"Associative Looseness"

I went out last night, my first time in a long time with my old good friend Rica. We’re supposed to hang out at her cousin’s bar but she had invites to this Girl’s Pre-White Party at a friend’s bar in Malate. So off we went.

I met interesting characters before we went there; Rica’s workmates from Sykes, First up is Lyle and then G (which I later found out it’s Chie pala). They are very nice lively people. We immediately had it going and all of us fooled around, along with Irish and Jaye.

We boarded a taxi – the six of us -- parang yung commercial about 6-sik in the taxi. It’s a good thing the driver tolerated it.

At the bar, mysterious characters floated around. We got free tickets (c/o of Chez. Thanks very much!) and ordered the night out –- though I didn’t remember who paid for my drinks, I think it was Rica so I just bought them breakfast at a bulalo place somewhere in Manila.

There were dancers on the ledge, pole dancing and stuff. One particular girl, in an all-white garb caught my attention, I was not really sure if she’s a girl or something else. I brought up my concern to the owner and she just said she doesn’t know her; maybe she is because I think she looks like it. Then they laughed at me. Man, I wasn’t drunk yet.

The party was okay, rowdy and loud and full of people. I met some old friends and patched things up with one. Some I don’t even remember anymore, some I did. Some introduced themselves, and hoping I won’t forget in the morning.

There’s these two (2) people constantly haggling us and they were after Chie; who got scared and moved away. Pretending to be hooking up with another friend just so they would stop bugging her.

At my third beer, I was oblivious with things around me, I was hugging everyone, dancing with them and really lost my inhibitions. I was having fun, but my company was thinking otherwise, that I was not my usual self, that I was dead drunk to be doing those stuff – but they’re wrong, I am completely in control of my actions; the difference was just that hindi na ako kasi nahihiya.

So what people are saying about not remembering anything after a night of heavy drinking is not true. You are completely aware of what you’re doing; it’s just that you can’t stop yourself because it is that inner desire that works on you. Alcohol brings out the wild side in you; the hidden desires in your subconscious will be acted upon by your ego. The ID is working its way out. And you will remember everything in the morning, and try to get away from responsibility by saying you don’t remember. Denial is always the best recourse.

So at my fourth beer, friends were concerned about my well being, one even took me outside to have a breath of fresh air. Then we had a conversation. This certain friend had been a good buddy of mine almost 5 years back; but due to some circumstances I cleared away from them. They were my party friends, and I simply just refused to go out, I got tired partyin’ and settled in my nice little cocoon with my beloved. Every time they would invite me out, I would say yes and then would not show up. I guess they got tired inviting me. Until last week, hence last night.

I mentioned about patching things up with a friend. The reasons are blurred now and honestly, now, it doesn’t even matter. I don’t care anymore. That kind of attitude gets to you when you grow up and you mature and realize that the things you think were so serious before seems very silly now. As you move on you are heading towards a goal and childish rifts are considered nonsense.

As for me, I just want to have a good time and everybody around me to have a good time, too with me.

This revelation will always be reminded by a scar below my left breast from a cigarette when they hugged me. Oh, well. That’s life. You learn something then you get scarred for life.

So the thesis statement of this wondrous parable is that: Just have fun, don’t take things so seriously. Go out and party!

Bow.

Today is my last day at my temporaray job. I have to get the clearance form from the outsourcing company I was referred to, which was in Ayala Avenue. I would be coming from the Fort, Global City.

On my way back, I promised to myself I would stop by Santuario de San Antonio in Forbes Park. Which I did. I boarded the bus and got off at the church. To my surprise, there were a lot of policemen and PSG guarding the place. There were also a lot of red-plate cars parked in front of the church. As I was about to go in, a PSG in a barong uniform asked me where I’m going.

HELLO? I’m going to the church -- maybe I’ll play pingpong with the priest.

He said I can’t go in because there’s a wedding ceremony inside. So what? It would only take me a few minutes to ask for forgiveness for silently cursing them PSGs… and that oh, so important person getting married inside. I bet, the girl just wed him for his money. Hehehe.

I asked who was getting married, he said the DOH Secretary. So? Do you need all these bodyguards around? I inched my way closer to the door, eventually I sneaked in.

It was an ordinary wedding. Just that the church was full, and it was first time to see a wedding sitter, errr…planner, fixing the sitting arrangement. (He) was holding a list and he was directing the latecomers to their proper places. Plus, all the attedees were wearing dress to kill dresses. Meaning, the women were wearing saya and white galas and silky dresses and stuff. While the men are dressed in barongs and americanas. When I say men and women, all the attendees, as in, all!

