We were grouped according to topics, and from the groups, we'd have to search for our own angle for a new-feature article. It somehow fell to me to discuss government programs concerning reproductive health.
When I first sought out the DOH office, I got lost and found myself in a blood specialist hospital. I wasn't in the mood to go transylvanian and go "vlad, vlad, I vant yur vlad", so I left. I got lost two times until my mother referred me to the DOH regional director for Cebu. But the only time I was available, she wasn't.
I ended up having a willing victim collect my information for me and I wouldnt have been able to do the article without that info.
I guess this experience pretty much highlighted the importance of time and connections when it comes to articles...
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Bye Bye journ121
We've been assined to write a commentary on the Journ121 experience and seeing as thaT subject was the very reason why this blog came to be,i guess I am obliged to give a commentary:
Journ 121 enriched my views of the internet and has made me more aware of it as an able tool in broadcasting and media. I have been enlightened to the fact that there may come a day when it will become the ONLY media tool, meaning, my internet habits mustn't be curbed, but on the contrary, must be encouraged. Hehehe.
I only regret that we've only discussed Blogs when we could have discussed forums and other internet outlets. But I guess this is what limited time gives you.
It was fun to discover that blogs have become more than what they were first introduced to me as - virtual diaries. But as one has said before, the best inventions are those which we find more use for than what was originally intended for them. Blogs have become more sophisticated, more organized, and a lot more public T_T. What saves my private blog from being too mainstream is the fact that its template is not very pleasing to the eye because it is dark and has almost no eye candy. Only the words are important. I wouldnt have learned how important webpage appearance is if it was not for Journ 121.
In conclusion, I think Journ 121 should be made compulsory to all Mass Comm students. The internet is a phenomena which isn't going to stop at friendster. It's become a household name and soon it's going to be hard to live without. New technologies are being developed that may make the internet a vital tool in everyday life. I believe it is imporant for everyone to have a proper education to the workings of the internet. World peace. Lol.
Journ 121 enriched my views of the internet and has made me more aware of it as an able tool in broadcasting and media. I have been enlightened to the fact that there may come a day when it will become the ONLY media tool, meaning, my internet habits mustn't be curbed, but on the contrary, must be encouraged. Hehehe.
I only regret that we've only discussed Blogs when we could have discussed forums and other internet outlets. But I guess this is what limited time gives you.
It was fun to discover that blogs have become more than what they were first introduced to me as - virtual diaries. But as one has said before, the best inventions are those which we find more use for than what was originally intended for them. Blogs have become more sophisticated, more organized, and a lot more public T_T. What saves my private blog from being too mainstream is the fact that its template is not very pleasing to the eye because it is dark and has almost no eye candy. Only the words are important. I wouldnt have learned how important webpage appearance is if it was not for Journ 121.
In conclusion, I think Journ 121 should be made compulsory to all Mass Comm students. The internet is a phenomena which isn't going to stop at friendster. It's become a household name and soon it's going to be hard to live without. New technologies are being developed that may make the internet a vital tool in everyday life. I believe it is imporant for everyone to have a proper education to the workings of the internet. World peace. Lol.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Counting by inch
3 inches is okay to walk on. 4 inches is murdah. 3 inches more is flattering to the height, 3 inches less means petite. Petite became petty when it crossed from France to the new world but I wont elaborate cause this blog entry is supposed to be about numbers. 3 inches less on the waistline is sweetly svelte while 3 inches more is FAT. 3 inches more and you could be the object of my fantasies while 3 inches less is flatchested. Don't worry though, most models are flatchested.
This pageant business has made me watch out for every inch. Every inch must be accounted for. When I wake up in the mornings my waist's 25. I do crunches because Kuya Jet wants the waist to become a 22 or a 23. I try to keep myself away from food the rest of the day and I get the hang of it until a friend comes along and treats me to a full dinner. I go home with a full tummy and the waist has gone back to the usual 27. I excrete and I get back to the 25. Sigh. I need to find a way to keep this waist consistent. But I think 24 should be enough.
The chest is a different story, but that's something I can do little about. Besides, I'm a growing teenager, I should be adding an inch or two to the 33 in a few years.I was fitted for a corset this morning and my chest was going to be squeezed in a 31, the waist in a 22, and the hips were going to be squeeezed at 34.
my fatness can be seen at http://miss.biliranisland.com. please vote at the internet choice polls :)
This pageant business has made me watch out for every inch. Every inch must be accounted for. When I wake up in the mornings my waist's 25. I do crunches because Kuya Jet wants the waist to become a 22 or a 23. I try to keep myself away from food the rest of the day and I get the hang of it until a friend comes along and treats me to a full dinner. I go home with a full tummy and the waist has gone back to the usual 27. I excrete and I get back to the 25. Sigh. I need to find a way to keep this waist consistent. But I think 24 should be enough.
The chest is a different story, but that's something I can do little about. Besides, I'm a growing teenager, I should be adding an inch or two to the 33 in a few years.I was fitted for a corset this morning and my chest was going to be squeezed in a 31, the waist in a 22, and the hips were going to be squeeezed at 34.
my fatness can be seen at http://miss.biliranisland.com. please vote at the internet choice polls :)
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Elections...
before anything else, http://biliranisland.com/forum/showthread.php?t=793
;) pls vote for me, Maryam Fatima Chawdhury. they misspelled my family name though. :D
~~~
The elections are coming up and it is going to be my first time to participate in the national elections, but the question is, do i really want to participate?
I want to learn what the electoral candidates can do for the country but all that is available are stupid jingles that dont do much for the eardrums. I want to find out if they're any good in congress but all I'm shown is how good they look on TV. Pffft.
This nations' elections is in such bad shape that even local boxing champions think they can sit in the senate and rise our country from poverty. Paet.The voters on the other hand, know that a representative in the government is vital if they want their grievances heard over at the top. Unfortunately, they've ommitted the fact that these representatives shouldnt only be sensitive towards their issues but must also know the basics of governance. We have entertainers in the senate, who use their meetings to get extra sleepy time that they may have been deprived of because of long hours in the set(prolly making themselves more visible in time for the next elections). A senatorial or congressional position has become the best place to be if you want to get paid for sleeping in air-conditioned rooms.
And then there's the president. That position seems jinxed. Anyone who sits is offered the devil's deal: "I will give you fame and fortune, as long as you use this to make yourself happy in every possible way and preserve what i have given you."
Our society is like a dusty slab of cement. And revolution is a drop of water. With time, the slab gets dry, the dust comes back again, and it will take another revolution to clean the slab again.
;) pls vote for me, Maryam Fatima Chawdhury. they misspelled my family name though. :D
~~~
The elections are coming up and it is going to be my first time to participate in the national elections, but the question is, do i really want to participate?
I want to learn what the electoral candidates can do for the country but all that is available are stupid jingles that dont do much for the eardrums. I want to find out if they're any good in congress but all I'm shown is how good they look on TV. Pffft.
