There is no more as difficult a nostalgia to tame as that for Christmas. When a long wait ends with what seems like 24 hours squeezed in a single second of a 365-day span, nostalgia can get pretty menacing. It makes you eat everything that reminds you of it. In my case, while counting my last few minutes here in Ormoc, I'm stocking up on two slices each of Blueberry Cheesecake and Rum Cake for every day and many slices of fried Ham. Spare time is fill-up tummy time. Last check, I have gone up to 131. That's pretty nasty given that I started at 127 when I arrived. But like all parties, the consecutive ones I had this season also had to be put off. And my calendar will start scratching my itchiness for summer, where a lot of schedules are piled up.

Holy week will be in Moal-boal. With Mita's new pool at the beach house in Albuera and my constant longing for the overnight stays there, I would like to object to this, but heck, wherever the majority goes is where the fun is. Tita Rita and the whole family are coming all the way from Canada, a visit that will coincide with Mamita's 75th birthday. It's unbelievable that she's already reached this mark when I hallucinate about how it was just this year when my big belly tried to fit in an extra small shirt for a dance number for my lola's 70th bash program. I still have my big belly, but the extra small shirt is already medium sized after several visits to the laundry (they all do that). Whatever will be whipped up on when it is actually 5 years after that, God willing.

This year, tia Abing turned 70 and invited Mitch Valdez to entertain. Mamita was stunned at the extra money that she had to give away for just 30 minutes of Ms Valdez. Tia Abing wittingly replied, "Maayo man ka Ming (that's my Mamita), daghan kaayo kay apo magpalipay nimo." Well, praise the Lord and my uncles and aunties, that's always a given. With Joaquin and Ben, we're 34 now. 

Ben was baptized on Christmas day, a luncheon that ended shortly before we started getting calls of the Unitop fire. But that party wasn't all about Ben. Andre pretended having broken his leg after falling off a foot-high garden landscape, complete with the dragging-himself-in-the-ground-for-a-few-minutes stunt and his signature yelp. Kyra has a different signature -- her Kyra tantrum. She staged one after being scolded at for putting on black make-up thickly where the eyebugs normally evolve. Why she wanted to beat them to it beats all of us, but that's Kyra for strangers. I love my cousins equally but when it comes to these two, there's a little cringing involved. It seems that their younger brother got all the coolness of their dada to himself and enjoys such amount, because it makes him not worry too much if he doesn't get a toy he's been eyeing on or generally, if he doesn't get his way. We love our bugoy.

After the fire that afternoon, we all went back to my tita Judy's house where we were all gathered and shared our thoughts on what we all just witnessed. Tita Judy gasped upon hearing that somebody from the hospital she part times in with her husband and where my father works full-time was at the ICU after having suffocated from the fire. She died a few days later. We know a lot who survived it, as well as those who did not make it, but we know more of those who planned Christmas day trips to the ill-fated store but cancelled out because of the thickness of the crowd inside.

On that afternoon, we were on the frightened side of thrill at the possibility of the Mayong's building catching fire and deliriously saved the valuables out of that threat. The number of possible deaths didn't occur to us until we settled down and started listening to other people's accounts. It hang above us all for a whole day, like a number as menacing as that of the dead bodies piled on top of each other at the mass grave for the Ormoc Flashflood victims.

Joy, our cousin who didn't attend the dinner thinking it was cancelled because we were all exhausted, then added, "Ay kalimot ko nga dili diay madutlan inyo pamilya basta kaun na."

She didn't see it, but for a moment at that moment, we were at the mercy of fear. Unknowingly to us, perhaps not only for what we could have lost, but for what this city was about to lose.

The next day, Mamita excused all of us from lunch with Mitch Valdez to host another lunch for the family at the beach. I only realized then how much I missed this part of me -- my second home. It is more of a beauty now that Mamita has repainted the fences and such a comfort that a pool has been installed. It is a joy seeing everyone together. Tito Paolo and his family are already based in Manila, Tita Rita and hers in Canada, the rest of the sisters are in Cebu, the rest of the brothers are in Ormoc; Christmas and the Holy Week are the times of the year when most are completely gathered. I think these will be the days I will miss the most.

Us cousins went for a walk by the shores and brought home a butt exposure care of one of my cousins frozen in my camera. If curiosity unfed kills you, please don't challenge it and visit buzznet where the memories of this year's merry holidays are steeled indefinitely. (i buzzed it out -- augustchild, may 10, 2007) 

That night, we all attended tia Abing's 70^th bash at Sabin's but ended up later at tito Bingcol's where by 3 am, several bottles of Red Horse beer, and bottles of Bailey's, Jose Cuervo, Tanduay and Red Wine were finished. I'm relieved I only downed 2 shots of tequila. It's no longer amusing how they associate this drink to me. Joevince, living out of how maintained all of him is, only drank Bailey's, and Iana, drank nothing at all. Un-fair. We also have a new obsession: Magic Sing. Ugh. It gets frustrating how I can't reach up to the high notes of mellows like Too Many Walls. We bad singers just complicate songs. Shut up.

