Sunday, February 29, 2004
Suggested Looks for Nino
My ma has been complaining that Nino's hair is getting too unruly and neanderthal. She told me to tell him to either get a trim, or start conditioning (which he does!!!). Nonetheless, I made some Suggested Looks for Nino:
Look number 1:Blast from the past
This is Nino with his beard and moustache erased, and with short hair. This is pretty much how he looked when I met him. I think my mother would like this.
Look number 2: Rebonded
It would be unfair to make him cut his hair since it took him two years to grow so maybe we can decide on a compromise. He can keep his hair long, but straighten it so it will be neat.
Look number 3: Direct opposite
My mom has been complaining that he has too much hair...how about NO hair (including his eyebrows) ???? Nothing to fuss over, nothing to get messy.
Look number 4: Jose Rizal
Who better to emulate than our national hero, Jose Rizal? With a charming side-part.
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at 6:14 PM 1 Comments!
Thursday, February 26, 2004
chemo beauty
I just thought I'd share this picture with all of you.
When clumps of my mom's hair started falling out at the beginning of her chemo, she daringly went to the salon and had it all shaved off. It was by no means an easy decision and tears were rolling down her cheeks when she was having it shaved off (hair can mean so much to a woman). She covered her head with scarves for the first few days.
After a week however, she put on some makeup, and asked my dad to set up the studio lights and photograph her in her new bald beauty.
My mom's always been really beautiful and that beauty didn't diminish at all when she shaved her head. It just changed. Without her hair, she looks wise and mysterious. Isn't she gorgeous? I'm so proud of her.
My dad calls her his "Chemo Babe".
Philo Orals Part 2
I had the last Philosophy orals of my life today (that is, unless I fail and have to take it again).
Tagalog Philosophy orals (or "pagbigkas na pagsusulit") are never just orals for me. My inability to speak decent Tagalog has been one of my major inferiorities since the days my classmates would taunt me in grade school. I grew up believing I was bad in Tagalog, and to this day remain lacking in confidence in ever being able to master the language.
Hence, Tagalog philosophy has been one of my biggest college frustrations. I never cared about passing math with flying colors, and was perfectly satisfied with the "C" I got in Economics. But Philosophy is a subject you want to do well in. I've never had trouble with subjects that dealt with rhetoric, and abstract ideas. It seemed that it was only proper that I do well in Philosophy.
It was such a cruel twist of fate that I was given 3 semesters of Tagalog Philosophy during my stay in Ateneo. It was always an absolute frustration that any intelligent idea I had was always reduced to gibberish everytime I tried to express it in Tagalog. I always felt so impotent in class. What made it worse was that I always loved the lesson. The feeling of doing badly badly in a subject you love can be likened to that of being scorned by your object of admiration. It bites.
Furthermore, Philosophy teachers are the kind of teachers you want to live up to. They're the kind of teachers you want to impress. I never cared to surpass any of my math teachers. I didn't care if I left them thinking I was a mathematical dunce. Philosophy, however, is a class you don't want to be remembered being stupid in.
So back to my Philosophy orals:
As you all know, I’m terrified of my teacher, Mister Mariano. I have spent the entire semester trying to blend into my seat. I have spent all our class meeting praying to God that he doesn't draw my index card from the pile and call me for recitation.
For my last orals, I studied extensively. I banned Nino from our premises until further notice. I spent two days pouring over notes, handouts, philo-books.
Last night, I tossed and turned in my sleep, and woke up tense and sweating, reciting Kantian propositions, and thesis statements in my head. “Categorical imperative!”, I gasped. "Greater Happiness Principle!"
In the morning, I woke up an hour earlier than my alarm, and started studying again. Pale, ashen, and tired, I ate a breakfast of corned beef and rice.
An hour before the orals, I decided to wear my prettiest, white skirt, the one that makes me look like a little girl going to a tea party. "If I should fail in the eyes of Mike Mariano", i thought, "then I shall do so in style". I decided not to wear any of the frivolous, plastic accessories I usually wear. I hoped that the tea-party skirt, and the lack of accessories would provide me with a needed aura of vulnerability. Call me crazy, but I needed every weapon I had in my arsenal.
I prayed.