This nations' elections is in such bad shape that even local boxing champions think they can sit in the senate and rise our country from poverty. Paet.The voters on the other hand, know that a representative in the government is vital if they want their grievances heard over at the top. Unfortunately, they've ommitted the fact that these representatives shouldnt only be sensitive towards their issues but must also know the basics of governance. We have entertainers in the senate, who use their meetings to get extra sleepy time that they may have been deprived of because of long hours in the set(prolly making themselves more visible in time for the next elections). A senatorial or congressional position has become the best place to be if you want to get paid for sleeping in air-conditioned rooms.
And then there's the president. That position seems jinxed. Anyone who sits is offered the devil's deal: "I will give you fame and fortune, as long as you use this to make yourself happy in every possible way and preserve what i have given you."
Our society is like a dusty slab of cement. And revolution is a drop of water. With time, the slab gets dry, the dust comes back again, and it will take another revolution to clean the slab again.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
DIE-yet
Yes, the word "Diet" is now in my vocab.
I ate an apple for breakfast.
A single apple, that doesn't even amount to the word. I'd call it applet but then there's already a fruit called mansanitas which is technically spanish for applet...
...For lunch I had a serving of Pinakbet and half a cup of rice.
And for dinner I had a serving of chopsuey, a cup of rice, and a banana.
My tummy's pretty much satisfied thanks to the water, but my tastebuds are crying.
The price to pay when you have to be conscious of your figure.
I declare the word "Diet" as the vilest word ever made. You can kill me but you cannot take away my food.
Why am I even letting myself go through all this?
I ate an apple for breakfast.
A single apple, that doesn't even amount to the word. I'd call it applet but then there's already a fruit called mansanitas which is technically spanish for applet...
...For lunch I had a serving of Pinakbet and half a cup of rice.
And for dinner I had a serving of chopsuey, a cup of rice, and a banana.
My tummy's pretty much satisfied thanks to the water, but my tastebuds are crying.
The price to pay when you have to be conscious of your figure.
I declare the word "Diet" as the vilest word ever made. You can kill me but you cannot take away my food.
Why am I even letting myself go through all this?
Monday, February 26, 2007
Hentai
From Wikipedia: Hentai (変態 or へんたい, Hentai?) listen (help·info) is a Japanese word that means "abnormality" or "metamorphosis". However, in slang situations it often means "perverted" and is subsequently used in many other countries to refer to anime, manga and computer games with explicit sexual or pornographic content (see Japanese pornography). The word is never used this way in Japanese; commonly used terms include "jū hachi kin" (18禁; prohibited for sale to persons under 18), "ecchi/H anime" (sexual/pornographic anime), the prefix "ero-" (derived from "erotic"), or "seinen" (成年; adult, not to be confused with 青年 young adult).
The term "hentai" is commonly used (outside of Japan) to refer to pornographic animation in general that is not necessarily anime or manga. This is most often the case if the said animation is an imitation of a pre-existing cartoon or character (e.g. Princess Jasmine hentai).
I'm not a big fan of Pornography, I believe it helps divide man and woman even more, making man think of woman not as an equal but an object.
To the Japanese, it appears Pornography is art.
Hentai apparently existed as far back as the 19th century. Take a peek if you'd dare
The first time I encountered hentai was when I discovered Uncle Yamasan's books. Uncle Yamasan was a quiet japanese man who was around the same age of my father.
He lived in our house for a short time, while he and my father were business partners. He was either teaching us origami or reading his soft bound books quietly, one part of the book rolled up in his hand.
One day I peeked in his book, though I couldnt understand the text. I discovered his book had few pictures, so I scanned the book for all its illustrations. I found one picture of three girls (all dressed in skimpy underwear) each armed with hoses around one skinny boy (in a pair of briefs I've only seen Sumo Wrestlers wear so far). I asked what the book was about and Uncle Yamasan, trying not to spur my curiousity, told me it was about 3 girls who liked the same boy, making the boy confused on who to choose. When uncle Yamasan went back to Japan, he sent me a set of Sailormoon manga (Raushan got Turbo Rangers).
Pornography has literally "left little to the imagination", that perverts are seeking newer forms of pornography. Enter hentai, a reflection of the Japanese tendency to hold nothing sacred for the sake of their surrealism.
I've browsed through an XXXholic manga I found open in national Bookstore a couple of months back, and I found a parade of gigantic floating fishes with lanterns and a couple more obscure creatures. In the midst of it all was a pretty witch who seems to have Dominatrix tendencies.
We are in the millenium where everything is questioned, ideals are interloped and folded into each other, and nothing is sacred. Hentai is fast becoming a new art form and my only hope is that I look far too human to be mistaken for an anime fantasy by some sick male pervert.
You must take note that I used "male". I do look at hentai, therefore I am a perv myself. Hehehe.
The term "hentai" is commonly used (outside of Japan) to refer to pornographic animation in general that is not necessarily anime or manga. This is most often the case if the said animation is an imitation of a pre-existing cartoon or character (e.g. Princess Jasmine hentai).
I'm not a big fan of Pornography, I believe it helps divide man and woman even more, making man think of woman not as an equal but an object.
To the Japanese, it appears Pornography is art.
Hentai apparently existed as far back as the 19th century. Take a peek if you'd dare
The first time I encountered hentai was when I discovered Uncle Yamasan's books. Uncle Yamasan was a quiet japanese man who was around the same age of my father.
He lived in our house for a short time, while he and my father were business partners. He was either teaching us origami or reading his soft bound books quietly, one part of the book rolled up in his hand.
One day I peeked in his book, though I couldnt understand the text. I discovered his book had few pictures, so I scanned the book for all its illustrations. I found one picture of three girls (all dressed in skimpy underwear) each armed with hoses around one skinny boy (in a pair of briefs I've only seen Sumo Wrestlers wear so far). I asked what the book was about and Uncle Yamasan, trying not to spur my curiousity, told me it was about 3 girls who liked the same boy, making the boy confused on who to choose. When uncle Yamasan went back to Japan, he sent me a set of Sailormoon manga (Raushan got Turbo Rangers).
Pornography has literally "left little to the imagination", that perverts are seeking newer forms of pornography. Enter hentai, a reflection of the Japanese tendency to hold nothing sacred for the sake of their surrealism.
I've browsed through an XXXholic manga I found open in national Bookstore a couple of months back, and I found a parade of gigantic floating fishes with lanterns and a couple more obscure creatures. In the midst of it all was a pretty witch who seems to have Dominatrix tendencies.
We are in the millenium where everything is questioned, ideals are interloped and folded into each other, and nothing is sacred. Hentai is fast becoming a new art form and my only hope is that I look far too human to be mistaken for an anime fantasy by some sick male pervert.
You must take note that I used "male". I do look at hentai, therefore I am a perv myself. Hehehe.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Aftermath of the Staging
http://thesims2.ea.com/about/sims_stories/index.php
Good timing... right when I'm about to have my own laptop :D
~~~
The shows were succesful. I've begun working on the concept for the installations, but nothing's definite.
~~~
The make-up artists Kimmy brought yesterday were trying to convince me to join Ms. Mandaue. I won't because I have summer classes. The Ms. Biliranisland.com thing will have to be it for now. My manager told me my mom was worried I might find modelling fun and stop paying attention to my studies. Warning bells in my mind went off. "Modelling?" I thought. "Model na diay ko?". It turns out my manager is putting me in the modelling business too. Oh shiet. This is one thing I didn't expect. Oo diay, uso na man diay ang Goth ron.