Kenzo jumped off in the pool. We all suspected somebody had to do it.

The next day, we were off to the beach again for the joint celebration of Patrick's and Eduardo's added years. Their birthdays are only a few hours apart. Patrick is a loyal fan of Barney and loves being sung to. He watches TV with his head facing East, with his eyes facing North and with his right brow always raised to the North with speculation. He gives free smacks only when there's a promise of a piece of chip. It's easier to get Eduardo's attention; just clap your hands together with him. He also loves being sung to and being a part of a crowd. He loves the water, soaking in it for long hours with a lifejacket hugging tightly his bare flesh. There's never a minute without his grin. These two cousins give the best hugs.

For the next meals, we were at tita Judy's. John Tucker Must Die on Wednesday evening (far from Mean Girls), pizza for Thursday's lunch, and siomai for Thursday's dinner. Since I arrived here on the evening of the 22nd^, I got to sit in our dining table and ate from it only on the 29th, Friday, with steak of some sort and two slices of Blueberry Cheesecake. That's the kind of Christmas we do here at the Rodriguez family and I love every minute of it though always, it's a matter of gaining weight, and never losing. Even my sister who has turned so obsessive about her body gave her stomach a favor and finally took in more than glasses of liquidized vegetables.

Mamita unusually scheduled her gift-giving in Biasong on the 23rd so almost everybody was able to attend. Past years would have her put it earlier, on the 3rd week of December but then she realized that the people would have consumed already the gifts of food intended for Noche Buena. When we're gathered there, I notice that in every one of us, there always will be a piece of Biasong, the bounty of which built the foundation of the family and built by the strength of our family.

In the afternoon, we all went for last-minute gift shopping at the bazaar in Centrum, which resulted with all of us cousins buying little stuff for each other. We've been throwing "It's the thought that counts"on that day. Sadly for kuyang, he left his thoughts at the same store where he claims of long lines at the cashier and aggressive hands to compete with that he wasn't able to buy the P19 gifts that he's been saying are perfect for us. I wanted to give him a Neil Gaiman book, to make his imagination more aggressive. The first manuscript he made me read when he was still in 5th grade was so good I knew in my guts that he is going to be a writer; if not, then at least, he is going to write. Now, he's jumped from the bearings of a JK Rowling (whose work wasn't there yet when he completed his first fiction) to love stories. Sigh. Is that a sign that our kuyang who memorized the Bible before and who is everybody's favorite male companion -- Ting being a bully and Marvin, being too young -- has really grown up already and is in love? Nah, he just started enjoying getting drunk.

We gathered at our house that night for turkey, Magic Sing, and the oldies' brand of magic in the table. We concluded that no matter how long and how much they insist otherwise, my poppy's brothers could not sing, nor carry a tune. Let us repeat that: nobody with our blood could sing. Save for Kate, who we're pretty sure got more from her mother's line.

And no doubt everybody left with snippets of Josh's most famous dance. I have it in my phone. At 4, he is already one unbelievable character. He danced aerobics, jazz, modern, and street to the whole of Can't Take My Eyes Off of You, with that guiltless smug forever plastered to his face like he can seduce himself out of his crimes.

On Christmas Eve, I first saw Mita's renovated beach. I am perpetually teased by how much I've gathered down in my belly that I skipped swimming and doubled my pace on Gabriel Garcia Marquez, whose One Hundred Years of Solitude I'm loving at the moment. Beats me why I always skipped this title at the National Bookstore's shelves but when it stared at me from Powerbooks', I grabbed a copy without a second thought. Maybe I do feel a bit richer when in Manila. I got three other titles and a 5th one in National Bookstore in Cebu. My sister gifted me with Arundhati Roy's The God of Small Things. I wanted to read her after passing through one person's positive musing in her MySpace. And I started believing in other people's recommendations after being pushed by a model's book review towards reading John Irving's The World According to Garp, ending up with a serious love for John Irving. And I go positive crazy when it has the seal of "International Best Seller". I also bought my second Wally Lamb. His She's Come Undone has a very strong narrative of a woman's adversity in the first decades of her life. I "aye!" one critic's refusal to believe that it was a man who wrote the story. Aye.

Will provide my amateur reader's views on the other titles when I finish them by the time I turn 30. This is old news, but I'm a painfully... slow... reader. It is most painful because the number of books read in my desk is lesser than those waiting to be read.