Feeling dizzy and a little faint, I sat down outside the Philosophy department twenty minutes before my exam, praying, trying to inspire confidence in myself, while a toad watched me from under a nearby bush. And finally, it was ten thirty. Time for the final encounter with Mike Mariano. With a deep breath, I and my white skirt sauntered into the room.
I rolled the dice. I answered the thesis.
I was a little taken back by my teacher's calm disposition. Gone were his characteristic sarcasm and unwavering glare. Maybe because it was so early. I don't know. Or maybe he decided to take pity on me (or maybe it was the white skirt). But he was a little calmer than usual, and shall I say, gentle. Maybe he thinks I'm beyond hope and had already decided to flunk me beforehand. :-p
Another weird thing is that he addressed me as Ala for the first time and not "Paredes". Hahahah!
I don't think I gave brilliant answers, but I'm pretty sure I gave well-researched ones, and when he dismissed me, I felt my heart soar high above the ceiling of Dela Costa Hall. I was done with Philosophy forever!!! From that point onwards, nothing could ruin my day.
Milan
I watched "Milan" today. It wasn't as bad as people said it was. Sure, it had it's unbelievably cheesy moments, and equally cheesy scoring (what was up with that synth? And that scene in the vineyard? Ohmigod!), but the sex scene was unsual to Philippine cinema as promised by the director, and the movie did have it's redeeming moments (at the very least, it'll involve you in the story).
Piolo Pascual can act. I like him. Claudine has this distracting habit of scratching her head.
It turned out to be worth the money we paid I think, although Nino never would've had the inclination to watch it had I not begged him to watch it with me. Interesting movie.
But Philippine movies have really gotta work on their scoring.
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Monday, February 23, 2004
feeling frida
As you all know, I've had this ongoing fascination with Frida Kahlo since I saw the movie. Check out my crude art work (click on the thumbnail below), featuring me as the bemoustached, uni-browed Frida. Drop a comment, here or at the site :-)
Haha, okay just to prove that this isn't a makeover gone bad, here are pics of the real Frida.The real Frida:
Here she is on the cover of French Vogue, the photo I totally tried to rip off:
And here is one of her famous bemoustached self-portraits:
Hail! :-)
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Wednesday, February 18, 2004
Roxas smoochfest
I admittedly stole this picture from another website. Sorry, mister website owner. I'll delete it if you ask me to.
Roxas Boulevard, February 13! It was a surreal experience seeing the multitudes caught in a whirl of smooching for a full ten seconds. There were all kinds of kisses too: chaste, modest kisses with pursed lips; kisses hidden in the folds of passionately embracing arms; shy kisses, daring kisses, heartfelt smooches, awkward smooches...
There were young-teenage couples, married couples with their children in hand, and my personal favorite, one particular older couple who proclaimed that they had been married 42 years, and yet were already kissing way before the ten-second countdown... like 16 year olds in-love for the first time. 42 years married and he still acts like she just accepted his invitation to the prom.
It's a joy to see two people who have been together for so long, who still get kilig when they're together, who still think of joining crazy things like the Lovapalooza.
It wasn't even so bad that I didn't have anyone to kiss because seeing all those people smooching really was quite a memorable moment.
I hosted the evening with Lucky Manzano and Juddha Paolo, two very fun people to host with.
The show lasted about four hours and I was pretty dazed when it was finally over. As I was taking my last step down from the stage, before I could even reorient myself, I got the surprise of my life when I was literally swept off my feet by a very muscular, solidly built man in a skin-tight, black shirt, black pants, and pomada hair. I almost panicked thinking he was some guy trying to kidnap me until I realized he was one of the hired bouncers/ security people. He began to lead me towards our VIP tent, about 20 meters away, so quick that I was running on tip toe and I was afraid I'd trip and scrape the skin off my face.
Like a superhero crimefighter, he systematically led me through the crowd, using himself as a human shield. With one hand, he held my wrist in an iron clench, and with the other, he batted people out of the way left and right, like pingpong balls. Everytime anyone would call my name and touch me, with one sweep of his arm, he dislodged them like barnacles. I was amazed but also pretty weirded out. I suppose my mouth was open the whole time. I felt like I was in some scene from Spider Man or something. They could have at least warned me ahead of time that some man was there beside the stage waiting to carry me off to God knows where.
