seeing slamdunk and falling out of love

Back when I was in high school, I used to get addicted to the anime Slam Dunk. I used the internet to search for “facts” about the anime. I found much later that I was hooked to the fanfictions written about Sam Dunk as well. To think, I even followed sites for forum to check whether Rukawa is gay or not.

I remember one time, my seatmate/neighbor/music video partner/chatmate/comrade Ryia and I cut classes to watch Slam Dunk in her house. The episode was about Megane-kun/kogure. We also made “scrapbooks” and traded cards and stickers.

In my case, the manic disease got worse. For several times, I attempted to create a fanfiction featuring Akira Sendoh. Such futile attempts—up until now, I still plan to continue with it but I lost the creative juices and the time long ago. I only ended up having a character sketch. I even decided to trash the whole idea. I only have the plot with me now.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t love Slam Dunk anymore. I still watch its Tagalized version in GMA7 even though we already have the dvd version of it. Hihi. I still have akira sendoh as my standard of a good guy. I don’t know where that actually came from. From time to time I think of the would-be fanfiction for it.

Probably the addiction gradually wears off once maturity sets in. Since I’m an immature person, a part of me still clings to the anime world and the other half is already in what Holden calls a phony world. Phony but more realistic.

being organized for the sake of lappy

.since lappy is here, i can't find any reason for me not to organize my files. from pictures, to vids, to literature. so, i'm proud to annonce that i made a new blogspot acct to store my essays, poems, and stories.

for those who are checking my blog (i know a few who do--pity them..hehe peace) for literary pieces if you find them literary enough for your taste, just go to www.walaakongkwenta.wordpress.com or walaakongkwenta.deviantart.com, or yet www.inkspillsandblots.blogspot.com

For those who are used to my usual rants, don't you worry--or should i say, worry..hehe-- i will still be using this as a sort of breather (feeling sikat lang kumbaga hehe)

ciao..

along the hallway

to forgive and forget is not as easy as they say.

when you would meet the person whom you used to love, quote-unquote, who did not care for you, who betrayed your trust, you would still feel the pain. You would still try to blot his exsitence by not looking at him and walking on. you would still not meet his eyes. and who cares if he would or not try to capture your attention. you would just move away. then you would pray that you had not seen him. and he had not seen you.

you would pretend you were not affected. you would laugh, smile, chat. You would be merry. But you knew you weren't. because you were thinking of him. all day. and you were torn.

because all along you thought you had forgiven and forgotten. but you haven't moved on.

wahahaha

another escapade accomplished by the pardners...hekhek

terrific trio--one of those uncelebrated anniversaries

8 November 2005-- we were formed because of an aim to serve the PNU community through an honest election. We weren't united because of the thick bond called friendship, but a strong purpose to serve. But we ended up fulfilling our duties to the students and to one another and we, Grace Ann S. Estores, Katherine E. Vera, and I, became friends.

We started our journey together when we promised to hold on and keep the spirit of the once-dying-PNU-COMELEC. In that dark room, bereft of electricity, left by the "trusted" Chairman, we made vows of building the organization, returning it to its stature. With those vows, we committed ourselves to a relationship that neither distance nor ideologies could break but challenge.

It took us series of tribulations to measure the strength of our friendship. After four years, I am glad to find that we still have each other to cry upon, to share. Distance and ideologies are still our best antagonists but they don't keep us apart that much.

Of course it is natural that since we aren't in the same school and organization now, we live separate lives. We have our secrets we dare not reveal each other but that is a part of friendship--honoring each other. We respect and trust one another so much that we need not know every thing. We value our bond more than we value our individual differences.

A year passed with its silent celebration. Another year will turn. Another year will witness how far our friendship can go. Nobody can say whether we will drift closer or apart. But we can always choose. As for me, as long as I have the chance, I will make our friendship better.

part II

Joseph

wow nman, hehe

4:00amWorthless

lahat ng galit ko sayo nilagay ko dun..hehe

4:01amJoseph

grbe k nman!

4:01amWorthless

basahin mo muna kaya bago ka magreact noh

hehe

4:04amJoseph

nku, d q lam kng anu ssbhin q..

