Thursday, April 19, 2007

Yogurt Is The Absolute EVIL

The other night, my mom got home from the grocery and gave me a cup of yogurt with yummy strawberry chunks. This is all very well and I was enjoying myself while watching Lupin (yes, I watch Lupin and all those other corny blah during prime time when I get the chance). I never really was fond of yogurt in my younger years because I always imagined it tastes like sour piss. I think I have in fact tasted piss when I was a kid. So sue me.

Anyway, I gave half of that yogurt thingy to my mom because I rediscovered that I still dislike yogurt after all. So much for paradigm shifts hunh? I just went online and chatted with my online friends. And then suddenly! My stomach got all queasy. The bad kind of queasy. I typed 'brb' and ran to the bathroom and before shutting the door, I grabbed the business section of The Philippine Daily Inquirer. I had a satisfying read about blog marketing. Very interesting shit. Anyway, my communion with the toilet ended in no time and I was back in front of the computer.

Soon enough, my stomach had an unscheduled coup d' etat, again. Horrible. I have a fairly healthy digestive life, which simply means that my tummy doesn't act up as much as it should, compared with other people. It really distresses me when things like this happen. I slept with a bad stomach and woke up with pretty much the same. That is why I was in all black, emo, brink-of-bitch-fit mode yesterday. A bad tummy to me is more than equivalent to a bad menstruation day. Ugh.

I swear never to eat yogurt again. Well..real yogurt anyway. I still have a thing for Dutch Mill. Thank the gods for Immodium.

Sunday, April 15, 2007


I look out of the train window and find the world condensed into a few dots of moving lights. The cars, jeeps, buses and trucks below wearily inch their way towards their destination, and they bring their lights with them until they fade away into the distance, replaced by new lights.

Something about city lights attracts me like a moth to a gasoline lamp. They are brilliant and twinkling like stars, only nearer, and I am drawn, awed. Imagine how civilization used to consist of scattered fires over windswept plains, and the gods would peer over the world and see Man as the small and dirty animals we are. But now we’re small and dirty animals with concrete cities and magnificent lights to cover our smallness and filth. The gods may have withdrawn to their smoking rooms a little less smug.

I think about all this as I stare out, hypnotized. The background hum of the people swaying in the train dies out, the smell of dried sweat blown around by the jacked up air-conditioning ceases to bother me.

Happy and Comfy?

People almost always know how to solve their problems. But sometimes, the solution is too good for comfort, hence they ignore it and keep on trying inferior solutions which may only solve the problem partially, not solve it at all, or even make it worse. This is a pretty awful mindset, but it exists.

Everybody is a fan of comfort and it is probably one of the harder things in life to give up, because it takes so fucking long and too fucking hard to get it. ‘Comfort’ is subjective---a comfortable relationship for me involves me being able to fart in front of the guy like there’s no tomorrow, or pick my nose, or drool sticky icky-smelling saliva, or talk about the questions of the universe over a bunch of fries and floats. If I can do that with you, then I will find it very hard to leave you. That’s comfort for me. For you it may be doing your Fries-in-Nose demo in front of the girlfriend and not feel self-conscious at all. Depends. And I don’t say that only because it’s a safe answer.

When the comfort is lost, then there is a problem. The human brain goes: oh noes there’s a problem and my comfort zone is violated! What do I do what do I do what do I do! Oh I know! I won’t do anything or just do this thing which I am sure will not make me lose more comfort zone ground. Nevermind if another better solution exists---I can’t. Too hard. But thing is, something that makes you comfortable does not necessarily make you happy, and vice versa. And this is where the concept of strength comes in.

Giving up comfort requires strength. But strength allows you to pursue happiness. Like I’ve mentioned above, happiness and comfort aren’t synonymous. If given a choice, I would rather be happy and strong than comfortable and weak, because I’m still stupid like that.

I guess what I’m trying to say is: reorganize your priorities. Think about what makes you comfy as opposed to what makes you happy. Then junk that bitch of a girlfriend and move on with your life. If not, stop griping and hold your tongue until a random seizure twists your body into a horrible position and you die of choking on your saliva. Something like that.

Friday, April 13, 2007

It Is or It Isn't

I said somewhere hereabouts that I don't like explaining. People are supposed to get me the first try, and if they don't? I shut up and give a blank smile. The problem is out of my hands, and I rarely try harder than the first try.

