Just 'cause it's better than a third eye...

                Society’s obsession with flawless beauty for women is severely overrated.

 

That bitter observation being said, let me tell you about how my many scars tell colorful stories and how they have helped me build character.

 

            Alam nyo yung commercial not so long ago on multivitamins? May batang tinutukso na lampayatot.  Well… ganun ako, except that HINDI ako payatot. (Side note lang. Kung lumaki ka sa 80s or 90s alam mo yung chant na, “girl, boy, bakla, tomboy, butiki, baboy.” Yung kapatid ko parati yung butiki. Ako yung baboy.)

 

            Anyway, isa akong lampa.

 

            Bata pa lang ako narealize ko na ito. Kaya kong magsprint, pero tiyak na susubsob ako sa humps, o kaya sa gate ng kapitbahay.  Kaya kong umakyat ng bubong para kunin yung bolang na-itsa papunta dun, pero magagasgasan muna ko sa alulod. Kaya kong mag-bike hanggang sa kabilang village, pero dudugo muna yung binti ko dahil nasabit sa pedal. 

 

            Kaya madami akong peklat at pekas sa binti, sa siko, at sa kung anu-ano pang parte ng katawan.  Kinailangan pa ng nanay kong bumili ng sebo de macho para mabawasan ang mga “bentsingko” ko.

 

            Nung 6 years old ako, may birthday party yung kapitbahay namin. Ang tatay kong pilyo, pinepressure ba naman akong mag-uwi ng pagkain galing sa party. Hindi daw niya kami papayagan mag-attend kung hindi kami magpropromise na uuwian siya ng spaghetti, lumpia, at cake.  Syempre ngayon alam kong nagloloko lang siya dahil paborito niya talagang asarin, biruin at paiyakin ang mga anak niya (hanggang ngayon, actually).  Pero noon, hindi ko ma-take na pinipilit ako ng sarili kong amang mag-astang patay gutom sa birthday party ng kapitbahay namin! Mahiyaing bata pa naman ako. At alam kong may kakapalan ng mukhang involved dun sa pinapagawa niya sa akin.

 

            So hindi ako pumayag. I put my 6-year old foot down.  Sabi ko, ayoko nga, dyahe!  Sabi nya, o sige, bilhan mo na lang ako ng isang litrong Coke sa sari-sari store.

 

            Sabi ko, o siya siya, para manahimik ka na! So I stomped off to the nearest neighborhood sari-sari store na may dala-dalang bote ng Coke para hindi na magbayad ng deposit.  Malamang ay umuusok pa ang tenga ko nun sa galit kasi natapilok ako, nabasag ang bote, at dumanak ang dugo.  Sa lakas ng ngawa ko, kumaripas ng takbo ang nanay ko, dinampot ako at kinarga paloob ng bahay. Ayun, may sugat ako sa kaliwang siko.  Pinasukan pala ito ng bubog ngunit anim na buwan pa bago na-detect. By that time, nagtravel na ang bubog kaya may isa pa kong peklat one inch away from the original sugat kung saan nakuha finally ang bubog.

 

            Kahit sa pagtanda ko, hindi ko na na-outgrow itong kalampahang ito. Madalas akong mahulog sa hagdan, matapilok sa kalsada, madulas pag umuulan, kamuntik nang sumubsob sa puno… Minsan may sugat, minsan wala.   Dahil nagkaroon na ko ng kaunting health consciousness, nagwawalking ako kasama ang tatay ko every now and then. Sa isang oras at kulang kulang apat na kilometrong nilalakad namin, mga apat o limang beses lang naman akong natatapilok at isa o dalawang beses na kamuntik nang mabubundol ng scooter. Nung isang buwan nga lang, sumalumpak ako sa gitna ng Makati on our way back to the office after lunch.

 

            But wait there’s more. Hindi lang naman kalampahan ang puno’t dulo ng aking mga scars. 

 

            Noong 24 years old ako, I broke my promise to myself never to have chicken pox. Noong unang dalawang araw, hindi ko pa alam na bulutong na pala yun. Akala ko pimples lang yung tumutubo sa mukha ko. So mega kuskos naman ako habang naghihilamos. Putik, bawal pala kamutin ang bulutong! Kaya ayan, mayroon na akong pseudo-cleft chin sa mukha.

 

            Habang nagbabar review naman, madalas kong isinasandal ang kanang braso sa edge ng lamesa habang nag-aaral. E siguro nabubukbok na yung kahoy at nairita ang balat ko. So nagkaroon ako ng peklat na perpetually mukhang pasa.

