When do you say goodbye?

I've been reflecting on the dark areas of my life recently, but from the perspective of someone who's exiting the dark tunnel.

A lot of people don't like me. I don't mind that part. I know I'm not exactly miss sunshine, it works for me to put my guards up. It's what insects say when they wear bright colors: I'm poison. Stay away. Instead of bright colors, I wore the mark they stamp on toxic liquids: a skull. 

I was the goth girl screaming "I'm no poser!" directing all thoughts towards death with the sincerity that only children following their parents have. With the intensity that good students are praised for. (funny that when my thoughts finally go to death one day, I have no space in my despair to think about how romantic the situation is. No detachment whatsoever this time, just a jackhammer of self abuse. The self imposed censorship that was nothing but fear-based.

What are you afraid of? Being rejected?

What I do mind is when the person who doesn't like me is the person I let my guards down for.

Wow, I must be really sensitive?

But what's wrong with sensitivity? Why are we expected to be sensitive only with art and beauty, hard when it comes to the harsh? Nobody is THAT inconsistent.

Why is it a shameful thing to wear your heart on your sleeve? When is innocence synonymous to stupidity?

I guess it is. They're just a singko pesos nga gibalibali (two sides of the same coin ba).

Some of the things they tell the innocent is that you should "forgive your enemies"; "be the bigger person."; "don't go to sleep angry"... why is angry not allowed?

Angry is proud. Walls are proud. Dicks are proud.

Proud is an ironic word. Why is there so much shame in pride?

Why can't I stay mad? Why am I not allowed to judge that I am not at peace with something? Because I might act on it? Is there no trust in me to regulate my emotions in my own time?

Instead, we invalidate people's emotions by dehumanizing the other. I guess this is where tv is damaging, the most experience we have dealing with problems are from memories. If all memories you have are manufactured (in this case, by television), you start reacting to things the same way your favorite cartoon characters/heroes do.

But people are more complex than the standees we put in front of the camera. Not everyone acts deliberately ever single moment of their lives, unlike the heroes, who in your memorybank, never had downtime. Sometimes we say things because we're tired. Sometimes we scratch our noses because while you were talking to your teacher, she let out a fart and you wished you could quell the chuckle bubbling from your lips. Sometimes we say one thing because you don't want the drama that would likely follow if you say the truth. It's unfair that when a slight change in climate occurs, you can't be honest about it and trust the person to ride the wave with you. Then again, maybe not all relationships are meant to be like that. Maybe we ride a wave with someone, and then the next wave is a different sort - one you haven't learned to weather or have no interest in navigating together.

If I met every single human being on earth, I bet a quarter would be made up of people I don't like and don't like me back. Touch and go. Some people just don't mesh. 

And some people have come and affected you, and then left. Their contribution to your life is over. You've satisfied your exchange's purpose. That's why some of the people who hate me now were people I liked a lot when I first met them. That's why It hurt so much. Because the rejection was meant to change me profoundly.

Even if there's no such thing as previous lives it's still a beautiful shape of a story you can't tell by dumbing it down.

You have to experience it.

I had a friend I really cared for and still do, but not with the same intensity that I used to. The space helped.

I want to maintain this space. It's better than second guessing, with tears blinding your vision. With drama blocking your better judgment. As Chris put it, maybe I can't let go because I was the one who got rejected. My fears were satisfied.

Maybe I'm expecting the satisfier to make things right? I notice this is what baby does when he's angry with me - he clings to me like I'm going to leave him. How can you expect someone to both be angry and in love with someone and not go mad? That's an explosive combination.

I'm letting their power over me go. I'm the only person who can make things right. And not everything has to be right. They can be left too. Hehe.

Whatever Happened to the 25 List?

I turn 25 this year. Some years ago, my bestfriend Sam pointed out this thing her friend did to commemorate her turning twenty - a bucket list ala "A Walk to Remember", and proposed we make our own, which naturally should include a backpacking trip all over Eurasia. Of course.

And then twenty came around and we were swamped with stuff and nowhere near realizing the Eurasian trip, or even completing the list whatsoever, that I turned it into a 25 things to do before 25 list.

Let's take a list at the list and see what happened:

1. Learn how to drive a car - I did. I learned how to drive a stick shift owner-type jeep that rattled and clanked all around town. But it's one thing to spend a summer taking turns with cousins on a dinosaur, and another to drive everyday, and practice driving for more than a few hours on a weekend.

2. Earn $1000 - Yes. Turns out, 40,000 pesos isn't much when you're paying bills and stuff. It's 3 months' pay for starters. I suppose that it is a lot if you don't pay bills. But I didn't know anything about striving for financial sustainability back then.

3. Cook a full course meal - I'm actually competent in the kitchen now! People actually gulp my food down within seconds! The full course meal hasn't happened yet, but I still have time.

4. Sew an outfit myself - No. The farthest I got to this was T-Shirt surgery and pattern-making classes. I have a sewing machine in a box somewhere in the Pacific. If it arrives before my birthday, I might still be able to accomplish this.

5. Write a book - No. My prose has taken a beating ever since I started writing scripts. It's so much easier to say "the girl looks at the guy" than "she fluttered frosty eyelashes towards him and wondered if he saw her or was staring right through her".

6. Climb a mountain - No. :(

I still want to. Maybe when Malaya's old enough.

7. Film an indie flick - Yes, and it's been one hell of a ride.

8. Sell a print on DA - No. I stopped caring about DA and online communities shortly after coming up with this list. I think this was more of me wanting to be on top of the game in a community I was active with at the time rather than wanting to make a living making prints.

