Monday, December 31, 2007

A Stubborn Year

At some point in my life i have come to ask myself why people fall into the same pit over and over again. My, i wish i knew the answer. I wish i knew it so that i could share it with you. I wish i could vouch even for a well-worn cliche answer. But i could not. Only i could say something for my case. Let me tell you, mine is plain stubborness.

Ay nako, ayoko na mag-emote!! Bahala kayo jan!

Whew. Stubborn sheep though i am, my God's love and grace is yet most stubborn. And He's never giving up on me. Whew. Thank you God. A pleasant year ahead, striding, journeying with You.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Admire, Then Move!

With my genius being an observer (thanks to the Five Faces of Genius), i happen to give meticulous attention to every minute detail possible. Except, of course, to microscopic ones. But, as the book said, if left unexamined, this gift - having a power to notice details, might turn out to be a hindrance in accomplishing work. Believe me, too much attention to details can be debilitating.

So i realized, this is not all there is to being an observer. The most valuable gift an observer has, way over noticing details, is its power to be in awe. See, now i understand. That is why i have been admiring things around easily, ever since day one. No wonder i had so many crushes back when i was stiil in school (digressing).

Cliche i supoose, but a genius does not end in admiration alone. You admire, then you move! You move so that, while walking and working hand-in-hand with the object of your admiration, you become part of its greatness and you thus far contribute to greatness, something more priceless. Amazing.

Monday, December 3, 2007

The Monk Way


i'm beginning to have a heart for certified geeks nowadays. Especially the selfish, emo, problematic ones like Adrian Monk. Who's with me? You know, Monk..? Yep, the world-renowned, fictional O.C. detective. But mind you, he's not at all problematic!

Oh, this is what you get after being sick a fortnight. You get to watch an entire season of your fave tv series. And what happens after? Your mouth is so much full of (in my case) Monk laughs that it becomes the main course on your dinner table. Not so kewl.. family begins to get annoyed. Because they'd rather have pinakbet and sliced watermelons on the table than a Monk story only i could understand.

What i like about the Monk tv series is that, though he (Monk) seems so weird and problematic, and amidst all his traumas and phobias, the story revolves around his anxieties vis-a-vis his responsibilities. This is where the external forces come in - his boss, his assistant, his shrink, for instance. Facing the weirdest struggles every single day, these people remind him of his specific duty - solving homicide cases that, thanks to his OC attention to details, he alone could solve. There. Trauma now becomes a gift. I like this.

And here's my fave episode: When Monk almost gave up. See, before, he used to be a cop. But due to his psychological problems, he got down to being a consultant, yet all his life he longed for reinstatement. But reinstatement never came. So one day he decided to move on and settled on serving as a butler for a royalty. Straight-obsessive-compulsive-A's for this one. Hah! Next thing he knew, he had a case to solve right under his nose. So duty called. His real duty. And solve the case he did. Then a happy ending, reinstatement came.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Snap!

Hihihihi.. I guess it's who i am - I snap once in a while. Like totally. That's why i had to delete my previous blog. It's my way of taking responsibility. You know, when you get so emo sometimes, your mind clogs like your stuffy nose. Hihihihi, super sorry. Girl thang :)

Thursday, October 18, 2007

Shoe Away

I had to go back to Glorietta a couple of days after i purchased an expensive pair of sandals (Tatami by Birkenstock), only to return them. Not only did i get my feet sore but i got them bruised after two days of walking! And so, when i went back to the store, they didn't want them returned for the lady said they would not accept used items. But how will i know if the quality's good (in this case it was terrible) without using them myself for at least two days?? Hello?? I told the lady i was willing to buy another pair (of course a different one) just so long as i get to return the terrible pair. She said i'll have to come back for it after she has asked for her boss' approval.

I don't mind using "tiis-ganda" (can't fiind an english translation) shoes. Really, i don't. I just want my shoes to look pretty all the time. Hah. Because i've got ugly, veiny feet. But, this specific pair is exceptional! I hope the lady would understand. Or else, i'd get my feet uglier than ever. Not nice.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

Hippie Relived



A hard core hippie. Right at the center of SoHo..?

I wonder why people nowadays label someone bumming around, living as a certified couch potato a modern-day "hippie". I wonder how one can automaticaly identify a hopeless, directionless loser as "living like a hippie". I wonder why people used to think that back in the sixties and early seventies, the young generation didn't care about anything but love, peace, sex, and drugs. I have not the faintest idea.

But has anyone wondered how the sixties have shaped our minds, culture, today? Has anyone ever thought about how the sixties brought upon the voice of the youth like never before? Has anyone thought about how the geniuses of these artists, musicians, fashion icons, etc. revolutionized the industry by using their craft to convey what needs to be brought to light? Hmm..

There are tons to talk about. And the hippiedom is such a rich (though perplex) culture that people are making a mistake of overlooking this mark in history. There's Bob Dylan. There's the Woodstock. There's Mary Quant. There's Peter Max. And if go on with the names, my site might run out of memory (if this really happens in the cyber world, how ignorant of me).

That's why when i say i appreciate my dad as a genuine hippie, i revere him being as such. And i believe how he has acquired much a height of sophistication shall be accounted to his youthful days back in the sixties.

Sunday, September 30, 2007

Sound Check, Puhhleeaze!

