My afternoon as an ear

I am devoid of inspiration.

As I sit here contemplating my thesis and ignoring the void of meaningless thoughts that enter my otherwise pre-occupied brain, I realize that everyone who has stopped by my table this afternoon has been a man with an opinion. An a need to be listened to.

I have sat here and listened to all of them greet me, compliment me, whine, narrate, explicate (is that a word?), uselessly comment, lazily smile, request a favor from, dispense grandfatherly advice, randomly blab, thought out aloud and yes, subconsciously hit on me.

I realize that to most of them, women like me are sounding boards, nannies, and at most a pleasant distraction.

A view of the dance floor

Without emotional attachments, anything is possible. The irony is, almost every human achievement was driven by some emotion.
While watching a male friend down on the dance floor gyrating with a random female of his choice, I realized that were I emotionally invested in him, a fun night out would inevitably have turned sour just because he was practically dry humping another female who wasn't me.
Which led me to hazily conclude that, women really should stop this whole latching on to the idea of one man to make her happy philosophy. I mean, the male friends I was with that night had no problem chatting up any woman who would innocently (or not) wander within play distance. The girls however, just danced the night away within the comfort zone of our little group, settling for our guy friends instead of wandering off to meet someone new. And these girls weren't exactly fresh out of the convent either.

All those people hipping and hopping and grinding away down on the dance floor on a Friday night. Some in groups, in pairs, soloistas. Everyone of them out for some sort of release from the week that was, from reality, and from the isolation of being in a crowd.
My friend had found a girl, had wrapped his arms around her and had closed his eyes to the beat, pretending that for a few minutes they had some connection. That he could find solace in the arms of another human being.
Thank heavens his girl wasn't there.
whatever. I don't think this counts as I wasn't exactly thinking straight when I came up with this skewed logic. All I'm saying is that, I suppose having the capacity to turn ice queen is an advantage. Sorta. Blah.
And where was I watching this colorful nature dance from? From the more elevated chill lounge which turned out to be incredibly dull and filled with the pretentious chill crowd who could no more than shake their booties in their tight designer outfits than down a respectable shot of anything stronger than a watered down cocktail.
This of course led me and a couple of sloshed, faggy friends to break into dance just to get the party started, or at the very least raise some eyebrows.

Bottle opener's fault

So this whole piece will start with so....

So after editing hell and coffee, we finally decide to cook something at Casa kitchen. Onion rings, felafal (not sure its spelled that way) and some ref cake. course I get stuck making the cake. everything turns out great except for (surprise!) the cake. although I had made it a hundred times before, the cream didn't have enough time to "solidify" and such, turning my lil masterpiece into ref semi-soup. blahr. still tasted great though.
So we all decide to have a nightcap in the room. All goes well until a resident stoner who will remain unnamed decides to pop his head in and just, oh so randomly throw a joint onto my bed. Random gift isn't rolled in paper yet so I head out to find someone who can solve little problem.
So am in hallway trying to find stoner friend when I bump into other dude who is known to have ample supply of, urm, rolling paper material and such. I get invited back to his room for proper sesh. But I am first asked to go look for bottle opener for said friend. Bottle opener not found and other friends not recruited. On way back to room alone (and under scrutiny of newly installed security cameras) I bump into male batchmate who has nasty smile on his face as he notices which room I'm headed towards. Dumb model also sees me and smirks. If the damn security cameras could smirk I'm sure they would have. Due to idiotic perception logic, I am now part of "slutty" Casa population who sleeps around since I am seen entering a guy's room at an ungodly eleven pm.
So now I'm done smoking the joint and don't give a flying rat's ass what ya'll think.
Knowing all our track records, I must be the only monk in the building.

Ole!

Actors are funny creatures. Good looking, but funny.
One minute it's "Oh you're so interesting, and you smell so goood, what is your perfume?"
Close up of his face in your hair.
And then it's "O you are single yes? Perhaps I can pretend to be your boyfriend?"
Mid-shot of you trying to contain sarcastic snort.
"Sure, why not"
Wide shot of an uber beautiful model walking by.
Close up of his head swivelling an unbelievable one-eighty degrees.
"Excuse me yes? I'll see you soon gorgeous" Close up on his movie star smile.
Wide shot of him running off towards model.
Fade to black.

Ahahahaahahaha.....geeeeez, no wonder showbusiness is sooooo screwed up. It's all game and agenda. Yeah, yeah....you're thinking that if they can play that game, you can too...careful you don't bite off more than you can chew pare.

Bed weather

Being stuck in bed all day is no fun. It’s restful but it gives one way too much time to zone out and remember things. And miss things.

I miss cold afternoons and nights. I miss goodnight kisses, jackets and hats. I miss aimless walks at dusk. I miss the smell of sun dried linen and the quiet that happens at 3pm in our old house. I miss mundane pointless conversations over coffee that have nothing to do with thesis schedules and bloated egos.

Crap, I suddenly remember being five and going on my first holiday with the ‘rents. I sure miss that.

I miss carnations, jam sessions and phone calls that don’t involve drunk dialing.

I miss being kissed without game or agenda. I miss cooking lunch coz I know I have friends coming over.

I miss the normality of it all outside this insane funny farm of directors, models and actor wannabees.

Of favors and disappointment

You can't really blame me for being generally disappointed in people right now.
Call me sensitive, but I think I'm allowed to feel a bit miffed after such a pathetic response to my calls for crew help on my shoot.
I mean, I skip class, lose sleep, swallow my pride, do grunt work, use some of my own money and more just to help them out on their shoots; and when it's finally my turn what do I get? Responses like "pwede ata ako sa araw na yun". I mean, is it too much to ask for just a straightforward yes or no???
I don't ask for much...just a tight crew who are happy and willing to work with me.
Crap. Breathe. Blah, blah, blah...
I refuse to stress over this.
But I can't help feel bad over it. At least for the next hour or two.