Nice to look at. It would be better if I saw the face of the bride and groom. Nice to look at din kaya? Hehehe

Anyways, I was waiting for the bus outside the church. It came to me, that maybe they were not really guarding important personalities who attended the wedding. Maybe they were really guarding the groom from scandal --- you know he got someone knocked up and that girl would go inside and shout, “STOP! Hindi kayo pwedeng magpakasal!” Then the priest would ask why, then the girl would say, “dahil ako ang mahal niya!”. So everybody would be looking at the groom, but the weird thing is, the groom was baffled, flushed in disbelief even. The groom’s father would then look at his son with glaring eyes as if saying, “what the hell are you thinking?”

To which the groom would answer, “I don’t know this woman.” Then the woman would answer, “I wasn’t talking about you, dummy. I was referring to HER!”

Hehhehe haahahah!

I was actually laughing at the sidewalk, by myself. Maybe people passing by in their cars think I’m a little cuckoo for giggling but I didn’t care. I was amused.

It helps to think about funny scenarios and other things to pass the time. It’s very refreshing and time flies by so fast.

I didn’t even notice that the bus refused to stop when I waved. The driver waved at me too when I waved… was he meaning to say Mabuhay?

Hahahah!See, i wasn't even pissed. It helps when you imagine your way out of things. It makes everything light.

Anyways, it was really hot so I decided to take the quickest ride to the office. Habal-habal 2007!

I’ve got a job interview today, for a BLOGGER position. Nice, eh? So I went online to check the company’s profile. It’s an IT offshore company and I don’t really know what they are up to with regards to products and sevices. I was just interested in finding out the job descriptions so I could prepare for the exam and possible questions during interview.

The obvious things: must finish a four year course, proficient in speaking and writing english, grammatically correct, ability to adjust to flexible hours, hardworking, and fast learner and adept in SEO strategies.

OK. What was that again? SEO STRATEGIES?

Now that I don’t know. I searched it online and saw that it’s an abbreviation for Search Engine Optimization. Too technical?

It’s basically your effectivity in generating income through ads and being ranked number ONE in search engine results such as in google, yahoo, ask.jeeves and alta vista.

I was quite skeptical before about people getting rich through the internet like the google brothers (or was that the yahoo brothers?). How could you possibly get money through putting up a website and then just write and write and write? Quite ignorant, am i?

Little did I know that it has to do with advertising. The same principles that govern the television and radios are the same principals that are behind the money in internet. Advertisers would want to market their products on your website if you get more than 500,000 visitors a month. Now in internet language, they refer to this as clicks. How many clicks you get on your website. And some website really generate to as much as 1 million clicks in less than a month! Or more than that. Amazing, isn’t it?

Now how do you get people to go and visit your website and give you their most elusive clicks? I also researched on that and I’ve come up with some answers which are basically obvious but i’ll say it anyways.

Tell people. Of course tell your friends. Get the word out. Come visit my site.
Advertise. Append your web site address in your email signatures. In your Friendster even. Just everytime you make a transaction append your web address.
Submit your site to search engines – google, yahoo, alta vista, netcape, etc…
Strategically place keywords on your content that would be highlighted and you think that it’s what people are going to search for. Like LOVE, money, or anything as long as you don’t compromise your web content.

For more tips regarding search engine optimization and what really is it aside from my mediocre description. Visit this site. It’s like SEO in a nutshell.

Now, ask me if this is really working. Well, I did place ads on my blog. I signed up for Adsense and it’s really quite doing well! Considering that only few people know about my blog, I generated an income of $0.24 USD in just 4 days. Yeah that is small but the world doesn’t end right there. It’s continuous and so is the internet traffic, and so is me consistently updating my blog, and in time – I’ll get a check all worth my efforts. For just doing what I like. The check is a long shot since I live here in the Philippines but who knows.

So, go and place ads on your website. Also contribute articles on Helium, except that I don’t have a credit card account so I can’t activate my PayPal account, I have 0.10USD there already. I earn points everytime someone clicks on my articles. Nice, right?

The more clicks the more money! Money! Money!

p.s.

please don’t forget to click on the advertisements on your screen. Your donations will go to my fund, the imee cariaga kawawa charity.

Thanks and mabuhay!