4:05amWorthless

nbasa mo na

4:13amJoseph

yup

4:14amWorthless

ok

4:15amJoseph

hndi q tlga lam kng anu ssbhin sau.. nhhya aq

tonight i'm falling and i can't get up

Worthless

hello

musta mr blue

3:18amJoseph

hi!

3:19amWorthless

tuloy ba tayo sa lunes

3:25amJoseph

d q p po sure e

3:25amWorthless

ok

3:27amJoseph

sna po ok aq nun

3:28amWorthless

how i wish...

yahoo moment

One of the rewards in studying is being remembered by a 71-year old professor and that is exactly what I received last Saturday. I was able to answer questions about Pablo Neruda’s “ The United Fruit Company, Inc.” and Somerset Maugham’s “Rain.” At the end of that day Professor Venancio Mendiola finally remembered my name.

I consider it as a reward basically because he’s in his prime. Some people forget names easily and people in his age forget almost every thing. Secondly, he is a renowned professor in Literature and Translation and anybody whom he recognizes surely feels proud. Aside from that, I don’t think he still remembers me in my Undergraduate subject, Translation of Educational texts.

Thirdly and most importantly, it is a reward because it gives me the satisfaction of studying again. When I was in my undergraduate course, I made sure I recited every now and then and contributed something to the classroom discussions. In the first 2 weeks of my Masters’ classes, I found it hard to recite because I couldn’t relate. I knew already that Professor Mendiola speaks 5 languages but it was quite unnerving to feel that my classmates spoke in a jargon that I was quite unfamiliar of. Suffice it to say that I had felt quite insecure before I recited last Saturday.

After the classes I felt elevated that I found myself half heartedly sorry for having a field trip on the coming Saturday and not being able to participate in the next discussions. Those recitations did boost my confidence level. I am now more motivated than ever, to think that it is Mr. Mendiola’s class.

Interpreting "The Interpreters"

I received the copy of Wole Soyinka’s The Interpreters 2 weeks ago. Little by little, I devour its page until the nagging and persistent boredom attacks me. Bit by bit, I try to understand its meaning. Whether I’m sitting aboard the usual morning jeepney ride, or standing in the LRT, I read it as I used to read C.S. Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia. The difference is, I’m quite dead bored. I CANT interpret The Interpreters.

That I am lost somewhere in pages 40-50 after a two-week period of possessing the book is a proof that I am losing the grip of reading it. Of course there are books that lasted up to 3 months before I finish them (like the Fountainhead) but this book is a required reading for me. It is going to be my first report in my Masters’ class. To think that I still have to read tons of short stories and poems, and yep, my second report, James Joyce’s A Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man (immaturely chosen, simply because it is quite familiar).

Yesterday, I had tried to cheat the report by asking Ashyah, if she knew anything about it. She said she knows the plot. She denies up until now to tell the plot since it is my report and I’m responsible for reading it. Guess that’s a fallback of having a super honest friend. Besides, I am not supposed to break what I am trying to teach to my students: READing THE NOVEL.

depresssion, revealed

When peers asked me if i was sure of staying for three years in the work place, I used to firmly answer "yes" for two reasons: first, I would still prove my worth, and 2nd, i made a promise. But nowadays, I feel as though staying would mean my personal destruction.

It is not a secret that I had depressions this November. In the past few days i woke up asking myself if I would go to school or not. I often reasoned I needed to. But last 13th and 19th of the month, I answered the question with "No, I would not. I am TIRED." People often mistook this for laziness. When I told them it is one of disappointment, they answered they understood. Money, pressure and studies, yep, who wouldn't be depressed.

But those aren't even my reasons.

I have no problem with my salary since I am supporting only myself and my brother's education. I am also able to give my family a feeling of stability since I provide our basic needs. I don't feel that much of a need for money even though saying I don't have my material needs is a hypocrisy. Aside from that, the salary is enough for me.

In terms of pressure, yes there is pressure in the work place. tons of it. But I have already accepted that. There is no job in this earth without pressure.

As regards my masters classes, honestly,I feel energized every time I remember that I have studies during Saturday. I enjoy every minute I stay in the classrooms and learn everything about literature.

The greatest factor of my depression is my dear set of irresponsible students.

