You can count on me like one, two, three, I’ll be there.” I can’t always be there, but you’re always here… in my mind. Let’s not use “in my heart” ‘cause that’s like romantic relationship. Gross. Ha!

Just remember, even if I can’t always be by your side, even if you I can’t be present physically, I’m still here (though we might move if ever I get accepted in UP). But the distance doesn’t matter, really. I hope you keep that in mind. So yeah, happy birthday once again! I love you, Babe.

Love always,
Faye

Forever Young

2011-01-22T18:57:00.002+08:00

2011 Resolutions / To Do List

I know, it's kind of late already... but I didn't put NEW YEAR'S, just 2011. So that means I can make a resolution any time I would want to. Why don't you start your own? Ha! Anyway, my resolution, as what it always is, contains a list of everything that I would like or am planning to do this year. So you wouldn't find anything like "Be a good friend to someone" or "Be a good student and a loving daughter", 'cause, seriously, how can you say that you became a good friend or a loving daughter at the end of the year? Do you get my point? Moot. Call me names whatever you want, I'm posting my resolution / to do list here. I ain't hating on you. I love you.

Watch "Shoutout!" live
Join tours and conventions planned and organized by the school
Write more stories and songs, and finish what I started
Leave a mark (a remembrance, in short) to my course-mates and my college friends
Transfer to UP Diliman (or anywhere) and take the course that I really want (like Journalism, Mass Communication, or Languages)
Get a summer job in Fully Booked or any book store or anywhere safe
Purchase that black high cut shoes from Reeva, please!
Join and sign up for a decent and active school organization or club
Have a simple celebration on my 18th birthday ('cause I hate grand debuts and cotillions)
Gift for myself on my birthday (but I wouldn't mind if you'd give me one)
Watch and cry for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows part 2 (Oh crap, so long Harry, Ron and Hermione -- and Luna)
Attend the Candy Fair 2011
Meet Sam Concepcion, the Elites and Samsters again
Watch Peter Pan, The Musical (featuring Sam Concepcion!)
Watch The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn (I wanna see how Renesmee looks)
Read Mockingjay and the Immortal series
Purchase Pop Class album (Oh, for heaven's sake)
Spend the Holidays in Bicol
Meet my grade school friends again
Stay healthy, alive and forever young

Tententenennn!

2010-12-28T13:37:00.001+08:00

My year was composed mainly of first time things that I have done. Some of those things were exciting, overwhelming, and some were crazy and foolish. But imprudent as they may be, I do not regret any of them. I am happy that they happened, because I wouldn't know which are right or wrong if not for them! As what they always say, learn from your mistakes and grow.

Except from the legendary 101010 and the tragic hostage taking in Manila, below is the list of events that had made an impact into my life (not the other’s nor the country’s). I do this ever y year (2008, 2009) to thank God and everyone who made them possible. Hooray!

Passed UP College Admissions Test (UPCAT)
Graduated as the Batch Valedictorian and delivered my “dramatic” speech (as what I call it)
Received two PGMA awards; awarded as the Essayist of the Year and Best in Math
Had a reunion with elementary friends (1st, 2nd, 3rd)
Made my Twitter account and received a lame reply from Sam Concepcion but, ah, it was amazing!
Got hooked with “Hunger Games” and Peeta Mellark and his breads
Made my Tumblr blog and posted anything from Harry Potter to Y-U-No-Guy
Another two customized notebook
Registered as a Samsters Clique Clan member (07 February 2010)
Grew my hair longer
Gained new friends in College
Strutted my stuff (if any) on a runway with those shaking feet
One year with my blog (14 July 2010)
Read "Percy Jackson and the Olympians" by Rick Riordan series
Sang in front of my block mates and professor in a Filipiñana costume
First outreach program for NSTP
Learned how catty College can be
Became a total bookworm and movie buff once again
Attended Candy Fair 2010 and met Elmo Magalona, Nelsito Gomez and Ryan Bang
Felt the exhilarating high of bungee jumping
Five years as a Samster
Attended Sam Concepcion’s kiddy party and met Elites and co-Samsters
Loved Jay Sean, Fleetwood Mac, A Fine Frenzy, Chris Brown’s “Graffiti”, Michelle Branch, Young JV, B.o.B, and Hey! Monday
Wrote a short love story "Teenage Dreams" (still on the process)
Earned my unos in several subjects
Made it to the Dean’s Lister for my very first college semester
Had my first full bangs / Yeah, I bang! I bang!
Met Sam Concepcion in person for four times this year (1st&2nd, 3rd, 4th)
Became a productive daughter and student in any way
Stayed single but happy
Stayed healthy and alive

My 2010 was very fortunate. I am looking forward to another equally, or maybe more, fortunate 2011. Have a Voldemort- and Jejemon-free year, everyone!

A Very Potty Christmas

2010-12-24T20:05:00.008+08:00

So yes guys, it's Christmas. Have you noticed? I heard some of us can't feel the spirit of Christmas, yet. But nevertheless, it's Christmas! And I'm writing this post three and a half hours before the holiday. I just want to greet you a very perry potty Christmas (Yes, Perry the Platypus of Phineas and Ferb and Harry Potter together)! But really, I don't know what to put here... so maybe I'd just copy and paste the things that I posted in my tumblr blog.

It doesn’t matter what gifts you have gotten — or have not gotten — as long as you feel the spirit of Christmas, then all will be well. The birth of Jesus Christ is the most valuable gift we had received in the first place, so why bother fussing over gifts? Share some love. Happy Christmas!
That’s Severus “The Half Blood Prince” Snape of Harry Potter, btw. (Photo Source)

And the angel said unto them, “Fear not! For, behold, I bring you tidings of great joy, Which shall be to all people. “For unto you is born this day in the city of David A Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.
– St. Luke II

Posted some photos that I took inside our rest room. Tahaha! POTTY Christmas — GREAT.

