Oh, the drama!

Walk Away

2008-08-25T23:03:00.003+08:00

Contrary (or according to, depending on whose side you're on) to popular belief, I am not one tough cookie. Call me chicken shit, but having to choose between fight and flight - I am always more than willing to walk away.

Though my academic life is not in jeopardy and my social life still seems alive and cheery, these days I often catch myself daydreaming of getting run over by a train. It's a nasty habit I've developed in college, after learning to board the MRT and LRT alone. It's the ultimate release, the ultimate escape and I'm afraid that one day, I might just get the courage to do it.

It's a fantasy just some breaths away from becoming a nightmare. Every time I wait at the stations, I can feel the ice water in my veins as the platform vibrates to announce the arrival of the train. It's an exhilarating moment - that split-second the swoosh of air engulfs your body and you literally feel your soul in flight. For a tiny fraction of time, you can't tell whether your dead or alive ; you are simply free.

It's spiritual, heretic, orgasmic and addictive all at the same time. I know I won't get run over by trains any time soon, but I just want to walk away.

Popular Mechanics I

2008-08-11T10:49:00.004+08:00

Amazing! Amazing! My nicotine-starved brain has discovered a truly wonderful thing. When stuck inside a lighter-free, matchsticks-free, torch-free apartment room, simply pop a cigarette inside a microwave oven. Make sure it's on medium-high, heat for 3 minutes and voila!

Fire!

I hate this place.

immobile technology

2008-08-11T10:27:00.002+08:00

These days, I feel so tempted to throw my mobile phone out the window or flush it down the toilet, whichever would render a more cinematic effect. Now I realize why fate intervened and stopped me from pursuing my dream of becoming a "good" doctor. Aside from having a very low tolerance for blood and other bodily fluids, I won't be able to last long if someone has to page me every time some idiot swallows a coin or "mistakenly" snacks on rat poison.

I hate being on call. I hate having to rush every time the damned phone vibrates, only to find out it's another installment of Inday jokes or some random loser supposedly from the Central Bank telling me I just one a million pesos and a car. I hate having to answer messages and phone calls even at 3AM, when I am just supposed to be wasting time on the internet. I hate that I have to open another email account just because ultrabiogeek@yahoo.com doesn't sound professional. I hate that I have around 500 contacts when only seven or eight of them know when my birthday is.

We flash forward to another exciting jeepney ride I share with twelve other people who enthusiastically hand over their hard-earned eight-fifty for five minutes of hell cramped inside a tin can on wheels. We pass by a taong grasa, a sadhu amidst the urban jungle.

Blessed is he who roams freely without a care, without having to consult a planner for his every move, without having to rush for the next meeting.

no one would riot for less

2008-08-11T10:16:00.003+08:00

As much as I hate thoughtless posts of just song lyrics, I felt compelled to share to you ,my dear comrades, the song that automatically plays in my head when I'm feeling broken, drunk or constipated. This is one of the first songs I've downloaded, albeit illegally, and played incessantly every summer. I've had a two-year love-hate relationship with this song simply because of the lyrics and bright eyes' shaky vocals (that really remind me of constipation), but i still dream of having my own "you kiss my mouth, hell is here" moment - preferably in some city trapped between dreamy and derelict.

death may come invisible, or in the holy wall of fire.
in the breath between the markers, on some black I-80 mile.
from the madness of the government, to the vengeance of the sea.
well everything is eclipsed by the shape of destiny.
so love me now, hell is coming.
you kiss my mouth, hell is here.

little soldier, little insect, you know war it has no heart,
it will kill ye in the sunshine, or happily in the the dark.

where kindness is a card game, or a bent up cigarette.
in the trenches, in the hard rain, with a bullet and a bet.

he says help me out, hell is coming.
but could you do it now? hell is here.

see the sterile soil, poisoned sky, yellow water,
the final scraps of light bringing new tears.

well wake, baby, wake.
but leave that blanket around you, there's nowhere else safe.
i'm leaving this place, but there's nothing i'm planning to take;

just you, just you, just you, just you-

For the time being, let us content ourselves with this city - where the coffee and cigarettes taste the same.

and now, for some timely distraction...