I saw a recap episode of Oprah talking about women and their anti-aging secrets. Nora Ephron was there. I’ve known Nora Ephron only through her works, which are my favorites: Sleelpless in Seattle, When Harry Met Sally, You’ve Got Mail and Michael. The first three were all starring Meg Ryan, who was one of my favorite actresses, because in her movies you see this perkiness and in-control sort of like a kid kind of way and it gets into you that you want to be around her all the time; that you begin to like her without knowing it, adorable even--that kind of stuff.

Anyways, watching Nora on TV for the first time, how she talked, her head movements, her eyebrow movements, even the movement of her mouth when she speaks -- so Meg Ryan! No, I didn’t mean that they look similar because Meg is by far prettier (of course) but their antics, weirdly the same. Well, at least in my observation. Then I got into thinking, maybe it was not really coincidental at all. Maybe the Meg Ryan that I see in Nora Ephron’s movies was really Nora Ephron personified by Meg Ryan’s characters. So you see, Meg Ryan was a very good in imitating other people. Then making it cute and adorable -- but if it would be Nora Ephron, it becomes funny not adorable anymore.

Then here comes Nora’s answers to Oprah’s questions, which were totally hilarious. A mark of a great writer I must say.

Oprah: Some women admit that the sex is better when they get older. What do you think of that?
Nora: Ahh…You could only have the best sex at 71 when you never had sex before that.
(Conversation from The OprahWinfrey Show 2006)


Heheh outrageously funny.

Oprah: What is your anti-aging secret?
Nora: This! (pointing to her hair), hair dye. You can not see people with grey hair anymore. It’s the only thing that separates me from my mother. Back in their time you could only see pink and blue hair dyes and before they call it strawberry blonde; but now there are a lot of black dyes and…


Nora’s lines has always amused me in the past, and until now. Remember that scene in the restaurant where Meg Ryan had a fake orgasm? Then an old woman saying, “I’ll have what she’s having”, after seeing what Meg did. Her lines are always witty and with cute bluntness that gets you unprepared ‘til you erupt in a smart laughter. Her lines were not really targeted to be comedic but how she delivers it, how Meg Ryan delivered it -- it's outright genius.

I stumbled upon transcribed lines from her movie “Michael” starring John Travolta. The overbearing archangel Michael who was living with an old woman. Some people didn’t like this movie for it’s absurd idea of an angel living life here on earth and enjoying life’s abundancy. Here are some of them.

Michael: You can *never* have too much sugar!
________________________________________
Michael: You know, I invented marriage
Pansy Milbank: Oh really?
Michael: Yep. All these people were milling around, trying to get together, everything was in chaos so I told 'em, "Have a ceremony".
________________________________________
Michael: Remember what John and Paul said.
Frank Quinlan: The apostles?
Michael: No, the Beatles. All you need is love.
________________________________________
Huey Driscoll: Can I just pull on your wings to see how they're attached?
Michael: Why don't you pull on your pecker to see how it's attached?
Pansy Milbank: Hey. Language.
Frank Quinlan: An angel that says "pecker."
Pansy Milbank: Language.
________________________________________
Michael: Whatever they say, you can never have too much of earth.
________________________________________
Michael: You gotta learn to laugh, it's the way to true love.
________________________________________
Michael: The miles will fly and your children won't cry, if you play car bingo.
________________________________________
Huey Driscoll: My wife has lips like a blowfish.
________________________________________
Michael: I'm not that kind of angel.
________________________________________
Frank Quinlan: Bring him back.
Michael: That's not my area.
Frank Quinlan: Would someone please tell me what his area is? Don't give me that "that's not my area" stuff. BRING HIM BACK.
________________________________________
Michael: Battle!
________________________________________
Dorothy Winters: It's cookies, he smells like cookies, and the smell gets stronger when he's in heat.
________________________________________
[repeated line, while cooking breakfast]
Pansy Milbank: Over easy!
________________________________________
Michael: Hey, what's the opposite of white?
Frank Quinlan: Black.
Michael: No. Yolk.

For more click here.

This is just an example of a character embodying the author’s personality (as it not always the case, though) but somehow it is.

Looking for an online job is the same as looking for a real-time job in person. I have probably searched all job engines looking for part-time, internet, writing, blogging, tutorial, english-online instructor, research jobs!

Whew!

