Sunday, January 29, 2006
miss measles
So many things to look forward to this month! There's samba practice with Brigada, Zips lessons, becoming a certified scuba diver, capoeira (which I miraculously survived for the second time), and the not-so-remote possibly of getting measles. What?- you say.
Yes, our bebeluv Ananda broke out in rashes yesterday after spending two days with a fever. Ah, the scourges of childhood. Kids get fevers, and colds, and rashes, and plagues, and poxes on a regular basis. They may be cute but diseases spontaneously generate in them.
So I now share a household with a carrier of measles... a very tiny carrier. I carry the carrier every day. I'm not sure if I've ever gotten measles, and my mother isn't sure either and says she says she can't remember. "Either way", she said, "It's better you get it now than later on in life." Meaning: "di bale na kung mahawa ka (never mind if you catch it)."
I'm trying to convince myself that the itching I feel right now is purely psychosomatic.thithiria
There's a bar along Timog, right across Xaymaca, called Gigolo. It is obviously a bar of *ahem* questionable repute (as almost all bars in Timog are). I've never been in there, but every now and then when I pass through the area, I get a delightful surprise! Every month, they hang a large tarpaulin below their "Gigolo" sign featuring their current main attraction, using the most fantastic word play I've ever seen.
How can one forget these memorable programs?
- Outback Jocks ("Outback Jack")
- Exor-sex ("Exorcist"- it was just in time for Halloween, too!)
- Moving D*cks (as a reference to "Moby Dick". The sign even had a boat on it.)
Today it was: "Thithiria- kaharian ng mga dako" (roughly translating to "Schl*ng-eria, kingdom of the well-endowed"). I admit to some error here because I can't remember the exact words used. But you get the idea if you're one of the many who watch "Etheria" on GMA7. Oh, don't you love it? It was almost better than "Buttwoman Begins" ("Batman Begins") which I got from another nearby bar.
I have some other ideas they can use, such as Peni Big Brother ("Pinoy Big Brother"), and Espada ni Panday ("Sword of the Panday").
*** My friend Dan has promised to take pictures of Gigolo every month and send it to me as a postcard so I don't get lonely abroad. :-)nakapagpanood na ba kayo ng APO?
Concert details here.
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Thursday, January 26, 2006
mourning the loss of loved data
It finally happened. My iPod crashed. Something corrupted the system, resulting in irretrievable files, all 30 gigabytes of it. I have 4 years worth of music in there, MP3s I painstakingly collected through the years. Really good MP3s.
I was extremely proud of my music collection. It was, in 2 words, kick ass. It was the kind of music collection that made people my age think I had sophisticated and worldly taste. It earned the respect of snobby, seasoned musicians, and even snotty music fans (the kinds who feel superior to everyone because they think they know everything about death metal, or jazz, or whatever). It made older people say, "Hey, you're too young to have this artist on your iPod", and it made people with good taste in music tell me, "Hey, you have good taste in music." You get the idea.
My personality was very much defined by my music collection, making my iPod a horcrux of sorts (my other horcrux would be my Powerbook :-p). Destroying it means destroying a chunk of my soul. I counted on my iPod to never ever crash. Alas, alas, the day has come!
Oh, I never thought the Pod would fail me. I somehow had this vision of my iPod being there on all future special occasions in my lifetime. I thought it would be there to accompany me on my future backpacking trip across South America, playing Afro-cuban Allstars, or Buenavista Social Club, or Caetano Veloso. I thought my iPod would be with me through my future roadtrips through Australia, playing Beatles, or Blood, Sweat and Tears as I raced through the bush in a top-down convertible. I even went as far to imagine that it would be there, blaring "Setembro" by Quincy Jones through the church speakers on the day I walk down the aisle of destiny (and of course, "You're All I Need To Get By" by Marvin Gaye and Tammy Tyrell as I walked out of the church). I imagined my future kids going through it, listening to all the music mommy used to trip out to when she was younger, and being cooler than the other kids because they know so much vintage music. I had many such fantasies like these (never mind if by the time I get married/ have kids, the iPod will have been phased out by newer technology :-p).
