friendship

now and again, i've realized that i am so blessed with wonderful, wonderful friends... so this post goes out for you guys... alam niyo na yun, nangungulit lang ako

(not in any particular order...and all these came with all the "extensions")

allan, den and kat (of AlDeKaRi from the flexibles); mylene and garret; melissa and myra (from high school) and the rest of batch 98; anne; mapeth and cath (of ARMO); ninang gettie; sherwin; jing and weng (JenNaLou); mar-yan and pinky (the bunch); harry (my cousin and closest friend from elementary); the family and the members of my future family *naks mafia- sounding at medyo prophetic; and the RYNJAJPK:

i love you guys... though don't expect anything "material" from me this yuletide season hahahaha

basta lang...

pakipot

good morning sunshine!

someone: muzta? nu balita?

me: wala naman... im ok. u?

someone: how come u don't text na?

me: ah. just realized i have better things to do than wait for ur reply/ies. ^_^

someone: to naman... jowk na naman.

me: ndi ah. totoo un...

thinking: i can see the mile wide smile on his face... *irk*

the alternate name meme

tagged by Kat

1.YOUR ROCK STAR NAME: (first pet & current car)
- Brownie No-Car (yuck!)

2. YOUR GANGSTA NAME: (fave ice cream flavor, favorite cookie)
- Vanilla Oreo (doesn't sound like a gangster hehehe)

3. YOUR “FLY Guy/Girl” NAME: (first initial of first name, first three letters of your last name)
- R-Mar

4. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite color, favorite animals)
- Red Lion (gryffindor?) -- San Beda daw sabi ni Kat... ahehehe

5. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name (mother's maiden name in my case), city where you were born)
- R****** Nueva Vizcaya (sorry no City, I'm born and bred Probinsiyana...)

6. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first)
-Mar Ri (Awww! --kulang na lang ng isa pang Mar)

7. SUPERHERO NAME: (”The” + 2nd favorite color, favorite drink)
- The Orange Coffee (WTF?!) hahahaha

8. NASCAR NAME: (the first names of your grandfathers)
- Juan Pablo or Pablo Juan...

9. STRIPPER NAME: (the name of your favorite perfume/cologne/scent, favorite candy)
- Musk Kisses (ahihihi)

10.WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (mother’s & father’s middle names )
- R****** Y****** (God knows it would take getting used to...)

11. TV WEATHER ANCHOR NAME: (Your 5th grade teacher’s last name, a major city that starts with the same letter)
- Sepagan San Juan/San Fernando/San Jose

12. SPY NAME/BOND GIRL: (your favorite season/holiday, flowers)
- Spring Orchid (ewww...)

13. CARTOON NAME: (favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now + “ie” or “y”)
- Banana Blousie hihihi

14. HIPPY NAME: (What you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree)
- Bread Mahogany (it doesn't sound hip either)

15. YOUR ROCKSTAR TOUR NAME: (”The” + Your fave hobby/craft, fave weather element + “Tour”)
- The Reading Water Tour (Hahaha!)

16. YOUR PORN NAME: (First Pet + Name of street you grew up on)
- Brownie Consuelo (its barangay, we don't have street names)

decorum

Do you have “issues” with too much profanity or overly explicit (ahem) “romantic” scenes in books? Or do you take them in stride? Have issues like these ever caused you to close a book? Or do you go looking for more exactly like them? (grin)

let's say that i've learned about the birds and the bees through reading. and as i get older, i long ago stopped having issues about what others might refer to as "too graphic" and "too explicit" romantic scenes. i had a short stint as an editor of an online resource of erotic literature; i read neil gaiman, nora roberts and vc andrews; and as a pseudo-writer, i write some "romance" stories too. i have one restriction though, i don't want to read/write about it in my local language. and i have a rather valid reason for it.