I am most keen in applying for writing jobs because I thought that it would only be per article per submission basis. Which would be very comfortable with my schedule since I am going to work in a hospital (very soon!) Also that I love writing and I could go the whole day in front of a computer and just write away with basically anything. The Company where I applied the position of Creative Writing actually invited me for an interview, and when I went to search online the company’s credentials – I discovered it is an outsourcing company that caters to basically anything. It requires graveyard shifts and rotational shifts instead of the flexible hours I am looking for. In short, this is NOT creative writing per se. It is not a part-time deal for it requires 8 hours a day of work. Letch.

Then online english instructors/tutors. One Korean company called, declined the interview twice -- so I guess they figured out I’m not really that interested in teaching koreans how to speak english -- I said I’m a writer not a speaker. I have a little bit of problem with T’s and H’s and S’s. Anyways, not my calling.

So here comes the blogging, writing per article basis jobs. I applied to maybe a dozen but only one replied. I checked the pay per article and it’s

200-300 words = 60p
300-400 words = 75p
400-500 words = 100p
500 above =120p

That’s in Philippine Peso. *sigh. The going rate per article is not really that encouraging.

Then there’s this one company who actually sent me a job order. I was really excited because at last my efforts didn’t go to waste - but then the job order was for an Accounting Expert. I could research on it but I’m not really an accounting expert. My article might be filled with errors and I wouldn’t even know it, how would I know it? Hello?

So I requested the company to send me job orders regarding the topics I am most updated and and interested -- like Healthcare, Medical, Literature, Movies, Politics, Religion, History, People, maybe reviews on techie objects, Cars or Laptops and Cellphones. But not anything with numbers please…

I could be a Physics, Math, Algebra, Trigonometry, Geometry, Chuvametry tutor but only at the Highschool level. I took Arts in college! Hello?

Anyways, I hope I get another job order.

-- aymi --

Once I walked down an unfamiliar path
        winding road and blinding light
People dressed in black and white
        and we are the creatures of the night
I said No -- never shall I stay dark
        I will move on to a brighter land
Each person becoming closer to me
        sympathize with reality
I know I can detach myself away from them
        then fly back to never never land
But then-- lightning strikes
        we shared something I I could've never
                imagined -- with you.
Passionate desires inflames my soul
        my heart beating fast
Yet… we are creatures of the underworld
        uncertainties awaits us
Doubts afloat
                could I ever keep you?

10/30/02

I am here, here alone in this space
Remembering, how you turned up my world
glistening diamond you are such
beautiful.
Waiting, I stand by for eternity
feeling your breath on me once more
I succumb to these dark desires
and I long for more.
My heart, races along with my hand
in describing how I tremble
electricity striking my every vein
dampness of my hands showing
I desire not to feel desire for you
but to just hold and caress you
Definitions -- terms are insignificant
my mind understands my heart
Lights flowing down there,
cars screeching nearby
people following each other's footsteps
How far have we gone?
reflections mirroring myself
I see a girl lost -- lost in a world of lies
where the truth is non-existent -- or is it?

Oct. 2, 2002

What a day! What a day. Spending the whole evening writing and finding out the 4 pages, font 11, single spaced story i wrote was gone. Just like that. Gone. From my stupid USB. sh*t!

So much for the anticipation. My script had three versions already and it wasn’t even proofread yet. Anyways, it’s the end of the week. Much has happened that I can’t even recall.

The other day I saw Sarah Jessica Parker  (or was it Piper Perabo? Beats me.) in person. I’m actually taller than her. And she doesn’t  look at all that enchanting. Like the way she sprints around in that show “Sex and the Kitty” hehehe

Kidding.

Very interesting horoscope today. It says that i’m lucky that I have friends coz I’m fortunate enough to have the kind of bunch that would stick by you, uplift you, and help you in times of trouble and need. So, I must repay them in anyway I can, let them feel I appreciate them, extend to them my warmest hello, and the all time favorite “kamusta na?” So I did. in friendster. I sent everybody a message. And the kind of life that I’m living and the possibility of living it for ever, my friends would be my only refuge.

When I was younger, I never had a “best” friend. I don’t remember having a friend, actually. Friend for me that time was – constant companion; I go to their house, s/he comes to mine; we share snacks at school; we gang-up against the bad girls and boys at school; I see s/he during the summer, and most importantly – a playmate.

I never had a playmate. Except for one stupid boy every summer.

