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The trade is like that

2010-11-05T00:39:00.003+08:00

The trade is like that.
There are some hives under a canopy.
A typhoon of stings.
Swarm fresh pinkish cheeks.
Punch holed skin pores.
Big, wide, open.
A well of lubricant.
So smooth it slips.
Like a militant with his arms sewn.
Under the canopy
Where palms touch palms.

Aug 3 2010

2010-08-03T02:09:00.002+08:00

I don't know why for some reasons, the clock in my computer reads , "10:59 am." I just now, by my body clock, that it's dawn, it's cold and my legs are shivering. I tried tossing myself to sleep but this unfathomable feeling just won't let me--so here I am again, talking to my so-called "blog" because my black pen ran out of ink and it breaks the momentum whenever I feel like pouring out but the ink is dry. At least by hitting this semi-muted keyboard, I will feel better for the time being. Maybe tomorrow it will hurt again so I'll write again until the pain subsides. So then, what am I trying to draw out here? I cannot even explain it through complex words because the concept is simple. It's an elementary principle that makes the world complicated. Love. And I lost it tonight because the earth split up and separated the continents.

Evolution For Everyone

2010-07-04T18:42:00.007+08:00

I have never read an evolution book which is as friendly as David Sloan Wilson's Evolution For Everyone. Instead of laying down evolutionary ideas in a restrictive jargon where only a few enthusiasts and experts can relate to, Wilson extracted the gists of some evolutionary wisdoms and related them to everyday-life scenarios. I have never imagined appreciating evolution by learning from creatures as tiny and inconspicuous as zooplanktons! :D This book just made me appreciate and love evolution even more! A lot of seemingly disjointed concepts were also discussed in this book and were made to meet in the end. This is definitely a book "for everyone." Whether religious or not, anyone reading this will definitely appreciate the concept of evolution. It's evident everywhere, actually. Only a few keen eyes can see how it's playing. This book may serve as lens so you can watch evolution clearly!

If I have five thumbs, I will raise them all! :D

Yearning for graduate school

2010-06-09T21:39:00.004+08:00

Now that I'm currently agonizing yet another year so I can acquire two years of work experience in research before I pursue graduate studies, I'm frequently swept back to the so-called "boring college past" which now appears unusually animated. Everything seems vibrant each time I sink back in my thinking chair and flush down the memory lane.

I remember... I was a very vicious freshie way back then; and I had no one else to blame but my intelligent but brain-lulling professors who would sing me lessons while I fall back to my dreamland. I used to skip classes too. There were many times when I opted to watch a noontime telenovela which would, unfortunately, end 20 minutes after the beginning of my next class. More often, my motivation to finish my chemistry lab experiments was to watch my favorite anime series. I thought I could not live a weekday without watching a corny love story about two fictitious being who happened to have mismatched hair and eye colors.

College was extremely boring when I was a freshie and I would do all sorts of tricks just to keep me awake. Like for instance, I would frequently glance out of the classroom window and gaze far beyond the swaying tree leaves and marvel at the cumulus clouds embossed in the blue horizon. Then I would imagine a sky full of cotton candies and fried chicken. And then one day, when daydreaming could not alleviate boredom anymore, I persuaded my friend to help me wake up my other classmates during our trigonometry class. It was perfect because he kept, in his bag, a biological bomb which could definitely spark chaos in the classroom. He had a huge warty toad! Incidentally, seated in front of him was an overreactive female who would scream like an ambulance's siren if startled. And so it was set. We opened his bag and loosened the plastic cellophane where the helpless toad was imprisoned. Because of its eagerness to be free, the toad hopped and hopped! And there it merrily scuttled from one desk to another. The class was immediately halted; and my professor was appalled. The toad stole the scene and my sleeping classmates were awakened at last! But when we brought the toad back to my friend's bag and apologized for the so-called "accident," everyone crept back to his dreamland--including me. I found myself gazing at the motionless trees again. It was boring...

But I badly miss it.

These lucid memories about my retarded freshie life in college makes me long for school again. I wonder if I can do the same old stupid things in graduate school if boredom comes tapping on my door...

Remembering G day

2010-06-03T07:12:00.001+08:00

A day before graduation, my girl friends and I learned that we were obliged to wear stockings during the ceremony. I immediately panicked because I did not own a single pair—be it black, white or skin tone stockings. I had myriad of socks with different colorful designs; I always made sure I had plenty because I frequently wear rubber shoes. But a pair of skin tone stockings? I just did not have it. When I got home after a brief dinner with my batch mates, the first question I asked mom was, “Meey, do you have stockings?” Luckily, she had and I jumped like a little brat when I found out.

Immediately, I scurried to her room like an elated lunatic. I was so awed to behold so many pairs of skin tone stockings. However, most of them were colored brown and were too dark for my skin. Only one pair fitted my yellowish olive skin. After finding my treasure, I went to bed and hoped for the best on my graduation day.

The next day, I woke up. No. My mom woke me up. She was at the foot of my bed, calling out “…wake up, we’ll be late…” She said so many words but that’s all I wanted to hear. I flew to take a shower. As usual, it took me a long time to finish my womanly rituals. First coating: General antimicrobial soap. Rinse. Second coating: Anti-fungal soap. Rinse. Third coating: Scented soap for finishing touches. Mom knocked on my door again and reminded that we were running late. I did not finish the ritual; but I fled the bathroom and wrapped my body in my pink towel.

After spending some time in my mirror, mom called out again, “we’re running late!” And I was hurrying. “Almost done,” I said. I took the stocking, squeezed my right toes in it and pulled hastily in a manner similar to pulling my socks. The stocking would not inch up my leg. I pulled harder. When I pulled hard enough, I ripped my stocking! I was so shocked, I ran to my mom with tears starting to bead in my lids. “What did you do?” Mom exclaimed. I frowned and said, “Meey, I tried pulling the stocking because it just won’t come up.” “You pulled what?” she asked. “I pulled the stockings!” Then mom started to laugh. “You silly,” she said, “when you put on a stocking you’re not supposed to pull it. Just roll it smoothly.”

I dropped my jaws after realizing how silly I was. And yet I was graduating with honors at that time! How stupid! I collected my welling tears and laughed at the irony. Several minutes after, I found myself already walking in the aisle. I did not wear stockings anymore. But so what? My legs were sparkling without stockings anyway.

Sophia! :D

2010-05-29T07:15:00.001+08:00

Playing Carbies with my Brother

2010-05-08T17:17:00.002+08:00

Like typical girls, I was very fond of playing barbie dolls when I was young. But I would always share toys with my brother that's why I ended up playing with both barbie dolls and cars. We made an eccentric family out of our toys. The mother was a barbie doll named, "Marina." She had long blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes and seductive pink lips. Her husband was my brother's favorite handpuppet squirrel named, "Goodyear." We took the name from the big box we saw in the storage room, which we eventually transformed into their love nest.

They bore a two-inch, pink and skinless pig. I was too lazy to think of any other name so I thought of just naming him, "Pig." I found the pig unusually "cute." Brother, however, abominated "Pig" and he kept saying, "eeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww." And from there, we finally formulated a unique name: "Pigeew." Obviously, we derived it from "Pig" and "eeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwww." Pigeew!

Brother detested the idea that Marina and Goodyear were married. The two would always split up every time we came up with a plot. We resolved our toys' marriage when I got another doll. She was big, fat and horrendous. I named her "Susan." I took the name from a villain in a soap opera our helper was watching. Susan was far from likable. She had huge legs, pouting lips and curly hair. Unlike Marina who was glamorously draped in a long pink gown ornamented with silver sequins, Susan was sheepishly dressed in blue pajamas accessorized with a bottle of milk. I threw the bottle of milk and decided Susan was already a grown-up. I cut a piece of cloth and sew it into a skirt which Susan wore for the rest of her doll life.

I turned her into a villain just to resolve Goodyear and Marina's marriage. I insisted that Goodyear must have a wife. I asked brother to choose between Susan and Marina. Susan or Marina? Susan or Marina? I incessantly asked him until he finally gave in and said, "Fine! Fine, Marina. Whatever you say." Marina and Goodyear ended up together and they lived in a huge box with a "Goodyear" scribbled somewhere in the roof. They had a huge lot with more than 50 cars and one fighter plane. I used to arrange all the cars around the box; and my brother would end up destroying the scene by constantly banging the cars together. I really abhorred banging cars so I would frequently yell at my brother to GET A FEW CARS AND BANG THEM SOMEWHERE FAR FROM THE BOX HOUSE so the arrangement of the other cars parked adjacent to it would not be ruined. I really hated brother for doing that. He would destroy cars and subtract it to our collection. I suggested another way of playing cars. I told him he could put Goodyear in the truck and ride him all the way from the living room to the kitchen. He never listened so I ended up independently driving Goodyear, Marina and Pigeew around the “town.”

There were two vehicles which I loved the most: the red Ferrari miniature and the green fighter plane. I really enjoyed racing with the Ferrari. But once, I got careless and hit it on the wall. I was so relieved it still ran despite the inelastic collision. I guess racing was the only activity my brother and I loved doing together. For the rest? Our minds were always situated at two opposite poles. We even kept arguing about the fighter plane's conformation! I was so surprised to discover that the fighter plane could actually be transformed into a robot! Brother always preferred the fighter plane configuration so it could fight and fly. I always wanted the robot and reasoned, "you see, unlike your plane, the robot can jump high." But its ability to jump high was not what I was after. I simply thought the green transformer looked "cuter" when it was a robot.

My First Kiss

2010-05-08T11:51:00.002+08:00

Did I ever tell you that my very first kiss came from a bitch? She has brown eyes, long snout and brown fur! Yes, she's a bitch--a mongrel from a pure, beautiful and snow-white Japanese Spitz mom and a mixed-bred, ugly and unevenly coated dad who lives in the streets. I was playing with her on a mound of gravel one time. I was squatting so the two of us would have the same eye level when suddenly mom called me. When I was turning to her so I could say goodbye, there it happened. I froze for a split second. Wow. That was my first kiss and it came from a canine!

Night

2010-03-16T14:07:00.006+08:00

Night.

Flame from a sleek white candle
of subtle intensity.
with heat from raptures of the insides

penetrated
into the room,
running with feet of famished boar.