Ah, but my iPod (or at least the data) has passed away, it is no more. I am left bereaved and in great sorrow.
Before I hook up to my Powerbook to be reformatted (read: erased), I shall bid it a final farewell with a eulogy:
Oh, iPod. You were placed into my hands when I was 20. You were such new technology then, I didn't even know what you were. I didn't even like carrying my music around with me.
But you quickly changed that when you first astonished me by uploading 400 songs from my iTunes into your hard disk in only 1 minute, and from that moment on, I knew it was love.
I wasn't always very good to you. I would sometimes forget to put you back in the case, and just last month I lost the case altogether and have taken to dumping you into my purse unprotected. I wore out the original earphones that came with you.
And still you traveled with me around the world, from one beautiful beach after another, through the African savannah, and even on my Greenpeace trip. You provided the soundtrack to many of my best moments of the past 3 years, long car rides with Nino, parties, and even just chilling out in my room.
I will miss my favorite jazz-latin-sambass-soul-trip-hop playlist that I have been greatly enjoying the past 3 weeks.
I don't know how the heck I will ever complete all my Dreamtheater tracks ever again.
It breaks my heart that all the fun 80s music I painstakingly collected, the playlist that was always a giant hit at parties, is now gone.
I had so much OPM, old and new.
I had so many rare jazz mp3s, all my Wheather Report, and Weckel, and Mahavishnu Orchestra, and bla, bla, bla.
There was my beautiful collection of world music.
There was all my Motown, and all the baduy songs that were a hit when I was in high school.
All that Queen, and Led Zeppelin.
All that Ella, and Billie, and Sir Duke.
I could go on and on forever.
Alack, alack, you are lost and gone forever, oh my darling music files. I tried in vain to retrieve you but not even the kind man at the Apple Center could perform such a miracle. You were once alive and filled with music and song. Now you are just a cold, block of metal, and empty shell.
Perhaps you are all in a better place where no virus or corruption can ever harm or erradicate you, that place in heaven where data is preserved forever.
And now, I reformat you.
Time to rebuild my music collection again. May it be better than the last one.
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Wednesday, January 25, 2006
march of the penguins
If you haven't seen "Marche de l'Empereur" ("March of the Penguins") by Luc Jaquet yet, do yourself a favor and get a copy.
If you've never heard of it, here's the gist: It's a film documentary about- tadaa!- penguins! Once a year, emperor penguins take a long march towards the Antarctican ice desert on a quest to find the right mate and start a family. After an egg is laid, the father stays on the tundra for 4 months to hatch it and guard it while the mother goes off to the sea to gather food. When the mother returns, the chick has already hatched, the father is relieved of his duties and he goes off to feed and regain his strength. It is a perilous journey as mother and father go through impossible lengths to guard the fragile beginnings of life.
The whole film has a voice-over narration- no, not those snooty British voices who do narration on Animal Planet and National Geographic. Instead, it's dubbed in such a way that it seems as if the penguins are narrating the story themselves; and, get this, these penguins speak French!!!
Okay, so it doesn't sound very exciting at all when I tell it that way. You're probably thinking "What the heck...?". But believe me, this is a BEAUTIFUL film. It was made with so much love. Aside from one breath-taking shot after another (beautiful antarctic landscapes, aurora borealis, etc.), it infuses something into its main characters that no other animal documentary ever has- soul. Many times you'll actually forget that the penguins aren't actually speaking to you, that it's just a narrator reading from a script.
It's an animal documentary with emotional impact. It's touching and eye-opening. You might even cry like I did. Plus, one look at those adorable baby penguins and you'll know the film is totally worth it. And one thing's for sure: you'll never, ever see penguins the same way ever again.
*** Just once in my life, just once, I would like to see the Antarctic. I've already seen Africa.learning
I love how I am learning so many new things. Nothing like knowing you have less than 50 days left in a place to open your mind to new things.
Things I've been learning:
1-Samba- No, not the dancing (that will come someday). Just percussion. I've been practicing with the samba batucada band, Brigada. We get together once a week and bang on things (drums, bells, tambourines), and make noise, and make passersby dance. I love it, I love it, I love it, and I look forward to it every week.