~~~
Bringing laundry to the laundry house always seems like a great feat to me. I find this even more fulfilling than finding my name on a piece of paper, no matter how large it is. Names will be forgotten, specially mine since it's so hard to pronounce. This is the same thing with faces, specially mine since it's so generic. And this is why I'm so happy today For the first time this week, I've been able to do something truly selfish.
~~~
I woke up thinking, "I have no friends, my friends are my classmates...". Then I remembered my own words, "Equality is impossible because man will forever have the tendency to classify. Man only truly becomes equal and unified in the presence of chaos."
We become more forgiving to each other's faults because we have larger problems at hand, we become more patient, more benevolent, more sincere, more helpful..etc. "
So I may be close to my classmates today because of the chaos we just struggled and lived through, but give it a week or two and we'll be back in our old places, and I'll be back to being the loner.
So I reiterate my statement "I have no permanent friends, and everything is just a dream". This isn't one of my affectations. I don't like bothering with trifles and I'm being as honest as I can.
~~~
So in short, I'm exploring all my career options; I'm content with my homelife; I'm content with my social life; and I've accepted the fact that people just flit by. Nobody is permanent. Nothing is permanent.
Good timing... right when I'm about to have my own laptop :D
~~~
The shows were succesful. I've begun working on the concept for the installations, but nothing's definite.
~~~
The make-up artists Kimmy brought yesterday were trying to convince me to join Ms. Mandaue. I won't because I have summer classes. The Ms. Biliranisland.com thing will have to be it for now. My manager told me my mom was worried I might find modelling fun and stop paying attention to my studies. Warning bells in my mind went off. "Modelling?" I thought. "Model na diay ko?". It turns out my manager is putting me in the modelling business too. Oh shiet. This is one thing I didn't expect. Oo diay, uso na man diay ang Goth ron.
~~~
Bringing laundry to the laundry house always seems like a great feat to me. I find this even more fulfilling than finding my name on a piece of paper, no matter how large it is. Names will be forgotten, specially mine since it's so hard to pronounce. This is the same thing with faces, specially mine since it's so generic. And this is why I'm so happy today For the first time this week, I've been able to do something truly selfish.
~~~
I woke up thinking, "I have no friends, my friends are my classmates...". Then I remembered my own words, "Equality is impossible because man will forever have the tendency to classify. Man only truly becomes equal and unified in the presence of chaos."
We become more forgiving to each other's faults because we have larger problems at hand, we become more patient, more benevolent, more sincere, more helpful..etc. "
So I may be close to my classmates today because of the chaos we just struggled and lived through, but give it a week or two and we'll be back in our old places, and I'll be back to being the loner.
So I reiterate my statement "I have no permanent friends, and everything is just a dream". This isn't one of my affectations. I don't like bothering with trifles and I'm being as honest as I can.
~~~
So in short, I'm exploring all my career options; I'm content with my homelife; I'm content with my social life; and I've accepted the fact that people just flit by. Nobody is permanent. Nothing is permanent.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Blogging about Blogging
I was featured in Sunstar's blogplug last Feb 10. Not much to garner from that, I don't care much about more blog readers unless you can become a potential story or contact. Ms Tabada asked if I wanted my older blog to be the one featured but I preferred not to give potential stalkers the link to my more private musings. But I still visit that blog more than I do this one, because #1, I've gotten used to the interface of that blogging system than this one, and #2, I think so fast that it is hard to focus on philosophies when you'retalking to yourself. I admire people who can do that.
Ironically, the other blog has become even more interactive than this one even though this is the supposed "public" blog. The only social interactions I've gotten from this is a few stalkers, one of them a supposed "photographer" who told me he has been into photography for 7 years and has all the gadgets for it, but whose artwork looks like the same thing we produced on our first days in Sir Marx's Photography class. I gave him critique and his alpha-male ape man instincts came out and dissed me by comparing me to Spongebob. Note to avid chatters: Do not chat with anyone who's poor in reading comprehension. It is also a dangerous sign if the person brags about gadgets and talks about it as if you aren't a teenager in the 21st century. It is a sign that this person assumes you are stupid and easy. I do not have to apologize to the aforementioned dick if he reads this, it is a blog after all, not TV. And I didn't mention your name,so I hope you dont get your hacker friends to spam me and destroy my precious blog. Or else I'll get my witch friends and kulam you.
Fame and a big sassy mouth come with a price.
~~~
Rereading my old blog entries reminds me of how far I've gotten and how little I still know about the world until now. It's all embarassing crap, but it was better than my written diaries. I found one, which I kept during the time I was in 3rd year high school (me thinks).
This was the time when I was the Clueless Jesus Freak who was getting over her man hating by crushing on a different boy every 2 months.
There were several interesting entries, one where a friend discovered I sounded like Amy Lee and put me on a stage, another that reflected that guys were worse gossips than girls, and one that told the story of Aster City, which was a little like Final Fantasy and the Matrix though I had seen neither during the time I wrote the story. I'm unoriginal this way. I come up with something unique, only to fnd it in bookshelves or on the TV, or on the Silverscreen years before I can be able to get to a decent producer.
~~~
The "H" of this keyboard is broken. It keeps popping out every now and then. I'm an avid blogger considering I dont have my own PC where I'm at.*ubo ma ubo lap ubo top* >,>
Thought bubble:I wonder if my mom reads my blog
Ironically, the other blog has become even more interactive than this one even though this is the supposed "public" blog. The only social interactions I've gotten from this is a few stalkers, one of them a supposed "photographer" who told me he has been into photography for 7 years and has all the gadgets for it, but whose artwork looks like the same thing we produced on our first days in Sir Marx's Photography class. I gave him critique and his alpha-male ape man instincts came out and dissed me by comparing me to Spongebob. Note to avid chatters: Do not chat with anyone who's poor in reading comprehension. It is also a dangerous sign if the person brags about gadgets and talks about it as if you aren't a teenager in the 21st century. It is a sign that this person assumes you are stupid and easy. I do not have to apologize to the aforementioned dick if he reads this, it is a blog after all, not TV. And I didn't mention your name,so I hope you dont get your hacker friends to spam me and destroy my precious blog. Or else I'll get my witch friends and kulam you.
Fame and a big sassy mouth come with a price.
~~~
Rereading my old blog entries reminds me of how far I've gotten and how little I still know about the world until now. It's all embarassing crap, but it was better than my written diaries. I found one, which I kept during the time I was in 3rd year high school (me thinks).
This was the time when I was the Clueless Jesus Freak who was getting over her man hating by crushing on a different boy every 2 months.
There were several interesting entries, one where a friend discovered I sounded like Amy Lee and put me on a stage, another that reflected that guys were worse gossips than girls, and one that told the story of Aster City, which was a little like Final Fantasy and the Matrix though I had seen neither during the time I wrote the story. I'm unoriginal this way. I come up with something unique, only to fnd it in bookshelves or on the TV, or on the Silverscreen years before I can be able to get to a decent producer.