It could be months. Years. Decades. So think hard.

Thursday, April 12, 2007


Manong, wag!

Brain dead at about 9.30 last night, I heard a short scream from a girl sitting behind me on a bus. A tallish man in a blue shirt and a cap bolted down the bus as it came to a sudden stop. I looked around in confusion and found the other passengers doing the same, trying to figure out what happened within the five seconds at the start of the scream to the blur of a body jumping off in a rush.

A busybody asked the girl—what happened? Cellphone stolen. What model? 6600. Good thing he didn't have a weapon with him. "I have a cut," she says.

That line, no one seemed to hear. The busybody (a guy) sitting in front of me was regaling the other passengers about how the same thing happened last week, and how he wanted to tell people to keep their phones in their pockets because he knew it would happen, he was, and he would've grabbed the isnatser if there were more men in the vehicle (there was three, includng him). He asked me if I was also using my cellphone that time and I just gave him a tight smile, no. See, I was too tired to.

He went on. It was pretty annoying, and half of his story may simply be a lie. It was annoying but quite comforting. I know it was just a cellphone and it was just a cut, but I suddenly felt very mortal. And alone. The wind was blowing on my face and the night was a little humid so during the bus ride, i took my jacket off. Five minutes after the five-second incident, I surreptitiously wore it again and held on to the irritating voice of the busybody-tall storyteller.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

For Manoy

I know we don't get to communicate as much as we used to nowadays because college does that to people. We live separate, different lives now---and we are separate different people, now. I know we both miss the times when everything was simple and we can talk under the narra trees of our high school as if nothing would ever change. But more importantly, I do know that we both do not want to go back there. We are loving our lives too much now, already.

You don't have best friends. But you are probably one of the bestest friends I ever had, and much of my damaged but pragmatic thinking can be attributed to you. The matters of the heart and the mind fucks I'm having now is not something I panic about anymore---if I ever panicked. It's been years man. We're not uniformly close throughout but you've been an ubiquitous figure in my life for the past, I dunno, twelve years? Shit. Twelve years.

You deserve more than three paragraphs. But really? All I ever have to say about this has been said---this is just for posterity, for when my memory fails me (as it usually does, meh). Emo shit! Just call me up, you know where to reach me. And please visit my house this summer ha? I'll cook spaghetti! And let's do that movie marathon. Maybe not this summer because I'm kind of busy but you're there, I'm here, we're never very far.

I so suck at birthdays y'know? Like a lot. What I'm trying to say is, you're legal! Happy birthday honey.

Saturday, April 07, 2007

Dance, Dance

Contrary to popular belief, I am a very shy person. It comes off as being mataray or suplada, and honestly? I encourage that. It makes me sound less weak. So when I pass you by in a corridor without so much as a side glance, it’s not that I’m doing the snub routine. It’s either I didn’t see you, I honestly did not remember you, or I’m too shy to say hi. Yea. Go snort.

So I surprise myself when I find me dancing in public. Its starts with a harmless tapping of the fingers, and then of the toes, and before I even notice it, my hips start to shake to the beat. I forget about being shy. With the right music, I can do this anywhere!

Here’s the list of songs I’ve been dancing to lately, anytime, anywhere:

1. Monkey Baby by the Scissor Sisters (monkeh babeh why you lookin’ at me? monkeh babeh why don’ you climb that tree?)
2. Good Boys by the Scissor Sisters featuring Goldie (good boys never win, good boys never wi-in!)
3. My Coco by Stellastarr (my Co-co-co!)
4.This Ain’t A Scene, It’s An Arms Race by Fallout Boy

I danced My Coco while mom was buying sans rival from the bakery at the mall the other day. It was a good dance, considering that I’m having my first-day period and the dysmenorrhea was acting up just in time. Cramps and all, I felt pretty good about the whole show. To hell with people who were looking. I say, get a life. Everyone’s got the right to bop whenever they feel like it.

If people danced more to their private beats, then I think this’ll be a happier place to be. To fuck with smooth moves and right timing. It’s all about the dance, all about the music. Do it as self-expression and not as self-repression, which happens when you dance for other people rather than for yourself.

And it’s also good for the PMS, I swear.

Thursday, April 05, 2007

Nineteen Forever

Summer mornings like this one, the pace of my life slows down.

