gLeek!

I have just finished the first season of Glee (thanks to my vid dealer, Kini), and I just realized how hooked I've become on the show. Very few shows can incorporate comedy and musicals on TV without being hokey, but somehow this show manages to tread the very narrow line bordering Hokeyville. And I have to say the songs are quite fantastic as well. Some of their songs were my standard bathroom song these last few weeks. :D Sad news is, the show's going on hiatus and won't be back until April. And no doubt that they'll be back. Fox can't cancel this show if they value their money. :D Meanwhile, we gleekers will have to content ourselves in performing our own renditions of Defying Gravity within the safety of our tiled bathroom walls.

Roiben's Tale

Earlier this morning, I woke up with a story in my head. While brushing my teeth, I realized I've written a draft with a similar storyline and it's got to be around here somewhere. So I decided to look through my old notebooks --- but this isn't an easy task. I have got notebooks everywhere. And I can't stop buying them either. So what was supposed to be a 10-minute search turned into an hour of sifting through the pages of my hyperactive imagination.

Finally, I found the lines I was looking for. In my dream, a blondish gboy was talking to an older girl --- his first crush and he was bumbling through the scene. In my notebook, he has a name and his problem was he was being initiated into the first pangs of puppy love:

Roiben's first taste of irrefutable pain came as he watched a dark lock of hair fall across Sarah Asher's face. Pain in how it obstructs his view of her dark eyes. Pain in how this simple flaw emphasizes the otherworldliness of her pale face. He wanted to reach out, brush it off her face, tuck it behind her seashell ears, and run his thumb across her ripening cheeks. The need was so overwhelming that it was like falling through thin ice, like hitting your head on something sharp and deadly, or standing in the way of a runaway train. His limbs were not responding to his brain; his heart was not his. His pain was made more excruciating in the knowledge that he can only breathe once the feel of her skin liberates the air from his lungs. He suffocates slowly because he can not touch her. Could not. May not. Roiben realized then that this is the first of a thousand small deaths and the last of his childhood dreams.

Psychology of Love

My cousin is a huge fan of Pinoy Big Brother and never fails to tune in every night. Ako naman, it’s one more reason for me to retire to my room early. Tonight though, naabutan ko yung drama between Jason and Melissa. Si Ryan kinikilig. Ako, kinikilabutan sa ka-cornihan. Ang malaking tanong, tutoo kaya?

Ganito lang naman yan eh. Sabi ng prof ko sa Psych 101, falling in love is as easy as 1-2-3.

1. Proximity – gaano ba kayo kadalas magkita? Nakakabit na ba kayo sa tadyang at alak-alakan? The more you see each other and spend time with each other, the more opportunities for you to get to know each other. And unless you look like the spawn of Godzilla with the personality of the second coming of Hitler (and maybe even then), the other person will probably find something attractive in you.

2. Similarity – The more you get to know each other, lumalabas din yung mga bagay na pareho at magkaiba kayo. Although, opposites attract, there would have to be something you share in common. I know people who keep on seeking for similarities with their intended, up to the point of wanting their whole worlds to align with each other. This should be a caveat --- allow enough difference between the two of you so you could help each other expand your horizons. But the things you do share should be cemented, or you do it together if it needs to change. Other things to keep in mind: although we all pine for the beauties and the hunks, we would most probably marry/ end up with someone within the same rank of physical beauty as we do. Sabi ko nga, hindi ako pang Tom Cruise. Pang James McAvoy lang. Chos!

3. Biology – And finally, we go back to biology. Or bio-chemistry to be precise. It’s how we smell, how big are our bees (butt, balakang and boobs – womanly, maternal tools), how proportionate our face is, and how sometimes, you just plain spark with that person.

Lahat naman ito ay haka-haka lamang ng mga siyentipiko. I for one haven’t the foggiest idea, so I latch on to these gibberish because my observations do, sometimes, validate the theories. Kaya nga minsan, naniniwala ako, given enough time anyone can fall in love with anyone. Example, you two were the last people on earth, and you are so not each others’ type? Wala, PSB will get to you and you’ll be singing a different tune after, let’s say 3 years na kayo lang.

In the end, Love is Headology, but it consists of blurry edges and colors that does not always stay inside the drawn lines. What we humans know of love will fill the universe, but the words we know to use to describe love could only fill a thimble. So, really, nobody knows.

Genius!

I always cry at weddings because it's a big deal to me that when my turn comes (or should i say, if), I wouldn't have my Mum and Dad to walk me down the aisle. Somebody on post secret shared what she did.

She walked with her parents, still.


Stig!!!!

Weddings and Me

Yesterday, we went to Nueva Ecija to attend my cousin's wedding and was prepared for the worst inquisition. My cousin was 2 years younger than I was after all, and yet there she is, looking resplendent in her knock-out wedding gown. Now I know there are worse things than being pestered about getting married already, and that is NOT being pestered about it. :D But then, seeing how happy my cousin was, albeit a bit tired, I hardly cared.