 

            OO nga pala, tinanggalan na rin ako ng appendix at gallbladder.  In the middle of surgery, at siguro dahil sa tindi ng pagmumura ng doktor ko (shocked na shocked siya sa “internal state of affairs” ko), nagising ko. Hindi ko malilimutan ang experience na yun dahil:

 

1.       Nakakarinig ako ng tumatalsik na dugo (don’t ask me the details; basta yun ang naiimagine kong naririnig ko);

2.       Puro “punyeta” lang ang nasasabi ng doktor kong sosyal; at

3.       Ikaw ba naman magising while you’re sliced in the middle, makakalimutan mo pa ba ang moment na yun?

 

All told, bagama’t masaklap ang pagkakakuha ko ng aking mga peklat, wala naman akong pinagsisihan.  Una, may pang-emotional blackmail ako sa tatay ko.  Pangalawa, nag-enjoy pa rin ako sa kabataan ko.  Hindi naman ako pinagbawalang maglaro. Parati nga lang may stock ng band-aid, betadine, agua oxinada at sebo de macho sa bahay namin. 

 

Minsan, source of bonding din ang kalampahan ko.  Dahil hindi kami matigil sa kakatawa ng friends ko matapos kong “sumalumpak” sa Makati in broad daylight.  And, on the bright side, nasagip ko naman ang Jollibee sundae na hawak hawak ko nung mga panahong iyon.

 

Tsaka, at least hindi ko na kailangan i-quarantine ang future kids ko pag nagka-bulutong sila.  Pwede ko na silang alagaan.  Mayroon na rin akong semi-kinda-sorta cleft chin na pinalalagay lang ng iba dyan.  Wala na rin akong appendix na kailangan kong alalahanin.

           

            Hayup sa rationalizing, diba? 

It's a sunny Sunday and I'm holed up in the office. No, I'm not a workaholic. I just have the attention span of a gnat, which is a very unfortunate predicament for someone who's professed to write pleadings and memos for the rest of her career. And so my workday has to start at 8:30 am and end at midnight, just so I can get some work done.

I have no complaints, though. In between those 15 or so hours are quality chitchat moments, coffee breaks, meals eaten with the requisite amount of chewing, and CNN.com and People.com viewing.

Too bad that our previous partial entitlement (durinf non-office hours) to networking sites has recently been revoked, for reasons I will not anymore disclose. LiveJournal, aside from my email, is the only thing I can access. And so I've decided to update it, which I have ignored over the past several months in favor of Facebook.

Here's my two cents on "current events."

I am so happy Kris Allen won American Idol. No, I am not a bigot. I do like Adam Lambert, especially in the final episode, where he graciously accepted defeat. Sexuality, or religion, really has nothing to do with it. Thus, it extremely irks me that a lot of Americans are complaining that the homophobes, the conservatives, and teenage girls won AI for Kris.

First of all, I really believe that if it were true that sexuality played a big factor in voting decisions, the gay people, which probably outnumber the homophobic male population (somehow, homophobic and female don't really go together), would have been more likely to tumble over themselves voting for Adam than the latter group of people even making an effort to help out Kris. Homophobes are simply not zealous enough to rush to the phones. Especially not for another good-looking guy.

As regards the teenage girls, who cares if most of Kris' votes came from them? Aren't they the demographic that AI wishes to attract, anyway? I really hate it when people said that Adam should have won because he had more talent. Hello, people? AI was less about talent than about popularity! If it were, then why did they even bother allowing the Americans to vote? They should have just based it on the judges' decisions.

And it's not as if Kris wasn't talented. He could play instruments, for God's sake. Speaking as a person who could only play "Doe, a deer, a female deer" on my piano-pencil case, that makes all the difference.

Moving on to more exciting matters... let me talk about Hayden Kho and his ubiquitous sex videos.

I really don't care that it probably violated a number of laws, or that Katrina Halili has become the new face of feminism.

All that matters to me is that is there anyone out there more narcissistic than Hayden??? Goodness! He couldn't stop parading his ass before the camera! He could barely take his eyes away from the image of himself in the mirror during his Careless Whisper concert. And right before he and Maricar did it, he checked his hair a few times in what I presume to be a mirror on the left side of the bed.

Ladies who ever had sex with Hayden Kho, I pity you not because he took hidden videos of your sessions, but because he did it loving his body more than he loved yours.



 

Bakit ba tuwing Semana Santa ay nagcocontest ang Channel 2 at Channel 7 para sa pinakamaraming luhang maiiyak ang kani-kanilang mga manonood?

 

Dahil ba panahon ito ng reflections at dapat tayong magmuni-muni at magnilay-nilay? Dahil ba dapat rin tayong makiluksa sa pagkamatay ni Lord? Or dahil ba nagbabakasyon lang kasi sa Bora at Macau ang mga artista nila't hindi nakapag-taping at makapag-live show?

 

Noong Maundy Thursday, dahil katulad ni Shaina na hindi ako nakapagplano ng kahit anong lakad dahil sa kakahintay sa Bar results (wag mong isipin, Byosh, na willing akong ibalik ang "Attorney" ko. Akin na 'to, akin!), nanood ako ng Magkapatid. Shet, man, naiyak ako kay Juday at Ate Shawie. Of course, malamang ito ay sa kadahilanang malaki akong Sharonian. Pero nakakaloka, damang dama ko ang paghihinagpis ng inang kailangang ilibing ang anak niya bago sa kanya. Actually, skinip ko na nga yung part nung alam kong mamamatay na si Justin; nanood muna ko ng Disney Channel.