Of baked goods and trippy rooms

Random happy thoughts while one is a baked product:

1. I'm glad I didn't have that extra brownie they offered me.
2. This music is soooo trippy...I have no idea who it is and I can hardly hear a thing...but the beat sure matches my brainwaves.
3. I'm glad I don't have to move right now.
4. Even talking on the phone is such an effort. Must apologize tomorrow for hogging conversation and constantly breaking into unwarranted laughter.
5. I can hear myself breathe. Life is precious. I shouldn't waste anymore time being idiotic.
6. I should stop staring at that pool of lamplight.
7. What depresses me is the thought the the possibility of love can exist and that I haven't figured it out yet, or that I choose to ignore it - what you don't know can't hurt you.
8. All my stilted bullshit logic gets tossed out the window in the harsh light of hash "reality".
9. My thoughts refuse to slow down and are in danger of overlapping to the point of incomprehensible babble.
10. If I could only be this logical, honest and detached when sober...

With A Smile

Lift your head, baby don't be scared of the things that could go wrong along the way
You'll get by, with a smile, you can't win at everything but you can try...
Baby you don't have to worry, coz there ain't no need to hurry,
no one ever said that there's an easy way
When they're closing all their doors, they don't want you anymore
It sounds funny but I'll say it anyway...

Sorry...really overused, but I just needed to type that out.
Eraserheads songs...my current panacea for life's curveballs....

And he said Hi out of the blue

It's funny, just when you think you're spiralling down the well trodden path of depression linked with perceived infatuation, God, in all his humour, allows you to smile a little with a very unexpected message from someone you were infatuated with just months ago.
Funny how the tables flipped and I now feel absolutely nothing about this little 1am messaging exchange, when months ago I would have probably hyperventilated and over analyzed it.
Small consolation as it was, it still allowed me to remember how futile it was to be too idiotic over one person now...as I (hopefully) would be over this stupidity in a few months and inwardly laughing about it all. No use being too serious about any boy anyway. Ha.
Being drunk and hungover gives me such bravado.

Ride of your life

Another day ends in Cebu...
I actually ended yesterday today. or early this morning if that makes more sense.
Location hopping with my new JVC toy, a few friends and copious amounts of alcohol makes for a very sloshed, opinionated (if not forgetful) and happy Sher.
Singing when one has no voice left, drinking when one really should have stopped an hour ago and playing apathetic chic when one should stay far, far away from you-know-what really aren't the best ways to go, urm, anywhere.
But, dammit, it sure does feel good.

Cupid-ity

There is a little arrow wielding cherub out there who sure lurves to mess with us.
We see waaay too much of him in mythology, the month of February (his capitalist side anyways) and when we ourselves lose our capacity to think straight.
The only complaint I have with this little prankster is his use of those damn arrows.
Why arrows? Can't he just politely come over, tap us on the shoulder and inform us that he is about to turn our world upside down?
And while he's at it, can he also hand us some sort of survival package to help us navigate our way through the heaven-slash-hell that he is about to put us through? This package should include some sort of insurance, a liability waiver form, a bottle of Jack or vodka, a shot glass and a list of emergency numbers you can call lest your mobile conks out on you.
Arrows. How apt.
That cherub should just grow up and see how it feels to be hit with one of his own poisonous darts.

By the way, according to myth, he did fall in love once - and it didn't work out...or rather, the Greeks aren't sure if it did or not.
I'm close to hysterical laughter right now. If a god of love can't get his own story right what the eff are our mortal chances of EVER getting it right??????
Think about it ladies.
I'd laugh if it weren't so effing sad suddenly.
ahahahaha?

We make excuses for ourselves

As soon as we utter any defeatist words, we justify why it is that we aren’t where we want to be.

I had to hear a friend tell me that I was making excuses for myself. It was true. It dawned on me that saying an apparently innocent phrase like “it’s a male dominated industry and it’s harder for women to get the jobs they want and succeed” was actually me setting myself up for failure AND justifying it in advance.

Never enter a battle defeated.

Although I had heard it before, it took another reminder from a good friend for me to re-drill this simple concept into my consciousness. Don’t step up to bat thinking that you’ve already lost – because you ultimately will, if you keep thinking this way. On the other hand, you start with a winning attitude and whether things work out the way you like or totally go bust, you still would’ve won by virtue of your positive outlook and the experience you can charge it to. It’s not rocket science.

Seconds anyone?

there's a certain security to always being second choice. really, there is. I guess my current state of inebriated idiocy dictates that which makes no sense in the logical world of daylight. but I still have to say it (or rather type it at 4am): being somebody's second choice just means that they were scared shitless of your independence, your free spirit and your life.
people want subservience, adulation and security.
they fall in love with you for your ability to run with the wind...but choose someone else when they realize that they cannot tame you.
that's all there is to it. don't feel bad that you haven't been tied down yet. know that someone will come along - someone who will be worthy to run alongside you, and not in front of or behind you.

Guide back to apathy

1. When feeling unlovable, ugly and insignificant - call up a friend:
Literal lifelines are what they are during these times. They will remind you that you are allowed to wallow in your mudhole of self-pity but that you are still beautiful, worthy of proper love and one helluva catch that the miserable loser, whoever he is, allowed to get away.
2. When emotions threaten to drown your capacity for flippant apathy:
Put down the menthols, stop the hunger strike and take a swig of that Jack Daniels bottle next to you. Dying of malnutrition will not help you get back into the swing of things. Numbing the memory cells though, will help you live through a few more hours of undefinable pain.
3. When all else fails and your emotions refuse to disappear:
Allow yourself to be an attention whore. Give it an hour or two. You will soon tire of it - trust me. And with boredom comes apathy.

Di na natuto...

"nahihirapan na
lalapit-lapit pa di na natuto
isang ngiti mo lang
at ako'y napapaamo" - Gary Valenciano
Squinted into the sea, had no idea I would be
back where I had started.
Location scouting while my soul wasn't into it. But it kept me busy.