A rapid shoot-outs
of
Unquenchable blaze.

Papered walls sewn in gray smoke.
Couch stitched in ashes
Cream floor powdered in soot.

The walls
between us

crumbled.

We stood in mirrors.

Myself in that crystalline salt
fell
like
a
debris

in your eye.

You
could not stand in that growing flame

You
dialed the fighter.

All at once,
it rained.

And we cuddled smoke.

How to Not Drown

2010-03-08T23:40:00.010+08:00

I felt awkward wearing the pink bikini my friend lent me. I never intended to swim that’s why I never brought mine. She wore navy blue. She tossed me pink and I didn’t have a choice. I was 5% pink and the rest was flesh. “Do you have sunscreen?” she was asking a person who was obsessively paranoid about DNA mutation due to ultraviolet rays. I tossed her the smallest bottle. I had three in my bag—the two were recently purchased. I did not tell her I had three; she would think I was paranoid. But well, I was paranoid. I just did not want her to know.

I squeezed the bottle and moistened my face in a circular motion. “Is that safe for the face?” “I’m not sure,” I said. I was sure, really. I read about sunscreens a thousand times before I began regularly applying. “I was not sure,” I said. “We shouldn’t be putting anything in our face,” she said. I read about it a thousand times. It was safer to cream our faces with sunscreen than to walk under the overcast sky without protection. I read about it, but I did not tell her. She would probably think I was obsessed. But I was. I just did not want her to know.

I took a shower and immediately plunged into the water. She went to the other edge of the wide blue pool. She was waving at me, “Come on. It’s not that deep.” I could probably tip-toe to get there, I thought. I tip-toed, moon-walked and pretended I was never afraid. Although I was. And my insides were quivering. “I’m coming,” I screamed. Traversing the first half, I suddenly found my height inadequate such that I could no longer walk on my toes and pretend I was dancing ballet. “I’m coming,” I told them nevertheless. “I’m coming,” I said; I wanted to come but I did not know how to get there.

“Are you sure you know how to swim?” I could barely reply, “no, I mean, yes” because I was digging the neuronal folds that stored the information on “how to swim.” I was certain I knew how to swim at some point—at many instances, in fact. I just did not know how to repeat the strokes at that moment. But at last, I remembered. Yes, and I swam in fact. It was some time in July, the year before last, when I gracefully stretched my arms and traversed two distant edges, back and forth. But the memory was a blur of images. I was drunk that time. It was the first time I got drunk in my entire life. My college batchmates kept handing me the jigger. “For the cum laude,” they said. And I swallowed and swallowed because the jigger kept running after me. I could not say, “No. Thank you” because everyone else got their share—although admittedly, I had the lion’s share against my will. Then my friend told me that the best way to shrug the liquor off my head was to dive in the pool and swim. And I swam. I remembered crossing the edges with my other drunk batchmate who laughed with me without rhyme and reason. So I swam; there was no reason I could not do it again. I courageously replied, “Yes, I’m coming,” then I paddled, extended my arms, (left, right, left, right) until I finally reached the other edge where I hastily clung like a moss.

“I did it!” They did not notice how much I perspired because my sweat was immediately diluted in the pool. “I did it,” I thought. And I did it again. I paddled a little distance from the edge where I clung like a moss. I was a pink weed in the pool that kept paddling from edge to edge. Finally, I learned how to swim again. I could never stand on my toes like what I did on the other side because my legs were too short. It was one of the instances when I wanted to curse my genes. If I drowned at that moment, there was nothing else to blame but that segment of DNA. But I was safe, so I did not clamor.

I watched my friend and could not help but envy the way she stretched her limbs and loitered around the wide blue pool as though she had fins. I was studying her movement when she called out, “come on, I’ll teach you how to do a backstroke.” A backstroke? How could I succeed with a backstroke when I could not even ascend with the simply butterfly stroke?

“Here’s what you should do.” She asked me to lie on the water. “Float!” she commanded! I floated, as she wished. “Now move your legs!” I swaggered at first but when I eventually learned the rhythm, I inched further. All I had to do was to move my arms in synchrony with the rest of my body. “Now move your arms,” she said. I couldn’t, I thought. I just did not know how to do it.

For several seconds, I gazed at the feathered clouds above the towering condominiums. Many times, in a mortal’s life, one would wish the Tower of Babel never crumbled so everyone would have the chance to see what lay beyond the depths of stars. It was one of those moments a mortal like me, was tempted to fantasize so. Checking on reality again, however, I realized I was never too close to the “great beyond.” In fact, there I was, floating in a wide blue pool (several feet beneath) with my lungs nearly deflated.

I lost the rhythm. Counted to three, my lungs collapsed and popped like air balloon. My feet landed at the bottom and my head was completely submerged. I could not cry when all I could think of was gasp oxygen from either my mouth or nostrils which were then filled with the most versatile liquid: water. My favorite beverage at lunch! I drank water in the pool as if I were an athlete who just came from a marathon. I drank water insatiably—again and again. When my friend saw me, she swam nearer, “are you drowning?”

“I will never drown,” I told myself. “Do not drown! I commanded my mind. I thought there must be a way to retrieve the information from my rusty neuronal circuits. “How to swim.” How to swim. How to swim… I could not remember anymore. “If you will not recall, you will drown,” I said. “I will drown,” I thought. Earlier, I saw there was no lifeguard. All I had to rely on at that moment, was my will to survive!

Like all humans, born fishes in their mother’s wombs, I instinctively learned how to stretch my limp limbs and rowed left, right, left, right… I opened my eyes in the water and scouted the cemented edge; it was yet several meters away. There was little hope for me to reach the finish line without collapsing in the middle of the game. But I knew, if I would collapse, my life story would abruptly end. There was no way I would die in that pool! So I rowed my limbs, left, right, left, right until I did not realize I already reached the finish line. I swam! Would you believe?

Often, I am tempted to write a story on “how to swim” so people frightened of anything deep and blue would learn. Unfortunately, however, I have forgotten how to swim now. So I thought, maybe, I should instead, write about, “how to not drown.” It’s easier to recall especially when you nearly died.

On the floor

2010-03-08T22:36:00.005+08:00

On the floor:
liquor and mildewed dress
battered soles of broken slip-ons
sleeping beside her.

Eyes tightly shot
in the reddening mist of morning.

Puzzled alarm, hesitant to ring
snoozing every ten minutes.

She pulls the carpet,
covers her waxed legs.
To reach waist, she curls
like a fetus formed in the living room
disposed at night.

Bedroom

2010-03-07T14:10:00.004+08:00

I thought that--maybe. Maybe we should start imagining where they did it. I do not know, exactly. But it's somewhere in those wooden houses hidden behind dense canopies. In her parents bedroom to be precise. But maybe not. They were too clever for that. Her bedroom would have been more appropriate--unless they could not extinguish the heat for a minute and hence, they chose to lie there on the sofa. The rattan sofa where her mother used to sit and cradle her younger siblings in her arms. If they sat there, their neighbors would likely know. So maybe not in the sofa. The creaking would have resonated and everyone in the neighborhood would know. In her bedroom. I am certain now.

He untied the blue curtain and squatted beside her. They were exchanging glances at first. "Do you love me?" was all he read in her eyes. He said, "yes" and inched closer to bring her mouth closer to his. Their lips locked like doors opening from time to time to draw in air. He pinned his fingers around her waist. She hooked her arms around his neck. They were lying quietly at first. And when she felt him too heavy for her, she said, "maybe we should not do it, Dan."

"Maybe we should not..." But it was too late to say that. His hands raised to her chest; he brought his tongue beside his fingers. "I cannot stop it," he said. So she couldn't. She let him. She let him, hoping she would discover what was it that made happy married women, happy. But when he thrusted and forced his stick to her parted legs, she screamed. She almost wanted to cry. He did it innumerable times; and she let him--this time with a different goal. To make him happy. Maybe someday she would discover what was it that made happy married women, happy.

---to be continued---

Interview

2010-02-22T06:49:00.009+08:00

Back to my home town now. I learned a lesson in life which I will forever etch in my head: I will never come on time again. Rather, I will come earlier next time. The only event I was looking forward to in Manila didn't turn out well. The admissions committee asked me to come at 1pm on the 19th of February. I came there exactly at 1pm because I had to wait for my friend at Robinson's. When we arrived, a woman in pink was angry, "you are late," she said. "But I thought it's 1pm?" "No, you must come one hour before."

Someone led me to the hall where the other interviewers were seated. I was anxiously waiting for my turn only to find out I might never have mine. Then I was taken back to the lady in pink. She said, "we have to reschedule your interview." "But I live in Davao," I reasoned. My tears nearly squirted. I was holding back, trying to stay firm while waiting for a miracle.

A handsome surgeon in black striped polo suddenly came and said, "I will interview her." No other doctor had wanted to give me another chance. It was supposed to be a panel interview, but he was the only one who was kind enough to hear me out. Finally, I seated and I started speaking with a sobbing heart.

After that, I was wishing to come home immediately so I could meditate. But my flight was yet two days away then. In the evening, I was invited to attend a bar where famous local artists like Paramita and My Odessa were performing. I was never regaled. We went to Laguna then to Tagaytay. Still, the clouds were sulking in defeat and I could do nothing more than carve a forced smile. We went back to Makati to pick up our things. Afterwards we moved to a hotel to spend the rest of the night. My friend came by at our door at around 10 and invited us for leisurely walk by the bay. All I could think of at that time while watching the stars was this: I want to go to UP Medical school this June. Please dear Orion's belt, do not send me off to DMSF.

Julian, Jr.

2010-02-12T21:27:00.004+08:00

He always fancied the thought of cuddling a miniature of himself, a legacy, a minute movable statue which could bear the name of his forefathers and his name as well—if his wife, Elena, would consent with the “Junior” trailing behind. But he distinctly remembered she found “Junior” to be too unimpressive and too common. “Why couldn’t you think of a better name, Pa? Not that I do not like your name. But we can surely weave thousand other names from the A-B-C.” Weaved and sewn with the finest letters, he christened him “Julian Alexander.” Alexander, magically crafted from the random ABCs and Julian, from his own name. “Julian Alexander.” In that way, his wife could not clamor, “not that I do not like your name, Pa, but Junior is too common.”

