Chasing Vans

Handstands in the Graveyard.

2012-01-24T23:30:00.000+08:00

Fragments of a dream, stitching together what was a black night if not for the dim glow of cigarettes burning like fireflies. A soundtrack of the slight splatter of morning rain as we took steps down the garden, cold mud seeping into our shoes. I begged for guidance with my outstretched hand, nobody claimed it but the night. Lost and scared, I followed the wolves as they explored past the trees, feeling too young to be out that late, that far, with those people. We walked the earth until the thick treetops blocked out the stars, the navy blue canvas now hidden with a heavy black cloth. I stood frozen as they did cartwheels across the inky landscape, light laughter somewhat tainted with cruelty. Bottles clinking against marble teeth and paper crowns upon curly ginger hair, they were the kings and queens of the night and my honour was suddenly greater than fear. I watched their performance like a projection onto white walls, wishing I could dive in. My socks were muddy, my skin was cold, but these people did not see me, I was not even there.

2012-01-15T15:05:00.002+08:00

Hi guys! I have a new tumblr for my videos and daily events, since I want to keep my blogspot to my writing.
check it out and follow me! :)

www.sevendiamonds.tumblr.com

Christmas 2011: La Union

2011-12-30T01:45:00.000+08:00

Re-Offender

2011-12-19T17:10:00.000+08:00

I haven't been blogging as much for the past ... 6 months or so, and that's been a routine. I blog like hell for a few months, then I go on hiatus for a year. I just don't know if anybody actually bothers reading this stuff, not that it should matter, but I like knowing that some people are interested in my thoughts. I'm contemplating moving to wordpress or something, because Blogger just feels so outdated. I don't even know the pros/cons of wordpress lol so that might be pointless. Not like moving will help me write any better.

Anyway, I'm in that pickle where you don't really have anyone who'll understand the complexities of your mind except yourself, and writing it all out is the best way to put your thoughts into something concrete. There's always the problem of wording it, though. Thoughts are so intangible, but so potent. It's so difficult to put what you really mean into words.

Oh, language, you're a funny thing.

I'm a bit inconsistent when it comes to trusting. It's so hard to gain, but so easy to lose. Like a reputation, I guess. I've always been a bit too trusting. Once you're a regular in my life, I don't really hold back when it comes to trust. I'm always wary, though. With everyone. I always assume something bad might be brewing, or that a friend might have a secret grudge against me. I guess that doesn't make me so trusting after all. Or maybe it does, I'm probably just paranoid.

There's this one person who constantly lets me down, and I always pull out more chances. I guess when you love someone you start off by saying "one more chance," or "this is the last time," but you never really mean it once that second, third, fourth, time comes around. I'm lost in that grey-zone of "What I Should Know" when it comes to another person's life. We all have things we hide from certain people, like from parents, people you aren't close to, boyfriends, even. I guess I don't like hiding things from boyfriends, and I don't like things hidden from me, I like to know exactly where I stand. But based on all the recurring issues, I suppose that the universe is trying to tell me that it's naive to assume you know everything.

It's probably also naive to assume that someone can permanently stop hurting you.

It's also naive to assume that you aren't hurting the other person.

I'm naive.

December 13, 2011.

2011-12-13T00:22:00.000+08:00

I’m taking up Environmental Science for my science classes this Sem, and since it’s all about being practical with our resources and whatnot, our teacher decided that we’d be making a Christmas tree out of recycled materials for our class project. Ironically, the base of the tree is made of styrofoam and we actually had to go out and buy the Sprite bottles, but that’s a different story.

Each group was required to bring in 5 cans, 5 1.5L bottles and 5 500mL bottles of Sprite to contribute, basically, that’s a whole lot of soda. One of my friends, Tori, doesn’t even drink soda, and decided that we should maybe give it away in the spirit of Christmas. So us two foreign-looking girls stand by the side of McDonalds Katipunan, pour out our Sprite into different plastic cups, and offer them to the street vendors sitting near us.

Obviously they were hesitant at first and politely refused, but I tried my best to explain that we had a project and needed the bottles. I guess they realized the Sprite wasn’t poisoned when they saw our large supply.

We caught the attention of two young boys, the type who help you park your car for some spare coins. It didn’t take long for our first bottle to run out, with them asking for refills and calling their friends over. I have to admit, when they started shouting at all their friends, telling them to get free Sprite, filling up cups and running across the street to hand them to the other workers, I felt so overwhelmed and gay and teary-eyed!! That kind of thing probably didn’t happen very often, so they were seriously sharing the opportunity. Anyway, we made our way up the road, and passed by some friends at Starbucks who were emptying out their own bottles of soda, so we invited them to come hand out the drinks with us. With each cup we gave out, we wished “Merry Christmas” and every vendor, child, construction worker, tricycle driver, guard and beggar returned a smile and said “Thank you.” along with the one, “Hey! I love you!” I got from a construction worker lol

Anyway, I stopped by McDonalds just now (hours after today’s adventure) and saw this little girl from the overpass that afternoon, after we gave her the drink, she led us to her little brother who was sitting outside 7-11. She recognized us and said “Hello Ate Sprite! You are beautiful!” to Tori and I, and we just felt like a million bucks.

The Whale Song

2011-12-01T01:57:00.000+08:00

Adrift on the ocean floor; weightless and numb.

Searching for a feeling from long ago.

A thread of memory, uncut in the clutter of yesteryear.

Salty breath and seafoam hair, I cannot place myself.

Oil-slick pools in the night sky; turquoise glass by daylight.

Therapeutic powers of the sun, awake me from this idle dreaming.

Awake me by the monstrous crash of waves beneath fishermen's boats.

Rust up my windows and stiffen my clothes that hang on the line.

White, crisp, scent of sea.

HONG KONG & MACAU 2011

2011-11-02T20:21:00.000+08:00

It's hard to look back and see the truth.

2011-10-12T22:45:00.000+08:00

I feel somewhat sad. Not the obvious sadness, but the kind that creeps up on you and reminds you of a time long ago, where things were much happier and vivid, and the nostalgia leaves you feeling funny because you realize that you no longer live in colour like you used to. It's like finishing an episode of your favourite tv show and realizing you have to wait a week for the next one, or submitting a project when you know that you could have done so much better.

I don't know if I've matured or if something inside me died.

Maybe it's the paranoia, I've been so paranoid lately, and by lately I mean a year or so. I've been growing up a lot in the past few years and faced things that not many of my peers have faced. Maybe that's what makes some of the daily happenings seem like pointless footnotes in a world of such bigger events.

And it worries me, because I don't want to be that grayscale person with the cloud constantly overhead. Wasn't I a fun person, once upon a time? Wasn't I carefree and loud and energetic? I don't feel that way anymore, I feel like there's a barrier that stops me once I reach a certain level of energy, and now I just can't be bothered to get any higher. But it makes me so sad to think that I'll never be that childish again.

Is this growing up, or is this just sadness?

I've always been saying that when a person you love dies, a part of you dies too.

But it's not just that, it can't be.

BLACK PROM.

2011-09-25T15:50:00.000+08:00

So, the theatrical musical I was a part of for the past 2 months has finally come to a close. I don't know how to feel, because Black Prom gave me so much to be happy about. Acting is one of my first passions, and to be able to do it again seemed surreal. Yes, the hours were long and it was hard to balance sleep, school, friends and BlueRepertory, but it was so worth it in every way. I don't know what I'll be doing from 4pm-10pm now. I don't know how I'll spend my breaks in college. I don't know what jokes I'll be telling! This is horrible. But nonetheless, I'm so grateful it happened.

The summer we sat in the sun, we raised you.

2011-08-06T13:42:00.000+08:00

Saliva dried up in our mouths like an August drought, and a thin layer of sweat filmed our faces. Eyes squinted up at the sky as the sun burned holes through our eyelids. We were children on the bridge to adulthood, teenagers, still discovering our place in the world, questioning if there was even such a thing.

Ripened peaches fell from the trees and hit the ground like canonballs, their fuzzy skin bursting with juices; flies hovered over the destroyed fruit, sucking up their nectar. The sweet stench filled the hot air, both refreshing and sickly.

It was the peak of summer, the orchard alive with birds and bees. We were tasked to stay outside and scare the pests away when we would much rather be jumping into cool, clean waters, drenching our clothes, and playing with the frogs.

Those days were the epitome of summer: lying in the orchard and swimming in the lakes, walking through the amber woods, hours of car drives going nowhere in particular, and nights around the dining table, stuffing our faces with mom's meals, fighting and loving and dancing in the living room, carving our names onto the porch and meeting that one boy secretly in the middle of the night.

Braulio's keg party

2011-06-05T20:04:00.000+08:00

Words that would melt in your hands.

2011-06-05T14:22:00.000+08:00

Oh my god, you guys. Oh my god!
Something amazing and downright lucky has happened to me!
Let me take you through a virtual step-by-step tour.

It was really late at night when I was checking out my blog, and I came across this:

And I was like, yeah that's totally me that's from Tricia Gosingtian's blogpost about Bloggers United (the bazaar I went to a few days ago where I was lucky enough to get a photo with her, and in return she took one of me) So I wondered why somebody was asking, so I decided to go to Tricia's blog and check out that specific post. `Lo and behold! What do I find? Yes, someone is actually asking about me!

So I'm like, WHOAH what is this? Somebody likes my style! BUT THAT'S NOT THE BEST PART, GUYS. WAIT FOR IT ..

I was alone in my bedroom so I didn't exactly have to keep composure

This, my friends, is an exact portrayal of my emotions at that given time.

So I messaged her back as soon as I could, attempting to keep the over-analyzing at a bare minimum, and then the best thing happened!

I just don't understand how blessed I can be! Albeit, my life works in a series of cycles, I have a few months of total shit, then it suddenly does a 180 and life becomes a rainbow for a while .. soon enough it turns to shit, then back to a rainbow and so on.

Anyway, of course I wrote a lovely message back to her but guess what I find out?

........

WHY NOT? DAMN YOU TWITTER! YOU MADE ME REPLY HER VIA A MENTION AND SHE PROBABLY GETS 3243024324 MENTIONS EACH HOUR! NOW SHE'LL THINK I'M NOT INTERESTED AND SHE'LL FORGET ABOUT ME AND LEAVE ME TO DIE.

So I emailed her Gmail, and my fingers are crossed she sees it and replies sometime. I feel so lucky that I managed to catch her eye, and you cannot imagine how happy I am! I'm shitting rainbows! And I feel a bit bad because I don't want people to think I'm bragging, I'm just sharing this very happy experience with all of you. If it does push through, you can bet I will blog like hell about it.

Cross your fingers for me, guys!

The one where I endorse a banana cream pie

2011-06-04T01:09:00.001+08:00

So it's one in the morning and I'm finally fully rested from the hectic day I had yesterday. Our photoshoot had a 6am call time, and can you imagine, they told us we'd end at 10pm. Fourteen hours. FOURTEEN. HOURS. But thankfully! We ended around 4pm so it was only 10 hours, which is still draining to be honest. The ad is going to be released on June 19th, so keep your eyes peeled! There was a ridiculous amount of laughing and bonding during the day, we even took over the make-up room and had our girl talk, the hairdressers and makeup artists kept laughing at our kilig moments and our bitching :))

The whole crew!

I met up with my boyfriend after, he had to come straight from college, and had Bon Chon! It was my first time and I think he oversold it, because I thought it was good but not as amazing as he made it seem. We then went to Classic Confections or whatever that pastry shop is called because my sweet tooth has been crying like a 3 year old baby who hasn't been fed in a week, and had a banana cream pie which WAS amazing! So guys whenever you head over to Greenbelt 5, go to that periwinkle pastry shop beside John and Yoko and get yourself a banana cream pie.

I was exhausted so he brought me back to his house and I fell asleep there as he did his reading/homework/whatever they do in college. I woke up around 9pm and got mauled by his pugs (he has 6!!) and had cupped noodles and kool-aid and went home. And slept forever.

2011-05-30T21:43:00.000+08:00

Ara took this photo

plant begonias, and orchids in your hair.

2011-05-19T01:03:00.001+08:00

Just got back from Anvaya with Xavi, Giulia and Braulio. It was a much needed beach getaway where we basically ate, laughed and relaxed. I hope we get to go again sometime soon.

There's nothing more dangerous than an Idea.

2011-05-13T03:54:00.000+08:00

Its risky that I post this somewhere so public for people to see, actually, the only person I'm worried about reading this is the person it is written for, you know who you are. Hell, everyone knows who you are. God forbid this actually makes you feel good about yourself after reading it. Oh well, I'm slightly protected by the knowledge that you don't frequent my blog, even though my know how much it means to me. Here goes nothing ..

