… 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…
3.9.09
2.9.09
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
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
1.9.09
the mentalist part II
..so I got addicted to a t.v series which I have only seen once. But i can't help falling in love with a modern-Sherlock Holmes (have I said I'm addicted to Doyle's most famous character? OH, Maryl Amarante, my former classmate introduced me to him and since then on, i've been his huge fan...and a fan of characters who resemble him, even just a bit)
.amidst my mother's plea "Magpahinga ka na, baka mabinat ka, yung ngipin mo, may pasok ka pa bukas" i watched the tv series while i propped my head on a lousy pillow, trying to numb a little bit of pain.
.Simon Baker plays the indifferent Patrick Jane well enough to convince my poor hypothalamus that all indifferent detectives are really thinking....hehe .
..last night's episode was about the battle between a psych and a mentalist. both were trying to solve a murder case. the psych was somehow related to the victim since the latter used to be the first's client.She was able to help the detectives solve the case through her "visions" which were true enough. However, she was still no match for the Mentalist. She was able to point out who the murderer was by putting up a "spirit summon". PAtrick, the mentalist, on the other hand had already known the murderer from the start of the investigation. He only needed some help in "persuading" the person to confess as she was the daughter of the victim.
.probably what enticed and entices me the most in watching the series is the power of words themselves(It was amazing how Patrick Jane was able to point out who the murderer was through words...).. Also, how gifted people are able to decipher different meanings of sentences based on how they are delivered puts me on the "follow-up" mode for the next episode... .i so love it...can you tell?...hehe
.amidst my mother's plea "Magpahinga ka na, baka mabinat ka, yung ngipin mo, may pasok ka pa bukas" i watched the tv series while i propped my head on a lousy pillow, trying to numb a little bit of pain.
.Simon Baker plays the indifferent Patrick Jane well enough to convince my poor hypothalamus that all indifferent detectives are really thinking....hehe .
..last night's episode was about the battle between a psych and a mentalist. both were trying to solve a murder case. the psych was somehow related to the victim since the latter used to be the first's client.She was able to help the detectives solve the case through her "visions" which were true enough. However, she was still no match for the Mentalist. She was able to point out who the murderer was by putting up a "spirit summon". PAtrick, the mentalist, on the other hand had already known the murderer from the start of the investigation. He only needed some help in "persuading" the person to confess as she was the daughter of the victim.
.probably what enticed and entices me the most in watching the series is the power of words themselves(It was amazing how Patrick Jane was able to point out who the murderer was through words...).. Also, how gifted people are able to decipher different meanings of sentences based on how they are delivered puts me on the "follow-up" mode for the next episode... .i so love it...can you tell?...hehe
30.8.09
darts
"I'll give you my three reasons for not conceding to your 'suggestions'...
"First, you are younger than I am--you absolutely don't have any power or authority over me.
"Next, you don't pay me--I am not your employee.
"Lastly, I am the teacher here. I am the one in charge.
"So when I say you have to leave at 1:50 p.m.,you will leave this room at exactly 1:50 p.m."
-My response to a student who had a "seat-on-fire" during the National Career Assessment Examination.
-Perhaps, I could have thought of nicer words or nicer ways of saying my retort--but hey, I didn't shout. But I think I had every reason to say those things since I had let the student complain for the nth time before I dropped the bomb.
"First, you are younger than I am--you absolutely don't have any power or authority over me.
"Next, you don't pay me--I am not your employee.
"Lastly, I am the teacher here. I am the one in charge.
"So when I say you have to leave at 1:50 p.m.,you will leave this room at exactly 1:50 p.m."
-My response to a student who had a "seat-on-fire" during the National Career Assessment Examination.
-Perhaps, I could have thought of nicer words or nicer ways of saying my retort--but hey, I didn't shout. But I think I had every reason to say those things since I had let the student complain for the nth time before I dropped the bomb.
28.8.09
prof ybasco is growing wisdom
...not during but after the 1st session with my 10 college students did i realize that it's real, i'm teaching in college (while i'm still teaching in high-school). so i got the jitters that i know anybody could have, given the opportunity of handling such a special class composed of HRM students.
...My immediate assistant supervisor herself had told me about it last monday. I couldn't react properly then. I was thinking that there are other seasoned teachers to choose from.
...I've never expected this to happen...point is I haven't taken up my GCAT yet (not until next week). I don't even have master's units yet...ok,,,so I get the point that they trust me--that much?
...and so i had my first day and it went on incredibly. It's as if, i was just hanging out in my dear old university (which i would probably do every weekend), talking with knowledgable enough people --not the --know-it-alls-...
so far so good...the only thing that ruined it is my tooth..literally.
i'm growing my wisdom tooth and it hurts...grrr
24.8.09
Writer's Block: Good Days and Bad Days
most exciting day is Sunday--since it gives a whole lot of anticipation
most energetic day is Monday--energized after slumber weekends
....nastiest day is Tuesday...it makes me think of the rest of the week. pretty boring...after monday all my energy is drained already
most promising day is wednesday--get to think of the plans i have for the weekend..it makes the week shorter (according to perspective that is)
most seat-spoiler day is thursday--get pretty much excited, can't stay in my seat...haha..
favorite day is Friday because it holds a lot of promises.harhar
most peaceful day is Saturday---i get to sleep all day (unless i'm called to this club meeting)
most energetic day is Monday--energized after slumber weekends
....nastiest day is Tuesday...it makes me think of the rest of the week. pretty boring...after monday all my energy is drained already
most promising day is wednesday--get to think of the plans i have for the weekend..it makes the week shorter (according to perspective that is)
most seat-spoiler day is thursday--get pretty much excited, can't stay in my seat...haha..
favorite day is Friday because it holds a lot of promises.harhar
most peaceful day is Saturday---i get to sleep all day (unless i'm called to this club meeting)
crests and troughs
...i wouldn't say that the entire day was spoiled...almost, though..
well, here it goes
..woke up early(we had a flag ceremony)
..facilitated a game that i think and hope my classes enjoyed.
...started writing the grades of my students on their cards.
....accepted another opportunity of teaching students, this time in college's language lab. (Thanks be to God)
.
..
...only to accept a scolding while walking along the corridors, thinking of being a professor even without a master's degree yet.
....and there...i wasn't even aware that i had been scolded at until it slipped in.
well, here it goes
..woke up early(we had a flag ceremony)
..facilitated a game that i think and hope my classes enjoyed.
...started writing the grades of my students on their cards.
....accepted another opportunity of teaching students, this time in college's language lab. (Thanks be to God)
.
..
...only to accept a scolding while walking along the corridors, thinking of being a professor even without a master's degree yet.
....and there...i wasn't even aware that i had been scolded at until it slipped in.
20.8.09
Slow to Speak, Slow to Wrath
I see dawn on the curtains of your hair
Blood pulsing, fast and slow.