2- Scubadiving- I don't know why it took me so damn long to do this when I've had 4 intro-dives, and have lived so near Tubbataha and Anilao my entire life. Now I'm going to have to fly all the way back here just to enjoy them. But then again, the Great Barrier Reef awaits :-) It feels nice to be studying again.
3)Zips- This is courtesy of my friend Cat who sells zips (or poi or whatever you want to call them). It's basically a ball on a chord that you dance and do tricks with. Very good training for uncoordinated people like me.
Next in line is capoeira. I've tried it only once, and though I felt like I had been trampled by a herd of wild bulls when I woke up the next day, I know I have to go back at least one more time just to say I didn't quite after the first try. The question is... when? Will I really? Hahaha, let's wait and see.meme
I really didn't want to answer this survey because I know I'll get overly into detail, and I think it's cheesy!!! But what the heck, I've been tagged so many times. Fine, I'll answer it.
Here are the mechanics: 1. the tagged victim has to come up with 8 different points of their perfect lover.2. Need to mention the sex of the target.3. Tag 8 victims to join this game & leave a comment on their comments saying they’ve been tagged.
8 different points of my perfect MALE lover:
1) He's gotta be grown-up. Does he do what needs to be done? Is he responsible, trustworthy, and reliable? Can he admit when he's wrong? Most importantly, does he take charge of his life or is he one of those self-destructive victims who blame everyone but themselves for their unhappiness (In that case, he can look elswhere)
2) He must be funny and imaginative. I like guys who laugh easily, and who aren't afraid to be silly and spontaneous. He must know how to make me laugh. He and I must be able to have fun anywhere we are, whether it's at a rock concert, or a walk in the park, or bumming on a sofa, or at a 7-Eleven- anywhere!
3) I simply cannot be with a boring person. He must be the type of person who enjoys conversation. If I can talk to him for hours and hours straight, and be genuinely interested in what he's saying the entire time, then that's 50 pogi-points. But he must also enjoy being silent.
4) Passion is sexy. He has to be passionate about something, be it sports, music, art, anything; so long as I can tell his heart is in it, and his eyes light up when he brings it up, and he can talk about it like life is not worth living without it. (Note: this does not hold true for drugs, alcohol, pornography... you get the idea)
5) He must have direction in his life. Ok, so maybe he's in his twenties and going through confusion. Maybe he doesn't have to know exactly what he wants to do. But in the meantime I would at least like him to be actively searching for what he wants to do, and not just bumming around watching TV or playing computer games.
6) What makes me fall in love is not perfection but imperfection, little quirks that define a person's personality and character. I don't want perfect taste in clothes, I just want him to dress like himself, whoever that is. I don't want perfectly neat hair, or perfect skin. I like my men touchable, real, comfortable with themselves, and yes, a little messy, and scruffy, and madungis. ;-) It's just personal preference.
7) It is important to me that he has a spiritual life. This is not about being Catholic. This is about believing in a transcendent being, a belief that there is something beyond all this that we must strive for. I want him to pray, not just the Hail-Holy-Mary kind of praying, but real praying. It's okay if he's not entirely sure what he believes in yet, as long as he's searching.
8) Last but not the least, I would like him to be the kind of person who cares about humanity. I want him to be kind, and compassionate and capable of making good moral decisions. He must have a cause, and a desire to make a difference. Ok, he doesn't have to save the world, but I do want him to have other ambitions besides getting rich, buying a nice house, and a nice car.
I tag noone.
Wait, I'm supposed to be talking about a lover, and not a freaking relationship! In that case, make him look like a taller version of Gael Garcia Bernal, make him smell good, and make him HOT!!! ;-)
See, I told you I'd get too much into detail.i love my quiet time
Sunset on Belfield on a Sunday!
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Sunday, January 22, 2006
pain, pain, pain
What you see here are real expressions of terror.
And it seems that everyone has their own little horror story to tell about *shudder* Eurostar Carnival at The Fort, including me and my sister Erica. Do not, I repeat, do NOT be fooled by the seemingly innocent rides. The blinking lights may be pretty, but take them as harbingers of impending doom. All the rides are terrifying and merciless, yes, even the ferris wheel. This is coming from someone who who has never known fear of any ride. I have now met my match. One word to describe this carnival: mabangis.