 

Anyway, ang favorite part ko ay yung bwisit na bwisit na si Boyet De Leon kay Ate Shawie dahil nabaliw na nga ang lola mo sa pagkawala ng unio hijo niya. Sabi niya kay Cita (character ni Ate Shawie na high-risk ang pregnancy habang nagdadalang-tao kay Justin) na noong sinabihan siya ng doktor na maaaring mawala ang isa sa mag-ina niya, ang sagot niya sa doktor, "Dok, hindi ko kayang mawala ang asawa ko. Kaya kong mabuhay nang walang anak, ng walang pera. Pero hindi ko kayang mabuhay nang wala ang asawa ko."

 

Holy Week Lesson One? Pumili ka ng asawang mas mamahalin mo kaysa sa mga magiging anak niyo. At paano ko naisip na ito ang moral ng istoryang ito? Wala lang... ang gwapo pa rin kasi ni Boyet kahit nagkaka-edad na siya.

 

So anyway, gabi na ng Maundy Thursday. Ano na ang next na pinanood ko? MMK, ano pa ba? Ang kwento ay sa pagitan ni Joross at ni Roxanne na magkababata. Tinawag ng Diyos si Joross kaya't pumasok siya sa seminaryo. Medyo heartbroken si Roxanne pero supportive pa rin, syempre (may bida bang atrabida't mahadera?). Sa kabila ng lahat, nagsulatan ang magkaibigan. Nagka-boyfriend na at lahat si Roxanne, pen pals pa rin ang dalawa. Nung nagpunta si Roxanne sa Saudi para magtrabaho, bigla siyang dinapuan ng misteryosong sakit. Walang nakaalam, lalo na kaming mga viewers, kung ano itong dumapo kay Roxanne. Basta's nagising na lang siya isang araw na paralyzed ang kaliwang bahagi ng katawan at... (drum roll please...) DULING.

 

Yes, duling. To my med friends, kindly enlighten me kung ano itong sakit na ito. Anyway, ang nakaka-inspire na twist of fate ay noong nakipagdeal si Roxanne kay Lord na pagalingin lamang siya at iaalay niya ang sarili sa Panginoon ay gumaling nga siya!!! But before we go to that, rewind rewind muna. Syempre umuwi muna siya sa Pinas. Ito namang si Joross, na-realize na ang isinisigaw ng puso niya ay si Roxanne. Kaya ayun, tinalikuran ang pagpapari at nagprofess ng undying love kay Roxanne, na noong mga panahon na yun ay nasa wheelchair pa.

 

Fast forward to the miraculous recovery. Sa isang panaginip, pinaalalahanan si Roxanne na may panata siya kay Lord. So ayun, goodbye Joross.

 

Holy Week Lesson Two? Don't make promises; baka mapasubo ka.

 

Noong Black Saturday, napagdesisyunan kong tama na ang mga luha kaya't nanood na lang ako ng Andrew E movie. Di ko naabutan ang title e, pero ito yung gumawa sila nina Raffy Rodriguez, Dale Villar, Patrick Guzman, at Nino Muhlach ng sabong panlaba, at kapartner nila mga beaty queens katulad ni Charlene Gonzales at Dindi Gallardo (Lesser known beauty queens na yung iba at hindi na ko nangahas na i-google pa itong sine na ito para lang mas credible itong entry na ito. So kung namamangha kayo na alam ko pa ang ibang mga tao sa movie na ito, yes, my friends, BADUY talaga ako).

 

Anyway, lahat na ng ka-slapstickan sa mundong ibabaw ay nasa pelikulang ito, I tell you. May negosyo kasi ang mga boys na barber shop. One day, may mga hoodlum na pumasok at nagpa-ahit at nagpa-pedicure sa kanila.

 

Upo naman ang isa upang ahitan. Sa talim ng labahita, aksidenteng naputol ni Nino Muhlach ang tainga ng isang hoodlum. Sa takot na siya ay mapahamak, kumuha siya ng tainga ng nilitsong baboy (na hindi ko alam kung paano nakapasok sa barber shop na iyon) at idinikit sa ulo ng hoodlum.

 

Ang hoodlum naman na sine-servicean ni Andrew E, aksidente nitong nakalbo! At dahil excellent ang storytelling at editing ng pelikulang ito, let me tell you kung papaano.

 

Tagasagot kasi ng telepono si Dale Villar. May mga nang-goo-goodtime sa kanya sa telepono. May tumawag na nagsabing, "Hello? Tumatakbo ba metro niyo ng tubig?" Sagot naman niya, "Sandali! Titingnan ko." At noong iniwan ang telepono, nasagi niya ang isang garapon ng Elmer's glue na nakahandusay lang sa sahig . Sa mga panahong iyon, natapilok itong si Andrew E at nailapat ang kamay sa natapong Elmer's Glue. (o diba, sabi ko sa inyo excellent ang depiction ng flow of events dito e!). O syempre, pag hawak sa ulo ng hoodlum, at paghila ng kamay, sumama ang buhok ng hoodlum sa bumbunan! Siguro itong Elmer's Glue na ito ay yung fast-drying kind...