I hate irresponsible students because they have the guts-which I don't- to waste time and money that they don't really own. The result, an unending clash in the class.

I give them extensions and a considerable number of considerations and when they step another toe out of the line, they expect me to understand them. When I don't, they accuse me of inconsideration. I am not MOTHERLY enough.

I don't argue because it is true. I haven't been a biological mother but I am a daughter and a student. I know my responsibilities to my family, my school and myself. I don't think it is my fault giving my best in a job that I half-heartedly like.

Somehow, subconsciously, I am looking for a symbiotic relationship between us. I understand them since I have undergone and I am undergoing the same measure of requirements.

And I end up getting depressed because they can't do it for me, nor for themselves.

But yes, I also have to think of my other students who give their all, who understand that I am not giving the standards to spite and punish them. I also have to think of those people who continuously support me in my endeavor like:
my family-understanding that I don't like teaching in the first place, they still encourage me.

Mrs. Tiu--from the start, she has already warned me of my level-headedness.

Mrs Brown- she spared a time of her busy schedule to listen to my woes.

ace and allan--my witnesses and my friends, my mediators..


At the end of the day, I ask myself yet a gain, "Am I still going to stay?"

they make me cry

I cry for severe reasons. I do not merely cry to ask for pity like girls do in televisions. I cry out of anger, frustrations, sadness. i cry out of laughter. I cry out of happiness (the last time I did, it was when !V-9 batch 2008 won the best section award). I cry out FOR salvation.

If I would allow it, the list will go on and on and on. But basically, at the top of my list is not the tear-jerking dramas or books but infuriating close-minded people.

No matter how much I make them understand and see things objectively, they beat around the bush and attack my affective side which according to argumentation is wrong. They tell me every thing depends on me but when I read between the lines they tell me otherwise. Oo nga naman...I'm not supposed to make them see things right because they are, simply because they are...and they are older...yup.

So what happens to me...

It is simply annoying that I cry for their kind of people. waste of buckets of tears...waste of boxes of tissues and waste of tanks of oxygen.

audio books

as i am addicted to facebooks, i'm half as well addicted to audio books. I figured that to keep myself insane of real english without bothering my father if i could use the dvd, I have to maximize the net...I'm using two hours of my time on useless things anyway (yeah, i can say facebook-ing is useless specially for a teacher-student like me but it doesn't stop me from using it anyway) so spend the same two hours listening to audio books... and yep, my selection of movie served as my basis in selecting the audiobooks. The things i'm listening to right now? hehe...guess what. title starts with HP....hehe

loving facebook is a crime

with all the time i spend in facebook, i neglect posting anything decent in my blog...and if ever i post anything it is about facebook.....grrrr.

while i was on my way to the nearest net shop, i calculated the hours i actually spend playing farmville, sorority life, school of wizardry and the you know what in facebook. two hours a day. 14 hours a week..and yep...for a month now i don't have a good blog entry yet even though october offered me favorable(?) circumstances and inspiration to do so...


i can't believe im spending money for games...

discovering vapid

now i know who VAPID is.

after reading a comment here in my blog, i asked some of my students who, as far as I am concerned, are following my blog. they were not vapid, they didn't knwo him...

i settled to the probability that i wouldnot be able to find who the mysterious commentator is and i let the days pass by.

finally, one day, as i hitched my way through facebook, logged-in in pet society, i saw the name...and i figured it out..hahar

the scream of silence

...funny that through turbulent times I find myself silent. Quiet. Intense emotions grope my heart that not a word escapes my mouth.

I find myself fascinated by the way things move about, interlaced, tangled,bound to lead from one thing to another. I feel that if I say something, do something, these moving things, these course of events will change their paths. So I keep quiet. And I accept the pounds, the scratches, the punches with open arms.

and I find myself satisfied. Somehow I begin to uderstand that the world is not about ME only. I am but a piece, a minute piece of my own existence. I can control my decisions, my choices. But I cannot control how the world moves.