9. Go to Bohol - I received my first kiss on that trip. We did the adventure trip thing and went spelunking. Easily one of the best summers of my life. Probably why it was so hard to recover from that boy. I wonder what happened to him.

10. Pose nude - Yes, and this is now one of my sources of income. Young Ara, so cute and green for thinking this was a big deal.

11. Organize a surprise party - YES! My cousin Deanne's debut. My cousins and I were plotting, our parents got wind and took over at some point, leaving some of the details to us. She walked into the dark ballroom womdering why there was a pile of glow sticks on the floor. She cried when they turned the lights on. Best prank ever.

12. Contribute to Reader's Digest - No. I stopped reading them. I did work for a newspaper for a while, realized the "glory" of getting your byline published wasn't all it was cracked up to be. "Glory" has lost its glimmer over the years.

13. Make the Dean's List - I don't know? Teacher said my total was 1.25 one sem, But I didn't see my name on the list. It doesn't matter much to me now. I didn't take college very seriously. I thought my majors were fun, but I didn't really see school as a place to build skills to earn a living. I just chased stories and muses. I still do I guess, but I'd like to believe I've become more pragmatic with what school is and what it's not.

14. LARP - Yes. But it all seems silly now. Young Ara, such an exhibitionist. I miss my guts. I don't miss whatever I used to be gutsy over.

15. Learn how to speak another language - Yes. Mon petit garçon est jolie et mon francais uhmm... sucks?

16. Visit another country - No. Not since Hong Kong.

17. See someone die - A cat. I saw a cat cross the street, get hit by a bike, shiver, and then breathe its last on the pavement. Death is not a joke.

18. Watch a birthing - My own! But before that, a buttload of waterbirth videos for research. Giving birth to my baby beats everything I'd seen on video though.

19. Perform for theater - Yes. Once. I miss the craft, but not the stage.

20. Get a Dama de Noche album launched - No. Very bad breakup, with irrepairable friendships as a consequence. It's all good though, you simply learn that some people are not meant to be in your life, and some people are just really big assholes.

21. Find out about my dad - He died November 7, 2008. The half brother who told us and I email sporadically. We've agreed to meet someday, but never got around to it (he lives in Singapore).

22. Name a baby - Uhmm, duh?

23. Talk to one of my fave musicians/authors - In 2009, The director for a short film I'd auditioned for met up with me to talk about the project. The meeting ended in the wee hours of the morning, with him giving me a copy of his now defunct band's music. I gave it a listen and was blown away. I'd just found my favorite Cebu band and they didn't even play live anymore. What a bummer.

Did I mention director/musician is now my partner, artistic collaborator and baby-daddy? (I swear, the baby isn't an art project)

24. Paint a mural - Yes. Don't ask me if they were legal.

25. Get a moondance - I do every now and then from the partner. It's pleasant. It's even better that we both can't dance for shit. So it's like we're just hugging and moving around, trying not to step on each other's toes.

That's 16 out of 25, with 2 things I could still do, 1 unsure thing, and a buttload of undoables.

Hello hiatus, goodbye hiatus

Hi.  it's been a while. I haven't written anything here since the time of primordial goop. Actually, so much shit got down that there simply was no time for vanity posts. I had a baby, got "married" (more on that later) and settled down kuno. That's right, I'm mutating into what I used to call a "doormat". I've done nothing this past year except raise a human being. If I sound like I'm downplaying the amazingness of motherhood (and my baby), let me reiterate: everyday for the last year, I've been killing the urge to go out into the world chasing muses. The because is important, but killing the urge has taken its toll.

An article another new mother-friend posted sometime ago on fb stated that the first year of a child's life is the most hostile in a couple's couplehood. No wonder they say three's a crowd. And even if you prepare to have a kid, your relationship changes forever. My partner and I've been secretly involved ever since we got involved, because we didn't want to stop becoming individuals to other people. And then baby arrived and now we call each other "mommy" and "daddy", and everyone refers to us as the parents.

My kid is awesome. I blog about him. Not as frequently as I want to, but I won't here. Because this is my space. And I need alone time too. Which is why I write this while he's asleep.

The great big positive is that I want to better myself because of them. If we're going to be stuck with each other for a long time, I want them to be stuck with the best version of me. The version that is healthy, that makes great food, that knows how to make things better when they're not, that knows how to get shit done and does so without breaking the bank.

And then. i think about who I already am, and who I already was and wonder why I can't continue being good at the things I already was. What happened to my neverending quest to be a better writer/blogger/journalist/filmmaker/artist? What happened to my scripts? My storylines? My imaginary worlds? How's the grass over in Inverness? How are Marie and the Thousand? Has it stopped raining red yet? When did I stop keeping a dream journal?

Nobody tells you you're going to stop dreaming for a while when you're pregnant. It's an automatic shift the moment you announce a pregnancy. You disappear for a while. And while you revel in gratitude at the overwhelming love for your child, you wish friends were willing to hold the baby for a while while you gather your lost dreams. Because those were your first children and you can't afford to neglect them either, and yet you are.

So this is what I've been doing when I can't take it anymore : I write in secret, while he sleeps. The essays have been piling up in the ipad notes section, so I'll just slowly transfer them to this blog.

do you have an idealized self? And if so, what does she look/act like?

do you have an idealized self? And if so, what does she look/act like?