But if it's any consolation, I finished more than 20 pages this morning. I simply believe reading is a task, not one I'm forced to doing, but one I need to treat myself. I have to take in word for word, word by word, and give credit to it more than what a fast reader would. I really appreciate words, especially when they're being put together uniquely and beautifully or uniquely beautiful, beautifully unique (take your pick).

Following the beach, mother and I did Santa Claus, drove around the city in key spots and dropped off our gifts for our relatives. It seems to me that Christmas Eve is more Christmas than the day itself. I am touched by the spirit which I always look for at the beginning of December. I am very stubborn that I consider finding it outside the perimeters of my family's presence, when I know that it is only in them that the spirit truly dwells.

From lola Gloria's place, I couldn't forget the comment from one of my cousins, Erica. She looked up at nothing in particular when she heard my voice. Thinking I was Iana, she asked, "Asa man imo tiya Mae? Gimingaw man ko niya kay gwapa kaayo to siya." I laughed because of the conviction in Erica's voice. She is also a blind child at 21. Before I left, she asked me another question, "Nganu nagbuwag man si tiya Mae no tiyo Danny Go?" Her innocence at 21 almost glued me to that spot. I wish her nanny who's been with her since day 1 would never leave her.

We all attended the Christmas Mass in Biasong at 9 pm on Christmas Eve where the atmosphere really rang of "Malamig ang simoy ng hangin". I get teary-eyed that there's really only a short time in every year that this happens. It's so magically solemn that I forget about White Christmasses and loud cheers over at Times Square. After living episodes of his jack-of-all-trades stint in Singapore, Joevince showed up with the representation of his no-show Brazilian girlfriend, a stuffed Olive Oil. During his Ormoc stay, he's been posing it in different angles -- seated beside Mamita, playing with our cousins, piled on top of Christmas decorations -- such effort disguised as puppy love to entertain his lonely girlfriend who didn't go home to Brazil thinking she would be spending Christmas with our family. It's a long love story that wouldn't even make a cut in Love Spell or Your Song. Save it for Popeye.

Father Libby enlightens everyone with the enthusiastic ways that he uses to gather the families living in the area. This year, he challenged them to a parol-making contest. But instead of reserving the prizes for the best, he promised all the participants a prize. He is the same priest that distracted the attention of the young ones away from the negative factors in the community and focused them all on soccer. His team has won in several competitions in Ormoc and has actually competed in Cebu already. He is a part of every activity in the community, not leaving even the dirty works to those under his supervision, may it be in the kitchen, in the construction, in the gardening. Super could still not capture all that he is.   

At 12 in the midnight (and not earlier!), we opened the gifts. After the kids opened those wrapped and identified as theirs, tito Bingcol brought out a spinning top that lighted like laser beams for each of them. He laughed at how the kids seemed absorbed by the toy priced at less than P100. "O, mas managad man diay ni sila og dili mahal na duwaan." Tito Bingcol, I have to introduce as the most carefree brother of them all; just cool, calm and always collected. The problem with this is that he leaves a lot of stuff lost; and the good thing is that he emerges from this already natural occurrence, still smiling.

While trying to capture Mamita opening the gift from her children (a safe), my foot stepped on a nail. It was such a joyous moment that I just ignored the pool of blood that spilled out of the small wound. So as not to worry anyone who could have seen it, I tried to rub out the blood on the floor with my erring foot, to no avail since it got too thick. I ran to the bathroom and washed it off. The wound stayed with me gripped in a lingering fear of tetanus or other viruses, but the worst that it reminded me of its presence is a pain, gentle at its occurrence, and threatening at its many possibilities.

How many pages will there be in 2007? I would like to excuse myself for the length of this last day's post. the internet since the forever between the 22nd and today has been very uncooperative. and since 'tis the season to be jolly, fa lala lala lalalala.

Super 2007 to you, augustchild.

December 27 Diary

After the early 90s flashfloods, Ormoc's back in the headlines again. Together, my cousins and I uncovered a theoretical formula on how to get this great amount of exposure -- sad tale on a supposedly merry day + high death toll = front page headline.

Or perhaps, in the drama-happy and grief-laden atmosphere that the press strive in, that's already proven. If Jesus our Savior were born on these modern days, His nativity still wouldn't have bagged the paper's royal spot.

When the flashfloods happened, I was still in kindergarten and only really cared about how the water in our garden reached knee-high when it wasn't supposed to be even ankle high, given that we (used to) live on a hill! Later, when I started scanning through back issues of the Time magazine and yahoo-ing the floods (when I was no longer in kindergarten), I realized that the water down in the city was over 6 feet, and thousands actually perished compared to the smaller number that registered in my mind (plus the old man who worked for us who broke a toe)!