~~~
The "H" of this keyboard is broken. It keeps popping out every now and then. I'm an avid blogger considering I dont have my own PC where I'm at.*ubo ma ubo lap ubo top* >,>
Thought bubble:I wonder if my mom reads my blog
Pregenesis
Pregenesis
"Everyone will have a reason"
UPVCC Conference Hall
February 24, 2:00-3:00; 5:00-6:00pm
tickets sold at 50 php each
Saturday, February 10, 2007
The Chain Letter Conspiracy Theory
From Boredom came an Idea- Pregenesis
Why are chain letters spread so desperately when they are useless? I don't think it's for evangelical purposes since most of the time, the content of these letters even mock the religion that is represented.
These letters usually end in threats if the reciever doesn't forward the letter in a matter of how many days. There are even examples of the fate one could fall into when one does not comply with the sender's wishes.
I've recieved a letter or two and forgot to send them, but I didn't die. Nobody wrote down that I had choked on a piece of bubblegum 3 days after doodling on a letter and sent it around again. I have a feeling these letters are more than what they seem. What if these letters have secret codes in them?
The sender wants to spread the code as far and as wide as possible, ala Da Vinci Code ba. So that the wise would see through the deception and decode the letter for it's true message.
This theory has yet to be tested. First, I need a real chain letter. Second, I need to figure out how to decode it.
Zyra added to the drama by suggesting that the threats were real, but they'd only come true AFTER you decode the letter... dumdumdumdummmmm
Why are chain letters spread so desperately when they are useless? I don't think it's for evangelical purposes since most of the time, the content of these letters even mock the religion that is represented.
These letters usually end in threats if the reciever doesn't forward the letter in a matter of how many days. There are even examples of the fate one could fall into when one does not comply with the sender's wishes.
I've recieved a letter or two and forgot to send them, but I didn't die. Nobody wrote down that I had choked on a piece of bubblegum 3 days after doodling on a letter and sent it around again. I have a feeling these letters are more than what they seem. What if these letters have secret codes in them?
The sender wants to spread the code as far and as wide as possible, ala Da Vinci Code ba. So that the wise would see through the deception and decode the letter for it's true message.
This theory has yet to be tested. First, I need a real chain letter. Second, I need to figure out how to decode it.
Zyra added to the drama by suggesting that the threats were real, but they'd only come true AFTER you decode the letter... dumdumdumdummmmm
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
To Confess or not to Confess
(Edited the Nov 22 post for publishing)
So you've decided to tell your best guy friend that your feelings for him have surpassed friendship. Have you really thought it out?
A good movie always has a certain degree of mush. Salma Hayek and Colin Farell ignored society when they fell in love in Ask the Dust. But behind the scenes, all Hayek can say about Farell is that "...We worked really well together because we are both very creative, but we really trusted each other and we were very respectful of each other." I doubt they even talk anymore. Pornography is a thriving industry despite rape and sexually-transmitted diseases. People speak of kisses and hugs with rosy undertones, forgetting that stolen kisses may also be shared by rapists and their victims.
Advertisers try making associations between love and their product. Consumers buy these products, not out of necessity for the product, but because they subconsciously think that with the imitation of the ad through the closest way possible (having the product), the love will follow.
Why is love blown up to such heights? Because it's so hard to find. And it's never absolute even when you find it.
It could just be attraction, infatuation, or even obsession. you could "love" someone because you find something in the person that represents something you want for yourself; or something that reminds you of yourself. It could be anything BUT love. The funny thing about the world is that it says people under 18 aren't capable of love. This same world set Romeo and Juliet as the standard for true love. Juliet was 13 years old. It also says that people are in love only when they are in a relationship. Other than that, you're just infatuated.
Love is a personal road. Even if the person loves you back, it's still personal. You may love the person more, or the person may love you more. It depends on the person's capability to love. There are people who can die for the people they love. And there are people who measure love's gravity by the amount of homework you do for your special someone.
There are risks to everything. You must be sure of your intentions first and foremost. If you expect to remain friends, you better think twice. Receiving love from a friend is different from receiving love from someone who means it differently. It becomes a hideous thing because you think you are obliged to reciprocate even when you really aren't.
You have two options that branch out to other possibilities: It's either you tell him or you keep it to yourself. Seemingly simple. But it's the possibilities that make the decision harder. If you tell him, you could risk his rejection or get an instant boyfriend, which leads to other possibilities or questions like; do you even want a complication in the form of a boyfriend? If either of the two doesn't happen, you could share a lukewarm friendship since the person feels pity for you or become better friends if you're both mature enough.
If you choose to keep it to yourself, you could love him in secret and be very frustrated... or/and eventually get tired of the masquerade.
The decision is up to you. I wish you success. If you aren't, I wish the experience proves to be an educational one. I do hope you're not going to do anything stupid just because I did.
So you've decided to tell your best guy friend that your feelings for him have surpassed friendship. Have you really thought it out?
A good movie always has a certain degree of mush. Salma Hayek and Colin Farell ignored society when they fell in love in Ask the Dust. But behind the scenes, all Hayek can say about Farell is that "...We worked really well together because we are both very creative, but we really trusted each other and we were very respectful of each other." I doubt they even talk anymore. Pornography is a thriving industry despite rape and sexually-transmitted diseases. People speak of kisses and hugs with rosy undertones, forgetting that stolen kisses may also be shared by rapists and their victims.
Advertisers try making associations between love and their product. Consumers buy these products, not out of necessity for the product, but because they subconsciously think that with the imitation of the ad through the closest way possible (having the product), the love will follow.
Why is love blown up to such heights? Because it's so hard to find. And it's never absolute even when you find it.
It could just be attraction, infatuation, or even obsession. you could "love" someone because you find something in the person that represents something you want for yourself; or something that reminds you of yourself. It could be anything BUT love. The funny thing about the world is that it says people under 18 aren't capable of love. This same world set Romeo and Juliet as the standard for true love. Juliet was 13 years old. It also says that people are in love only when they are in a relationship. Other than that, you're just infatuated.
Love is a personal road. Even if the person loves you back, it's still personal. You may love the person more, or the person may love you more. It depends on the person's capability to love. There are people who can die for the people they love. And there are people who measure love's gravity by the amount of homework you do for your special someone.
There are risks to everything. You must be sure of your intentions first and foremost. If you expect to remain friends, you better think twice. Receiving love from a friend is different from receiving love from someone who means it differently. It becomes a hideous thing because you think you are obliged to reciprocate even when you really aren't.
You have two options that branch out to other possibilities: It's either you tell him or you keep it to yourself. Seemingly simple. But it's the possibilities that make the decision harder. If you tell him, you could risk his rejection or get an instant boyfriend, which leads to other possibilities or questions like; do you even want a complication in the form of a boyfriend? If either of the two doesn't happen, you could share a lukewarm friendship since the person feels pity for you or become better friends if you're both mature enough.
If you choose to keep it to yourself, you could love him in secret and be very frustrated... or/and eventually get tired of the masquerade.