I hate to admit it, but I'm lying in bed thinking of you. I know, I'm a cliche. It's 4am, the borderline of the fifth day of no talking, or is it sixth? I've lost track of time. I imprison myself in assumptions I know are false, in thoughts that are corrupted by my own self, playing the blame game and directing hatred onto people who are not the problem at all. It's you, and it's me. I don't know where I went wrong, and I'm definitely not blaming myself for our collapse, but I always wonder why I wasn't enough. I can list down all your problems easily: Chronic liar, fake-personality, etc., but it's easy to point fingers and let yourself go un-assessed. Though it does bother me that you don't try to contact me whatsoever. No apologies, no ~~explanations~~ excuses, nothing whatsoever.It's both a disappointment and a relief. But I do wish you had a legitimate explanation behind your actions, so that I can finally stop inventing my own.

Watching from rooftops.

2011-05-11T23:56:00.002+08:00

It was a rusty morning: grass dew-laced, air thick. We sat cross-legged in a transfixed state of a blurry sunrise, of gaps in our memories, overtaken by nostalgia of days unspent, of places inexistent. Cigarettes stubbed out on the grass, grey ash scattered under my bruised-knees. The surrounding homes pulsated to the heartbeat of the neighbourhood, street-lamps switched off on cue and dogs stretched out on lawns, spines curving dangerously low.

I really should've been in bed by then, but alcohol never induced me to sleep. Instead, I chain-smoked my way into daylight, chatting idly with the others. We all had our own quirks, and mine was reacting to the unspoken thoughts in my head; a laugh, a shudder, a sigh, all mysterious to those around me. Households were awaking and weariness was creeping into our bones, a sign for bed, but the risk of losing all fatigue as I hit the mattress, of tossing and turning to the soundtrack of my depressed thoughts scared me back into lucidity.
Lighting another cigarette, I soldiered on.

Todays adventure.

2011-05-09T22:29:00.000+08:00

Had our yearly Makati Sports Club tradition for Regina's birthday, and it turned out fun as usual! From early morning texts, clothes for cold weather, forgotten cupcakes (later found and devoured), food, food and more food, laughing non-stop, talking about everything, wading in the kiddie pool, a possibly-damaging sauna, jumping in the pool and being warded off my a territorial 9 year old, mcd's drive through (we were served by kids!) and a crazy card ride back home :)

This is the second video I've tried, I'm still very new to this and am such an amateur, but it makes me happy :)

Monuments.

2011-05-07T18:28:00.002+08:00

I'm trying to purge myself of the internet, of my cellphone, of any device that provides communication because I cannot fight the urge to try contact you and disregard the wishful thinking that you'll actually reply even though I know you won't. So I'm left browsing through photographs and artwork that never fail to remind me of you. Its like dynamite, the single spark of an idea ignites this long chain of memories that leads to the explosive concept of you. I've been taking deep breaths and sitting in secluded corners of the house, thinking of what I can do to distract myself. The neat and orderly lines in every book I open don't interest me right now, but at least I have my music. At least I have my writing. I'm proud to say that I scribbled down a page-worth of thoughts, which is the most I've done in a while.

Isn't there a saying that goes something like, the best inspiration for an artist is heartbreak?

Candy-Apple Red.

2011-05-03T22:25:00.003+08:00

I had a shoot for Chalk's upcoming back-to-school June issue. It was my first actual shoot for something public and .. It was a lot of fun! I had the whole school-girl theme going on, and I got to wear a bunch of clothes as well as use that turquoise floral satchel from Aldo I really wish I owned. The whole crew was friendly, especially the photographer :)) He was quite the character and he got me laughing throughout the whole day, which kinda stopped me worrying about whether or not I was doing a good job. Coincidentally, Xavi's also going to be in Chalk's June issue! He's being featured as an incoming-college freshman. It's so funny how were in the same issue of the same magazine, ironic, really. Anyway, make sure you get it once it hits stalls! Chalk is actually a really good magazine, aimed for the college teen, not as immature as some other magazines I could name. Well here are photos of the day, and I really feel some creative writing coming up so hopefully I'll be able to spit something out. :)

I think we've established that.

2011-04-23T23:09:00.002+08:00

Just got back from a 2 day trip at Lipa with The Gustilos and Zahars.

We had the Sleepy Haha's throughout the whole trip, you know, that mood where you're sleepy, you find everything funny and you have this spaced-out laugh. We trekked down to a jungle stream and tossed rocks, Audrey's dad taught us how to use a gun! Played the A-Z game about a hundred times and repeated the phrases "Xylophone" "Danish Purple" "Fingernails" and "Armadillo" countless times. We drank sake and played ridiculous games, and ate lots and lots of good food.

Blogs of Interest

2011-04-22T00:40:00.000+08:00

Check out some of my friends personal blogs!
There's Ara if you like expressive people and logs of her summer adventures
And Andy if you like expressive people and their cool photo-editing skillz

The Unbreakable Vow

2011-04-20T23:37:00.001+08:00

I've been watching these wedding videos made by Jason Magbanua, and they're just so touching. They keep making me cry :( im such a sap

Wake up, kids.

2011-04-18T02:10:00.004+08:00

On dusty swings, we wiped sweat off our foreheads with our grubby hands that housed dirty nails. In the tall grass, we conjured exotic worlds from the maze of our imagination, we braided weeds into daisy chains and crowned ourselves and stained our knees with mud and blood, long limbs bruised all the way down like treasure trails.

Catching ladybugs in marmalade jars, digging up worms in the backyard, nothing seemed short of adventure. The small trees that lined the garden grew ten stories tall and held homes of fiction, ones we lived in, high in the sky, we were blind to the fact our feet had never left the ground. Housecats wandered, we mistook them for tigers. Our knees pressed tight to our chests, in a land that no one else knew.

Idle actions with no purpose, we were caught up in reverie. Our white collared shirts stuck to our backs in the heat, lips hung open and eyes wandered lazily. It was the effect of the summer air, it had struck us all with the Dreamer's Disease.

Sunkissed Supreme

2011-04-16T13:44:00.001+08:00

I got back from Bora a few days ago and it took me a while to get out of the sleepy, sundrenched mode it put me in. It was one of the best vacations ever, since I went with friends and we basically had five fun-filled days.

Everything was on our side.

We spent our days worshipping the sun by laying beneath it and sipping icy drinks, skimboarding along shallow waves and all around growing closer to one another, our nights were spent with loud music and crowds of people, walking back home during the early hours, sharing meaningful conversations under star-dappled skies. Everyday was an adventure in its own, from climbing over rocks to get to the white strip, to evading the creepers who eyes seem to feast upon too much.

I made a new family on that trip, one that I will forever share the memory of Boracay, summer 2011 with.

GRADUATION DAY

2011-04-01T11:15:00.000+08:00

So, I guess this is it? We've come down to our last day of high school, ever. No more counting down the days until summer, because we've finally reached the end. It's a bit strange, and it hasn't sunk in properly but I have a feeling that tears will be streaming down my tears later.
I recall my first day at CSA, nervous as hell because I was scared nobody would like me and I wouldn't have any friends, but thankfully enough, I met great people straight away. I remember Marj, Aly and Miko being the first people to talk to me, they brought me around and introduced me to what felt like the entire student population, I couldn't remember faces or names, just the pain in my cheeks from the fake smiling and the breathless waves of Hi's flying here and there.

And then came the first group I ever had in CSA, composed of Regg, Ina, Divisha, Carina, Nina, Bianca and Yu Fei :) God, we were a crazy bunch. We laughed so loudly, we ran around like children, we played around like the immature budding teens we were, and that's why I loved them so much. They made every single day worth going to school, because no matter how many changes I was going through, from leaving a life in Malaysia behind, these were the girls who brought me to a happier place every single day.

1H was a great class to have during my first year, it was wild! And we had an amazing adviser, Mr Cruzado. He knew when to be strict and he knew when to have fun. He was always thoughtful and planned so many things for our class, even though that was the year of his wedding (heehee, we even had plans to crash it) and he made sooo many VIDEOS for us. And whenever we had video contests, he always did the editing.
Yeah, Freshman year was a ride.

Actually, all of High school was a crazy ride. So many things happened, and we learned so many things outside the classroom as well as inside it. 4 Years ago, I never would have expected half the things that happened. I made friends, I lost friends. I had a few fights, but I grew from them. I made a lot of mistakes, but I know better now. I went through a lot of hard times, but those hard times showed me who was by my side and who I could count on. Friends, Teachers, Strangers inspired me throughout these 4 years, and my only regret is
that I could've made more friends, but I never took the opportunities that came my way.

And now Senior Year is coming to a close and I'll be standing among 400 other people, receiving a diploma and standing as a batch for the last time. It's starting to sink in.
We won't see each other anymore. To think, all the people I've never even spoken to, I'm sad that I'll never get the chance. I'm sad that we just won't be that batch anymore, at least not until our 10 year reunion. This is it. High school is over and we move on with our lives. Where do we go from here? Will we meet again? Will we still talk on a regular basis? Promise me, friends, that we will still try our best to catch up, even if its just once in a while. Promise me, friends, that even if we only see each other once a year, it'll be like old times?
My first year group, My 2I family, My G-Girls, and all the other people who changed my life during high school, I couldn't thank you enough. And I hope that you accomplish all the dreams you have, and do everything you want to do.

We're a special bunch, we are.

I can now go to Jail

2011-03-27T16:24:00.001+08:00

I'm 18, everybody! Not that I feel any different or any more mature than I did on my last day of being 17. Anyway, all great events require great celebration, or some sort of celebration rather (I wouldn't call this one "great") so I invited a bunch of friends over to my house for some chill fun that included drinks, shisha, a giant pizza and some ps3 :)

Erica came over earlier than the others to help me prep the drinks, we made our own lovely concoction of gatorade, sprite, lime juice and gin. She helped me a lot, actually. Eternally grateful for friends like her!

Braulio and Xavi brought the 4x4 feet pizza and hauled it over the gate, it was a miracle we managed to fit it through my door! Monster pizza from El Buono! I was actually worried it wouldn't be enough since I had invited around 30 people

But then we opened it and realized it was huge.

My wonderful girls, minus Ara who happens to be missing.

Lol gia looks so lost. Here are some of the guys playing Black Ops or DJ Hero or whatever was on the tv screen. Quinio even picked up one of my awkward child photo's and passed it around and told everyone to laugh. What a nice guy :))

I like these photos. They're pretty.

I know, I know. Shisha's unhealthy and it's just an in-thing, but honestly it was fun and it set a really chill mood to the party. I'm grateful Divisha let us use her pipe. If you're wondering, the flavour was "~~Deranged~~ Confused pineapple" actually, no, okay it was pineapple-banana but it tasted really weird. Fruity, but a weird fruity. So we added an Eclipse mint to it and that kinda improved the flavour a bit. lol

A huge thank you to everyone who came, you made it a really fun night :)

Grow On Grow Up Grow Out

2011-03-12T17:17:00.002+08:00

"the summer holds a song we might sing forever"

Josh Pyke, The Summer

The last day of regular school has passed! Our exams are over and now, all we have to brace ourselves for are nonsensical days of graduation practice and whatnot. It's basically summer, except we still have to go to school to learn how to line up and collect diplomas.

Anyway, it's an unspoken tradition that you go out with your friends whenever it's the last day of exams, so a group of us went over to Polo Club, courtesy of Gabe Lesaca, and ate and swam and fought with exboyfriends. Or maybe that was just me.

It was fun, regardless of whatever brief spat I encountered at the end of the day. I've been in dire need of sun and water, I cannot wait until April 5 because that's when we fly to Bora!

Sometimes all you need to be happy is to feel the earth under your bare feet, the good company of friends, and something edible.

Galactic Symphonies

2011-03-12T12:56:00.004+08:00

I was going through some of my late father's old files when I stumbled across his astrophotography. He seriously invested in his telescopes and lenses and took amazing photos of the night sky.

I remember how he'd be outside during the dark hours between 12 and 5 in the morning, staying however long it took just to take one perfect photo.

And how he'd spend his days with his lenses laid out on his bed, carefully cleaning each and every one of them. It makes me sad to think of all his treasures locked up in a box, going to waste.

He made us promise never to sell them, but we don't know what to do with them. I don't know how to use them, even though I know he really wants me to.

And that kills me a little inside- knowing that I cannot keep that promise.

Baby spider monkeys are cute

2011-03-10T11:02:00.000+08:00

Baby spider monkey Estela is without maternal love and guidance after her mother rejected her when she was born on January 17.

Keepers at Melbourne Zoo are monitoring the tiny primate around the clock, worried that she has not had the chance to develop normally after being emotionally traumatized.

A range of stuffed toys are being used to try and create some warmth and support for the two-month old while she comes to terms with how her mother shunned her.

Starry Eyed

2011-03-08T14:42:00.000+08:00

I've been overcome by the strongest urge to buy a ps3. There's this voice inside my head before I go to sleep, and it tells me that I need a ps3 to discover the meaning of life. Okay, maybe it doesn't say that. But something along those lines! I'm blaming my dear friends (and extended family members) Darren Sapalo and Kevin Fornier. They got me hooked onto Black Ops.