Answer here

formspring.me

if you have a question I can't answer, you win a kitty

Byebye '09

Today is the last day of 2009. This statement, is of course for the sake of my future self when I read back and wonder what this is all about. Im forgetful that way. This is also for you people who bother to read my musings. You're 40% of the people I want to extend this to. This week last year, I'd been reflecting on what a horrible year 2008 was, full of ill-gotten victories and misdirections. 2009, on the other hand, was straitforward and radical. 2009 saw the best and worst days of my life to date. I lost close family members, through death and estrangement. I found and lost love. I found and lost hope. I've had severe bouts of depression where I couldn't leave my room to even eat for days. I've had days where I felt like I was on top of the world and that nothing could get to me. This is the year I officially stopped being a teenager, when the pressure of adult life and independence actually sunk in. I'd been able to fulfill dreams, I'd had some questions answered, self identity crises resolved, new worlds had been revealed to me (yay WOD and accent movehz!), old things came back to haunt me. I became part of Hastang, to whom I am thankful for the opportunity to be able to perform and write my songs. I'd done things I never thought I would do, or get around to. This year also saw me getting rid of masochism and procrastination (I'm almost there!). I went back to building skills for things I'd dropped long ago, and I earned and learned new skills through exploring interests. My life philosophies found names, and I'm still deciding whether I'm happy that I'm not alone, or pissed that I'm not the one who came up with this shit. I made a lot of mistakes in the process but the mistakes only made the little victories sweeter. There were more downs than ups. But that only made the ups more special by contrast. For all of you who were part of it, for those of you who helped make this year crazy and memorable, I wouldn't have had it any other way. Thanks. Bring on the new year. :)

Beauty Bar Bitches

What was supposedly an adventure by two bored girls turned into a reality check into how unprofessional some people in the service industry can be.

I was window shopping with Nica, looking at sparkly things (she's the shine fetishist, not me), where our whimsy brought us to the makeup department of Rustan's. One thing I like about Testers, is that although the product is expensive as hell, you at least know what you're missing out on. This way, if you really think it's worth it, you come back when sudden windfalls happen. Welcome ladies and gents, to the mind of the Philippine college girl shopper.

After finding the most byutiful lipcolor in the world (Hotwired, NARS, P1300+ T_T), Nica suggested we go to Beauty bars.

Ara: Do they have makeup brushes?
Nica: For testing? I'm not sure, but yeah, probably

This is where the adventure turned funny. I remember how Nica was saying that she loved how the salespeople at Rustan's don't bother you when you're at the make up counter. I was curious to find out how service was like at the other cosmetic shops.

At the beauty bar, we were hovering over random brand sections where they had the testers lined up in front. The difference between some of the testers and sold products were how they were sealed. Some of the testers didn't even have marks on them. We were taking our time, laughing at the weird products (green concealer is apparently for pimples, not aliens. I learned something new today!), when I was having a particularly hard time finding the tester for one of the products (dark eyeshadow), I figured the unsealed box was the tester.

I was taking time trying to open the box, and at one point, I almost asked the girl for help, but it came free. I noticed though, that the salesladies had started hovering over me when I tried to apply the eyeshadow on my lid. I was seriously wondering if I was allowed to put heavy make up with testers or something.

When I was done, one of the (braver?) salesladies came up to me and said that I had touched a sold product. Demmet. I knew I was at fault, problem was, I didn't bring moolah, and I wasn't going to have any til my allowance arrived (which would be tomorrow).

The saleslady left me to talk to the other salesladies, although I knew I was supposed to have to pay for it. I was thinking of leaving something, but I didn't even have an ID on me. All I had was a cellphone, my wallet (with change), a book and a small sketchpad. I'm not a proficient 'artiste', so none of my drawings could've amounted to the damaged product. The saleslady came back several times to tell us she couldn't let us just go, and there was no way they could make it appear as if the product hadn't been touched, and I would have to pay for it.

I don't know why she kept on insisting on this point when I'd never once denied paying for it, I just didn't have the cash atm. I figured I needed to talk to the sales manager to make her understand the situation, so I asked the saleslady to contact the manager for me. She again told me I had to pay for the product and said the manager wouldn't come. I put on a firmer tone, which seemed to change the manager's mind about facing me.

So she did, and pretty much reiterated what the saleslady said, even after I apologized and told her I understood that I'd have to pay for the product. I repeated that I was willing to pay for the product but would only be able to tomorrow when my allowance arrives. I also assured her that I could leave something of mine behind to guarantee that I'd be back. She asked me for my phone, and I hesitated because I was thinking of whether I'd need it for anything between now and when I get my allowance. She then asked me if there was anyone I could call to borrow from. It seems I wasn't being allowed to leave until that damn thing got paid. I told her there was noone I could bother for that sort of thing (I was already humiliated enough), and just handed my cellphone over. Madame manager told me there was no way they could be convinced that I'd return. I was pissed. I was humiliated. I was being treated like a common thief, and the manager was worried I wouldn't return for my P1,500 worth cellphone that I used to communicate with my mother for a P670 eyeshadow pot.

If this is how they treat potential customers, they have no business being in business. Nica mentioned later, that this had happened to her before at Metro Gaisano, but the attending saleslady just shrugged it off, saying they'd just use the opened product as a tester. It was like the Beauty Bar salesladies were bitter about me randomly trying on the products, being my dorky, scruffy self.

Their body language totally said, "You keep trying stuff on, are you even buying? You don't look like a customer.", and later, while the whole drama was playing out, it was almost spitefully, "Oh! Guess what! You're suddenly a customer!"