The glow of your skin, it's making me wonder
How can life be so miserably sweet--
As Shakespeare's Romeo said
"Give me my sin again"
Divine is us, you once sang
An issue of fire burning my soul
Followed by the light from your eyes.
If I could die now,
Don't stop me from falling.
Hush
Hush
I see
No word is needed
Just give me my sin again.
Blood pulsing, fast and slow.
The glow of your skin, it's making me wonder
How can life be so miserably sweet--
As Shakespeare's Romeo said
"Give me my sin again"
Divine is us, you once sang
Pleasure is a taste or so of your lips.
An issue of fire burning my soul
Followed by the light from your eyes.
If I could die now,
Don't stop me from falling.
Hush
Hush
I see
No word is needed
Just give me my sin again.
19.8.09
their fantasies
...so while they were off to their fantasies of ruining my life, i'm here updating my blogs and whatnots. i honestly don't care (although writing about 'em refutes my statement). ...gone were the days when i would just say yes to whatever they wanted me to do... they went away with the wind after i have succeeded the LET exam... ...i'm professional enough to know what i can and cannot do, what my expertise are and my waterloos. so if i say i can't and i don't want, i mean it.
12.8.09
just another blog entry
...im thinking of a title for a piece i'm currently editing...i have been laboring on it since i was in 3rd year high school.i just can't think of a proper title...just the title..actually, i've been considering "azalea azure" or azure azalea...but those are cheesy and so out of date.....grrr..
10.8.09
RECORDED VALEDICTION*
Tears welled sa mga mata ko
When I first tried to write this one.
Malay ko ba na someday, I have to say this to you
And end this and everything with a period.
Para na siguro akong sirang plaka—
No, I mean, pirated C.D.(wala na nga palang plaka ngayon)
Sa kauulit gaya ng Gin Blossoms’
“Repeating as if it matters everything I wanna say”
All my bags are packed, I’m ready to go
So babayoo na nga sa’ting dalawa.
I left a letter inside your drawer
Para naman(kung sakali) at least you’ll remember me pa.
Partida friend, masakit pa ang pisngi ko nyan.
And, nga pala, I emptied your concealer(pasensya).
I even used the cap you bought for me
And the make-ups na hindi ko pa nagagalaw.
Lantang-lanta na ang mga cactus that I bought,
Galling pang Baguio yan so please don’t forget
You have to water them twice a week
Para hindi sila mag-end(ouch…)
Don’t worry, sinusunod pa rin kita
Although medyo mapait at mahirap
Silang lunukin. Tinalo ko pa ang uminom ng rat killer
at ng isang latang insecticide.
I hope you’ll keep our old pictures
Na sobrang contrast sa new ones natin na parang
Tumanda tayong bigla at nangayayat…ay..ako lang pala…
Ayan, bumagsak na ang tears ko.
Ang hirap pala nito, I didn’t imagine.
Tama nag si Celine Dion when she sang
“Goodbye’s the saddest word I’ve ever heard”
“Goodbye’s the last time I will hold you near” na nga
I didn’t know may senti-side pala ako.
Nga pala, don’t forget our deal:
Plain black ha, ‘wag yung mamahalin.
As I end this record (ang hirap nga eh)
“I made a wish for you” to “remember me this way”
As I succumb to my favorite color,
I bid you a line of a revival(don’t cry please…yun ay kung may balak ka..)
Goodbye to you my trusted friend…
*saludo kay Rolando S. Tinio
When I first tried to write this one.
Malay ko ba na someday, I have to say this to you
And end this and everything with a period.
Para na siguro akong sirang plaka—
No, I mean, pirated C.D.(wala na nga palang plaka ngayon)
Sa kauulit gaya ng Gin Blossoms’
“Repeating as if it matters everything I wanna say”
All my bags are packed, I’m ready to go
So babayoo na nga sa’ting dalawa.
I left a letter inside your drawer
Para naman(kung sakali) at least you’ll remember me pa.
Partida friend, masakit pa ang pisngi ko nyan.
And, nga pala, I emptied your concealer(pasensya).
I even used the cap you bought for me
And the make-ups na hindi ko pa nagagalaw.
Lantang-lanta na ang mga cactus that I bought,
Galling pang Baguio yan so please don’t forget
You have to water them twice a week
Para hindi sila mag-end(ouch…)
Don’t worry, sinusunod pa rin kita
Although medyo mapait at mahirap
Silang lunukin. Tinalo ko pa ang uminom ng rat killer
at ng isang latang insecticide.
I hope you’ll keep our old pictures
Na sobrang contrast sa new ones natin na parang
Tumanda tayong bigla at nangayayat…ay..ako lang pala…
Ayan, bumagsak na ang tears ko.
Ang hirap pala nito, I didn’t imagine.
Tama nag si Celine Dion when she sang
“Goodbye’s the saddest word I’ve ever heard”
“Goodbye’s the last time I will hold you near” na nga
I didn’t know may senti-side pala ako.
Nga pala, don’t forget our deal:
Plain black ha, ‘wag yung mamahalin.
As I end this record (ang hirap nga eh)
“I made a wish for you” to “remember me this way”
As I succumb to my favorite color,
I bid you a line of a revival(don’t cry please…yun ay kung may balak ka..)
Goodbye to you my trusted friend…
*saludo kay Rolando S. Tinio
PAPET SHOW
Paki-adjust yung antenna, malabo eh…
Pero kahit anong adjust ang gawin,
kung hindi mo gusto tingnan,
hindi mo makikita.
Ayusin mo yung frequency, nagsta-static…
Bakit hinihintay mong iba ang mag-ayos?
Gaya ng nasa patalastas:
Wala ka bang mga kamay?
Wala akong naiintindihan—pakilipat nga…
Hindi mo man lang ba iintindihin?
Humahanap ka ng iba na makakaaliw sa’yo
pansamantala
Hindi ng mga magpapaunawa sa’yo
Ayan na lang, puppet show.
Bagay sa’yo pero…
Kawawa ka naman.
Hinihintay mong may magpaunawa
Magpalaya sa’yo gayong takot kang lumaya.
Umaangal sa kahirapan
Nagrereklamo sa maling sistema
PERO WALA KANG GINGAWA
Nakatanghod, naghihintay
Dahil nais mo doon sa manlilibang sa’yo—pansamantala
Hindi sa magpapalaya.
PILIPINO: hindi ka pa ba sawa?
PWEH!
Isang pagpupugay sa mga kapita-pitagang tao na kayang itaya ang kanilang posisyon, katungkulan, para ipaglaban ang kapakanan hindi ng sa marami kundi ng sarili at piling mga tao.
Nakakamanghang kaya pa pala nilang kumain at matulog, lumunok at magpahinga, na hindi nababagabag ang kanilang kaluluwa. Hindi ba’t ekstraordinaryo na ang mga taong nababansagan—at nagsasabing sila ay—eksperto ngunit ang mga ekspertong ito mismo ang bumabali sa propesyong dapat sana’y itinatatag nila hindi para sa kanilang sarili kundi para sa karamihan. Nakakatuwa. Isang saludo para sa mga ekspertong ito.