Check out our game faces.

2011-03-05T20:23:00.000+08:00

It was a secret haven littered with remnants of youth: broken bottles, shards of glass scattered across the floor, burned pieces of paper from nights of boredom, old and empty cigarette packets, a dusty armchair and newspaper clippings among other things. It was a time capsule, and he said it was ours for the taking. We could relive our golden days, go back to the time where everything was okay and all of today's problems, frustrations, fights, none of them would mean a thing.

Wake up, kids !

2011-02-17T21:29:00.003+08:00

we've got the dreamers disease

Six minutes of indecision followed by the wrong decision. Or was it right? You never really know until all that you've done has become a memory you can look back on. There are no mistakes, only lessons, and every decision is a fork in the road, we can never escape the what if's maybe in a parallel universe, there would be no lies, no insecurities, nothing wrong at all. We'd all be happy and be free of heartache. We'd all love until our hearts give out and we'd know nothing of pain. But that would be boring, we'd never learn, we'd never have stories to tell.

In your head.

2011-02-16T13:25:00.000+08:00

It's funny how you think you can trust a person. And when they blow it, you're left wondering if they were who you thought they were all along. Was I being lied to all those months? I simply cannot look past the pain. Trust is a fragile thing.

And illusions are a bitch.

The worst part is I still have hope, still have faith that things will get better and they will change and that there's still truth among other things. I don't want to taint the memories.

My eyes are swollen and I just want to lie in bed all day and feel sorry for myself. How do I learn to pick myself up from this? How do I learn to trust other people again? I've been faced with this issue so many times, maybe it's about time I fully accept that nobody can be trusted, no matter how often I try to see the light in them. Everyone on earth is evil and all you have is yourself.

2011-01-18T21:18:00.000+08:00

On the windowsill of Jove's palace rests the urn of blessings and the urn of evil, two inevitable ingredients that spark and fizzle into a hundred fireworks, setting the navy canvas alight and spiraling smoke upwards into the heavens; born from the ashes is life.

Good and bad go hand in hand, and always have. They are the original contrasts that complement, without one, there is no other.

The past year has been eventful, to say the least. I haven't been writing as much as I wish I was, but this sudden wake to reality has turned me optimistic and alive and craving for some kind of creative output. I can splatter my empty spaces with cobalts, violets and aquamarines, I can prance around the room and spill with laughter, but too often does my memory replay the projections of change against the white walls of my eyelids, how things used to be so different, so gloomy and dark.

The death of my father initiated the long stretch of misery wherein I was practically dragging each day by the nails just to carry on, things were so difficult and there was no end in sight.

But today, I have a permanent smile of radiance etched into my face, and yes, I have noticed a pattern, where good and bad take separate turns to navigate this ship through misty waters, each taking their sweet time, causing me to adapt to the change in weather when one overtakes the other.

But for now, it's all smooth sailing, and I have another few months of these blessings to soak up.

Come what may, I am ready.

I hate relying on my heart.

2010-12-13T19:05:00.000+08:00

And not knowing whether or not what you're feeling is right. I hate overestimating emotions. I hate believing that everything is okay, just to fall flat on your face and realize it isn't. I will never know how real things are from your perspective, I only know my side of the glass, and I hate it. I wish I was all knowing, I hate the risk that comes with trusting. I hate the crack that never goes away when someone loses your trust.

In the safety of her light, I am set free;

2010-11-28T19:44:00.001+08:00

He drove carefully down the twisting lanes, and his excitement was growing rapidly as the distance between them shrunk. He had plans on catching the sunset for her; throwing a lasso around it and locking it in a bottle, but he forgot that November time ticks to a different beat, that days were shorter and ultimately, that meant less time with her. The sunset would've been beautiful, but he had forgotten to plan, as men often do.

She trotted out of her house playfully kidding around with her mom, bidding her goodbye, and assuring her she would be home early, that no alcohol was involved in the evening plans, and yes, he would drive safely. After her routine of sliding onto the passenger seat, a quick kiss, and a deep sigh of comfort, she felt at home once again. Here, beside him, in the car that held all those long conversations they shared on the way home, all the secrets and life memories that slipped off their tongues, all the goodbyes that reminded them the night was over, and they had separate homes to retire to.

He soaked up her efflorescence, it had been a while since they were both so happy in each others company, and she felt like she had fallen in love all over again, that the difficult times were over, and this was where she was supposed to be.

An excerpt from a title-less story I wrote just now

2010-11-07T20:54:00.000+08:00

In their tribe, it was customary for every boy to venture off into the wild with his father as soon as he was of the right age, and Konu and Kele's mother, Natasha, had decided that it was time. Nobody ever spoke of what to expect during the journey, Kele only knew that all the boys that left always came back looking different: rough around the edges, and all traces of childlike-innocence and dreaming had vanished from their eyes. They would leave as boys, and come back as men.

"We're here," Konu announced

Kele looked up and saw the same tapestry of stars he saw every night; a mess of undecipherable constellations overhead.

"Which constellation is it?"

"Look with your mind, Kele."

Kele looked up, and saw nothing different from the first night, and every night he looked at the stars. There were too many to spot any constellations at all.

"Father, I really can't see it."

His father smiled, as if he was expecting this, and nodded his head. He fumbled with his bag and the few pieces of wood he brought along, striking them together until a small fire lit up on the end of one. He handed it to Kele, "Help me look for wood, we need to build a fire if we wish to stay alive."

"How will I come back to find you? It's pitch black out here, father,"

"The stars will guide you,"

Kele bit his lip, he didn't trust himself to be out in the wild, let alone in the middle of the night, but he didn't want to disappoint his father. He took the burning tree branch and started walking into the darkness, he knew the fire would only last around an hour. He turned around to look back at his father, but he couldn't see past the almost-solid black of the night.

"Keep going, Kele! Standing there won't get you anything," Konu called.

It was a while until Kele finally walked into what must have been an oasis once upon a time, there was a dry cracked indent in the earth where a lake would've fit perfectly, and dead trees were scattered around. He made it a point that he walked in a straight line, so he could just turn around go back the way he came without the hassle of getting lost. He wondered if he looked mature yet, like the rest of the boys that had already gone through this custom, but his inner voice told him the journey was nowhere near over. He broke branches off the trees, piled them under his arm and lit a new torch with the dying flame of his old one.

"Time to go back," he muttered to himself. He looked up at the splatter of stars again, wondering which constellation his father was talking about, it was a mystery to him.

Kele walked for eternity in the darkness of the desert, with only his small ring of light surrounding him. He knew there was no way he'd find his father, and he was starting to wonder if that was the plan. He recalled the words of his friend Hat'o,

"It was both terrible and magnificent, that is all I can say. You will learn soon, Kele, your time will come. All I can tell you is, trust your instincts and listen to the voice inside you, it is almost always right."

Kele tried to listen to his instinct, but it was doubtful, what if his father had left him and gone back to the camp himself? No, not in this darkness. What if he sent Kele away to fend for himself in the wild?

The wind was getting stronger; Kele assumed he had entered the bracket of time that was most dangerous, the dark hours where everything seemed more sinister. His father's words crept into his mind, "Look with your mind, the stars will guide you,"

He looked up at the stars again, and hope fell short. It still looked like a messy universe to him. He fell back into the cold sand and lay there, watching the stars torment him.

Youre the only light I ever saw.

2010-10-19T18:02:00.001+08:00

They sat on her bed, albums spread around them, technicolour photos scattered across the cloth continents of blue. He was there often, the only company she had to keep, and she was thankful for it for his presence saved her from creating personalities in her head. She knew she would be okay as long as she had him. She always showed him something she kept close to her heart whenever he visited her: sometimes a playlist of her favourite songs, or a box of old letters, recently she had been showing him photographs: still images of ghosts from her past captured onto glossy paper.

She had spent weeks contemplating when she should show him her most personal item, a box that was entirely hers and nobody else’s; a box containing her very own memories. She decided tonight would be the night.

She watched him under the glow of the orange table lamp, intently looking through the photographs, running his fingers over the people’s faces, as if asking them to tell him their stories. He looked up, and met her eyes.

“Yeah?”

She looked at the box on the uppermost shelf, and jerked her head toward it, then looked back at him.

“Are you sure?” he asked, a slight sense of surprise on his face

She nodded, a second too late; he could sense the hesitancy,

“No, you don’t have to”

“I want to,”

“Are you sure?”

“I think so,”

“I don’t want to see into your past unless you want me to. I don’t have to.”

“I want you to, I’m just scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of what you might find,”

“I don’t want to look unless you want to show me,”

“I want to show you; as long as you promise things won’t change afterwards,”

“Of course they won’t”

“Promise?”

“Promise. But I don’t want you to show me if you’re going to regret it after. It should be something that’ll make you happy. I don’t want you to feel like you shouldn’t have taken the risk with me,”

“I won’t regret it; I want you to know this part of me.”

“What part is that?”

“The part that no one else knows”

He pulled the box over onto his lap and she smiled a wide grin as he opened the lid, and out pour every wonder. Memories, fluid as a midnight vapour in the icy months of the arctic, wispily slipped through his fingers and coiled up his arms, they climbed up his neck and sleeves and down his socks and ran through his hair, they latched onto her clothes and spiraled around her torso, like gazelles in the African bush. Every birthday, every heart break, every second of pride and accomplishment, every mundane weekday that had long forgotten poured out of the capsule and burst through the room, and her entire past was played before them.

All at once, the world can overwhelm me.

2010-10-10T20:23:00.000+08:00

It's been more than two weeks since I saw you last. You said you'd come back, but its been so long that I'm starting to question your honesty, I wouldn't be surprised if you decided to stay where you are now, away from the mundane life here.

Well, whatever you're doing, I hope it makes you happy. I hope it keeps you busy. I hope it gives you a sense of accomplishment, because that's exactly what you deserve. That's what I've been searching for, for the longest time. And it comes, but it goes just as fast. I guess that's how I learned that everything is temporary; materials, feelings, even people.

The only thing making my heart tinge just a little bit is my own curiosity. Are you running away from me? That question haunts my conscience, and I guess there's no point in minding it, because the only person I am asking is myself, and as much as I wish I did, I surely don't have any answers.

I lie alone in bed all day, listening to the same song and wasting the fading daylight, but you know what? It's okay. I'm not sad, I don't feel lonely. I know you're doing what you want, and even though you're all the way over there, and I'm here, you won't ever be gone because we are family.
And people made from each others flesh and blood can never run away from one another.

Look around

2010-09-27T18:37:00.000+08:00

"Dear Prudence, won't you come out to play? Dear Prudence, greet the brand new day..."

He hums a soft tune on the tip of his tongue, the smooth melody melts into waves down his throat. He's always been able to carry a tune, no, he's always been able to practically create symphonies with his own mouth, something he's actually proud of. It was hard to find a sliver of self-respect after the accident. He hated himself for months, still does from time to time. That's the problem with grief; it's different for everyone. You think you're okay, then all of a sudden, it hurts just like it did the first day.

He looks out the barred windows, into a stretch of dusty fields. Apparently freedom lies just beyond that, something he hasn't tasted in 17 years, something waiting just around the corner. Four more days, and he'll be out. Maybe he'd visit some old friends, some relatives. His mother, if she wanted to see him. Maybe he'd get a new job, something he'd really enjoy, like singing during the late hours at a bar, or maybe even start a band and make it big one day. He'll be free as a... hell, who was he trying to kid? He'll be a part of the world again, but forever tainted with the scar of prison. Forever looked down upon, and forever the face of a criminal.

Time is running out.

2010-09-05T17:31:00.007+08:00

“I’m not crazy,” I say; my arms crossed over, feet flat on the ground.

“I never said you were,” she replies, her grey hair slicked back, her shiny glasses reflecting her eyes like two giant moons. She always has to be right, always has to be that voice of reason, which always makes sense. I hate it.

“Yeah, but you make me feel like I am. Look at you, you’re sitting there with your notebook on your lap, and I bet that everything I’m telling you is going through some kinda process in your head, and all those terms you learn in your weird psychiatrist dictionaries are speeding through your brain and you’re just looking for the one that matches me the best.”

My eyes tear up and my leg hairs stand on their ends, I’m suddenly cold and afraid. I clutch the thick black fleece of my hoodie.

“You always wear that jacket to our meetings.”

I bite my lip, should I even bring it up? Oh, what the hell.

“It was my boyfriends,”

Her eyes shine a little, and her ears perk up, like a vicious dog who has heard the distant cry of a cat.

“Was?” she asks, always listening so intently.

“Yeah, we’re not...” I fight the lump in my throat, forcing myself to believe that it’s not so bad, “We’re not.”

“I see,” she inhales, readjusting her robotic posture, “so then why do you still have that jacket?”

I think of a smart comeback but my mind is blank, it’s a question I’ve been asking myself for the past four months.