Finally, i've seen Up Dharma Down perform at an intimate audience. We were strolling around some place in Makati when we came accross a directonal poster to a cafe. It came with their gig schedule and with no second thoughts we decided to see my fave band. And so we went right ahead, made a reservation though we figured Up Dharma won't play until around 12midnight. We did some more strolling. We waited. Patiently.

After getting more veins popping out my root crop feet after a night of walking, we decided to head back the cafe and get our reserved seats at 9:30pm. We kept ordering food (those which were not at all good for our bodies), we talked almost about everything already, when finally, two front acts started playing one after another.

Then Up Dharma Down. At around 12 midnight as we've predicted. I was super excited. Took some pictures of them (zooming in on Armi most of the time) even before they began playing. In no time, they were already playing their first song (which i believe was for their sound check).

They played on. I was being forgiving on the first few songs because the sound mixing wasn't going well. Oh my, it went worse towards the end. I shot a fierce look at the sound technicians at their loft/nook. You woudln't believe what i saw: the two men were both staring at the ceiling with their arms crossed, counting sheep.

We left the cafe right after their first set. I wasn't happy, obviously. I didn't know who to blame. It reminded me of the superb performance we watched for FREE at Moma during one of their summer garden concerts. Before the jazz band started playing (before the organizer even introduced the band), the first person the host gave recognition to was the sound engineer. That's how they revered these people in the industry! And back here we had two men sitting with a loft-view, dreaming of cream puffs while the band was playing. Again, i did not know who to blame. We have so much great local talent. Man, hats off to our local rock scene. Even the front acts were great. Except that they weren't taken care of. Sad.

Monday, September 24, 2007

Emo Whatever

For some unknown reason i could not sleep in my room alone anymore. It's either i'd have Uni (our pet Shih Tzu) spend the night in my room or i'd ask Shapot (our youngest kid in the house) to fix his mattress on my floor so that he'd sleep in my room. Is it only because i'm going through a phase or am i simply growing backwards? I hope not the latter.

Emo whatever..

It was one boring moment in my office when my colleague cracked a silly thought asking us: "Who do you think is the most "emo" among the emo bands? I looked at her and found her lips about to utter the same band that popped right in my head - "My Chemical Romance". We both said it out loud. And there, my signature grenade-launcher-laugh got us all started that morning. I don't even know why the hideous laugh. I just found the name so pathetic. And silly.

What do you know? I might be just as emotional as these silly guys are. Believe me, i can stare at any white wall as long as i want and i can give anyone a blank face for a doughnut.

I wonder why.

But i'm happy i've been working much more efficiently nowadays. I hope this'll go on forever.

Saturday, September 22, 2007

Road to Connoisseurship


When i say i fancy becoming a wine connoisseur, i say it only to mean that i love learning something new whenever i go visit the Napa Valley. There is one painful disadvantage though - i fail to bring any valid i.d. and there goes a not so sweet bye-bye. Even at 25 getting my nose into wine tasting, i still get to be mistaken as the 12-year-old Emily being dragged along by the avid traveler-mother. i'm not happy at all.

And about my interest in wines...

So whenever i go to dinner gatherings especially with my very clanish family, when wine is served, i always go for the red wine. One of my sweet aunts whom i've just visited at the new wine country, having offered everyone wine, was about to hand me a glass of white wine (i think it was the Pinot Gis) because she said we ladies enjoy drinking it more than red. When that polite offer came to me, i showed gratitude but told her i'd also want a glass of red wine after.

But hey, worry not. I'm not the girl trying to impress the bullies (like, "hey look mom, i'm drinking wine"). I drink red wine because i know it's good for me. It's good for my heart, my blood and it has a good amount of anti-oxidants. Period.

Same goes when i go to a B.B. King Blues concert watching an 81-year-old performing even though i can't help but catch myself yawning in the middle of it once in a while. Same as how i love Bob Dylan though i didn't fall in love with his music the first time i heard it (but i fell in love with his poetry!). Same, also, as when i go even to museums where the smelly old rugs get to my nerves, almost killing me due to my bad allergies.

All because "i know it's good for me".

But there are more i-know-it's-good-for-me's that are far too much harder to do than these. You know, like things you want to do that you don't get to do, and things you don't want to do that you end up doing? That sort of thing. Like in the morning, the first thing that i want to do is pray but then it has never been that easy getting my half-awake-half-dreaming self on its knees. So i end up in a snooze.

So i'd like to say that one thing i can never forget was when someone said (was it Andrew Murray?): "the more you find it hard to pray, the more you should pray". In response to this i don't want to say, "because it's good for me". Saying this will be an understatement. In this i want to elaborate no more. Because all i know is that prayer, plus faith, plus the will of God, can move mountains.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Unmade-up Yet M.A.D.E.


You'd notice her flawless skin unmade-up whenever on the floor. On the floor, meaning, while this one makeup artist "belonging to the tiny elite of designers, photographers, stylists, image-makers.." is currently metamorphing a model's pale face into a Dutch masters-inspired beauty, for instance. That's what i'm talking about! The masterpiece speaks a thousand words than its maker, but the maker's name can speak a thousand more (am i making sense?). Like a barber with the bushy hair, whose shop has always been flooded with hair dust on the floor, who's wanted by the great many for a perfect haircut.