Julian Alexander was one of the many boys who had been widely mouthed with utmost pride. “My son will be one of the greatest lawyers,” Julian raised a glass of red wine and drank to celebrate the 34th week of Julian Alexander’s conception. Although still bathed in fluid, unable to hear, speak and talk, Julian Alexander had already established a reputation among his father’s colleagues. They had etched in their minds that prophesized fate. That this Julian Alexander will be one the greatest diplomats. That he will build a large law firm bearing his forefather’s sur name. (And the “Julian”, of course.) That he will have a staggeringly pulchritudinous wife and three handsome sons who will be named, “Julian Alexander Miguel dela Torre,” “Julian dela Torre” and “Julian Alexander dela Torre, Jr.”

Two more weeks and the liberty of a boy cushioned in his mother’s belly will finally be granted. Julian could hardly wait. Every night, after undressing his wife, fingering her hair and grazing her breasts, he would spend five minutes kissing the bronze bulge as though it was a trophy he bagged for winning a hard-fought boxing tournament. Then he would sweep his lips in her belly and whisper to his mute, tiny, indiscriminate creature, “son, your daddy cannot wait to see you.” His wife would sometimes ache in the weight of his torso whenever he would fall asleep kissing her belly. She would then lace her candle fingers in his hair, sigh and smile with the thought that she was so lucky to find a man who wanted to be a father. Many men would marry so someone would wash their dirty linens, keep their rooms tidy and ensure that they get a full breakfast everyday. She found a man who wanted to be a father and she felt she was lucky.

Leaning languidly in the rocking-chair her late mother used to recline after a meal of blended rice and viand, her dear Julian Alexander was anxiously rocking her. He jolted her and the pricking sensation was benumbing. She knew it was not yet time for delivery—but it might as well be if only to ease the pain. She yelled at her housemaid and ordered to get a taxi and bring her to the nearest hospital. Further, she instructed her to call Julian and ask him to come to her as soon as possible.

Her helper was speedy to react. Five minutes later Elena was lying in the operation table. Her water bag did not break; but something inside her did. The aisle where her husband, Julian, searched during those heated love-making nights, was flooded with red, semi-viscous fluid which was then beginning to clot. The doctor ordered the helper to call Elena’s husband as soon as possible.

The doctors were feigning calm and rational while they watched the clock’s hands moving staggered a couple of degrees to the right. Elena was then bathed in a pool of scarlet poison which was very much like the red wine Julian raised when they celebrated Julian Alexander’s 34th month. Everyone in her periphery was fervently wishing the man of the house would arrive. And at last!

He came five minutes later.

When he came, his face flared like the red traffic. “Why are you not doing anything?”
(They were not doing anything other then attempting to stop her from bleeding.) “We cannot sir, it’s the protocol.” “What protocol?” His eyes were shimmering red, “what protocol?” “Sir, first we need you to sign these papers. That if anything will happen, this hospital will not be held liable.” “Go on! I understand that completely! Now just do whatever you can,” he snorted and instructed them to push through with the operation. “But sir,” the doctor held his breath, “Sir, you will need to choose. Whom will we save? The mother or the baby?”

The world shattered upon impact on the ground when it slipped from his shoulders. He loved her and he loved his son. Why should one be given up for another?

And so, when the doctor stepped out of the room and trolleyed a boy to the incubating room with the pinkest flush, Julian fell to his knees and wailed. He could vividly remember the night when he pretended to fall asleep with his face flat on her belly. “I am so lucky I found a man who wants to be a father,” she would say. He remembered her saying that and he cried and cried even harder.

Market scene

2010-01-29T23:35:00.006+08:00

This is a boy crouching behind his mama. Like a kitten curled with clenched paws. He does not squeak nor whisper. Only with clogged nostrils, he attempts to sing an off-tuned chirp. A lullaby for himself. No mama to rock him. He shivers in the damp box--surrounded with chopped vegetables. Mama peals the cabbage leaf. Mama throws the cabbage leaf. Mama kicks the cabbage leaf. Beside him. Unknowingly. The boy does not know either. They two, oblivious of each other.

See this wide, dank mossy floor. The floor no one cared to sweep. Thousand legs have travailed this concrete, the filth where mama stands, where mama does not see. She chooses not to. She sees all those in front of her and what they do--what they ought not to do. How he picks her pocket. How she picks his pocket. She sees how they pay her with their stolen purses. And she receives passively, hoping to sell her vegetables before papa brings her another basket. And that will be tonight, when she comes home, when she comes home with her little boy now wasted beside her. He silently exhales the green bulb in his nostrils. And mama sees this.

"My litte boy," she kicks the leaves beside him, sighs deeply. Interrupted. Another customer comes, "how much does a kilo cost?" "Thirty pesos," she remarks quickly. Thirty. And the woman vanishes. Now to look for 29 or 28 or 27. Mama puts the fresh, green, unstained cabbage in front. "How much does a kilo cost?" another woman comes. "Fifteen for half a kilo," she replies. I can slice it for you if you like. She drops the half on a thin blue plastic and places it in a slightly dysfunctional weighing balance. One gram may reflect two or even four. Just drop it quickly and the balance's hand will ascend further. The woman pays seventeen. And mama smiles.

Mama wipes the green bulb in the boy's nose. "Are you hungry?" she brings her mouth closer so he can hear, so she can tell him more audibly, "Are you hungry?" The boy, in his lassitude, does not speak. He hears but he cannot speak. Only with clogged nostrils, he attempts to sing an off-tuned chirp--like a lullaby for himself. Because mama cannot sing! And mama cannot do more than ask, "Are you hungry? Are you hungry? Are you hungry? Are you hungry?" Does she not hear the growl of his intestines? Does she not notice the tremors of his wrists? "I am hungry, mama! I am hungry, mama!" he tells her this by deliberately swinging his jaw. But another sauntering woman comes, "how much does a kilo cost?" "Thirty," she says side-glancing at her little boy. His jaw even more dropped, swung open like a door mama left ajar.

She wants to buy milk for him. Wants to buy meat for him. But she can only spoon a meal of cabbage, shredded into pieces like rabbits' leftovers. She pinches salt and scatters the crystal. The roughly polished rice she moistens with water. "Come now," she pleads him to sit down. Blood left his gaunt and pallid cheeks. Lips rough and white as pumice stones. "Please eat," she begs; she spoons the cabbage. His mouth never opens. Like a cave drooling with water from the falls above, his saliva drips; rain looming down.

Then comes another woman asking, "how much does a kilo cost?" Mama turns to her and leaves her little boy with the moistened cabbage meal.

Apple and Cinnamon Blondies

2010-01-27T21:59:00.024+08:00

I've been having zit outbreaks lately due to hormonal imbalance. Alongside with this, I also had been having emotional battles, which had been aggravated again by hormonal imbalance. I have managed to keep myself sane and generally happy nevertheless by amusing myself with things that I enjoy doing! :D I baked blondies right after I bought butter. Weee! Then I began playing in the kitchen and came up with my own Apple and Cinnamon blondies recipe!

I used the book I bought two weeks ago just to know how to make blondies. I just basically experimented with the Apple and Cinnamon additives. I have a very lousy camera that's why I really could not get enticing pictures. My brother assured me, however, that it tastes good when he said, "Are you sure you made this?" :D Hahaha.

So now, here's the recipe. I purposely reduced the sugar because I really do not like extremely sweet desserts. It's also not good for the pancreas and the body in general. I really want to make healthy desserts so people can enjoy eating without putting their lives on the line.

Apple and Cinnamon Blondies:
2 cups brown sugar
4 whole eggs
3 cups flour
1 cup unsalted butter
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
thinly-sliced apples

(1) Mix butter and brown sugar. Caramelize brown sugar with butter. Set aside to cool.
(2) Sift flour and salt.
(3) Once butter and sugar mixture has cooled, add eggs one by one. Beat. Add vanilla.
(4) Slowly add sifted flour and salt.
(5) Pour in the pan. Sprinkle with cinnamon and put the apple slices on top.
(6) Add another layer of the mixture above.
(7) Bake for 25-35 minutes at 180 F.

My brother and my grandma loved it! My sister, however, was a bit bitter I still have not baked oatmeal cookies for her. I will on Friday or on the weekends. I will also start learning how to cook/bake pastas sooner or later! I still have a long long way to perfection! I'm so happy tonight! :D Good night everyone! :D

I want butter!

2010-01-24T15:43:00.003+08:00

Everybody went out and left me alone with grandma. I'm currently watching over her that's why I cannot sneak out in a nearby grocery and buy butter. Of all ingredients, I forgot to buy butter. @_@ I had been dying to bake since I took my lunch. I should have bought butter earlier when there was someone who could watch over my grandma in my behalf. Now, I'm stuck with two murky reports to revise and a grumbling stomach that badly needs a cookie. I also cannot think of anything easy to nibble except those yellow bananas in the table. I badly want my butter now! I wish I can order grocery items with a single text or phone call--much like ordering something from a fastfood chain. I wish I can dial and tell the person on the other line, "hello, will you please deliver butter to my house, right now? I live in the second block..."

Anyway, once someone will arrive, I will hurry to buy butter so I can start baking. I plan on making oatmeal cookies again because my sister asked me to. I really love it whenever she'd ask me bake something for her. It only means that she appreciates my product. :D :D Aside from oatmeal cookies, I also intend to bake blondies! I tasted the most delicious apple and cinnamon blondies last Christmas. I hardly have an idea on how to do it. Looks like I will be experimenting with my ingredients again. :D But first, first, first, I need butter! @_@

%^#()&

2010-01-21T15:11:00.010+08:00

The world is mad at me. I can feel it. Everything is against me. It was pouring hard and I got drenched in the rain when I got here. I turned on the computer and my big brother gave me a lengthy sermon. I was about to begin rewriting my report when I realized I left the data in the computer at home. My man suddenly went on, off and out after dropping two lines; I never heard of him. I went out for lunch and spilled one bottle of mango shake in my bag. And just now my professor told me, "G, you have to prepare for a short talk tomorrow morning at 7am."

To hell with this bad bad day! >___< Excuse me bad day! I happened to be Ms. Good luck! Shoo!