Don't think. Walk. Don't let those tears fall. Smile. Don't stop swimming.

Apathy is key...or is it?

Why am I so fucking distant? Why do I insist on walking around in a state of semi-comatose apathy?
Because I am bracing myself from the idiocy of faux art, the inflated ego of too much genius and any more stumbles and falls directly proportional to deadly casanovas.
Because I'm afraid of getting too attached to anything and anyone here.

I think I have subconsciously decided to limit the show of emotion in general due to the extreme swings in fortune from last term. Not sure it's the smartest thing to do but, oh well...que sera sera. Ker blah, ker blah.

I am a diplomatic zombie in hippie outfits. I walk, talk and smile to an Eheads beat.
I am a pseudo-organized producer who thinks you should maybe all just fuck yourselves for hating the job.
I am a girl scared shitless of falling for you all over again.
I am Aerosmith's j-j-jaded evil little goth in the pink t-shirt and white chucks.
I am buddha without the peace and moses without the faith.

Bumpety bump bump

We steel ourselves up for so many things - bad hair days, getting fired, natural disasters, possible deaths in the family. But no matter how much we practice, no matter how many times we've done it before, nothing can cushion us from the breathless palpitations of falling in love.
We've all been there.
By a certain age, we think we've gotten it down to a controllable art...but we always, always fail miserably to slow down that initial rush.
The next time you fall, don't bother trying to cushion the blow. You'll bruise any which way it ends.
Just go with the flow, enjoy the rush and smile for the cameras.
You never know then it'll happen again.

INT. FTV CAFE - DAY

INT. FTV CAFÉ – DAY

Absolutely no effing inspiration to write anything. Am tempted to make the whole thing an MOS. What about making fun of deep gold? Man is running around tropical island trying to catch model girlfriend who may be cheating on him with hot male model. Hmmm….will probably get expelled. Next.

Music playing: Joan Jett I love rock ‘n roll

“I love rock n roll, so put another dime in the jukebox baby, I love rock n roll, so c’mon take the time and dance with me…”

The amount of ego and bullshit being thrown around here makes one wonder why we aren’t all buried waist deep in figurative fecal matter. The company hires the strangest people, the guys all think they’re irresistible Casanovas and the gals…well, while some of them are cool, the others are just clackers. Wait, rewind on that…the girls are pretty funny.

Music playing: Joni Mitchell A case of you

“If you need me I’ll be at the bar….I could drink a case of you…I’d still be on my feet.”

The whole point of writing a treatment is what again?

As she sat there contemplating her next script, a Casanova passed by, fully expecting to be given due attention for merely existing. She wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. She ignored him instead.

The school was falling apart. She could see the ceiling practically falling over their heads. Random pieces of plaster on their shoulders. It wasn’t going to be pretty. They all had to get out – sooner rather than later.

Where was the future for any of them?

In 16mm celluloid.

Music playing: Aerosmith Knocking on Heaven’s door

“Mama take these guns from me, I don’t need them anymore, it’s getting dark, too dark to see…feels like I’m knocking on heaven’s door…”

Cement mix

Random memory from way back: My mother crying on a hospital phone to my father. The doctor had just been incredibly insensitive to her and had triggered a chain of emotional reactions on her part. Women have a tendency to fall apart when hit at the right time of the month, at the right place and under just the right set of circumstances.
Can't quite remember if it was another hypertension or high blood pressure scare which brought us there this time. That's besides the point I'm trying to make...if any at all.

Random reaction to that memory: I have perhaps, had more practice in steeling myself against attacks of that nature as compared to my mother, and take note, she's roughly twenty-nine years older than me. So I'm thinking, either the world is getting less polite these days or I've personally learned that the more walls one has up, the less chance those battering rams will have of doing much damage.

Random thought from right now: Current state of ho-humness is a direct result of my current attempt at apathy. The attempt stems from a need to detach myself from an old muse. By the by...those walls are useful for purposes such as these as well. I've found that my bounce-back curve has improved over the years. I must have put new material in the mix.

Of flimland and falling down rabbit holes

Both are filled with strange creatures....

'nuff said for now.

will update soon as I get my thoughts sorted.

Flatline gracefully

What not to do if you ever find yourself playing an older woman about to die in hospital with a mafia son by her side:

Do not laugh, smile or smirk during takes - for obvious reasons.
Avoid opening eyes directly into lights - not very pleasant.
Try to look as dead as possible - nevermind that your back is hurting like hell and the crew jokes are hilarious.
Ignore hand that is currently holding yours - he's supposed to be your son for heaven's sake!
During final death scene, try holding breath more than a pathetic ten seconds. Or avoid smoking the night before.
While cameras are rolling, try not to let mind wander - unless you want to hear the cameraman call you out on some random facial expression!

If all else fails, fall asleep.

Running with Alcohol

Note to self: The next time you're running back to Casa make sure that
a) You're not holding a beer in one hand and
b) Its not raining.
Also, it doesn't help to be thinking about current source of butterflies in tummy, as possibility of stumbling over inert object on ground increases tenfold.

Thankfully, stumbling is all I'm doing. No serious falls yet.

I know, I know, none of this makes sense. I haven't written anything in a while. The past four weeks have been quite a blur. Seriously. This place just makes time fly and stand still at the same time. Still not making sense. I know. Just trust me when I say that six weeks at IAFT equates to roughly six months at Info. Things here happen so fast that if you blink - you just may miss something.
Concrete example? Yesterday I had to finish and present my MOS project rough cut to mentors. I then had to run over to help out with a friend's shoot. We wrapped at 5am and I had to be up by 8am to make it to the Learn Cebu trip.
Does this partially explain my surreal "blur"of a month?
And that's just the tip of the iceberg baby.... :)

art school confidential

Film school rocks!

'nuff said.