While taking a breather in the tent, two bouncers were appointed to make sure I got to my car in the parking lot in one piece. I was glad for the forewarning this time. Before we began the procedure, they asked me to remove all my jewelry. I thought the whole thing was a bit exaggerated but when I stepped outside the tent, I was really pretty glad I did, and really pretty glad they were with me. All around me were people screaming, and snatching at my clothes, and blocking the way. That of course was no problem for my two superheroes because they knocked the people aside like Yetis toppling trees in the jungle (yes, I know Yetis don't live in jungles). They were dragging me so fast my feet were barely even touching the ground. I felt like I was in some sort of police action movie, with me playing the helpless, red-lipsticked, high-heeled token heroine at the complete mercy of my two action heroes.
What followed was something nightmarish. I could feel hands rudely snatching at me from behind, and people running after me yelling that I was "maarte" for not turning around to wave at them. I wanted to yell, "Hello!". There I was exhausted, trying to get to my car so i could go home, having all my movements controlled by two very scary men. It was pretty hard to even look behind with the two guys dragging me away so fast. I was wearing stilletos too. I suddenly remembered that scene from Orpheus where he was made to walk through hell with the souls of the dead snatching at him.
Pretty exaggerated, I know. But the whole thing was pretty weird.
Finally, my two pomada-ed muscle men delivered me safely to my car, and I could only give them a very weary thank you before clambering into the backseat. That was my weird night.
I heard the event made CNN the next morning.
okay, so Valentine's Day isn't so bad after all
We didn't make any plans and I planned to stay home and spend the night editing a video project.
My uncle, upon hearing about my being alone at home on Valentine's night, decided to send me loads of fine food like lamchops, cheese platters, and sumptious desserts. And as fate would have had it, Nino passed by at around ten in the evening and we realized we both hadn't had dinner yet.
Some candlelight, mango iced tea in wine glasses, and free lambchops eaten out of plastic containers on the kitchen table are all you need for a good Valentine's night.
And I did get flowers. Tee hee.
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Thursday, February 12, 2004
roses die, just like love
Once again, the day of hearts draws near... same yearly holiday, bringing in the same feelings of old animosity. Well, not really. Animosity is such a strong word. It's just that Valentine's has never been anything special for me. Twenty Valentines have come and gone without much drama to speak of. Through the years, I've stopped wondering where the riotous clusters of roses are, the sumptious Belgian chocolates and French truffles, the serenades, the passionate confessions of undying love.
Not that my history of Valentine's has been entirely uninteresting. Sure, there was that time in highschool (or was it gradeschool) when a "secret admirer" sent me love-letters everyday, one week prior to Valentine's day. It didn't take me very long to figure out it was my bestfriend pretending to be an ardent male admirer (I knew it from the way she forgot to disguise the way she wrote her letter A's), and by the time she confessed, it was no big surprise. For some reason, I wasn't all that disapointed.
There was also that time when I spent Valentine's day alone, at home, completely down in the dumps, recovering from a break-up, and dealing with "womanly pains" (the monthly kind) all at once.
Then there was that time when much to my horror and chagrine, my friends signed me up, without my knowledge, for some Valentine's matching game in Ateneo, with this upperclass man we had all been crushing on but had no intention of ever getting to know. My initial mortification was quelled when we actually won the dating game. We were all set to go out on our free date, but it got cancelled because he had to attend a funeral that day.
Then there was that time I decided I didn't want to spend Valentine's day alone and invited the gal-pals over for some wine, chocolate fondue, candlelight, banigs, and a riot of rose petals. That was the smartest thing I ever did and we ended the night, out like lights, huddled in one of my sofas.
The next two Valentine's days were unmemorable (meaning, even I can't remember what happened) but my life-long drought was momentarily shattered last year when Nino presented me with a tulip, a t-shirt, and card he drew himself, which was rather cute. Still, I spent that night with some girlfriends, at some U.P. Sunken Garden rock gig, gulping generous swigs of beer. So no, I still haven't had my Valentine's night of burning, unbridled passion, and red-hot romance but I don't ever expect to.