January Escapade

2010-01-17T22:47:00.009+08:00

I'm finally home after three hours of sitting languidly and uncomfortably in the bus. Now I'm back full-packed with good memories of the last 48 hours. I was finally able to hug and kiss my bestfriend! Weee

As usual, we went to one of the local bookshops and played our favorite sport: Book Hunting. My bestfriend finally saw another copy of Women Who Run With the Wolves; she had her own, so I kept the second one. I already have a backlog of books to read. I had been very preoccupied with lab and love works in the past weeks that's why. :D

I also bought a baking book for 250 Php. I really really really love baking. I am looking forward to seeing my (future) kids eating cakes with all the icing in their faces. I'm far from a baking genius, however; this is why I thought I needed a book. So far, I have perfected my chocolate cake. Weee. You'll know it's a good cake when you do not even need icing for coating. My bestfriend said it was so delicious, it immediately disappeared when we put it in the table; we didn't even have the chance to take its picture. :-( The brownies however, was far from perfect. I will bake again and again until I get it right!

Anyway, as I have said, I bought a baking book. I actually had to give up Craig Venter's The Blueprint of Life. I skimmed through it and I realized that the contents are likely similar to The Genome War. I gave it up because I wanted to buy this:

It's a book about cookies--all sorts of cookies plus brownies, blondies and icings. Cookies are a lot easier to make than cakes. My personal favorite is the classic oatmeal cookie. It's rich in fiber so it's good for the digestive system. I want to learn the basics so I can do modifications later. I want to bake "healthy pastries". One way perhaps is by disguising vegetables and fibrous ingredients. For instance, while I was lackadaisically wandering around the web, I stumbled into this blog where they baked pumpkin pies with a twist. My initial reaction was, "WHAT? THAT'S PUMPKIN?" I salute those baking geniuses. I promise myself that I will be like them one day! :D

Anyway, we were also planning to do our second photoshoot; unfortunately, we lost track of time while wandering around during the first day and we were also too preoccupied with our phony music record morning of the second day. :D

Our photoshoot was a failure. We couldn't get good lighting, a factor which is very essential to photography. It was pouring hard that's why we were left with no choice but to take photos in the living room. My bestfriend's relatives were there however, and I was too shy to flaunt my body. :-( I could not even bring myself to move my legs around. Many times I also had to force myself to smile...

I'm not vain; I just love myself and my body. I want to take so many photos of me so that one day I will be able to boast to my future grandchildren how gorgeous their grandmother was when she was young. Every cell in my body will senesce and die one day; but the photographs will remain as young as the day they were taken.

Shopping for labels isn't my hobby; I'm actually more of a bookaholic. But recently, I realized that I need to strike a balance between beauty and brains. Many have this maligned conception that intelligent women are ugly. Intelligent women are not ugly; they just do not dress up frequently because they prefer to spend more time reading books than painting their faces.

I'm so happy tonight! Good night planet earth!

overprotected

2010-01-16T10:04:00.003+08:00

I managed to escape. I'm at General Santos now! I left Davao at around 4 in the afternoon and carried with me the chocolate cake and brownies I baked. I finally used the new circular baking tin pan I bought last month. Yey! I intend to buy a bigger and deeper can. My bestfriend's 10 year old brother loved my cake that's why I like him a lot! :D I'm really having fun in here! I miss my bestfriend so much! I also finally met her three-year-old nephew last night. I spent the night playing with him. We bit papers and pillows last night! Good God, I felt like a child again. I ate papers too! Sometimes I wish I have a younger brother to tickle, hug and cuddle--well, I do have a younger brother but he acts like my older brother. He drives away the "evil spirits" who run after me in school--or anywhere outside the house.

I really am overprotected; but I'm breaking away now. One day I will have to replace one of my favorite songs. I wonder when will that be... Can't wait! :D

"Overprotected"

[Spoken:]

I need time (time)

Love (love)

Joy (joy)

I need space

I need me

(Action!)

Say hello to the girl that I am!

You're gonna have to see through my perspective

I need to make mistakes just to learn who I am

And I don't wanna be so damn protected

There must be another way

Cause I believe in taking chances

But who am I to say

What a girl is to do

God, I need some answers

What am I to do with my life

(You will find it out don't worry)

How Am I supposed to know what's right?

(You just got to do it your way)

I can't help the way I feel

But my life has been so overprotected

I tell 'em what I like

What I want

What I don't

But every time I do I stand corrected

Things that I've been told

I can't believe what I hear about the world, I realize

I'm Overprotected

There must be another way

Cause I believe in taking chances

But who am I to say

What a girl is to do

God I need some answers

What am I to do with my life

(You will find it out don't worry)

How Am I supposed to know what's right?

(You just got to do it your way)

I can't help the way I feel

But my life has been so overprotected

I need… time (love)

I need… space

(This is it, this is it)

I don't need nobody telling me just what I wanna

What I what what what I'm gonna

Do about my destiny

I Say No, No

Nobody's telling me just what what what I wanna do, do

I'm so fed up with people telling me to be

Someone else but me

(Action!)

What am I to do with my life

(You will find it out don't worry)

How Am I supposed to know what's right?

(You just got to do it your way)

I can't help the way I feel

But my life has been so overprotected

I don't need nobody telling me just what I wanna

What I what what what I'm gonna

Do about my destiny

I Say No, No

Nobody's telling me just what I wanna do, do

I'm so fed up with people telling me to be

Someone else but me

What am I to do with my life

(You will find it out don't worry)

How Am I supposed to know what's right?

(You just got to do it your way)

I can't help the way I feel

But my life has been so overprotected.

Maybe going to Manila next June is such a bad idea.

2010-01-14T22:04:00.005+08:00

Maybe going to Manila next June is such a bad idea. I pondered on the real reason why I even thought of flying there. I do not really want to get a Master's Degree in Biology Major in Genetics. I would rather earn Masters in Genetics, not MS Biology. I will likely be able to get a degree on that this 2011. But as I have said, if there's one reason why I even entertained the thought of going to Manila to get MS Biology, it's none other than escapism. I want to run away. I want to run away because I'm getting so choked already. Why can't they understand that I'm already 21 years old? I'm a grown woman. I know exactly what I'm doing.

I was just getting ready to pack my things so I could go to General Santos City tomorrow. It's only three hours away from Davao. My grandma kept begging me to stay beside her. "Do not leave me here," she said. I told her I'll be back in two days. I will only be spending the weekend there. That's it. But she won't let me. She said, "I love you. I want you here always." Now that's really very selfish of her, isn't it? She nearly burst into tears while she was begging me not to leave. It's not like I'm going away for a decade. I will only be gone for two days. That's it. Why can't I go? Why?

I'm twenty-one. I have high IQ. I easily adapt. I do not understand why they always have to keep me safe. They do not even want me to learn how to drive. What the heck? That's a backward thinking. I, nevertheless, learned how to drive anyway. With much resistance, I learned how to drive and that's something they can never ask me to undo.

Damn. Looks like my bestfriend and I will have to cancel our second photoshoot. :-(

I really want to run away from home now. Grandma will die if I do that, however. I've been screaming unceasingly at the back of my head: Let me go... let me go. Do not worry about me. I will be just fine... Please... Just let me go.

Dear Blog,

2010-01-13T20:00:00.005+08:00

I kept gazing at the data which I'm supposed to analyze; but my head simply won't let the numbers in . I guess it's because of this emotional part-of-growing-up catastrophe which I am currently facing. It's blowing a big, fluffy, stratus cloud in my mind which tends to make my tear glands swell. I stopped crying, nevertheless. It's partly my fault anyway...and I just realized that I am not supposed to juxtapose my case with Cinderella's. Cinderella ran away because she had to. I ran away because I was scared. And such, is the reason why my prince never came chasing after me. Then again, I begin to wonder if he really meant what he said...that I'm the girl he'd been dreaming of all his life. If such was true, then why would he let me go? :-(

My head really hurts now. I want to bang it in the wall so I would not have a head to worry about. This is so far, the loneliest day since the year began. I cannot stay dejected and depressed, however. Move on Georgianna Kae!

Anyway, I really must finish this analysis now. Tomorrow, I'll finish subculturing all clones. On Friday I will bake chocolate cake, brownies and chocolate oatmeal cookies! Then on Saturday, on Saturday, I will be able to hug my bestfriend again! Then, we'll have our second photoshoot! I really don't know how to apply make-up; I might end up wearing that same old smile again. haha

Good night universe! God, please take care of my boyfriend. I really love him. :-(

Dear Blog,

2010-01-13T15:54:00.006+08:00

My bestfriend would have slapped me had she seen me crying in bed awhile ago. I just fell in love with my boyfriend...and I ran away from him because I was scared. He never asked me to stay either. I really thought he would; but I guess this world is too real to reenact a fairy tale. Only Cinderella's prince do that. When Cinderella ran away, the prince chased her... Cinderella left her slippers; then the prince went mad looking for her. He looked everywhere! The stupid, frightened Cinderella hid in her room. The prince sought her everywhere! Everywhere! ...Until he found her and they lived happily ever after.

Beauty Pageant Questions

2010-01-04T20:16:00.012+08:00

Last Jan. 1, I opened an international social networking account. It was only then that I discovered that I am not ugly. I also had this instant admirer who kept emailing me. I intend to abandon that account because I have no use of it now.

I'm currently having a problem evading this so-called "admirer" of mine. My fault was that I trusted him and I gave him my gmail address. Initially, he was showing me a picture of his plants in Florida. I asked him how those tropical plants are able to survive there. Instead, I got these two successive letters which I will definitely never reply to. Nevertheless, I was driven to ponder on them and hence, I will store my answers in this blog.

His letter is written in plain letters. My side comments will be written in blue italics.

Letter 1

Georgianna,

Have a personal question for you. I would like to know if you would like a man in you life to be a friend and lover and being a husband is second or is your only interest in a man to be a husband so you can lay on your back and serve him?. For some reason in the Asian world men are more important as a husband than they are as a friend and lover. In the US a lady wants a friend and lover. Being a husband comes second.

I do not understand why there must be a demarcation between a friend/lover and a husband. I cannot imagine having a husband who is not a friend and lover. The three are equally as essential.