The death of a muse

My muse is gone.
I walked through an empty lot, mobile phone held to my ear with my left hand and a plate of sausage with my right. I ended up by the ostriches - yes, we have ostriches here. All this just to avoid someone. Sound pathetic? Not as pathetic as was coming out of my mouth at the time.
I had, in an idiotic state of sudden self-pity, called up LadyRain and had basically wailed about my most recent descent into infatuation and the bump to earth that inevitably followed.
You know what, I really should go another direction with this.
I'm going to give myself a pat on the back for not letting this get to me. I'm shutting down the laptop and I'm walking down to the bar for a well deserved beer.
Cheers.
Here's to drowning out the stupidity still ringing in my ears.

Sheep part deux

Baaaaa....

I see you're all still being herded. Or allowing yourselves to be.

Don't bother waiting up for me. I've got another path to take. You just go on ahead with the rest of them. Maybe we'll meet again someday. Or maybe not.

Fucking slaughterhouse is around the next picket fence and you know it. You just don't want to see it.

Excerpt from Sheep

Why we as a generation and as individuals have come to this state of not knowing what to do with ourselves isn’t hard to figure out.

It is because we want something more than the stereotypical nine to five existence out of our lives. Ironically, we are constantly being told to take the safe conventional route to happiness - and because of this we are confused, paralyzed and scared shitless.

We want to climb Mt Everest, save the rainforest, join the Peace Corps, take weekly road trips. We dream of being free to do what we really want to do while the conformists whisper that the only way to make it is to hold down higher management positions in companies that pay well and cater to the demands of family, friends, colleagues and various charitable organizations.

Tall order.

Twenty-something, we’re often told, is an age we’re supposed to do what society expects us to do – find jobs, make money, get married, settle down, get it all together. But getting it all together is the last thing we’re doing.

Sure, maybe some of you out there have achieved all there is to achieve. Some of you may believe you’ve already got it all together and that you’re living the perfect suburban life. Some of you have allowed yourselves to be swept along the tide of popular Styrofoam culture. If you fall into this category, know that this was not written for your reading pleasure, so bugger off.

For the rest of us who are still woefully lost, well, there is an up side to our semi nomadic state. We are, by default, the only remaining rebels of our age. Everyone else has settled down, or worse, just settled. Tell me you refuse to yield to the same fate. I for one, hope I do not fall into the numbing cycle of home-work-fast-food meals-work-mall-home. Someone poke me in the eye with this article if you find I’ve turned into the living dead four years from now.

We have chosen what the generations before us could not or would not choose. At least not most of them. We have chosen to forgo the safety of white picket fences and floral bedspreads. We do not comprehend the need for traditional timelines and eschew the old notion of one having to be settled down by thirty to be “complete and happy”. We choose to bask in the happiness that now has to offer and do not prescribe to the long-suffering tradition that youth be spent slaving away in pursuit of a happiness that may never come.

If we as a generation are going to crash and burn, we will do so knowing that for a little while we did justice to the notion of not being slaves to society’s misguided dictates. Yes it sometimes sucks being alone, following a path others may refuse to take with you, but in the end, don’t you feel all the crap was worth it when you realize you have actually lived and were not merely being herded into the slaughterhouse with the rest of them?

Proud NoyPi

Filipinos.
We are so unique.
Yes, we may seem fragmented and lost; yes, we sometimes act too westernized for our own good. Though we are the world's modern day gypsies, I believe we have the capacity to endure, as we have done through the centuries.
We are resilient, humble, hardworking, kind.
We are a beautiful people.
We are a proud people.
Why we don't show our national pride more often is beyond me.

Of Rainmen and Muses

Am back after a night of barbeque, rum coke and tequila shots. Can't say I can remember everyone's name but they probably don't remember mine either...what with the number of newbies everyone had to meet tonight.
It was a really good day as far as good days go.
Watched Cinema Paradiso, reached out to some kid, had really good barbeque with my alcohol - and bantered with the Muse.
Not bad at all.

Also, was able to talk to rainman today after class and was pleasantly surprised to learn that he wasn't as autistic as I thought he was. I was caught by surprise when he apologized for his demeanor on our first day. This means that one, he is aware of his lack of social skills; two, he is aware of how he is perceived and three, he must definitely take note when people treat him like nothing.
I'm glad I didn't go down that route and managed to do the decent thing and reach out to this kid.

I can't say every day here has been perfect, (hell some days made me feel so inadequate and out of place you wouldn't believe it) but I can say that every day spent here has made me feel alive.
And that's all I can ask for.

Chapter Cebu

Seventy-two hours of Cebu.
Seventy-two hours since leaving the chaotic security of Makati and all it's worldly trappings...and it's strange almost dreamlike memories.

I have walked into a different trap. One that I find I don't want to walk out of just yet.
Over the next few months I will immerse myself in an altered reality of...well, altered reality - human poetry on the silver screen.

My Slovakian room mate has thankfully turned out to be a cool, grounded, non-adolescent who, like me, has reached this place through the strangest of avenues and with the purest intentions - to do great work.

Whether we survive the industry and all it has to throw at us remains to be seen.

The real work starts next week but it's already been an unbelievable first three days here.
Truth really is sometimes stranger than fiction.

Beached

Random thoughts on a gloomy beach afternoon while listening to Joan Jett and downing San Mig light:

People here are nice. I think it must be the accent. It's been an adrenaline free vacation so far.
The rain was starting to come down but people were still in the ocean. It rains every afternoon and it's only the first week of May.
I keep thinking of the gangster, the australian and the mouse. Not so much as of them personally but more of the lives they lead. Screwed up as they are, I can't help but admire the panache, and semi-integrity with which they live their lives. Right or wrong, they soldier on, marching to the beat of their own drums.
This beach trip is my last hurrah for the summer.
Then its down to focusing on some of what could possibly be my future. Practically shitting myself but trying not to think of it right now.