2008-07-13T15:50:00.002+08:00

It's amazing how the internet, apart from all of its functions has served to be such an appropriate means to waste time. I have done almost everything on the internet - made friends and enemies, became an ordained minister for the Universal Life Church (yes, I have the certificate), downloaded viral videos and all that jazz. (Plus, whatever you think I'm capable of doing over the internet.)

Aside from being a political space where hegemonies are established, the internet is also a happy place for happy accidents. So without further ado, I present to you my latest fascination. Boys and girls, my new favorite Sidney Lo. (www.sidneylophoto.com)

I found him on the iheartphotograph blog and I did heart his year-long project entitled What are you wearing today?. He documented his daily wardrobe for an entire year. (And he has nice clothes!) I wish I can do something like that.

So there, how was it? I wasted like 2 minutes of your life. But I know you love it.

There,there darling babies. This is the mother ship, signing off.

computer mediated identity crisis

2008-07-13T03:18:00.003+08:00

The only funny thing about this blog is how miserable and thin (!) I sound based on my previous entries. I have come to realize that my public persona and my blogging self are two completely separate beings.

Most of you know me as your (very) outspoken and trigger-happy friend (?) who always sounds like she just had firecrackers for lunch. However, a disjunct in personalities can be observed in the entries below.

What is this? Why do I sound just about every other spoiled emo kid trying to be hardcore. (Take note,however, that the eyeliner is Estee Lauder and was conveniently fished out from Mom's purse)

Ahhhh... Just when I thought I thrived on bright colours and showbiz chismis, the self never fails to be an object of mystery. After driving my parents crazy with my conspiracy theories and sudden outbursts about wanting to invest in the stock market, I am now slowly driving myself insane.

I thought I was your happy friend. I thought I was the friend who always blurts out green jokes at the most inappropriate of times. I thought I was the friend who tells stories with complete animated details. I thought I was the happy,jolly fat friend.

Turns out, I'm just fat.

But I swear, I sound about 15 pounds lighter in my entries! I sound so depressed! I sound like I don't eat real food. If only the line between fantasy and virtual reality were blurred.

On a last note, what in the name of Sam Milby am I saying? Am I on drugs?

Timecheck: 3:33 AM If only eye bags were in vogue, I'd never sleep again.
So long, sweet children. Until then, love from Manila.

Et moi j'ai pris ma tete dans ma main

2008-07-13T02:54:00.003+08:00

Maybe we are all just happy accidents.

And maybe, this is all because I still do not believe in God. Maybe this is all because it is not part of my nature to trust and to entrust my life to someone other than myself. Maybe this is all because I never went to Catholic school. Maybe this is all because of my twisted education - it always gets in the way of my becoming a good person.

Maybe this is all because we were trained to be the best and not to be good. Maybe this is all because of all the lectures I've had on natural selection and intelligent design. Maybe this is all because I'm a screwed up daughter of the postmodern times.

Mother prays the rosary every night and saves up on all the indulgences so that I can be assured of a tiny spot in heaven. Mother thinks this is all a joke to me, that I just live to make a mockery out of everything, that I have grown too smart for my own good.

You know she's wrong.

Contrary to (her) popular belief, I don't go around cursing Jesus. In fact, I do admire him. To worship a god on the other hand will demand more than just my Sunday's best. Maybe one day my hands will come together in prayer. Maybe.

For now, my hands are content with flying across the keyboard. Ladies and gentlemen, this has been typewritten catharsis from Manila with love.

Neither Nor

2008-07-13T02:28:00.002+08:00

You are, first of all, amazing. You leave me breathless and sleepless and I wouldn't have it any other way. I tell you my troubles, and you give me comfort with your silence. In the end, I remain awake in the wee hours thinking beyond what my brain can handle. Still, I wouldn't have it any other way.

You are a lifetime's worth of migraines. You are the answer, I know. Yet you leave me more confused than ever. You are neither colours nor black and white. You are grey, undefined. Still, I wouldn't have it any other way.

You do not finish my sentences. You can't even finish your own. I ask you questions. You give me even more questions. You mean everything and nothing at the same time and I wouldn't have it any other way.

I am neither yours nor mine. I am capable of neither love nor hate, neither happiness nor misery. I am neither good nor evil. I am neither giving nor selfish. The only thing you know is that I can be a pretty good liar and that I am not sentimental. I don't have anything to treasure for too long, after all I am simply in transit.