Don't know if it counts as fortunate that we get to tell our grandchildren the story of this new headliner not out of scanning back issues, but out of having lived through the experience. In some accounts, it is fortunate probably; for in that day, an up-front generosity, help and sympathy poured out of the Christmas day gatherings and Christmas day lazy sessions.

In our part, we were all gathered at tita Judy's house for the usual Rodriguez lazy day gathering -- kids endless swimming at the pool, the oldies doing a different kind of swimming on the table, the elder cousins catching up on TV series and old movies, and just plain bored -- when the calls came in. Unitop was on fire. Friendly Bazaar, the retail shop neighbor of the family building was on fire. Our building was on fire.

Mamita was in the first car that drove to that busy commercial strip. Just a geographical help: Unitop is a long rectangle of a one-story merchandise store, with a vacant lot on the left of its façade and smaller stores lined up on its right. Most of these stores would suffer the fire as well. There's a second floor at the back portion of Unitop that served as the warehouse and on that day, the route that the hundreds took to escape.

From a distance, I heard my own gasp at the thick smoke that smoldered in the afternoon sky. Iana gripped my arm and gestured towards Tita Judy, whose clinic was just at the back of the burning Unitop, so I would keep my cool. But I wasn’t lone in my near breakdown. Up close to the fire, nobody was keeping their cool.

Among those in the block, the last stuffs that were taken out of establishments were tita Judy's and tito Bingcol's because of the double lock-installed door to their offices. It took a dozen kinds of axes, other things sharp-edged, human resolve and a LOT of helping hands to actually break in to it. (No thanks to the looters disguising as good Samaritans.)

But speaking of these Samaritans, it's really on Christmas day when they rain aplenty. It was like an extension of our own family gathering since almost all of us were there, with the presence of family friends and even acquaintances who helped like it was their own stuffs that were within such close encounter to the fire. Not far away, near where tito Bebot's printing press sat on the right of Unitop, a bunch of BCBP friends in their Christmas day best surrounded the machines that were carried out of the building. They were there through the fire, which newspapers say went on for 7 hours, but to Ormocanons, was ablaze as long as the number of deaths hang above us in question mark, the identities of the dead stroke some familiarity, and their stories strum our senses. This year in this city, Christmas day was defined anew.

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Contrary to the calls, only Unitop was really on fire. A few offices on its right though suffered because of the inferno's intensity. The news didn't get this, but Friendly Bazaar that connected to the second floor warehouse at the rear of Unitop got around 30 people out of the inferno. The Bazaar owners weren't able to wait for everybody because the fire was already running to their direction. The building that housed the first Mayong's that was built 20 years ago, and the offices of my uncle and auntie, was safe.

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We were only a few minutes late of the episode of a girl who almost jumped off a building. A nursing student at the Cebu Doc, she was one of those who escaped through a comfort room that had an opening on its ceiling. Many were able to escape through the same path. Many tried as well, but failed to.

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A father cradling an infant in his arms. A couple embracing in the comfort room. A mother and son at the ICU, survival promised only at vegetable level, after having gone to the merchandise store to buy the little boy's airplane. Traces of Christmas joy seen in the residues of the inferno. Before the fire broke out, it was Christmas day after all.

December 29, 2007

The mother of the boy dies, whereabouts of the toy airplane reduced to ashes, and chances of its supposed owner seeing one anytime tomorrow, grim. 

Today

We will only be making the most of toy trumpets on our first New Year's celebration at our new address. I am completing the only other mango crepe samurai i ever attempted. Super 2007 to you.  

oo1 is my plane going to crash? oo2 there's been no report of such crashes these past few months... no way oo3 let me reat this like a roller coaster ride. the roller coaster can crash too. oo4 the runway doesn't have an end to it. oo5 travelling alone leaves me feeling better. i'm not taking anybody i love with me when something fails. oo5 traces of land hover down below like i'm some flying hero, when in fact, to the rest of space, i'm just an "identity-less silhouette in a window pane" oo7 i can travel on my own now. and i will to australia oo8 where's my conversation? oo9 i wonder how bieni felt on her first airplane ride o10 then this then enchanted kingdom! o11 a logical battle between the boat and the plan could be which wading is better? thru clouds or thru water? (plane will win this by a landslide or 10000 more paragraphs, and romance) o12 who wouldn't want to wade through clouds? o13 when seomthing does fail, will we ever be left with the time to put on this life vest; will it be that easy to forget out families who will grieve and the rest of the world waiting that will have to stop doing so for us, while we remember the steps to putting it on? or is it only logical to forget all of it (the family and the world) for the very while used to grab all chances of saving ourselves and wading longer through life with them? o14 are there such things as hostile clouds? o15 we're shaking. o16 i turned my cellphone off, check. o17 is not wanting anything a symptom of depression? o18 what about wanting too much and not getting any? o19 seatbelt: keep it tight. o20 would i rather be a happy go-getter or an aloof happy dot in this corner? o21 why do i have the feeling that the engine is just going to stop in the midst... of... these... all... o22 i'm a one whole nerve of a nervous breakdown o23 positive thinking: what works! sleep! o24 thirty minutes o25 halfway through the flight, i'm flying to where i thought i wannabe... and could be... and should be... o26 027 we have arrived. did we fly at all?