You are a real beauty, my dear friend, and if men around you do not tell you that, they are losers. OK?
There was one who called me "ugly." He did not say it explicitly though; but I'm not stupid enough not to be able to read between the lines. I said, "I really love my body." He replied, "I'm looking at the face." Damn. I cried.

If tomorrow I did not have a wife you could come live with me if you want a friend and lover to be your partner.
I will never live with you. I don't even know you.

Have a good day and send me some other pics of you to prove that you are not beautiful. Until then you are beautiful.
Really sorry but I do not intend to reply to you again.

Love to you
Your secret love.

Letter 2

Georgianna,

You are a real beauty and sexy in appearance. While you may still be untouched, do you ever have dreams about making love with a man in your life?
Of course! Looking forward to it when I get married one day...

In the US ladies begin making love even before they graduate from high school because they learn early that having a climax feels good and is one of the most powerful physical pleasures both men and women can experience.
Why? What's wrong with staying a virgin?

In the Asian world it seems to be commonly accepted that men have more pleasure than women when they have a climax. In the US a lady that is not given equal pleasure will not be in a mans life very long.
Really? When they don't get equal pleasure they separate? Such a reason for separation is too superficial. I won't really mind if he gets all pleasure and mine, all pain. There's nothing more pleasurable than seeing my man happy because of me.

Is it in your dreams that you have a man in your life to give YOU pleasure every time you make love? My Filipina wife now is not shy about asking me to give her pleasure. Would you ever ask me to give you pleasure If we should ever meet? I could give you pleasure without taking your virginity. What do you think?
No. Thank you. Not even if you buy me a real big house and a scholarship to my dream school. I will only spread my legs for the man I love.

Love to you, beautiful lady
Your secret love
Adios, secret love! I marked you as spam already.

Happy New Year!!!

2010-01-04T17:36:00.005+08:00

At last I finally found a male friend whom I think is mature enough to handle my immaturity and whimsicality. I have been evading the thought of getting into this cobweb of complexities; but then I realized that, "hey. I have nothing to lose if I try. I have much to lose if I won't." It began with a little attraction. I'm attracted to him, for some reasons I cannot fathom. He admitted that he is too. We both love each other--but it isn't the type of love worth-dying for. I love him as a friend. That's one thing for sure. Who knows maybe one day I might as well fall deeply in love with him? I'm looking forward to it, really... Right now, I just badly want a male bestfriend whom I can confide with. I found him, at last! This is the best new year I've ever had in the past 21 years! Happy happy new year to me!!! :D :D

My blog entry today is a bit murky. I feel like saying a thousand things at a time right now. Let's see. Where do I begin?

(1) I still have not resolved my career dilemma. I cannot have everything. There will always be a "but" in each choice. If I go to medical school this June, I'll be stuck in the Philippines for the next decade; and I do not want that because I want to travel the world. In addition, if I'll go to medical school, I will probably not marry and I badly want to have children. I also abhor the stench of formalin on dead people. If I'll accept the scholarship for a master's degree in Biology major in Genetics, after two years of studying, I will be obliged to work for another two years in this University--and I do not want that because I am freakin' bored in this place. Now if I'll wait another year, I am 70% certain that I will be able to get a scholarship to study abroad by September 2011. There's the remaining 30% uncertainty which I have to deal with. What I like best about the third option is that I might stumble into a handsome and profound Caucasian who can love me like crazy. Then my age-old dream of bearing handsome and beautiful hybrid children will finally come true! Oh. What the hell am I thinking? Haha

(2) Second thought. I voraciously ate during the holidays. To my dismay, however, I have not gained weight. I'm still 40 kgs, I guess. I really adore my body that's why I will do the best I can to preserve its contours. With little fat, my body will not have any shape. I want to gain weight so I can store fat in my breasts and thighs; once I have done that, I will trim down my waist. Then, I will be ready for my next photoshoot (best, if you're reading this, I am reminding you to toss the link to your new blog! I miss you! And best, I will learn to use the camera so I can take your pictures too!)

(3) I want to dance again. My friend Mon said Groovestylz has been conducting dance classes since November. My problem is that the classes are held from 6pm to 10pm. I would really love to join and move this sedentary body of mine... but circumstances forbid me so. :-( I need to find another class which are being held morning or afternoon. It may not necessarily be a dance class. I'm thinking of learning martial arts so I can protect myself. I can kick really high. Maybe I should learn Muay Thai. Muay Thai is nearly no different from kickboxing. What makes it distinct is the range of kicks. In Muay Thai, you can kick below the belt! I really love the thought of kicking eggs of pervs who will try to harass me! :D

Anyway, I have to go home now. I need to do a lot of thinking tonight.

(Baby, I really hope you have not discovered this blog yet. :S Sorry about awhile ago. (hugs) )

The planter's fireworks

2009-12-31T13:55:00.016+08:00

Faces stepping into the room. Crystal balls whirling in the ceiling. Neon colors madly banging the walls. Her eyes hurt. She had wanted to see clearly. Haze of cigarette smoke. They were prancing like lunatics. Brushing their lustful bodies smoothly unto each other. He held her waist like a fruit's basket, stooped a little and whispered in a lulling baritone, "will you step out for a while?" A stranger's call. She shivered to reply, "why?" she asked as she felt obliged. "I have something very important to say."

They closed the door, opened more doors to escape the thunder of drums. Stepped out in the deplorable evening where the moon cowered behind the dense city smog. Darkness looming down from the empty night sky. Traffic lights, trafficking. There was a flicker in his eyes.

"Hey," he said, calling her attention. "Can you recognize me?" Brown irises met. No. She could not. "Never mind that," he seized her wrist. "Come with me," he said. "I think I remember you," she said. She did not, in truth; but she said it anyway. The gin washed her memories again, she thought. Admitting she did not remember although in reality (without the gin), she did, will shame her again once she will return to her sanity. "You probably do not remember me," he said while he caressed her sleek body like the stem of a budding rose. "What are you doing here, by the way?" He mouthed her nose teasingly as if to say, "can you remember my scent?" She remembered vaguely. "I am the lead guitarist." He laced his fingers on her spaghetti straps and started plucking, "that stupid instrument of yours," he teased her again, plucked the other strap. "I think I remember now," she told herself.

Brown irises met again. The pupils, dilated. "How did you know where to find me?" They walked in a darklit spot, where even cars did not shine on. "Saw you in that instrument of yours. Read where you'll be playing." They parked under the newly planted tree. It was government-funded. The volunteers came a year ago to deposit the tree in that sterile soil. Infertile would be more appropriate. Infertile soil. "I always knew you'd follow your heart." He drew her close and tight. So close, she was squeezed. "You are mine at last!" That's what he would have wanted to say; but he managed only to whisper, "I always knew you would..." "I ran," she said, her voice faltering; "I ran away," desperately, she continued, "Did you always know that?" He never knew. But he lied. That virile lie again. Uttered to please a woman, "Yes of course! I knew you would. Always knew you're a strong woman." She leaned closer, wanted to be squeezed.

"Get up now," he pulled back, pushed her beside him again. "We cannot stay closer to the building. Let's inch away farther." They abandoned the tree. The young leaves decocted, crushed under the weight of their flesh. "Where to? I was just shaking off the gin. I need to play on stage an hour from now. You must take me back!" He clasped her bony wrist and dragged her. She let him.

"We cannot," he said, "there will be no hour." He waved his pointing finger in front of the speeding blue taxi. He pushed her woman. "Just go straight," he commanded the man like an emperor. The emperor and his wife. They were speeding straight. The woman, silent, subversively silent. Entwined in his arms, she felt safe--that nothing can harm her. Nothing. Not even a pin can prick her. "Here. Stop here." He paid the driver and drew out his woman...kissed her forehead, kissed her cheeks, her ears... "I always knew it. I knew it!" She knew it. She knew it! She had known him long ago; and she fancied she knew him just then--assuming nothing had changed. "What brought you here? Have you gone weary of the mountains?"

They squatted under a tree again, a grown one this time, with leaves as lush as the forest where he had stayed for four years now. "I came here for this!" He wrapped her mouth with his. Pressed lightly like a powder, he wrapped her with his. Passion of yesteryears oozed like cheese on stuffed pizza crust. "I came here for this" was all he said. And they both fell silent in their furtive business. On top of the dank grass, she lay gazing at the distant stars--like dreams that never came true. He stole her sight and pressed his mouth lightly on her neck. "I never thought I'd see you again. How are you by the way?" She looked at him wistfully, wanting to be kissed again. "Didn't you hear? I'm a guitarist now. I play to earn money."

"I was not pertaining to that," he said. They both lay quivering when the cold breeze swept by. "When will you be leaving?" She brushed the kinky hairs in his chest. "Soon. When the fire has broken." "I don't understand, what will you get from this?" The grass was silent. "And when will you be coming back?" The grass swayed a bit. "I don't know," he said. "Let's part here!" She dustered the discussion in oblivion. A capricous remark, he thought, as expected of women, he said. Then she brushed his hand, picked her straps and hastily slipped away from the man whom she would never see again.

A kilometer from where he stood, the building shattered. Wires sprang like held rubber bands. The city lit like a candle...like fireworks! Everywhere, it was flickering. How she loved the lights! He blew it down for her. No, not for her who left him. But for her who never lived. He conceived all these because he was bored, by the way: the girl and the blue taxi. It was a lie. A wish. He had always wanted a girl who could play strings.

This is what happened. Faces stepped into the room. He, included. His momentary gaze whirled with the oscillating crystal ball in the ceiling. Neon colors madly banged the walls like rockstars. Haze of cigarette smoke. Men were prancing like lunatics. Brushing their lustful bodies smoothly unto women. No one saw. He furtively planted. Then he slid out of the room. He sauntered in the roadside until he reached the park. There, he squatted alone and waited for the moment. "This is it! This is it! It flickered at last. "

Story concluded without her. And no. This is not a lie.

Oatmeal cookies

2009-12-27T12:24:00.011+08:00

I have been very preoccupied with my social and domestic obligations during the past days. I foretell that there will be a lot more; nevertheless, as much as possible, I will try to prioritize those that are essential for my growth as a person and thus, on the coming days, I will come only on parties/gatherings which I think will teach me something. I need to get back to the lab tomorrow and finish this scientific write-up I'm working on today.