My beer is almost done and its still raining. Damn rain clouds refuse to move and are ruining a perfectly good afternoon by the sea.
My friend is still in the pool trying to convince herself floating is swimming.
I am a lone woman at this table with an ipod for company, downing beer and writing on a table napkin. I'm getting the expected stares.
Almost everyone here is in a group or with a partner. Except for Brit boy. Female caucasian pair look about my age. They smile. I smile.
People and dolphins like to travel in groups.
My beer tastes good. Want to order another but am restraining myself for sake of grandfatherly waiter. Other guy looks easier to ask.
Cramps gone for now. Flanax saves the day.

A possible English-boy in Baguio

While stuck in traffic, I saw a young boy walking in the rain. Didn't seem to mind the rain. He did however, crinkle his nose when a passing jeepney spewed black carbon smoke in his face as it passed.
Possibly only twelve or thirteen. Had regular Malay features, was lean in an athletic kind of way and was a pretty good looking Pinoy kid. He looked Pinoy but the air about him was that of one lost in his own locale.
What struck me was the way he walked and the shirt he wore. He had on a red footballer's shirt with a white cross and the word England on it. He walked as if he just wanted to blend in and was looking at everything around him with some curiosity.
I wondered if he had grown up somewhere else as well, and had just recently moved to the city.
I wondered if he knew how to speak in the vernacular, was aware of local customs, had been taught the "basics".
Was he getting the hang of the rigid brand of teaching here as opposed to the possibly laid back, democratic classes where one's ideas and opinions were welcomed back where he came from? Did he understand that you couldn't go around smiling at everyone lest you are mistaken to be too familiar? Had he learnt that religion went hand in hand with everyday life here and that small mindedness would have to be dealt with on a regular basis? And as with everywhere else in the world, was he reminded not to lose himself in the whirlwind of conformity?
No matter, he'd learn, one way or another. He'd be fine.
I had been more lost than he was and had survived. He'd be fine.

Cheese!

Thats it. I have proof that I was never meant to be prim, proper or ladylike.
While nosing through an old album at my mom's house, I noticed that almost all my pictures were, um, quite funny.
One shot from my childhood, for example, has all the expats barkada's young daughters posed and smiling properly. I on the other hand have this huge grin plastered on my face that looks almost comical (really mugging for the camera).
Another, which was taken at a Christmas party, had all my childhood friends posing neatly and smiling by Santa's sled. I wasn't paying attention and now have my ponytail to represent my face for all eternity. Typical.
I look through more photos in the hope of finding a few that can pass for "composed". No such luck. I'm either acting really silly or am smiling waaay too much.
And the other shots that don't have me smiling? They either have me shoving food into my mouth or caught in the middle of screaming something out (or looking at something besides the camera).

They say, how you act as a child is more or less how you'll act for the rest of your life. So good luck to my aspirations of making the cover of Time magazine, I suppose.
I never really had many "poised" shots...possibly never will.
A friend's theory possibly proven - I am not a normal girl. Oh well. We can't all be barbie - I sure as hell don't want to be.
Here's to a few more decades of mugging for the camera and looking silly. :)

You can't be angry at the whole clan...

Ever since I was young, the importance of family in one's life has constantly been drilled into my head. My mother would always tell me that family was important, that you could rely on them when everyone else has run out on you. I put one hundred percent faith in extended family. Poor decision making there.
To say that the cruelty I experienced from the cousins I lived with surprised and angered me would be an understatement. I cannot, to this day, believe I had become the object of so much hate from those I invested so much love in.

I won't bother going into detail about the whole sordid affair but because of the rift between me and three female cousins, I have more or less turned myself into an outsider. Since Christmas, I have not attended family functions lest the vermin decide to grace the occasion with their two-faced presence(s).

I also stayed away because I felt that if faced with a lack of support from any more members of the family, I'd rashly disown the whole lot. My mother's side isn't one to show much affection to each other (but are known for wonderful arguements) but I didn't think I could take seeing my current enemies fawned over while I was questioned.

You see, because I was perceived by the clan as the child born with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth, I never got much sympathy compared with the other girls. I didn't expect any this time around.
I knew that because most of the attention was usually showered on the 'girls' (who admittedly had it tough growing up and deserved it back then), soon as word of this little melodrama got out, I'd be on the receiving end of lots of scrutiny.
No matter, one got used to it. Couldn't blame them either. Before this happened, I myself blindly showered all attention and defended the 'girls' anytime something happened.

So since last year, I kept my mouth shut, my head down, and didn't bother giving anyone my side of the story. I'd had enough anyway. I'd proven that I could rely on my friends more than some family and that was enough to keep me away.

I had no idea how much I wanted some inkling of support (or at the very least proof of affection) from the rest until the other day.

After driving my mom to an aunt's house, I realized how much a part of me wanted to still be acknowleged.
My mom got out of the car and my Kuya got into the front seat and asked if I could drop him off at the next corner.
I hadn't seen him in ages and wasn't sure what I was going to get. He playfully tousled my hair (never does that) and asked how I was and such. I kept it light and joked that I was now employed as my mom's personal driver.
Right before he got off, he gave me a hug, kissed me on the head twice (again, he never does that) and told me to take care.
He didn't pry and didn't give me any lectures of the type that I was used to getting from him as a child.
It was like he respected my decisions but was still letting me know that I was important to him.
It was a three minute drive and he was just one Kuya out of the lot - but I instantly felt better. All the angry feelings I was carrying around subsided somewhat and I let myself remember that I was still part of the family.

Halfway home, and with an old eighties song playing in the background, I found I couldn't see the road too well through all the saltwater.

She got in.

The girl sighed into her coffee mug.
She was suffering from writer's block and a need to indulge in some stimulating conversation.
She needed someone to listen to her story. She needed to listen to someone tell her a story. Either way, she needed something by way of human interaction.
She had just been accepted into IAFT...she should've been ecstatic. She was. She really was. She just didn't have anyone to share the great news with.
Everyone she could tell was busy. Those who were available couldn't be told.
How ironic.
It was a long time coming, but she was finally on her way. And all it took was a few bad turns last year to finally get her started down this road. How very, very ironic. Happy. Sad. Bittersweet.
She loved the irony. She may have loved it more had it not been her story.
It was fine, it was a story any which way.

