Riding the MRT depresses me. Walking through Cubao is close to my definition of hell.
I get on the MRT and I try not to look at the women around me. They all look sad. Like if I asked them, they might tell me about how there was only one thing in their life that made them happy. Okay, I know what you're thinking - that one thing is better than nothing. Still, all those sad looking people...it is disconcerting. Maybe because I'm in the carriage with them.
They also look tired. I don't blame them. I look tired. Commuting in Manila has that effect on you.
I'm hungry. My last meal was something depressing from 7-11. Yes, I know, that's more that what other people have. Just let me get this distaste for commuting again out of my system.
I'm tired, hungry, and thinking about depressed looking women on the MRT. And am staying home on a Friday night, dammit.
I need to find an up-side to this filmmaking gig.
I miss my car.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Back at Guijo...
There are moments of musical magic I often get lost in, the latest of which was experienced at Saguijo.
Although I used to live right next door to the place, I was never really able to take advantage of the geographical proximity. Back then, I was on the late shift and by the time I got home from work, the place was usually closed.
Last week, a good friend visited Manila and after a movie and dinner, we found our way to the house turned indie bar on Guijo street. As always, the place was packed - the usual mix of musician, artist and yuppie.
Our other friend had picked this place tonight as he told us the bands playing would be amazing. We weren't disappointed. We took our place by the bar and before we knew it we had lost ourselves to the music of Waya, the Techy Romantics and a really talented beat box intermission guy called Bitoy.
The good crowd, great bands and my cold beer reminded me of when everyone used to have time to go out, chill, and just listen to some music.
Nobody really does that anymore.
Now it is mostly worries over jobs, finances, weddings, kids, etc.
Things change.
My friend has flown back to Boracay and I find myself wondering who to drag back to Saguijo.
Volunteers? Anyone?
Although I used to live right next door to the place, I was never really able to take advantage of the geographical proximity. Back then, I was on the late shift and by the time I got home from work, the place was usually closed.
Last week, a good friend visited Manila and after a movie and dinner, we found our way to the house turned indie bar on Guijo street. As always, the place was packed - the usual mix of musician, artist and yuppie.
Our other friend had picked this place tonight as he told us the bands playing would be amazing. We weren't disappointed. We took our place by the bar and before we knew it we had lost ourselves to the music of Waya, the Techy Romantics and a really talented beat box intermission guy called Bitoy.
The good crowd, great bands and my cold beer reminded me of when everyone used to have time to go out, chill, and just listen to some music.
Nobody really does that anymore.
Now it is mostly worries over jobs, finances, weddings, kids, etc.
Things change.
My friend has flown back to Boracay and I find myself wondering who to drag back to Saguijo.
Volunteers? Anyone?
Friday, January 29, 2010
never fails...
I can't help it, good films make me smile.
Good shots. acting. sets. location. music.
smile. smile. smile. smile. smile.
=)
Good shots. acting. sets. location. music.
smile. smile. smile. smile. smile.
=)
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Sunday service
I was made to go to church with the family today.
It had been a while since my last full mass. Organized religion hadn't changed much.
We had arrived late so were sentenced to standing outside in the cold. I didn't mind.
In between my guilt over paying more attention to the toddler bouncing around in front of us and half mumbling out memorized prayers, I found myself wishing I could be as uncomplicated as the people around me.
I can't even begin to count the times that I looked around in envy, wishing I could have the same blind faith.
Please give me something to believe in.
It had been a while since my last full mass. Organized religion hadn't changed much.
We had arrived late so were sentenced to standing outside in the cold. I didn't mind.
In between my guilt over paying more attention to the toddler bouncing around in front of us and half mumbling out memorized prayers, I found myself wishing I could be as uncomplicated as the people around me.
I can't even begin to count the times that I looked around in envy, wishing I could have the same blind faith.
Please give me something to believe in.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Your name came up
I find it hard to ask help from people. I find it insanely hard to ask help from the people I love. The moment I feel that I am being an imposition, I try to make myself scarce.
If you’re reading this, know that you came to mind when the question of “Who are the people you can depend on to be there?” came up today.
When the shit hits the fan, who are the handful of people I’d call at three in the morning to get me out of a bad situation, give me a roof over my head, drive me to the hospital, or simply listen to me rant about life’s general suckiness?
The names that came to mind surprised even me.
Hell, you’re probably reading this and going “WTF?? I’ve only known her a year!” or “I haven’t seen her for like, a decade” or even “But we’ve only had about four serious conversations together, and there was drinking involved!”.
Out of the fifteen I named, only three are related to me by blood. I don’t know if that sounds sad to you. For the traditional Filipino, it probably does. Somehow though, friends seem easier to have in my life, less aggravating, lesser strings attached. But I digress.
We all have countless friends we’ve made through the years, many of whom we still adore even if we don’t see them often. Maybe their priorities changed and they moved out of your immediate circle; maybe they got married or had to walk down a different path; maybe you just grew apart because of social calendars or geography. No matter, you know that these are good folk and that you would do almost anything for them. Yet their names didn’t make your top ten. And you wonder, why is that?
Sometimes it is easier to think of someone currently on the same frequency as you. People who you know will be there when you get the courage to admit that you need help. Those intelligent and compassionate enough to give what you need at the time, whether it is a sympathetic ear or a kick in the butt to tell you to pull yourself together.
People who have no agenda but seem to like being in your life. People who ask nothing in return but the pleasure of your company.