Meanwhile, I will record another one of my attempts in the kitchen. Last Christmas, while I was helping out with all the cooking and baking, I realized two things: I really really love pastries and pastas! :D :D I'm currently climbing the first (steep) step into the baking world... I wish to become a virtuoso one day.

Most of the meals I prepared last Christmas were quite greasy, creamy, cheesy... I purposely baked Oatmeal cookies even though it's not seemingly one of those "Christmas recipes" because my grandmother has hypertension. At least she has something to nibble while we feast on foods that elevate LDLs.

Here's my recipe:

Grandma's Oatmeal Cookie
mix thoroughly:
2 cups butter
3 cups sugar
4 whole eggs

stir in:
1 cup sour evaporated milk

sift together and stir in:
3 1/2 sifted all purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons cinnamon

stir in:
4 cups rolled oats
2 cups cut up raisins.

Drop by teaspoonful on ungreased baking sheet and bake until golden brown.
Baking time: 8 to 10 minutes.
Temperature: 180-200 C.

Happy happy Christmas! XOXO

Simple Way to Bake Pies

2009-12-20T18:25:00.006+08:00

I started cooking when I was in second year high school--the time when our bank account plummeted and we had to "dispose" our helpers. It was also the time when we had to sell our big house in exchange for a smaller one which at first sight, I could never imagine myself calling it a house. My major complaint at that time was my allergies and why we could not afford to go to a dermatologist. That was the only reason why I kept crying; but for the rest? I was able to hastily adapt.

My mother assigned my older brother in the kitchen; he was tasked to cook our dinner on weekdays. Lazy as he was, he wanted to unburden himself with the chore. Because I play the "youngest role," and because I was the only person whom he could bully at home, he "generously" partitioned the task and forcefully assigned me to cook on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Worse, he would always come home late on Friday evenings so I get to do all the cooking on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. @___@

...My big brother's now in Cebu; and even though we already have a helper, I remain to be the one responsible in the kitchen when my parent's are out. I really love feeding Gus and Ate Doodie (my siblings)! My ears swell with joy every time I hear them say, "this is delicious" or "bake/cook me this or that..."

***
A simple way to bake pies

Yesterday, I baked Apple and Cinnamon Pie for my brother. My mom never wrote this in her notebook; neither did I download a recipe on line. I realized that all pies are governed with the same principle that's why my recipe turned out to be a success.

Last week, I baked Mango Pie; the other week I baked squash pie. Among the three (apple and cinnamon, squash and mango pie) squash pie's the most nutritious; apple and cinnamon is the most delicious. Here's my recipe:

For the filling:
1 can Evaporated Milk
1 can Condensed Milk
1 tablespoon Butter
1 Egg Yolk
1/2 cup cornstarch
2 cups apple/mango/squash
(for apple pie: add 2 teaspoons cinnamon)

For the crust:
1 cup butter/margarine
2 1/2 cups all purpose flour
6 tablespoons water

Procedure:
(1)Mix butter/margarine and flour. Knead in the pan. Add volume to the edges for the crust.
(2)Mix all ingredients for the filling. Pour in the pan.
(3)Bake for 30-40 minutes at 180 C.

I use the blender to mix the ingredients for the filling; but you can also use the electric mixer or you can do it by hand. However, I suggest you use the blender. You can put tidbits in the mango pie and add layers of sliced apples in apple and cinnamon pie! I will probably be baking squash pie for everyday consumption. It's the most nutritious. However, as I have said earlier, apple and cinnamon pie is the most delicious. Utada Hikaru was right:

"Chemistry like apple and cinnamon is just too good to last..."

(You might want to listen to Apple and Cinnamon by Utada Hikaru. I really adore this song. Good night best...)

The Mayon Erupted

2009-12-19T22:09:00.002+08:00

The once imperceptible village of about fifty families, each living under Nipa roofs, was nearly washed out when the quiet and tranquil Mayon vomited tons of energized fireballs. "The President must be informed," one of the so-called concerned citizen who identified himself as one of the President's friends, immediately snatched his cellular phone and sent a message to His Majesty. No one died, fortunately. What the citizens were more concerned of was the fact that their livelihood had already been buried under layers of watered pyroclastics.

The President never read the message. Unfortunately again. The citizen who claimed to be his friend sent it to the wrong number--the number the President used when he was councilor of Legaspi; and that was ten years ago, the time when cellular phones were only a rich man's ornaments. Times had changed--and so did the President's number. He never read the message, hence.

The President, because he was surrounded with well-informed and technology-savvy friends, immediately learned of it three seconds before his old friend attempted to channel the message. He was slicing a platter of milkfish belly sauced with coconut milk when one of his assistant bowed lower to reach his ears so to inform him that, "Mayon had erupted and no one died, fortunately. What the citizens were more concerned of was the fact that their livelihood had already been buried under layers of watered pyroclastics." The President crushed the belly fat in his palate and feasted like a glutton.

When he was finished, however, he secluded himself inside the comfort room, stared at his bald head and started pulling his hair. He twisted the knob, walked hastily and forgot about urinating.

Out of the comfort room, he called his assistant and said, "identify a possible place for relocation!" "Yes sir," his assistant mechanically replied. "And by the way, make sure the site still has pili trees." He walked out and called another assistant, "deliver the relief-goods as soon as possible."

Meanwhile, the village which only began to exist when the volcano erupted, had been receiving visitors from all over the country. Most of them came not to distribute bags of rice but only to record their latest condition. As usual, the goods came a day late. For a day, hence, the citizens ate whatever it was that they scratched beneath the lahar. "We cannot go back to our village. There is no food there." The indigo pili fruits were drenched in hot, gray mud. "We do not have a place to live." The children began to cry in front of the camera. No longer could they jump in ecstasy since their stomach needed filling.

"We can relocate them at the foothill. There, the trees did not harden," one of the assistants reported.

Mothers started to become hysterical since their kids had nothing to eat. "Why is the government not moving? Why is the government not moving? Why?"

"Are there settlers in that area? How much do we need to buy the owner off that place?" The President was eating a mouthful of sauteed shrimp. "Make haste, gentleman!" He excused himself to the comfort room, pulled his hair and forgot to urinate.

Mothers started crying and their husbands were angry, "What kind of government do we have?"

The President retired to bed with memories hovering in his pillow. He missed the days when he used to tuck pili nuts under his shirt...and how he hammered them with the black basalt stones his mother used to rub her skin with.

An afternoon with the deaf

2009-12-17T20:26:00.005+08:00

How it plays in my mind
a rolling film
of bantering lies
that whipped me in the wind.
One Saturday, he sat beside me.

My mouth, it fell like an auburn leaf
(while listening to him)
cheeks, he squashed like overriped tomatoes
my two sweaty hands reached for him
I wanted him, I prayed.

I extended my arm,
"Pull me," I said.
Thunder-coyed.
The sun was flickering.

Two hollowed gazes were knifed in the sky.
Black depths, hollowed
of impenetrable energy.
I was scorched in the afternoon.
Skin-fried in the frosty glimmer of his eyes.

He wrapped me in violet saliva
exposed only: my hair
which he clawed and knotted
to a canon leaving for Mars.

(He) packed me with a band of green dwarves
and fed me with a pail of crystal white rocks.
I cried, "Have Mercy."
"Have mercy..."

But he was deaf, I learned
so I stopped talking.

Dark Faerie

2009-12-17T17:57:00.012+08:00

The day crawled like a catterpillar that's why I flew home hastily so I could prey on my books. Before I do that, however, I desire to officially open the "gates" to my Druid Tower. This nook is my virtual "coffeeshop." This is where I will write about the usual nonsensical clamours about my life in general and the place where I dwell in. I will tackle about subjects which people usually discuss in a coffeeshop. However, for the sake of solipsism, I will call this "Dark Faerie"--the tangible chocolateshop (and not coffee because I do not drink coffee) which I intend to put up once I have become adept in baking and once I have enough cash for my capital. Welcome to Dark Faerie, the place where you can languidly slouch and sip glasses of bittersweet thoughts.

Here are the portals to the other rooms:

(1)Laboratory-- this is where I will store my scientific output.
(2)Closet-- the chamber where I pick a random wardrobe.

No Sans Rival :-(

2009-12-12T10:58:00.003+08:00

My bestfriend will arrive any minute soon. I still haven't baked the dessert she asked me to prepare: Sans Rival. How in the world will I be able to magically mold this layered dessert when I do not even know how to make meringue? I don't have an aluminum foil in the kitchen; if I'll attempt to make one now, the meringue will probably stick in the pan and put an end to my experiment. What will I do? What will I do? @___@ I was planning to make muffins, actually; but she asked me to bake Sans Rival. My cooking skill has not yet rocketed to that level, and I'm so frustrated. Baking muffins is a no-sweat. But sans rival?

Anyway, I made two platters of squash pie the other day. Pies are so easy to prepare! I wish my bestfriend asked me to bake pies instead. But sans rival? What will I do? She will be here any minute soon. Can I just buy her sans rival from a coffee shop somewhere in Davao City? That's it. I'm settled. We will hunt for sans rival in one of the city's coffee shops. Then, I will get the chance to scrutinize the cake and etch a picture of it in my head. And like what I always do every time I take examinations way back in college, I can finally craft one in utmost perfection.

Meanwhile, I will make a flan, her favorite in the wide universe!

Regrets

2009-12-09T13:53:00.004+08:00

I have regrets. I wish I matured earlier. That way, I would have thought of registering my name so I could vote in the 2010 election. I was an idiot who knew nothing about reality that's why the thought never came across my head. I have drastically matured, I realized. I badly want to take part in the life-changing event this May. Will I make a difference? I really don't know. But even if I won't, at least I can bask myself with the thought that I attempted to...

I also do not have a voter's ID. I never knew I needed it for my applications. I sent my application last Monday. I could not avail for the regionalization program because I did not register. Now I have to compete nationally. How can I woo my panelist with a meager percentile rating of 96? I wish I studied last year. I would have gotten a higher rating. Ninety-six. That is all what my innate intelligence can yield. If I studied, I would have obtained 99. If they will reject my application this May, I have no one else to blame but myself. I abonimate rejections. Out of fear, perhaps. I fear to get dumped and be treated like a useless crap. Nevertheless, I will try this time.