Sunscreen and long drives

"If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunsreen would be IT"
- Everybody's Free (to wear sunscreen), Mary Schmich

From where I'm sitting, truer words have never been spoken.
I headed to San Juan, La Union over the Easter weekend to meet some friends for some sun and sand, and in their case some surfing.
I only realized the idiocy of forgetting to put on sunscreen in the tropics when I woke up yesterday morning. It wasn't pretty. Thank heavens I woke up in Baguio (yes, we idiotically drove back right after, but that's another story).
Now that I'm back in the urban jungle of Makati with the heat and humidity, all I want to do is sit in a bucket of ice cold water.
It was, all in all, an interesting weekend. All the driving up and down provinces made me realize something - I may whine about being the default driver on road trips, but I give in not because I have to but because I actually want to.
I like being in the drivers seat. That much I now know.
Besides getting better and better at navigating Marcos highway (my friend closes her eyes when she thinks I'm going too fast while negotiating a curve - wahehe), I find the pre-occupation one way of surviving an extremely looonng trip.
When you're driving, you have no time to get bored, you can opt to not join in the small talk from the backseat, and you are free to cuss like a sailor no matter how many elders are in the car with you.
When you are at the wheel, you have a temporary sense of purpose - keep yourself and your passengers safe, out of danger and to get to your destination in one piece. Alive. That in itself is (for me) some twisted sort of reprieve from the mundane responsibilities the world hoists on our shoulders.

Dungbeetle thoughts

She had been sitting at the cafe all afternoon, squinting into a laptop, which was hard to work on because of the reflection of the harsh midday sun.

She was finding it hard to concentrate as she thought she saw her least favourite nemesis pass by - twice.

It must have been all the heat and caffeine causing this paranoia. There was no way that bitch would be at THIS cafe, she tought.

That woman could invade every waking moment of her past life but there was no way she would let that idiotic, simpering little hussy take over her sacred cafe space. Plus, the idiot probably didn't know the difference between a latte and a frapp. Horrible statement to make. But in her head, it was justified.

That most of the past couple years were invaded by inconsistent thoughts of self doubt, self loathing, and decreased self esteem because of this insipid piece of humanity made her head ache even more. How could she have been so stupid?

The resident cat had found something interesting by the hedges. It was a dead (or dying) mouse. Miaow promptly decided it was worth some private play time with, and dragged it into the safety of the hedges.

How apt she thought, a dead mouse to go with your reverie.

It bothered her that every ordinary girl with a short, shapeless haircut and regular conformist features now all seemed to morph into her imagined foe.

Was she subconsciously trying to find the bitch to finally get it over with and get rid of her irrational fear of meeting her face to face? Or did she just enjoy torturing herself with the image of the girl she had figuratively lost to, a girl she had perceived to be less than her in every way imaginable?

The cat had re-emerged and had dragged out with it the remains of the dead mouse it had earlier found. It was now gnawing away at whatever bits were left of the rodent.

John Lennon was singing in the background and the sun had decided to give it a rest. The cafe had filled with the usual cast of students, yuppies, businessmen and ladies who lunched. She had to get out of here soon.

Screw the past she thought. It isn't your concern how her miserable little life goes. If that rodent was anything to go by, the past was on its way to getting fucked while you still had a future of unlimited possibilites and the creativity to indulge in more interesting pursuits.

St. Elmo's fire isn't hard to get

St Elmo's fire isn't real. - Rob Lowe, St. Elmo's Fire

Like the statement above, your preconceived notions that you know anything about anything - they aren't real.

Take the movie, for example...You spew rhetoric and gush over it but... I highly doubt your hypothalamus was ever really able to comprehend the magnitude of it's impact on twenty something college grads during its time. You probably just went along with the cute coupled thoughts of peers hanging out at a bar after work.

I don't claim omniscient knowledge of the inner workings of the flick from the director's point of view, but I do claim comprehension of the concepts, emotions and the myriad subtle sub-plots that the characters tried to portray that you will NEVER understand.

The female leads, for one, are independent women who have a backbone - something you apparently forgot to grow.

St. Elmo's fire was mine before your saccharine brain even began its laborious duty of trying to understand some of the concepts tackled in the film.

The storyline is simple enough. You should get it.

Watch the film another twenty times...lets hope you at least get the plot this time.

I'm trying to get it...

I met up with a close friend last night, ready to hear about her pending nuptials. I had known this girl since we were both thirteen.
I showed up early, mentally and emotionally prepared (or so I thought) to listen to her. I was primed to listen to her tell me about how it all happened, and what the details surrounding the occasion were.

It was harder than I thought.

After being (unintentionally) made to feel that my current non-settled, bohemian lifestyle was a second class version of real life, I felt I had no emotional ties left with the person in front of me. Don't get me wrong, I still cared for her - I just had no sense of feeling for said occasion.

I staggered home cursing the fact that we had met up for coffee and not for hard vodka, or Jack, or shots of tequila.

I now define torture as having to stay awake for a couple more hours than one wants. All my brain wanted to do was fall into a coma.