Well Ayala Beauty Bar, too bad it had to turn out this way, I would've wanted to become a recurring customer. But now, I don't even see why you deserve any when you're suspicious of anyone who browses through your stuff.

Buhbye Persephone II

To all those concerned, I lost my phone today. That big bulky china phone. It was in my bag when I went to sleep on the boat, and it wasn't there when I woke up. I turned my stuff topsy turvy looking for it.

I hated that phone. Because it was so inconvenient to use. The keypad didn't work, so the only way I could text was through the touchscreen. Did I mention I lost my stylus a while ago?

The only redeeming values of that phone was the fact that the sound recorder worked like a charm; and that the speakers were relatively loud.

The TV; the camera; and the radio were relatively useless to me.

The sucky part is that I lose all the messages; the sound files for new songs; the pictures; the scandalous videos(!!!) and all the numbers.

Meh. Oh well.

~~~

In other news, I'm back in Biliran. I've been told there were horses. I'm being picked on by a grandaunt for being skinny, and I realize this isn't where one goes to get a vacation. Well not for me at least.

I'm on a vacation because I'm tired of the world again. There's very little motivating me at the moment but the future. And the future's always painfully out of arm's reach. I can think of a few things that I would like to have within arm's reach but the only thing near enough at the moment is a song. One more sad song is one too many, but it's expression.

Maybe I do need the extra girth. My heart feels so full it's about to burst. And everybody wants my body but nobody wants my heart.

Those who claim to want my heart don't really know what they're asking for.

And what's the point of asking for something that has somebody else's name on it?

The theme of the day: Selling Out

Someone invited me to sing a demo of a song they were selling to an upcoming pop star today. I picked up a cousin on the way, when we started talking about pop stars. Ate Jean was talking about how Gretchen Espina (Pinoy Idol winner/elementary classmate) resurfaced on local tv just recently with a very different face from last time. I was saying I wouldn't be surprised if she actually had her face done for showbiz, no matter how much you like your own face, if general consensus doesn't agree, it's better to get surgery. It'd been a long time since I last talked to ate Jean, who gave me a look and told me she'd never imagined that kind of sentiment to come from stubborn, naturalist wittle me.

We got to Bigfoot, where the songwriter/composer duo rented a studio. It was the first time I'd done a recording, and even though it wasn't my song, the experience was exciting in itself. As soon as I heard the song, my face fell. It was a fast pop song. The song was basically about how hot the singer was, and that any boy who wanted to get with her should leave their shit at the door. The lulz part was that as a guide, Ben, the writer, recorded the song with his voice first. To me, it sounded very flamboyantly gay. I let the lulz help me through the ordeal. The song was meant for someone with a higher pitched voice, and it was a strain for me to sing, so that whenever I went flat or sharp, I whinced. Jaye, the Count-composer, told me not to worry, since they could easily edit my voice to adjust the sharps and flats and make it sound cleaner.

Ara: O.O you mean...
Ben: Oh you should hear Miley Cyrus before editing, there's really nothing there.

And here I was, pressured to get voice lessons because my voice didn't sound record-perfect, when it turns out half of the people on the airwaves owe their perfection to Cake Walk.

So I sold out. I sang their pop teen song and went home. In the taxi, ate Jean (who had been baptized "Diane" by Ben) asked me if I could still remember the song. I don't. My system flushed it out of me as soon as it could. Heeheehee

Burnt Out

I'm all for self exploration, and for the past years, that's all I've ever been doing. In the beginning of the year, I'd been semi-lectured by a professor about not having decided on a specialization. But it's not like I haven't tried. I'd been trying to get a feel for which communication field I was more attuned to and I can't quite get exactly which field I'd do best in. In fact, I'm starting to feel as if I don't have what it takes to be the best in anything.

Growing up, I'd wanted to be many things, but before everything, I wanted to be a painter. Then I wanted to be a cartoonist, and was always drawings pictures with stories. I'd started painting oil portraits at 7.

And then life happened. I couldn't afford art materials anymore and could only afford pencils. I stopped painting, learned editorial cartooning, but even then, life was still getting to me. There were more critics than support, and the constant nagging by almost everyone that art would get you hungry and that comfort meant a job behind a desk and a steady pay made me give up.

When I was choosing a course, my options were architecture, psychology and masscomm. When people from high school would ask why I didn't take up fine arts, I'd say there wasn't any money in it.

Isn't it unfortunate when you find out that the option you closed off would have been better than the seemingly better option at the time? I'm finishing masscomm in a year and a half, and it's not because I was bad at majors or anything. It's just that I feel as if I'd just learned the basics to everything and not enough to be intermediate at anything. Or maybe my standards are too high.

In arts on the other hand, given the proper training, I could have focused on conceptual art. Drawing, at the very least, is skills-based. You tell me what to draw and I'll draw it for you. As long as I know how to draw. But I dropped my pencil a long time ago. I'd stopped rabidly drawing from days on end as if that was the only thing I could do. I figured if I had taken up an art course, I could have gone back. The pressure from a school environment would have prompted me to hone my skills, inspiration or no, the way warmages are taught to wear armor while casting spells. The weight would be difficult in the beginning, but it would breed discipline.