o28 welcome to the big bad city dreamland. o29 so short o30 i'm in the same grounds as that dream of him.

to write about my weekend big bad city dreamland escape is akin to the excitement for the first swipe of haagen daaz ice cream rushing through me all over again. it has to be haagen daaz because for its worth, i have never dared my money out of my pockets before just for a cup or a stick of it. but there i was at the dessert store of the bald man, called max brenner, and i got the tiniest chocolate ice cream for P168 like it was my favorite baby ruth chocolate bar priced at P1. or 50 cents.

that's the allure of max brenner and the writer who wrote about this chocolate bar and easily made it sound like heaven. and the verdict is: arce dairy (exclusively sold locally at tinderbox, ad pahabol!) still wins.

to write about my weekend big bad city dreamland escape and start it with ice cream should be a sign that, here i am, the ice cream girl. and to follow it up with max brenner's sugarless souffle (actually, it had a longer name), should continue my mark as a dessert aficionado. i am nailed.

the souffle reminded me of the mt. fuji plate at waterfront's mizu, except that greenbelt looks more alive (and colorful, and Christmas-sy, and happy) than waterfront and max brenner looks more homey for a dessert aficionado (at mizu, you have to look like you actually love japanese food, which i do not). except that it didn't knock my sugary senses down after the first taste (like how it did with my first taste of the mountainous dessert). while i could share mizu's plate of fresh off the oven chocolate brownie and dot-in-the-space scoop of vanilla ice cream to 4 other people (ok, make that 2), i could finish the same plate at max brenner by myself. it's sugarfree, it's worth over P250 (for a small plate, it's only logical to finish it to the last drop), it has haagen daaz ice cream (i feel rich, ha!), and i didn't have to pretend like i actually know what to do with the syrup, the small servings of walnut and fruits. perrrrrrrfect. 

(thank you to the wonderful man waiting on our table who didn't mind instructing us what to do with all of the plate.)

it was the ice cream of my makati cake.

and my buddy, buddy jane, with whom i shared the first taste of haagen daaz, was the cherry. oh no, i didn't have that pala. (naks! there goes my poor tagalog that around 20 strangers had to endure, just so me pesky traveller would stop bugging).

p.s. mitch valdez was with a younger guy. and georgina wilson is gorgeous. i also saw kris aquino having paul smith all to her self. what a bitch.

through the course of my trip, i received 4 invitations to move to manila. tita chona even pointed out to me where i'd stay in their home (nice!) if i'll be based there. jane said we could live in an apartment in makati together and promised she'd help me with applications. her friend an-an encouraged me that it's worth the try. lastly, my mother said i could move there, but she followed it with a "bahala namu sa inyo kinabuhi. ayaw jud koh basula." in her vocab, that would mean, "shut up and stay where you are, manila is hell." 

if that were hell, then i love the rush of it. we went up and rode on the MRT to ortigas (where jane had to get her ticket for her flight back to bacolod the next day). it was a rush, just like the one i felt at the subway in new york (a thousand ages ago), and in australia (my brother flirting on a latina in her late 20s is still fresh in mah mind). that was the closest i could get to the subway life, and it was just a freaking plane ride away (nice bargain).

i wish i have the guts. i have the dream. i have the plans. i will have the money. i can't have as much assurance with the guts. maybe because my mother could be right.

shut up and stay where you are.

nah, in my next life maybe, mother, when a married life with kids at a beautiful house in a comfort town as the safest net after graduation get the tiniest chances of existing in my prayers.

just a view in words, makati is a picture that you can imagine out of a chic lit book, when women start getting a life of their own in their own. except that it's not all about boys. it's about catching the MRT early in the morning. sticking up to yourself to ungentleMANly fingers (ten of these i got from a guitarist at stir crazy, crazy bald man; but he's cute, and he plays groovy guitars). garbing yourself with confidence wherever you go, whatever they say. having that power puff girl attitude that blinds you in to the assurance that you can reach home. securing the money to have a house to go home to. and separating waiting from boring because there's a LOT to think of and do while doing so.

i loved it. every. minute. of. it.