Besides, why go with the trend? Valentine's day is the most capitalist of capitalist holidays next to Christmas. In the end, all it does is create alot of road traffic, some very depressed single people, and some unplanned conceptions (and some very happy motel owners).
Why choose Valentine's day to be sweet with your beloved and buy roses when it's even sweeter to do so when it's unexpected, on some other day of the year?
But this is just cynical me, letting out my cynical thoughts a few days before the big day.
toga fitting
Today I went for toga fitting. It cost me 350 bucks. 350 bucks for an unflattering, sack-like garment for an event you won't even know for sure you'll be attending: graduation.
I'm not being morbid and saying I'll fail a subject (like say, Tagalog Philo) and not graduate on time. It's just that there's not absolute certainty you'll be able to march down the aisle to the beat of "Pomp and Circumstance" on time until you get your report card.
And here I am shelling out 350 for my outfit for the big day. With luck, I will be able to don it on March 27, 2004.
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Sunday, February 08, 2004
200 questions
It looks as if that last little proposal of mine backfired. I am now stuck with answering close to 200 questions as well as making 200 more for everyone (something which I have no intenntion of doing. Sorry folks) I’ll answer one from each (except Bianca’s ‘coz I like most of hers :-)). Thanks to all
The activity is also a great way to find out just exactly who reads my blog hehehe.
Anong naiisip mong hitsura ng Diyos kapag nagdadasal ka?
Alternating images of the neon-light crucifix on top of Sta. Maria Dela Strada Parish, and infinite, blank space.
Men's public urinals (those you see along the road) are color pink... what do you think about it?
I think it's part of women's conspiracy to take over the world. Bruise macho egos by leaving men with no choice but to answer nature’s call in a pink, polka-dotted environment. Astig!
Would you rather have, on one foot, ten tiny toes or one huge toe?
One huge toe so I can paint a picture on it!
what in your opinion are the socio-political implications of the new traffic scheme along katipunan, specifically the u-turn slot in front of beckham?
A u-turn in front of Beckham will result in more customers going to Beckham.
In Beckham, people drink beer.
Beer causes drunkness.
Drunkness can cause crime.
Criminals go to jail.
In jail, they shave your head.
Hence, the new traffic scheme will produce a rise in baldness.
If you were stuck on an island, how did you get there?
Bagoong and rice.
If you were bedridden for a year and counting, blind, mute, with no appendages left, and left eating from a tube, what would be your constant happy thought?
“Cool, now I don’t have to wear deodorant!”
If I were to snatch your bag and root through it like a goddamn raccoon, what would I find? Is anything edible?
You will find a week-old, black, moldy, fermenting banana that I bought in Manang’s last week while on break from a 3-hour Comm elective (this really happened).
If you were Eowyn, would you have fought for Aragorn?
I’d make him jealous by getting with an elf, too. During that scene where Aragorn grabs Arwen in that headlock...er, kiss, I shall throw myself at the nearest male elf (that would either be Legolas or Elrond).
Would you consider wearing a non-white wedding gown? If yes, what color would you choose?
See-through! Para diretsong honeymoon na pagkatapos !:-p Hehehe.
A nice fluffy white downfeather pillow to put your head on while sleeping (for the rest of your life) or sex with gael garcia bernal (for just one night...doi!)
Screw comfort. Gael here I come.
Why do filipinos name their dogs after its color?
I’m tempted to give a wala lang answer here but I think I might actually have a good answer. Americans give their dogs “people names” because Americans keep dogs as pets and develop close, emotional ties with them. In the Philippines, dogs were originally kept for food. Hence, we name them by color in order to verbally distinguish one from the other. Why bother naming choosing a good name for an animal you're going to eat?
Where's Ricky Martin?
Living in the same secret spider hole as Elvis Presly, Osama bin Laden, and Salman Rushdie
If there was no ala paredes in this world, what would the world be missing?
This blog... mwahahahaha!
Ever tried eating your boogers when you were a kid? What does it taste like?
Licorice
Name three co-hosts of SangLINGGOnAPOsila. (No asking Dad. Actually, this is easy.)
Bing Loyzaga
Amy Perez
Mellissa something
If you died, and you found out that you reincarnated into a cockroach, what would be the first thing you will do?!