I am an individual. But I am a part of the world.

mental dialogue II

In all the things I am going through right now, I am grateful that I have friends who never tell me what to do and what not to do. I am thankful that inspite of the negativities I have, they continue to encourage me.

giving a damn to quitters

I have never been a fan of quitters. Being competitive, I excel more when I a challenged, when I am bullied. I don't stop until I get my own share of the cake. That is why I can't understand people who quit without trying. I hate weaklings who half-heartedly do things they are asked to do--just because they don't like to? They don't have the potentials? Their groups mates don't like them? to hell. They haven't even tried doing the tasks. In their minds they limit themselves to a category and never venture into deeper waters.

It's foolish. They keep on saying "Knowing what you cannot do is more important than knowing what you can do." Well, that's a whole lot of a crappy alibi. It doesn't give them a sacred reason to refuse a task. As if everyone is asking them to jump from the King's tower and die.

Haven't I quitted once,you ask? Of course, I have. I am a human being. I used to quit in a lot of things before I learned that " The words 'I CAN'T' are better used sparingly. I give importance to the things I can't do but I don't let them stop me. I don't give a damn if it is hard as long as I have to do them(and if the task is worth the try) then I will.

Should I care if people don't like me? I won't let them affect me. I won't give them a reason to like me either. I don't care if they have stayed longer in the workplace. I am given the opportunity to stay in the same area because I am worthy and I must show that. They might as well die in frustration of kicking me out. When I have to leave--WHEN I REALLY HAVE TO QUIT, I'll make sure that I will leave something good, something to amrk the place that I once have been there. I WON"T LEAVE WITHOUT A FIGHT.

ka-CORNY-han

One of my many flaws that students point out at me is my ka-CORNY-han. It didn't come as a surprise because--surprise!--I am. I didn't learn the art of throwing jokes nor cracking one. When I was in high school, I already chose to be a wall flower. While my brothers liven up the party by joking, I usually end up making a fool of myself trying to make them eat their hearts out. I may even think of some thing funny but it never sells in the market because i don't have the proper medium of expressing it. I dropped Joke 101 and entered the Pun 101 class but the dean kicked me out....pity. So i ventured in another use of language--and this is quite a different story altogether. As much as possible I don't show my ridiculous side (except when i need it) Whenever I "joke" I am merely voicing out the thoughts that I find funny. I rather join in the audience laughing at funny people (if they are indeed funny) than be laughed at. Suffice it to say I understand my students since i myself only laugh at things that may make me laugh.. It is just a pity that they have to bear with a corny teacher until march 2010.

i am wondering who knack really is

I was in high school when I started to write petty "novelettes" that run from 16-24 episodes. Why episodes? I was thinking of becoming a professional manga writer that time so my plots were episodic--divided into scenes even.

I 'finished' three 'books': MWF Knights which I dedicated to some peers, MickDenz which I did when I was still cheesy and all, and Azalea Azure (Strips of Light) which I am currently editing.

I asked my high school classmates to read my works since I was craving for attention--being a member of the honor society had its advantages and one of them was being socially unaccepted.

It was a good thing that the females reacted good naturedly about them. They were even decent enough to ask me what I planned to do next. Imagine the horror and disappointment I got when I asked the guys to criticize my works.

I would no thave been half so sad had I been close to the girls (which I was but not quite). However, being surrounded by overprotective boys at home, I felt it was asecond nature for me to be close with some of the boys at school.

Close as I was to them, they did not spare me and my humble masterpieces. they did not even glance at them.

Grr.

But my disappointment and frustration is not what I am supposed to write about here.

So moving on...

I settled myself asking girls about what they thought of my projects. They were able to get me through my first 2 works. I was so proud of myself back then that I forgot to breathe and started a new one, Azalea Azure.

Azalea Azure was supposed to be about a transferee adopting to a new school which is somehow similar to the story line of High School Musical. The difference is Azalea doesn't sing. She dances. And she transfered to Centerville High in her third year.

Also, Vim Havey is not the super bascketball player of the school--he's the vice captain unlike Troy Bolton who is always in the limelight.

One of the characters in Azalea Azure (Strips of Light, the edited version of AA is coming soon) is Knack Kaiser who is originally an imitation of Rukawa Kaede of Slam Dunk. He is a freshman competing against Vim in basketball.

knack- ability
kaiser- German emperor

One thing I put into Knack Kaiser is my voice. He is my mouth piece in the story. It is just unnerving that I had to put him somewhere at the 5th chapter just to establish the Azalea-Vim story (I am editing it now, most probably he'll come a little bit earlier).