“I- I don’t know.”

“You clutched at it, just now, when you were defending yourself. Do you feel safe in that jacket?” She asks. I remain silent.

“It’s very basic human nature to hold onto something that makes us feel safe, just as infants do with their mothers, as you do with that jacket. I have a question, who left who?”

“He left me.” Three syllables tap against my teeth, I’ve grown so used to saying it to myself through the days but every time I do, the pain is re-awakened.

“Ah, I’m sorry. So he left you, he broke your heart. You still hold onto that jacket, wear it every meeting, and hold onto it when you’re scared.”

I bite my lip and look at my lap; the tears are surging up to the rim of my eyes. Please. Don’t. Fall. Please, don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

“Do you still feel a sense of longing, or need for him?”

I nod. My parents are burning holes into their pocket for this lady to “fix” me. I may as well cooperate.

The clock behind her reads 3 minutes to two, our session is coming to a close.

“I’d like you to think about it. Write all your thoughts down into a notebook and bring it next session, we’ll discuss it then.

“You have to allow yourself to let go. You may experience symptoms of withdrawal, but that is entirely normal. Here, take this to the pharmacy, they’re sleeping and eating aids. I noticed you looked a little thin.” She hands me a yellow piece of paper with the names of different medicines. I hold it loosely between two fingers.

“Why are you so cold?” I ask, bluntly.

She doesn’t flinch; she’s probably used to it.

“I am a psychiatrist, not a shrink. If you have a problem with that, maybe you would like to discuss it with your parents. We’ve reached the end of our session; I’ll be looking forward to seeing you.”

“Like you even care,” I snap, my temper rising. I can feel one of my infamous tantrums coming on.

She gets up from her leather armchair and walks me to the door, a hand on my shoulder. That’s the most affection I’ve ever received in the past 8 sessions I’ve had with her.

“I do care. You are a very interesting girl. And believe it or not, you’re making a lot of progress. Goodbye.”

She closes the door as soon as I step out into the hallway. I give a polite smile to the boy in the waiting room; kids like us are always nice to each other because we know we’re just the same. I think about her words, ‘very interesting girl’ and ‘progress’. She always finds a way to leave me hanging at the end of every meeting. I guess that’s how she always has me coming back.

Photo source:http://www.flickr.com/photos/gravitysavedme/4739443935/

Who has been living here?

2010-09-04T14:43:00.001+08:00

Source

I awake to a misty grey morning, tangled in bedsheets. My eyes slightly bruised as I slowly open them to greet the unfamiliar household. A tattered leather couch in the corner, a stack of magazines that have obviously been thumbed through several times, and a few pairs of dirty socks lying on the floor. Definitely not my house. But if not mine, then who's? I shut my eyes to recall last night's events. Clips of introductions, of one glass too many brimming with alcohol, of ice sloshing like little boats in an ocean storm, all definitions of last night, flashing like neon warnings in the back of my mind. Ah, yes. One of those nights. I'd better execute my traditional morning-after escape route.

I collect my clothes off the floor as I tiptoe to the bathroom, I push the door open silently and slip in. It's small, but thankfully, it's clean. The familiar ache along the back of my head is last nights remains catching up with me. I lean over the sink and examine my face. I look like shit. My eyebags practically reach my chin, and there's still makeup on my skin. I rinse my face quietly and feel around for some kind of cleanser, there's a pink bottle of women's facial wash on the shelf, and I raise my eyebrow at the thought of a man using this.

Wait a second.

A pink bottle of women's facial wash in my hand. A lilac bathrobe hanging on the back of the door. Two toothbrushes in the mug. Oh my god. I shoot through all the products on the shelves: perfume, hairspray, moisturizer, among the hair wax and aftershave. There's a green leather pouch, and I grab it and rip it open in the length of a breath. It contains everything I wish it did not, lipsticks, mascara, eyeshadow, every single item of make-up. I sit on the toilet feeling sick, wanting to throw up. How could I have done this?

I realize that I should get out as fast as possible. I pick my dress off the pile on the floor, yank it on, and creep out the room barefoot. I didn't even get to wash my face. I pick my shoes up off the floor and throw a horrible glare at the man passed out in his bed, I don't even want to see what he looks like. I rush out his room, turn the locks on the front door, and escape into the refuge of the hallway. The down-arrow by the elevator lights up as it reaches the floor, and a woman with luggage is revealed as the metal doors slide open. She's about to smile but she looks as if she's been caught halfway; like a movie on pause. She eyes me from head to toe, taking in my messy hair, my crumpled dress and my bare feet. I raise my eyebrows,
"Oh, I'm so sorry I'm staring. It's just, I have a dress just like that," she laughs, "Anyway, have a good morning!"
She steps out of the elevator as I step into it, and she disappears behind the corner of the hallway.

I look down at my dress. I've never seen it before in my life.

I need you so much closer.

2010-08-28T21:38:00.000+08:00

We blankly stare at each other from different sides of the glass, this is how every meeting starts. I take a step closer, and so does he. The sadness in the pools of his eyes is an old friend, but one whose company I have never enjoyed.

I'm right up against the transparent wall, hands pressed against it, the tip of my nose brushing the cold surface. He raises his hands to meet mine, he holds them flat against his side of the glass. It's painful to realise that this is the closest we'll ever get: our palms spread open on opposite sides of an invisible boundary. It hurts to know that our fingers will never interlace, our hands will never hold.

I see him mouth out a few words, the same ones I am always deaf to. I assume he's telling me that he loves me, it's the best thing I can come up with; an imaginary confirmation that he feels the same as I do, although I will never be able to tell him. I nod as if I understand him, and a smile breaks open on his face; luminous.

We stand still until days stretch into weeks and years; hands pressed against the glass, sharing sweet nothing's that cannot even be heard.

Slowly, my hands peel of the glass. The palms, gradually followed by each finger. I take a step backwards and say goodbye with a wave. The sadness in his eyes rises to the surface once again.

This is heartbreak on repeat, this is how every meeting ends.

Our love; eternally barricaded by an infinite glass wall.

I'm a creep and you're so special.

2010-08-15T19:04:00.001+08:00

Her dressing table is an orderly army of beauty cosmetics I've never seen before. I used to think that there was just lipstick and blush. Who knew there was a way to paint almost every feature of your face? What even made her think that she needed any of that stuff anyway? Her hairbrush lies neatly beside her perfumes, a few strands of copper hair stuck between the bristles. I wrap my hands around the brass drawer-handles and slowly pull the drawers open, revealing the small stack of notebooks and jewelry that is always in the same place each night.

I pick up the red Moleskine and open at a random page. It's her diary,

"I hate this. This long, grey drizzle of blunt rain, clouding my mind of any feeling whatsoever. I wish it would end. I wish it would go away and never come back, leaving only streaks of sunshine to light up my mind."

I put the notebook back, feeling slightly like an intruder in her mind as I always do when I read a new entry. I have been taking away with me pieces of her that aren't rightfully mine, but at the same time, I'm glad that I have discovered more of her. The pretty ones are always the most misunderstood. It's ironic; the most perfect girl in the world is actually a mess on the inside. I feel somewhat sorry for her, but also a sense of responsibility. I'm the only one who knows her secrets, and therefore, she needs me.

I move over to the side of her bed, a tall but narrow structure of black iron and fluffy, cloud-like pillows.

Her eyeballs move around beneath their lids, she must be dreaming. Her hands are half open and facing the ceiling, like she has fallen off a building but has never hit the ground. Her stillness amazes me, how can one be so statuesque even while asleep? She's a beauty. Her brown hair twists into messy tangles under her. Tied into buns each night to gain those perfect curls she carries so well every day. I should know.

She inhales a little deeper than before, I stiffen, worried that she might wake to find me standing over her, watching her angelic beauty while she is lost in slumber. That wouldn't be good. That would cause trouble. I wouldn't be allowed to visit her anymore if that happened. She mutters a few words, but I don't understand them. That annoys me, that does. When I lose the chance to grasp onto any single thread of her dreams. If only I knew what she said. Then I'd somehow taste a sliver of her dream, too, and we'd be closer together.

I decide to play my favourite game: I reach out towards her and flatly hover my hands over her body and see how close I can get to her skin without actually touching her. I lay my hands over her kneecaps, a few centimeters distance. I drag them up her thighs, and lower them slightly as I reach her hips. I want to hold her waist, but I cannot risk waking her up. I lower them even more so as my fingers reach her face, I have to control my urge to trace the bridge of her nose, the outline of her lips, stroke the lashes that line her eyes. I like this game. It helps me practice self-control.

She turns her head over to the other side, still asleep, but obviously more awake than she was since I first creeped into the room. She could be waking. I check the time; 2:37am. I'd better get out of here.

Tonight's visit was a little shorter than most nights, but I don't mind as long as I get to come back tomorrow night, and the night after. She sees me in school but she doesn't say hi, she doesn't even know my name.
She doesn't know how close we really are, but that's okay.
Because I do.

2010-08-15T14:08:00.000+08:00

No matter how low you may consider yourself, there's always someone lower looking up at you, just wishing they could be that high.

2010-08-14T17:35:00.000+08:00

There are far too many people in the world for any one person to be considered unique.

I cannot recall the last time I was not craving for adventure and excitement. It seems to be all I really want: A way to feel new again.

I was thinking last night, about how I've really been. How only two people have asked me how I am in a long time. Not the simple "Hi, how are you?" but a real, considerate "How have you been keeping up?"

It made me ask myself how I've been, and I honestly don't know. Am I happy? Am I sad? Am I somewhere in between? I guess you could say I'm all of it rolled into one. I'm happy, as ever. I will always be happy, but then I will also always have that constant sadness, stagnantly lingering beneath my skin. I never really know if I am a sad person with a happy mask, or the other way around. I guess that's the beauty of life being in technicolour, it's never just this or that. It's everything and nothing, all at the same time.

There isn't really anything to be sad about, to be honest. Maybe I'm just creating a little drama because I'd be lacking excitement or emotion if I didn't. Everyone does that, some more than others, but everyone nonetheless. Anyway, time for new things to happen, before I start creating too much drama.

Photo

Photo 2

You were wearing Orion's Belt.

2010-08-08T22:39:00.000+08:00

It's been a while since I've actually blogged about my day. I kind of had the notion that nobody really cared, which is.. probably true. But this is my blog so I'm going to write anything I please.

Things have been picking up in the past few weeks, Jayne's gonna write a travel article about Manila so she'll be here from Tuesday-Thursday!! I'm so excited I could do air-kicks all day long, even though I don't know how despite all the practice I try to squeeze in during my free time in spacious areas.

School has been the same as ever, constant and boring, nothing exciting happening there. Regg and I were saying how we kinda miss the scandalous days of first and second year with the whole "CSA Gossip Girl" and shit. It was really funny, and it'd be fun for something like that to pop up again, just to stimulate the circulation around school. We're all dead and tired with the whole college application shit going on.

Home is boring, too. I swear it's so lonely living with just one other person, even though I love my mom to bits. We get on each others nerves and snap at each other all the time. And our dining table is too big for just the two of us. When I have my own family, I want to pop out 4 kids and have some pets and have a bunch of helpers, and have friends over all the time, and my kids friends and whatnot so that our home will never be quiet.

Provided I can afford having that many mouths to feed.

And omg I watched Green Street Hooligans today, it was epic. It's one of my favourites now.

Saving these last words for one last miracle

2010-08-03T19:56:00.000+08:00

She could pull a hundred expressions in a single minute’s worth of talking, her many faces were interesting to watch, almost always the best part of the conversation. It was strange though; no matter how expressive her face was, her eyes were always nonchalant. It was like her eyebrows and cheeks and lips were extravagant clothing on a bleak girl: dressing her up, but not changing anything beneath the surface.

It was a while before he realised that she wasn’t talking any longer, and her eyebrow was arched over her tree-bark eyes which were so beautifully lined with lashes that fell like leaves in an autumn wind. Oh, he was staring again.

“You weren’t listening to me.” Disappointment laced her sighs.

“I was!” he protested, but her pursed lips and raised eyebrow only meant one thing: she wasn’t convinced.

“You never listen to me,” it was her same complaint all over again, and it rolled off her tongue with the roll of her eyes. He put his hand onto her shoulder, attempting to relax her before she got even more irritated. She always wanted everyone’s full attention when she spoke to them; she always wanted to be heard. She constantly built up her frustrations, and one little thing could set her off for hours. It was best to pick her back up before she fell deeper.

She shrugged his arm off her shoulder and turned around with a flip of her hair, head held high, and started walking away with direction in her march. She always liked feeling as if she was more in control than he was, but he was more familiar to this situation than anyone, and he knew how to handle it.

“You never consider what I’m saying; you just instantly jump to what you have to say,”

He felt his nerves twitch in irritation; couldn’t she see how much effort he put into every little thing he did? The words were already climbing up his throat and out of his mouth,

“Don’t be difficult,” it slipped out before he could stop himself. Her eyes widened in disbelief and annoyance, warning him that he shouldn’t have said that.