 

Hindi ko na tinapos ang pelikulang ito kasi natauhan na ko noong mga panahon na iyon at palabas ulit ang Mr. Bean's Holiday sa HBO... Hello? Syempre yun ang mas gusto kong panoorin. First world ang slapstick nun e.

 

Anyway, Holy Week Lesson Three? Huwag mag-iwan ng garapon ng Elmer's Glue na nakabalandra lang sa tabi tabi.

 

Finally, to cap off my extremely reflective Holy Week, nanood ako kanina ng Narito ang Puso Ko. Ito yung pelikula ni Lorna T at Gabby Concepcion kung saan ang lovechild nilang si Carlo (played by Alfred from Ang TV) ay napatay ni Mark Gil nung siya ay nakikipagbarilan kay Rez Cortez. So basically, ang kwento ay tungkol sa laban nila para sa hustisya. Members of the cast include Amy Austria, ang asawa ni Mark Gil, Paolo Contis, anak ni Mark at Amy, at Nanette Medved, kinakasama ni Gabby.

 

Anyway, happy ending naman ito kahit na depressing at madugo ang kwento. Syempre, pangit ang sistema ng hustisya sa Pilipinas, and I suppose social awareness ang silbi ng pelikulang ito, higit sa kung ano pa man. Sa kabila kasi ng acquittal ni Mark, napatay naman siya ni  Lorna T sa pamamaraan kung paano napatay ang anak nito: sa pagsasagasa gamit ang kotseng pawis steering pa so saludo ako sa kanya! Ngunit bago pa yun ay hiniwalayan muna ni Amy si Mark noong malaman ang buong katotohanan. At nagkabalikan si Lorna T at si Gabby dahil possessive itong si Nanette.

 

Holy Week Lesson Four:  Ang mga kulot talaga, salot! Ito ay natanto ko noong ma-observe na si Lorna T at Amy ay parehong unat ang buhok at naka-istyle sa uso noong mga panahong iyon (read: short bob), habang si Nanette ay wild ang buhok! Kasing wild ng bibig niyang sinakop na ang kalahati ng kanyang mukha (which I conveniently ignored while I cheered her on in Darna).

 

Anyway, kung natapos niyo itong basahin, congrats! Hari nawa'y magamit niyo ang Holy Week Lessons in your daily life.

 

Have a blessed Easter!!!!

These "candid" pictures are of my awesome (coughcough) brother, Jaj.

(Disclaimer: the products featured in this entry did not pay the author to advertise the same)

Style No. 1: THE CLEAR CRUSADE (aka Shet-ang-kati-ng-anit-ko move).




Style No. 2: THE TROCYD ENDORSEMENT (aka Shet-may-fungi-ako-sa-pwet technique).




Style No. 3: THE MOTILIUM MOVEMENT (aka Shet-may-dyspepsia-ako)




Style No. 4: THE TINACTIN PROMOTION (aka Shet-may-alipunga-ako)




Style No. 5: THE BAYGON CAMPAIGN (aka Shet-may-ipis-sa-dingding).




And finally...

Style No. 6: THE REXONA WON'T LET YOU DOWN COMMERCIAL (aka Shet-ang-bango-ng-kilikili-ko)



Contribution nya daw ito to society.

Happy new year from my family to yours!!!!!!!!!!!!=)

On Anthony Taberna's (*heart fluttering*) segment on Umagang Kay Ganda, Loren Legarda was interviewed via phonepatch. The issue: Whether or not the Senator will run for President under the ticket to be endorsed by Erap. The answer: Wala pa pong formal or official offer from President Estrada. Kami naman po ay matalik na magkaibigan at parati naman po kaming nag-uusap...

Wasn't it just 8 years ago when Loren was part of the Senate that tried the impeachment raps against Erap? Wasn't it just 8 years ago when the refusal to open the controversial envelope led to the dramatic shedding of tears by Loren, which ultimately spawned Edsa Dos?

Well, of course this shouldn't come as a surprise, considering that Loren was running mate to FPJ, Erap's long-time friend. Little did we know, however, that with Loren's bid to succeed FPJ as the country's President, in the eventuality of his death, came also her commitment to succeed him as Erap's best friend.

Anak ng tipaklong. May pa-cry cry ka pa noon.

I pulled up into a parking space in Market Market.  Saw a security guard and asked where Starbucks is.

"San po ba? Sa Market Market o sa Serendra?"

Lemme see... ratty shirt, ratty capris, hair in a tight pony, no color in my cheeks.  Oh, and add several pounds that crept up during my 5-month sedentary lifestyle (parang creeping offer).

"Market Market, Kuya."

...And watch Mamma Mia! before the bar!

Yes, I know, the songs aren't "cool." They're not by some indie band who used to play in some hole-in-the-wall pub in rural Ireland (or some other "cool" place).

Yes, I know, there are no bad-ass superheroes experiencing some deep existential problem, or former douchebags with newly-discovered kung fu or bullet-bending talents.