Sining—hindi…hindi sapat ang salitang ito upang mabigyang hustisya ang walang kapantay na galing ng mga propesyonal na ito. Tama na ba ang sagradong sining? Sa sobrang sagrado pili lamang ang mga taong nabiyayaan ng ganitong kakayahan. Yung mga tipong nakapagtapos ng higit sa labingdalawang taon ng pag-aaral ngunit tila walang natutunan(saying naman ang matrikula ng mga taong ito). Sa sobrang sagrado kakaunti rin lamang ang nabibigyan ng benepisyo ng kanilang katangi-tanging serbisyo. Hay…
Ang hangaring mapabuti ang karamihan ay malayo na sa kanilang isipan. Nasa pangakong sinumpaan na lamang ang katagang serbisyo(hindi katulad ng mga dukhang nagnanais maglingkod ngunit tila tinanggalan ng karapatang maglingkod). Hay…
Ito ang mga kapita-pitagang taong ating ginagalang na dapat sana’y ating hinahangaan.
Bakit hindi natin sila palakpakan? Para man lang sa nakadidiring direksyon na tinutungo ng kanilang mga buhay, may baon silang pagsamba na hindi nila makukuha sa impyerno.
BROKEN REPLICA
Smile as the camera zooms in.
After the flash, get going.
No one knows—
It’s ok.
Pose as the film rolls.
After the take, set your soul.
No one suspects—
It’s all right.
Sing as the tape records.
After the music is over, hop aboard.
As long as no one sees
You’ll be fine, absolutely fine.
At least, on picture, on film, on tape…
You are whole.
DRUNK: UNPUNCTUATED
The greatest masterpiece
Yet ever made
Whats in the dark
That makes thousand people
Scream to death
Cringe in fright
Dream like hell
Curse like fire
By the pitch black
Lay quietly
Hush darling hold on tight
It really feels right
The solitude of the night
Theres no sense
Making sense
Yet wonderful
Brilliance makes everything glow
Bright
Like lost dream suddenly found somewhere
Within the orbs of the sky
written: 12 february 2006won: GEMS award 2008 Collection of poems
COOL OFF
The wind blew it's lungs out, muting the other sounds that might had been heard during a fair weather. The trees doubled their heights, fighting the force. Adults held their umbrellas tightly, young women in skirts clutched their billowing garments. The rain continuously pelted and poured hitting the world like bullets sent by God to punish sinners.
I watched the street scenes from a pavement. I had been waiting for several minutes then but still the jeepneys to my part of the country were coming already full. The furious wind whipped my already wet hair. My damped clothes hugged me closely. I shivered. The biting cold crept to my spine. My feet were sore from walking and standing. I didn't have protection except my clothes, my umbrella, and a small tree planted on the left side of the pavement.
It's not that I didn't like it. In fact, I love rain. However, being exposed to its power for nearly an hour wasn't a good idea. The dark, heavy nimbus clouds loomed above while lightning flashed across the sky—very beautiful but frightening. As a thunder rolled and rumbled, my stomach grumbled. I was hungry. I looked back at the mall where I had been earlier. I had gone there to send some bad moods out of me but I had to leave to go home early.
I wished I had stayed a little longer. At least there, I had protection from the forces of nature and there were lots of things to see. Being at a pavement with the elements at their fullest couldn't be endured by a night student who had her own pandemonium inside. As I watched the steady fall of rain drops, memories of the events earlier that day spilled inside my head.
The rain didn't want to stop. I sighed, thinking that I should just walk a little further and see whether at the next block, I could get a ride. If this is punishment, I wish he gets more than I do, I thought. Nature continued pouring his wrath on man as I went on my way, engulfed by storm in and out. It's his fault, not mine.
*written last 06 august 05
*won me GEM's Award last 2008 under Essay Category
ITINAE NG PANULAT
Hindi ito ang unang beses na ginusto kong mangarap sa ilalim ng bilog na buwan. Tawagin na akong baliw at mapanaginipin, sentimental at kung anu-ano pa. pero hindi ba kahit sinong pintor maakit sa ganda nito lalo pa’t full moon sa alas dose ng gabi. At pwede ba, hindi ko kailangang magpaliwanag na hindi ako aswang at kung anu-ano. Alipin ako ng sarili kong kasamaan, tanggap ko yun at dahil sa pagkakaaliping ‘yun, lagi kong gusto makita ang kagandahan ng gabi.
Liwanag sa gabi, at dilim sa umaga, ang mga tanging bagay na gusto kong Makita sa mundo. Mga bagay na kadalasang wala ngang kwenta gaya ng mga pangarap na hindi man lang nagkaroon ng pagkakataong maging totoo, mga bahagi ng isipang hindi man lang maigawang mailabas, mga bagay na pinaghirapang tunay, pinagaksayahan ng panahon, pawis na sa huli ay basura lang: bulok, mabaho, nakadiri.
Iniisip ko: nagpapakamakata ba ako para saw ala? Lagi na lang akong aasa—hanggang saan, kelan, ako aasa—hanggang pangarap na lang ba ako?
Tama nga ba si Rizal na ang manunulat ay kalaban ang lahat maging ang sarili? Kung talagang ganun, masasabi ko talagang bigo ako. Dahil sa pagpipilit kong makaahon, pilit kong inabot ang mga pangarap ko nang sabay-sabay. At nahulog ako.
Oras na para tumayo.
Pagkatapos lumubog, kailangan na akong lumabas at maghugas ng kamay. Hindi lang para umiwas sa responsibilidad na ako mismo ang kumuha kundi upang magsimula uli.
8.8.09
A Book
Bound, I am, with so much and nothing.
Many have tried to read, plenty of interpretations
Yet completely nil;
A child’s eyes know me, the gentle elder’s palm endure by heart,
A lot of teens despise, some ignore.
Laid down,in some corners rusty or clean.
Open or close, see my covers can be immaculate
But sometimes can scare a priest. Sacred and blasphemous.
I am more than a clown. Entertain, horrify, educate,
Ridicule and insult, make people fall in love,
Make myself loved, and hated, I do.
Patience, to see what’s lurking somewhere,
waiting stupidly for the next coming day
when someone will endure sleepless nights thinking of reading
so shallow and deep.
Of the millions, I am one of them; fascinating,
Wonderful, worthless, rotten, appreciated, destroyed.
Who knows? It has always been in the eyes of
The Beholder.
Ain’t it funny?
The more you tell me you know me
The more you proclaim you have read me
The more you prove to me
You do not know a single thing.
Many have tried to read, plenty of interpretations
Yet completely nil;
A child’s eyes know me, the gentle elder’s palm endure by heart,
A lot of teens despise, some ignore.
Laid down,in some corners rusty or clean.
Open or close, see my covers can be immaculate
But sometimes can scare a priest. Sacred and blasphemous.