during the rehearsal for the fifth grade comencement exercises, a naughty girlfriend handed me a local tabloid and pointed to a story. that was too explicit for me at that age. it was an eye opener, but it was also too "dirty" for an eleven-year-old. the words were easy to comprehend since it was written in our language, and maybe it was precisely because of that that i found it too "taboo".

some purist might argue that the change in language would not alter the meaning. afterall, the act and the actions described are the same. but still, i have those 'restrictions'...

slainte

year was 2004 when i first reported here at the army headquarters. it was a monday, i came to report after two hours of sleep because i have to finish the project i signed myself up as a 'supervisor' at the previous work. i drafted the resignation letter on a friday, 11pm; passed it first thing on the saturday; work til dawn of sunday and reported here on a monday. yes... how quickly my life changed.

the first officer i reported to was cpt boyet dulay, the first soldier i talked to was cpl jessica valdez, the first office i reported to is located at the command and general staff college building.

that was three years ago.

and after three years, i continue to have this love/hate relationship with this job. three years of sweat and hardwork. three years of love and hate.

now i have more than a battalion of networks, all top brass, all admirable. they taught me to develop myself, my personality, my patience. i have learned a lot and is learning still.

so through this all, slainte! to the future...

p.s i bought a book on the serenity prayer last night, my gift to myself...

God grant me the serenity

to accept the things i cannot change,
the courage to change the things that i can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.

more years

to the song of my heart, nikka, who is celebrating her 18th birthday today... i love you, sis!

this date last year, nikka was admitted to the hospital due to a very serious and complicated case of thyphoid fever. she was sallow, unfocused and hallucinating. she was seventeen. she had five transfusions, had more than six shots a day, had taken more pills and medicines than i could have imagined, underwent medication and recuperated for half a year. she missed her final exams at UST. through it all, she made it.

she is strong and brave and her heart is true. God had always been faithful to His promises and though we may never have visited a church during that time, it was when we prayed the hardest. there was no room for fear or doubts. i, even for a second, did not doubt that nikka would make it. to this day, i've always wondered how we could be so strong and i realized that God talks to us not in words, not in a way that is obvious. He assures us of things that we can only grasp through faith: we have to BELIEVE.

nikka, our very own drama princess, you are strong, brave and beautiful. you are intelligent and capable of so many wonderful things. you are all those and more, and you have to believe it.

we love you... until this world ends and beyond, you will always be special. be happy, sis. God bless...xox

stigma

i am currently in the phase of discovering batch reunions. and just recently, i've discovered that i am loving it. well, it was a long way from the very different me who sans the memory of high school life...hay skul, i used to say. i am singing a different tune now.

i have several realizations after the nine and a half years i did not see some of my high school batchmates. and at this age, i am amazed to have found out that we've grown quite differently from what i am expecting.

i've realized that almost all of the guys had a crush (at one point in their HS life) on two of our girl batchmates... quite expected really because those two are the batch's prettiest.

i've realized that some of the coolest guys grew up to be the biggest jerks. consequently, some of the boring nerds and uncool, un-'crushable' types grew up to be admirable and responsible men. and there are still those, who, after six months short of a decade, are still blissfully unaware and misinformed.

some never moved on after their first heartbreaks; while some found their better half among the batch. and there are those who, until now, are still working on their courage to tell somebody their true feelings.

nine years is a long time. some lost weight; some gained it. some bloomed while some withered; others never seemed to have changed at all. and there are some who said goodbye to the batch a bit earlier than they should have to. they are missed; their memories still etched in the hearts of those of us who remains.

i realized that time will never stop for anyone and that every minute counts. time wasted will never be recovered. we can never take too many pictures. some of the best things remained undocumented. there are memories that until this day remained indescribeable and inexpressible; they remain as emotions too poignant to be forgotten.