The cinematography ain't that great, and the script leaves much to be desired.

But it'll give you an honest-to-goodness natural high. From beginning to end, you won't stop smiling. You'll chuckle, you'll guffaw, you'll shout out with laughter.

You'll probably shed a tear or two.

Best of all, you'll see Pierce Brosnan in psychedelic tights!

So go out, have fun, and schedule your panic attacks for next month!

A few days ago, Purefoods played against Talk 'N Text.  Hot heads led to ball-throwing and kicking.  While Leather, Talk 'N Text's black import, had his back turned, in came James Yap, driving a kick to the back of Leather's thighs.  He turned around and was about to get back at Yap, but the latter was faster.  

At running like Hades himself was after him, that is.

In case you haven't seen it, fast forward this link to 1:40:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TSBw0cT0tMQ

TV Patrol later on interviewed Yap, who said that he ran away because he realized that what he did was "parang mali."

Yeah right, you coward.

You scurried away because your face was about to get beaten to a bloody pulp.  You were brave when you were up against the dude's defenseless thighs.  But faced with his face, you saw your life flash before your very eyes.

You've done it before.  Sure, it was easy cheating on your wife.  But when the truth was out, you couldn't even face the media and give an interview.

(Wow, I'm so affected. )

(Back to Succession)

Anna (my sister):  Ches, what's that?

C: Casanova.  Insert long drawn-out summary of its convoluted plot kasi nasa seond half na yung film. 

Enter Papa

P: What's that?

C & A: Casanova.

P: What's it about?

C: I don't wanna tell you because you're so slow. (Background: My father is a smart person but not so very good in following plot lines of non-war pictures.  Every few minutes or so into a comedy, we would have to explain to him why a line is contextually funny).

P: Try me.

C: Ayoko. Basta kay Heath Ledger and Oliver Platt yan.  And that guy! Sikat yan e. (Referring to the villain-inquisitor).

P: Oo, sikat.  Sikatchupoy.

C&A: Haha, very funny.

C: Hmm, is that John Malkovich?

P: Hinde!

P: O eto, clue: yung last name niya galing sa ilalim ng lupa.

C: Uhm, "Underground?"

A: Uhm... "Worm?"

P: Eto pa, minsan kailangan ng katawan.

C: Ah! "Coffin?"

A: "Worm nga!"

P: Pambihira! Sige, sige. Rhymes with............ Jerry Pons.

C&A: Sinong Jerry Pons?!?!

P: Di niyo kilala yun? Matandang comedian...

C&A: Hindi namin siya kilala.

P: O sige, yung initials niya, ka-initials ng isang notorious terrorist group in Mindanao.

C: Abu Sayyaf... A.S.?

A: Jemaah Islamiyah... J.I. Aha! Jeremy Irons!!!!!

P: Correct!

A: Alam ko na yun e! Na-off track lang ako sa John Malkovich ni Chesa...

On the night my paternal grandparents celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary, I made a fool of myself more than a few times.

First, I danced to the tune of Souljah Boy and Apple Bottom Jeans with a seven year-old and an eleven year-old.  And this is not your ordinary freestyle fiesta.  It was more of a last-minute-rehearsed fiasco.  It was such a vain attempt at kinetic coordination that it was shocking.  I had to tell myself over and over, "You have other strengths. You are not a failure."  

Second, during the testimonials, my father caught me by surprise by asking me to make a little speech.  Instead of saying something heartwarming, I managed to churn out a couple of incoherent sentences, and then pleaded with my grandmother's devout Church friends to pray on their knees for me all Sundays of this coming September. 

Then, to pass the rest of the evening away, I engaged in a cam-whoring fest with my brother and younger cousins (none of which was out of high school, mind you).  



It started with just my brother and me.  We tried out different themes, like wacky, or sad, or super happy. The above is "natatae."










And then there were four....

"Nanalo sa lotto"



"Natalo sa sabong"



"Babangon ako't dudurugin kita"



"Walang tissue!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"



"Ano 'yang nasa taas???!!!!!"



And then there were six...




Alfredo "Baby" Baltazar and Afrodesia "Inday" Anover, happy happy golden anniversary!!!!!

Is Jun Lozada turning into this disgusting creature half drunk with fame, half drunk with his ego, and thoroughly full of his deluded self?  There used to be a time when I admired his courage, when I felt outrage on his behalf.  Now I see his Instik bejo (no offense) face on TV and say blechhhh with much relish.

He's no better than the corrupt officials he thinks he's exposing, because he didn't stop at being the heroic star witness.  He could have retained his underdog's quiet dignity.  He could have taught us all a lesson in humility. But no.  Now he's actually preaching.  He's actually snorting at what his "detractors" (his own word) are hurling at him.  Asked if he will run for President, he answered, "I have asthma.  Asth-mah-wife."  What the holy fuck.  

If I were a part of the opposition, I would call my assassin-on-speed-dial and put my money on Jun Lozada's head.  And then it's Ninoy all over again.  At least, then, Jun Lozada will really deserve to be called a hero.  But right now? No way.  He's just too annoying.  And too alive.

a. List seven habits/quirks/facts about yourself
b. Tag seven people to do the same
c. Do not tag the person who tagged you or say that you tag "whoever wants to do it."