But then again, would doing Concept Art for a living pay? My art-school dean friend says it does. As long as you were willing to please the customer (learning to sell your skills and not your soul). And as long as you don't hope for work in this country, because we're going hungry, and the people actually earning here are in the business of the living and the dead. It's too late to find out if I have any leanings towards medical courses, I'm not about to become an embalmer, and there's too much competition in the food business. Blah, everything's a gamble, but that's another story.

But what are my other options? Or what options do I still really have now that independence is breathing down my neck?

There's also film, but even that seems bleak. The Philippines' movie scene is terribly dark. If you aren't making easy to swallow-escapist movies, you go nowhere. Im an escapist, but Im told my concepts are too cerebral for the masses. And film is a collaborative medium. If you can't work with people, you're doomed. I'm semi antisocial. And my experiences with Bida Complex, though far too little for me to actually judge, kinda tell me Im going to find it difficult to adjust.

I feel blind. I know there are difficulties whatever path I choose, but one can't help wanting to figure out where one would least suck, and try hard enough NOT to suck, so that in the end, you can say that you at least tried your best, despite your best not being enough.

These are times I curse my artistic forebearers and wish I'd been more left-brained.

Fly Pancakes and a potentially popped vein

I have not slept a wink. My right eye looks like it's popped a vein, and it may have. And now that it's been mentioned, it's beginning to manifest. Ouch.

I was up late, drawn into a world of demons and angels, of gods and demigods, of esoteric banality (blashpemy isn't necessarily synonymous. Isn't that why I enjoy Gaiman?). And it's usually due to being sucked into fantasy worlds that I lose sleep. Even with my eyes closed.

I find it a little disconcerting how comfortable I am in pastiche. How I can easily settle with suspesion of disbelief because I am shown things familiar to me - my own meanderings. I am aware of the pull of seduction. But I don't doubt my lack of it any longer. I nitpick tho. Why are his secondary heroes always either fierce women or spineless dipshits? Why are his usual main protagonists self-serving assholes? I also can't help but notice that in Gaiman's stories, domestic tragedies are usually irrelevant, unless you were some immortal's spit borne.

Which leads me back to the reason for my escapism, from the fire back to the pan.

To my own little domestic tragedy and a realization. We let our tragedies slick off our shiny little bodies or e turn out lives upside down for conclusion. It's all we have. Aren't we all just flies after all?

And Im a fly pancake, if you've ever seen one.

(I'm on volume 56 of Lucifer)

The Proverbial Popped Cherry (Outpost, first gig journal)

I'm going to try telling it in reverse.

I woke up at noon today. We have another gig later this evening at UP, Prequel to Cook Out. We're not playing for Cook Out itself tho.

I went to bed at 2am, after coming from McDo escario to hang out with my gaming buddies, CORPSE, post-gig.

Sam went home at 1am, c/o Jan, who completely missed the show. Isorayt Jan, you get first dibs on the video once it's uploaded :) And there'll be other gigs.

At 12 midnight, Karl, cousin/cam holder/ and all around amazing kid went home to go beddybye. Anton arrived, who also completely missed the show. He caught up at McDo where Baisac and Jan turned paparazzi.

At 11ish, we played. It was so much different from playing for Dama. Like I'd told Sam earlier that night, Dama felt like Theater. This, on the other hand, felt like rock and roll.

The last song, If I can, was written by Ate Yan Redoble, some 8 years ago, but ti was only recently when I became the Hastang banshee that it had been arranged the way it is now. it is far shorter than the original version, and not as heart-rending. Imma be posting it one of these days so that you know what I mean. I loved performing it. I hope we accomplish something like this again.

The second to the last song was Ode, based off a poem I had written late last year (The Ode to the Half Moon) The chorus was written in a couple of weeks ago, after Gaw gave me riffs for it.

The 4th song was Taming of the Shrew. When we were making this one, we had meant to just turn another one of my poems into a song, but the words didnt fit the riffs. Guile and Gaw prolly shit melody every day it wouldnt matter to them, but I liked the riffs too much to throw them away. The verses were done in an hour, and the chorus came to me a day after, also in an hour. This song just came together so fast it was unbelievable. Playing it was just fun. xD

The third song was a cover of Stone Temple Pilot's Vasoline. The song was more relaxing on my part (no pressure on the vocal chords at all), but I really liked the underlying meaning. I guess everyone gets those days when you feel like a trapped fly. So much for wings and sth. Oh well.

The second was an older original, When Misery Speaks, which was set lower than the original key to accomodate my voice. When i first auditioned for Hastang, they made me learn two pre-recorded original songs of theirs. The other was Oblivion, and I was free to choose whatever I wanted from their website. I chose When Misery Speaks because it had a lot of promise.

The first was a cover of Audioslave's Cochise, my original audition piece for Hastang. I have to admit that I knew very little about Hastang. I admittedly knew near nothing about the local band scene, but I'd wanted to play Cochise before, back when I was still with Dama. On the phone with Boss Mark for the first time, I remember him stopping short after I asked them if I could sing Cochise. Then he laughed and said yes. Much later, I found out they were big Audioslave fans, and that they'd always wanted to do music much like Audioslave, except their old vocalist couldn't do Rock and Roll.