So, I would play by myself. Climb all the trees at the backyard pretending I’m a monkey. Then jump down with a towel as cape pretending I’m superman. Lucky me, never had any injuries of any sort. But my legs got the beating. Remember that joke, “mayaman ako, kasi marami akong piso”. Well I was like that before. My scars literally looked like 1peso coins. Even had multiple scars, one on top of the other on my knees. I would also pretend I’m robinson crusoe, stranded in an island, so I would just write…write and write; and when I would get tired of writing “letters” to my family, I would exercise my combat skills—by hitting the banana trees all around me. Then I would pretend I’m Jackie Chan, or Cynthia Luster J and go on kicking, boxing, and hit the banana tree with a kitchen knife.

On a hot lazy afternoon, I wouldn’t be seen napping. I’m out on the street, biking, by myself, under the hot sun.

I never had a doll (but my mom claims I did, but where?) so I would steal my brother’s toyrs; cowboy guns with pellets and horsey-horsey… I would sometimes pretend I’m a priest and give communion to imaginary people. I would pretend I’m indiana jones playing hide and seek with the dogs and climbing the bamboo roof to get little birds and play with them… or sometimes just feed them to the cats.

There was this one time I pretended I’m a store owner and tried to sell orange juice in front  of our house. Nobody came to buy. Nobody walked by our house kasi. Unless you purposely come to see my parents.

Anyways, I’m thankful now that I have friends, real unimaginary friends, I won’t have to go on pretending and playing by myself – but it was also fun.

Everything is fun when you’re a kid. Wish I still am…

------
aymi

I got caught the other night. Swerving in EDSA Ortigas. I paid 200 pesos. To whom? The corrupt MMDA. Asshole. Initially, he wanted 500. Bangag ba siya? I bargained in the middle of EDSA, until he gave in to 200. Grabe. It was my first time to be hustled like that. The last time was when I was with Marge, Toni and Michel. Beating the red light. I admit I’m really stupid. But they’re banking on my stupidity. Anyways, they’re not going to get rich by a mere 200 pesos. They will just feed it to their children who will grow up to be just like them (God forbids!)

I pray for their already tortured souls in hell! (as if?)

There’s this cheap perfume store in Robinson’s Galeria, JMJ. They sell you original perfumes maybe 500 less than the original price in Rustan’s. Which is a very nice buy, right? You will also get discounts if you pay in cash. Then they have this TESTER bottles (not for sale actually) which they sell in a much lesser price (tester kasi). But it’s a tester bottle so the packaging isnt like the orginal, and on the bottle, there is non-removal sticker that says “not for sale” harr! Harr!harr!

But if it smells the same? And it’s original? Good buy na rin, right?

For two nights I have been taking care of my niece because my brother and his wife went to Boracay for a vacation. Nice, the first time; exciting and scary; then it became tiresome; she would wake up every two hours while I'm still in the process of pre-REM. I need to tap her legs and hum a soft lullabye to lull her back to sleep. Then the witching hour  2-4 am. She would wake up, and fall asleep again. But she's still sleepy, so she would fuss, and I don’t know how to get her to sleep again. Eventually my mom heard her cries and came up to her, or my, rescue. After that, it's my mom's problem na. But she's so cute. And she would smile in her sleep. And she would giggle and laugh without any apparent reason - she's only 2 months old.

Add my stress regarding the screenplay. I worked myself out trying to come up with an interesting synopsis. Which I hope I did. And contacting people just to force them to read my script and comment because there might be a possibility of you know…

Anyways, now I am starting to revise my script over and over again. Before it's only 10 pages; it became 30 pages; now I'm running on 50. It's supposed to be a SHORT FILM! Waaaahhhh!!! Now, I think I am making a feature film screenplay. The mystery gone; the argument of art film gone; the play of words and colors and cinematic shots gone; my goal ala-wong -kar wai cinematography, still achievable… ah, basta.

I'm exhausted. Pagod na ko. But I'm liking it.

I feel so alive.

----
When life hands you lemons, go buy Tequila! Inuman na! Adja! Adja!

I am depressed. It takes a lot for me to smile today. This depression has been looming over me for the past years but I chose to ignore it. And I am still ignoring it. Except that I felt it’s sting creep within me and I felt an anguish distinguishable of a worthless cockroach.

What purpose does the cockroach have for existing anyways?

Various thoughts occupied my mind while driving today. I drove like an old lady, thinking – what if i crash the car, I know my parents would kill me – but will they still kill me if I’m already dead? I have to make sure I’ll die if I do that. I’m ready actually. The reasons that I told myself over and over again as the reason for my existence – is still there – but: I don’t feel I matter anymore. The reasons will still be there even if I’m gone.