so, eventhough i failed to tell every single one of my batchmates how thankful i am that they became part of my life, i will never again go back to that phase when i seemed to want to forget them. xox

confession

it took me more than nine years to finally have the courage to write this letter. in truth, i should have done this the day you treated us out to snacks just before our high school graduation. but i haven't got the courage then; afterall, sixteen is fairly young to say what I would like to say back then.

i do not know where i borrowed the courage now. i claim to have learned a lot of lessons through the years. and through those, i've learned that i am strong and brave, and that there is no subtitute for the truth.

maybe it is in knowing that you are leaving the country soon. there is a bit of comfort in knowing that there is that blanket of certainty that i will not bump into you and risk the awkwardness. afterall, this confession is nine years overdue.

maybe it is just now that i have realized that i am ready to take the leap and take flight towards my dreams. and in doing so, i need to free myself from all the loose ends i have had through the years.

or maybe, i just thought that a girly-teenage confession is way passé at our age.

so whatever the reason for this sudden courage may be, i just want to confess that i've been inlove with you in high school. i was inlove with you.

so there, that's the truth that until this time, i never had the courage to admit to anyone. sometimes, not even to myself.

but please don't feel burdened about this in any way. it was never my intention to pass the burden in writing this. i just want to be true to you and to myself.

i wish you the best in everything that you do and to wherever your dreams may take you. soar high. live for your dreams. be happy.

God bless you.

cowardice

dearest,

i claim to own the words sometimes. i claim to know how to use them to tell people how i feel. i claim to have the strength to say the words and bare my heart. in truth, i cannot. for every word that i would like you to read is a piece of my heart. i am not a writer, i do not own the words. but i own my heart.

and right now, i cannot find the right words to borrow to let you know what i feel because in truth, i cannot define it. there's no song for it, but i feel the music.

i will tell you sometime, but until then, i'd go looking for the words until i find them. for they are the only ones that can tell my story.

someday i'll take the leap. someday...

signed: me

on seanachies and word artists

currently transporting favorite entries from my other blog in multiply.

i rarely have the urge to write something that really conveys my thoughts, my feelings and myself. to be honest, i find it scary. i don't know why people would sometimes automatically label me as 'writer' just because they know that i took up mass communications and majored in journalism. in my mind, it won't automatically make you a writer. so when people tell me, "so writer ka" or "writer ka pala", i just shrug or make a facial expression that suits my mood at that moment. i think it conveys my thoughts about the matter clearer than any spoken word.

the thing is, i do not really consider myself a writer. i know most people would argue, especially because i have been known to make a living claiming to be a writer. i write articles, speeches, programmes and scripts and sometimes copyread the written words. i had a stint in maintaining a blog, professionally. but i am not a writer. the above mentioned are things that i do to make a living and it seemed enough for the employers, the ones who pay me to do those things, and the ones who believed that i am indeed a writer. i beg to differ.

my personal definition of a writer is not just someone who writes words. an accountant who does accounting professionally might not consider himself an accountant. it just happened that accounting is what he does for a living. what you say you are should convey a whole lot about you not just what you do to make money. it should be borne out of your passion, your heart and mind, your soul. it is not that something you went to college for. what you went to school for is a formal education. something that we need to get a job and make a living. something that answers the 'occupation' part on a personal data sheet and something that you tell people when they ask you "and you are?..." which of course translates to query about what you do for a living because that would be how people would judge you and assess your worth.

a writer should write for himself first, for others, second. i have not known myself to accomplish the first; and i pass as a writer doing the latter. so when i sometimes forget myself and claim to be a writer, forgive me and just forget about it unless you are a potential employer. it was a slip, and i am probably drugged and delusional at that moment.

i claim to do many things, but for now, i just want to be a storyteller.

comfort food

Okay . . . picture this really) worst-case scenario: It’s cold and raining, your boyfriend/girlfriend has just dumped you, you’ve just been fired, the pile of unpaid bills is sky-high, your beloved pet has recently died, and you think you’re coming down with a cold. All you want to do other than hiding under the covers) is to curl up with a good book, something warm and comforting that will make you feel better.