I shall craftily creep into the siopaos of my enemies!
let's say you're running for president of the philippines as ala paredes, the VJ. give 3 reasons why people should vote you
1st, all the music videos you want on MYX!!!
2nd, Free GenTXT cards for all!
3rd, pimple free, clean and clear skin for the whole country! Yay!
Vote Ala Paredes. Bow.
Are your eyes flashy in real life, like in the commercial? do they help you find your way in the dark?
Yes. All of us were specially chosen for that ad for our blue, flashy eyes. It is also no coincidence that we're all Ateneans in that ad. It’s a mutation that resulted from breathing the polluted air in Katipunan. See Bianca's blog. She's the other "R U 1 Of US" girl. (promote, promote!)
What?
Egg mcmuffins
Kung binigyan ka ng 2 pesos, ano candy ang bibilhin mo?
Bazooka
Do you consider yourself a celebrity?
Rockstar!
If you did no meet nino and became a couple, what do you think your life will be like today? would it be any different?
I’d be a hardened, cynical, and bitter person, resorting to pretty crimes like slashing tires and scratching cars to avenge a bitter past. Or I’d be dating here and there, covering up my loneliness and commitment-phobia by projecting an aura of glamour and independence (boohoohoo)...yes, life would be empty, bleak, and meaningless without Nino... hahahahaha! :-) Hi, Nino.
Would you rather be rich but sad, or poor but happy? be honest!
Ayon sa etikal na teorya ni Aristoteles, and ating eudaimonia o sukdulang layunin ay ang kaligayahan dahil heto lang daw ang sapat sa sarili, at pinal. Kaya’t maspipiliin kong maging mahirap, ngunit masaya. (Salamat kay Mike Mariano para sa C na aking natanggap sa aking philo oral exams. Basta't pasado, masaya na ako.)
Here's a classic question: are you gonna stay with the one you love? or will you go to the one who loves you? why?
I’d go with the one who’s good for me.
cut Footloose!
I had my last performance of Footloose last night. As always, I wish you could've done better. Stage fright hit me hard even the second time around. But it was a great experience! Thanks to all who watched and I'm happy you all enjoyed it.
This is me, backstage, in my Irene costume with my best guy friend Dan.
Dan is super fantastic and he's going to be a big star one day. I just know it. He did my hair and make-up. What an awesome guy! Watch out for him folks! He's a multi-talented Jordan Herrera look-alike, and one day, he shall arrive.
High-lights of the night:
*Nino watched! Yay! And he took all the snapshots and gave me a big hug back stage afterwards, dispelling all of my "couldve-done-better" feelings.
* My old theater teacher, Mona Katigbak watched the play and hugged us all backstage after. She was the best teacher I ever had in Repertory and it was under her that I really bloomed for the first time. It was wonderful seeing her. Now she's known as a scary philosophy teacher in Ateneo.
* My family and friends watched! Afterwards, my uncle gave me the most incredible box of Belgian chocolates afterwards. I initially thought it was jewelry when he handed the box over to me. It's in a red, satin box with a golden seal, and fastened by a ribbon. The box even had a little drawer that contained even more chocolates. I haven't tasted them yet but I expect it will be heavenly.
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Tuesday, February 03, 2004
to everyone who owns a blog/LJ
Ask me five questions. Any five questions. Not the usual ones: Things about me, or what I think about you, or what I think about cheeseburgers, or what I want to be wearing the day I meet my soulmate. Anything. The weirder the better. Whoever I pick gets to be asked 5 weird questions from me too, to be answered on their blogs. It's a chain.
Go. :-)
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Sunday, February 01, 2004
Sophie Ellis Bextor
This woman has been my idol since I first laid eyes on her in her "Murder on the Dance Floor" video. I was as equally entranced the second time I saw her made up to look like a mannequin in bridal wear. She always has the most awesome make-up, amazing bone structure, great clothes, and shoes I wish I owned.
This is my little tribute to her. Bongga ka, Day! Ganda mo! Trip kita!
anyway...
Yesterday was one, long, 24-hour streak of anxiety. I woke up tense, in an emotional state, and remained woozy with dread the rest of the day.