My body is weary and I look at people and I feel disgusted. I want to resign in my solitude and dance to the music of abandonment. I feel like I have so much love to give and the people I want to give it to doesn’t want it – though they claim to love me more than I love myself. That’s why they are determined to make life decisions for me. They are overtaking my life and I see no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow…heck, I don’t see a rainbow anymore after the rain. I see hues of black and heavy clouds crown my skies. Vast green moss crowds my blue ocean. And hungry cows devour the freshness of my meadows.

I refuse to falter, but I am.

Maybe it’s better up there, where the sun rises endlessly and I can touch the stars and dance with bodyless children with wings on their neck.

Assuming I would end up there. If not I’d be eating barbecue for the rest of eternity. Maybe I could just stay in that space in between – the limbo. Nicole Kidman pronounces it in a very distinct british accent that makes it very exciting and sophisticated and presumably a nice place – maybe I’ll just go there… but maybe I am already there…

If I still exist… after the moon overshines the sun. Then maybe i’m still alive.

But then I am going to drive again. Hopefully I won’t be lucky next time.

I finished writing my original screenplay this week. It's somewhere here in my blog and I'll give whoever finds a tap on the shoulder :)

So here goes. The story was about two lovers on the process of breaking up. Will they separate or will they stay together?

I asked my friends to read it. I asked for their technical and creative opinion. But only 1 out of the 6 friends I asked replied with a positive comment. Now that got me thinking, AM I BAD WRITER? And then one friend said that I am just proud of my stories that’s why I asked (forced) them to read it – of course I am. But then again, AM I GOOD WRITER?

I ponder with this thought lots of time in the past. I was afraid to let others read what I’ve written because I don’t know if they would like it or not. I had a very low self-esteem. I know I excel in some areas; I even wanted to become a journalist before. I know I can come up with any technical write-up about anything - but when it comes to the arts, creative writing especially – something would hit my ruckus existence even with just a hint of criticism.

It was only during college at UP that I got the courage to share my story. It was actually received well, very well that my class went on to perform my play onstage, with tickets! I was really proud of myself, got a good review from my professor, kudos from my classmates, and encouragement from friends. Life was starting for me.

But still, I was hesitant to share more of stories. I guess it comes with your being young and fragile, I don’t know how to survive in the outside world. I was told people outside the university were cruel and they would step down on you any chance they get. I was scared. Terrified. So I hid my poems, I placed passwords for my stories in the computer…then at times I forget to get back to it…eventually I stopped.


Other things occupied my mind. But every now and then inspiration strikes me and I would doodle some lines on my notebook, my book, tissue paper or any availble writing material I get my hands on. It didn’t matter to me before that I displaced those sheets of papers, that I lost my notebook or my book. Posterity and collection meaned nothing to me – nobody would want to read it anyways.

As years go by I evolved into a more mature woman. With enough self-esteem to get me by – I was able to understand the meaning of every deepest statements; I shrugged off my shoulders with a boulder of criticisms; I learned how to save lives…

Then I remembered my stories and poems. Hidden. Lost. Insignificant.

I decided to save my dying creativity. At least for my own sake. I continued writing Part Two’s of my stories; I compiled my saved poems on my PC; and I started writing new stories, new poems, new insights, haikus, comics, etc…and things just like this article. This gave me a new outlook in life. I didn’t care anymore what other people would say about my work, I cared for the improvement of my written art. And their opinions and comments helps me mold my works into something better.

I guess you could say I grew a thicker skin. What matters to me now is that I can touch lives with my stories; I can open their eyes into the most insignificant of situations and convey the feelings of loneliness; that leap of faith; that victorious dance.

As I was browsing through Rainier Marie Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet, I got this incredulous idea that I don’t need other people to review my work. That I should write for myself not for other people – TRUE. I actually sent a text message to my (forced) friends that I no longer require their opinion and that I can take away their privilege (see This Is My Galaxy), etc…

Then I came to realize- yes, I write for myself; I write so that I can escape, build a whole new world apart from this hellhole; to immortalize my thoughts, to express my feelings, to waste time – but then, wouldn’t it be nice to have someone take that journey with you? To have someone to talk to while trying to escape from the ridiculousness of reality? And to have someone read your feelings and then smile?

In short, I’m reaching out to YOU, the reader.

Reading is essential for your well-being. Do it everyday. Exercise your brain.

View this article on Youngblood.


TO everyone who might be affected or in serious allergy of this topic, I request that you turn your newspapers to the hypocrite and pathetic section. Thank you.