What do you read?

(Any bets on how quickly somebody says the Bible or some other religious text? A good choice, to be sure, but to be honest, I was thinking more along the lines of fiction…. unless I laid it on a little strong in the string of catastrophes? Maybe I should have just stuck to catching a cold on a rainy day….)

i often find myself reaching out for my comfort books whenever i feel depressed which, i think, constitute some 30 percent of my time.

when i read the question, two books came to mind. they are: charlie and the chocolate factory and harry potter and the sorcerers's stone. i like the writing styles of roald dahl and jk rowling. roald dahl is my favorite author. and though some might argue that the harry potter series is not really a very cheerful lot, i'd still say that harry's story, especially the first one, gives me comfort.

times like that, i'd go for some light reading thus roald dahl's books came to mind. truth is, i don't really mind if the first one that i have grabbed is matilda or the witches, as long as it is one of roald dahl children's classics. the good point about charlie and the chocolate factory is that i can almost smell and taste the chocolates, which in turn will make me grab /buy a chocolate and voila...intant happiness! hahaha...

of course, i don't recommend it if you are on a die-t...

other books i'd recommend:

robert fulghum's books

eoin colfer's artemis fowl series

edward eagers' children's stories

blogger

i'm currently experiencing lay-out troubles huh...

bits...

post transported from my other blog in multiply.

i have to write this, i really do.

i had the craziest dream last night. in that dream, i was alternating my 'reality' between baguio and diliman, and mountain province, and writing down entries in this blog.

i miss baguio and UP, and i think, that due to the rather nostalgic visit to sayoterepublic yesterday, that i had this dream.

begin dream...

i was in a some sort of lodge with tita, tito and raymond. and i was looking out of the window, admiring the view of UP Baguio among the landscape of trees and mountain. and i was writing in a blog on tita's laptop to peaches de guzman (a talented photographer whose work i admire and whose site i almost always visit; and the friend of my friend george). i was writing:

dear peaches,
you should see the view of UP baguio after summer. the leaves are just beginning to fall and i couldn't help but wonder at the beauty of God's creation. the leaves in green and brown, perfect against the landscape of greenish-bluish mountain; and the view of my beloved alma mater in green and maroon, majestic against it all. you should see it from where i am...

and then forgetting i do not know where i am, i nudged my cousin raymond, who was blissfully reading a book, beside me.

i asked: "asan nga tayo ulit 'aymon?"

and he said, "mountain province" without so much a glance at me.

i can remember my exact words as i write it in my blog because i was reading and re-rereading it; though i do not doubt that i cannot see UP baguio from a small lodge in mountain province; or that i'd exchange correspondence with peaches de guzman.

and then before i realize it, i was in UP baguio, in the spot where manang mane used to be, but by now a rather lonely looking visitors' lobby of the new UP baguio (its structures in white, pink and green haha). there was some campaign going on, with students infront of oble, holding some assembly of sort. i can read the ACS and CADUA banners, and the frats, soros, confrats and org banners lining the covered walk to the guard house. and i approached a girl wearing a CADUA shirt.

i asked her, "gurl, are you from the north?"

and she said, "hindi po, taga-sorsogon po ako."

and then i asked, "do you know the meaning of CADUA?"

and then she looked at me with that look that said "duh?"

and then i realized we were in diliman, infront of the UP theater, and i saw a former schoolmate named Au (short-haired lady, i do not really remember except for the name and appearance and that she's in the batch below us. i can't exactly remember by how many years), looking at me rather contemptuously because i was talking to the girl in CADUA shirt.

and the girl i was talking to whispered to me: "galit yata siya ate, kilala mo ba siya?"

me: "sino? si Au? oo, schoolmate ko yun. sa up baguio. ikaw ba?"

the girl: "hindi, diliman ako, nung first year pa."

and then i was back in UP baguio, talking to manang mani in the old UP Baguio and i was telling her, "miss ko na po dito. yung lumang buildings, ung 20's at yung hagdan papuntang HD (humanities division)."

and then i woke up. no joke. i woke up, sweaty and nostalgic.

as i've said, i miss baguio, and UP baguio and the people i used to know.

goldilocks

transported from my homeground

"So, this is my question to you–are you a Goldilocks kind of reader? Do you need the light just right, the background noise just so loud but not too loud, the chair just right, the distractions at a minimum?