There's a certain kind of fascination over somebody else's life that your own suddenly slips in to oblivion. I have a tendency for such bouts, red alert screaming all over -- I fall out of words! and only words!

they are not that reliable.

here i am awake at 3 am, with another writing assignment hanging above me. if i don't nail it now, it's going to be crazy, just like this stupid habit of relying on the day's last hours of darkness to bring out the losing wordsmith in me. 

and all i think about is you.

guess??

happy birthday jane, today.

happy birthday ek.ek (can't have it another way, just ek-ek), today. yes, somebody was named such 21 years ago.

tomorrow, i fly to big bad city dreamland. i've been in the worst flights -- most vivid at the moment: a bunch of grade school campers on a disneyworld mission, jumping in their seats a thousand feet high up from the ground, while our plane ran in circles in waiting for the storm down below to subside -- but i've never been on a flight alone.

thrill i come!

practice makes perfect.

agenda: enchanted kingdom, lantern parade at UP Dil, cinnamon at cinnabon (mmm!), simbang gabi at Baclaran (ambitious!) or at the Paseo de Magallanes church, the im-taking-a-leave-because-im-attending-a-close-relatives-wedding wedding, kala at a stranger friend's birthday on saturday, saguijo and uphdarmadown on saturday (please!), fully booked (please!), open neck tops, shaved legs, clean toes, favorite flats (where are my tried and tested sneaks?), date with buddy, buddy jane, come what may beats me! 

space shuttle!

and the dream of him.

Today, I got tired of a lot of things.

Of not feeling Christmas. Pretty soon, the last days of the month would come, and I would be questioning myself again, "Where did the spirit go?"

Of having scanned my notebook and strayed longer at the page with my writing assignments. Celine Lopez couldn't have stated it better, "Writing is the best stress there is."

Of marrying myself to the same thing every waking day, of settling myself with the fear that every waking day for the rest of my life will be spent the same way.

Of no longer finding myself in the midst of 10 years later. should i keep still and keep myself or move forward and lose it?

Sidenote: today, they tried to get that person who gave personal numbers to clients speak up by bringing the talk to a cycle. here's my side: giving away personal numbers is obviously a stupid thing to do, and i do a lot of stupid things, but this is one that in the name of office etiquette, i know and always remember i shouldn't do at all. but with the way one officemate kept on repeating it, and with the way i just shut myself up, it seemed clear to all of us that i'm the suspect. now, i'm in the phase of i-should-have-spoken-up-you-idiot-now-how-are-you-going-to-save-face. ugh, how long am i going to have to keep up?

Of having to act like i'm lost when the truth is, i really am lost and i don't have to act it.

Of being satisfied with seconds-long laughter when i think i could deserve one with a memory that would still make me laugh an hour later.

Of being content with Christmas, my mother, Bienni, the beach, my young cousins, my grandmother in my mind.

Of marrying myself to just thoughts of him, surrending myself to 10 more years of his absence, giving way to daydreams and running away from reality.

Of being a loser in many ways.

what's with the obsession towards playgrounds? yes?

don't you love playgrounds ? where innocence and sincerity rest until it is worn out by the world.

hmm, i love playgrounds when i see one. but the many truths of the world have worn me out a bit too much that i don't remember much about the time before it did (and there goes the memories of the slide, the see saw, the monkey bars), but thanks anyway for reminding us..!
ps. hope playgrounds and innocence still exist. at the last one i visited, i saw a starry-eyed couple under the tree... wha

it's surprising that, in this post modern age, fairytales still exist in real life;)

for thinking that fairy tales still exist in real life, i admire you -- you really do live back in the age when playgrounds still reeked of innocence and sincerity (with the starry eyed couple under the tree, now they dont), when innocence and sincerity still existed! it's either that or you watch a LOT of hillary duff. because if not for her, fairy tales are goners, boy! ha! ,,, though to be in one would have been/would be reallllly nice. ps don't keep still time is fast

12/11/06

If you want to laugh your head off without having to think (think teenybopper movies!), watch She's the Man. Amanda Bynes is hilarious in here. Just don't attempt to remember the Hillary Duff-like gurrrrl in "What a Girl Wants"" or you might see another Hillary Duff-like actress and not want to believe me; but take my word on this Amanda Bynes being hilarious – she makes Hillary Duff seem like a total dupe of a teenybopper actress.

Hands down, in this movie, Bynes became the first young actress who did well and managed to be gawked at, to be mocked at, to be laughed at, and to be sighed at in one movie. Watch!

Thanks to Bernie Boy, our only girl and Booshki, for the company.