Happy Potty Christmas everyone! I hope Momma Weasley will send us all her hand-knitted sweater, and Hagrid would make his Treacle Fudge for us. Enjoy the Christmas dinner in the Great Hall! Let’s #spreadlove and #stopthehates. Let's all give Voldemort a hug. I love y’all.

Have a happy Christmas and a prosperous New Year! God Bless you and your family.

Love and Treacle Fudge,

Faye ♥

Stop the hates

2010-12-21T18:57:00.003+08:00

Hello everyone! I'm sorry if I haven't been blogging about personal things so much. I was very busy and, all right, all right, I was lazy. So what's up with my life? I'm currently enjoying vacation. Though all I really do was to read, and procrastinate, and read again. I have nothing much to do so I am just reading and reading 'till my head hurts and my eyes pop.

Have you already installed the new Facebook profile thing? If you haven't done that yet, oh please do not! It's not worth it. I personally don't like the new look. The tag photos are too exposed; the About You part is not easily accessible. It's a bit of a hassle. But if you dare, then install it. I'm envious of the users who still haven't changed their page.

Anyway, what do you think of the Paramore issue? About the Farro brothers (Zac and Josh) leaving? I hate it, too (I am having so much hate this season). Like, what the hell? Why leave, guys? I am starting to like their songs and fall in love with Hayley Williams... and then I get this? That's crap. But here's what they (left members of the band) have to say:

"A couple of months ago, Josh and Zac let us know they would be leaving the band after our show in Orlando last Sunday [December 12, at the House Of Blues venue]. None of us were really shocked. For the last year it hasn't seemed as if they wanted to be around anymore. We want Josh and Zac to do something that makes them happy and if that isn't here with us, then we support them finding happiness elsewhere." (Source)

But it's still too sad. I'm imagining what my friend slash ex band mate slash ex boyfriend's reaction is to this announcement. I bet it's not good.

So yeah. Sorry if this post is full of hate and sadness. I'd post a "happy" one next time. Advance Happy Christmas! xo

I was fly

2010-12-13T12:39:00.003+08:00

New Year's Resolution 2010: A Recap

Continue our story telling sessions. (The school changed librarians like legit, so our plans were trashed. Sigh.)
Wear a Serena-/Blair-/Jenny-inspired dress for prom. (I don't know if it was Gossip Girl inspired. Whadya think?)
Graduate with honors. (I did! I did! Amazing.)
Best in Computer award. (The school didn't include Computer Wizard award this year.)
Top 10 NCAE. (I was on the sixth spot. Not bad.)
Spend summer in Naga. (I did. It was fun and boring, at the same time. My summer was too long.)
Reunion with elementary friends. (Was that a reunion? Yeah, I think so.)
Another item on my wardrobe. (Ironically, I'm fortunate to study in a school with no uniforms, so I utterly needed to have lots of clothes.)
Take piano lessons. (I was lazy to start. And no one was able to teach me.)
Sport a longer hair. (I never had a haircut. Ha!)
Fab first year! (Was it fab? Don't know, not sure.)
Join a club (Glee, Ecological, Theater, Writers') (I joined Theater and Writers, but they're not very... active. Yes, the club itself.)
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows movie tickets. (I watched with my best friend.)
The Twilight Saga: Eclipse movie tickets. (Too.)
Attend Candy Fair 2010. (I went with my college friends. The best fair!)
Monthly Candy Magazine issues. (Not interested anymore.)
Grand Conference with anyone. (Too busy.)
Dean's Lister. (They said I was. I'm not sure, though.)
Make money. (I spend all of my savings. Bummer.)
Meet co-Samsters and Elites. (I had met some of them, through SCC and Sam's party.)
'Pop Class' album. (I still haven't got one! Ha. Sorry, Sam.)
Own a high-cut shoes. (Pony, let's get it on!)
Concert tickets (if any). (There weren't any concerts.)
Annual Christmas party. (Was changed to Sam's birthday party.)
Read 'Hunger Games' and 'Catching Fire'. (Yes, finally! I had because of Zandro and Fully Booked. Thanks guys!)
Start with my "Happiness" Scrapbook. (Too busy. Not creative, yet.)
Gift for family and friends. (Can I give love? Ha.)
Never Die. (Thank God.)

I've got nothing to say. Ah, I'm just sad that I haven't started my 'Happiness' Scrapbook, and that Vanessa Hudgens and Zac Efron called it quits. They were so perfect, oh my God, why Zanessa?

Fall Into Me

2010-12-05T15:55:00.010+08:00

Dear Guy,

I hate you. I hate how your eyes seem to spellbind me. I hate how your smile makes me utter words that are regretful and that shouldn’t be said. I hate that I always think of you, think of us. I hate that you’re always the main subject of my daydreams. I hate how I easily get jealous every time I see you with other girls. I hate myself for always checking your Facebook wall and your tweets just to know what you’re up to. I hate the fact that it’s the only thing I can do. I hate that I don’t get to see you frequently – and I hate how I get tongue-tied whenever I see you, of all moments! I hate how envious and green-eyed I become when I see how happy your friends are when they’re with you. I hate the impossibility that I can be one of them. I hate that I get hopeless every time it happens. I hate the truth that the only way we can be together is through my dreams – and I hate that I have to wake up from those illusions. I hate that my dreams are merely dreams. I hate the truth that they will just be figment of my imagination, never reality. I hate that you can easily make me smile when I’m down. I hate that I find your shallow antics ridiculous, your face mesmerizing. I hate how your simplicity fascinates me. I hate the reality that there’s no way you’ll ever know about this, about what I feel. I hate myself for feeling this way. I hate myself for still hoping. I hate that you exist. I hate you, really.