I can be whatever you want me to be.

Would you have it another way?

the time is ticking away

2008-07-01T00:47:00.002+08:00

Lately, my clock has been ticking faster than usual. The seconds no longer mean anything. The minutes do not matter anymore.

My days are no longer made up of hours, instead they are measured in daydreams and empty laughters. On days like these, the past, present and future fuse together into one big blur. I started wasting time on a lazy Monday and it's officially Tuesday, according to the timezone I'm in.

Hours from now, I will be stuck in the very same train that brings me closer to my pursuit of academic excellence. It was exactly a week ago that I was in that train, thinking that exactly a week ago I was stuck in that train, remembering how a week ago, I was sitting in the very same train while daydreaming about that time, exactly one week ago (if I remember correctly) that I was on a train bound north.

You, you give me a reason to contemplate the future while I'm stuck in the never-ending curse of today. Years ago, Albert Einstein (probably while on the way home on the south-bound train) thought up a sickly sweet fantasy called the Theory of Relativity. He told me in a haphazard mix of German, English and musical notes that there is still a viable escape from time and space --so I hung onto every word.

If, later, when I am on the train (on the first car, to be exact) and a fly nonchalantly buzzes by - would it mean anything to you that we are merely prisoners of time?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Official time is now: 1:03 AM
Good morning from Manila.

No Escape

2008-06-19T01:59:00.002+08:00

In life, only two things are certain - death and monthly bills.

Living away from my parents (a.k.a. perpetual source of financial aid) has acquainted me with one of the biggest annoyances of living, and that is paying monthly bills. Prior to college, I didn't even know how to use and keep house keys. Back then, life was good and bills were non-existent in my young adolescent realm. As far as I was concerned, it was only in the natural order of things that drinks stayed cold, water gushed out of the shower at my command and that I had place to live in.

I totally forgot that people pay for these things.

Now, the periodic flooding in of bills has eclipsed the misery of having my monthly period. It's just as agonizing, and yes - it also requires some mefenamic acid from time to time. I hate receiving bills. I hate paying bills.

While I hate the capitalist utilities provider just as much as the next person, my bigger issue with receiving bills is that it serves as a monthly reminder of worse things to come. For one, it reminds me that the concept of "working-to-earn-your-own-money" is real and looming just around the corner. Bills are corporate nightmares waiting to happen. Bills mean spending the next ten years of your life wearing a wardrobe of mostly black, white and beige. Bills are another step further into adult life. Bills spell R-E-S-P-O-N-S-I-B-I-L-I-T-Y, which is something that I am deathly afraid of.

Lastly, I hate bills because you're not even supposed to read them. You just have to scan downwards until you spot those numbers that you're supposed to pay 'em big bosses. But I can't NOT read stuff written on paper. The worst thing when reading bills is how I always imagine a phony customer representative reading through the text in an overly-modulated, sing-songy voice.

To our valued customers. We wish to inform you that...

Mr./Mrs./Ms. ________, it has come to our knowledge that...

It is with the intention of serving you better that...

No one talks like that in real life. Don't fall for it, dear children! Adults always try to mess with our heads. No matter how excruciatingly polite they sound on paper, don't fall for it! (The same rule applies to insurance of any sort.)

For your comments and suggestions, help yourself to the link below.

Audio Assault

2008-06-14T21:54:00.003+08:00

Greetings from the Corporate Underworld (a.k.a. my pretend home office)!

It's a Saturday. Some kid just got christened this morning. To my surprise, I am actually his godmother. (Good luck to the both of us. He's now officially kid #7 in my Christmas list.)

And as is required of any Filipino gathering there should be the following:
1.) a massive photo-op session
2.) a truckload of artery-clogging food
3.) chatty women with cake-y foundation
4.) free-flowing alcohol to celebrate a milestone in an INFANT'S life
5.) shameless hogging of the microphone during videoke time

Item number 5 makes up 75% of the entire celebration. In this particular case, item 5 started at around 2 PM. It is now 10:01 PM and the guests show no signs of fatigue. The bad news: I live next to the party venue.