It's been two days since the ordeal and I still feel like someone just beat me up with a baseball bat. Ah, I'm only half the man I used to be.
And... I'm going back tomorrow. :-) And if you decide to go, ingats nalang, mga bakla.Peace, joes!
It's blurry but I like itwalang ganyan sa Awstrilia
Tell me, where oh where in Aus am I going to be able to drink the juice of half-formed duck embryos from boiled duck eggs?
A life without balut is no way to live
Forgive me if my posts lack meaning. I have good reason to believe that I may have gotten a concussion from that carnival.
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Monday, January 16, 2006
damulag fish
Is this not the cutest fish you've ever seen???
Mukhang batang mataba! Mukhang nagsasalita! It kept talking to me so I took pictures of it. He was outside the men's room in Bagaberde, Pasig.
T*ngina, ang CUUUUUTE!!!fob with a cute coat
The other day, my tita Ollie took me to Zara and, as a late Christmas gift, bought me a winter coat. Can you believe it? "Winter" and "coat" are two words we don't have to say very often in the Philippines. It doesn't roll off my tongue as naturally as say, "tsinelas" (flipflops) or "sando" (tanktop).
For a person who grew up on an archipelago right by the equator, who has worn shorts and flipflops nearly every single day of her life, the concept of having to deal with any temperature colder than Baguio Mountain Province is almost mindblowing. I mean, I don't even like wearing t-shirts because I find the sleeves too hot! All my life I've only had to worry about sun and rain. In a few months time, I'm going to have to rename my blog to "Island Girl in Narnia", or something like that.
I'm totally clueless about winter. Sure, I've experienced Australian winter but that was only for a week. Having to live with winter for months is a completely different matter. I just know I'm going to be the ridiculous girl who is either overly bundled up, or freezing to death in a jacket that's too thin- which brings me to my next point:
For the first time in my life, I'm going to be that immigrant who talks funny, and dresses weird, and who will probably have no friends except other Filipino immigrants (in the beginning at least). Oh, Ala, you're going to be, *ahem*, a fob (read definition of the word "fob" here). I know the term is supposed to be derogatory but I don't think it is, because it's true. I will be a girl from a racial minority, with the weird accent, and the weird clothes, who hasn't assimilated herself to the common culture, and linggo- a fob.
But don't get me wrong. It's quite funny when I think about it. I'm going to be uncool for the first time in my entire life. Ok, not to sound arrogant but growing up, I've always somehow managed to sustain a good level of coolness. Sure, I was never Ms. Popular, but I was never uncool either, put it that way. Now, here I am, living a relatively cool, above-average life, only to migrate to Australia and be lower down the ladder than I've ever been. I'm going to be the naive loser! It's quite funny, really.
It's exciting, too. I'm going to be the weird foreigner. I'm going to be asked "Where are you from?", and "Where did you get that accent?" a million times. I'm going to cuss loudly in Tagalog in the middle of the street. I'll make up outrageous facts about the Filipino culture on the spot when gullible foreigners ask (oh wait, I forgot that I'll be the foreigner there).
It will take alot of adjusting, and I know there will be lonely, miserable times when I'll feel out of place, have noone to talk to in Tagalog, and nobody to share inane Pinoy humor with. But it will all be exciting.
When times get tough, I'll just comfort myself with the reminder that:
1) It's all fodder for some potentially good blog entries, and
2) at least I have a really cute winter coat.
It's so Penny Lane. Yes, it's fake."baby, you're gonna miss your plane"
Awww, sh*t I loved it. I loved "Before Sunset". Awwww. Sh*t.
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Saturday, January 14, 2006
16 and Paris- aka "before sunrise" hangover
When I was 16 and spending a week in Paris as part of an international student program, I fell in love. Well ok, maybe I'm being dramatic. I was not in-love. I just thought it would make a nice opening line. I was merely in-like, and when you're 16 and in Paris, it doesn't really matter. It was with an American, who was also part of the program.