I am more than a clown. Entertain, horrify, educate,
Ridicule and insult, make people fall in love,
Make myself loved, and hated, I do.
Patience, to see what’s lurking somewhere,
waiting stupidly for the next coming day
when someone will endure sleepless nights thinking of reading
so shallow and deep.
Of the millions, I am one of them; fascinating,
Wonderful, worthless, rotten, appreciated, destroyed.
Who knows? It has always been in the eyes of
The Beholder.
Ain’t it funny?
The more you tell me you know me
The more you proclaim you have read me
The more you prove to me
You do not know a single thing.
4.8.09
It Was All A Joke
“How will I use this one, hey! How will I use this mahrt(s)elyo?”
“Ah! Don’t question me again. Mind your own business, will you, Vicente?”
That was very Vincent Vicente. I remembered seeing him the first time when I came to the construction site one Saturday evening when the moon was out, full of glory. I stood facing the wall, estimating the length of a particular wood. I didn’t take a good notice at him when I stepped in for the nightshift. However, one couldn’t ignore an accentuated sentence—a foreign-American-accent at that. I was no exception. I looked back and saw a bald dark man, about twenty-eight years old, and lean. He wasn’t at all tall, only five feet, eight inches, and he had a mole between his upper lip. The queer thing was, he didn’t at all look like a foreigner. How queer! I asked the nearest soul to me, “Who is that?”
“Oh, new ...”
“I know he’s new, but who is he?”
“Vincent Vicente: executive turned to construction worker.”
“Where did he come from?”
“I’m sure from where he came from,” he said with finality.
Suddenly, without warning, a gust of wind blew hard and closes the aluminum door toward the kitchen. The men, construction workers, shuddered. A thick cloud covered the bright moon; a shrill howl from a mongrel could be heard. We stopped, alarmed. The construction had been going on for its thirteenth week and by that time, no one was new (except may be for Vincent Vicente, the FilAm) to the rumors about the Balete Drive.
On that night, obviously, everybody remembered the ghosts, kapre, manananggal, tikbalang, dumende, and other supernatural beings believed to be roaming around New Manila. The new one Vincent Vicente looked around with disbelief. “What happened to you?”
“Hush! Close your mouth or the gods will cut your tongue,” one said in the bravest sound he could muster.
Tok, tok, tok, tok, tok.
Someone knocked at the door. Petrified by the memories of the ghost stories, no one moved (spare Vicente) even an inch to answer the door. Vicente looked at each stupefied face.
“Oh! It’s only a knock! Are you all doe-wagsz?”
Vicente turned and headed towards the door. He was only a step from it when a big voice, muffled because of the door, boomed: “Ngngabbii nnaahh ... nah nah ... Mmaakit nanditohh pa kayo … yo yo yoh.”
Vicente stepped back and shivered.
“W ... wa ... what was that?” he asked in a whisper.“Oh my ...”
“Bathala save us ...”
“Oh Lord, I have a family ...”
“Mary, Mother of God ... oh ...”
“St. Katherine ...”
Krash!
The door opened with a smash. An ear splitting yelp broke the silence, almost like an animal but it’s not because it had an American accent. Ghosts or not, each one saw how the aluminum door jammed on Vicente’s face and knocked him down. Blood issued from his broken nose. His eyes stared widely at the ceiling. Screams erupted inside the room. We obviously didn’t know what to do. Some shivered at a corner, cried for mercy, and asked for the forgiveness of their sins. Some (including me) went to Vicente. I looked at everyone’s faces. They were concerned. I asked the very same being I had asked earlier.
“Dead, isn’t he?”
“Probably,” he said, gave me a ghastly look he always wore and went away...
There were murmurs. One brave soul knelt and felt Vicente’s neck. He looked up gravely and announced, “He’s gone.”
Those who were at the corners moaned and pleaded to the heavens. Those around Vicente made a sign of the cross. I being a, well, former Catholic, was compelled to do the same.
“Oh my ... Nid I ngkil ngim?”
We turned to the direction of the voice. The person who smashed the door open was a stout man, had a very big nose, chipped front tooth and a slit, cutting his upper lip to the left hole of his breathing organ. He was carrying a big yellow candle and wearing a white nightgown.
Louder screams filled the night. I looked to the left and to the right and all around. Men scampered until only I, standing in the middle, the stout man at the door step to the kitchen, and Vicente lying dead on the floor, remained. I could still hear the construction people’s cries and yells for help to the moon and the vast sky, only to be answered by the howl of the dogs lurking in dark places.
“Mest nu ngkol da molis,” the stout man said, got his cellphone, and called. “Ngello, wan wan seben, imestigador?”
He turned away leaving me there and then, asking myself why he was calling the Investigator. I shook my head and “Tsk tsk tsk” was all I could muster. I looked at Vicente. Slowly, very slowly, a replica of him sat, then stood up. He brushed an invisible dust on his black, almost transparent (that makes it translucent) pants. He touched his face with his left hand and felt for non-existing blood. He looked at his hand.
“Oh, my ...”
Through his hand, he could see my shoes and through my shoes, he could see a pair of feet, lying on the floor. He looked down.
“Oh Lord, that’s me,” he gasped as he saw his face with blood staring at him. Vicente attempted to walk but found himself floating instead. He came face to face with me and I saw how brown his mole was, how abnormal his right eye winked, and how Filipino he looked; even he said mahrt(s)elyow. He gaped at me stupidly as if he were seeing me for the first time.
The dogs howled to the full moon again; bats danced and made a shrill music. Vicente swallowed as he looked at me from head to foot. I swear he saw the deep portion of my temple, almost the size of the mallet’s head that I’d be carrying all my life (if I still have a life). He swallowed again and said, “Are you tutuohw?”
Oh, how I pitied him! I rolled my eyes upward and asked why this FilAm was so stupid. I fixed him with an exasperated look before saying: “Isn’t that obvious? What do you think?”
“Ah! Don’t question me again. Mind your own business, will you, Vicente?”
That was very Vincent Vicente. I remembered seeing him the first time when I came to the construction site one Saturday evening when the moon was out, full of glory. I stood facing the wall, estimating the length of a particular wood. I didn’t take a good notice at him when I stepped in for the nightshift. However, one couldn’t ignore an accentuated sentence—a foreign-American-accent at that. I was no exception. I looked back and saw a bald dark man, about twenty-eight years old, and lean. He wasn’t at all tall, only five feet, eight inches, and he had a mole between his upper lip. The queer thing was, he didn’t at all look like a foreigner. How queer! I asked the nearest soul to me, “Who is that?”
“Oh, new ...”
“I know he’s new, but who is he?”
“Vincent Vicente: executive turned to construction worker.”
“Where did he come from?”
“I’m sure from where he came from,” he said with finality.
Suddenly, without warning, a gust of wind blew hard and closes the aluminum door toward the kitchen. The men, construction workers, shuddered. A thick cloud covered the bright moon; a shrill howl from a mongrel could be heard. We stopped, alarmed. The construction had been going on for its thirteenth week and by that time, no one was new (except may be for Vincent Vicente, the FilAm) to the rumors about the Balete Drive.