But I love you. I love how your eyes seem to spellbind me. I love how your smile makes me utter words that are regretful and that shouldn’t be said, because these words make me remember the moment everyday, because these words make those instances unforgettable. I love that I always think of you, think of us. I love that you’re always the main subject of my daydreams. I like how I get easily jealous every time I see you with other girls, because it makes me want to like you more. I like how I always check your Facebook wall and your tweets just to know what you’re up to. I hate the fact that it’s the only thing I can do, but I like doing so, because I’m taking small steps to get to know you more. I kinda like that I don’t get to see you frequently, because they say absence makes the heart grow fonder – and I find it funny how I get tongue-tied whenever I see you, because you amaze me a lot! I like how envious and green-eyed I become when I see how happy your friends are when they’re with you, because it makes me want to try harder to be one of them. I hate that I get hopeless every time it happens, but you give me hope and that makes hopelessness inconsequential. I love how we can be together through my dreams – and I know that I have to wake up from those dreams, because waking up means there's another hope to hold on to. I love that my dreams are merely dreams, because I believe that we can be more than my fantasies. I am hoping that they will be not just figment of my imagination but also reality. I love that you can easily make me smile when I’m down. I love that I find your shallow antics ridiculous, your face mesmerizing. I adore your simplicity – it fascinates me. I am hoping that you’ll know about this, about what I feel, in the right time. I love myself for feeling this way. I love myself for still hoping. I am happy that you exist. I love you, really.

Always,
Girl (c)

Photo Blog: Medical Mission

2010-11-29T18:28:00.006+08:00

Yes! We rode that one... whatever it's called. It was so fun! That was our before shot - and we didn't dare took photos after. We were wreck. Just imagine riding the roller coaster on land plus the wind.

Doctor and patient ; Generic medicines for all!

Erin Palmos with the kids of North Signal Village dancing to the beat of Nobody

Group shot with the generals. Hello wind!

Outside the school with Diana and Mia. Aww. I like those shots.

Diana, yeah, yeah, Ate Cacay, Mia
(Yeah and Yeah, I forgot your names. Shoot.)

Three words: not my camera ; My skin's thick, so yeah. I grabbed the chance. I'm fat, don't rub it in.

Medical Mission for NSTP
North Signal Village, Taguig City
27 November 2010

Photos from Diana Agulto

Teenage Dreams: Wallflower

2010-11-25T15:20:00.005+08:00

It was loud inside that place. My best friend’s date had ingeniously decided to have their first date in a club – and I was being sarcastic. Bringing a date to a club: that would be like one step to getting turned down – or worse, be labeled as a terrible date. How could they talk here? If I were a guy, I wouldn’t take a girl in a place like this. I would take her on a nice and romantic restaurant, and there we would get to know each other better, there we would talk and laugh and have fun… but I was just a girl. All I could do was to accept what my date had planned for us. And I was just that jock’s date’s best friend, so all I could do was to sit and wait and be happy for my best friend.

Good thing we were seated in a private area. The leather couches were comfortable, and the music here wasn’t so loud anymore, and at least we wouldn’t see if anyone from the dance floor passed out or drowned himself with alcohol or did something as stupid. I was wearing my most comfortable attire: my favorite Beatles shirt, a leather jacket, black jeans and boots. I looked like someone from a kick ass movie where the tough girl fought bad guys and still had perfect hair (although my hair wasn’t really always perfect). But nonetheless, I looked tough. Nobody had messed with me so far. My best friend was sitting next to me, and next to her was her date. She looked so pretty in her black dress, and you could see that she was very happy. She didn’t care if the club was not the perfect first date-venue for her, nor did she care if her dress was too proper for a place like this; she looked like she was having the time of her life. While I was sipping on my mock tail (I wouldn’t dare take something with alcohol), I was thinking if she was already in love with him. Maybe she was still getting there. Maybe she already got there.

And sitting to my right was her cousin. He hadn’t said anything since we got here. I didn’t know if I should start the conversation, but I had nothing to say. I swore this double date wasn’t going to work. How could this be considered as a date if both of us weren’t saying anything? I kept on sipping on my drink and nibbling my straw. (Shake it for me til your back break, I wanna see you make your back break baby, Your back break baby) Maybe I should say something already. This is very awkward, I thought.

“Don’t you think this place is like hell on earth?” He finally said, and I was surprised that he sounded serious.

Whoa. He was smart, really smart. “I definitely think so. You hate clubs and bars, too?” I glanced on his way, but he was already staring at me. I abruptly looked away and continued drinking my mock tail.

He laughed. “You’ve been drinking a lot. More or less you’d get drowned. Are you okay? You looked annoyed.”

“I won’t get drowned. I’m okay. I just hate this place. And I’m not really annoyed.”

“I hate this place, too. If I have a date, I would take her somewhere quiet, not like this. That way, we can get to know each other better. How will you talk to your date this way? It’s chaotic in here.” He said, his voice getting louder. “And oh, the smoke!” He coughed. I quickly looked at him. Maybe he had asthma? He should get out of here. Maybe he noticed that I was worried because he said, “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

That’s good, I thought. I suddenly found it ridiculous that we had the same perfect date scenario in our minds. “I agree, without doubt. This is a bad first date. But I need to be here because of my best friend. Whatever makes her happy, I’d accept it. I really hope that she’s having fun right now, and it looks like that’s the case.” I took a good look on my best friend and her date. I found myself smiling.

“She’s lucky to have you. You remind me of someone from a novel that I’ve read… You’re like a, umm, what was that again? Oh, you’re like a wallflower.”

What did he say? Wallpaper? Did I look like wallpaper here? How dare… “I’m sorry?”

“You’re like a wallflower.” He said louder. “Take Your Shirt Off” was playing (and I really hoped nobody was dancing half-naked) and it was earsplitting; I thought I was becoming deaf. Oh, wallflower. Not wallpaper. But what did he mean by that? “‘You see things. You keep quiet about them. And you understand.’” He explained, and he was still so serious.