I was staying in a dormitory along a street called Montparnasse. To be honest, I'm not even sure if it was Montparnasse, or even if Montparnasse is spelled that way, and neither do I remember the name of said dormitory. But anyhow, my room was on the 5th floor, which is possibly another inaccurate detail, so let's just say that my room was high enough to have quite a good view of the Eiffel Tower, near enough for it to look real and not like a toy.
I owed the great view to my window which was wide enough for me to sit comfortably on the sill with my back against one wall and my feet against the other, and tall enough for me to stand up straight in the window frame. Another great feature about the window was that it had a sloping piece of tin roof, jutting out right below it, just enough roof so that I could lie back with just my elbows on the window sill, while the rest of my body lay sprawled out in the open, my heels in the gutter. And it was on this window sill and piece of tin roof where we kissed for the first time, at about 3 AM, after having talked about anything and everything all night. The sky was purple (probably due to air pollution) and the Eiffel glittered with its purple lights in the distance. I remember an airplane flying past.
And because we had kissed, and because we were 16 and in Paris, we spent the rest of the week-long tour together, holding hands while strolling through cobblestone sidewalks, and art museums. We were together at the Louvre, Versailles, the Rodin Musem, and the Musée d'Orsay where we got lost from our tour group, and in attempting to find our companions, got even more lost. And since we were lost in Paris, we decided to embark on an adventure and try and find the Church of Notre Dame on our own. After several rides on the Metro, navigating through foreign subway systems, we found the church, and coincidentally, our tour group.
We had dozens of cheesy, cliche moments, walking in the rain at night eating french fries (and they were the most authentic french fries I had ever had because we were, after all, in France :-p), and having our picture taken at the top of the Eiffel. Ah, 16 and Paris.
And then after a week, we had to say goodbye. We exchanged e-mails and said we'd keep in touch, and that we'd miss each other. Then he got on the bus that would take him to the airport and I stayed by entrance of the dormitory and waved goodbye as the he sped away.
I didn't cry, though. Not at all.
It all seems incredibly romantic when I tell the story. But in retrospect, it wasn't all I cut it out to be. For one, I wasn't crazy over him. Giddy, yes, kilig, yes. But that's because we were 16 and in Paris, and maybe we both just wanted someone to fall in love with.
He wasn't really all that cute. When I accidentally stumble upon old photos of him (one of those cheesy ones taken at the Eiffel), I tend to cringe. Yeah, he had nice blue eyes, but all in all he wasn't my type. He was okay, yeah. I guess. Nicer to look at in the dark than in broad daylight. But would I have found him cute at all if we weren't in Paris? I certainly wouldn't look at him twice now.
I wish I could say he was a great conversationalist, but he probably wasn't if I can't remember anything we talked about, not even during that long conversation before our first kiss. The truth is, just because I can talk to you for hours, it doesn't necessarily mean I think you're a great conversationalist. It only means that I like to talk alot, and believe me, I can talk to almost anyone for hours out of boredom or novelty.
But getting back to it, he was probably just an okay conversationalist, not a great one, because I can't remember anything he said. All I remember was that he was from Kingston, he was Jewish, played drums, had inflatable chairs in his room, and that his parents were divorced. That's it.
What happened after was we wrote each other a few times on e-mail (on one message, he misspelled "Notre Dame" as "Notre Damn", which I still think is hilarious). We even tried chatting, but we didn't have anything to talk about except Paris. Then a week went by without him writing back, then two weeks, three, and finally neither of us bothered writing each other again. It didn't give me sleepless nights or anything.
It's been almost 7 years, and the guy is now no more than faded memory in my head, some person who hardly even seems real. Did he even exist or did I make him up? I have trouble remembering his last name. If I were somehow to receive news of his death, I'd probably just say "What? How? Why? Really? Geez. Woah. That's too bad. I was with him in Paris when I was 16. Tsk, tsk."
I would probably go so far as to research his name on the net once and see what he's doing now out of curiosity (and possibly boredom), but I wouldn't have any desire to contact him. What's there to talk about?
So what is romance anyway? What does it all mean in the end? If these things are meaningless, then why do they even happen? And why don't we ever forget them?
And why am I writing about this? Because I just watched "Before Sunrise" for the first time tonight (go figure); and also because it's a lovely story anyway, and lovely stories have to be set free.