I am a bisexual. No, not the one who wears baggy pants and big polo shirts just to look like a boy. I am myself and I dress the way I want to, that is, as a lady. A feminine, supple, beautiful woman. I do not have anything against those "kababaro" who prefers to wear boyish clothes just to let people know that they are lesbians, or to get people to notice them. I laud their audacity to out themselves in public, or going out of the closet, as it's popularly called.

I am in the closet. Not because I am scared or hiding, but I prefer to keep my private life private. I don't want my life to be the topic of other people's gossip. I have my reasons and I will not subject myself to the judgment and ridicule of those people whose minds are so narrow even a surgical needle cannot fit.

If they don't understand me, why do I care? At least I won't have to go live every day of my life thinking that they know something about me and I would owe it to them so much that they're keeping it to themselves and that I would act as if I were guilty.

No.

I am in love with a woman. Is that such a bad thing? It just happened that she is a she and not a he, not in conformity with a tradition that we don't even know who set up. Who said don't fall in love with a woman if you're a woman. Is that in the Bible? Don't I have the right to choose the person I want to spend the rest of my life with? Even though she's also a woman like me?

I had men before. Three actually. One of whom lasted for two years. I loved him
dearly and I know he loves me too. But somehow our relationship lacked something. There's no fire and passion, and no deep understanding. I cannot look straight into his eyes and see his soul, but instead I see numbers -- calculus, debit, credit, tax laws. I've never been good at relating to numbers.

My woman, she is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. She indulges herself in art, classical music, and poetry. We both share a passion for everything. We can tell each other things that a man and woman could never share. We have an intimacy that keeps our flames burning even if we're not seeing each other that much, because of some
circumstances.

I went through a lot of things for her; I boldly admitted to my family that I love her. I do not mean disrespect but how on earth did it happen that they didn't understand me? They are supposed to be the ones who understood me better. Who accept me for who I am, and also accept the one I am happy with.

What I have with this woman is different from all my previous relationships. I know it in my heart that I could spend the rest of my life loving this woman. And I am willing to work for that, fight for it.

The important thing is I am in love, and it's not a matter of he or she, but of who and why.

I rode the habal-habal today. It was quite refreshing and scary and dyahi at the same time.

So, many eyebrows are raised. What is a habal-habal?

The only way for me to get to work at times is if I drive or if I wait in line for the FX going to Ayala. Then when I get to the Shell Station, if i'm not late I would be lucky to catch the company shuttle and and if I am (which is most of the time) late, I would wait in line again for the bus. The bus is very madalang so the pila would reach to maybe 100 meters and usually tayuan. Around the area, there would be men in motorcycles who charges 20P for the hatid ride to your building. They are called habal habal.

Anyways, it was scary and kadiri too because I had to wear a helmet (it's the law) yuck! yuck!I dont know how many people had worn it and if those people had dandruffs or any infestation living on their heads. Yuck! yuck!

However, I felt free riding a motorcycle in the city for the first time, along the roads of Forbes going to global city. I was half-smiling the whole time. Half proud of myself for being not so maarte and holding on to madman's motorcycle.

It was nice. At least I got to do it before I leave. :)

25 year old sagittarian, born under the planet of Jupiter, year of the rooster. Daughter of Zeus.

Idealistic and optimistic, i see things for their potential, i refuse to look at the obvious and make my way around things, poking and asking questions if need be. I like passion and drama and the play of words, it amazes me how one single thing could be describe in so many ways yet still enthralls you everytime. I seek for the finest expression of feelings; i seek for the realization of my deepest, darkest, funniest, most romantic ideas-even if it's only in writing.

I find solitude and peace when i write. Even if people thinks that i just try hard that's why i come up with my collections, that i am patient, and i am hardworking - well, i work hard to achieve my goal, i wait patiently for its' turning to life through my pen, and i try my hardest to squeeze my vocabulary and my brains out when inspiration strikes me- so i could write.

Writing takes me to places I wish I could go to. Writing puts me in situations i wish i am into. Writing fires up the deepest emotion i don't think i'll ever feel in this world - it is my escape, it is my haven, it is my paradise.

I don't want to force anyone or anybody to read my work. I write for myself, for my own amusement, for the expression of my thoughts. You and many others are merely spectators, i gave you that privilege-i can take it away. Your opinion matters only if i say so, i am my own critic, i am my own reader - this is my galaxy.

Now, ask me again why I write.