I had never heard anyone say that about me, and I never expected that I would hear it first from him. He always took me by surprise. I still found it ridiculous. “From what novel was that?” I asked, hoping that it would make me feel at ease. I started for my drink again, but it was already empty.

“You want more of that?” He was referring to my drink. I said no. “That was from the “Perks of Being a Wallflower.” I had just finished it two days ago.”

“I bet this Beatles shirt that you liked that one. You knew the lines by heart. So you read a lot of novels, eh? Bookworm.” Good job, I was feeling lighter. (What it is what is gon be, I see you in the crowd and your lookin at me)

He sniggered – the sound was cute. “I want to say that you’re wrong because I find that shirt cool. But yes. I love books. I’m the ‘typical nerd’ remember?”

Of course I remembered that. That’s not true. They only happen in movies. And I’m the typical nerd, so maybe people would see me in a different way. He had said when we first met. “Yes. You’re the ‘typical nerd’ but the ‘not-that-super-nerd.’” We laughed. “So what genres of novels do you read?”

“Oh, I have a wide range.” And we continued talking about books, music and theater. I learned that he liked several of the musicians that I liked, and I had read some of the books that he had read. I learned that his room was basically full of books and records and Broadway DVDs. He told me all about the things that happened behind the theater curtains. “There is definitely lots of drama,” he said.

We had so much in common, and we got along just fine. We didn’t notice the time passing, or the deafening club music (Girl you look better with the lights off, better with the lights off, ooh). We both had our own conversation bubbles, and it popped when we realized that it was time to go home.

We shook hands, just like before, when I was dropped in front of my house. And just like before, he held mine tightly for a long time. Thank goodness it was already dark; he didn’t notice my burning face. Okay, this double date wasn’t that bad.

© Christine Faye Ordas

TEENAGE DREAMS
xo 01. Superman 02. Acquaintances 03. Invited 04. Wallflower 05. Paranoia 06. Swapping 07. Stories

“Take Your Shirt Off” is the first promo single by American recording artist T-Pain for his fourth studio album RevolveR. It was released on iTunes for purchase on October 9, 2009. ©

“Better with the Lights Off” is a song recorded by American hip hop duo New Boyz, taken from their second studio album, Too Cool To Care. The song was released as a promotional single on May 3, 2011 via digital download in the United States and will be released as the third single from the album on August 2, 2011. The song features guest contributions from Chris Brown. ©

“The Perks of Being a Wallflower” is an epistolary novel written in the 1990s by American novelist Stephen Chbosky. The novel was published on February 1, 1999 by MTV. The story takes the form of a series of letters to an anonymous friend written by the narrator, a teenager who calls himself Charlie (his real name is never mentioned). The story explores topics such as introversion, teenage sexuality, and the awkward times of adolescence. The book also touches strongly on drug use and Charlie's experiences with this. ©

“You see things. You keep quiet about them. And you understand.” – The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Stephen Chbosky (February 1999)

One Week Down

2010-11-20T17:47:00.002+08:00

Hello dear bloggers! How was your week? I hope yours was good. Mine was tiring. First week of the new semester, what do you expect? I blogged last Thursday, though that one was a mess (what’s even new?). I will try to be less messy with this one. At least I even thought of trying!

Everyone had been writing and sharing about their first week... so I’ll try to do the same. Ha! My mind’s quite blank actually. But no matter, don’t care. So yeah, I will talk about my first week this semester.

I started my week with a stifle yawn and a hesitant-to-get-up-body. Anyway, school was good. I thought we’d be dismissed earlier, because that was what happened last semester. But I was wrong, okay? We were dismissed early by the professors, but we still stayed the whole day. To productively use our time, we used the library’s HP (not Harry Potter) computers. Take note: we were the very first ones who used them (for the second semester). Such good girls we are. The internet use was pretty much senseless. It wasn’t very satisfying because Facebook and Twitter were blocked, so all I did was edit my entries and post random hilarious stuff and anything-Harry Potter on Tumblr. To top it all, the audio of the unit that I used was not working. How lucky can I be?

Tuesday was amazing! No classes (we always think days without classes are amazing). I was very happy that day, because I watched this portion in Eat Bulaga! Juan for All, All for Juan (yes, I’m still such a jolog). Jose and Wally were hilarious, and I was actually shedding tears because of their undeniably funny antics. After that, I washed our clothes. Then I cleaned. Then I slept. Life that day was better – and more fruitful – than the last day.

Wednesday, we had Human Behavior in Organizations – and that was all. We spent three hours in school. Fortunately, we didn’t have NSTP; unfortunately, our professor was absent because I learned his father died. I’m not really sure. That was what I heard them say. If that’s the case then, condolences Sir Bronia. God bless you.

Thursday was an exhausting day. We had Team Sports and Filipino 2. Guess what? We’re playing table tennis in PE again! But Prof Filcon said it would be more interesting this time – we’d be doing doubles. The type where you’d be playing with a partner and you’d take turns in hitting (I don’t know the right term) the ball. It was hard and confusing at first, but Diane (my constant partner in everything) and I got the tactic easily. It was funny, and we were all laughing because of our mistakes. We won by five points, I think. First win ever in my college record. I suck at sports, as you can see.

The last school day of the week was annoying. Why? I could give so many reasons, but I’d stick with the relevant ones. First, you remember how I liked my schedule so much because we won’t be getting up very early anymore? Scratch that. We are back to the usual schedule:

Well, welcome back to hell. Second, we went to school early, and then we just spent thirty minutes with a professor in the morning. Yes, half hour only! Apparently, all the professors were to have a seminar with another professor from UP Diliman, so half of our day was spent uselessly. We were like dead people walking; we tried to kill time by walking and dragging ourselves slowly and heavily like zombies. The only thing that made my nerves stir from their dullness was the sale in National Book Store. They were selling small-damaged, old and excess supply books in a very, very low price. The Chronicles of Narnia was being sold for just twenty bucks per book! Yeah, real. I was supposed to buy it, but I was confused with the true “numbering” of the series. I thought The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe was the first? Then why was The Magician’s Nephew the first book? That was what I saw. Then Prince Caspian was like the 4th (not sure), but was the second movie, wasn’t it? Did I get them wrong?