On that night, obviously, everybody remembered the ghosts, kapre, manananggal, tikbalang, dumende, and other supernatural beings believed to be roaming around New Manila. The new one Vincent Vicente looked around with disbelief. “What happened to you?”
“Hush! Close your mouth or the gods will cut your tongue,” one said in the bravest sound he could muster.
Tok, tok, tok, tok, tok.
Someone knocked at the door. Petrified by the memories of the ghost stories, no one moved (spare Vicente) even an inch to answer the door. Vicente looked at each stupefied face.
“Oh! It’s only a knock! Are you all doe-wagsz?”
Vicente turned and headed towards the door. He was only a step from it when a big voice, muffled because of the door, boomed: “Ngngabbii nnaahh ... nah nah ... Mmaakit nanditohh pa kayo … yo yo yoh.”
Vicente stepped back and shivered.
“W ... wa ... what was that?” he asked in a whisper.“Oh my ...”
“Bathala save us ...”
“Oh Lord, I have a family ...”
“Mary, Mother of God ... oh ...”
“St. Katherine ...”
Krash!
The door opened with a smash. An ear splitting yelp broke the silence, almost like an animal but it’s not because it had an American accent. Ghosts or not, each one saw how the aluminum door jammed on Vicente’s face and knocked him down. Blood issued from his broken nose. His eyes stared widely at the ceiling. Screams erupted inside the room. We obviously didn’t know what to do. Some shivered at a corner, cried for mercy, and asked for the forgiveness of their sins. Some (including me) went to Vicente. I looked at everyone’s faces. They were concerned. I asked the very same being I had asked earlier.
“Dead, isn’t he?”
“Probably,” he said, gave me a ghastly look he always wore and went away...
There were murmurs. One brave soul knelt and felt Vicente’s neck. He looked up gravely and announced, “He’s gone.”
Those who were at the corners moaned and pleaded to the heavens. Those around Vicente made a sign of the cross. I being a, well, former Catholic, was compelled to do the same.
“Oh my ... Nid I ngkil ngim?”
We turned to the direction of the voice. The person who smashed the door open was a stout man, had a very big nose, chipped front tooth and a slit, cutting his upper lip to the left hole of his breathing organ. He was carrying a big yellow candle and wearing a white nightgown.
Louder screams filled the night. I looked to the left and to the right and all around. Men scampered until only I, standing in the middle, the stout man at the door step to the kitchen, and Vicente lying dead on the floor, remained. I could still hear the construction people’s cries and yells for help to the moon and the vast sky, only to be answered by the howl of the dogs lurking in dark places.
“Mest nu ngkol da molis,” the stout man said, got his cellphone, and called. “Ngello, wan wan seben, imestigador?”
He turned away leaving me there and then, asking myself why he was calling the Investigator. I shook my head and “Tsk tsk tsk” was all I could muster. I looked at Vicente. Slowly, very slowly, a replica of him sat, then stood up. He brushed an invisible dust on his black, almost transparent (that makes it translucent) pants. He touched his face with his left hand and felt for non-existing blood. He looked at his hand.
“Oh, my ...”
Through his hand, he could see my shoes and through my shoes, he could see a pair of feet, lying on the floor. He looked down.
“Oh Lord, that’s me,” he gasped as he saw his face with blood staring at him. Vicente attempted to walk but found himself floating instead. He came face to face with me and I saw how brown his mole was, how abnormal his right eye winked, and how Filipino he looked; even he said mahrt(s)elyow. He gaped at me stupidly as if he were seeing me for the first time.
The dogs howled to the full moon again; bats danced and made a shrill music. Vicente swallowed as he looked at me from head to foot. I swear he saw the deep portion of my temple, almost the size of the mallet’s head that I’d be carrying all my life (if I still have a life). He swallowed again and said, “Are you tutuohw?”
Oh, how I pitied him! I rolled my eyes upward and asked why this FilAm was so stupid. I fixed him with an exasperated look before saying: “Isn’t that obvious? What do you think?”
who would you like to meet and spend the whole day with
Some people would call choosing one among my family members hypocricy. Obviously they expect me to choose my former-or-current-or-future knight on a white steed--I do not deny that. I hope to meet "him" one day. However, if i were given a chance to meet and spend the whole day with someone, I would definitely choose my grandmother.
Lola Pacita Ybasco y Frio brought me up. She never told me than "honesty is a virtue" and "time is gold." She showed me how to live.
There was even a time when I gave more importance to her than to my own mother. But that ended sometime in 2004 when I learned that I needed to move forward and tears could not bring her back. And probably, she wouldn't like me to be too hard with my mother.
Not a day passes by that I wouldn't regret that I didn't tell her how much she meant and means to me before she died.
So given a chance like that, I would want to hold her hand again as we walk along the streets of Makati at dawn. and simply tell her that she was and still is my childhood. and I could only look back at my childhood with her in mind.
My lola shared a part of her life with me and I am proud to choose her against princes-or-knights on horses in the world.
3.8.09
Nunc Luyx, Munc Nox
Now it is Light, suddenly it is Night.
A line taken from a book called Lightland by HL McCutchen.
Pretty nice book: short enough to be interesting. Not the typical thick novels anybody can buy but nobody can read.
what i liked about this book is the choice of characters: a girl who wears pajama to school, Charlotte Cook, and a boy who doesn't talk, Lewis Weaver. Nice match.
Also, it's a breather considering the vampire stories that dominate bookshelves today.
1.8.09
yellow
.'twas the first thing i heard this morning. I was still picking my eyes and yawning--y'know the routines in waking up. and there, my bro's voice rang in my ears: patay na raw si Cory.
.and we immediately checked the tv. there, Vicky Morales and Arnold Clavio confirmed the news.
.and they flashed some scenes from the past.
.and i cried--not of course like she was a relative.
. and i wore black today ...but of course, i always wear black; i myself wouldn't call that significant.
.until now, after going to the crowded SM North Edsa (it's the great northern sale), i still don't know why i cried for her.and goodness knows how i wondered in the mall why there were still a lot of people in SM despite the news--some of 'em even wore red! (really, do i have to react like this...)
.the sooner that i'll find out the better.
.and we immediately checked the tv. there, Vicky Morales and Arnold Clavio confirmed the news.
.and they flashed some scenes from the past.
.and i cried--not of course like she was a relative.
. and i wore black today ...but of course, i always wear black; i myself wouldn't call that significant.
.until now, after going to the crowded SM North Edsa (it's the great northern sale), i still don't know why i cried for her.and goodness knows how i wondered in the mall why there were still a lot of people in SM despite the news--some of 'em even wore red! (really, do i have to react like this...)
.the sooner that i'll find out the better.