The decision is up to you. I wish you success. If you aren't, I wish the experience proves to be an educational one. I do hope you're not going to do anything stupid just because I did.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
The Drunk
Rose Petal Ice Cream and Boracay. Very similar to Strawberry and Mocha Ice Cream. I remember reading once that the Rose plant and Strawberry plant belong to the same family. I dunno how true this is though since my memory is very unreliable. Boracay on the other hand is a drink that has a little choco, a little gin, a little coffee, and a lot of milk. The difference between Mocha Ice Cream and Boracay is that Boracay leaves you warm and tingly.
When you're drunk (or at least half-drunk) nothing else registers in your mind except for your most current thought. Along with this thought is a list of references to past experiences and recollection/readings directly or indirectly connected to the thought. But like an Mp3 player on intro play mode, these thoughts whiz by so fast that you barely have time to finish a trail of thought to form a coherent sentence. Hence the incoherence of drunks.
Last night I drank as much as I could. My limits were the boarding house curfew and my host's budget. Last night, I learned why people resort to drinking.
People try quelling their emotions and they are so conscious of the quelling that it has become uncomfortable to release emotions. The only way to feel unguilty about such emotions is to drink on it and not think about it. This si also possible with self-hypnosis (though I think the drunk are in some ways, in a state of hypnosis) Then the emotions will flow free with the drunken singing of "My Way". It is a cult. A cult of people who have realized they do not have the right to feel. Feelings are only for the stars of the show that is Life. Unfortunately, we're all just extras. The stars of the show only drink to get drunk enough to do each other and panic about it the morning after. So I say, to all beer drinkers:
Pour this ale
Onto my thirsty heart
Let it sate
The thirst for love
Let is sate
The thirst
That can never
be quelled
let it sate
my thirst for love
When you're drunk (or at least half-drunk) nothing else registers in your mind except for your most current thought. Along with this thought is a list of references to past experiences and recollection/readings directly or indirectly connected to the thought. But like an Mp3 player on intro play mode, these thoughts whiz by so fast that you barely have time to finish a trail of thought to form a coherent sentence. Hence the incoherence of drunks.
Last night I drank as much as I could. My limits were the boarding house curfew and my host's budget. Last night, I learned why people resort to drinking.
People try quelling their emotions and they are so conscious of the quelling that it has become uncomfortable to release emotions. The only way to feel unguilty about such emotions is to drink on it and not think about it. This si also possible with self-hypnosis (though I think the drunk are in some ways, in a state of hypnosis) Then the emotions will flow free with the drunken singing of "My Way". It is a cult. A cult of people who have realized they do not have the right to feel. Feelings are only for the stars of the show that is Life. Unfortunately, we're all just extras. The stars of the show only drink to get drunk enough to do each other and panic about it the morning after. So I say, to all beer drinkers:
Pour this ale
Onto my thirsty heart
Let it sate
The thirst for love
Let is sate
The thirst
That can never
be quelled
let it sate
my thirst for love
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
For Pring
May your grace transcend your mortality
And may you dance among the stars
Though death challenged your frailty
You shall forever be in our hearts
In life you served as a reminder
That life in itself is a celebration
In death may you never waiver
May you remind us of your passion
For April Mae "Pring" Sumaylo, who died yesterday, in a car accident. She will be remembered as a graceful dancer (she inspired me to take ballroom lessons), as one who took things in stride, as one who, like her character, Dawn, made light to seemingly hopeless situations, as a cheerful classmate and helpful friend. She shall be missed.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
the Christmas Spirit has gone off to haunt someone else
I know it's supposed to be Christmas. But I don't feel it.
There's no snow in the Philippines but everytime Xmas is around the corner, it's so real you can almost taste it. I wonder why I don't taste anything this Christmas.
Is it because my mom didn't bother decorate? Is it because there are almost NO decorations a mile wide? There's a wreath or two here and there, but it doesn't count for much.
The carolers are more annoying than entertaining. They sing the same songs off key again and again and are always in a rush to end the songs. Even when you tell them your parents aren't home, they keep on pestering you for coins.
There are parties here and there, but when food's free, it's not too exciting to get a third serving of fruit cake.
But I'm happy to be home. I've been interacting with my family more than I usually do: talking about band stuff with Karl, about High School with Deanne, Gaming with Raushan, Local politics with my mom, college life with ate Jean. I dont feel that alienated from them like I've been feeling ever since I moved to Cebu.
This is going to be a very short and very cheesy conclusion. Isn't christmas supposed to be about the family? I don't have to feel the spirit of christmas in kikay trees and men in red suits (PVC or not). It's been a while since I felt warmth. This may be the warmth most people have on normal days, but I realized this is all the christmas I'll ever need.
There's no snow in the Philippines but everytime Xmas is around the corner, it's so real you can almost taste it. I wonder why I don't taste anything this Christmas.
Is it because my mom didn't bother decorate? Is it because there are almost NO decorations a mile wide? There's a wreath or two here and there, but it doesn't count for much.
The carolers are more annoying than entertaining. They sing the same songs off key again and again and are always in a rush to end the songs. Even when you tell them your parents aren't home, they keep on pestering you for coins.
There are parties here and there, but when food's free, it's not too exciting to get a third serving of fruit cake.
But I'm happy to be home. I've been interacting with my family more than I usually do: talking about band stuff with Karl, about High School with Deanne, Gaming with Raushan, Local politics with my mom, college life with ate Jean. I dont feel that alienated from them like I've been feeling ever since I moved to Cebu.
This is going to be a very short and very cheesy conclusion. Isn't christmas supposed to be about the family? I don't have to feel the spirit of christmas in kikay trees and men in red suits (PVC or not). It's been a while since I felt warmth. This may be the warmth most people have on normal days, but I realized this is all the christmas I'll ever need.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Stormy Cebu
I love storms...
I love staying indoors while the storms destroy everything in sight...
I love having a reason to snuggle up in bed with socks on my feet and a mug of hot choco in my hand. I don't like choco but I like the warmth from the mug.
I love sleeping to the sound of rain outside my window, and waking up to the sound of rain still on my window.
I love walking around town just before a storm ends-when it's only drizzling.
I love picking up the spoils from a storm. I love wondering how the dead bird ended up dead on the sidewalk beside a dead cat.
I love the cold breeze that can't hurt me no matter how hard it blows because I'm warm in my socks and my unwashed hair.
I love the silence in the aftermath of the storm that only he sun can break.
I love not having to live under the sun before life resumes order and the chaos is swept over by street cleaners and irate mothers.
I love staying indoors while the storms destroy everything in sight...
I love having a reason to snuggle up in bed with socks on my feet and a mug of hot choco in my hand. I don't like choco but I like the warmth from the mug.
I love sleeping to the sound of rain outside my window, and waking up to the sound of rain still on my window.
I love walking around town just before a storm ends-when it's only drizzling.
I love picking up the spoils from a storm. I love wondering how the dead bird ended up dead on the sidewalk beside a dead cat.
I love the cold breeze that can't hurt me no matter how hard it blows because I'm warm in my socks and my unwashed hair.