At least I'll have something to tell my grandchildren when I'm a naughty, old grandmother (with a few embellished details of course. I'll tell them he looked exactly like Johnny Depp, and maybe I'll make him French or Italian instead of American). And maybe I'll look back on it when I'm old, and smile.
And maybe that's why things like 16 and Paris happen.
P.S. This entry can be blamed entirely on the movie "Before Sunrise".gig pix!!!
Jorel took this picture!
I am finally getting meat on my bones. I've gained 7 lbs, my jeans are more snug, my elbows don't look like dangerous weapons, my collarbones don't look like they can be used as ash-trays, my legs don't look like sticks when I wear short skirts; and get this: I have an ass. Yes, I do. Unfortunately, I'm also getting a slight paunch to go with the ass.
Ah, who am I kidding? I'm still skinny of course, as it was in the beginning is now, and ever shall be, world without end, Amen. But I don't look unhealthy anymore like I did last November. I feel like a babe :-p
The hippie, the punk, the cowboy, the punkette, and eyeliner boy
high school friends!
When good friends and people I love are in the audience, I just know it's going to be a good gig. Or at least I know I'll have a good feeling about it after, no matter what happens. So thanks to everyone who came :-) You made me very happy.
And this is my guitarist Mark, during those rare moments when he's not trying to hide his face from the camera. You should be drunk more often, Mark.
Whee, go Mark!
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Tuesday, January 10, 2006
are you somebody?
An exercise in determining your status in the world:
Step 1: Go to google.com.
Step 2: Type your name, your full name, your nickname, or whatever name you want.
Are there any references about you? Does your name appear in any websites, directories, gossip forums, or even someone's blog? If yes, then CONGRATULATIONS! It is proof that you indeed exist in the civilized world, and that you are indeed somebody. Okay, so maybe you didn't generate as many pages of results as say, Paris Hilton, but the point is, you matter enough to be data-fied on the web.
"I am Google-able, therefore I am"- move over Rene Descartes. This is the new statement of this generation. I often joke around with my sister that if a guy asks you out, the first thing you should do is go online and Google him. If there's not a single mention of him on the web, then he's a nobody and therefore, a total loser (read: not worth dating). That's just a joke of course.
Think about it though. There is a world that exists on its own in cyberspace. People have made their mark on humanity through the internet. There is a new breed of celebrity, the "web celebrities" who have become famous through their blogs, or videos, or websites. The internet has become a new way to immortalize yourself. Data-fy yourself, go forth and scatter your URL, and you will live forever in the hard-drives of others.
Amazing isn't it?
I love Google. Google is my vice. And like all vices, I have my own dirty little secrets to share about my Googling habits:
1) Yes, I do google myself.
2) I am guilty of googling all my crushes. Even the oldest, oldest ones whom I'll probably never even see again. I even google them on Google Image Search to see what they look like now.
3) I google new people I meet if I find them particularly interesting. If we are casually acquainted, have had a good conversation, or an evening of fun, chances are, I have already googled you.
4) I google old friends I haven't see in ages to see how they're doing, where they work, where they went to college, who they married, etc.
5) I google ex-boyfriends... but not the ones I'm still in touch with because I don't really need to.
6) I have also known myself to regularly google whoever my current boyfriend is, too.
Ok, call me a stalker. But with the world's biggest library at my fingertips, what's to stop me? But trust me, the stalking stops on the web. In real life, I do zero stalking.
Besides, I'm sure you all have your own little guilty Google confessions.
Here are some of the real-life googling stories I've heard:
- A friend of mine googled this new guy she was dating. She found his criminal records in another country and found out that he was formerly imprisoned for attempted homicide. (She felt terrible that she had pried into his life, though)
- Another friend of mine googled herself and found some stranger's secret photo album full of pictures of...herself. Every single photo of herself she had ever posted on her blog, as well as a few she had never seen her life, were neatly filed in this person's online album. Talk about "pixel attraction" (okay, that was really bad).
- Another friend of mine googled a girl she had just met and found- TADA!- naked pictures of her.
And that, my friends, is why we should or shouldn't google people.