"Fuck off," she hissed. The words escaping like December sleet; cold and sharp. He kept on walking after her and occasionally reached out to hold her, he knew that giving up would only infuriate her further. She was never afraid to say mean things or throw harsh comments; she wanted to see how long he’d hold onto her joyride, how much of his ego he’d give up to win her over. And the funny part was, no matter what nasty things she’d throw at him, he’d always be the one at fault. In her mind, the things she’d say would be justified by her anger, and once she calmed down, he wouldn’t hold anything against her, because all that mattered to him was that smile on her face.

When it comes to girls like her, things are complex. You can never seem to stay mad, or give up, or worst of all: forget.

Your Favourite Dream.

2010-07-29T18:29:00.001+08:00

The first time I ever felt love was in a dream. He was faceless, just a shapely body moulded out of a mass of human flesh, and a constant darkness glowed around him; perhaps to show that he had no identity. The dream began where it always begins: In the middle, and we were walking hand-in-hand down a long stretch of road lined with pine trees, guided by the orange glow of street lamps. Stars shone, scattered overhead, like a paintbrush had been dipped in thick white paint and flung across a midnight canvas.

We stopped at the end of the road, before a line that separated the city from the woods, a backdrop of fluorescent lights glittered behind us as he turned towards me. His face was a black hole of nothingness, but I wasn’t afraid, because the love we shared showed me that the physical world was so small in comparison to that of which we cannot touch. He moved closer and we hugged; I was enveloped in a blanket of every wonder I have ever known. And when we pulled apart, I awoke, still feeling his arms around me. The projection of that faceless lover felt so real, the love I had for him still lingered when I lay in bed, recalling. I was longing for him to come back, so I could feel love, even if it was just in a dream.

Your Beliefs

2010-07-23T19:51:00.001+08:00

Most of my beliefs are based upon personal opinion. I spent years struggling with the concept of religion and I finally decided that it just didn’t work for me, because to me, religion is just an official way to seek reassurance that you aren’t in total control of your actions, that things will be okay, that there is more to life. I believe in a higher being, call it “God”, “A way of life”, “The Force”, or whatever you want, I believe that it is just a simple flow of how things fall into place, and the rest is up to you. I guess you could say that I agree with the statement “Life is 5% fate, 95% reaction”.
I think that everything that happens to you is based on how you dealt with previous situations, and every situation is a lesson we have to learn, and those lessons will repeat themselves in different ways until we finally get it.
I believe that life after death is based on your state of mind, a person who dies in his guilt will be condemned to suffer until he learns to forgive himself. Because once you die, there’s no way you can make up for what you’ve done wrong, and that, to me, is hell.
I believe in peace and love and forgiveness. I believe in both art and science, imagination and knowledge.
But most importantly, above anything else, I believe in being a good person.

A Moment.

2010-07-23T15:35:00.002+08:00

It was late into the night, probably two or three in the morning, and I was exhausted. We had gone through so much in the past few hours, and we all knew, with a quiet understanding, that the end would be soon. I sat on a hard plastic chair, giving my back a rest from the weight of my body. I took a look around the hospital ward, nurses were everywhere, the flourescent lights were blinding, and the machines beeped constantly. That’s what I hated the most, and that’s the specific sound that always brings me back to that very night: the constant beeping of a life-support machine, it’s haunting when you realise that when a person is in a coma, those machines are all you have to decipher life from death.

I kept my eye on the machine, taking note of every drop in number, believing that zero would mean goodbye. I kept staring at that machine, the red and green digits indicating oxygen levels and heartbeat. I kept staring until they turned into swirls and stopped making sense.

The numbers fell from the seventies.. to the fifties.. to the twenties, and lingered around nineteen for a while. I kept watching the machine and listening to its evil rhythm, when out of nowhere the numbers hit zero. Every sound in the room was muted, all I could hear was the pounding of my heart against my ribcage. My brain stopped working, I just couldn’t function. I felt paralyzed.

And then the numbers jumped back up, still dangerously low, but at least they weren’t zero.

Your Definition of Love

2010-07-20T19:30:00.000+08:00

Love changes over time, from a burning passion to a warm comfort, to a tried and tested bond that has kept strong through the years. It manifests itself in countless ways, like words and kisses and gifts and time, but underneath it all, love is always a mystery.

Love is letting down all your fences, allowing someone or something to break into you and crush your very soul, but trusting them not to. Love is taking care of that special piece of someone’s heart as if it were your own, putting your needs after theirs. Love is risky, it means being vulnerable and possibly making a fool of yourself but taking the chance so that your restless heart will (hopefully) be at peace.

I don’t believe that all love is unconditional, because people can fall in love anywhere: With a face you pass on the street, with a new song, with a place that evokes old memories. These things can stir up the sweetest of all emotions, but disappear as quickly as it came.

Unconditional love is special; it is formed when two souls are bound to one another, and nothing, not even death, can part them. Unconditional love is often tested in the harshest ways, from the ultimate sacrifice to the decision of your utmost priorities in life. People who share unconditional love always find their way back to one another, no matter how many times they are forced apart.

My Parents.

2010-07-18T10:37:00.002+08:00

Both my parents’ lives are somewhat of a reflection to the other. Both of them ran away from home at 16 to escape the constraints of their abusive and narrow-minded households. My father moved into the cheapest hotel he could find and went straight to work for a firm. My mother moved in with her aunt and it wasn’t long until her cousin offered her a simple job in Hong Kong, my mother pounced at the opportunity to take it, dropping out of college to do so.

My father spent his youth traveling and enjoying it with a group of friends, from living in Jamaica for a few months, to road trips across Europe that lasted weeks. It was after a trip to Cebu, when he went back to Hong Kong and met my mother. She probably evoked fond memories of his holiday, her Filipina charm and beauty had him at first sight. She moved into his apartment after a few months and became the talk of the town, but she didn’t care; they were in love.

It was two years later when my dad was being shifted to work in Washington, my mother didn’t have the right papers to go with him, and she was ready to go back to her home in the Philippines. They were forced to separate, and my mother thought that was the end, but she was wrong.

My father, after a few lonely weeks in Washington, must have realised what was important to him. He booked the first flight to Manila, rented a broken down car when he got there, and ventured off onto a quest to find her, with only a map as his guide. Along the way, he stopped for directions and asked a man if he knew who “Maria Luisa Santos” was, and by some strike of fate, that man turned out to be my mother’s cousin, who showed my dad the way to her

2010-07-16T13:55:00.000+08:00

"A minor who is not a Filipino citizen and holds a foreign passport is not required to secure a travel clearance."

http://www.dswd.gov.ph/index.php/categoryblog/1886-travel-clearance-for-minors-

Fuck you, Philippines, for thriving on corruption to uphold your bank accounts and for having no sense of right or wrong. You think you're so patriotic and humble and united? Well guess what, you're a cheater, and a liar and you are getting worse as the years go by. Look at yourself, chronic poverty and pollution and over-population, families living under bridges and children scavenging for copper in rivers just so that they can go to school? God, you have no shame. You're ruined, and you're probably never going to get better.
Ive always given you a chance, tried to look on the bright side of everything, but the fact that Immigration specifically told my mother that I will not be able to travel alone due to being a minor, regardless of the fact that I'm a British national, and then followed that up by saying you'd permit me to leave the country provided she pays a bribe, that just makes me lose all respect for you. You're nothing but a wasteland.

I can't wait to leave.

Give me strength.

2010-07-15T17:29:00.000+08:00

Im not going to Malaysia anymore. The airline advised my mom to check with immigration first if I would be allowed to leave the country, so she did so. Apparently I won't be allowed because I'm a minor, which is the problem I had last time. However, I was told before that I would be able to go as long as I used my British passport, and my mom told them that, but they told her that the same rule applies to everyone, local or foreign, since we're all leaving the country.
Sounds reasonable, right?
But then the guy told my mom that he'll let me pass if she pays him.
WHAT THE FUCK.
The moral of this story is that the country I am living in thrives on corruption in even the smallest things, like allowing a seventeen year old girl to visit the country she grew up in so maybe some happiness can be restored in her life.

On my hands and knee's, I'm crawling.

2010-07-14T22:37:00.000+08:00

If there's one word that could summarize my daily life, it'd be "Chaotic". I go through a turbulent roller coaster that stretches and squeezes the emotion and energy out of me. My highs are so euphoric that I can feel myself skimming across clouds and soaking up the sun's rays, my lows feel like I'm dragging infinite weight across the fiery depths of hell. The past five years have done a complete 180, the life I used to have is nothing like the life I have now.

The past 3 months have just been traumatic, terrifying and troublesome. I don't know how I have the strength to pull through each day. I guess it's just knowing that something good waits around the corner, my life is always like that. I know that holding on and keeping my head in the right place will pay off someday.

Lately, I've been so tired. Too tired to keep going with a smile on my face. I knew I needed a break, a few days in Malaysia to spend time with the people I grew up with, a chance to go back to my ever-smiling, always happy self. But consequences come along with going to Malaysia, many consequences that once again, force me to choose between happiness and reason.

But I know I need to be happy. Someone amazing said so.

Because in time

"Guilt goes away. Regret doesn't."

Sometimes the hardest thing and right thing are the same.

2010-07-11T10:33:00.000+08:00

I looked through her handbag carelessly, flipping through the bunches of paper and the frosted bottle of split-end serum, brushing my fingertips with lipstick cases and powder presses, curiously peeking into pouches and bags. I pulled open the side-zipper, hoping that my passport would be waiting for me inside, and it was, but when I caught a glimpse of the contents of that side pocket, I no longer cared about my passport.

It was a small bag, red and silky, but probably some polyester blend, and inside it was a handful of golden jewelry. The thick bracelet I always saw her wear when I was a child, an Amethyst ring, earrings with Emerald stones, all shining brightly at me as my realizations came crashing down.
She was going to pawn them.
I didn't realise how bad things had gotten until I held that heavy bag in one hand, and my passport in the other. She was going to pawn her jewelry in order to pay for my plane ticket.
It's always a choice of happiness versus reason, for me. Decide between what you want and what you think is right. I always choose reason, and ended up regretting it. I've often heard the saying that life hands us the same lessons over and over again until we learn them properly, I could easily be selfish and assume that life wants me to choose happiness, but I'll never know until it's done.

2010-07-06T17:56:00.001+08:00

People are allowed to be angry if they want. They shouldn't have to wear a facade to protect the feelings of people who care about them. If I want to be nonchalant, let me fucking be nonchalant. You don't have to tell me how you try your best to keep that smile on your face so that I don't get dragged into your sadness, but guess what? I'm not you and I will never be you, I handle things the way I want to and it's up to you to find a way to deal with it if you care enough. Nothing is fucking wrong, I don't need your "help"

Back from Retreat

2010-07-04T17:36:00.000+08:00

We went to some nunnery on July 1st so we could engage in introspection and religious enlightenment, but honestly I am no more refined than I was before I left. At least I laughed practically the whole time and 4A got to bond! I'm really starting to grow fond of the class. Went over to Greenbelt when we got back, ate at Itallianis with Giu and Auds, went to Franz's house after and went home around 8pm. Mom's coming home tomorrow and she told me that I'll be going to Malaysia on my own. Which I have mixed feelings about.
Being home alone always gets me bored and lonely, not to mention, I'm craving anything sweet and chocolatey and I want to go check out the Forever 21 they opened up in SM Megamall. Not that I have any money or anything. That's my next job, find a way to get money. I always end up feeling so guilty when I ask mom for cash, and I hate using my own when I have no source of income. Blah, back to school tomorrow, which means studying, which I don't even bother doing. I'm seriously so lazy this school year, I don't know how to snap out of it and get focused. And I will probably die because Im going to miss7 days of school when I go to Malaysia. How the hell am I going to catch up? I will have to be a slave during the PT week and study religiously. ~~I say that now, but I'll probably only end up studying for 20 minutes the night before the exam.~~ And I mean RELIGIOUSLY. There will be post-it's and highlighters involved, oh yeah.