I love the silence in the aftermath of the storm that only he sun can break.
I love not having to live under the sun before life resumes order and the chaos is swept over by street cleaners and irate mothers.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Saturday, December 02, 2006
I Am A Victim of Stage Mom Syndrome
You think you have stage mom problems? Dig this- I have one mother, four aunts, and a dozen or more Titas who’re all convinced that I’ll be Miss Universe one day.
All my life, I’ve been surrounded with doting females who send me clothes with rules attached to them (wear this white skirt with those pumps; this blouse with that pair of pants…); turn their noses up at my interests; curse my inheritance of my father’s posture and later, his cynicism; match-make me with their sons, nephews, and song idols (my mom declared wanting Michael Buble’ as a son-in-law once); and ultimately dictate how I should live my life in order to become an ideal candidate. They’ve got it all figured out. To them, I’m the shooting star they’ve all been waiting for: I’m the only way they can fulfill their dreams.
When my aunts’ find out I’m in the area, they all invite me to their homes. Once, an aunt asked me to sing something for her. Little did I know that she was planning to drag me off to an audition for a singing contest on TV. Thank God for menstrual cramps. Another aunt wanted me to go to the mall with her. We walked around the mall until my poor footsies were pooped. Unfortunately for her, there weren’t any talent scouts in the area. They could all have been on a trip to Pluto, I suggested. If I were rich, I’d probably have paid for the trip.
One aunt seemed to live for dressing me up. It seemed to me that it was her life’s cause to turn me into a living Barbie doll. Whenever a new “wardrobe” would arrive, I’d be forced to try everything on for my persistent mother. Whenever I went over to her place, she’d pull me to her bedroom and throw me what would seem like a whole mall of clothes and demand I try EVERYTHING. I’d be stuck in a pile of tank tops and miniskirts, wondering how my Silent Hill game was faring without a player at the PS2 still running in the living room. She’d take me along whenever she had a party to attend to and I’d be stuck in the middle of housewives talking about starlets and models, feeling more and more like a bird in a gilded cage. Or better, a moose in a tutu.
One summer, I came to visit her in Manila. My suitcase was filled with clothes I chose for myself. I made sure that my suitcase wouldn’t be able to accommodate any stray pink tube tops my sneaky aunt could smuggle in while I wasn’t looking. The moment she opened my suitcase, I knew my frocks were history. “BLACK!!!!” She shrieked disdainfully. The very next day, we went shopping for white sandals (I wasn’t even allowed to wear my grey chucks). Since Vogue has declared “Goth” fashionable, my regular shipment of clothes from my saintly aunt has ever since included a poor excuse for a corset once or twice, but a corset all the same. I’m proud of the fact that crowds part when I pass because they’re afraid I might grab a handful of their hair and manufacture little voodoo dolls of them. I stopped wearing my usual smudged massive eyeliner the moment Hillary Duff started popularizing the smoky-eye effect. People used to fear me. I didn’t have to explain myself to them. Now I’m just like every poser/kikay you meet down the street.
Then there’s the time even my hair became an issue. That was when Hair Rebonding became the “in” thing. My aunts started cursing their own genes for the natural curling of my once-so-straight-and-shiny-hair. I didn’t care. I was happy with my locks. At least if I got lost in a crowd, I’d be easy to spot- I’d be the fur ball in black amidst the sea of straight, shiny, boring hair. An aunt offered to pay for the parlor fees. I refused. I said I’d only let her have my hair cut. No thanks for the proposed hair overhaul. The parlorista somehow got a wind of what my aunt wanted. After my haircut, she ironed my hair straight to give me a taste of things to come. I have to admit, it looked good. My aunt looked at me like the devil’s advocate as if to say “This could be permanent you know…” After a day, I got bored and wanted my curls back. When curly hair became trendy, she stopped pestering me about the hair. I also had my hair relaxed that season. My mom has yet to know.
One of my mom’s gay friends kept on hinting of the “possibilities” that could happen if she let me go under his training. When I was 13 or 14, he’d come every day to work with me on “the walk”. I was supposed to glide through the room. I felt ridiculous. After a while, I psyched myself into thinking this’d be just like theatre, and I began to enjoy myself. I was starting to get from faulty hovercraft to delicate swan when I realized what perfecting the catwalk would mean for me. There’d be lights everywhere; a long ramp in front of me; make up and sweat on my poor nearly naked body; and at the edge of the stage, an obnoxious bunch of people who barely even know me, yet whose judgment of the personality I’m supposed to “exude” onstage will brand me for life. I realized that this sort of thing WAS different from theatre. In theatre, you take off the mask when you go offstage. In beauty contests, you wear the mask all your life. That’s a very dreadful thought. That’s when I devolved into a homo erectus. My mom’s friend gave up. “Maybe when she’s older” he said.
I may not be adult yet according to the Philippine constitution, but at the rate I’m going, the chances of me turning into an ideal young woman seem bleak. My mom curses college for my smart mouth (which is growing smarter and sassier every sem), and to add insult to injury, I don’t even care about my grades. I spend way too much time in front of a computer or buried in a book/sketchpad to even join Personality Development classes or go to a shrink. I associate myself with the “wrong” type of people and I have way too many secrets to keep. My joining a Beauty contest would be disastrous. Instead of ending my answers with “World Peace”, I’d probably say something like “Chaos is beauty”.
I hope I do not offend any title holders with this article, I happen to respect beauty queens. I believe it takes grit to put yourself in situations where anyone can just bash you and mock you for anything you say or do. Unfortunately I do not have a quick wit when it comes to charming people. What I can do is crack a joke only few people understand. If you want me to write a paper on the relevance of social customs in an Ant farm, I can do that for you. But I cannot talk while consciously trying to win people over. I don’t even want to win anyone over.
Call me insensitive, but I do not think I’m cut out for fulfilling other people’s fantasies. I may be idealistic but I am far from ideal. And I am not a doll. I am a far cry from a symbol of truth, beauty and justice. I cannot reach the status quo because I’ve long lost faith in the society that upholds it. Because as far as I’m concerned, this society feigns support for individuality yet whenever someone rises above the rest in an attempt to try something new, they castigate this deviant, “put them in their place” then follow their footsteps (or at least explore the path they left behind). The deviants of today are the gods of tomorrow. Sorry aunts. I appreciate the efforts you take to make me “beautiful”, and the clothes prevent me from having to go shopping(which, due to my indecisive nature, is a very difficult ordeal), but I like myself just the way I am. If it helps, if my brother suddenly turns gay and wants to join a beauty pageant, I suggest you support him all the way. I know I will.
PS. People actually say Raushan’s prettier than me.
All my life, I’ve been surrounded with doting females who send me clothes with rules attached to them (wear this white skirt with those pumps; this blouse with that pair of pants…); turn their noses up at my interests; curse my inheritance of my father’s posture and later, his cynicism; match-make me with their sons, nephews, and song idols (my mom declared wanting Michael Buble’ as a son-in-law once); and ultimately dictate how I should live my life in order to become an ideal candidate. They’ve got it all figured out. To them, I’m the shooting star they’ve all been waiting for: I’m the only way they can fulfill their dreams.