This is probably the first wedding I enjoyed thoroughly. If only because I wasn't part of the entourage or the program. Don't get me wrong, I like doing those for my friends. But it just makes me a tad too nervous to really appreciate the moment. It's hard to think, "aw shucks, look at the groom he's tearing up," without thinking, "oh dang, the next speaker is a bit lush already," or "god, what's the next line again?" Hazel married a Baguio army man, and the celebrations included true-to-goodness Igorot wedding dances and even the long-narrative done by community elders. It was neat.

Seeing a nice ceremony will unavoidably lead you down to paths best not taken, like thinking of how you would like your own wedding to be. I seriously wasn't one of those girls who were dreaming of the perfect wedding ever since they got their hands on Barbie and Ken's Dream Wedding Play Set. And maybe even at a young age, I had an inkling I had a looooot fo time on my hands to plan it out, so need to rush at age six.

And now that the big 3-0 is staring me at like a were-cat ready to eat me alive, I still can't bring myself to dream of it. Every time I do try, I hit roadblocks. Like: 1) who, for crying out loud? Prince William has Kate and James McAvoy has Anne-Marie. And I can't think of another man I'm willing to endure for a lifetime other than those. 2) Who will walk me down the aisle? Would it be politic to have an aunt and an uncle represent my deceased parents, or like Korina Sanchez, I walk alone?

And at this point, I slightly go off-tangent, surely unhinged by the enormity of its impossibility, my walking down the aisle in a pretty white dress.

So as much as I'm happy for my family and friends who found their impossible dream coming true, I am taking stock of reality. What's very difficult for me to admit is this: I think I was built to be alone. I fall in love easy enough, but I have trouble trusting that anybody will ever be dependable enough to trust as much as I need to. By now I have learned to depend on no one but myself to get things done, and to have somebody else share that world with me is alien territory. I am the war veteran saving up on canned beef broth and mango preserves, reinforcing an underground shelter, prepping oneself up to a long life of self-solidarity and solitude. The future looks grey, but at least, its certain.

And someday, when someone asks how I can endure it, I will smile and say, "I am strong enough," and maybe even convince myself.

holidays kill me

I just woke up from a dream where I was hugging my father about to ask them why they left us alone and how the house was so empty without them, when I was jolted awake by the pure horror that that's still my life, and my first lucid thought was "go back to the dream" and i can't. then the first wave of nausea hits me and I run to the bathroom and be sick.

I'm not stupid, I know I get more sick as the holidays draw near. I know what it implies. I'm sorry to everyone who I'm disappointing out there; I try, and I'll keep trying, but for now, the brain is willing but the heart is still sick.

Cooking Your Heart Out

Just finished reading Julie/Julia upon the recommendation of a workmate. I was already reading two books (her Fearful Symmetry and Flood) but was so taken in by Julie Powell’s melo-hysterics which sounded vaguely familiar, I had to put the first 2 down and finish the latter.
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Julie’s representation of her “project” was so accessible that you feel like you’re reading your best friend’s cooking diary (if you move in the kind of circles that has people who actually keep cooking diaries). She’s no Nigella Lawson or Barefoot Contessa and definitely no Julia Child, and that’s why I like her. You don’t start feeling inept at the mention of words like aspic or gelee, because she’d be the first to say she doesn’t have a f***** idea what those are. She gets queasy about killing lobsters, have trouble recognizing what kidneys look like, bitches at her husband, snarks at her Mum… your over-all Anti-Domestic Goddess at work. And I love her.
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But in the middle of the foggy haze that is her life, you get glimpses of truth that doesn’t just ring true for her alone. My favorite thoughts include (put in my own words):
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1. Simple doesn’t mean it’s easy.
2. There are 2 kinds of friends: one who inspires you to be good and great, and one who will sit on her haunches with you and help you make mud pies.
3. We cook because we want to share joy.
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She also wrote the words that perfectly describes how one could love cooking as a hobby: you get lost in it, you feel new limbs sprouting from your bones, your soul grows wings, and your heart takes flight. So, okay, those were my words. But I think we’re talking about the same things. Cooking is Art You Can Eat. I say that’s pretty hard to beat. J
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P.S. Anybody out there who knows a good recipe that needs cooking Yogurt? I bought a whole tub yesterday belatedly remembering I have no idea what to use it for, and it expires in 7 days.

Clueless Powerful People

The worst injustice in the world is the fact that Power and Intelligence aren't inextricably linked. Some people have the smarts (let's say the textbook kind) but doesn't have what it takes to be powerful (money, chika attitude, connections, people smart). Some are in powerful positions, but are as clueless as my neighbour's pet gerbil. I can accept both kinds of smart, but could people at least have some more logic?