The douchebag in you

Ari Gold, douchebag par excellance. Yet, strangely endearing. To me, anyway. Watching him make an ass of himself on Entourage never fails to make me smile.
I see a bit of him in me. His ambitious, albeit mostly idiotic, industry moves, his non-stop attempts to be number one...and his desperate grovelling at the feet of his wife (in my case family) and clients when things don't work out as planned.
C'mon, admit it, there's a bit of Ari Gold in you too.
I bet you have your moments of unabashed self-centredness, laced with the cocky belief that anything can be manipulated to work in your favour if you deal fast enough.
Sure, the hypocrite in you is screaming "hell no!" but somewhere deep in you, near where your little black heart beats, is a box that holds all your nefarious, scheming thoughts and diabolical plans. These thoughts desperately scream that they want to see the light of day. The question is, will you let them?
Tempered with a little commonsense, it couldn't be that bad.
On a sidenote, most of the greatest people in history have been the ones who have made the meanest moves on their own chessboards. Thats why we remember them.
Let us now all take a moment to look into ourselves and recognize the little Golds (ghouls?) within us.
To the insipid creatures out there who refuse to acknowledge their own devious natures...what a shame...you'd certainly be more interesting for it.

Hit me again...

I was giddy, and had decided to temporarily let go of the snarl that had come to rest on my lips the past few months. I thought maybe giving this happy thing a chance was going to change things.
Twenty-four hours later the snarl was back. This time backed up with the knowledge that no matter what continent one may be in - reality will bite.
I'm no pollyanna. I never was and I may well never will be.
At best I'm a hopeful realist.

Ash Wednesday

I had no idea it was Ash Wednesday.
I had no idea as I was stuck at home all day, mostly watching super Tuesday.
Cabin fever forced me out by five thirty and it was while driving around town that I noticed the ubiquitous black crosses on the foreheads of the faithful.
Ash Wednesday.
From ashes you have come and to ashes you shall return.
As tempting as it was to make a dash to the nearest church to acquire my own reminder of mortality, I knew it was too late in the day, and that the services had all ended. Plus, I was a bad Catholic and needed no extra reminding of where I was possibly headed in a few decades.
Ash Wednesday - a romantically hopeful concept with a very morbid twist to it. You are reminded to be good lest you die tomorrow. It makes me think of old roses and small country churches with their own cemeteries conveniently located at the back.
It also makes me think about what a shame it would be if I were to die without having taught that class, taken that film course or properly learnt how to bang the drums. We all think we need more time to get things done – but when given it, squander it away on useless hours in front of the telly mulling over the imperfections in our lives. What irony.
I should stop now before this turns into a piece about my current snarling nihilistic thoughts.
Let’s stop with the romantic image of old roses and even older chapels.

A thinly veiled attack on someone who labeled me

Muchas gracias cousin for labelling me an elitist. You have now turned me into one.

What elitist act should I indulge in now? My first act as a newly minded member is to gripe about why the urban poor insist on procreating...and procreating...and procreating. Much like your dearly beloved, now separated, folks. They seem intent on going at it like rabbits in the springtime - economic factors and maturity be damned. And without protection!

Until you have the means to feed the little 'uns stop writing to Ate Charo about your povertly stricken sob stories (there's enough drama around) and quit complaining about the government (their incompetence is another story).

Or perhaps, like your folks they were desperately trying for a boy to carry on the family name? A lot of good that did you eh? Don't worry, I'm sure you and your sisters will do your best to make the family proud - keep on climbing those stairs sugar...don't get left behind by the Joneses!

Somebody call me a socialite bitch tomorrow and I'll try to humour you by temporarily sounding like one.
Don't push me into something you can't control or you'll wish I had stayed the meek albeit moody lapdog you oh so liked to use. Touche bitch.

Fluff publications die naturally

The problem with being editor for a fluff publication of a company paper was control of content. Writers not submitting articles by deadline was another - but that was at least something every editor had to deal with. When one is caught between what management wants published and what everyone else wants to see in the damn paper, journalistic freedom goes to shit.

You've got the creative ideas from the writers and the contributors which you naturally nod to. And then you've got the veto powers from up high - which you must nod to. Nodding both ways hurts the neck. I could have been dictatorial about it, but that would have taken the fun out of the whole thing. That was half the reason we were slaving away extra unpaid hours of work anyway. Plus, I'm crap at dictatorship. I'm more for the collaboration, and seeing the kick everyone gets when our babies come out of press.

I worry about the future of that publication, mainly because I know so much could have been done with it and so many people look forward to it. The light-hearted who wish to be entertained go straight to the back and check to see if their pictures (or those of the objects of their affections) are on the "social party page". The rest get fed with front page company charts and updates and the usual recognition articles on pages three to four. The intellectuals in need of a good read head for the really great column on page five. Is it scary I still know the pagination layout by heart?

The prime-evil thought in my head is I'm glad it died with me and the guys I worked with.

I'd hate to see some remaining nefarious individuals take up the banner of publication. They would on the pretense of having the interests of the masses as their prime concern when in reality, the paper is just another pet project coated with emails and meetings they can use to pad their resumes when aiming for the next step up the ladder...To whoever comes next as editor, I wish you more success with it than I had. To the asswipe popularity contestants...you can take my last issue and shove it up yer drunk asses.

You get bitch slapped for a reason

This is what the my horoscope said to me today
(Yes, its only the horoscope but it got me thinking)

When you've had a slap in the face you do need time to recover, But while you're healing consider how you earned that slap.

So I'm doing that. I'm going to think long and hard and dig deep. I'm going to scrape off all the possible bullshit justifications and prejudices I may have and really try and figure out what the message was. I'm going to try and be that better person this year for my sake. And for the people I love and who love me. I don't give a rats ass about the hypocrite wolves in sheeps clothing (hint - I sadly share the same family tree with the cretins). Their slaps don't make sense anyway whichever way you look at it. They are Cherie Pie Picache without depth or content. Absolutely unnecessary to the plot. They don't count.

But I'm also telling you to consider why you may have gotten your own slaps. People don't just randomly come up to you and plant a nasty stinger on your face (unless they were mentally imbalanced - which is a totally different scenario). Think about it. It may have been an act of sheer frustration, utter dejection or immense hurt. Don't want to? Tough. I'm telling you to. Because you may be part of my world soon...and I really wouldn't want us slapping each other for things we could have learned to temper a long time ago.