1.  Hindi ako marunong mag-tag.
2.  Ayoko lumabas ng Saturday night because it's usually my TV night.
3.  I like to have 7 to 9 hours of sleep everyday.  10 on the weekends.
4.  I'm a cheapskate.
5.  I'm good at identifying faces. Just not always remembering the names that go with them.
6.  I'm game.
7.  Parang alam ko nang mag-tag. (ganito ba yun: alibughang_anak?)

My sister is in between jobs at the moment.  And so, now, she is my current source of breaking Hollywood news.  This morning, I got another text message bearing news of death.  Dapat ata death toll na ang message alert tone ko.

Now, this one really affected me.

http://www.people.com/people/article/0,,20173072,00.html

Damn, just last night, before I fell asleep, another wave of I-don't-wanna-die hit me.  Since I was young, I've always had these moments of imagining just what it would be like to die.  I keep thinking, will my mind, just like my body, fade into eternal nothingness?  That I really am just a bunch of cells put together, and that if the organism that is me finally kicks the bucket, the consciousness that I had while alive will just cease to exist.

What then of all the things I learned in life? What about all the relationships I formed?  What is the point of having ambitions, and studying for exams, and getting married, and keeping a savings account?!

(This is the point where I get really really scared and burrow my head under a pillow.)

Just for that, I would be willing to accept that ghosts and poltergeists are real.  Otherwise, matter is the only thing that actually matters.

A childhood friend of mine mysteriously passed away barely a week before Christmas. 

She lived a few houses up the street from ours. Our subdivision is a tight-knit community. Everyone basically knows everyone else. Some twenty years ago, it was just a plot of land that was developed into the residential area that it is now. Small families hoping to start their storybook lives together slowly trickled in. I guess that's the best explanation for why most of the kids here have friends their age. Just in our block, I swear there is at least one child who's about my age in every house. And so I grew up knowing all of the neighbors, at least in our part of the neighborhood. For several years, we would have gatherings every now and then, and they were literally held on the street. The folks would be drinking their beers and eating their barbecued food on the tables and the kids would be collecting leftover watusi on the street.

You couldn't do those things anymore now. You would either be run over by cars, or poisoned by the watusi, or otherwise shot by one of the neighborhood drunks. This is because some of the first families have moved away now, and have been replaced by people with questionable morals. You know, the ones who have kids but use their maiden names. Or those who are filthy rich but spend the entire day drinking (you'd really wonder if they weren't running some illegal operation somewhere).

But a few families have stayed. Mine and hers (my childhood friend) are two of those. 

We were never really close. Remember that fate just sort of threw us all together. Proximity equals friendship. Plus, she's actually four years younger than I am and that kind of age gap is starkly insurmountable when one is in, say, high school, and the other's still wearing good morning towels to school everyday. I have a few memories, though, of us playing with Barbie dolls in their house. Her hair was always pulled up tight then, slightly to the side.

Last night, before the Christmas mass, we passed by her wake. I think I made a huge error when I greeted her mom, "Merry Christmas." She gave me a stiff smile, which I completely understand. How the hell can Christmas be merry considering the circumstances. Inwardly, I shrugged the embarrassment off and decided not to hand her the pastries that we brought. It was in a Christmasy-looking package and had a freaking Christmas card on it. So I put it on the snacks table instead. I noticed there was absolutely nothing in that room to indicate that it was the Yuletide season. Nothing except the pastries that we brought.

So I finally got up the courage to peek inside the coffin. The girl inside was nothing like the skinny girl with the 80's hairdo. It was a person about to graduate from college. A person who preferred to sit in front of her computer rather than play with dolls. A person whom I have not interacted with for at least ten years.

I started wishing that I had never looked inside the coffin at all. In my mind, she would have stayed young and skinny and bubbly forever. But now she'll also look lifeless and heavily made up. 

This entry is not really about her. And it's not all about me. It's really about Christmas and its way of searing its meaning into one's consciousness when tragedy strikes. 

I'm happy that my family is complete and the holidays are special at our home. That's something that I never take for granted. 

One way or another, have a Happy Christmas, everyone.

 Damnit, you are a crazy fool. 

You keep doing this stupid dance. Swear to defend the constitution, forget the constitution, try to use constitutional and electoral means, spit the constitution in the face. You are more fickle than a woman buying shoes. You are more impatient than her husband standing by the cash register and chewing gum.

You are never going to get what you want with the way you're going. Just like the woman, you're going to go home, try on your new shoes and find out that they don't match anything you wear. And then you're going grumble like a bear and wish you married someone else.

When he was about 7 or 8 years old, my younger brother, always a hilarious source of pearls of wisdom, told me, “Ate, time flies when you’re kickin’ assssssss…”

 

At that time, he was referring to the twilight of summer. Just when we were getting used to our heavily tanned skin, and the effects of a mucked up body clock, the school year rolled around the corner and hit us with the smell of books and school supplies fresh off the National Bookstore racks.