2010-06-27T22:11:00.002+08:00

crush a bit, little bit, roll it up, take a hit

He pulls out a ziplock and burrows his nose in it, "One of the best smells on earth," he says, eyes closed with content. He pulls out a little bit and starts breaking it into shreds, sprinkling the dirty green into a foil wrap. He demonstrates quickly on what to do, but I am still not certain. He clicks the lighter on and tilts it into the foil, suddenly the clear glass pipe is filled with smoke climbing upwards and out, he places his lips onto the top and sucks the air in, I listen to the bubbling water and watch the white fog disappear into his mouth. He blows out the window, and coughs a bit, traces of smoke escaping each choke. He hands the glass pipe to me, and I clumsily place my hands where they're supposed to go. He lights it up for me, and I hold on for a bit too long and breathe in just one wisp too much of smoke, my lungs are full of it, and I splutter it out into the cold dawn air. The taste of bitter grass is lodged in the back of my throat, but a glass of water washes it away. I take another hit, too much, I am gasping for air and practically choking on the smoke, I feel like vomiting and my head is spinning, but I go against my reason, instead of fighting the smoke, I dwell in it, I relax and I hug the discomfort, "its all part of it," I tell myself.
Fifteen minutes later and my eyes are bloodshot, the room is spinning and I am laughing at things that are not funny. I am lazy and I am paranoid, wondering if I am being annoying by laughing at stupid comments, I don't want to irritate anyone, are they irritated? I hope not. I try to explain how I feel, but I find myself saying the word "weird" three times in one sentence. Her eyes are melting in shape, like she has undergone strange camera effects. I laugh at this. Every moment is disconnected from the next, all I can comprehend is my current thought, and then I physically feel it melting and slipping away into some black hole where every previous thought has gone. I try to close my eyes and sleep but I am too curious, what is happening to me? I feel slight jerks and it takes me a while to realize that I occassionally twitch, it feels like a shot of cold ice. I lie still, wondering if I will still remember this later.

You and I were made for this, I was made to taste your kiss.

2010-06-27T21:35:00.004+08:00

It's like I'm falling down a luminous, floral, vine-draped well, deeper and deeper into aromatic air that massages all ends of my delight. My guards are down and this is me, raw and at my most vulnerable, placing my beating and bloody heart straight into your palms.
I know it will be safe with you.
I have been falling for months, with increased velocity as time dashes by, it felt like just yesterday when I hesitantly peeked into ground, trying to figure how far the jump would be. Now, I am plunging headfirst into the depths of the unknown, thankfully still no end in sight, but even more surprisingly, I still feel the adrenaline rush I had during the first stumble.
This fall, it's nothing I ever expected and everything I could ever want, it's the best thing that has happened to me in long time. And I know that it could go on forever if nothing gets in the way.

I am high on life.

2010-06-22T21:51:00.002+08:00

I am just the happiest girl in the world right now. I'm so in love with life it's quite ridiculous. It's just amazing, I'm seeing everything in bright, bold colours and I love every pigment of it. So many amazing things have been happening to me and it’s just so.. promising and colourful. Many people have told me that I’m a lucky girl, and that my life is like a rollercoaster, and that’s true. I am hardly ever bored with my life. Though there are some tumbles along the way, my peaks are always higher, and that makes it worthwhile. I am so high on life.

And I just felt like saying, I love you, dad! :)

Wait, they don't love you like I love you.

2010-06-19T19:32:00.000+08:00

I woke up to a new message in my inbox, a long letter from an old friend I haven't seen or spoken to in three years. I was surprised, of course, to see his name staring at me from the computer screen, and I wondered what he might want or what the message might regard.

As soon as I opened it, I wasn't surprised to see that it was about my father. In fact, I was quite glad that it was, since he was one of the few people I could actually relate to. His words defined every feeling I couldn't name; every thought that seemed like an enigma suddenly underwent a moment of realization, and I finally felt like I wasn't alone, like I was normal.

I didn't really want to tell anyone about it, because I wanted it to be between the two of us, a silent understanding of fatherless teens. But I found his words too beautiful and inspiring to be locked away from others, so I wanted to share it with you. Beauty that is shared only multiplies, so here is a part of the letter:

A last word of encouragement: sometimes it feels like things are going to be okay, and other times you'll feel like things will never be okay.

No one can truthfully tell you that things are going to be ok in the end, because nobody knows how it'll turn out in the end. That being said, what you choose to believe doesn't always have to be based on proof. Call it optimism or call it faith, but I think that if you start believing things will work out in the end, they just might.

Blue Elephants in Plastic Cases.

2010-06-16T21:51:00.003+08:00

What the fuck is wrong with me. I hate it when you think you're doing okay, then one small thing can make all your progress count for nothing. I seriously thought I was perfectly fine, or that I should be by now. But then I came across this photo and all old scars ripped open once again like eternal wounds. I keep asking myself if I'm over it, if I'm better, but I guess this proves that some things never heal. With people, I can bring up the topic easily, and I will not waver as long as I do not linger on the idea. I am blunt, I am light about it to avoid letting the heavy feeling sink in. But these sudden outbursts of sadness and the severe mood swings are obviously a manifestation of what I am too much of a coward to face. I will never be 100% better, I don't think. But maybe one day I will be able to fully accept it, and then I will stop running.

To kingdom come, you're the one I want.

2010-06-14T02:31:00.004+08:00

They were a tangled heap, sharing body heat under the blankets. She lay her head on the chambers of his heart and heard it call out her name passionately. Her hair was messy and she wore no make-up, but he didn't care; To him, this was her at her finest. He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks. Every meeting of lips against skin was a burst of heaven on fire.

Have you met Nunu?

2010-06-13T20:52:00.002+08:00

I look terrible, but I dont really care. Here's my doggie, Nunu :)

Seven Diamonds

2010-06-13T17:36:00.003+08:00

It's quiet days such as this one, where rain gently drips from a grey sky, that make me truly appreciate solitude. Alone at home with only my sleeping puppy, I wrap myself in my thickest blankets to ward off the whirl of cold air that has swallowed my room. The occasional chiming of my phone, announcing heartfelt messages from familiar people; Good books lay unread on my side tables, and slow music drips from all around. Time has stopped for me to catch up on what I have missed, sweet moments for myself. Where painting, reading, writing is ideal. I have missed these days, although I have spent two months away from school, I guess all I really needed was to first feel frazzled and hassled with work before I could truly appreciate a day such as this one.

photosource: http://www.flickr.com/photos/fantheflame/4687223522/

2010-06-09T14:51:00.004+08:00

Schools are filled with the ghost of every student who was there before you.

2010-06-03T15:28:00.002+08:00

All of a sudden I am five years old again, sitting on a carpeted floor with other five year olds who are just like me. Five year olds whose mums braid their hair in the morning, five year olds who don't eat their vegetables, five year olds who have scabby knees and fat fingers.
We are all five years old.

In front of us, sitting on a big chair to show that she is in charge, even though she is quite small, is the teacher we have come to love. Her red hair flares out, away from her face, and her nose is dusted with freckles. She is the one we go to for cuddles and pats on the back, when our friend has stolen our favourite crayon. She is the one who sits beside us, slowly teaching us to count the coloured bears in front of us so we can go home and enthusiastically show our parents that we know our numbers up to one hundred.

Every so often, she would show us something new. Last week she introduced a puppet that was exactly the same as the one I had inherited from my grandfather, one I never really appreciated because it was wooden and old-fashioned. Today, she has graced us with a book. She pulls it out and begins to turn the pages as a story unfolds and plays before our eyes.

It's about a caterpillar who doesn't stop eating, and such a simple story brings such delight to our little minds. Enough delight to last 12 years to today. Enough delight to be called my favourite childhood story.

Enough delight to look for it in every bookstore I walk into and be five years old again.

No one has to know.

2010-06-01T22:07:00.005+08:00

No one has to know. In fact, I'd prefer it if no one did know. This, the both of us, here, this is our little secret. Just one bottle of wine too many, just one lonely night too many, just one asshole, ex-boyfriend too many. There has always been something about girls that interest me, the curve of their waist, the smooth skin, the long lashes and crafted lips. Everything I already possess, but have never held in my arms at night. Try everything once, I say. And it's not like one night will make much of a difference. Tonight, I can be the one running my hands over long locks for a change, I can drape my fingertips on powdery skin, I can breathe in the scent of a woman. And tomorrow, I can wake to find my bed empty, but the trace of your perfume still lingering on my pillowcase, possibly a silver bracelet you forgot on my coffee table and a few strands of golden hair that have fallen to my floor.

2010-05-16T15:24:00.002+08:00

It's like I'm in a glass room. In the center of a busy metropolis, watching the people pass. One by one they go, frantic in their daily routines. A few stop by to peer at me, but they never stay long.
I am here. Ever watching, ever waiting. I am here, looking for a way to break out, but no matter how long I search for an exit, no matter how many times I throw my frail body against the glass in hopes of breaking it, I always find myself still suck in the same four walls.

Why do I feel like this? I often ask myself.

I rarely find an answer. Maybe I am just one those people who needs to be around noise and other people to be happy. The quiet, still household I live in is toxic for me. The constraints that barricade me in, they break me. Maybe I am just one of those many teenagers who wants to be free, but is imprisoned by lonely and paranoid parents.

Woven like a Spiderweb.

2010-05-14T20:44:00.002+08:00

She sits beneath an amber, midday sun with no canvas stretched overhead. The sun has been on her side for as long as her people can remember, ever since they were still wolves catching prey in their menacing fangs, running wild in packs of grey and white. She spends her days by the roadside, attempting to catch a few silver coins in her outstretched palms in exchange for one of the many fruits displayed on her makeshift stand, one of the many fruits picked from nature.
Nature. Always her best friend, her mother, her protector. It is in the sunlight where she is safe, it is in the coursing rivers where she is cleaned, it is in the lush greens of the forest where she is happy. Her copper face holds a beauty that is exquisite and raw: Thin lips, a straight nose, high cheekbones, almond eyes, and a jet of raven hair running like ink down her back.
Her stride is all-knowing although she has not been anywhere but here. She is wise beyond her years, beyond the limited realms of science and history.
She knows the anatomy of Earth, where every vein runs into the flowers and how every heartbeat pulses into the birds, setting them into flight. She understands the language of the winds and the stars and the waters that are older than history itself. She reads the footprints in the ground and the rings in treebarks.
She is all-knowing, and is bursting with stories to tell.
But she is trapped in a western world she does not want to belong to.
A prisoner, on the roadside, attempting to catch a few silver coins in her outstretched palms.

I got Lucifer himself eating out of my hand.

2010-05-06T22:45:00.003+08:00

People often say to go with your instinct. But I have trouble doing so because my instinct consists of two voices fighting inside my head. "Don't do it!" says one, "Do it!" says the other. I guess the slight feeling of guilt should be enough to point me in the proper direction, but it isn't because I'm far too stubborn for my own good. The fact that I'm admitting to all of this while trying to decide what to do should be enough too, but one again, my stubbornness gets the best of me. I guess all I want to do is justify that going in the wrong direction won't be too bad after all. My sisters revealed a number of their secret escapades, I listened in awe to the things I had no idea that they had done, things like sneak out in the middle of the night and climb water towers with their friends. It made me realise that I have been so good. And even though I have been made to feel like I have done something wrong, I really haven't. All I'm doing wrong is sitting in the same place waiting for something to happen, releasing my frustration on the same person who doesn't deserve it, when what I ought to be doing, even if it is a little risky, is making what I want to happen, happen. As long as I don't get caught, nobody will have to know.

Gossamer bridges

2010-05-05T17:40:00.005+08:00

There's something about the air here. It's like a late night in a New Orleans jazz club. The orange lights and soulful music cater to my good moods, they make me want to smile and tap my toes and get up and hug strangers. You sit across me happily talking away, not realizing that I'm watching you and hardly hearing a word you say. The way your eyes crinkle and your dimple comes out when you smile, the way you look off into space when you recall something funny, splitsecondly re-living that moment n your mind. The redolence wafts in from all around, enveloping me in a cocoon of comfort. I am safely tucked away from all the poison in the world, all the shadows that seem to stretch just a bit longer than they should. It's moments like these where I love the simple things in life like good music, good company and good food. It's moments like these I wish could last forever.

Photo Source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/papertissue/4569869248/

Wasted Youth

2010-05-05T01:20:00.003+08:00

I am a witness to the degradation of today's youth.
What was once poolside celebrations with balloons and marshmallows, stuffing faces with pizza and filling cups to the brim with soda, has turned into sneaking into smoke-filled parties, taking drugs and as many shots as the pre-pubescent body can handle.
Bribing bouncers with their bodies, getting down on their skinny knees in exchange for a night's worth of mistakes.I see these girls, so proud of their exotic features and their foreign blood, flaunting their nonexistant curves to any guy that will throw two seconds to look. Talking down on girls weaker than them, picking on every flaw and tormenting their paranoia with endless insults directed at their insecurities, just because they can.

It's these girls who make me sick. They're blessed with beauty but they abuse it.
It's these girls who carry the proper title of "Bitch".
It's these girls who try to grow up too fast.
It's these girls who try to live it up while they're young, but regret it when they age.
It's these girls I pity.

Finally decided to post the letter.

2010-05-03T15:54:00.001+08:00

Dear dad,

It's me, Joanna. I don't really know how to start this off. For a self-acclaimed "Awesome-letter-writer", I never know how to start. Can I just say that I miss you? That it's been 16 hours and your absence has cut us all open like the sharpest knife. I think I am coping the best, out of the four ladies in the Kennedy family. I accpeted this moment a while back. I knew, from the moment you were admitted into the ICU, that I had to brace myself for the worst. And I did, and my face is not as tear-streaked as those of my sisters. It's really hard seeing them so devastated,dad. I know that you do not want them to hurt so badly, but they do. We all do. We love you so much, that the thought of never seeing you again is too much to bear.