We were supposed to be third to play. A mix up happened with the emcee, who introduced us second. But what the heck. We started playing.

Outpost was almost packed when we got there, I'm sure, mostly with Missing Filemon and Sheila and the Insects fans. There were a couple of familiar faces, and a sea of people who made me feel... to put it simply... young.

Before heading to the outpost, I spent the entire day in bed, sporadically logging on to read webcomics and check mail.

Because the world is round, it turns me on

Over Persian food and yogurt last night, I put my life into perspective. I rehashed what was worth mulling over and what was worth letting slip if I don't want to further fuss up life.

Today in math class, I couldn't pay attention to what the teacher was talking about, so I played a game with myself. I made a little ball in my mind, of all the things I was mulling over, made it a little ball, and let it fall out the window.

And now I know how to make parabolas and circles. I'm fine.

In fact I was so fine I consumed most of the grande I was sharing with Eds Pax and Pangs. I wrote it out and let whatever remained go.

Afterwards I was lucid and so much better. I also managed to write a new song. Imaginary ewoks and silent "friends" be damned.

Speaking of friends, I'm friends with Epot again. We caught up a bit. Turns out he had still been reading my private blog a couple of months ago, so I didn't have to talk much, which was great. He talked about how he'd patched things up with his family, but was enjoying independence too much to go back to living with them. He asked about old friends, talked about work, geekery, this and that...

And then Eds finished a new song stanza and Pangs and Epot started talking warhammer. I wandered off to find coffee to sober up.

And if all goes well tomorrow, Ill manage to patch things up with my family as well. Kapoy na'g emo emo.

which reminds me, that Anton reminded me last night that I haven't been really talking about the Outpost gig.

So to those who dunno, I'm the new Hastang banshee. We're playing for the technical first time tomorrow at the Outpost, at around 10pm with Missing Filemon, Sheila and the Insects, Happy Hours, and Julia. See you when I see you (given the lights don't blind me) ^_^

The Strange Hair Day

The day started off well enough. I'd gotten money someone owed me, with which I bought a shirt a friend designed, which turned out to be the very last one, and on top of that, I'd managed to make a costume prop out of random stuff I bought at the mall. I'd reminded the girl I'd rented a wig from that morning that I was using it that night instead of yesterday like I'd told her when we last saw each other, so I asked if I could get it. Apparently, she hadn't taken it from the girl who rented it before me yet. Later, she texted that the girl couldn't be reached.

This lead to a series of unanswered phone calls, phones being shut off, weird text messages, hurried jeepney rides, would-have-been taxi rides, a potentially empty wallet, etc etc etc

I needed the wig for a shoot I was doing. I'd already paid for the wig, excited that I didn't have to cut my hair (that I'd been growing so paintakingly for several months).

But by 3pm, both renter AND rentee turned their phones off and I was left extremely frustrated and angry and left with no other choice than to cut my hair. I was thinking, if you want something done properly, there are things you have to give up.

Calltime was at 5pm, so I went off to ayala to find a hairdresser who could do the hairstyle. It was one suited for straight hair. I had wavy poofy hair, and I needed to know what sort of temporary treatment my hair would have to undergo to get the hairstyle I wanted. Most salons had waitlists, except for David's. So off I went, to wait for the stylist they called Mr. Collins (or something that began with a "c" and sounded english). The dude was bald and asian, and he started talking to me in a strange accent in english, so i thought he couldve been Singaporean or something non-filipino, like Bridges' stylist. So I responded in english. I told him I wanted a duck tail at the back, and bangs that framed my face.

He didn't understand what I meant. He suggested I get a semi-rebond. When I said I wasn't getting one, he frowned and walked off. Another hairdresser came up to me and said we could just set my hair for the meantime, and then cut it the way I wanted, etc etc. I said okay, and sat down. Mr C came back to cut my bangs, and then left.

I was waiting for him to come back to do the ducktail. But he didn't. I asked the attendant about it when Mr C came back, insisting in tagalog that my hair was curly, there was no way he could cut my hair short etc etc etc.

We had a little argument in the store, where he started speaking Cebuano. If you're a hairdresser and you're reading this, please don't be condescending to your customers, and if you don't understand what they want, try to talk to them about it instead of pretending as if you do.

I left in a huff, refusing their offer for a shampoo, went to the parlor across the street from my boarding house, and got my hair done exactly the way it should have looked at half the price David's would have asked.

It was of course, one thing to have the hair styled and ironed out, and I was still afraid the hair would turn out into a nightmare once the wax was off. After the shoot was over, I was at a friend's house for a party he threw his daughter. I washed my hair, dried it and let them take pichurs.

I think it looks great. Eat that Mr C :P

Too High To Care (Updharma Down Concert inspired)

"our sweetest songs are our saddest" - Percy Bysse Shelley

"the most universal thing in the world isn't love, but heartbreak" - Armi Millare, keyboards/vocals of Up Dharma Down, August 1, 2009 (not verbatum)