If you’re reading this, it means you’ve seen me act like a decent human being and you’ve seen me at my worst. Or, if we’ve only just walked into each others lives, you seem to be the kind of person I’ve decided I could trust to not walk away when I’m intolerable, but stick around to make sure I make it home safe when everyone else had lost interest.
If you’re reading this, I want you to know that your name came to mind and I’m glad it did.
I want you to know that I’d show up at three in the morning with a shovel in hand if you asked me to (no, don’t call me now). I’d cry at your wedding and I’d dote on your kids. I’d dread having to live longer than you. Being the person that I am though, I’d also get my wits back right about now and deny ever having written this sentimental crap.
Cheers to the New Year.
Dec 30, 2009 2:46am
If you’re reading this, know that you came to mind when the question of “Who are the people you can depend on to be there?” came up today.
When the shit hits the fan, who are the handful of people I’d call at three in the morning to get me out of a bad situation, give me a roof over my head, drive me to the hospital, or simply listen to me rant about life’s general suckiness?
The names that came to mind surprised even me.
Hell, you’re probably reading this and going “WTF?? I’ve only known her a year!” or “I haven’t seen her for like, a decade” or even “But we’ve only had about four serious conversations together, and there was drinking involved!”.
Out of the fifteen I named, only three are related to me by blood. I don’t know if that sounds sad to you. For the traditional Filipino, it probably does. Somehow though, friends seem easier to have in my life, less aggravating, lesser strings attached. But I digress.
We all have countless friends we’ve made through the years, many of whom we still adore even if we don’t see them often. Maybe their priorities changed and they moved out of your immediate circle; maybe they got married or had to walk down a different path; maybe you just grew apart because of social calendars or geography. No matter, you know that these are good folk and that you would do almost anything for them. Yet their names didn’t make your top ten. And you wonder, why is that?
Sometimes it is easier to think of someone currently on the same frequency as you. People who you know will be there when you get the courage to admit that you need help. Those intelligent and compassionate enough to give what you need at the time, whether it is a sympathetic ear or a kick in the butt to tell you to pull yourself together.
People who have no agenda but seem to like being in your life. People who ask nothing in return but the pleasure of your company.
If you’re reading this, it means you’ve seen me act like a decent human being and you’ve seen me at my worst. Or, if we’ve only just walked into each others lives, you seem to be the kind of person I’ve decided I could trust to not walk away when I’m intolerable, but stick around to make sure I make it home safe when everyone else had lost interest.
If you’re reading this, I want you to know that your name came to mind and I’m glad it did.
I want you to know that I’d show up at three in the morning with a shovel in hand if you asked me to (no, don’t call me now). I’d cry at your wedding and I’d dote on your kids. I’d dread having to live longer than you. Being the person that I am though, I’d also get my wits back right about now and deny ever having written this sentimental crap.
Cheers to the New Year.
Dec 30, 2009 2:46am
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Alien Adventures
I was an illegal alien for eleven days.
Me, little miss follow-all-international-laws. I misunderstood how long my visa was valid for. It expired. Who’d have thunk.
I was told to report to the police by the immigration powers that be. Not a pleasant thing to hear when you have no clue what the laws of the land are for overstaying foreigners. After being assured by a friend that they would probably just slap me with a penalty fine, or worse case scenario, deport me, I went and trudged up to my local police precinct .
I ended up paying a fine. I then reported back to immigration for a visa I technically had no use for, as I was leaving anyway.
Trust me to get into a scrap like this.
Had the immigration dudes given me a hard time, I had planned on telling them that I had Chinese ancestry by playing up my Sino sounding middle name: Cha-lu-yan.
In the end, the officer only asked why Filipinos had such long names. The Chinese don’t have middle names. I told him our middle names were our Mother’s maiden names. I was about to tell him mine, but thought better of prolonging my stay at the Overstaying room.
Me, little miss follow-all-international-laws. I misunderstood how long my visa was valid for. It expired. Who’d have thunk.
I was told to report to the police by the immigration powers that be. Not a pleasant thing to hear when you have no clue what the laws of the land are for overstaying foreigners. After being assured by a friend that they would probably just slap me with a penalty fine, or worse case scenario, deport me, I went and trudged up to my local police precinct .
I ended up paying a fine. I then reported back to immigration for a visa I technically had no use for, as I was leaving anyway.
Trust me to get into a scrap like this.
Had the immigration dudes given me a hard time, I had planned on telling them that I had Chinese ancestry by playing up my Sino sounding middle name: Cha-lu-yan.
In the end, the officer only asked why Filipinos had such long names. The Chinese don’t have middle names. I told him our middle names were our Mother’s maiden names. I was about to tell him mine, but thought better of prolonging my stay at the Overstaying room.
All Saints Day
Breakfast in Shanghai. Post Holloween. Jobless again. But in one of the most modern and dynamic cities in Asia.
Mama is in the mountain province paying respects at the grave of my grandmother. The rest of the Philippines is busy doing the same thing. Visiting the dead.
Career paths die easily in this industry. This is crap writing. I have no idea what to do next. Beg for a position at friggin Star cinema. Sell my soul to the industry devils of mass consumerism.
Manila or Shanghai? Manila or Shanghai?
I wish I had a roadmap.
Mama is in the mountain province paying respects at the grave of my grandmother. The rest of the Philippines is busy doing the same thing. Visiting the dead.
Career paths die easily in this industry. This is crap writing. I have no idea what to do next. Beg for a position at friggin Star cinema. Sell my soul to the industry devils of mass consumerism.
Manila or Shanghai? Manila or Shanghai?
I wish I had a roadmap.
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