When my aunts’ find out I’m in the area, they all invite me to their homes. Once, an aunt asked me to sing something for her. Little did I know that she was planning to drag me off to an audition for a singing contest on TV. Thank God for menstrual cramps. Another aunt wanted me to go to the mall with her. We walked around the mall until my poor footsies were pooped. Unfortunately for her, there weren’t any talent scouts in the area. They could all have been on a trip to Pluto, I suggested. If I were rich, I’d probably have paid for the trip.
One aunt seemed to live for dressing me up. It seemed to me that it was her life’s cause to turn me into a living Barbie doll. Whenever a new “wardrobe” would arrive, I’d be forced to try everything on for my persistent mother. Whenever I went over to her place, she’d pull me to her bedroom and throw me what would seem like a whole mall of clothes and demand I try EVERYTHING. I’d be stuck in a pile of tank tops and miniskirts, wondering how my Silent Hill game was faring without a player at the PS2 still running in the living room. She’d take me along whenever she had a party to attend to and I’d be stuck in the middle of housewives talking about starlets and models, feeling more and more like a bird in a gilded cage. Or better, a moose in a tutu.
One summer, I came to visit her in Manila. My suitcase was filled with clothes I chose for myself. I made sure that my suitcase wouldn’t be able to accommodate any stray pink tube tops my sneaky aunt could smuggle in while I wasn’t looking. The moment she opened my suitcase, I knew my frocks were history. “BLACK!!!!” She shrieked disdainfully. The very next day, we went shopping for white sandals (I wasn’t even allowed to wear my grey chucks). Since Vogue has declared “Goth” fashionable, my regular shipment of clothes from my saintly aunt has ever since included a poor excuse for a corset once or twice, but a corset all the same. I’m proud of the fact that crowds part when I pass because they’re afraid I might grab a handful of their hair and manufacture little voodoo dolls of them. I stopped wearing my usual smudged massive eyeliner the moment Hillary Duff started popularizing the smoky-eye effect. People used to fear me. I didn’t have to explain myself to them. Now I’m just like every poser/kikay you meet down the street.
Then there’s the time even my hair became an issue. That was when Hair Rebonding became the “in” thing. My aunts started cursing their own genes for the natural curling of my once-so-straight-and-shiny-hair. I didn’t care. I was happy with my locks. At least if I got lost in a crowd, I’d be easy to spot- I’d be the fur ball in black amidst the sea of straight, shiny, boring hair. An aunt offered to pay for the parlor fees. I refused. I said I’d only let her have my hair cut. No thanks for the proposed hair overhaul. The parlorista somehow got a wind of what my aunt wanted. After my haircut, she ironed my hair straight to give me a taste of things to come. I have to admit, it looked good. My aunt looked at me like the devil’s advocate as if to say “This could be permanent you know…” After a day, I got bored and wanted my curls back. When curly hair became trendy, she stopped pestering me about the hair. I also had my hair relaxed that season. My mom has yet to know.
One of my mom’s gay friends kept on hinting of the “possibilities” that could happen if she let me go under his training. When I was 13 or 14, he’d come every day to work with me on “the walk”. I was supposed to glide through the room. I felt ridiculous. After a while, I psyched myself into thinking this’d be just like theatre, and I began to enjoy myself. I was starting to get from faulty hovercraft to delicate swan when I realized what perfecting the catwalk would mean for me. There’d be lights everywhere; a long ramp in front of me; make up and sweat on my poor nearly naked body; and at the edge of the stage, an obnoxious bunch of people who barely even know me, yet whose judgment of the personality I’m supposed to “exude” onstage will brand me for life. I realized that this sort of thing WAS different from theatre. In theatre, you take off the mask when you go offstage. In beauty contests, you wear the mask all your life. That’s a very dreadful thought. That’s when I devolved into a homo erectus. My mom’s friend gave up. “Maybe when she’s older” he said.
I may not be adult yet according to the Philippine constitution, but at the rate I’m going, the chances of me turning into an ideal young woman seem bleak. My mom curses college for my smart mouth (which is growing smarter and sassier every sem), and to add insult to injury, I don’t even care about my grades. I spend way too much time in front of a computer or buried in a book/sketchpad to even join Personality Development classes or go to a shrink. I associate myself with the “wrong” type of people and I have way too many secrets to keep. My joining a Beauty contest would be disastrous. Instead of ending my answers with “World Peace”, I’d probably say something like “Chaos is beauty”.
I hope I do not offend any title holders with this article, I happen to respect beauty queens. I believe it takes grit to put yourself in situations where anyone can just bash you and mock you for anything you say or do. Unfortunately I do not have a quick wit when it comes to charming people. What I can do is crack a joke only few people understand. If you want me to write a paper on the relevance of social customs in an Ant farm, I can do that for you. But I cannot talk while consciously trying to win people over. I don’t even want to win anyone over.
Call me insensitive, but I do not think I’m cut out for fulfilling other people’s fantasies. I may be idealistic but I am far from ideal. And I am not a doll. I am a far cry from a symbol of truth, beauty and justice. I cannot reach the status quo because I’ve long lost faith in the society that upholds it. Because as far as I’m concerned, this society feigns support for individuality yet whenever someone rises above the rest in an attempt to try something new, they castigate this deviant, “put them in their place” then follow their footsteps (or at least explore the path they left behind). The deviants of today are the gods of tomorrow. Sorry aunts. I appreciate the efforts you take to make me “beautiful”, and the clothes prevent me from having to go shopping(which, due to my indecisive nature, is a very difficult ordeal), but I like myself just the way I am. If it helps, if my brother suddenly turns gay and wants to join a beauty pageant, I suggest you support him all the way. I know I will.
PS. People actually say Raushan’s prettier than me.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
To confess or not to confess?
(Edited... Jan 26, 2007)
So you've decided to tell your best guy friend that your feelings for him have surpassed friendship. Have you really thought it out?
A good movie always has a certain degree of mush. Salma Hayek and Colin Farell ignored society when they fell in love in Ask the Dust. But behind the scenes, all Hayek can say about Farell is that "...We worked really well together because we are both very creative, but we really trusted each other and we were very respectful of each other." I doubt they even talk anymore. Pornography is a thriving industry despite rape and sexually-transmitted diseases. People speak of kisses and hugs with rosy undertones, forgetting that stolen kisses may also be shared by rapists and their victims.
Advertisers try making associations between love and their product. Consumers buy these products, not out of necessity for the product, but because they subconsciously think that with the imitation of the ad through the closest way possible (having the product), the love will follow.
Why is love blown up to such heights? Because it's so hard to find. And it's never absolute even when you find it.
It could just be attraction, infatuation, or even obsession. you could "love" someone because you find something in the person that represents something you want for yourself; or something that reminds you of yourself. It could be anything BUT love. The funny thing about the world is that it says people under 18 aren't capable of love. This same world set Romeo and Juliet as the standard for true love. Juliet was 13 years old. It also says that people are in love only when they are in a relationship. Other than that, you're just infatuated.