 

Gone were the days and nights of literal frolicking, of marking the ground with chalk to monitor the movement of the sun (we could never play our street games anytime before 4, that would have been begging for skin cancer), of snacking on Chippy and Pepsi-in-plastic-supot all for the low low price of 10 pesos, of sweating the night away while running on and between pavements, and of stifling giggles while our summer crushes walked by.

 

We groaned and sighed, “Back to reality…” How quickly time flew. Whether we were aware of it or not, we were growing up.

 

Now, that is exactly how I feel about leaving the world of structured studying and “growing up.” After almost 20 years in the business, there are a few realizations that I have made. While some of them I had always known, the others are just coming to me this late.

 

The first is that I have always enjoyed being a student. And it’s not only because I am a self-confessed nerd. Aside from all the excitement that comes with the absorption of knowledge (ahem ahem, a geek is not incapable of sarcasm), I love the daily grind. I love having to wake up early. I love meeting new people. I love the smell of textbooks. I love the bathroom breaks.

 

The second is that I only deserve a fraction of the admiration that I actually get for doing well in school. It’s not because I feel that I didn’t work hard for them. I did. But I was able to do well precisely because school is the only occupation that I had. I never had to work for my tuition. My parents shouldered all my expenses.

 

Now, the janitor in U.P. Law who’s apparently also a law student in FEU? Now that’s a real achiever. My father who hauled luggage and fell asleep illicitly in the bell service lounge, and then went to night school for more than 10 years? He’s my hero.

 

Years from now, when I’m trying to impart my own pearls of wisdom to my offspring, I won’t have tales of perseverance and resilience to tell them. Instead, I’ll only have this to say: “Your mother was a good student because 1) her parents made sure she didn’t have anything to worry about, and 2) she was smart enough to realize what a fool she’ll be if she messed up despite all her opportunities.”

 

And then I’ll probably just mention my childhood summers. The pride that comes from academic prowess might not be mine alone, but the lessons of friendship, loyalty, and sportsmanship? Those I have the deed to.

 

For the past few nights, the ONLY thing I've been doing is surf youtube for my past. No, I don't have sex videos uploaded by a former lover out of spite. Instead, I am soaking up in 1980s videos of Care Bears, Grimm's Fairy Tales, and Pippi Longstocking. And just to make the experience complete, thank you very much, Wikipedia.

I am still vainly trying to find The Neverending Story. For some reason, there are only short excerpts of the film available. I recall that as a little girl, I would watch it over and over again. Remember when Channel 2 used to show movies every Sunday night? The movies would usually start late and end way after midnight. At maybe 7 or 8 years old, I dared push the envelope by sneaking to the living room to watch the show after bedtime.

I was in love with Atreyu. I fancied meeting him and marrying him someday. And then comforting him for the loss of his horse in the swamps. 

I had almost forgotten about that girlish obsession. Do you want to see what he looks like now? Check this out:
 
http://www.galactica.tv/battlestar-galactica-1978---interviews/noah-hathaway-galactica.tv-interview.html

Oh, he's 36, married, and has 2 stepchildren. Damn my luck.

Salamat salamat sa lahat ng nangamusta, kahit na ang sinabi niyo lang ay kawawa ako o kaya papangit ako. Hwehehehe.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Day 4 of Painful Seclusion

 

The highlight of my day is tonight’s episode of Wheel…of…Fortuuuuuunnnneee.

The winner is a blonde who just bagged over $121,000 in cold, hard, CASH.

So she screams, cries (no, WAILS), her parents storm the stage shrieking like banshees, and confetti falls from the ceiling.

Pat Sajak does the funniest thing:

He grabs strips of metallic paper from the floor (yes, those shiny paper things that we used to make pompoms with when we were in grade school), and starts putting them around the hysterical blonde’s shoulders a-la-fur, and hums “America, Miss America…” He does this for about 20 seconds while the girl dabs at the corner of her eyes.

Man, I laughed so hard tears ran down my cheeks and stung my open sores.

 
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Day 12 of Painful Seclusion

 

Signs My Life Has Gone to the Dogs

(Or, in the alternative, Things You Should Envy About Me)

 

1.        Just a few weeks ago, my calendar read:

Labor Pre-Week Material deadline…

Client meeting at 3pm…

Finish letter to ****** Spouses! File pleading at HLURB!

NAPOLCOM hearing at 2pm…

Don’t forget CommLaw materials!

Get registry receipts and case files at OLA!

 

Now it reads:

Style Her Famous on ETC, 10pm...
Material Girls on Star Movies, 9pm…

High School Musical Sing-Along Version, 7:30pm…

The Producers on HBO, October 28, 2007.

 

2.        My latest crush is Anthony Taberna of DZMM’s Dos Por Dos. I watch him on Teleradyo dish one sarcastic comment one after the other and I giggle like a lovestruck teenager. I ask someone to Google him and check out if he’s married…

 

3.        I am stuck with my sister’s Stephen King novels but carefully schedule my reading time so as not to be caught up in the middle in the night, nose buried in ‘salem’s Lot and stifling the urge to go to my parents’ room to beg them to let me sleep in their bed.