~~~

I was feeling lazy today, a bit chipper, but better than I'd been in a while. I was reading through facebook messages, one of which was from my cousin, Karl, who asked me if I was planning to go to the Updharmadown concert at ayala. Unfortunately, the concert had already started by the time I read the message. I was bent on hearing them at Handuraw tho, and I figured I'd at least be able to sit if I went early, compared to having to squeeze with the rest of the mall.

So I began my so-called "camp out" at 5pm. The concert was at 9. I spent the time by playing sims.

I am not a fangirl. I barely remember details about bands, like their members' names, what sort of personal hells they were going through to produce this and that song, etc etc. When I say I am a fan, I say it because I dig something. And I've digged Updharmadown ever since I first heard them.

I have to admit that personally, it's the vocals that got me hooked. It's not just that she has amazing control, but the quality of her voice as well. But vocals can only go so far (no matter how beautiful). Whoever makes their music is a real artist. If the vibe and music of the band didn't complement her singing perfectly, I wouldn't be this dumbstruck (I'm obviously not thinking this through). Nor might I have braved the odd looks from patrons for playing sims at a restaurant with the absence of a party/sidekick.

At 7, people started pouring in. A couple of bands were setting up, soundchecking and stuff. A band called the Undercover grasshoppers went first. They had a female vocalist, who did her own lead guitars. Cool. Initially, she sounded a bit Paramore-ish. The feeling sort of waned after the 2nd song.

The next band called themselves "Rescue A Hero". They brought in a synth, which raised my brow a bit. They soundchecked with it, which made me think they were actually using it. But they played their entire line up without ever using it. For shame. Music was okay, if you like pop, and if the off-key singing at times doesn't get to you.

Then Ian Zafra. Yes Ian Zafra. Some girl behind me screamed to make him get off the stage to make way for UdD. 'How rude' I thought, as I continued my solitaire game. (-_-;; speak for yourself)

And then he was gone, and we waited for what seemed like a gazillion years before UdD started their soundcheck. There were a few announcements over some cars that were blocking the driveway or something. By this time, I had shut down Felix and had just realized that the place was packed. I was wondering out loud how the vocalist would be able to pass. She came out at the kitchen, heralded by raised cellphones and digicams, all trying to take shots of her. She climbed over a banister to get to the stage. She asked for a bottle of water, read out announcements about cars being towed, and then a few minutes after 12 midnight, she began singing.

And then I died and went to heaven. Except there was only one angel. Who squinted her eyes and gritted her teeth every time she released a vibratto. But it was fine. She was still pretty. I couldn't take my eyes off her. Yay for being able to get a chair close to the stage xD

She was very composed, almost never made eye contact with the crowd, and spoke very little. She appealed to me no way any pompous "rock star" could because her voice alone had enough personality to swallow you whole and make you want to turn gay. Or something like that.

When she played "Oo", the audience of mostly girls started singing with her (including me). They played a couple of songs that I admittedly have never heard, but instantly fell in love with.

At 1:10, I left. I didn't wait for the band to finish their last song. I didn't wait til she could sign me an autograph or anything. I'd just seen the most inspiring performance of my entire life (so far. The last one was a ballet at the CCP when I was 7), and I was so giddy it almost felt criminal.

I need a mindfuck/ wanted, roleplayers

School's boring again. I want something for my brain to screw around with lest I go on mental ulcer. I propose a Nobilis game.

Nobilis is a roleplaying game. This is how it works, according to wikipedia: the player characters are "Sovereign Powers" called the Nobilis; each Noble is the personification of an abstract concept or class of things such as Time, Death, cars, or communication. Unlike most role-playing games, Nobilis does not use dice or other random elements to determine the outcome of characters' actions, but instead uses a Karma-based system for task resolution.

Anyone can participate. Just pick a concept/ideology you want to embody. Here's a guide to making a character: http://www.mygurps.com/nobilis/characters.html

If you're interested, email me your character concept @ mutangpusa@gmail.com. I'll send you a link to the handbook if you want to DL it.

Game will be conducted through email.

Bida Complex Shooting (It's a Wrap xD)

As much as I'd like to talk of the experience in detail, I'm too exhausted to blog. Imma try to remember what to discuss while it's still fresh. I hate my memory.

Day 1 was the most exhausting day evar. The schedule was extremely hectic. Yay for Uncle Mulong who lent us his car; and yay for cars that turn into dollies. Yay for the Tudtuds who had to put up with a bunch of noisy college students who thought they were filmmakers. Hehehe. Lol for expressions that get imbedded into the dialogue (Lololololol). Guada claimed that if one closed their eyes and listened to the direction and instructions flying about, it was almost as if we were at the set of a porn movie. Dumdumdumdum. At one point, for a "facial shot", DP, in her blue stockings and cute little shorts stood over Guada to shoot her face. And yes, we have pictures of that ;)

Day 2, everyone was late, and I couldn't blame them given we went home at almost 2am the previous day. One of the PAs told us his nosebleeding from the previous night turned out to be leukemia. On the way to USJR in Colon, Producer told us the theater was in Basak, not Colon. As the taxi detoured towards the new location, he called back and told us to go to Colon. April fooled we were. We were able to drag in a bunch of high school students to extra as the audience. Later, to light up a street for a mugging scene, one of the PAs did monkey magic by climbing over her roof to let an extension cable through her window for our lightbox. We chose that particular street because not many vehicles passed by. Within 20 minutes of shooting, taxis kept passing by, so we'd have to stop til they were out. The crew noticed that the same taxis were passing by, as well as the same groups of people. Same thing happened when we transferred to Nick's irl house's corner to shoot the money shot (*wink wink*).

This is unrelated to production, but I got news that one of my mom's brothers had died from a cardiac arrest that morning. I think it should be sad for someone to die on April Fool's Day.

Day 3 was lax in contrast with the previous days. We shot at UP, so after taking shots of Sir Anton's class where Nick got his face bruised up by 3 pretty girls (masochist much), we took filler shots around campus. Yay for the Tornillas for bringing pizza xD. We moved to Colon to take more fillers. Outside Tuxedo pension, we almost couldn't shoot outside because a horde of YFC ILC participants were checking in. We ended early because Guada had RL matters to attend to.