This morning, a member company asked us to make a training module for a one-day training for high school students on Environmental Awareness, Global Warming, Public Speaking and Written Expressions. Nanghihinayang lang ako kasi all four topics are great topics and sayang kung i-mash sa iisang araw. At the very least choose a focus diba?

Of course I can find a way to make it work. Discuss Global Warming, ask them to write an Essay and have them deliver it as a speech. Ang problema ko, nobody pays attention to the process of creation anymore. The learning process people! Before you start asking these kids to pull bunnies out of top hats, you have to provide inputs first. So shempre I have to give up on one process kasi para ka namang may ADHD if you discuss GW, then Essay Writing, tapos practicum, tapos inputs on public speaking, tapos practicum ulit. In one friggin' day.

hay, bahala na. Sa tutuusin kaya ko naman hanapan ng SLE ito. I guess im just being unreasonably irritated kasi hindi lang naman ito ang ginagawa ko. Paiba-iba kasi ng isip ang mga clueless people yan. bahala na si Lord sa inyo.

Today's Number: #4

The last 4 days have been loaded. The last 4 nights, I have overstuffed myself. I have 4 new books all of which I haven't touched yet. I have 4 ugly pimples on my face. I have 4 hours before midnight. 4 thousand in my bank account and I haven't bought groceries for the next 2 weeks yet. Let'sjust say, 4 is a bad number today.

Hay. Let's just cool it and stare at this:



Argh. 7 years younger than me. Kainis. At least 7 naman.

I Heart Leighton

I think I have a girl crush on Leighton Meester. Everytime I see pictures of her, I sigh. So it's either a girl-crush or it's-hopeless-you're-never-gonna-look-like-that-envy. An I don't even care if somebody leaked a supposed sex tape. That's like so Paris Hilton (read: an era ago). I just like looking at her. I'm not gunning to be just like her after all. As if I could. Here we go again: sigh.

What If What You Know Limits You

It's strange, when people try to encourage you to write by writing what you know. Always had a problem with that. I was never sure if I know enough about anything to write about it.

Once, when I was younger, a friend dared me to write a love scene. One with actual kissing and, uhm, groping, and stuff. Risque, especially if you were fourteen years old and educated in an all-girls private school since kindergarten. All the love scenes I know were culled from Judith McNaught novels and Johanna Lindsey prototypes of wham-bam-thank-you-mam. All I know is I hated those love scenes because it always felt impersonal, not to mention overtly romanticized. So when I wrote my story, I ended up with a scenario that put together these elements in some haphazard manner: depressed guy, concerned girl, lots of facial hair (on the guy, of course), a razor blade, soap and the girl's warm hands shaving off the gunk off his face (and no, they didn't get freaky). My friend thought it was superbly cheesy and I swore off love scenes ever since. I remember muttering to her (I might have been just a sore sport, cos I believed she was a better writer than I was), "Well, what do I Know of love scenes anyway?"

Since then, I stuck with "Write what you know". I decided to be as interested about everything I possibly could, cultivating my love for trivia, human psychology and forcing myself to read sociological treatises which are as exciting as watching an empty aquarium. And yet years later, when I asked myself if I know more than I did before, I realized I was still buggered if I know.

SO when somebody introduced me to surrealism and fantasy, I felt like I won the 500B Lotto. I realized some of the things, I CAN make up after all. And after a couple of years of practicing with the genre, I am ready to question my former decision about not writing about what I don't know yet. Because as it happens, writing what CAN BE is so much more exciting. And we don't have to limit it to fantasy. Because I seriously doubt Robert Parker kills people to write his murder mysteries more reastically.

I guess the take-home for this essay is this: Write what fascinates you, whether you know it or you are just about to learn more about it. Who knows? Maybe I could even re-write that bathroom love story and nail it this time around. (Absolutely no pun intended).

Writing til You Bleed

I stayed up until 2 am last night finishing my draft for another short story. The point of all this hard work isn't just because NaNoWriMo is coming. I also plan to compile the stories and give them to special people come Christmas time. I can already see it: professionally bound (read Blessings:UP Shopping Center)dark blue booklet with the compilation's title (still haven't decided which one will get star billing)embossed in starry silver. It would look like my NatSci1 readings all over again... Haha!

So you see, the reason for my stellar mood today is not only because I'm writing again, but also because Christmas is near. Although, I did consider that giving a compilation of stuff I wrote might not be the best Christmas gift. I mean, it's one part parusa, and one part narcissistic, and two parts cheapskate. But I'm only giving it to friends who appreciate the fact that I love to write, or knows I'm quirky enough to give it to them not because I want them to suffer through my unbearable prose, but because I want to share my inner world with them.

Besides, Peloy offered to edit, and I trust he won't let me look like a fool to the people I love the most. :D

Oooh, I hope I finish this. I've been planning to do this thing for the last 3 Christmases. Maybe broadcasting it will guilt trip me into doing it. Or force me to save my face. :D

Wish me luck!

And to help me get this done, I call on today's Muse. Ta-da!