The next two months are bound to be interesting. I’ll be working in Ortigas the whole time for an internship gig, which will not be counted for my course at all, but which I will do anyway because I’m after the experience and the lessons that will come with it. Also to avoid boredom and the seasonal brain death during April and May, duh.

I started work yesterday. I didn’t do much, the HR lady just asked me to read the company policies and to look around. I surfed the net the whole day and acquainted myself with Linux. I was also introduced to my officemates blah blah all very mundane really. I like the place, I like the people, I like Ortigas. It looks definitely more comfortable than Manila, hah! There are like three malls within walking distance from the office (Robinson’s Galleria, SM Megamall, The Podium) and there are plenty of restaurants down the street. Commuting is relatively easy since I take the train everyday. So all in all? It’s cool.

I got there 30 minutes early so I decided to get some coffee from the Starbucks down the street. I thought I needed extra energy and really, coffee makes me a bit more sociable than I normally am. So I really, really thought it was a good idea. Not. I spilled some coffee over my white ribbed jacket and pink spaghetti top, and to add it up, I was more than a bit tipsy when I left the accursed coffee shop! Coffee does that to me, unfortunately. So while I was on the elevator all the way to the 27th floor, I was dizzy and buzzed and generally out of sorts. Woot, first day and drunk!

But I guess I handled it pretty well. The dizziness went away early in the afternoon and the only proofs of my misdeed are the stains and the coffee stink that clung to my clothes. Well okay it did not stink, but the smell was quite strong. So there.

You’re just jealous cos we’re young and in love
You’re just jealous cos we’re young and in love
You’re just jealous cos we’re young and in love.

These lines are from Brand New’s song Soco Amaretto Lime. Perfect for today. Sky’s a little dark, smoke wafting from burning leaves in the backyard, birds chirping like mad, the smell of coming rain---there’s something slow and sad about everything today.

Just jealous cos we’re young and in love

I’m young alright, but not in love.

Sunday, April 01, 2007

Shiny Black Balloon

I dislike kids. They’re mewling little things with fully intact egos, and that means they still believe the world revolves around them. Right, I don’t hate them. Just this mild dislike---me being a girl at this point in my life when my maternal instinct supposedly awakes, I guess it’s weird.

Maybe I dislike them because they require too much patience. That’s why I never wanted to be a nurse or a teacher; I just don’t fit the mold, and I don’t think I even ever did when I was littler. You know when you’re young and you want to be everything? I wanted to be an astronaut, a broadcaster, a writer, a corporate lawyer. You’d notice these professions have very minimal, if any, to do with kids. I don’t think that’ll change any decade now.

So that’s why I get really annoyed when my mom gives me her standard Don’t Get Pregnant for the Stupid Life of You Sermon. Why the hell would I want a kid of my own? When she gives me the sermon she makes it sound like making babies is primary goal of my life. I can’t even stand kids and my younger cousins are scared of me. I know she’s concerned about me and all that, especially now when teenage pregnancy is all the rage. But the concern is useless.

I think only stupid girls get unwanted pregnancy these days (barring rape victims of course). Sex education is very accessible today---you can find it on television, on the Internet, in classes, and hear about it from experienced peers. If you don’t get it you’re living in the wrong decade.

Of course I’m generalizing, but I hold that sex is not as taboo as it used to be say five years ago. People talk about it, people do it, and no one is about to stop. Everyone supposedly knows that getting a bare penis in a bare vagina has a very high chance of producing a baby. Everyone supposedly knows that a baby means care and attention, and time, and money---basically demands the mother’s life out of her. You don’t make one too early unless you’re willing to give up schooling, and a lot of other convenient things like respect from other people.

And that is what contraceptives are for. If you can’t control the urge to copulate, then bring a condom about your person at all times. Any non-stupid girl should know that. And because they know that, they don’t get pregnant. And you know what? I’m a non-stupid girl, in this regard.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t do it. If I did do it I’ll probably tell people because I see nothing wrong with premarital sex. I haven’t done it so far because I’m not interested in it. See, I’m a boring bitch who’s hedonistic, but not of the physical sort. Intellect can give me an orgasm, because I’m all cold like that.

So I wish my mom would stop giving me that sermon. I don’t like kids and I don’t do sex. If I can get those two points across, maybe she would trust me more. And quit ruining my Sundays.