I was doing fine sniffling away at the memories we shared. Things like looking through your astrophotography and promising to make it my desktop background (which I swear I will do now), or watching Chelsea on the telly. But then Jayne mentioned that it's not yesterday that's making her sad, it's what will never happen tomorrow. Then the imaginary scenarios started playing out in my head.

I will never get to introduce a boy to you as my boyfriend. No guy I will ever date will have the pleasure of being intimidated by my scary dad.

You will not be there at my graduation. In the sea of faces, I will search endlessly but never come across yours.

I won't be able to phone you when I get my first job, to listen to your complaints about the crappy salary and the ridiculous hours.

You won't be there to give me away at my wedding, or Steph's, or Jaynes. That's what really hits home. The fact that you won't see any of your daughters get married.

But it's okay dad, because I had the pleasure of knowing you for 17 years, and in those 17 years you taught me so much. We shared a love for football, and I know how proud you were of me when I told you that I scored the winning penalty at one of my games. I remember how you supported me when I decided to run for the senior council, and how you consoled me when I didn't get in. Most of all, I remember one of my early birthdays when you walked into my bedroom and spoke to me about the importance of identity. "Find out who you are, before it's too late" are the exact words you said, forever etched into my memory.

I want to apologize for all the times I never managed to meet your expectations. Like when I got an 80 in Math and a 93 in CLE and you were really pissed off, you scolded me. I'm sorry that I stopped playing and watching football, and Im sorry that I never told you that I love you enough. I still remember the last time I hugged you. I think it was because you allowed me to go to a friend's party, last November. November, dad. November. And over such a stupid reason.

I'm sorry for last Saturday, dad. I'm truly, truly sorry. I know I kept you up worrying, because I came home later than I said I would. I promised you that I'd call if I ever had any complications ever again. And I will keep that promise. I know now, to be careful for what you wish for, because life does a lot of crazy, unexpected things. I'm sorry that I had to see you how you were, that Monday morning. I often think about how you were on the floor, bloody and naked and how you said "Help me" in a such a slurred, pityful way. I'm sorry if it's because of me that you fell sick, if perhaps I didn't phone mom fast enough, or if you could have been saved if I called an ambulance instead. I wish I hugged you on Sunday when you weren't pissed at me anymore, dad. But I didn't. I'm just thankful that we made amends before Monday came around.

I'm currently looking at the lyrics I painted onto my wall, you didn't notice them but they say "Look at the stars, look how they shine for you" and nothing could be more true. I will wake up to each day being reminded of you by those lyrics. You are where your heart is, dad. I know you're in the stars. I know you're forever with me.

I will see you again one day.

Joanna.

Stuck in a moment.

2010-05-01T21:19:00.002+08:00

I guess that now he's gone, I'm the one you're going to lay all your troubles on. I'm the one who's going to receive all your guilty bullshit. My conscience is stopping me from telling you all the things I want to say, like how you deserve to feel the pain because of all the hurt you caused him. How this is a taste of your own medicine. How I can't wait to leave, all I have is one more year. How constantly low you make me feel. How you aren't as selfless as you think you are. How you are just as selfish and mean as you say I am. I know I'm selfish, I know all I think of is myself. I know I'm lazy, I know I'm mediocre, I know that all I think of is myself. There's nothing you can say to me that I haven't already heard. You are mean. Other people try to lift the confidence of those around them, you repeatedly try your best to bring me down. You doubt me so much, it makes me sick. And the worst part is, I'm alone to deal with all your pent-up frustration.

Teach me gently how to breathe.

2010-04-29T15:45:00.003+08:00

I stand patiently, quieter than usual, as if silence will calm my tossing stomach.
But it doesn't.
It rages and churns, like a violent sea, crushing innocent sailors and their little wooden boats. The rooms spins and and everyone becomes a distant blur, every sound is further away and out of reach, all I have are my hands against the wall, in hopes of finding a better place.
Moments melt into each other and I have stumbled into my sanctuary of comfort and release. My knees give way and I am on the floor, soaking up the cool tiles, waiting for my dizzy head to clear. I have never been this far gone, and the loss of control is neither thrilling nor comfortable. I feel far away, like I am floating in space while my body lies in the dark bathroom, aching and sick. I hear voices rush to my side, and caring hands pick me up and stroke my hair. The sudden movements have upset me, and out of nowhere, I release the contents of my stomach, over and over again until all that is left is my skeleton and skin.

2010-04-26T21:10:00.002+08:00

I wake up to a dense atmosphere and of sweat and hot air, it's been more than two weeks since my father passed away, but on this morning, I have forgotten all about it. I recall that I have not seen him for a few days and I wonder when he'll be home, as if he is on that much-needed vacation we always talked about. Then it hits me, he's not coming back. I remember, he died.

Oh hey, look, it's me.

2010-04-24T11:39:00.004+08:00

Just felt like showing you guys a picture of my face

Listening… The soundtrack to Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist
Reading… I just finished After Dark by Haruki Murakami. I liked it a lot but my sister Jayne found it really boring.
Watching… The last film I watched was Watching the Detectives. I totally identify with Lucy Liu's character. She was crazy and adventurous and afraid of being boring.
Buying… Nothing, hopefully. I'm trying not to spend too much moolah.
Wanting… That plaid dress that disappeared when I went back to the store. :(
Trying… To keep patient as I wait for 6pm
Loving… New music that I instantly love, books that last longer than the final page, hugs, animals that fall asleep in your lap, adventure, the smell of the aircon when you just turn it on.
Planning… to enjoy tonight! Hopefully. Cannot wait for my hugs. :)
Writing… more like editing several chapters of that story I didn't finish last year. I'm thinking about getting back into it, but I'm not too sure.
Inspired by… ghostly photographs, soulful music, certain sounds, questioning expressions and flashes of memory.

These hands are my own.

2010-04-19T22:17:00.002+08:00

The feeling of loneliness just struck me like a flash of lightning in some barren desert.

I was passing idle time by browsing through facebook, listening to some John Mayer, and then I came across a post that I wasn't a part of, and bam! I just felt... so disconnected. I get frequent visits from this feeling, it's not even funny. I don't know where to place myself, who to go to, where I'm wanted, or if I'm even wanted at all.

Honestly, beneath all the exaggerated humour, I do get slightly offended when I'm not invited out with friends. I get that they don't know if they should invite me or whatnot, because it might be too early for me to start going out and enjoying myself again, but I hate the idea of me standing on some lonely island, while everyone else moves with the waves.

It's one of those soft spots I have, feeling left out. I don't know where it originated. I guess from being moved from country to country, leaving friends behind, losing them and making new ones yearly. It all feels so temporary, and I hate that.

So bad, I can't think straight. So bad that my bones shake.

2010-04-17T15:47:00.003+08:00

He went on about how much he missed her. How he was aching with a physical pain, how her presence, a simple accidental glance into her eyes as they crossed paths would've been enough to let him last a few more days. She admires his thoughtfulness. She admires his vulnerability. But she still doubts the exaggeration that laces his words. So maybe he isn't lying, maybe he does miss her. "But if he missed me that much, he'd go out of his way to see me," she thought to herself, with heavy sighs, "and so far, he hasn't done anything of the sort".

When will I ever see you again?

2010-04-16T09:32:00.002+08:00

I dreamt of him last night. It was everything I could have hoped for. I went to his house to surprise him, and I waited there for him to get home. When we finally walked through the door, he glanced at me but kept on walking. About two steps away, he stopped in his tracks and did a double take. He froze for a bit, as if he did not believe his eyes. As if I was his imagination, playing tricks on him. Missing a person desperately can do terrible things to you. When he finally realized it was me in the flesh, he broke out into the brightest smile and hugged me right off my feet. He squeezed the breath out of me and kept telling me that he loved me, kept kissing my cheeks and smiling as if all he could ever want was right there in his arms.
The rest is a bit blurry, but I recall sitting and talking on a couch until 5 in the morning. I woke up with a wave of satisfaction breaking over me, the unforgettable scene of him noticing me was flashing in my mind. I had missed him so much that my mind had to provide him for me just to keep my head above water. I wanted to tell him straight away, but I couldn't, so I lay in bed, watching the scenes of my dream play themselves over and over again, until the image of his swooping hug and intense happiness embedded itself in my mind.

Black Holes & Revelations

2010-04-13T19:58:00.002+08:00

"You seem better,"
"Better about what?"
"You know, better.."
"....?"
"Coping."
"Oh. Have I not been okay? I thought I was coping well,"
"You've been quiet."

I really did think that I was coping well with my dads recent death, but I guess I've just been keeping it all in. I learned to accept what was going to happen, I braced myself. I was relieved when he passed because I don't want him to suffer anymore, but what hurt the most was thinking about all the things that wouldn't be able to happen.
I've kept to myself, lying in bed listening to music, or spending my time online, looking through photos on tumblr but not posting anything, constantly opening a "New Post" window on blogger but never quite finding the words to express myself.
I'm trying to let go of the pain and carry on. I don't really know what to do, if I'm moving on too quickly, or not. I'm just really tired of being stuck in the house with nothing to do but think and reminisce. I want people to know but I don't want to be the one to tell them. I guess that's why I'm writing this here, and not on tumblr. Because people who actually care about me and read my nonsense check my blogger.
I wrote a letter to my dad, when we got home from the crematorium. It made me cry a lot. I'll post it on here when I get the chance to.
What I'm really worried about is what life will be like after. Steph and Jayne are here now, and the wounds are still fresh, but what about when they leave? When the wounds scab over but are still sore and visible. It'll just be mom and I living in the house. The two of us. And then I'll go to college, and mom will be left alone. I dont want to think about how lonely she'll be.

Things are getting a little more personal.

2010-04-08T16:30:00.003+08:00

So I wanted to apologize for all the heavy blogposts, they can't be that much fun to read. You've probably figured it out that I'm going through something right now, which is far too personal to be posted for the world to see, I guess. I might blog about it when it's all over with, which is Idontknowwhen. I've decided to just take a deep breath and carry on with a strong heart, and to stop whining like a little bitch on the internet.

My sister Stephanie arrived today! And Jayne arrives tomorrow, which is awesome. They both stayed in Malaysia when my parents and I moved to the Philippines so I only get to see them around Christmas time.

While waiting for my mom to get to the car, Stephanie actually asked me if I'm still a virgin. I had a feeling she'd ask, since I'm 17 and that's the most common age for... "cherries to be popped". I told her honestly that I am (not that you guys care) but she still says she doesn't believe me and she never will because it's my body so only I will know. We then proceeded to talk about drugs. Haha, what a wonderful sister. You might be thinking that she's a bad influence or whatever, but really she's great. She helps me open my mind and she really makes me consider different aspects towards something before making my final decisions.

Anyway, I really want to make this blog a bit more personal + worth the read. I'm dying to have a lot more views and comments and followers. Steph told me that a blog is the best way to get an early start for my writing career, since she has friends who blah blah blah.

She and mom complimented my writing :) highlight of the day!

Grief hangs heavy, overhead.

2010-04-07T21:58:00.003+08:00

My mind is blank and I am speechless. My opinion lies in the back of my mind where my mouth can't find the courage to bring it forward. Why the fuck is life so unfair?
I'm up all night and not eating properly because I can't bring myself to sleep or even spare a second along with my thoughts. I'm running away from feeling anything because right now I can't afford that. I need to be strong for those who are too frail to carry the weight of their own grief.
The time would come, we all knew that. But who would've known that the struggle would be so hard? We'd face such difficult choices, stand in between forked roads with such heavy consequences on our shoulders. Our consciences are filled doubt and endless questions.
Please let this end soon.

2010-04-07T20:18:00.002+08:00

I'm eating strawberries.
Their pulpy flesh bursts beneath my teeth.
Blood red juice slips through my fingers and under my nails.
Sweet flavour lingers on my lips, snatched away by my thirsty tongue.

2010-04-06T22:41:00.000+08:00

April 6th.
I'll remember the date I said hello to grief and despair.

I refuse.

2010-04-06T19:05:00.004+08:00

I've been numb since yesterday. I find it wise to keep face and stay calm when the people around you are falling apart. In the midst of all this chaos, I want to be what remains stable. I will let myself feel the pain when you no longer need me to be sane.

The Gates of Hell have just creaked open and I am dragged in without time to think. I do not kick, I do not scream, I remain composed as if my face has been masked for my own protection. I know better, though. And it is not for my own, but for others.

I look every demon in the eye except for those which live in me, those which caress my idle thoughts from the back of my mind and linger in between questions of wrong and right.