I had two major challenges that day: 1) Philo orals, and 2) our opening night for Footloose.
I cannot begin to desrcibe what a nervous wreck I was the entire day. It wasn't just a feeling of nervousness, but a feeling of absolute, and impending doom... doom under the terrible, icy glare of Mike Mariano, the philosophy teacher.
I had been pouring over our philo book for a week already, memorizing the ethical theories of Plato, Aristotle, and Aquinas, but I still didn't feel confident, and everytime I'd check the clock and see that I was a minute closer to my orals, I would feel terror rising up in my chest.
I was so nervous, I barely ate breakfast or lunch (and ended up devouring half a chicken later on in the afternoon when the starvation finally hit me).
Thirty minutes before my orals, I got up from the fetal position I was in and went to Ateneo and sat in the brown, leather sofa in Dela Costa, outside the orals room. I was beginning to feel dizzy then, and a little numb (you can guess how anxious I was), and finally it was my turn to go forth into Mike Mariano's lair: Dela Costa consultation room number 4!
I walked towards the door, my ankles trembling on shakey stilletos. Curse you bloody Greek philosophers, I thought. Curse you, St. Thomas Aquinas, and your petty little thoughts on moral virtue and the beatific vision! Then I saw him through the window on the door, clad in red stripes. This was it. The test.
Then a strange thing happened as I was mid-step into the orals room. Suddenly, I just didn't give a damn. To hell with this! I studied for a week! I knew my stuff! And I sat down opposite him with a smile.
He didn't smile back.
He asked the question and I answered, stammering in my pathetic Tagalog, but I didn't care. He asked me some more questions. I didn't know the answer. I didn't care. Neither did he.
Towards the end, I think I got at least 2/3 of it right... but then with Mike Mariano you never know. Maybe he gave me an F. Maybe I won't graduate on time for flunking philo, and I'll have to delay my migration plans to heaven knows when.
Maybe I got a C. Whatever. I did my best.
He told me my time was up and told me to leave. He didn't look happy and he didn't look pissed. He didn't look up from his grade book when he sent me out. Teachers, tsk.
I sauntered out, getting one last glimpse of his red stripes, and didn't give it another thought. I had a play to do.
Opening Night
By the time I got to RCBC, I was in a better mood. Still nervous, and still had that empty feeling at the pit of my stomach but I didn't feel it as heavily.
I was still a wreck though.
Besides my waning confidence brought on by my unsuccessful encounter with Mike Mariano, there was one impending moment that absolutely terrified me.
It had to do with one extremely, high-pitched falsetto note I had to hit at the end of my song number. It's one of those difficult, make-or-break notes that can either glorify your performance should you pull it off well, or send your performance spiraling to the ground should you screw up. And what's more, it's one of those notes that require 100% confidence and audacity in order to hit it, or else you'll either fall flat or your voice will crack. It also requires you to open your mouth real wide and screw your face up.
I had been rehearsing for a month but only learned how to hit the note two days prior to the play. For the next two days, I kept singing the note out at random moments, in the bathroom, in school, hoping desperately that it would become part of my muscle memory if I practiced enough.
It got worse before the play. I must've sung that note twenty times back stage, whether anyone could hear me or not.
And finally, the moment arrived. It was my cue. I stepped up on the stage, into the blinding lights. Instantly my muscles froze. My limbs felt shakey and heavy. I opened my mouth and words started coming out but I didn't know what i was saying. I found myself unable to pull off the dance steps we had so often rehearsed. I was numb.
And then it was time to hit the note. On cue, the band paused to make way for the big, vocal moment. My heart began to pound.
Suddenly, a strange heavenly light shone down upon me (it was probably the spotlight), and at that moment, I knew exactly what to do. It was a moment of divine revelation. God was on my side. With a sudden surge of audacity, I opened my mouth... and hit that note. Victory!!!
Afterwards, a few of the cast members congratulated me for hitting the note (which they all knew I was nervous about).
"Good job, Als! You rock."
"Yeah right!", I said. "I was so nervous and scared, I didn't know what I was doing, and I forgot most of the dance-steps."
"Yeah? Talaga? We didn't notice at all!", they said.
Aaaah, the beauty of performance.