Day 4 was full of happy accidents. This was the day we were to shoot everything we couldn't for the previous days. We went back to UP for dialogue scenes. DP had left, since it turns out she still had an exam to take on Saturday, so cinematog was left to me and Producer. After UP, we went hunting the bowels of Jones for the location of the "movie house". It kinda took us a while before we found the Enovlink Training Center. Then we went back to UP to take more fillers, and then to Talamban for the supposedly hardest scene in the movie. Surprisingly, it only took about 15 hours, instead of the 2 hours I had imagined it would take. My list of movie magic cheats is growing. xD. We did the Haunted house scene, shot the manananggal, and travelled back to Lahug to hunt for the next outdoor scene location. Everyone was exhausted, so to save time, we were stopping at a shed to shoot a taxi scene. Unfortunately, there weren't any passing taxis to hire. When we finally got one, Guada and I got in the taxi to shoot. Suddenly, what seemed like a guild of men in blue outfits with acronyms on their uniforms were surrounding us. The crast and crew were caught off guard, so off guard I wasn't able to capture it on tape. I thought we were going to jail. The Mugger still had Guada's knife, and Nick was already taking his shirt off and showing the police that his nipples were harmless. As soona as they saw me with the camera, they left. lulz. I thought they were CITOM in darker uniforms. Producer said they were something more sinister...
We moved back to Nick's irl house for the last (and most important) scene. As soon as people got on the sofa, they all started snoozing. I let them sleep while I reviewed the tapes. Then it was time to shoot.

Amazingly, it actually started raining, in the rain scene. Happiest accident right there xD

We ended at 3am.

Turning Epic

In barely 2 weeks, I'll be in Malapascua with the family, since one of my cousin's celebrating his birthday a day before mine, and he lives in Manila where the beach is a distant dream. So much for locking myself up for the day. In the following weeks, I'll be too busy filming my thesis to be able to contemplate on what turning 2 decades older means for me.

It'll no longer be just about farming mobs in the field anymore. If ever, the monsters will only be bigger, the hurdles more brutal, but it'll take more than just chance and charm to get through. Chance will become an imaginary friend, charm will no longer be default, and comfort will become a luxury. The great part about growing up is that options expand. The hard part is that I can't just lie in bed when I'm tired of the world because I can no longer expect anyone to put food on my table/cook/clean for me anymore.

In a few weeks, I'll be working on my driver's license. In a few months, I'll be mulling over car expenses. In a year, I'll be worrying about paychecks, or if all goes according to plan, I'll be worrying about what sort of income-generating-gimmick to pull off. In a few years, if I don't end up in a nuthouse, I'll have formed a nest of sorts, with partner and child or sans both. I'll be well on my way towards middle life crisis. Etc etc etc...

And there's no stopping time, and there's no way I can help it.

But it doesn't mean I can't enjoy the ride either. Tweenies, here I come.

I'd like to turn this into a graphic novel: (A History of Locus Inverness; a repost)

Inverness in Oil is the only painting the late Giovanni Belcinni ever worked on. He started working on it in his late 20's. He died before he was able to complete it. His four sons all tried finishing it, but couldn't seem to find out how to duplicate or even parallel their father's style. Three of them died before the fourth figured out what paint his father used for the skies. Human blood. The fourth religiously followed his father's pattern of using the blood of drunken prostitutes to make his solution. The painting was magnificent. The youngest Belcinni son was found pale as a ghost in his father's studio the morning the paint dried.

Death count: 34. (4 sons, 1 father, 29 women)

The painting was shipped from place to place, first to the home of the Belcinni's art patron, whose family died of an unknown disease in the week that the Painting graced their living room hall. Then the servants followed their masters to the grave. The last to go was the cook, who took the painting to a priest.

Death count: 14 (1 mother, 1 father, 2 daughters, 1 son, 1 butler, 2 maid servants, 2 gardeners, 3 pageboys, 1 cook)

The Monastery closed after 48 years.

The painting was by then picked up by a couple of teenagers who heard it was cursed. But there was nobody alive to tell them that.

Death count: 48 (44 nuns, 2 mother superiors, 2 priests)

A total of a hundred deaths in a hundred years.
Right Hugin?
Yes Munin.

Kasi ganito nga daw kami magchill

Kasi late akong dumating sa exam ko kanina kasi inumaga akong nagbasa nung readings, putragis, kalahati lang nasagot ko, sabaw pa utak ng lola mo.

Wala akong magawa, kaya nakibuntot nalang ako kay pangs. buti pa siya, may nagawa pa sa buhay niya. Pinag-usapan namin yung BC, yung pagdadagdag ng mga eksena, yung paglalagay ng mga goons, yung paglalagay ng green screen para sa mga 3d na aswang, etc.

Sa huli, sa school din kami napadpad, nag-iisip ng pwedeng magawa. Naisip naming mag L4D. Tinawagan ko yung mga uwak na kalaro ko at nakausap kong gusto ding makalaro. Nabitbit namin si Karl at Faith sa Ge-Cube sa may USC; at nagmistulang mga rebelde sa karagatan ng mga naglalaro ng DoTA. Bahala kayo sa mga buhay nyo, masayang suimigaw basta nakakatakot ang tugtog.

Pagkatapos ng dalawang larong umabot ng isa't kalahating oras na pinuno ng sigaw ni Faith, nagkoro na ang mga tiyan, at nagsilikas na kami upang makakain ng hapunan. Sabi ni Pangs, sitsit daw ng sitsit yung mga nagdodota para tumahimik kami. Hindi namin napansin kasi sumisigaw din sila.

Nangimbita pa kasi pinsan ni Faith na pumunta kaming Outpost, at ako din ang nagpilit na magpunta kami, kaya napadpad kaming lahat dun. Reggae daw. Chill.

Pagdating dun, sumakit lang ulo ko sa dami ng tao. Pakiramdam ko tuloy, sumabak kami sa isang misyon na puro horde at smokers ang kalaban. Ang masaklap, wala kaming dalang baril. Bwiset.