 

4.        I watch Elizabeth Taylor movies and think how much she reminds me of Elizabeth Oropesa. I watch Lou Costello movies and think how much he reminds me of the late Panchito

  

5.        I, who have never been a La Salle fan, cheered when they kicked Ateneo’s butt. Mama is a die-hard fan. She takes care of me. So if she’s happy, I’m happy. (But can I just say that La Salle is the BEST team to face the phenomenon this year that is UE. They are the current best performing team (taking into consideration the last decade or so) in the UAAP, no offense to the Ateneans, and suspension last year notwithstanding)

 

6.        Several nights ago, the cable signal went out for five minutes and I actually cried!

 

7.        I’ve been holed up here for almost two weeks and I just have a couple of silly entries to show for it!

 

I shall never take my normal life for granted again.

 

 

 

 

Public Service Announcement to all those who know me well enough to know Capricio. They're ending their lease this September. And so far, they haven't found a new place yet. So take advantage of this week to get that last slice of apple-pie-heaven.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

And consider yourselves damned lucky because I myself won't be able to do it. I just confirmed today that I, who once swore that I will die without ever contracting chicken pox, am now nursing about 25 blisters (and counting). What an INCONVENIENCE! I hate myself, and that person who went out of his house and spread the blasted virus, whoever he is. I deplore him, and his parents who never taught him the art of consideration to his fellow human beings. I abhor the scars that I will most probably have after all this is over. I utterly detest the 10 days of isolation that I am facing.

I searched "chicken pox in adults"on Google. Oh, what a walk through the park that experience was. Just imagine reading horror stories from Patient UK and finding out that not only is chicken pox more serious for adults, but WE COULD ACTUALLY DIE!!!!!

Bloody hell.

Sitting at the back of Judge Belen’s court, waiting for him to finish his clarificatory questions on Mrs. Villanueva (na ala cross-ex, mind you), I stared at the back of the two accused’s heads. And I wonder about their lives. I always do that when I see people cuffed to each other. What are they like? Are their families close? Do they have girlfriends? Do they smoke? Do they swear?

 

Certainly, once, they were just college kids who thought that UP was the best school in the world, and that they would never live without their peers. They walked the halls in constant awe, and slapped backs with a certain kind of warm, fuzzy feeling. They smoked during breaks, talked about girls, and rushed off to class with a slight groan each time. They came home at ungodly hours, borrowed money so they could buy cell phone credits, and wished there were 30 hours in each day so that they would be able to fit in all the things they had to, and wanted to, do. They sent text messages saying, “Wer na u? Hir na me.” They breathed a sigh of relief whenever they got a 3 for a grade. They kissed their parents’ cheeks with sham embarrassment.

 

They joined a fraternity because they were impressionable, and the members knew right where to push them. Simple as that. And so they went through the motions, endured the beating, and came out as purportedly braver, stronger, better, people. 

But they’re brave only because they will always have a horde of men behind them. They’re strong only because of their number. And they’re better only if, 20 years later, when they’re in the “real” world, they realize what an infantile thing they did back in college.

 

And so these 2 boys, the ones in court. They were just ordinary boys. They were there because they were members. Definitely, they took their turn at swinging. How hard, we don’t know. How often, who even remembers? But they were the unlucky bastards who were tasked to bring the dead recruit to the hospital. And the hospital had enough presence of mind to force them to stay.

 

One minute they were swigging beers, with perhaps a little bit of anticipation that tomorrow, their number would increase, yet again. The next minute, they’re giving false names, palms-a-sweatin’. Maybe they even pinched themselves more than a couple of times to check if they weren’t just having a bad dream. Maybe they were praying to God that that movie with Michael J. Fox was true and that a time machine would pop right beside them. Maybe they were crying for their mothers or fathers. Maybe they were ruing the day they decided to join the fraternity. Maybe they were cursing the 20 other people who let them take the fall.

 

And I wondered, is it fair to put them in a place teeming with hardened criminals when perhaps the gravest wrong they committed was stupidity? Is it fair to deprive them the chance to become good, productive citizens, and let them rot the next 20 to 40 years in jail? Let them leave their frat outside for the Sigue sigue sputnik gang inside?

 

And then I realized that I seemed to lose sight of the fact that there’s a dead person. It certainly wasn’t fair when a bright, 20-year-old Agri-Econ student died at the hands of WHAT he thought were brothers.

 

It’s not fair that deaths have happened before, and yet, these fraternities never learn. What the hell are they thinking??? 

So now they have to pay. Isn't it basic, even in nature, that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction? In law, every damage must be repaired. Every right that has been violated must be restored.

 

It’s all poetic justice, really. You know the fraternity culture of an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth? That is, when they have frat rumbles. Of course, it’s more precisely: a glare for a shove, a shove for an ambush.

 

Well now it’s reclusion perpetua for a life. Hardly a fair trade.