I came across this asian music video that made me cry years ago, and i was not able to find out what the title was, until somebody told me it was "kiss". I searched for kiss and thinking that's japanese appended japanese song to all my searches but i did not find it. Thanks to Youtube, i played all the videos that have the title kiss and japanese and found what i was looking for, for a very long time. get this, it's not japanese, it's korean, and the title is not kiss, it's "because i'm a girl", by a korean girl group named KISS.

I liked the music video because it was so touching, i thought it was taken from a full-length movie but upon proper reaserch it was not, most korean ballads have beautiful music videos kasi. So the story was guy was a photographer and he meets parlor girl, who was pakialamera. Naturally guy takes photos of parlor girl and compiles it. Then one day, parlor girl and photographer guy was busy taking pictures until photographer guy ran out of films. Parlor girl then volunteered to get the roll of fims for him from his dark room. Parlor girl was really small so getting a roll of film on the top shelf took quite an effort and she made tabig tabig a bottle of film developer and down it goes into her eyes. Of course, girl get's hospitalized and photographer guy blamed himself and left. So parlor girl thought the guy left her for good, and she goes crying while eating ice cream in front of the television while watching stuart little *sigh*.

Then one day parlor girl (now model girl) saw photographer guy in a race track with shades and a dog. She went near him but he did not recognize her. Because photographer guy donated his eyes pala to her when she had the accident. So in turn, the guy was now blind so she can see. *sigh*

The most important part of the guy's body was his eyes, given that he is a photographer and that everybody needs the sense of sight. But he willingly gave it up for the girl that he truly loves, even if it means that he will not be able to take pictures again, he will not be able to ride his big bike, and he will not be able to see her pretty face.

Wala lang.

"A great love story is a great love story, and it doesn't matter what gender is involved." - Piper Perabo

nais kong lumipad at magkaroon ng pakpak
ilayo ka sa lugar kung saan ka maaaring mapahamak
ang mundo ay malupit, alam nating lahat
ngunit bakit kinakailangang maramadaman mo ang takot ngayon?
kung saan ang lahat ay tila alapaap
sa piling mo ako ay nangangarap
na sana habang buhay ikaw ang kayakap
ngunit, takot ang sumisiil
nanaghoy sa aking kaibuturan
kung maaari lang sana na ikaw ay bantayan
sa lahat ng oras, lahat ng panahon
upang kahit daplis ng takot
ay hindi mo maramdaman
magpakatatag ka, tibayan mo ang iyong sarili
may awa ang Maykapal
gagabayan Niya ang mga nagmamahal
wala ako magawa
kaya sa Kanya kita iniaasa
na lagi ay iligtas ka
huwag kang pababayaan,
sampu ng iyong pamilya
ngunit kung isang araw makaligtaan Niya
nais kong malaman mo
hihilingin kong gawin Niya akong anghel
upang sa gayon ikaw ay mabuhay
manatili sa lupa
mundong mapaglaro sa tadhana
hindi ka na mababahala
iingatan kita, hanggang kailan man...

i feel your heart beating fast

i hear you breathe on my hair

i grasp your being with me

your tenderness and softness

you are a wonder to my eyes

i never thought i could find

my soul had wandered far from here

yet, i found you near


here


inside


my heart

We started speaking,
Looked at each other, then turned away.
The tears kept rising to my eyes.
But I could not weep.
I wanted to take your hand
But my hand trembled.
You kept counting the days
Before we should meet again.
But both of us felt in our hearts
That we parted for ever and ever.
The ticking of the little clock filled the quiet room.
"Listen," I said. "It is so loud,
Like a horse galloping on a lonely road,
As loud as a horse galloping past in the night."
You shut me up in your arms.
But the sound of the clock stifled our hearts' beating.
You said, "I cannot go: all that is living of me
Is here for ever and ever."
Then you went.
The world changed. The sound of the clock grew fainter,
Dwindled away, became a minute thing.
I whispered in the darkness. "If it stops, I shall die."

Yearning to live through it all
That one day I will live and fallIn your arms
I shall lay
In your presence I shall breathe
In your love I shall live
Never thought such a feeling
Unrewarded by honesty and faith
Goodness nips my veins
Glad, I hear myself whisper
Contented, I felt my body sigh
Visions of you sinful being
So powerfully deceiving
My blood jumps out of my mind
My eyes intensely fixed to yours
Memorizing each silhouette of your face
My hands caressing your tenderness
My lips touching skillfully your wholeness
I demand nothing from you
I ask only for your grace
Let me love you my own way…