So, have you googled yourself lately?superstition
There is one superstition I believe in. It's a saying that goes "When something happens only once, then it will never happen again. But if something happens twice, then it will surely happen a third time."
Ditto. I lost my phone today for the 3rd time.
I lost it last year in Glorietta when I accidentally left it between the pages of a magazine in a boutique. Thankfully, it was returned the same day by a certain Edric Nickdao (gracias, gracias!!!).
I lost it a second time last November in Ilo-ilo on my Greenpeace trip when I left it in a van that shuttled us from a restaurant to the Rainbow Warrior. Thankfully, one of the crew members, Shannon Loricco, had keen enough eyes to see it in the dark, and returned it that same night. (Gracias, gracias!!!)
I lost it today when I hastily stood up to leave Mccafe, Eastwood, to avoid hearing a Hale song that started playing. Instant kharma was served. I got home not knowing where my phone was until I called it and Kirk, the manager of Mcdonald's, answered saying my phone was with him. Whew. There are still honest people in this world.
So I've lost my phone three times. It's going to be returned three times, too. And it also means that I will never lose it again. Thank God for superstitions. :-pbisikleta
I didn't have a car tonight so I biked to my gig. Everyone laughed at the girl who arrived at the bar in a yellow bicycle. The doorman graciously let me park it in a backroom inside the bar.
And afterwards, my bandmates all went out just to giddily watch me bike back home.
Labo.
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Friday, January 06, 2006
turn, turn, turn
"F*ck you. I'm crying. And I'm not even that drunk. I hate you. Go home. Goodnight. Take care."
Ah, carino. Trina, one of my most favorite people ever, sent me that message after we both got home from a party last night. We were talking about me leaving in 65 days and she must've gotten a little emotional after I left. Alcohol always makes her vulgar, mean, and obnoxious. I love her to death. And I think this is one of the best messages I've received all year. Touches the heart.
Oh, what will I do without her?
I will also miss Jenn's wedding (unless she hurries up and starts planning it soon!!!).
I'll miss my godson Andy's first 2 years of life, and I won't be helping him to learn to walk and talk.
I won't see my little cousins grow into young men.
I'll be the last to know whenever one of my college friends get engaged... or pregnant (oh my).
I won't see my best friend Dan become a big star (because I just know he will be).
I won't see Elea's band kick off.
I won't see Charlene discover all the things she has yet to discover.
I'll miss out on alot of things, some of them are too personal to enumerate here.
But there is a time for everything. Maybe I am not needed nor meant to be here for these things. Right now, it's time for me to leave. My favorite song right now is "Turn, turn, turn" by The Byrds which says:"To everything,
There is a season,
And a time for every purpose, under heaven.
A time of love, a time of hate
A time of war, a time of peace
A time you may embrace, a time to refrain from embracing
There's a time to be together, and a time to let go. But when you have faith that your destinies are intertwined, then you also know that there really isn't such a thing as "goodbye". Sometimes we're together physcially, and sometimes we're not, but we are always together in this life. We're never really apart.
P.S. The exception to this entry is a person named Macky Santiago who has disapeared off the face of the planet. Macky, if you do not materialize bodily before I leave, I swear I will not e-mail you for the next two years.split into two
"Each moment seems split into two: melancholy for what is left behind and the excitement of entering a new land." -Ernesto Guevara, The Motorcycle Diaries
Beautiful and sad- endings are always like this. Nothing makes you feel more present and alive than knowing your time in a certain place or with certain people is approaching it's limit.
Endings always have tears, and tears can have many shades. One moment we cry over all the things we didn't do and didn't say, for all the petty moments that we intentionally hurt each other, and all the times we selfishly held back when we know we could've given much, much more.
The next minute we're crying because we remember the beautiful moments, times when we truly knew how deeply we valued each other, and where genuine exchanges of love, fondness, and friendship took place.
Every single moment, including all our mistakes, was worth it after all, every single moment. Good times, bad times, everything happened as it should. And though we never really understand it all, we know that it's wonderful to be alive and to have lived through this much.
