Monthly Archives: November 2012

close enough

owl. sara. girls. balloons (just don’t dump the rubber material in the ocean). sara. sara’s perkiness. crazy dance moves. canopy above bed. sara. bed. dancing lights. sara on a trampoline. trampoline. sara’s solo part. animal prints. polka dots. sara at 0:18. dressing up then goofing off. cups in rainbow colors. swing. kissing. tattoos. tattooed girls. masks. games. pranks. making each other up. preening. virgin suicides trope. pillows. the jungles within each person.

just some of the elements that snagged at me after watching the video.

definitely for good vibes.

sara. sara. sara.

Tagged ,

rage 2

Following this blog entry entitled rage, this bit shows how I am again indebted to the universe for giving me enough reason to never surrender to what is easy and what is acceptable.

All my life I have been doing and living a Cristina Yang. I never knew I had a peg until a year or so ago. She is a character from Grey’s Anatomy. In a nutshell, she is a cold-hearted bitch who chooses only a handful (events, some people) to be part of her circle.

“I’m not a spoon, I’m a knife, and I’m going to stab you in the eyeball.”

Says her mentor to Yang: “Do not look for friends here, you won’t find them. None of these people have the capacity to understand you. They never will.”

And it’s not because I don’t want to be understood. I just want to be left by myself. We’re just wired this way, the cruelty, the coldness, the standoffish manner.

(In other news, I want to learn how to execute those moving GIFs. They’re neat.)


Okay, so now I think I’m ready to write about this little incident.

Only a few know that I am starting to become frustrated by my master’s degree. To be specific, I am getting impatient and wishing to finish my degree in the blink of an eye. A handful of classmates are now taking up their residency, meaning they’re working on their thesis. I took the road oftentimes traveled by most M.A. students: Continue slaving away like a good workhorse while taking an M.A. course or two every semester.

I am taking up two courses this semester. One course is not directly related with my degree, but I know it is something that will be of use when I start working on my thesis. Thing is, my professor (who is a great mentor and a source of varied information) keeps on questioning the “validity” and the “value” of the output of Creative Writing majors. My professor does this every meeting that I feel I am being crucified every session. Imagine dread. Imagine that sick feeling at the base of your throat.

So we have two factors: my frustration and that weekly crucifixion.

Let’s turn now to that point when I burst in near hysteria.

She asked about my class, and I told her about that I feeling I get, that I sense I am being crucified every week for being a CW major in a non-CW major class. She agreed passionately with the point of my teacher, and all those little things and comments she expressed from time to time about Creative Writing took their toll on me.

I told her the following:
– You don’t know how frustrated I am with my pace and output when it comes to my degree. I never mentioned it to you but I’ve thought of doing an LOA starting this semester.
– You make fun of my course. But what do you remember from your childhood? Children’s rhymes, little poems, riddles, short stories, anecdotes all written by storytellers and writers. Tell me what saved you from a dreadful childhood? Children’s shows penned by writers.
– If you knew enough historical accounts (of course, these are stories in themselves), you would realize that movements and revolutions are spawned by books, speeches, and writings. Just look at our history. Take a look at Noli Me Tangere, at the early newspapers smuggled into different regions after stealthy printing. Weren’t these factors that sparked revolutions?

And these were two things I never mentioned, the first because it was just too obvious, too glaring, and the second because it is too personal: a) Writing sparks life into life; b) You are like some people I know that mock what I do.

I didn’t need to tell her these two things.

Let this serve as a cautionary tale. Make fun of my surname and/or make fun of what I do, and you will pay.


(written on nov 20, 2012)

There is madness, there is irregularity when you work as a freelancer.

Such as this instance when I worked from 2AM to 9AM. While the neighbors were asleep/fucking/daydreaming/watching porn/eating/dying their little deaths, I was working with two night owls at my place to meet deadlines. The cat was sent to her purple room because of her addiction to swatting at data cables and internet cable like an angered god. My co-night owls downed strong coffee; my condition that results in palpitations when I drink coffee did not stop me from being envious of their coffee habit. One of them fixed me a watered down cup of coffee. Now, my heart is agitated.

After the grind, the first thing I did was listen to music. My companions are now preparing to deliver the CDs. One has a meeting; the other has to pick up 100 (100!) CDs from his place and deliver the batch to a television network. I am left here to tidy up, resume old ways, catch up with an episode or two of favored series, work some more, send and answer emails, tweet away, and look after my cat-master/monster. The playlist shifts from song after song, and I marry the day for now, content with its heat and its storm of silence left after a burst of bustle.

“No matter where we go, we take ourselves and our damage with us.” – Dexter, s07ep08

There is madness, always.

alphabetized truths

Someone told me this: “Whenever I read your blog entries, I sense that something’s missing”.

I replied: “What? Punctuation? Mali sa grammar?”

She replied: “Hindi. Parang emotions. Parang walang emotions.”

Pause. This pause that’s as long as the time it takes for nature to shape a tumbleweed.

I replied: “Hmmm….”

Someone addressed me in an email this way: “Hello, stranger.”

Months back, someone addressed me in an SMS as “Hey, stranger, blah, blah.”

I admire hackers. I actually find what they’re doing sexy. Credit this to my fascination with the movie, Hackers, featuring the very sexy Angelina Jolie in her younger years. I cite hacking here because my blog was hacked. Don’t asked me when it happened since I haven’t visited that blog for almost a month now. I’m pissed because I am inconvenienced, but I am slightly tickled and thrilled to think that someone with too much time on his or her hands “chose” my not-so-important-in-the-larger-scheme-of-things blog to practice his or her skills on and to use my site’s proxy. Up yours and applause for you, you motherfucker.

Conversations between myself and a friend

Friend: You should watch Belle du Jour.
Me: Why should I watch a movie about a planner?
Friend: It’s not about a planner… It’s about a… (proceeds to Googling its synopsis)
Me: I still don’t see why I should watch a movie ABOUT A PLANNER.
Friend: It’s not about a planner. It has Amy Winehouse’s songs.
Me: Sold. Let’s watch it.
Friend: You have to download it.
Me: Wow, ako pa magdadownload.

Moral of the story: It’s how you market that makes a world of a difference.

I am part of an academic subject taught by a brilliant yet “terror” teacher.

She told us about her conversations with engineers and scientists. They were talking about the “value” of their work. Engineers told her that one mistake in engineering calculations for bridge installation endangers lives. One wrong calculation and people can die. She replied, “Writers humanize generations. What use are bridges if there is no spark within?” At that point, I did not think of myself as an aspiring poet, as someone who has the heavy mission of “humanizing” generations. I myself need humanizing, for one. Her story made me think of authors I revere. And at that instance, “something startled in me”.

Funny this life, my life. Tickles me to no end.