But no bushy hair for this one Ms. Pat Mcgrath. Though her unmade-up face wasn't what only rang a bell in my eardrums, it was also her revolutionary traveling/working style that caught me. ''Wherever she goes, between 30 to 50 bags of materials and tools, art, fashion, and reference books arrive ahead of her (for the Dior couture extravaganza this summer, it was 55, shipped to Versailles with 25 assistants)." '"Even when i began, i maybe had three trunks when most people had ziploc bags.. i always thought, Well, a silver's not just a silver. There's 30 versions of it." So huge is her collection, it has its own driver, who speeds from show to show and across the Alps in time to leave the last Milan show (Versace 10:00pm) and make the first test in Paris (Balenciaga, 8:00am). Pat, meanwhile, is whisked there by private plane.'

Thinking of a presidential escort or an entourage for a Hollywood star? Not quite, my dear. This is an entourage for a makeup artist, a star, who is "in a class by herself". "In a profession where makeup artists are frequently [if not always], treated as anonymous, [McGrath's world is history]."

Ever grateful to Sarah Mower who wrote an article on McGrath for Vogue Magazine; so grateful i had to tear the pages off my aunt's elephantine copy. I'm not that evil though, i still made sure i asked for her permission. So i humbly brought home the pages kept together by a green paperclip.

Sunday, September 16, 2007

B.B. at 81


Blues has been one of my favorite music genres that is why i got so excited when i found out we got tickets to a B.B. King with Etta James concert. Not long after, we were all seated at a concert by the bay, amused, watching and listening to Etta's outstanding performance at 70 years old.

By God, I can't even imagine my grandaunt who's now 69 years old singing, grooving so beautifully as she was! And her voice! Regine Velasquez wouldn't dare come near her lest she'd be eaten alive.

And now B.B. How old? Whopping 81. He grew bigger, been suffering from diabetes, and now with weak knees making him perform onstage sitting down all throughout. I got no problems with that. Man, what more could you ask for than seeing an 81-year-old "king of the blues" (he stood by his name) play his guitar so passionately that even (i think) Keith Richards would drool over the entire show; that some stinky bands like Cueshe would just want to go home and kill themselves with so much frustration?

Forgive the meanness, but here's the thing:

B.B. surely knew what he was called for till the last chapter of his life. He found it silly how organizers have always been plugging his recent concerts as his "last concert". At the concert we've seen, he laughed about it and said something like: "should i live a couple more years, will i still be welcome to play for you here?" He asked this that not one smelled any doubt inside him. He was as if he knew when he'd die though he never would have an idea when. No fear, no sorrow in his eyes while mentioning life nearing its end. Because he knew. He understood. He did his job and has used his life to benefit mankind yet still wanted to contribute some more. And with this the crowd cheered in approval with an applause that ended so glorious. Wow.

Sunday, September 9, 2007

To A Colorful Reading

Cheeers!

A dear someone confided in me when he said he'd rather be friends with books than with humans. I contemplated for a nanosecond and gave him a hint that a part of me wanted to agree while another part wanted a duel. I always do that. This time around it's because i wanted to convey how interaction with humans are as important as interaction with pages.

I hate it. I hate it when a fiction that you find too cheesy to read leaves you a piercing mark right after that all you want to do is lie down, reflect, and cry.

I love it. I love it when the same book suddenly switches your mode then puts you in a knight-in-shining-armorish stance that you're all revved up all of a sudden. The power of hope, the piercing light paves the way for a new path.

Hmmmmm, hmmmmmm....... The same dork (who'd spend eternity with his books) handed me some of his a-list reads. I read some of them. I'm actually on one of the cute, cheesy novels right now. But they're just as moving! I don't know how these writers do it. They're just so amazing. Crazy geniuses. Someday i'd be one of them.

Geniuses though they may be, i have always believed that their gifts have been bestowed upon to make this world a better place. They were called not only to reflect society, not only to aid us in voicing out to reveal truths, but also to imbibe and equip so that we, humans, would not only care to animate books but would care to understand what it means to be in a human world.

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Make it Happen


Two years. I've been toiling myself seeking for the best school, the best fashion course that i'd be mastering in. But none has ever materialized. All the while i thought it was only because i have never seriously sat down on it, but thank God, i came to realize it was just not the one i was dying to take.

Thanks to Rei Kawakubo, founder - Comme Des Garcons. She quite showed me the way to my discovery; one of the biggest names, if not a legend in the fashion industry. Her foundation? Having studied Philosophy, Fine Arts and Literature. Can you imagine? When a door finally opened for her to enter into the fashion industry, she didn't even know what a lace looked like. A lace, i know. Even a macho guy from some uptown Bronx would know what a lace is. But she didn't. Come to think of it, France won't be history when it comes to fashion if not for the lace factories. And funny she came up with the brand "Comme Des Garcons" - a french term for "like some boys". But she didn't care. People around didn't care what she new about fashion history. All her life she just commited herself to bringing about new discoveries, breaking new grounds, and making history. And that was it.