Wake me up when September ends

This is something I found I had written on September 16th of last year:

A slightly hungover Sunday morning finds me at Starbucks (Rockwell) nursing a macchiato as I wait for my mother to finish changing in the unisex bathroom. It is uncommonly early for me and after driving her to the airport I expect only an hours rest and change before joining a shopping party and then hopefully after, go watch some football being played. The business of today is most welcome. It matters not that I haven't slept and that I have work early. It preoccupies me and fills the hours which I would otherwise have spent desperately trying to sleep away. To forget mostly that life is passing me by. Or that I am allowing it to.

Why am I posting it now? I suppose, to remind myself not to slide back to that point in time where I was literally SLEEPING my life away. How pathetic is that? To have one's goal as to keep oneself preoccupied else crawl into bed and wait for the day to mercifully end.
The point? The point is I'm pitching my plan to the elders...and I'm hoping it is received well. And I'm hoping it is the next big adventure.

Yes but Oh no!

am unnaturally giddy. must get over adoloscent-like musings that have managed to seep into my consciousness and have occupied most of today's thoughts... I know why I'm smiling like a prize idiot and I don't trust it.
I know this fickleness can't last. I shall predictably be thrown back down to earth in a matter of hours. I give this a couple of days max.

Twenty-nine and counting

The agenda was to get up early and be extremely productive today. The plan included a morning swim, a quick stop at the mall to buy goodies and have a general look around then back home to check and answer email greetings. Was supposed to end the day with a nice family dinner (with lots of dessert) and the smug thought that I hadn't wasted my first day of being a year older.
The reality was me sleeping half the day away. I can't be smug about that now can I?
I did manage to check mail and to have the dinner and dessert...but I'm afraid all thats done is add another few thousand calories to the heap I've already got lined up to burn off.
Now that I think about it, there wasn't much of a chance of getting out and about anyway as the universe has seemed to conspire on my staying at home today. I hear traffic was practically at a standstill all over Dubai this evening due to some guy visiting. Not many people here like this guy and this traffic situation doesn't help his rep at all.
The "guy" is US President Bush. With him in town, the major roads have been closed and / or re-routed. It doesn't help things that it rained the whole day. Not for the traffic or my plans to go out.
The up-side to that is it has officially been declared a holiday tomorrow and I'll have time to pester Dad and Nik to go out.
I shall just have to celebrate again tomorrow when the skies clear. No law against that is there?

Pre-birthday shebangs that require beer

Am back fter a night of pre-birthday bar hopping with my dad, my brother and my cousin. There was dinner at the Irish village afterwhich it was off to the Odd Spot - where my brother wasn't allowed in due to his age. (Although I felt sorry for him, I wondered how many bars back home would go bankrupt if they implemented the same rule there. Kids under twenty-one routinely go drinking on a Friday night unchaperoned and usually make up the bulk of the crowd in my college town.) Later headed to Rocky's (apparently another very Filipino bar) at a hotel further out.

A karaoke contest was just ending as we walked in and the first set was about to start. The place was packed (who says Filipinos overseas have it hard?) and the opening number was a song from the eighties sung by a (possibly Bi) male lead vocal and his four backup bunnies dressed as Japanes anime schoolgirls.
They promptly followed that with a spicegirl- I-will-survive medley. I think. They were, um, very flexible and short of a full on floor show, they managed to keep the male populace in the bar highly entertained. The second set had even more back up (and front) dancers, this time in bikini tops and short shorts prancing to Beyonce and Pussycat doll tracks. The songs were more rock infused rather than sentimental pop numbers from twenty years ago. I kept my eyes on the band lest an anime character would lead me to say something I'd regret later. The drummer reminded me of Jonathan Buencamino.
There was a pool table near the toilets (which were nice and clean) and I was startled to hear my name called out on my second trip to the loo. An old officemate had recognized me. After a short interview cum catch up session we exchanged numbers and promised to lunch or meet for a quick dinner before I left. It really is a small world after all.
In total, I had a double shot of Baileys, three and a half beers (controlled) and enjoyed watching snippets of the basketball game on the big screen. Coca cola lost to Red Bull.
I'd like to thank my Dad for taking us all out and paying for dinner and drinks and the Anime squad for keeping them all entertained.

Life is like a box of chocolates...

Watched Forrest Gump tonight and had to get the kleenex out...there's one film thats always going to get to me.
If stupid is as stupid does, then I was really stupid over someone for a stupidly long time.
Now feel like I should go for a run and put it all behind me.

Conversation anyone?

I'll say it. I miss Philippine society - the genteel, the intellectual, the poetic and artistic. I do not include other adjectives right now because those particular things are what I miss. I miss sitting down at any local cafe in the afternoon and overhear office workers, students and entrepreneurs go about their business. I miss reading the opinions of our intelligent and witty columnists in the broadsheets (I could use the internet, but being home and buying the paper and settling down to devour it with some merienda is so different).

I do not wish to sound elitist when I say I do not miss the afternoon shows (TFC anyone) or the mass appeal of our two main television channels. There's enough of that here. And the melodrama sometimes doesn't really help the national consciousness (again, my own humble opinion).

When I say I miss the intellectuals and what gentle society has to offer - I only mean that I miss being a citizen in my own country where I am an INDIVIDUAL. Where I am not only a nationality (one that I am proud of being part of mind you - but thats a different point) or a skin colour but where its something that I do not need to think about everytime I walk down the street or open my mouth to speak my thoughts.

It would be really cool to find some intellectuals to talk to right now - without having to fret that we're of different nationalities and where walking on eggshells is not required.

I love that most of the Pinoys I've met so far are nice and smile when they realize that you are "kabayan" and even go out of their way to give you extra service if you need something in one of the stores they work in. That is just beautiful for me.

But I miss my banter mates. I'm not sure I could pull the attendee at the shoe store at the next building into a long winding conversation about the futility of going off to pursue a writing career when faced with the offer of a stable well paying job that demands me assisting executives of a corporate giant.

Or could I?