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Watched Lorenzo's Oil the other day, and it's the first film that made biochemistry sound fascinating in a movie. The familiar actor, Nick Nolte, did great as an Italian father to Lorenzo, a little boy sick with the disease called ALD, which i would describe as the disease for the kids that Morrie of the Tuesdays with Morrie suffered from. Same with Susan Surandon as the mother (thumbs up!).

But i have to say though that jugding from the movie, this certain disease is worst (aside from that it affects kids). before Lorenzo's oil was discovered by the parents of Lorenzo, the disease was incurable. nobody was also putting a lot of effort in researching for the cure because ALD didn't happen as many times as other diseases. before the kids die of it, this disease will leave them inable to see, to talk, to walk, to even move much. basically, they become vegetables. 

but to the parents of Lorenzo, death wasn't an option. none of the two was in the field of medicine but they spent a LOT of time in the library researching for the cure themselves, with nothing more than the support of around 10 people and a chemical plant.

children with ALD die 2 years at the most after diagnosis (in lorenzo's case, he was about 3-4 when he was diagnosed, back in the early 1980s), but today, lorenzo is already 28 years old. (know more all about this by clicking the wikipedia's site in the side section and looking up Lorenzo's Oil)    

Everybody who gets a kick out of sad but hopeful reality-based movies could not possibly miss this one. 5 stars. 

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Striptease would have been a delicate and touchy film if it ended differently. I thought Demi Moore was great as a dancer, but the ending didn't justify her acting.

Why the ending?!

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the last movie that i watched today was Chances are. it was about the death of a husband and the loneliness of his pregnant wife that followed it. when the husband got to the purgatory (or whatever it is in Buddhism that purgatory is in level with), he pleaded to be reincarnated and he was in a newborn baby boy's body (and robert downey junior enters here).

the hitch was that before he left purgatory, he didn't get the injection of a liquid to his body that would have made him forget about his past life. he grew up. went to yale university. and like how movies portray it, the world became too small for him and miranda, his daughter! (of course, they were of the same age)

he didn't know he was a reincarnation of somebody else until (to make the LONG story short) he was invited for dinner at his "his former home". when he entered and saw his "wife," he remembered everything. and to make the LONG story short (and for you to actually understand it), better just look this movie up.

i just find how the theme song fits the movie. we all know this:

Well, here we are again;
I guess it must be fate.
Weve tried it on our own,
But deep inside weve known
Wed be back to set things straight,

I still remember when
Your kiss was so brand new,
Every memory repeats,
Every step I take retreats,
Every journey always brings me back to you,

After all the stops and starts,
We keep coming back to these two hearts,
Two angels whove been rescued from the fall,
After all that weve been through,
It all comes down to me and you,
I guess its meant to be,
Forever you and me, after all

When love is truly right
(this time its truly right.)
It lives from year to year,
It changes as it goes,
Oh, and on the way it grows,
But it never disappears

This is joyful news: Lino Cayetano and Bianca Gonzales is no longer an item. Not that this will directly affect me. I dream and I dream big but I know when hooking my hope on a star is like hooking it on a neighbor's tree.

But you see, i've had the biggest crush on Lino for years and I'm also a big fan of Bianca. I always thought they made the perfect pair. Then the Pinoy Big Brothers had to happen. How she conducted herself on national TV with another guy - and with the viewing public's knowledge that she had a boyfriend trapped outside the "house" - was just inexcusable and she even had to play up her insecurity to get everybody's sympathy. It was a pathetic show of such, and it had to come from somebody who's well-loved and well-appreciated for her morena beauty and intelligence.

Pardon the making of a "The Buzz!!" news brief. Today, after the shortest battle between my conscience (with several promised articles hanging in missed self-imposed deadlines atmosphere, drab endings and 50/50 chances of publication) and my little heart's little desires (to finally get to sit down in the couch and spoil my visual inclinations), I tuned into to HBO and watched Striptease and Chances Are, and watched "The Buzz!!" from beginning to end.

Mico Palanca and Bea Allonso are now an item.

Meryll Soriano and Bernard Palanca have reconciled with Meryll's family (who was against their sudden marriage).

One of my favorite local comedienne actresses Nikki Valdez is leaving showbiz to marry and be with his Canada-based boyfriend.

That Gretchen Barretto-Dawn Zulueta have already settled the alitan that stemmed from Dawn's supposed comment about Gretchen being a primadonna for having brought a Microwave, so many clothes, so many guards and so many yayas to a commercial shoot that they both starred in. So was she mad because it just dawned on Gretchen that she really was primadonna or because Dawn got every right to call her one? Ho hummm.

Showbizness: where Microwaves figure in an EXCLUSIVE news.

PAHABOL: Rosita and Ivan are not favorable with the people votes' decision to kick them out of the academy. That Ivan's wife crying her heart out was a sign that they were really dismayed. Oh-my-gawd, would they really expect me or any kid at that to continue smiling and laughing my head off when I get forced out of Disneyworld just an hour after getting inside?