And so, when one day i was brought to some daydreaming, my lifelong dream quite popped in my head - taking up Art History. OMG. I felt some sugarless sugar rush all of a sudden. It suddenly became possible; i felt my call as a designer and all this now seemed that they would work out so well altogether. I began thinking, if i pursue the field i really love, not only would i master more than one skill but by merging these disciplines altogether i would, in no time, establish my niche. Right. The substance i've been talking about. I can be a Kawakubo who stuck to what gifts she has, honed them, so that in the end she offered something called intellectual fashion. I can be like her, that even now at age 64, she's still rockin', continuously venturing even into a much younger market! And mind you, she still never runs out of new and interesting things to show her worldwide audience. She, in fact, still drives the fashion scene mad! Only because she followed what was in her heart, what truly represented her as a being. And amen to that!

I'm on my way. I've heard Kenneth Cobonpue's (a world-renowned, Cebu-based furniture designer) been asked to teach in U.P. Cebu, College of Fine Arts, Industrial Design. And this is so much inspiration! Thank goodness for this light expected to be at the end of a tunnel. Oh, did i tell you? I have always dreamed of being an Art History teacher. And i'm not giving up that dream. I know someday my Creator would converge things that are close to my heart, because i know He was the one who instilled that dream in me. For now i'd do whatever needs to be done. I'd start, of course, by looking for the best school (now as serious), next would be by renewing my driver's license (in case i end up taking it at my Alma Mater, which i don't mind doing), and the rest would be my continuous self-study. Wooothooo!!!

Calling all dreamers! Find the right people that will help you get to your field. They don't necessarily have to be those whom you can have a tete-a-tete with. They can be a Kawakubo who wouldn't even know you exist!

Friday, August 10, 2007

Caffeine Overload and Ceaselessly Dreaming

Kinda back to my groove again.

Except for some nauseating morning pains (but not a preggy thing, don't worry). They still come once in a while, reminding me i'm still alive. I just cry.

But towards the end of the day, i'm so much filled with dreams that i could not sleep over them sometimes. Or maybe because Starbucks now came out with venti cups for hot drinks (although they serve them an eighth short of the entire cup). I don't care. I'm beginning to love the caffeine overload: one ginormous Starbucks souvenir mug of black coffee in the morning, green tea in the afternoon, a venti cup of hazelnut cappuccino in the evening. I don't mind staining my teeth anymore. i'm a caffeine slave now. It's my new vanity.

I'm grateful for having a few weeks' rest from whatever i have been accustomed to doing. My diverted focus taught me to pray for little things. It's the sweetest thing so far, learning how God works in the minutest details.

And God will work also for the grander things. The great and personal God - one and the same. I will not lose hope. I will keep fighting, for He wants me not just to finish the race, but to finish it strong.

Thursday, August 2, 2007

My Tomboy Beginnings


I went to a wake the other night. It was my dad's brother-in-law's mother who passed away (forgive me, but that's the shortest way i could describe it). While at the wake spending time, chatting with my long-lost cousins (those i have not seen for nearly three months), my dad called for my attention. He wanted to introduce me to his long-lost friend (whom he hasn't seen for years), so i went and met him. I was giving the man a polite nod while we were being introduced when my dad asked me, "Anak, natatandaan mo ba si tito lito mo [do you remember your uncle lito]?" I thought for a minute. Yep, he looked familiar to me. And so i acknowledged with a second nod signifying that i somehow recognize him. So the man looked me straight in the eye and claimed how he perfectly knew me. Here goes: "Oo. Alam mo, maliit ka pa noon. Ikaw yung batang parang lalaki kung kumilos [yes, i remember you. You were so little then. You were the little girl who acted as if she was a boy]."

All right, there goes my secret past. Not so secret. I've always been bragging about how tomboy i was when i was a kid. I've never fancied wearing a dress, not even a baby-tee for goodness' sake (although i remember playing BARBIE back in HIGH SCHOOL)! My mom even had her darkest time trying to convince me to wear an evening dress on my 18th birthday.

I've changed. Though the typical tinay would still be a carefree t-shirt-and-jeans lady, my taste has evolved. This i can be proud of, hihi. So when my tito lito told me how he found me years back, i just gave him my third nod and politely said, "opo, ako nga iyon. Tomboy po ako dati [Yes, it was me. I was a tomboy before]." Then i left and went back to my cousins who made a huge laugh when i told them what conversation i had.

People, a tiny reminder: a tomboy is the boyish type. A lesbian is another story. I was never the latter.

Monday, July 23, 2007

Thoughts on Fashion



I was born with a critical disdain for fashion. That is why i have the tiniest inkling how on planet earth i got in this field. But, as i grew working my ass out there, i did some backtracking, and here are things i've learned.

First, it is only now that i personally understood that everything (like anything under the sun) can be learned so long as one is willing to. See the image up there? I kinda consider it (along with a ton more books) my fashion bible now - since it talks about the lives and design philosophies of 150 fashion designers in the world. I remember how my brother used to tell that there are two ways to become a fashion buff: it's either you'd literally live that kind of lifestyle (i.e. you'd be one of those well-traveled, culturally-exposed kind who gets to enjoy every element the fashion scene has to offer), or you may just be that someone who would simply read a lot. And my book up there clearly signifies the latter, doesn't it? It does. And i find nothing wrong about that, i mean, with too much reading. In fact, one would need not choose from these two. Aiming for substance, they should actually work hand in hand.