Virgin Hair

2009-12-08T23:51:00.005+08:00

Just this afternoon, I bid adios to my messy hair (<----). I went to the salon and asked them to give me a solution.

Hairdresser: Did you ever have a treatment before?
G: No.
H: No rebond?
G: No.
H: Relax?
G: No.
H: Do you iron your hair?
G: No.
H: Ah, I see. So you have a virgin hair.
G: (no reply. I was pondering: Really? Hair strands get fucked? But I'm sure she was pertaining to an "untouched" hair.) Yes. A virgin hair. I never had treatments (err, I seldom comb my hair, by the way). What can you suggest?
H: Your hair is not used to chemicals.
G: (Yes, indeed! I'm allergic to chemicals). What is the best solution? Can I get a semi-rebond or a rebond?
H: You can but it's not advisable. You have a virgin hair.
G: (To myself, I said: Great! I only came here to ask you to comb my hair.) What's the treatment with the very minimal amount of chemicals?
H: Gloss!
G: Ok. A gloss it is.

The hairdresser applied a creamy dirty-white colloid in my hair which started to irritate my scalp. I didn't have antihistamine tablets with me, so I panicked. Now that it's over, I can finally do away with my comb and utilize my fingers to fix my hair!

---to be continued---

Chocolate Brownies

2009-12-08T22:21:00.010+08:00

I once again left my mom's magic recipe notebook when I was procuring the ingredients at one of the local shopping malls. I was not even able to download a random brownie recipe online. When I arrived at the grocery section, I just dumped the ingredients which I think were necessary. Fortunately, when I got home and I immediately read entries on How to Bake Brownies, I was so euphoric to find out that I was able to buy everything I needed. I based my judgment on the chocolate cake recipe which I permanently etched on my hippocampus. Brownie is just a chocolate cake minus the moisture. It's a chocolate cake minus the milk and the baking soda.

Ingredients:

1 cup cocoa powder
1 1/2 cup all purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 cup butter
1 1/2 cup sugar (or 2 cups; it depends on you)
4 eggs

optional:
peanuts (or sugar-coated chocolates, chocolate bits, etc.)
1 teaspoon vanilla

Baking brownies is like dumping mud in a pan. Just mix and dump, mix, dump, mix, dump. When you bake brownies think of mud and the pieces of stones mixed with it. The coarser the better. I realized that it's better to use a hand mixer for this. I'm fond of using the electronic mixer from Imarflex. Although it saves a lot of energy, when baking brownies, so as to create a rougher texture, I suggest that you use the hand mixer.

Here's a very simple overview on how to bake chocolate brownies:
(1) Cream butter. Add sugar. Mix.
(2) Add eggs one by one. Add sugar.
(3) On another bowl, sift flour, cocoa and baking powder. Mix.
(4) Add flour mixture.
(5) Mix thoroughly.

Dump the mud in a pan. Set the oven at 150-200 C. Bake and you're done!!!

I'm so excited for Christmas!!! Weee. I plan to bake so many cakes and pastries! Among my priorities are: Fruit Cake, Apple Pie and Chocolate Moist Cake. I also plan to bake Fondant Cake; but it's too sweet, maybe I should leave it for later. I really do not like sweet sweet cakes. :( I prefer the bitter-sweet ones!

The Gioconda Smile

2009-12-05T21:48:00.004+08:00

Last week, while I was lying feverish in bed, I feasted on a short novel written by Aldous Huxley entitled, The Gioconda Smile. Evidently, the title was alluding to Leonardo Da Vinci's most enigmatic portrait, La Gioconda (which by the way, is popularly known as, Mona Lisa). Named after Lisa Gherardini, Da Vinci immortalized an image of her with a mysteriously reserved smile which was seemingly trying to conceal a clandestine of some sort.

Akin to the portrait of Lisa Gherardini, Janet Spence, always grins with an air of mystery every time her long-time friend, Henry Hutton drops by for a little chat. Henry Hutton is married to a woman who, like all roses, has withered and aged. Typical of most men, Hutton abandons his wife in quest for a younger, livier and more alluring object. Ms. Spence, being Hutton's confidant, has known all these.Despite that, however, she still continues to nurture the secret sensation of love for her friend which is never revealed because every time he draws near, she cannot do more than carve a Gioconda smile.

The Gioconda Smile is one the greatest British Short Novels written. Like The Lifted Veil (by George Eliot) and The Dead (by James Joyce), The Gioconda Smile tackles a similar subject: memories of love in the past and the people married at present.

Most specifically, these exemplary novels look into the agony of being chained by the sacred vow. Usually, as I have mentioned in my previous posts, married people draw ecstasy in the first four years. Later, they would find themselves tangled in the cobwebs of boredom. I guess the most important factor in choosing a mate, aside from physical, intellectual and spiritual attraction, is the personality. One must be able to find his/her complement. They do not necessarily have to be exactly "opposite" like the two poles, north and south. They only have to be synchronous and complementary like the notes played by the violin and piano.

The Vampire Returns

2009-12-05T11:03:00.008+08:00

To pass time while I was printing my mom's handouts for another one of her speaking engagements, I browsed through my November pictures. I saw two pictures which seemed to portray two characters which I badly want to play given a chance: a pixie and a vampire. For some unfathomable reasons, I really really want to become a vampire or a pixie. :D

The Vampire Returns. (This is for my horror movie!)

I use loose powder!

2009-12-03T17:54:00.006+08:00

It is my desire to become a researcher/scientist in the biomedical field. However, I do not wish to settle with that alone. After months of experience as a budding researcher, I realized that, in order to "hoard" money, a scientist must learn how to do business. A scientist will never get rich if she crouches inside her laboratory, 24-7. Knowledge needs to flow out so the cash keeps coming in. I want to venture into pharmaceuticals so that I can throw free medicine to my deprived countrymen.

A friend of mine suggested a couple of months ago, that, if I really want to become a scientist/businesswoman in the biomedical field, I must, as early as now, learn business by perhaps, selling cosmetics. I realized that I will not be able to do that not until I get my hair and body polished. I have estimated that I need at least two years considering the rate at which my teeth will realign. Uneven pigmentation is also a problem because I'm currently doing agricultural researches and I cannot help but get exposed in the blazing heat once in a while. To top all these, however, the main trouble is the fact that I do not know how to use cosmetics. @___@

How can a woman sell cosmetics if she doesn't know how to use them? I will probably be frequented with questions like, "how should I apply this?" "what is the best product?" "are you sure your product works?" or "have you tried other products?"

Four months ago, I started practising. One dreary Saturday afternoon, I went to a local shopping mall and scouted for a compact powder. I purchased the one with SPF 15. Although the tone was a bit darker, I continued to use it because condemning it was tantamount to throwing away two movie tickets and one big pack of fish crackers. Dear Fate probably pitied me. "Why on earth does this woman wear a darker powder?" And so a week after, while I was walking and hurrying to work, the press powder suddenly fell on the concrete road. The powder cracked. End of story.

Two weeks later, I gave myself another chance. Once again, I went to a local shopping mall and preyed on another compact powder. Since the first was darker, this time, I bought another with a lighter shade. I refrained from purchasing the one with SPF because I was so frightened I might lose two movie tickets and a big pack of fish crackers again. Also, I bought the smallest one! In case the color would not suit me, I could throw it away unencumbered because it was just as cheap as one movie ticket. Indeed, the tone suited me well. Unfortunately, it was too small, I immediately consumed the powder in a span of two weeks! When I went to the same store again hoping to purchase a bigger one, the sales representive told me that they ran out of stock. I didn't have an option but to buy on another stall.

I chose the one with the label, "tan." When I rubbed it in my face and went to my sister's room to show it off, I colored purple when she started laughing, "hahaha. What happened to your face?" What happened to my face was the question that razored my head the entire night. Obviously, the color did not suit me again. Upon careful scrutiny, I realized that my skin is not "tan." It is yellowish-olive! I immediately condemned the powder and forgot about the movie tickets and the big pack of fish crackers.

I just wasn't giving up, however. A week after that, I went back to the vanity area and purchased a yellowish compact powder. The shade was perfect! However, I realized that I was getting more blitz than usual. Once again, I condemned the powder, thinking I was probably allergic to it. And so, right now, I'm using loose powder! @___@I am yet to scout for a hypoallergenic yellowish compact powder!

I learned a lot through trial and error (mostly error)! I will venture into pharmaceuticals one day; but I guess I still have to traverse an awfully lenghty cobbled walk.

(Good night best! )

Evening feast

2009-12-01T13:04:00.010+08:00

I lack the appetite.

The lemon rind spits on my plate
drops of acrid curses
tease a hole
I have not the desire, I say
break me, plate, glass...

I dodge the hyena mock with a ladle
saying "I cannot want!"
Never.

My anger mirrored on the silver curve
bloodshot eyes, bulge
veins pulsate
like the pendulum tick
(It is following)
on the narra wood twelve times
the conservative house calls me.

Chocolate bog melts on the streets
(coming, calling)
dreary stems of unhappy roses
wilt in the thick smog
the sleepy night ever so sleepy.

That languorous wind song (again)
teasing me again,
Waltzing with repressed desires
(I am hungry, maybe).
My weak limbs, aching
empty with the sweetness of sugar
if only I can suck the nectar.

My tongue, burns.
My lip, burns.
(I am hungry! I am hungry! I am hungry!)

The narra wood, dials.
Hello to the black slate
streets with dimmed sodium lamps
no one is watching
look above, the moon cowers.

My canine teeth bite like dagger stabs!
I attack most desperately
(A woman who never held swords)
lick pink ginger foot flesh,
gangrened thumbnails
and thumb bones
kiss broken ankles.
Smell the aroma of mud.
(It must have rained lately).

I tear the wound apart
untangle hair
rip veins
claw hips and ribs.
(Look above, the moon cowers).
With empty mouth, salivate
tip of tongue touching soil
A rabid dog!
(my ears pressed)
intently listening to love songs.

They are not laughing.
Why I want so much.
desire too much
so soon
( to prey on the next)
(I am hungry! I am hungry!)
Spit on the lemon rind
acrid tears, oozing
a gravy of pain
(I want to spit on the lemon rind again.)
forget about house calls
and sleep beyond twelve.