Showbizness: where stupidity is excused.

But here's for some serious thinking: should MO Twister's show in a radio station in Manila be cancelled just because it peeves somebody's privacy?

I really don't know the whole story of this show since I only get to listen to it partially through a special segment in Wazzup, Wazzup. In my first catch, I heard Borgy Manotoc answer such questions as, "Who do you think should come out and admit he's gay?" "Who is the celebrity with the worst style?" "Who is bitchiest celebrity?" "Who would you like to go out with?" "Is there any celebrity you've had a one-night stand with? Who?" with "Sam Milby," "Gwen Garci," "Geneva Cruz," "Aubrey Miles," and "Vina Morales," respectively! (Fill it up!)

So basically, the show only has MO throwing questions at his guests, challenging them to blurt out the first association that comes to their mind. In my next catch, I heard Geneva Cruz answering "Angel Aquino" to Mo's question, "Who do you think is the most plastic celebrity?" (could hardly believe this; I met her once in a small town fiesta and she didn't treat anybody as "small" there). And the pasabog: "Who do you think should come out and admit he's gay?".. "Sam Milby!"" (that's two votes for him!)

Now, here's my point: It's stupid to cancel this show on the ground that it invades the privacy of the celebrity. Whose privacy are they invading? Sam Milby and his alleged membership of the 3rd gender? Geneva's long-standing secret about her apparent abhorrence towards Angel? Vina Morales and her one-night stand affair with a former dictator's grandson? Borgy's fashion preference?

If they're so keen on this case, they should stick to the ground that the show gives the guest the option to verbally bash just about anybody (so the guest has the option not to) or that it ruins the dignity of the person who just happens to have the very first name that the guest can associate the question to (how sensitive).

With my paragraphed side notes, you understand that I believe they're being too thin-skinned about this. The base word is option. The guest may skip the question. Or the celebrity may skip guesting at the show altogether.

But if the heavier issue is on the owner of the name that was just associated to the, for example, 3rd gender (by 2, not 1, people!), then they have to get more of what Patch Adams calls, "obsessive happiness." If he is sure about himself, then it shouldn't matter that a bitch and a former dictator's grandson call him a closet gay.

Same with Angel Aquino and her being plastic, Gwen Garci and her bad fashion sense, and Vina Morales and her one-night stand, and yeah the KBP, the hand that was never associated to any question but is making the biggest fuss out of this.  

early in the morning: our boss announces that one of the many directors of the ASEAN summit's national organizing committee had just asked him to pull out his items from the ministers' lounging tent/leaders' receiving house because the predicted signal #3 typhoon might just bring it down along with the makeshift tent (news has it that the materials for these tents were imported and were assembled with very detailed instructions) that houses the items.

early in the afternoon: our boss announces that the same director had just asked him to get all his stuff back to the factory because the ASEAN summit is off. and a few hours after that, gwen shows up on TV and announces it herself (pride tucked in of course) that the summit is off.

middle of the afternoon: we got in our boss' benz and drove to protofino, where the out-of-the-philippines ministerial lounges were stationed. can you say posh? i haven't seen so many flat screen TVs assembled in one place at one time. sony retail shops would be very ashamed. for a few amazing moments, we were trapped in a lost world of such beauty that's a pretense, and of so much hospitality that's just an abuse of power.

early in the evening: our boss' benz breaks down on the way back to the office. setty daringly exclaims, "this is not supposed to happen to a benz!"

she could have said an outright truth about the philippines. cut the pretense!

nobody would buy it, but they said it anyway. they cancelled the summit because of the typhoon? typhoon, our feet. rumors has it that the terrorist threat has reached red alert faster than they expected, faster than their sudden realization that, "hey, we could be at a center of a terrorist attack." where did security brains go?

today, i got so freaked out by a half-naked man i assumed was following me. but just a meter past the san carlos boys' high, as i stopped by the jeepney stop and pretended to hail a ride home, he continued to walk on. i wanted to eat my guilt raw -- he was just a hapless street resident. i couldn't tell which was at play -- my incurable and almost psychotic nerves or my ready judgment for those who walk around with the thinnest soles under their feet, and half-nakedness to embrace their frailty.

with a visit to the cebu international convention center (the P550m construction giant that they abra-cadabrized out of people's pockets) earlier in the afternoon, i am now stuck face to face with the ugliness that's generally at play in this pretentious 3rd world country we live in.

i still believe that they could have used that amount for homes to the aged, for housing projects, for medical insurances to those who earn below the minimum wage, for education to those under 18 and are already working, and for orphanages.

for trust.