Moving on, we had Communication Arts 2 in the afternoon. Our new professor was a sweetie... and she was requiring us to speak in English because she couldn’t understand our language. Perks of hers! She used the word “makulit” though she didn’t know what it meant. She said that we’d be focusing more in speaking this semester, instead of writing, which was okay with me. Of course, I still prefer writing, but we all need to learn new things in order to grow, right? So yeah, I’d try to “polish” my tongue and try not to get it all tied.

We still have seventeen more weeks to go, seventeen more weeks to burn eyebrows, seventeen more weeks to carry on.

Why so cute and perfect?

2010-11-18T12:20:00.004+08:00

Hello everyone! Teehee. I haven't been online for a couple of days. I'm pretty busy and tight this week. So yeah, I guess this entry will be a mess. I just know.

I'm actually here inside the school's library. I'm researching about The 3 C's of Marketing and the definition of Marketing itself. And still, I can't decide what to use. There are a lot of 3C's in here! My God. Ugh.

Anyway, Harry Potter 7 part 1 is out! Have you seen it? I haven't. Boo. I will visit the cinemas not until the 27th. I know it's kinda late... but whatever. My best friend and I are planning to watch it thrice. So that will be like whole day inside the theater. Geez. Good luck with that! LMAO.

Shout out will start on the 29th, by the way. It's a teen show that will be hosted by teen stars. And Sam Concepcion will be there. Eep! So yeah, go watch it. 5:30pm. He has another new show also. It's called Good Vibes. I think it will be aired in the next two Saturdays. I'm not sure.

I saw these on Tumblr. Cute, eh?

The kid version of the Gleeks! Adorable. See the Baby Puck? Amazing.

My three boys in one photo. Why you guys so perfect?

Teenage Dreams: Invited

2010-11-13T19:57:00.006+08:00

“OH MY GOD!!!”

Those were the first words that started my day. My best friend called me very early in the morning. I was still wishing to go back to sleep. My eyes were still heavy, and my body wouldn’t move and get up. I slept late last night because I was learning a new song. That was the problem with me: once I got all interested in something, I wouldn’t stop until I get them perfectly. My mom was constantly checking on me last night because she thought I fell asleep and left the lights on. She wasn’t actually mad that it was the dead of night and I was still wide awake making noises using my guitar; she was glad that I was setting time for music and continuing what her husband had implemented on their daughter. Yes, we lost the talented man in our family, but my mom was still with me – unchanging, still supporting and believing. I got the song in the end. Maybe I had hit the sack by four in the morning. I checked the clock on my bedside table and cursed that it was just eight. I only had four hours of sleep. My best friend was really the morning person, and apparently I was part of her ‘I wake up very early everyday hooray’ routine. But I thought it was something very important, hence I answered the irritating rings of my phone.

It was important… on my best friend’s part. She told me that someone asked her out.

“Who is he? Have I met him?” I asked groggily. Of course, I needed to know who she dated.

“You’ve met him already. He was the guy from my party. The one I told you I like.” She answered.

“Really? No way. Whoa.” I was suddenly awake. I didn’t like all those relationship pep talks, but really, that guy was fast. “He’s the guy from the varsity team, isn’t he? Nice catch you got there huh.” I enthusiastically said. “So, what happened? How did he ask you?”

“He talked to me on the hallway the following week after my party, then we exchanged numbers, and you know what happens after that. Then, last night he asked me out! I was supposed to call you right away, but I know that you were already asleep. So that’s all. Cute, isn’t it?” I wager she was blushing right at that moment.

“I was still awake. I slept by four. But really, wow. Just wow. So, what are your plans?”

“Oh, right. I was thinking that maybe… you should come with me.”

Now was I wide awake. “What?! Why? That’s your date, not ours. I’d spoil all the fun, really.” I protested.

“No. I want you to come. I don’t know him that well, and I might get uncomfortable with him. And don’t worry, we’ll come in pairs.”

“Pairs? What do you mean?” I was just so sure she was planning something, something that I never liked.

“Pairs. Double date. I will ask my cousin to come, too. I know you met him already. Just so none of us would be, you know, out of place. Genius, right?” She giggled; I was stunned – and annoyed.

“Why him? Why don’t you just ask our other friends? I reckon that would be better.” I proposed.

“Nah. I don’t want them to come. You know how wild they get, and they’d just tease me all day, and I want my cousin to gain more friends. I’m sure you could help him.” She sighed.

I was going to propose another plan again, but I remembered what her cousin had said before – about him not having friends, about how maybe his schoolmates were afraid that he’d be the “know it all type.” I remembered how he asked me if I could be his friend. I felt a bit sorry for him, and I couldn’t believe that I still felt that way. That was like a month ago. “Oh, yeah… Okay then, for the greater good. When is this date of yours? I mean ours?” I was still annoyed.

“This coming Saturday. I still don’t know where, but we’ll just fetch you there. Thank you! I’m sure he will be very glad. He really likes you.” She sounded smug.

“What did you say? He likes who?” I asked, surprised. I was hoping it wasn’t what I thought I heard.

“He likes who what? Did I say something like that? I didn’t, silly! I guess you’re still sleepy; you’re imagining things. I’m even sure you’re still under your blankets. Go back to your slumber, sleepy head!” She said, and she was muttering something to herself about slipping and being careless.

“Okay. Just let me know if there are some changes. Coming to a date that I didn’t plan…” I sighed. “Good bye.”

“Good bye. See you in school.” She hung up.