Secondly, i have learned to delineate being a fashionista from a fashion designer. While i was on my way to facing this field i am currently in, i had a tough time trying to understand how i can be in this when i have never been fond of dressing up? My answer is this: one can be as avid as a monkey when it comes to following fashion trends, but designing is a whole different story. Design, in any particular way (in this case, say, fashion), involves extensive research, a wide cultural awareness, and discipline (in its purest sense). Decades ago, the fashion scene here in my country has often been associated with pure materialism (since people from the high soceity are the only ones who can appreciate), but thank goodness that now, people are beginning to delve into a deeper and more substantial essence of fashion. Thanks to some key fashion critics, for they are now continuously eyeing for young, upcoming and promising fashion designers who exemplify a sincere mixture of culture and design.

Oh my, i rashly began writing my thoughts down about my field but then i'm beginning to realize there are a million thoughts that deserve to be squeezed in. However, i'd try to make this as concise as possible.

The last thing i have learned is that one may not be adept at dressing herself up, but dressing others up is also, a different story. In relation to this, i have always believed in the story of the 2 barbers. In this story, one is asked to choose where he should go for a haircut: to the barber who always wore a clean haircut and whose shop has always had a neatly swept floor, or to the barber whose hair almost covers his entire face (as if no one could tell if he's human or not) and whose shop has always been full of hair dust on the floor? I'd rather go to the second one. He's much more promising since he had always been preoccupied with servicing his guests. Guests who have trusted his workmanship since.

Ehemm, same goes with any field. Now that I have learned to love my job, i must admit that striving to grow in this field has been preoccupying me that's why if you could please forgive me for not dressing up the way i need to. Ironic for me, that i choose not to waste my time primping myself; Just as how i have never been fond of shopping when my job says it's the world that i literally wallow in. I choose, rather, to offer my people the most sincere designs that i can always come up with and allow my people to grow with me as i work with them in this field.

One thing to close this, i'd like to encourage my colleagues not to give up in discovering themselves. I, for one, can say that i hold a keen eye for aesthetics and this is one key that has led me to, or should i say, that has kept me moving. And because i've decided upon myself to stick it out there no matter what, i have discovered a genius in me that can still be honed in time which i can't wait to witness happen inch by inch. Moreover, for my fellows out there, i'd like to share that i've learned not to look at my inabilities as a hindrance for keeping up. I have always challenged myself to make use of what gifts i have to meet and converge with the standards the world dictates. Hence, my niche.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

I Gained!

People are beginning to see me around again, after quite a while. One thing i hear: "you've gained weight." Life is ironic (and unfair). Now that i've been making the biggest effort in my life to try to lose weight and get the heroin-chic look, they tell me i gained????

Effort not enough, i believe. I'll find a way. Oh, maybe it's because i overslept for the past couple of days. Now i remember. All right, I'll work on the balancing part soon. I promise.

For the rest of the world, wait till i take-off. I'll sweep you all, one at a time. My Father has so much to reveal to me. In no time, He will (so long as I obey). So now i prepare the field.

Monday, July 16, 2007

Design, Design, Design

I've just seen Brian Gothong Tan on TV today. Just so you know, i haven't been watching tv for ages but then i thought i'd better start doing something new nowadays. Okay, Brian Gothong Tan. I don't precisely know what he was doing on tv aside from having designed something for Sony (I'm not so good at remembering things of grandeur, forgive me). All i know now is that he was born in the Philippines, grew up in Singapore, and that he's gay. He's just a year older than i am but he's already "considered one of the most-exciting and prolific multimedia artists in Singapore," web says. Want to know how he got me interested in finding this out? Here's what happened.

Simple. As i was watching him being interviewed by a skinny, fine, Oriental-looking lady, i noticed not only his Singaporean-English accent, but also the impressive background where the interview was held. It looked to me as if he's in a design store that he owns. I wanted to believe i was right. Then, while the camera was showing its viewers around (of course while the interviewer and the interviewee were talikng), i spotted two tiny, almost microscopic and unrecognizable things the human eye could see - a hat and a purse. On one angle, i saw the silk-screened hat sitting on a headless mannequin, while on another, i miraculously spotted a bag-strap and a portion of a well-designed graphic purse that seemed so familiar to me. To tell exactly, both were shown for a mere split second. So how could i possibly notice things and revel in a split second spectacle? It is for the main reason that both stuffs can also be found in our shop here in the Philippines. Yes, in the shop under the company that i work for. In short, we made them. Hah! I know, how on earth did those get there? There must be something about this guy. And yeah, found out he was born here.

I have always dreamed of having my own design store, and what i saw during Tan's interview kinda gave my eyes a distinct gleam again :) This guy's (gay's) done a lot already (his works were really impressive, i give that to him), and the two miniscule spectacles that got me excited are nothing compared to his bunch of achievements. But i am always grateful that everytime i get to hear these stories, not only do i get pissed off (in a very positive sense, meaning, that this kind keeps my feet moving), but also that i get to dream more. Must admit i'd have to visit his place someday to find out how our stuff got in there. I'd better learn from this. From this day on, i will always believe that dreaming and working towards that dream REALLY offers no boundaries.

Saturday, July 14, 2007

Nonsense

I just saw Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix last night. I've read the book. But up to now i still don't believe Sirius Black is completely dead. In the 6th book (forgot the title), neither am i convinced that Dumbledore too is dead. This just could not happen. Rowling cannot get rid of Harry's mentors just like that. Haha! What do i know about plots, anyway? But hey, I live in a free world, i can say what i want. What do you know, i might be making sense.