30.7.09
anime and all that jahz
..i can't remember the first time i've not been attached to animes. up until now, i've been trying to come-up with good fan-fictions to share the world. i've ony successfully come up with one. thank you...i will try some time next year publishing more fictions. God knows how itchy my hands are in writing my beloved pieces.
..who knows..maybe i could have my own work place next year.oh dear, just have to wait until my father settles the house....grr...
一歳の誕生日の1ヶ月のお祝い
- last year i celebrated my birthday my birthday with my co-online teachers and employers somewhere in EDSA, Music 21. That's when I received my xpress music.
- also i remember i celebrated it with Randolph and Kath in SM Manila, Yellow Cab.
- And not to mention the Stranger was with me last year although he didn't know it was my birthday.
Two weeks have already passed since my 21st birthday, I know. But nada that i would let july go by without having an entry about the month-long celebration of my birthday.
- 10july, with 3-4, Ersao, P. Algue-- my advisory section gave me a Red Ribbon chocolate roll and a notebook containing greetings from them and my co-teachers. Yep, sweet. My section is sweet. They just can't help being a bother sometimes.
- 11july, with WG, CKSC-- had to work. first writing workshop of WG with me.
- ------, 1100 with 3-6, Shakey's, masangkay-- I had lunch--lunch btw was courtesy of kervin who celebrated his birthday last july 9.
- ------, 1400, SM Tayuman, treated myself with Arthur Conan Doyle's The Lost World.
- 13july, with 3-6 CKSC room, apostol, allan, jayson, jerome gibert, and ekstrom gave me a hand warmer. They had considered giving me a pair of room slippers but since they didn't know the size of my feet, they settled for the "stuffed-toy" which turned out to be a hand warmer.
- 15 July, Faculty--Sir Allan, Maam Llanado, Maam Mogro, Sir Buiza and I treated the faculty to lunch of spaghetti, bread and drinks. Don't forget the cake sponsored by Maam Llanado's students.
- ------, with Mama, SM Tayuman-- my mother and i had a date. i treated her to Jollibee since i got pretty stuffed up in school. we got hamburgers (i had considered taking her to tokyo tokyo but she didn't feel eating japy food). then we shopped for stocks at home.
- 21july, with 3-6 yet again--after a week since the hand warmer, ryan kyle gave me a bread key chain.
- 24july--lance andrew of 3-6 treated me to MOA--as part of his birthday gift for me or as part of his birthday celebration i don't know but then again it didn't matter. we, lance and some 3-4 students (stef, jolly, janie, grace, jd, danica, nico, jotham, jomar and wilberto) and i spent the day skating (well they skated, i just held unto the rinks railings: fortunately i didn't fall), window shopping, and getting lost in EDSA--nice experience it was. it's just that there was the guilt of responsibility that somehow spoiled the day. nonetheless it was fun.
- 28july-- a day after PGMA's last but hottest SONA ever, Sir Allan and I treated the English Department for lunch. We had Spaghetti, BBQ and drinks. Mrs. Tiu, our coordinator, supplied the brownies which i evidently appreciated--since i'm not a chocolate lover, i intake it through brownies and cakes. Sir allan and I were surprised when we received People Are People apparels from the Dept. we didn't think that our feast would have a better and more expensive reward.
Honestly, the best thing i have this year is celebrating my birthday with my whole family. it has been a while, really...after 6 years...
looking back at all these things, i feel grateful to the One who continuously lets me exerience such blessings. words aren't enough.
29.7.09
nothing but a piece of paper
..no matter how hard i tried i couldn't keep myself from saying i love 3-6 more than i love 3-4. i got so angry with my beloved advisory section specifically on a student who thinks he knows everything just because he's the son of a seasoned teacher.
...somethings i don't like about in students are:
1. they keep on having alibis that don't cover up their blunders.
2. they lie
3. they cheat
given that i've been a student once (and i should understand), i've never answered my teacher "ma'am it's nothing; it's a piece of paper"
by jimminy, i know what a piece of paper is and so does everybody with the minutest brain.
...just releasing the tension:
i know it's bad for me to label students, and have favoritism. when i was a student, i hated teachers who favored sections other than their own. so i know what it feels like for them...but you see, i think it doesn't matter for them if they know.
"Enough of the audacity. I would not put up with that kind of attitude."
Why can't they understand that what teachers need in times of cloudy days( figuratively) is honesty.
It's adding insult to injury.
.it's insane, absurd and stupid..
..and i couldn't help myself from blurting out: "ang yabang nyo eh. wala pa naman kayong napapatunayan. look at 3-6, i've been with them for a year and they're still humble."
...and all those things that could come out from an honest heart injured by a merciless retort.
28.7.09
i know you enough to expect much
..can't help reacting to my former classmate's comment: you think you now me that much.
..here's the thing, she was blabbing about meeting someone in this someplace and all that jazz.
..i couldn't help reating: si *@#! out of all people
..and there she went...
..and since i couldn't access my multiply right now, i just put my reaction, plus the eyebrow-raise, on the title of this post.
..and may your blurbs be with you...
27.7.09
a mere bagatelle
I don't know about you but i've kept on waiting. probably you wouldn't think about me for a minute. wish i could do the same, but you see, forgetting about you and all the things we've shared isn't easy. You've been a friend, a confidante. But just a friend. So as a friend, I 've waited.
And you probably forgot that i'm waiting. You see, I still am. But it doesn't matter now, at least to you. Because for you, i'm a mere bagatelle. something you can take for granted. I wasn't even surprised to know you're back from Jupiter and you didn't even bother to text. and i felt it was just yesterday when you called to say goodbye. i guess you can't be bothered by a hello. No I wasn't surprised. I was disappointed. But i understand. I know it's easy to forget a bagatelle.
So here I am, still waiting. I would be waiting for as long as I live, or until I get tired...or until I have another thing to wait for. But I will wait. You see I'm not yet tired of hoping you'll knock your head hard and remember that I'm here.
and just in case you ask why:
Unlike you, I remember that you told me I was important.
And I can't be moved.
22.7.09
The Bread Key-Chain and Other Spongebob Stuffs
I've been acquainted with 3-6 for sometime already. Actually i handled them last year in English II. I'm almost accustomed to their mood swings and they are to mine as well. And with all honesty, among the sections I’m handling, I’m most attached to them.
I’m not going to lie; I’m torn between my advisory section 3-4 and them. Suffice it to say, II-4 and I still have differences to settle unlike 3-6 which has established a bond with me.
God has given me a big opportunity of handling such a section that has somehow persuaded me to stay for a year longer in the teaching profession. Those students have not only given me key chains,
stuffed toys,
and greeting card. They haven’t only treated me to Shakey’s
or McDo. They continuously shower me with smiles, laughter, bits of information, and heaps of problems.
I even have a promise to them that I shall wait for their graduation So I am pressured. I’m challenged to do my best for them, to give the best of my abilities just to ensure that they wouldn’t remember me as their English teacher but someone who has inspired them to do their best as they have inspired me.