I didn’t fuss over the date – date, even the word crept me out – on Saturday. I didn’t think of what to wear or where we’d go. I just didn’t care. I was just doing it for my best friend and her cousin. I was sure it would be just one of those dates that I sat into and waited to end. I didn’t like going out with guys, not romantic dates. I didn’t think anything about it, unlike my best friend who was already stressing over her dress and what makeup to wear. I couldn’t blame her; she really liked that jock.

“Do you think I should wear this?” She was holding out a red mini dress in front of me. We were inside her pink room on one of our free days.

“Not red. Wear something that somehow says ‘I’m sweet but don’t mess with me.’ It would make a good impression. And oh, that dress is too short.”

“You’re right.” She rummaged her closet for more. “How about this?” She showed me her black tough-looking dress that wasn’t too long or too short. “If you won’t approve of this you’d have to go shopping with me.”

“No. That’s good. That’s cool. Don’t wear too much makeup.”

“You sound like my mom. You’re even stricter than my mom.” She said. “But you’re right.”

“I know that.” I grinned.

“How about you? Have you already picked out your dress? I would be glad to help you if you haven’t.”

“Dress? I won’t wear a dress. For goodness’ sake, why would I do that? Besides, it’s not my date. I’m just your chaperon, remember?”

“For goodness’ sake, why wouldn’t you do that? Besides, it’s your date too. My cousin is coming, remember?”

“Don’t use my words. Be original, darling.”

“Whatever. The point is, you need to prepare because you’re. Going. On. A. Date.”

“I don’t ever prepare, you know that. Whatever I see on my closet, I’ll wear. Don’t worry, I won’t put on something revealing and hot or too covered and conservative. I’m a rock star; I have good taste.” I made a face that I knew was close to what rock stars looked like.

She laughed. I wanted to ask her about her cousin, but I didn’t dare because I didn’t want her to think that I was invading her cousin’s life. I just kept them to myself. What kind of help does he need? I thought. I wasn’t a psychologist or a counselor. I was not even talkative. Maybe the answers to my questions would just come in time – in a rock star’s time.

© Christine Faye Ordas

We did it, hooray!

2010-11-09T19:10:00.004+08:00

Finally, I have my final scholastic report for the first semester! I made that one in MS Excel. Apparently, our grades are not available online. So yeah, I just thought of sharing.

I was quite in shock when I saw them, especially my grades in Software Applications. That's the IT classes that I told you before... where I missed two quizzes. Well, hello! Thank you Lord! I've been praying and hoping that I won't fail. God is so great. Anyway, that's it. I really have nothing to say. I am writing this in rush. Ha!

Hello Second Semester (November 15)!

Have an awesome week everyone. I love you all. ♥

Teenage Dreams: Acquaintances

2010-11-03T19:46:00.012+08:00

My best friend’s party was very simple. I was actually expecting it to be fabulous, what with all the girly stuff that she had been showing me. And with a personality like hers, everything that she did should be fun and out of the ordinary. There weren’t any bright colors or butterflies or silly, little, floating hearts like those decorations in a kindergarten classrooms on Valentine’s Day. Nor there were falling confetti and garlands in shocking pink. There really weren’t any of what I was expecting. Maybe that was the reason why she didn’t want my help; she was keen on really surprising me, which was ridiculous because it wasn’t my birthday – she should be the one surprised. Also, maybe she realized that she was already growing up, becoming a lady; that she was starting to let go of all the fairy tales that she grew up believing in – and wearing. I was so proud of her.

She went nuts when I told her that I will be singing on her party.

“Hey. I know you’re busy, but have you already called for my replacement?” I asked her. This time, I was the one who called.

“Oh, about that, I crossed it out. I decided not to have performers on my party anymore. We’re running out of time. I’m so anxious about this event! Whoever started debuts, ugh!”

“Really? My bad. I guess I should be looking for gifts right now. I thought my news for you would make me save some dime.” I sighed.

“What? Save you money? What do you mean? Have you decided to sing on my party?!”

“Well… I was thinking about that, but you don’t want singers anymore. So…”

“Ah! Thank you! Forget about what I said. I want a singer on my debut, and I want it to be you. Are you really, really sure about this? No backing out? Like, really?” She excitedly asked.

“Yes. I will do it for you… and for my dad. Thank you for making me realize what I really wanted to do. So yeah, I’ll be coming with my guitar.”

“Oh. You knew what you wanted all along. You were just so stubborn and obstinate to admit it.”

“I guess so. But anyway, I’ll see you on Saturday. You sure you don’t need a hand? I’m free today.” I offered.

“No, thanks. The idea of you singing for me and my guests is already enough. And I don’t want you to know what I had prepared. No spoilers, dear! Haha!”

I was already on the elevated podium when my best friend walked down the elegantly carved stairs. I started playing a soft melody to accompany her “revelation.” She was very stunning in a beautiful empire-cut gown in an appealing shade of green. Her hair was neatly collected in a bun with a little tiara holding it – that was good, at least she still had that “happily ever after” inspiration going on. I gave her an encouraging smile when our eyes met. She looked quite nervous, but she managed not to show it to the guests. I knew her enough to say if she was anxious or not. I sang “Hey, Soul Sister” for her because she was in love with Train, and some old ballad songs for the cotillion. I played “Without You” on purpose when she was dancing with the guy that she told me she liked; that made her red all over. There were so much dancing, hugs and tears going on. I was very happy for her, and I was happy for myself as well. I knew that my dad was proud of me. I realized that I missed him, I missed my Superman. But the thought of him with his hopeful smile made me glad, not lonely.

I was singing “Landslide” when I first saw him. He was my best friend’s cousin. I happened to recognize him through the photos that she showed me one time. She told me he grew up in California, but they were still very close because they were of the same age. I noticed him because he was singing along, and he was the only one who was doing that. Fleetwood Mac was a very old band, so I was quite surprised that he knew them, let alone knew the words to their song.