I've always been fond of writing. I remember i used to write to my friends a lot when i was in high school. But, sadly, i didn't give much to train myself to write well. I hated reading.

That is why i can never be grateful enough when i read Stephen King's book - On Writing: Memoirs of the Craft (or something to that effect. Forgot the exact title. I always forget, forgive me; i've the weirdest memory.) In the book King said, if you want to become a writer, you need to read a lot and write a lot. God saved my life, He got me to start reading back in College. And now, believing every bit of what King said, i try to write with sense. But it's sooooooooooooooo hard to make sense. In fact, due to a dire need, i recently wrote someone a letter recounting thngs in my life. i sent it after an hour completing it. The next morning, i reread what i sent. Golly, i sucked. I wanted so much to edit what i wrote, but it wasn't necessary. Damage has been done (hihi).

I don't know what i am actually driving at. See, I AM NOT MAKING SENSE. I just wanted to write so bad. It's because i can't get myself to read. Hey, i've a good question (a life-and-death kind of thing): Which would you prefer to become, a thriving chef or a starving artist? If you choose to become a thriving chef, you'd take risks such as cutting your middle finger with the sharpest kitchen knife or maybe like burning half of your face while retrieving something from the wood-fired oven. While if you choose to become the starving artist, you'd take risks such as losing your mind, period. So which one?

Hmmmmm.... (i'm humming a hymn in my head -like how Humtpy Dumpty used to do while strolling down the wonderland. Wait, i'm kinda not sure if Humpty Dumpty really used to do this. I just remember his riddle and his wall. I'm making this all up, forgive me. I thought it might sound interesting).

I lost my nail cutter. I had to sneak in my parents' bedroom to get my mom's because my nails kinda grown long and yellowish. I didn't know my dad was already in a deep sleep when i snuck in. A few minutes after i left the room, he called me through my cellphone. He asked where i was. I said i just went out of their room. He didn't mind, we still talked over the cellphone. He asked me how i was. Weird. Does this make sense?

I'm just probably so pumped up tonight. I had three strong doses of caffeine, that's why. Had 2 cups of cappuccino and a cup of green tea. My tummy's kinda going berserk right now, but i'm ignoring it.

Finally, i can't think of anything more to write down. Maybe i should start reading. Haven't touched my thick red book for quite a while. I'm not even halfway through with it. i'll try finishing some pages tonight. Wish me luck.

Thursday, July 12, 2007

Happy or Not, Here I Come

Happy Feet spoke to me very clearly today. I've seen it once before but it didn't speak to me as much as how it did this evening. Well, not until someone had to preach about it (as if it was carefully preapared for me) so i i'd wake myself up from sleep. You know, i tend to forget things. I always do, in fact. And i didn't quite expect a penguin would give me a nudge this time (though, sadly, i can't speak penguin yet), i mean a penguin story (the usually not so popular one) would be used to pull my hair, get my attention for a second, and whisper to me a sharp reminder i badly need at this very moment.

Today i am being reminded of things in the aspect of pursuing my call and in the aspect of waiting.

Hmmmm.... can't think of anything else to write at this moment. I feel lazy. The weather's just one to blame, the rest would be myself. I've been trying to take care of myself as much as i could but i don't think my body wants to respond the way i wanted it to. I think I know why. but i choose not to tell. I don't want to be dragged back into that abyss again.

If i write some more, i bet i'd end up whining about many things again. I need to stop here for now. I choose to smile, nonetheless.

Monday, July 9, 2007

Queen Frida


I have to write this down. Queen of pain, eh? Nothing compared to a Frida Kahlo.

"Frida Kahlo had something more than beauty, talent and passion, something more marketable in the pop culture universe: she suffered," says Jessica Zafra.

Sends me goosebumps. Two days ago i was just babbling about how painful things have gone in my life, labelling myself as the "queen of pain," thinking i'm the least fortunate kid on earth. Minutes after publishing my post, i graced the news and found an article by Zafra entitled: "Frida Kahlo and The Order of Pain." OMG, really. Someone up there really is sending me a message.

This July the whole world is commemorating Kahlo's 100th year anniversary, and here in the Philippines, we have come up with different events (such as poetry performances, art exhibitons, film showing, etc.) to serve as tribute to her. Amidst all the pieces, one thing stood out - the account of her sufferings. Frida Kahlo, at age 6, suffered from polio, and at age 18, survived a car crash that caused her polio-withered leg 11 fractures. With her foot crushed and left shoulder dislocated, a metal handrail skewered her through her back and out through her vagina. Later on she had her leg amputated. Survive she did but her pain in life did not end there. Her pains with her womanizer husband Diego Rivera, who had an affair with her sister, quite punctuated her sorrowful journey.

"She trancended her pain with her art," says one. True. And this, overriding her bushy eyebrows on her ubiqitous face staring at us, makes her life and works important. Yet, she did not deny her pain.

And here i am, whining about the cutest problem in the world! I'd better tell myself: "Don't wait till Frida frowns and raises her funky eyebrows on you before you realize life has never been fair. Get used to it."

But then again, i go back to Him who has suffered the worst in this world - my Savior. He suffered all the pain, that I may live. He's the only one who is beyond compare.