Anyway, let me first educate the young children who will stumble upon this post (i.e. my future children). When the guest list of your event is made up of church ladies, ex-sea farers, small time (albeit corrupt) politicians and menopausal moms, this will be the standard Videoke repertoire:

For the men, there has to be songs to remind them of their sea-faring days and the time when the handlebar moustache was cool. Stuff like, Hotel California, Skyline Pigeon, Quando Quando, Green Green Grass of Home, Temple of the King and the entire Bon Jovi collection.

For tha ladiez, the songs have to be gut wrenching (literally, with the overly ambitious pitch) and something that they want to tell their husbands. Those songs include One Moment in Time, All by Myself, I'll Never Love this Way Again and something that says she's been undressed by Kins and seen somethings that a woman ain't supposed to see...

Yes, I've been to paradise but I've never been to me.

Thank goodness for iPods and blasting them on full volume.

Formal Introduction

2008-06-12T21:55:00.001+08:00

Hello, children. Greetings from your mother ship.

Nothing Really Matters

2008-06-11T22:31:00.002+08:00

This city is wearing me out.

Everything seems to be on hold.

As of recent (and yes, I really love saying that) my days have been nothing more than a mash of headaches and random conversations. There is no longer a clear line between yesterday, today and tomorrow.

My mornings are spent in uncomfortable sleep and halfway astral projections. The first few minutes of consciousness mean staring at the impossible stretch of blank white wall facing my bed. Because they (the people who dare call themselves my friends) rearranged the furniture, we have become nothing more than islands of tangled wires and shoes strewn across the tiled floors. We always look like we just moved in.

There is hardly any reason to talk now. We like to go about our evenings zoning out in front of our laptops, feeding off electric fields. Welcome to the alpha level, comrades all!

Everything has lost its meaning because we live in the city now. This city is not glamorous enough to be depressing, but it's also not grimy enough to be inspiring. It's just a chunk of concrete dotted with educational institutions and pretentious transient dwelling. It must be the city that's driving me insane and the temporariness of it all. Urban loneliness, I keep telling you, is draining me of all my energy.

In the wee hours, as I try to shift my weight without destroying my bed I think about how much has changed in all these years I've stayed in this goddamn city. Now, the world means nothing to me and I mean nothing to you.

Birds and Men!

2008-06-07T19:14:00.003+08:00

I wanted to post a picture of my latest project, but I can't cos my camera is missing. I believe it's lost among the heaps of laundry. So, with a heavy heart I just decided to scourge my hard drive and look back at my cheesy young adult pictures and found this - This picture was taken a year ago - when everything was sunshiny and the inflation rate, not as ridiculous. (The pencil, by the way, belongs to Dash - just the person one would expect to own such a thing with a profound message written on it.)

I know it's supposed to talk about the power of flight or perhaps avian flu, but given my hentai mind I came up with a different story. Hahaha. Anyway, it's just something I wanted you to ponder on while you're waiting at the dentist's office.

Impulsive State of Mind

2008-06-07T18:49:00.004+08:00

So, where do we go from here?

How did we get here anyway?

Today is the third to the last day of the summer vacation, and I don't know whether to feel happy or bummed about it. It takes a lot of time to sift through my emotions nowadays. In between oversleeping (or not sleeping at all), meditating in front of the TV, acting as a grandma-slave and pretending to work, I try to make sense of the insufferable passing of time during my long baths.

Over the summer, I have become such a big fan of long baths. (Yes, blame the high water bills on me.) I like locking myself up in the bathroom until my fingers are all wrinkly thanks to osmosis. This gives me the time to think about my existence on earth and whether I am truly deserving of its resources.

Anyway, maybe there is a reason to be happy about going to school and that is ... another excuse to shop for clothes! And yeah, school gets me distracted from thinking all these unnecessary thoughts - like wanting to migrate to Malta and becoming a music producer.

So, dear comrades I have to apologize once again for wasting your time. Then again, that was why you came here in the first place. In a few more days, we'll all be headed back to our pursuit of higher learning. I wish us all good luck and sanity!

Hello, Beautiful Darlings!

2008-06-05T22:51:00.004+08:00

Yes, it is I. The prodigal blogging daughter returns to share more of her young adult-ish miseries. It's been awhile (and yes, I really love to say that one). Several pounds later, I re-emerge from the abyss of academic doom to try to make the most out of life and my wi-fi access.

Because I live to waste my time (and yours!), I bring you this little piece of virtual insanity. My beloved chums, friends all dear - the drama has begun!