We were introduced after half of the guests had gone. He was tall, with long arms and legs, not skinny, not too muscular. My best friend also told me before that he studied in a local school in California when he was a child and was taking Theater Arts as a degree in a known university in this country. I wondered why he came back here; I thought universities in the USA were better than what we had here.

“Theater? So that means you’re into music as well?” I asked, quite curious.

“Well, not really music. Maybe theater acting, you can say. I can carry a tune, and I know a little – only a little – on playing a guitar, unlike you. You’re really great, and your choices of songs are incredible! I was surprised you knew Fleetwood Mac. They’re my favorite.” He mused.

I wasn’t sure if that was true or he was just making it all up. But anyhow, I didn’t know him well, and he didn’t know me pretty much, too. So I just considered that as a compliment. “Thanks. I was surprised that you knew them too. I saw you singing along when I played.”

He gave a shy smile. “Well, I couldn’t help it. Oh God, this is embarrassing.”

I laughed a little. He was funny – hmm, a good first impression. “It’s okay. Anyway, where are your other friends? Shouldn’t you be with them?” I said that because I started feeling uncomfortable, because I started thinking that he was cute, and I didn’t want to think guys that way, and I haven’t said my good wishes to the debutante.

“I came alone. Actually, I don’t have any friends yet, and I’m still getting to know the other students in school. I just came here, and my cousin is always my companion ever since.” He sighed.

I was taken aback of what he said. He looked friendly enough, but he didn’t have friends, maybe not yet, not even in his neighborhood. The only exception was his cousin, and she was my best friend. And she was his cousin. Cousins were considered as family, not as friends. It was impossible. It was a sad thought. “That’s really hard to imagine, you know. I thought the ‘Oh, that’s the new guy from California’ would get all the attention and gain friends effortlessly.” Especially girl friends, given your striking look, I suddenly thought. It was weird that I even thought of that. Thank goodness I didn’t say it out loud.

“That’s not true. They only happen in movies. And I’m the typical nerd, so maybe people would see me in a different way. Maybe they’re scared that I’d suddenly blurt scientific names and precise historical dates in their faces if they try to talk to me.”

“But they’re wrong, aren’t they? You haven’t said any trivia or plain dead facts since I talked to you. You’re not that… super nerd.” I said.

“I guess so. You’re a brave girl – you’re not afraid of impromptu lectures from the ‘not-that-super-nerd’ that is I.” He grinned. “If you would accept my friendship, I would have…” he made a gesture of counting with his fingers, “two friends already.”

I didn’t need to think twice. He was my best friend’s cousin – of course he could be my friend. “Well, you’re lucky enough. I’m a brave girl, and yes, I’m not afraid of impromptu lectures from the ‘not-that-super-nerd’ that is you.” I smiled, and he smiled. I said that I needed to go. We shook hands, and it took a long time for us to let them go. The room suddenly felt very warm. It was hilarious. Singing for the guests and meeting a new friend, are you sure this wasn’t my birthday? I thought.

© Christine Faye Ordas

“Hey, Soul Sister” is a 2009 song by the American alternative rock band Train, written by Patrick Monahan, Amund Bjørklund, and Espen Lind. It was released as the lead single from the band’s fifth studio album, Save Me San Francisco. The song reached #3 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart, and is their highest charting song to date. It is also the band’s most commercially successful single to date, reaching number one in sixteen countries. ©

“Without You” – Charlie Wilson has released multiple solo albums. 2000's Bridging the Gap produced the Top 40 R&B hit “Without You”, and Charlie, Last Name Wilson in fall 2005, with production from such hit makers as R. Kelly, Kaygee and Tramp and The Platinum Brothers. ©

“Landslide” is a song written by Stevie Nicks and performed by Fleetwood Mac. It was first featured on the band's 1975 album Fleetwood Mac. “Landslide” debuted at #32 on the U.S. Billboard Hot Country Singles & Tracks chart for the week of September 7, 2002.. ©

Teenage Dreams: Superman

2010-11-03T19:36:00.007+08:00

It was the birthday of my best friend, and she wanted me to sing for her. I was pretty scared of what she was asking me to do. Well yes, I could sing, but I never really sing for other people. Maybe a little music jams with my friends, but not for the crowd… no way. She was determined to, according to her, “unleash my talent.”

“Please! Please! You need to sing. Just think of this as your gift for me. I won’t demand for anything else. Just this one,” she repeatedly pleaded. This was the fifth time of the day that she called me.

“First of all, why are you so eager on making me sing in front of your guests? IN FRONT OF YOUR GUESTS! I can’t do that. And second, I can always sing for you, anytime you want, but not this way. Please.” I said.

“Yeah, I know that. But you can’t hide your undeniably awesome talent forever. It has to come out! I want you to be successful.”

“And you think that this talent will make me famous? Or successful, eh?”

“Yes. Why not? You can really sing, I swear! You could have beaten every singer in the school choir. You’re just so shy to even open your mouth. You’ve been hiding inside your shell ever since… ever since…”

“My father died.” I continued. “You know what happened. I told you everything. Still, I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too. But if you really can’t do it, it’s okay with me. I guess I need to call for other performers, and spend a lot of money, and stress about it…”

“Hey!”

“Kidding! I understand. I’m your best friend, right? But think about it. I wager your dad would be so proud of you, wherever he is, if you pursue your dreams... Good bye then. See you soon!”

“Okay. I’m really sorry. See you.” That was the end of our conversation.

I kept on thinking about what she said, about making my dad proud, about pursuing my dreams. My dreams. I had no idea of what my dream really was. I was taking Management as my degree, just for the sake of having one and because my best friend was taking it, too. But ever since I was a little girl, with my ponytails and red plaid dress, I wanted to be a singer. My father was a great music man. He sang any songs from jazz to country, from Abba to Guns and Roses. He was a versatile singer, and I was lucky enough to inherit some of his talents. When I was five, he taught me how to play several instruments. When I learned how to legibly write, my father helped me write little songs. We were best friends – best friends who could sing and make music. Our favorite song was “All You Need is Love” by The Beatles. My mother would always take a video of us. At the end of the day, we would all watch it using our old, battered but well taken care of video player, with a bowl of buttered popcorns for them and a jar of cookies for me, and soda for them and milk for me. We would laugh at how silly we looked, and I would usually cover my face because of shame every time my skirt would fly up and they would see my underwear. My dad and I, we were inseparable. My dad plus my mom plus I, we were a happy family.