Saturday, July 7, 2007

Queen of Pain


I am being brought back to one of my unforgettable memories back in college. I remember my most-hated-turned-most-wanted art professor, Mr. Bob Feleo. A sage to be revered.

I remember how i first met him, it was during my first class under him on my third year. Oh, how i hated him. I hated his style, hated how he smoked while holding his class, hated him period. And here's what, he hated me back. How could i forget? The only art professor who gave me a 2.0 in my class card.

Until, this most interesting plate of mine came. It was when we were assigned to work on a plate entitled "lyricism." As an artist, sure i had tons of ideas! It was fun. We started out with collages, searching for themes, and finally, we get to work on a final painting incorporating the entire concept. The theme that i came up with was somewhat like a series of hot air balloons lining up the sky forming the shape of a bridge in a landscape. Can you even visualize (i think i'd need Charles Dickens to teach me how to describe this with much clarity)? So, in my collage you'd see a bridge and hot air balloons in a romantic landscape. I showed it to Sir Bob. Man, he got kinda interested, began suggesting things, and wow! We ended up with a Golden Gate Bridge on my landscape, hot air balloons, and a light bulb at the end of these balloons lining up. Here's my problem: when i was about to execute the collage on my canvas, he told me he wanted an exact perspective of the Golden Gate Bridge on the painting.

Did he just say PERSPECTIVE? Oh my friend, to be honest with you, it's the next worst thing in my system, next to geometry! Would you believe? I used to love math back in high school but geometry and the whole lot is a totally different story. I was doomed.

I had no idea how to figure it out. With all hopes gone, my last option was to consult a professional architect. Yet, Sir Bob still didn't like what the architect suggested (which was to do it on freehand). Finally, he taught me how he wanted it done. And there I did the perspective upon manual calculations (please don't dare ask me now how i did it).

It took me months to finish my plate (that which should only be done in 3 weeks). Wonder how i went through it? I literally cried over doing the perspective the whole time. Excruciatingly unbelievable.

Here's my beautiful end of story: I clearly remember how my professor discussed my plate in class: "One thing that made this plate exemplary was that it was painstakingly done." After that my whole outlook about art has changed. Moreover, my outlook about him has totally changed. Because of him, factors such as symbollism, philosophy, and the fundamentals in my field has kept me intact since. I thank him for bringing out the best in me, and i'm grateful i decided to endure the pain.

But pain doesn't stop there. Forgive me for my lengthy memoir, but the reason why i remembered this is because i am currently in pain. But now is quite different. When you are being confronted by your leader or mentor, accused of so many things, spoken to with very painful words that keep ringing in your head like some creepy dream you've had, it's a different story. I wonder how i can eventually manage this pain. I have no idea where i should go from here, but one thing's in my heart: i know there's a Big Hand working all throughout my life that's why i won't give up seeking for answers to things that need to be fixed in my life. I won't give up dying, I won't give up following where the Big Hand leads me to, even though he leads me through the narrowest road. I'm praying He would give me people who would truly care for me, those who will love me even when sometimes i fail to take responsibility. People of grace. People who would care to think about how a sheep would feel. All my life i have learned to love the toughest people i've met, but all i'm asking now is a pinch of compassion and understanding. Regardless, i know that in no time, i will be thankful for all of this.

Sunday, June 24, 2007

Cheerful Reflection

Me
By: Paula Cole

I am not the person who is singing
I am the silent one inside
I am not the one who laughs at people's jokes
I just pacify their egos
I am not my house or my car or my songs
They are only just stops along my way
I am like winter
I'm a dark cold female
With a golden ring of wisdom in my cave

Chorus:
And it is me who is my enemy
Me who beats me up
Me who makes the monsters
Me who strips my confidence

I am carrying my voice
I am carrying my heart
I am carrying my rhythm
I am carrying my prayers
But you can't kill my spirit
It's soaring and its strong
Like a mountain
I go on and on
But when my wings are folded
The brightly colored moth
Blends into the dirt into the ground


And its me who's too weak
And its me who's too shy
To ask for the thing I love
And its me who's too weak
And its me who's too shy
To ask for the thing I love
That I love

I am walking on the bridge
I am over the water
And I'm scared as hell
But I know there's something better
Yes I know there's something
Yes I know, I know, yes I know

That I love

But it's me
And it's me
But it's me

I have just decided to quit wearing a sorry face and start wearing again the smile i got tired of. It pays to always look at the bright side of things and to always carry things (no matter how painful) with a joyful heart.

Friday, June 22, 2007

Cursed


Today i've just realized that within me lies a hidden peril as I stride along this path called life. Pride, let alone arrogance, has been stealthily creeping into my system, rather little by little devouring the ends of my soul. Pretty scary. Especially when i do nothing about it. Before i know it, it might be too late to find out i've already been infested by a huge sum of deception surrounding me. The merciful thing i'd face (next to an eternal death), given that i'd do nothing about this, would be a curse.

There's one thing that has been unchanging since pride dawned upon me: I never run out of negative things to point at. Like when someone nudges me for no reason at all, my nostrils would easily fume with fury. Or when someone tells me how things should have been done, when i did the exact opposite, i'd feel like just waliking away without a word, ditching the parrot talking. Friend, if you're somehow feeling the same way, you're on your way to a curse. Be warned. Resilience is never too easy.