. What feeling it will be to see them going up stage one by one…the satisfaction that somehow I’ve imparted something to them…the pride that those students are not only English proficient but also noble students.
. What feeling it will be to see them going up stage one by one…the satisfaction that somehow I’ve imparted something to them…the pride that those students are not only English proficient but also noble students.
And when the time comes for them to leave,
I shall proudly say, “They are my first borns, ready to face the world.”
18.7.09
bookish bookworm
My 4-year college seatmate, Rodel Violago, once told me that he didn't regret buying books which he wouldn't use for the meantime. "Other people would be able to read them anyway if I couldn't."
Although more of a gadget addict he was, and still is, he really treasures books and he doesn't lose the hope that his future grandchildren will rea them as their inheritance.
Thanks to him, more than just a bibliophile, i'm now a panic-book-buyer. Whenever there is a book interesting enough for me, I buy it. Even though the book isn't even relate to my course, I don't care, as long as i can afford it. Right now, I have more books than i can manage. I have bought books that i don't even touch; i have books that i don't even read.
I have 14 Shakespeare, 7 Alice Walker, 5 Tolkien, 5 LM MOntgomery and other books, I lost count. Ieven have two editions for a book.
Even my shelfari account isn't updated.
Sometimes i wonder if buying those books is worthit. But then, I hear kuya Rodel's voice, "Books are good investments."
For now, i can't say when i can stop my hand from purchasing 4books everytime I finish one--as soon as my pockets burst? But anyway, to lessen my guilt, i'm starting to read Doyle's Lost World, Conrad's Lord Jim, and Swift's Gulliver's Travels. Congratulations to me whichever book I finish first.
Although more of a gadget addict he was, and still is, he really treasures books and he doesn't lose the hope that his future grandchildren will rea them as their inheritance.
Thanks to him, more than just a bibliophile, i'm now a panic-book-buyer. Whenever there is a book interesting enough for me, I buy it. Even though the book isn't even relate to my course, I don't care, as long as i can afford it. Right now, I have more books than i can manage. I have bought books that i don't even touch; i have books that i don't even read.
I have 14 Shakespeare, 7 Alice Walker, 5 Tolkien, 5 LM MOntgomery and other books, I lost count. Ieven have two editions for a book.
Even my shelfari account isn't updated.
Sometimes i wonder if buying those books is worthit. But then, I hear kuya Rodel's voice, "Books are good investments."
For now, i can't say when i can stop my hand from purchasing 4books everytime I finish one--as soon as my pockets burst? But anyway, to lessen my guilt, i'm starting to read Doyle's Lost World, Conrad's Lord Jim, and Swift's Gulliver's Travels. Congratulations to me whichever book I finish first.
The Japanese Cut
I had my "japy-hair cut" the other day, thursday, 160709. The style comes with my purpose but honestly, there's more to it than that. There's more to my unscheduled haircut.
When I was in 3rd year college, I had 2 succeeding haircuts: one in July, another in August. All because I got depressed. And the story runs along the line in Taylor Swift's White Horse:
"Coz I honestly believe in you...
Holing on, the days dragged on...
Stupid girl, I should have known, I should have known"
Holing on, the days dragged on...
Stupid girl, I should have known, I should have known"
The next year, I had haircuts before and after my class demonstration. Just for the sake of it? no.. I wasn't satisfied?..No...Because i was stressed.
I also used to cut my bangs when i got angry.
Getting a haircut is not my fashion statement. It's my stress reliever. instead of venting my wrath to people around me who don't have anything to do with my emotions, i cut my hair.
At least that's better than taking my own life or taking others' lives..hehe
16.7.09
nailing their mouths shut
I should be used to people saying things about me every now and then. My only wish is if i'm around, they should be brave enough to point my faults to me,straight to my face.
it's ok if they would be telling me my faults, my indifference, my attitude, to me...not to their friends who know no better.
why do they keep on telling things about me, about my peers, which is not their responsibility in the first place...thank you very much but it's absurd..stupid...idiotic...
why do they have to keep a blind eye. vertically challenged i am, not an idiot. are they supposed to keep on talking about me as if i'm not around.
if they're brave enough, how come they don't talk to me. how come they ask a person who's not even related to me.
if they can't do any better, why can't they just shut up and contribute to human kind's silence.
15.7.09
Crazy by Kenny Rogers
I guess I'm crazy
crazy for you can't you see
although you may think
it's crazyhere
it's where I want to be
I will always need your love.
Alright.. so after a long while, I'm writing about this topic again.blame it to the compilation of songs i have in my phone.
While I was checking papers, I had my earplugs on, not giving too much attention to the random mode of the song selection. so there I was, in my own solitude, waiting for the blessed last period bell when all of a sudden this song played. I could have skipped the entire song but i didn't (why didn't I?). all i thought of was the feeling a girl could feel once her loved one sings this to her....
way too crappy you might say...way to girly...way too cheesy, sappy, and all but hey, i'm a piece of the nobody world trying to be like anybody and that's the point. meaning everybody has the right to tell me i'm cheesy because everybody has felt being cheesy in his or her own way (denial, was, has been, is, will always be a crime)... C'mon. who could probably tell me i'm not cheesy right now
... I dare you... harhar
... I dare you... harhar
13.7.09
No Boundaries
..the song Kris Allen performed in American Idol
Seconds hours so many days
You know what you want but how long can you wait
Every moment last forever when you feel you’ve lost your way
What if my chances are already gone
Started believing that I could be wrong
But you give me one good reason
To fight and never walk away
So here I am still holding on
Every step you climb another mountain
Every breath is harder to believe
You’ll make it through the pain
Weather the hurricanes
To get to that one thingS
o when you think the road is going nowhere
Just when you almost gave up on your dreams
Then take it by my hand and show you that you can
There’re no boundaries
There’re no boundaries
I flopped and I landed to stand on the edge
What if the day is as good as a game
I don’t know where the future’s heading
Nothing’s gonna bring me down
I’ve jumped every bridge and I’ve run every life
I risked being saved but I’m always all right
I’m always all right
So here I am still holding on
Every step you climb another mountain
Every breath is harder to believe
You’ll make it through the pain
Weather the hurricanes
To get to that one thing
So when you think the road is going nowhere
Just when you almost gave up on your dreams
Then take it by my hand and show you that you can
You can go higher
You can go deeper
There are no boundaries
Above and beneath you
B-reak every rule coz
there’s nothing between youand your dreams
Every step you climb another mountain
Every breathe is harder to believeYeah~
There’re no boundaries
There’re no boundaries
Every step you climb another mountain
Every breath is harder to believe
You’ll make it through the pain
Weather the hurricanes
There’re no boundaries
There’re no boundaries
There’re no boundaries
...So why in the world do I have this song in my blog, my phone and my life...aside from the fact that Kris allen performed this pretty well, the lyrics of the song caught my heart and from the first time I heard it to this point when I'm abusing my ears just to hear it, I know this song is never going to let go.