I wanted to record songs with Dad. I wanted to just make music with him. Mom supported us both. She was such a diehard fan of the Father-and-Daughter tandem that I even secretly thought that maybe she was already keeping a stack of flyers and posters with our faces on it under their bed. It was all I’ve dreamt of, and it was pretty possible. Heck, it was within my little hands reach. But, poof, I guess I left those dreams behind, just like how my Superman had left me.

I was twelve. He died of lung cancer, and I had no idea about it until he was in the hospital with all those tubes in him. He told me that he was sick, and it couldn’t be cured by any drug from our medicine box anymore, and that he couldn’t live long enough for him to come to my graduation day. He also told me to continue singing, because he believed in what I can do. He was saying something else, but I didn’t understand because I was crying really hard. All I remembered was the sight of him closing his eyes and me burying my head on his chest.

After that incident, my mother got all… lost. She was like a living zombie – she was working full time for us to get going, but she didn’t have a life. She barely smiled. We barely talked. She barely noticed me. She barely noticed herself. It was awful. It felt like I not only lost my talented father but also my supportive and loving and beautiful mother. It took several months when she finally woke up from her dreadful trance. I didn’t hate her for not being there for me when I was going through that stage when I still couldn’t accept that my father was gone. I realized that maybe she was like me too – not accepting, denying, hurting. I understood her. So I was glad and relieved when she got back, when she had a life again, when it wasn’t just me anymore, but the two of us.

Also, I stopped singing. It reminded me of my father and our dreams. Maybe I was just so busy with school, or maybe I couldn’t face the truth that I would play my guitar all by myself, that I didn’t have a partner anymore. Sometimes Mom and I would see our videos again. Sometimes we would laugh. Sometimes we would cry and miss him. Once, my mom asked me why I haven’t touched my guitar ever since he died.

“I can’t. It still hurts, Mom. I’m afraid that if I touch it, it will be just soaked wet with tears.” Then I started crying, and Mom held me tight and tried not to cry. It was very untimely because I was doing my Math homework, and it got all smudgy with my tears so I had to start scribbling those crazy numbers and operations all over again.

Just like my mom, I partially lost my life when he left us. I managed to carry on because I know Mom needed me, and we couldn’t afford to have two living zombies in our family. I found my voice again with the help of my best friend and my friends. I could sing for them – but only them. Anything beyond that was utterly impossible. But after deep thinking, I realized that I should do what my best friend was asking me. There was nothing to lose. She was my best friend, and I owed her so much. I could still be wasted up until now if not for her. I should sing on her party, and I would make my father proud.

© Christine Faye Ordas

“All You Need Is Love” is a song written by John Lennon and credited to Lennon/McCartney. It was first performed by The Beatles on Our World, the first live global television link. Watched by 400 million in 26 countries, the program was broadcast via satellite on 25 June 1967. The BBC had commissioned The Beatles to write a song for the United Kingdom's contribution. Rolling Stone magazine ranked it at #362 in their 500 greatest songs of all time. ©

My Head on the Clouds

2010-11-02T19:21:00.002+08:00

I still have 2 weeks of no life and constant procrastination to spend… and I have no idea how I’d do that appropriately or productively. My Mom is forcing me to study basic Spanish this semestral break. Since I have nothing to do, really, I decided to obey, and because I think it will help me someday. I managed to remember some rules when it comes to the language like: H is always silent; J is pronounced like h in “house”; C is pronounced as c in “cereal” when it is before an e or i, and as c in “car” when it is not, and blah, blah. I still don’t know if I will continue doing that stuff, but what the heck. Who knows?

Just like what most teenagers do on their spare time, I daydream… a lot! Like, all the time – every morning when I wake up, every afternoon while doing siesta, and before going to sleep. I guess that’s the reason why I always have headache and need to take drugs to sleep. Because of these contemplations and fantasies, I actually had dreams pretty much related to them. Not exactly the same as what I wanted to, but same concept, same scene, but different people (There’s this guy who is present in almost all of my dreams; I have no idea who he is). These dreams motivated me to do something quite artistic, and yeah, productive…

I’m writing a story right now. Yes, it is based on what I’ve been dreaming. I’m just making some alterations and adding some details and dialogues and stuff to make it more interesting and consequential. This is the first time that I’m actually writing something that the others can read. I always write and won’t let others see or know about it. Anyway, it is a love story (one of the easiest theme to write about), and yes, I daydream about love and relationships. Hey, I’m just a teenager!

The story, by the way, is narrated by a girl, using the first person perspective. She talks about how she met this guy through music and how she had figured out that she could witness her every sunrise with him forever… and I’m actually giving spoilers! I still have a problem though. I don’t know what the title will be. I’m thinking of using “Teenage Dreams,” because that’s what it is all about, and because I love the song (the one without an S) and the artist. Another thing, I am not sure if I will make it long or just a three-part story. But, again, what the heck. And oh, yeah, I won’t be naming the girl and her guy, because I don’t want to use my name or the others’ or formulate an original one. So you can call the protagonists as “She” and “He.”

The characters and events portrayed in the story [that will be posted in the future] are fictitious and are from pure fantasies. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental (hell, who would have the same dream as mine, eh?) and not intended by the [aspiring] author. Excerpts or lines borrowed from novels, songs, or any source will be properly credited [no worries].

All rights reserved. No part of the story may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the author. – Ha! As if. Day dreams, day dreams.