As far as i can remember, I wasn't really the grade conscious girl that they thought I was. Probably just along the competitive line. Grades don't matter to me much up until now. What I was and still am after is the praise and acknowledgement that go along with the grades. In short, I could not be Azalea.

Next, although I am a fan of basketball, I could not and cannot find the proper words to use in describing the intense emotions evoked by the game. Definitely unlike Vim Havey. For his character I had and have to consult my brothers, watch NBA, and rewatch events in Slam Dunk.

So where does Knack come in. He comes in at the part when things become cofusing. He was and still is the silent type. One that intimidates without doing anything. That is how I like to picture myself. All my frustrations, all my angst and all my moodswings are vented out through him.

At the time my classmates read the (original) chapter 5, they figured out one thing.

Before I graduated from high school, a number of classmates already had tagged me as 'Knack' which was and is an advantage. I need not fuss over people claiming difficulty in pronouncing my name since I have a nickname I can boast. That is one of the reasons I use "knack"

The problem I see now is I am lost in using the name. Am I still to use it when I edit the story or should I use another name?

I am lost: am I trying to live up to the name or I am simply trying to tell every one that there is one one word that sums me up.

not worthless.

but knack.

Rock with You

He had just been back from Taiwan last Friday when I asked him for a favor: a performance. I knew it was too much to ask since he isn’t my student anymore, he isn’t a part of the MASCKS anymore, and lastly and most importantly, he had just been back.

But I assure myself, it was just right.

First, he was and is one of the best dancers I know (even Eds says so). I still can't imagine the Movers without him.

Second, he needs to have exposure. He isn't doing anything anymore and he told me once that he still wants to dance and perform on stage. He needs to be visible in school naturally to help us in our rehearsals. At least, he won't feel bored. And actually I believe that I am doing him a favor and not the other way around.

And lastly, it's no use denying it, I do like to see him dance. It is not because I simply adore him--doing so is a crime against the Magna Carta (although he is not a student anymore...hm...hehe) People who can do things unexpected of them are more interesting for me than people who can do what is expected of them. In his case, he was one of the lousiest students in my class last year. Back then, I had gotten so angry with him and his peers that I had almost condemned them to hell. I had consoled myself by concluding that I wouldn't care for people who are of no use and couldn't help themselves. How surprised I had been to know he was one of Edsie's best dancers.

First impressions really don't last as my first impressions of him spilled from my brain when I first saw him on the dance floor.

Fromthen on, I supported his dancing endeavors.

That's the main reason I had when I had asked him to dance (which he humbly accepted)

He had had a night of preparation, but goodness knows had he been more prepared, the cool, slow and quite sexy "Rock with You" could have been flawless.

In my addiction, I was even singing MJ's song up until I was eating with a friend in BK Glorietta 4(she promised to smash me with her leather purse if I would whistle the tune).

Whether my request was for personal gain or simply a way for him to get back, I don't know. Up until now, I'm guilty of child abuse. All i know is i'm anticipating a lighting bolt to struck me any time...hehe

libro na naman

"relations insist in giving me books when all i want is a decent conversation"

...he used to be a crush. then he became someone dear to me. then we parted...
...there were long days, months, and years of silence...
...and i was entertained by others...
...and then he came back, after his solitary shell..
...only to give me a book "love in the timeof cholera"
...and after a year...just an hour ago, he visited, just to give 7 books...

...bother...
PMTO

patrick jane smiles and i sigh

"I don'tcare about the law. I care about justice."

In the midst of controversial issues on political killings and advertisements, I went on watching The Mentalist. Not only it saves me a lot of trouble thinking of unthinkable things, it distracts me from the constant pressure the work place is giving me (I'm loaded, pff).

Last night, Mr. Jane tried to crack series of arson cases. He was doing quite well then when he had a fair argument with a team mate. The argument was about "law vs. justice vs. vengeance."