I just got here, but I cannot wait to get out, I am slowly sinking deeper in my own denial. Time either freezes, or melts into itself, creating an illusion of eternity. Either way, I am lost in the hazy emotion I refuse feel.

There is nowhere to run, for every time I try,
I find myself at the same crossroad.

2010-04-05T15:01:00.002+08:00

I've done something really bad. Half of me wishes I hadn't done it. Half of me thinks that I only wish it came true straight away, and skipped the torture of slowly getting there.
I've done something really bad and it's killing me inside. I want to tell myself that it's not my fault, that it's just plain coincidence. But I still believe that I played some part in it.

Ocean calling.

2010-04-04T19:10:00.006+08:00

There have been so many people this school year that have affected me in some way. Some of them were people I have known and loved for a while, some of them were people I had never met before, some of them have no idea that they made such an impact. But to all of you, whether you know who you are or not, I want to thank you.

THANK YOU

I think that this has been the most eventful year in all of my years in the Phils. Never before have I grown so much, learned so much, loved so deeply and felt so high. I can honestly say that every memory stands out like a vivid photograph in technicolour, bringing forth every emotion and thought that once passed through me at that specific point in time.

Here's to the girls who I spent days practicing dances with, the girls I enjoyed spending time with, the girls I laughed and talked with. I love each and every one of you so much, for making me feel beautiful when I could not feel it myself, for being the group of girls I adore.

Here's to the table I spend my lunches at, the friends I have loved through the years. The wacky, silly, uncensored people I cannot get enough of and hold so close to my heart. To our annual swimming trip and our silly lunchtime escapades. This year had more absentees than last, but things never change when we get back together. Thank you for the laughter, thank you for being the group of people I love to embarrass myself with.

Here's to the friends I loved last year and still hold onto to this day. Nobody can replace you, or our stupidity and immature laughter. You remind me of what it's like to be childish, to be young. You keep the innocence in me alive. To our bonding moments, to one of the most perfect days I've ever had in my life, to fun. Thank you for loving me for who I am and for being who you are.

Here's to the class who moves as one. To the drastic change from angels to what we are now. The laughter, the jokes, the insanity. I will keep this class forever in my heart. We grew so close through every event we had, from not being able to mumble a word to each other, we now share the sickest jokes and actually intend on spending a night all locked up together (oh, dear). I'm brimming with anticipation and excitement, I could not be more ready for the wild time about to arrive.

Here's to the family who keeps me grounded, to the hurtful things I say but do not mean. I express my love with silent obedience, sometimes in a good night kiss, or an unexpected hug. I find it difficult to tell you what you want to hear, to tell you what I want to say, but I hope you remember that I do love you, and I am thankful. To the sisters who live so far away, who I miss with a physical pain and wish were closer to me. You understand be more than I ever knew, you talk to me with open hearts and open ears. You are the best friends I had all along but always overlooked.

Here's to the boy who leaves me speechless. You always know how to cheer me up, make me laugh and make me miss you more than I already do. Never before have I felt so strongly for a person, where a physical ache fills me when you are gone. Thank you for believing in me, for being proud of me and for making me see things in a different light. I can say it a million times, I love you.

Here's to the friends who live across oceans. World's apart, but you live in me. You know who you are and I love you to death, I would not be who I am if it were not for you. The advice, the insight, the conversations. All of it has kept me sane, has kept me alive.

Here is to the teachers that gave it their all, who dedicate each day to helping us grow into who we want to be. I know I've probably disappointed you many times. Each time I failed to do my homework, each time I cheated on a test, each time I chose talking to my friends over listening to your lectures. To the teachers who do not even teach any of my subjects, but helped me anyway. Thank you for your time, thank you for your endless effort.

Here's to the faces I pass in the hallways, your sad eyes or your secret smiles. To those I hug and say hello to, to those I have never spoken to before. Your simple words get me thinking, get me excited for what I haven't faced yet, to the endless possibilities behind the different faces.

Here is to the future, to expectancy, to everything yet to come.

Not enough.

2010-04-02T14:07:00.003+08:00

So my mom left for the province today, except she forgot one little thing: My father.
She decided to let him stay behind until she returns on Thursday, which is quite irritating because I'm going to be all paranoid now whenever I go out, I won't be able to come home late and I'm not sure how he will feel about me going out consecutively; I will have quite the leash on me.

Constantly changing; forever the same.

2010-04-01T09:26:00.000+08:00

The Sexy Saporta Suicide Society of the Summer Session.

2010-03-28T14:20:00.000+08:00

Wake Up to the Morning Light.

2010-03-28T12:50:00.004+08:00

My heart thuds slow but strong; sending through my body a wave of euphoria, creating ripples through my core, reminding me that home is in your arms.
Your presence is my sanity and your absence brings a literal ache; for one so strong, I feel so vulnerable and I enjoy the rare taste of it.
Blissful brushes of your lips against my neck leave me bare and stricken, you kiss my skin, you tease me with your fingertips, you whisper into my ear.
I shiver at your touch.

GABE SAPORTA GAVE ME HIS BALLER.

2010-03-27T16:18:00.005+08:00

I am the happiest girl in the universe right now and that's not an exaggeration. I had the best past few days of my entire life, March 25th and 26th 2010 overtook March 7th 2009, but they're both days that make me extremely happy. Here's an insight to what went down:

March 25th: Last day of school.
It started off with me going to Landmark with some friends to go buy white shirts for the Cobra Starship concert. I made a plan dubbed the Sexy Saporta Suicide Society of the Summer Session, inclusive of a map and code names for our members: Gooberstick (Yours truly), Grape Slurple, Girl Scout, Ginger Spice, Gay-Lussacslaw and Gingivitis. They all thought I'm obsessed, and I love to admit that I am. We took a cab to Bel-Air where we started painting our shirts, hung out with Xavi in the park and when our shirts were done, Cami and I took a cab to Magallanes where I got to hang out with my dearly missed 2I classmates. We swam for a while and hung out in Darrens house. It was great to finally catch up with them. After, I took a cab alone to Greenbelt and met up with my G-Girls, we heard that Yshmael Lahamboyjani was there with some other friends so we found them. Auds and I went to the internet cafe just to check Gabe Saportas twitter (obsessiveness up to 64%) and then we went to Bollywood to meet up with the others. We left to go to Curtis' house after, and that was pretty... eventful. Giulia and I wanted to climb the fence of our school and run around on the field but that never managed to happen. We kind of ended that session of the night by sitting on the curb. At 11.30ish, Andreuw and Franz drove up to us and we found out they paid the cab driver php1000 to take us to Franz's house, which was a crazy rip off because we probably would've been able to bribe him with php200 but stupid Andreuw wasn't thinking. We piled 7 people into the cab and when we got to Franz's, Jonathan and Andreuw passed out, Franz, Braulio and Giuila went to cook eggs, Xavi and I stayed in the room to talk.

March 26th
Braulio left around 4am, his mother is that selfless. The others fell asleep when they got back, but I stayed up til around 6 when Franz's maid started knocking on the door because she thought we still had school. Hilarious. Giulia and I left at 6am and I got home to take a shower and grab some money. She picked me up at 7am and we got to Greenbelt and lined up til 11am to get Cobra Starship tickets. Obsession level at 85% she left and the others got there, we bummed around Greenbelt til we started lining up for seats at 3Pm. We were seated at 6pm, at the back, actually, but when the concert started and I went crazy because I saw Gabe Saporta (obsession level 90%) we ran under the barricades and into the VIP section where we stood on chairs and screamed our lungs out. Concert was kickass.

After the show they had that meet and greet thingy and I was standing on top of chairs so I was really elevated, he saw my shirt which said "I love Gabe Saporta more than my boyfriend" and he was like :O and did that "my lips are sealed" action, and then a little later I shouted "CAN I HAVE YOUR BALLER?" and he looked at me and pointed to his baller and was like "this one?" and i nodded but there were people he had to meet and greet so he didn't give it. I was gonna give up but the others told me he would really give it so I asked again, and he actually took it off so I went crazy and I kept saying "I WILL DIE HAPPY IF YOU DO! I LOVE YOU!" and then he actually gave it to their bodyguard, and the girls around me tried to get it but Gabe was like "give it to that girl" and he pointed at me, so the body guard pointed at me to clarify, and gave it to the security guard who gave it to me :D and he wouldn't give them his other baller because that one was a gift :D

Obsession level 100%
I got to talk to him during the CD signing! My life is seriously complete now, I can die happy.
I went to the internet cafe just to update my facebook status and announce it to the world. We went to Franz's house after and then went to pick Giulia up, with Franz being the driver. I was trying to sleep in the backseat but it was really hard. I picked up pieces of their conversation, he was telling them that we've been together for 4 months. I was probably smiling in my sleep.
We p icked up Giu then got back to Franz's. They went to the ktichen so I went ahead to Franz's room and fell asleep. Woke up around 1, we left around 2am.
Got home, crashed after not sleeping properly for 45 hours.

Woke up at 2pm with Gabe Saporta's baller on my hand.
About to leave to get my nails done, dye Giu's hair and go to Encore tonight to see JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE, baby.

x

You Aren't Supposed to Die on a Saturday Night

2010-03-18T18:19:00.002+08:00

So the final act of this school year is almost finished and we are getting ready for the final curtain call. It's funny, I remember the first day so vividly. We awkwardly stood around and sat in our places, afraid to breathe, even. The shyness was so dense we could practically smell it. We smiled politely at each other but never said a word. We were known as an angelic class, one who listened intently and remained silent, even when asked questions. But throughout the year, our barriers started falling and we started to allow our true selves shine through. 3A became noisier, became funnier and most importantly, became closer.

I will not forget the bonding moments that we shared, such as our first Recollection, Sabayan; Songfest, where our carefree spirits disappointed the teachers, who were expecting so much more from us. That was the first time we were really yelled at, but we didn't care, because we had fun and it wasn't about them, it was about us; Our door and parole decorations, where we worked so hard as a group to prove that we are not useless, and ended up proving right; The Christmas party; The Field trip; That time where our classmates were so noisy, Ms Reyes made them line up outside and walk around the 3rd Year floor, bowing their heads in shame; The time Mrs Cruzado pretended to be furious at us, causing Chuku and I to cry; The time Mr Almerino ripped up our papers; Our class "agapes" and many, many more.

Third year was, as they say, the hardest year. But it was made easier with all the laughs, made more memorable with all the moments, and made more important with all the lessons. Not the lessons we learned in our subjects, but the lessons we learned from one another.

So, to 3A, this isn't goodbye, but thank you for making this year amazing, and good luck next year :)

Tigerlily.

2010-03-16T22:45:00.004+08:00

It's quarter to Eleven, and although that may be relatively early for some of you, it feels like the hour before death to me. It's my own fault, really. Slacking off work to feed off my guilty pleasures, Tumblr and Facebook. I had to make the AVP for club and the written narrative report on all our activities. The AVP pissed me off because Movie Maker keeps making my monitor freeze and it I constantly have to close it and catch up on the work I lost. I haven't eaten anything since noon, and I guess it's pretty obvious that I'm as cranky as a fat kid who had his cake and nap time taken away from him. I want pizza and a huge chocolate cake and then I want to stuff my face until I explode into chocolate-coated-pizza-smithereens. But I have the feeling I wont be eating anything tonight.
Anyway, off to bed, I have to get up at 5am tomorrow for school.

Here She Lies; No One Knew Her Worth.

2010-03-16T18:55:00.004+08:00

One of my favourite teachers has been terminated from office, and the news has shook me. I'm astounded that our school can rid of such a passionate, driven and influential force. I couldn't properly express the anger, disbelief and irritation with my own voice, so I resorted to my notebook (as usual) I wrote this as soon as I found out, and I was on the brink of tears when I finished. Friends asked me if I was alright, but all I could do was swallow my shaky words and nod "Yes".

Dear Mr San Juan,

Where do I begin? I find it hard to believe that you will no longer be teaching us in Sp. Filipino next year. In fact, the very idea that you won't be walking the halls of CSA any longer breaks my heart. This may be surprising, coming from me, but the respect and appreciation I have for you is far, far more than it seems. You are one of those teachers whose words embed themselves in our hearts and minds and you have taught me far more than just Filipino. You have taught me the importance of loving your culture, fighting for justice and freedom and serving with your abilities. You are truly an inspiration and I know you are one of the teachers I will never forget. One who's passion and conviction has been so strong that I will carry it with me far into the future. I'm truly sorry for attributing to the hassle that Sp. Fil has become for you, I hope you understand that we are how we are because we're so fond of you. You have made the last two years of Sp. Fil very enjoyable, something I look forward to. Good luck to where you go next, though I am certain you will succeed no matter where life takes you. Your drive and restless spirit will take you far. Continue writing and fighting for what is right! I hope to see your name in print someday! And with a heavy spirit and tears forming at the corners of my eyes, I just have to say thank you so much for affecting my life.

Joanna Kennedy.