.Am i being to sentimental about this...yes i am...harhar.
7.7.09
dog tags and responsibilities
...personally i don't have anything against the "ako mismo" movement. only, that I saw a student wearing the tag while he was in the billiard halls and classes were, i think, still going on.
honestly, i interpreted that as "Ako mismo, magka-cutting classes."seriously speaking, i don't favor dogtags that much (i'm no dog, obviously) but i pity those who have aims of improving the country by their "ako mismo" campaign.
dog tags don't measure one's responsibility to his country. if it's a symbol, then therefore it should symbolize something.
in the end, all i'm saying is i wouldn't waste my money buying a tag, proclaiming to the world that i'm advocating a campaign to my nation's improvement, when my actions speak otherwise.still, actions speak louder than words.
22.6.09
Anne of Green Gables by L. M. Montgomery
If there is one novel or series that inspires and influences me to be a better teacher and a woman, it is this.
The whole series of Anne of Green Gables centers on Anne, an imaginative, red-haired orphane turned teacher turned mother. It focuses on Anne's challenges in life and her optimistic wit to overcome them.
This novel isn't the regular tear-jerking piece of literature that usually highlights the moving actions, works, and advices of teachers. Nor it portrays the heroism or martyrdom of women. Anne of Green Gables showcases the value of being a teacher and a woman through all the subtle realities of everyday experiences. It doesn't deliberately tell the lessons from challenges; to conveys its morals, it uses its very powerful tool, Anne herself.
In Anne can women of the globe see themselves as a child, as a school girl, as a friend, as a lover, a teacher, an artist, a woman.
"God in heaven, all is well in the world."
The whole series of Anne of Green Gables centers on Anne, an imaginative, red-haired orphane turned teacher turned mother. It focuses on Anne's challenges in life and her optimistic wit to overcome them.
This novel isn't the regular tear-jerking piece of literature that usually highlights the moving actions, works, and advices of teachers. Nor it portrays the heroism or martyrdom of women. Anne of Green Gables showcases the value of being a teacher and a woman through all the subtle realities of everyday experiences. It doesn't deliberately tell the lessons from challenges; to conveys its morals, it uses its very powerful tool, Anne herself.
In Anne can women of the globe see themselves as a child, as a school girl, as a friend, as a lover, a teacher, an artist, a woman.
"God in heaven, all is well in the world."
19.6.09
Being a Human
This is a feeling I usually get whenever I hear people criticizing shows, performances, and people. How I wish they could see themselves now: how cruel, sarcastic, and dirty they are.
Perhaps I'm a bit know-it-all myself that I learn to hate people who think they know more than I do. I detest persons who criticize anything as if it is the most important thing to do in the world.
Thinking about it, I realize I'm also a part of them, critics. I cannot last a day without complaining about something or someone. This very blog entry (and my entries) is proof enough already that more than a living being, I'm a human, born to err.
Sometimes I think, turning a blind eye to ourselves makes us dependent to other people for criticisms. And not admitting this dependence angers us. Probably this is the reason I loath my fellow critics: I was busy criticizing other things, forgetting to look at myself therefore offering my very soul open to their swords of fire. I am a being to them.
Probably, it is a part of being a human.
Perhaps I'm a bit know-it-all myself that I learn to hate people who think they know more than I do. I detest persons who criticize anything as if it is the most important thing to do in the world.
Thinking about it, I realize I'm also a part of them, critics. I cannot last a day without complaining about something or someone. This very blog entry (and my entries) is proof enough already that more than a living being, I'm a human, born to err.
Sometimes I think, turning a blind eye to ourselves makes us dependent to other people for criticisms. And not admitting this dependence angers us. Probably this is the reason I loath my fellow critics: I was busy criticizing other things, forgetting to look at myself therefore offering my very soul open to their swords of fire. I am a being to them.
Probably, it is a part of being a human.
nostalgia
We die hard trying to forget the past but the past continuously haunts us not because it doesn't want to be forgotten but because we relish to relive them in the shards of our heart no matter how painful.
We drink in the pain thinking that it is better to feel the sting than to feel nothing at all.
We want to feel that somehow we had been whole before the painful incident happened.
We rather gorge ourselves with these memories than feel the lurking emptiness waiting for us somewhere.
We drink in the pain thinking that it is better to feel the sting than to feel nothing at all.
We want to feel that somehow we had been whole before the painful incident happened.
We rather gorge ourselves with these memories than feel the lurking emptiness waiting for us somewhere.
17.6.09
the wish that finally came true (that i wish didn't happen)
"I do not deny that my heart long desired for this "- Galadriel, LOTR Fellowship of the Rings
i was given the responsibility of handling the school's pub: CKSC's The Writer's Guild.
For a person who is so attached to writing and journalism, probably this is indeed a very good opportunity. That is also what i thought, at first. But now, amidst teaching requirements and family problems, I could only sigh: how could this be happening so fast?
Writing relaxes me. It(aside from listening to head banging music) is my therapy for stress. I feel good when i write. Why then do i feel this?
The answer is there already. It's writing that i love, not handling students who would become writers.
to be honest, i hate seeing other people living my dreams. i usually tell myself "I could have been there--I should have been there instead of that person"
"Even the smallest person can change the course of the future" --Galadriel, LOTR Fellowship of the Rings
I hope as I work with these students, I could gain new perspective. I hope they could teach me something. I hope that somehow they could change my future.
Lastly, I hope i would learn how not be ungrateful
i was given the responsibility of handling the school's pub: CKSC's The Writer's Guild.
For a person who is so attached to writing and journalism, probably this is indeed a very good opportunity. That is also what i thought, at first. But now, amidst teaching requirements and family problems, I could only sigh: how could this be happening so fast?
Writing relaxes me. It(aside from listening to head banging music) is my therapy for stress. I feel good when i write. Why then do i feel this?
The answer is there already. It's writing that i love, not handling students who would become writers.
to be honest, i hate seeing other people living my dreams. i usually tell myself "I could have been there--I should have been there instead of that person"
"Even the smallest person can change the course of the future" --Galadriel, LOTR Fellowship of the Rings
I hope as I work with these students, I could gain new perspective. I hope they could teach me something. I hope that somehow they could change my future.
Lastly, I hope i would learn how not be ungrateful
14.2.09
...if thanking you would mean the whole world to me
...if thanking you would mean the whole world to me
...i would rather die...
people have this tendency to spite everyone who would not say thank you in return for a favor given to them.
for me it's pretty stupid....
...if everbody was intended to say thank you every now and then (if it was damnable not to) then what a boring world it would be.
22.1.09
....it's just that i found out that i have been using my yahoo account for 4 years now...i haven't even got a clue why i still use that as my i.d. but anyway,,it hasn't lost its attractiveness...(my students keep asking me what it means)....i don't have any plans in changing it anyway (although i have made a gmail account)...point is i have just realized that i have been k_kaiser1107 for four years and that is saying something.)
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