I couldn't help thinking of my "debate" days when The PNU Debate Team would hold series of conferences and try-outs (FYI i never became a main debater--at least the team did boost my confidence). Oneof the hottest topics that time was doing something wight vs doing something that you think is right.

The "law vs. justice vs. vengeance" not only echoes the memories of the past but the current status of governance whether local or national. It is quite unnerving to think that we have laws but we don't have justice. We have documented ideas but no lasting actions.

Somehow it dictates to me that whoever we place on the highest position in the Executive Body of the Government must be a man of justice and not just a man of law.

But duh?! Who cares!

I had seen Patrick Jane smile and I had a good dream...

editing the past

...nice title for a worthless blog..harhar..
...i just tried editing my past friendster blog account. goodness,i learned they have more themes..grrr....but anyway...at least..

singing "drops of jupiter" instead

..I felt like singing "hanging by a moment".but decided against it..

Last sunday, after the dreaded but not so dreadful GCAT exam, I called him up--just checkin out if he would care to answer and he did. as usual, he said he missed me...for heaven's sake a lot of people miss some other people--wouldn't he make me feel any betterthan the rest..and to think he used to make me feel i was the best--without him knowing it and that's the problem.

.he did in a way, telling me he'd like to see me. but of course, not this weekend. he has to meet that special someone...and ofcourse....here i am, the understanding friend who has waited for him for a year when he was out there searching for something, and he goes home, misses another girl and guess what, i'm kicked out of his priority list(when i was in it, i was at the bottom, second from the bottom...make that third...drat...somewhere at the bottom).

Fine...so i thanked him for congratulating me in my decision to take up MA Lit. Nice...but that' s a crap as compared to the s compared to things i want to tell him face to face, the things he's supposed to understand without me saying them to him.


. While i was holding the phone, i couldn't help feeling like Michael Berg (The Reader).


"the only way we would be free is to disclose something needed to be disclosed but we'd rather keep it hidden."

mask

I am wearing a mask that says nothing.

I have waited and I have found out

That I have waited for nothing.

All I have is this mask

and some memories.

getting political

… I honestly don’t think his blood-relationship to the former Pres Aquino and celebrity Kris can guarantee him a good number of voters in the 2010 Presidential Elections.

… Also, I may sound know-it-all but for me, Mar Roxas’ giving way to Noynoy isn’t a good move. The latter hasn’t even given his confirmation yet. my first reaction to that was “napaka-disorganized naman nila..” They are in the same party anyway. They could have talked over the matter first, announced Mar Roxas’ decision, and put Noynoy Aquino in the limelight. it would then sound like a bomb.

…pero yun nga nangyari tapos the senator himself told the public that he isn’t sure yet. It was like estinguishing the fire of their party. I felt like watching a very pathetic stage play…

Drowning in Dostoevsky

I have started reading(and fooling myself) Fyodor Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov as part of my monthly book escapades. I chose the book not because it was recommended-- which reminded me of The Fountainhead..arggh.Maria can kill me now. I promised her I would finish the book come September, and September indeed came. Wake me up before september ends...

I just take pride in reading Dostoevsky. In all honesty, I got sick of devouring American and English Literature--as they are required in our majorship. I even got tired of Black Literature after being comatosed in reading Alice Walker's The Color Purple (her "In Our Mother's Garden" is terrific!). I thought a breather would do--Russian authors! Speaking of which, I'm thinking of reading Turgenev next.

Other than my first reason, reading a text that not just anybody would read makes my heart beat faster than reading an already familiar book which everybody could relate with.Ayaw ko makiuso...ayaw...hehe

Dostoevsky never lost a nerve to use long paragraphs that intimidate readers and writers alike. Just the thought of those long paragpraphs is a sneering "boring" to me. I got teary-eyed in reading the first three paragraphs, and I am still in the first chapter, The Family Background. It is not actually boring, yes intimidating, but not boring, and tiring to read long sentences in longer paragraphs. I'm just thankful I'm reading other books in between paragraphs...haha.

other books I'm reading this month:
The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand
The Book of Lost Tales by J.R.R. Tolkien
Martin Eden by Jack London
Becoming Neomi Leon by Paz Mu�oz
The Lost Boy (Sequel to a "The CHild Called 'It'") y David Pelzer