You know what? I'm actually on my way to having the original emo look now (just as how Peter Parker had it when he was cursed living with that symbiont in Spiderman 3). But i changed my mind. I've decided i won't live the curse. The one sure thing that awaits me here is death (Mind you, it's not even a meaningful death, but an empty one.). And i don't want that. I want a life well-lived, rather a life well-spent dying (if there's such a kind).

Thursday, June 14, 2007

Living For Oneself vs. Dying To Self


A quarter-life crisis. This just seems so true among my fellow young adults fighting the real battle out there. Bottomline? The big question screaming within: "What's in it for me?"

Being in the first quarter of my life, so many questions have already flooded my heart, not to mention the conversations I've had with my friends in their early 40's now. I've been quite comparing and asking have they really experienced the cliche "mid-life crisis"? Some of them said yes, they did. My follow-up question was: "If you were to weigh, was your life during the first half leaning towards a bunch of regrets or a bucket of fulfillments?" Some could not answer quite clearly. Instead, they told me of their old friends who happened to encounter the said excruciating crisis, that all they did was seek external happiness and end up living in circles.

My generation today best exemplifies the quarter-life crisis as we deeply look through the weary, perplexed eyes that lead to its soul. But let me tell you something, I don't believe in its entirety. What i think my generation should realize is that real fulfillment, amidst all perplexities and uncertainties, comes when we know what we are called for, that true happiness boils down to offering your whole life to service of mankind. I know, yes, i'm not a superhero, much less a Darna to be saying this. I don't say this claiming i understand every bit of what I preach. In fact, I hardly do.

I have just landed on a pioneering feat, and I am so grateful for it. But now, I have realized that though it's promising in every angle, a tiny dot would show you that not all there is will always make you feel good. In the process, I have gone through some emotional pains and confusion (some of which are not yet resolved), this year I have been losing people dear to me, and next year, sadly, i will be losing another dear one. My chief designer for the project that we have just recently formed has decided to leave for that mid-eastern country to seek for greener pastures. I have nothing against it, but when i heard this, all i've been thinking about was that dilemma going on in my head: Will I live for myself or for others? For some reason, I just could not reconcile my point. Maybe it's because it's not my life, it's not i who will be facing the decision made. I was wondering how i could even reach out and tell her things i've been learning about, that more than anything, seeking your Creator's call in life is the major thing. Maybe, right now, this anxiety about losing someone dear to me and reaching out to her isn't the issue. I strongly believe, and I want to believe, that the main issue here is how i will face the loss, how i will use this to yield myself to some greater things ahead of me, some greater opportunities to die to myself and live for others. Yes, one of the growth pangs, I suppose. But more than that, this phase exemplifies a life of a living martyr, that of a real life hero.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

"Daily" Queen

"Dad, I don't want a lizard!" Dad looked at his 3-year old boy on their way out of the ice cream shop and mockingly replied: "It's not lizard honey, it's Blizzard." We were laughing real hard as the cute annoyed kid dashed out of the place while dragging his dad's hand. Of course, we were all sitting there, watching people go crazy about what flavor to get at that place called "Dairy Queen." Yeah, i'm pretty sure anyone would know what exactly i'm talking about. Especially when i say the Brownie Temptation Blizzard is to die for. Man, you wouldn't care if this temptation leads you straight down to the abyss. It just tastes perfect, i didn't even care that i was already having it for the past three straight weeks.
I've been on a project that made me stay quite long in that new mall somewhere in Quezon City, and one of the prettiest things that made my job so enjoyable, let alone sinful, was this ice cream i can never cut ties with. Now that my job there is done, due to memories attached to it, i cannot not drop by the shop everytime i see it. How strange, i know i'm a sweet-toothed being but my OC-ness when it comes to maintaining my white teeth just so contradicts this chocolate frenzy. I just hope i'd be brought back to my sanity much sooner (though i know it won't happen, not in a month's time). Can someone help me, please?

Thursday, May 24, 2007

A Duet With A Dog

I was brushing my teeth while staring at my face in the mirror, trying to multitask by meticulating how huge my pores have become. I was brushing real hard (that's how i usually do it), i bet you can hear how hard and loud the bristles have been srubbing even my ruby-red gums off. I was engrossed at the moment. No distractions, all alone in the bathroom, when, at that same moment, the sound of the bristles scrubbing my teeth became as sonorous that it went way up by several decibels! Suddenly, i felt i was inside a huge theater, rehearsing some broadway piece with a chorus. I looked around me. Lo and behold, a furry dog was on the floor staring up at me, panting so loud, tongue all-out. It was Uni.

Meet Uni, our newest pet Shih Tzu, the sweetest dog i've ever met. Half a decade ago i purchased my first dog (a female, yellow Labrador Retriever, who's still with me right now), that back then i have never settled my eyes on any other dog except her. She was lovely. I loved her, she loved me, we were happy. Until, i met Uni. Of course nothing will replace my first dog. We are still what we were before, but i just could not refuse to talk about this new one. Who else would care keeping you company when you're mundanely brushing your teeth? While you're all quiet reading a book? She's such a doll. She's an epitome of that creature which we always believe can move and change hearts, a creature that selflessly offers friendship without expecting anything in return. What's more to tell? It is that everyone in my family, even the worst dog-haters among us began considering Uni a sweetheart. Amazing, isn't it?