Or can you open a book at any time and dip right in, whether it’s for twenty seconds, while waiting for the kettle to boil, or indefinitely, like while waiting interminably at the hospital–as long as the book is open in front of your nose, you’re happy to read?"

i recall that a colleague once commented that reading is like sex. you either see it as something to do with passion or something that should be done as an obligation. ^_^

my answer would be: it is relative to 1) how much i like the book and 2) how badly i need to read the book (or any reading matter).

to number one, i'd say i'm pretty much amenable to any condition as long as there is light; and that i will not risk myself to early demise being run down by speeding vehicles.

to the second, i'd say i am very much the pampered goldilocks, i need to have a very comfortable chair (preferably bed), the right lighting, background noise preferably minimum to none (so i put on ear phones or read when everybody is sleeping), proper ventilation and proper mindset lol

though everything blows when i'm already cramming. Happy BTT!

statistics

transported from my homeground

"There was a widely bruited-about statistic reported last week, stating that 1 in 4 Americans did not read a single book last year. Clearly, we don’t fall into that category, but . . . how many of our friends do? Do you have friends/family who read as much as you do? Or are you the only person you know who has a serious reading
habit?"

i've been very lucky to be born in a family of voracious readers. my dad likes to read filipino (tagalog) novels; although when he does read one of my books, he has the uncanny ability to predict the outcome after reading few chapters. my mother reads too much romance novels; maybe that was why my siblings and i went out of our way to broaden our reading genre because subconciously, we don't want to read too much of (what in our mind's) mommy's mushy novels. my siblings collect their own books, they are into fantasy and adventure. between all of us, i think we've read all the books in the house.

my friends den and kat read as much (or even more) than i do so i really don't have much problem on that part. though some of my other friends, mostly from grade school and high school, do have this rather insensitivity to tell me "reading again?" or that "would you honestly read that?" when they see me holding a rather thick book that in their mind would constitute giving up weekend night outs in bars and singing videoke or watching movies. they pretty much keep up on latest and "famous" books by "watching" it in a movie. ^_^

indoctrination

transported from my homeground

"When growing up, did your family share your love of books? If so, did one person get you into reading? And, do you have any family-oriented memories with books and reading? (Family trips to bookstore, reading the same book as a sibling or parent, etc.)"

I so wanted to answer one of these BTT questions I constantly read thru den's and kat's blogs. And now, indulge me... this is my first BTT post ^_^

I grew up being fed by stories; and grew big eating junks hahaha . Aside from the poignant memories of my older cousins messing up my favorite red-nosed stuffed toy (it's not Rudolph) when I was young, I remember being lulled to sleep by listening to the monotone of my dad or Tatang, my maternal grandpa, reading bible stories straight from the bible.

I can't remember being taught to read, like (B+A=BA; BA+TO=BATO) in grade school. I can't even remember struggling through reading. I felt that I always knew how to read. Maybe because I used to think that reading, like eating and sleeping, watching the television and taking a bath are daily rituals. My mom bought me my first book collection when I was four, five thin, glossy pocketbooks of 'Bible Stories for Children' and my first ever coloring book with poems in them. I can remember reading the books, and messing up the coloring part. I was always adept at reading as I always sucked in arts. I read voraciously, from 'Funny Comics' to 'The Plain Truth' to john grisham's to 'Lord of the Rings' and self-help books.

need i say i love reading? ^_^

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