Love is a personal road. Even if the person loves you back, it's still personal. You may love the person more, or the person may love you more. It depends on the person's capability to love. There are people who can die for the people they love. And there are people who measure love's gravity by the amount of homework you do for your special someone.
There are risks to everything. You must be sure of your intentions first and foremost. If you expect to remain friends, you better think twice. Receiving love from a friend is different from receiving love from someone who means it differently. It becomes a hideous thing because you think you are obliged to reciprocate even when you really aren't.
You have two options that branch out to other possibilities: It's either you tell him or you keep it to yourself. Seemingly simple. But it's the possibilities that make the decision harder. If you tell him, you could risk his rejection or get an instant boyfriend, which leads to other possibilities or questions like; do you even want a complication in the form of a boyfriend? If either of the two doesn't happen, you could share a lukewarm friendship since the person feels pity for you or become better friends if you're both mature enough.
If you choose to keep it to yourself, you could love him in secret and be very frustrated... or/and eventually get tired of the masquerade.
The decision is up to you. I wish you success. If you aren't, I wish the experience proves to be an educational one. I do hope you're not going to do anything stupid just because I did.
So you've decided to tell your best guy friend that your feelings for him have surpassed friendship. Have you really thought it out?
A good movie always has a certain degree of mush. Salma Hayek and Colin Farell ignored society when they fell in love in Ask the Dust. But behind the scenes, all Hayek can say about Farell is that "...We worked really well together because we are both very creative, but we really trusted each other and we were very respectful of each other." I doubt they even talk anymore. Pornography is a thriving industry despite rape and sexually-transmitted diseases. People speak of kisses and hugs with rosy undertones, forgetting that stolen kisses may also be shared by rapists and their victims.
Advertisers try making associations between love and their product. Consumers buy these products, not out of necessity for the product, but because they subconsciously think that with the imitation of the ad through the closest way possible (having the product), the love will follow.
Why is love blown up to such heights? Because it's so hard to find. And it's never absolute even when you find it.
It could just be attraction, infatuation, or even obsession. you could "love" someone because you find something in the person that represents something you want for yourself; or something that reminds you of yourself. It could be anything BUT love. The funny thing about the world is that it says people under 18 aren't capable of love. This same world set Romeo and Juliet as the standard for true love. Juliet was 13 years old. It also says that people are in love only when they are in a relationship. Other than that, you're just infatuated.
Love is a personal road. Even if the person loves you back, it's still personal. You may love the person more, or the person may love you more. It depends on the person's capability to love. There are people who can die for the people they love. And there are people who measure love's gravity by the amount of homework you do for your special someone.
There are risks to everything. You must be sure of your intentions first and foremost. If you expect to remain friends, you better think twice. Receiving love from a friend is different from receiving love from someone who means it differently. It becomes a hideous thing because you think you are obliged to reciprocate even when you really aren't.
You have two options that branch out to other possibilities: It's either you tell him or you keep it to yourself. Seemingly simple. But it's the possibilities that make the decision harder. If you tell him, you could risk his rejection or get an instant boyfriend, which leads to other possibilities or questions like; do you even want a complication in the form of a boyfriend? If either of the two doesn't happen, you could share a lukewarm friendship since the person feels pity for you or become better friends if you're both mature enough.
If you choose to keep it to yourself, you could love him in secret and be very frustrated... or/and eventually get tired of the masquerade.
The decision is up to you. I wish you success. If you aren't, I wish the experience proves to be an educational one. I do hope you're not going to do anything stupid just because I did.
Monday, November 20, 2006
A theoretic approach to life
A box has 6 equal sides: The top and bottom; the left and right side and vice versa; and the front and back.
A situation is a box. It has a side that everyone sees; the positive side; the negative side; the side of one party; the side of another; and the side nobody sees. Most of the time, we see only 3 sides.
If we see situations in this view, it won't be hard to work out every possibility; every angle; every side. I haven't come up with a way to work this out yet, but I'm starting to...
A situation is a box. It has a side that everyone sees; the positive side; the negative side; the side of one party; the side of another; and the side nobody sees. Most of the time, we see only 3 sides.
If we see situations in this view, it won't be hard to work out every possibility; every angle; every side. I haven't come up with a way to work this out yet, but I'm starting to...
Monday, November 13, 2006
Miao?
As a requirement for a subject of mine, Journ 121 (The Electronic Newsroom... ooh, I like the sound of that), we've been assigned to make blogs that follow proper blogging etiquette.
I've been blogging ever since I was in high school, just because i wasted too much paper, and I misplaced a lot of my old diaries.
I never knew there was such a thing as "blogging etiquette" til now.
This is going to be my 5th blog to date. I still keep my 1st blog; I made a second blog when I found out my first blog wasn't as unaccesible as I had first thought yet it now serves as a venting for information I'd like to keep available for myself that i cannot post on the 1st blog; the third blog was supposed to be public, where I'd post comments on certain issues. I deleted it because I got bored with the template; the fourth blog isn't an actual blog, but an account on a website that hosts art. I post my more acceptable poems there and some of my sketches and attempts at digital art there for comments.The site has a journal feature so I call it my fourth blog. And this shall be my 5th blog, where I shall post comments on relevant issues. Anything from the demotion of Pluto to the color of day-old undies.
When i started blogging, I thought I was a good enough writer. i thought my issues were deep, eye-opening and readable. When I browse my first entries, I can't help but laugh, and let out a sneeze or two. My blog was my diary, my sanctuary. It spoke every now and then regarding my problems and for a while, I'd think somebody did understand me. Months later, blogs became the "in" thing. My blog suddenly became a common, insignificant proof that i was a slave to fad. for a time I started ignoring my blog. Until I visited it no longer. But I could never abandon my oldest friend. I went back to blogging just after 4 months.
I'm such a loser sometimes. Bear with me :)
I've been blogging ever since I was in high school, just because i wasted too much paper, and I misplaced a lot of my old diaries.
I never knew there was such a thing as "blogging etiquette" til now.
This is going to be my 5th blog to date. I still keep my 1st blog; I made a second blog when I found out my first blog wasn't as unaccesible as I had first thought yet it now serves as a venting for information I'd like to keep available for myself that i cannot post on the 1st blog; the third blog was supposed to be public, where I'd post comments on certain issues. I deleted it because I got bored with the template; the fourth blog isn't an actual blog, but an account on a website that hosts art. I post my more acceptable poems there and some of my sketches and attempts at digital art there for comments.The site has a journal feature so I call it my fourth blog. And this shall be my 5th blog, where I shall post comments on relevant issues. Anything from the demotion of Pluto to the color of day-old undies.
When i started blogging, I thought I was a good enough writer. i thought my issues were deep, eye-opening and readable. When I browse my first entries, I can't help but laugh, and let out a sneeze or two. My blog was my diary, my sanctuary. It spoke every now and then regarding my problems and for a while, I'd think somebody did understand me. Months later, blogs became the "in" thing. My blog suddenly became a common, insignificant proof that i was a slave to fad. for a time I started ignoring my blog. Until I visited it no longer. But I could never abandon my oldest friend. I went back to blogging just after 4 months.
I'm such a loser sometimes. Bear with me :)
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