I'm writing this because I've been so prone to tears lately that sometimes I think I may be going insane. Anything can make me cry. Songs make me cry. Every single movie I've watched lately has made me cry (all except "Exodus" which made me snort). Sunsets make me cry. Hanging out with my closest friends makes me cry, even in public (which also makes them cry, so we end up looking like two crazy people).
All the same, I'm always smiling. The simplest things make me happy. I am perfectly content walking around an empty Ateneo campus on a Sunday, looking up at the trees, watching the sky change color, and sitting on the steps of the church writing and drawing. Watching DVDs on my sofa with good friends, and going out late at night to grab a bite at 7-Eleven is enough to make my day. I love hearing from people, phonecalls, e-mails, friend dropping by unanounced. I'm happy going anywhere, and being with anyone.
Every moment is split into two, happy and sad at once, dying and waiting for my new life to be born.
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Tuesday, January 03, 2006
a bop on the head
It was 2 minutes to midnight, December 31, 2005. My immediate family, aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends gathered around our dining table with empty glasses waiting to be filled with the champagne my tito was struggling to un-cork.
I stood slightly farther away from the table than everyone else, facing away from the huddle, staring at the hands of the clock, when suddenly, I felt solid wallop on the frontal left side of my skull. It made me scream in pain. It felt as if someone had just thrown a rock with force at my head from ten feet away.
It was the cork from the champagne bottle. It had popped up into the air, ricocheted off the spinning ceiling fan, and hit me on the head.
People were so shocked. They wouldn't believe right away that it had happened, but pretty soon my dad started feeling me all over the head asking if I was dizzy and if I could see straight. My mom ran to get me some ice.
This was 2 minutes before the beginning of 2006. What the F? What were the chances of that happening?
What did it mean?
It could mean I'll be extra lucky in 2006. Or it could mean the complete opposite. I'm scared.
Or maybe God looked down on me and decided to deliver some last-minute kharma for all the bad I did in 2005. "Gaga ka!!! Oom, ayan!!!"
I kept the cork. (see picture above of me posing with the ammo)trudy
I'm growing another tooth, directly opposite Timothy, on the other side of my mouth.
They can have a long distance relationship.
I'm calling it Trudy.predictions for 2006
This is a big year for us Paredeses! I made a list of predictions for our new life in Australia, for every member of my family.
My sister Erica will find an Australian husband who will love her, Ananda, and his 51 pet snakes and 5 alligators with total devotion till the end of his days.
Ananda's future father
My dad will continue to hold creativity workshops which will be a major hit with the millions of Australians hungry for guidance. He will be elevated to guru status and will form a non-religious cult. He will also make millions from writing books on his teachings.
My dad's anti-pogi image
After having lived a life of glitz and glamour in the Philippines, I will begin to think of what I can contribute to society. I will tune in to my inner activist and aggressively lead the fight for, er... worthy causes.
I think I may have to think of a more sensible cause, though. Wut????
My brother, Mio- 'nuf said.
I just know he's geared for this.
After years of avoiding the limelight and choosing to remain in the shadow of her famous husband, my mother's star will rise. She will carry on her advocacy against breast cancer in Australia, inspiring and giving counsel to millions. Because of her, major corporations will donate gigantic sums of money to fund cancer research. A cure will be found...
...and for the first time, she will be more fanous than my dad.
Or maybe we'll all just open a family convenience store that sells Filipino products.my 2006 wishlist
1) Be comfortable in my own body, learn to run, do sports, and dance without inhibition. This includes improving my lousy posture.
2) To spend alot of time in the outdoors.
3) To make music even when I move to Australia.
4) To be published again...and again, and again, and again!
5) To find a job in Australia that involves being creative: art/music/acting/writing and working with alot of interestingpeople.
6) If I cannot find a creative job in Australia then let me find one that involves helping the environment, or helping others.
7) Learn to sculpt.
8) To make great new friends in Australia, and still keep the old ones.
9) To someday be given the chance to travel the world, not for pleasure but on a mission, not as a tourist but as a volunteer. To see the world, and make it a better place to live in at the same time.
10) To grow up.
11) To try to reclaim that person of integrity I used to be. I think I lost myself somewhere along the way. I need to straighten out.
Tell me yours. :-)
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