Purple Yam (Ube) Butter Cake

2009-11-28T00:33:00.010+08:00

Now I'm beginning to understand why Emily Dickinson loves baking and writing. They're two different chores that require similar skills and degree of affection in order to create a sensation so soothing, the stomach and the brain does not cease craving.

I just baked Purple Yam Butter Cake for the Slumber Party. My schedule will be awfully hectic tomorrow that's why I'm consuming the last trickle of ATP just to bake with love. I have to fly to the field and get water samples for the last time tomorrow. At two in the afternoon, I need to hit shuttle cocks to win a game. A party to celebrate life will then commence some time in the evening. Happy happy birthday to Louise, Mae, Gege, Jane and Doms! :D

I was not able to bring my mom's recipe notebook when I went to NCCC Mall to purchase the ingredients. I randomly picked substances which I think were necessary. This is my own recipe:

Purple Yam Cake
2 cups flour
1 cup cooked and crushed Purple Yam
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 200 g butter
1 cup fresh milk
1 cup sugar
5 whole eggs

Purple Yam Butter Cake Icing
1 200g butter
1/2 cup cooked and crushed purple yam
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon food coloring

Procedure:
(1) Like other typical cakes, begin by patiently creaming butter and slowly adding sugar and eggs.
(2) Add sifted flour, baking soda and baking powder mixture alternately with the cooked and crushed purple yam.
(3) Pour milk
(4) Add food coloring if necessary.
(5) Bake for 30 minutes at 150-180 C.

I wish to elaborate more regarding the techniques I learned while preparing this. Unfortunately, my brain's too baked to do that. Cheers to Emily!

How to bake a chocolate cake

2009-11-22T10:23:00.020+08:00

I missed the hip hop dance workshop yesterday because I crept out of my bed late. At around one in the afternoon, I asked my brother to come with me in order to find out if I could still register despite my unpardonable late arrival. When we came there however, I was surprised to find out that there were only a few who kept pumping with the music. Unlike the hip hop workshop last month (which I also missed because I didn't have money for luxuries that time), the event yesterday was a failure. I suppose it was because the sky kept pouring and the wind, howling, and the dancers opted to shut themselves inside their soft cozy bed with their comforters wrapped around their limbs. I was among those who hid inside my room while the torrents of rain raped the streets. In consequence, I missed the workshop.

Because I wanted to amuse myself on a rainy Saturday, after peeping through the workshop, I hastily went to my favorite bookshop and played my favorite game, Book Hunting! :D For the first time, I bought something which was extremely pleasurable to my eye and my neural circuits for the meager price of 20 Php! After that, I flew straight to buy the ingredients so I could bake chocolate cake and munchkins! The other week, I promised myself that I would bake chocolate cake again because the first one was imperfect--it was imperfect simply because I could not squeeze pleasure from my taste buds. I also made munchkins (again) because my sister asked me to. Because I love her and I wanted to make her happy, I yielded to her simple request!

At last! At last! I baked the first palatable chocolate cake in my life. Now, I am finally licensed to speak about what I have learned. My mom's presence was also contributory to my success. The other week, she was in Manila. Yesterday, she was in Cebu; but she came just in time to supervise the chemistry experiment which I conducted in our humble kitchen.

Chocolate cake Ingredients:

Sift:
2 cups all purpose flour
1 cup chocolate (Hershey's chocolate preferably)
2 tablespoons baking soda
2 tablespoons baking powder

Add:
1 bar butter (anchor)
2 1/2 cup white sugar
4 whole eggs
2 cups cold fresh milk

Chocolate cake icing:
1 can evaporated milk
1/2 cup chocolate
1/8 butter
5 tablespoons cornstarch
1/4 cup water
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup white sugar
Here's a succinct overview on how to bake a palatable chocolate cake:
(1) Mix and sift all the solids.
(2) Use another bowl. Let the butter stand for a couple of minutes. Once soft, add the sugar. Mix well. Add the eggs one by one. Mix again.
(3) Add milk alternately with the solid mixture.
(4) Mix properly. Make sure you stir it in one direction so as to create more (air) bubbles.
(5) Pour in the pan and bake for 30-40 minutes at 150-200 C.
(6) While baking, make the icing. Mix the icing ingredients in another bowl and cook it with constant stirring for five minutes.

Now you're done! By the way, preheating the oven is not necessary when making chocolate cake. According to my mom, it is not as "sensitive" as the chiffon cake, so no need. Do not preheat the oven anymore to save energy! You can also play around with the icing, Yesterday, I reduced the sugar because I prefer bittersweet chocolates. I really really really love dark chocolates! Unfortunately, most of them prefer the usual sweet sweet chocolates. :( Next time, I will make two bowls of icing: one for me and one for my family. Nevertheless, I was so pleased everyone loved my cake! Weeee!!! I really really really love baking! :D

Love, Green, Neurosis

2009-11-21T00:01:00.016+08:00

I've been wanting to ponder on the three recent books I read: Love in the Time of Cholera, It is not Easy Being Green and How to Live with a Neurotic Dog. This is the ripe time for me to do so since my insomnia has just unfortunately dawned on me. I badly want to rest this weary body of mine. The week ran along roughly; I feel I am losing weight already. Because, writing a coherent essay is an impossibility (considering my current mental status), I guess I am left without a choice but to screw my thoughts in bullets:

(1) Love in the Time of Cholera
Love can last a lifetime; but it does not stay the same. Like concrete matter, love changes its form as time goes by. Initially, couples experience eros usually in the first four months. Later, marital relationships are converted into something more filial.

Frequently, infidelity in a man results when a woman loses her youthful charm and radiance. But this does not necessarily imply that he does not love her anymore. He just became a beast that his instincts surpassed his respect for himself and his woman. Infidelity in women, on the other hand, occurs when a woman does not love her man to begin with. A woman who loves her husband will never allow other men to enter her kingdom.

Love is a fountain overflowing with joy, warmth and pleasure. When unrequited, it mutates into a crippling disease such that the victim can only wish nothing but a speedy death.

(2) It's not Easy Being Green
Honestly, I did not realize anything. I just had fun reading! :D

(3) How to Live with a Neurotic Dog
The title which could have suited me best is this: How to Live with a Neurotic Dog Owner.
I own a dog whom we christened, "Sophia", a so-called "pit bull." I have been standing as a foster mom since she was two months old (see picture). I shunned her the first time I saw her. She was ugly and hyperactive; while she remains ugly and hyperactive, one thing has changed: I love her already. My love for her bloomed by default. No one else at home was willing to spare some time to play with her. I knew that if we would abandon her and tie her in solitude, she would grow up to be like the usual ferocious and unforgiving pit bulls who gnaw kids and wrestle adults. And so, since she came, I made sure I played with her every spare second I have. I would rub her belly in the morning, rub her belly in the afternoon, rub her belly in the evening. On Saturdays, I would play fetch with her in the morning, play fetch with her in the afternoon and play fetch with her in the evening. I guess I tamed her too much; she is now too friendly she might even allow strangers to rub her belly and play fetch with her as long as they give her food!

My brother, on the other hand, owns a chihuahua-spitz hybrid named Julia (which he abandoned). Being a toy dog, Julia is supposed to have the liberty of being able to display her long, thick, snow-white fur inside the house so that everyone can see. Unfortunately, now, like the pit bull, Sophia, she is tied outside. My brother, because as I have said, he abandoned Julia, failed to teach her where to poo. She has to stay outside for practicality's sake.

I did not wink when my brother abandoned Julia. She is too cute to be feared. Unlike Sophia whose canines are around 2cm long, Julia, apparently has false dog teeth which are merely 5mm. Cats won't even care.

A case of cholera

2009-11-18T22:29:00.009+08:00

I skipped another party tonight. I had to procure materials to fully equip my laboratory which will be inaugurated two days from now. Also, I opted not to tag along with my friends because I had this disturbing dream which left me panting when I awoke dawn of Monday. Fearing of the possibility of its realization, I passed.

Back to our big two-story house which we sold several years ago, we were gathered to celebrate life. Louise was asking why I possess so many things which I do not use. "I get bored so easily," I said. She picked a towel, tossed it in a yellow shopping basket and asked, "Can I have this?" I shifted my gaze to France and left Louise with all the material wealth. France was sobbing and I knew why. She kept relaying her doomed love affair. "I love him and I know he loves me. But I have a boyfriend and he has a girlfriend. Do you know how that feels?" I did not know how that felt. Her tears pierced my denim jeans while my legs atrophied in her pain. I sulked in the gravity of my thoughts. What will I do if I love someone else yet I already have a boyfriend? France wept. She wept harder and burdened my legs with her acrid tears... Louise broke her misery's momentum and said, "Hey, who's that man behind you?" I eyed a lanky shadow behind the door. He was staring at me; I felt him when the fluorescent light from his eyes traveled to see me. I dragged my atrophied legs and crawled to reach the staircase. Instantly, upon sensing my vigilance and my desire to elude, the shadow pulled the trigger. Bullet raced with time and burrowed through my carotid artery. The few drops of blood that reached my head permitted me to think somehow. I cannot die, I thought. If this is a dream, I want to wake up! So, I pinched nose, like they always advise in the movies to invalidate ones death, I pinched my nose, I pinched my nose... I slapped my face and begged myself to wake up from a concluding malady: hemorrhage from a bullet shot. I cannot die, I thought. I cannot die! I cannot die! I cannot die!

And so I died. But I lived again when I pinched my nose.

Munchkins!!!

2009-11-15T23:07:00.000+08:00

My week was long. I'm glad I concluded it with a badminton game with Mon, my closest college buddy who helped me stay sane in my last two years despite the overwhelming academic load and extracurricular responsibility. Later in the evening, we bought the ingredients for the munchkin recipe she taught me. ^__^

Ingredients:
1. Crackers (3 packs)
2. Condensed milk (1 big can)
3. Dessicated coconut (just enough to coat the munchkins)

It's the easiest dessert I've ever made so far. The procedure is as simple as 1-2-3. Pound crackers. Pour condensed milk. Roll in dessicated coconut. That's it.

Specifically, I bought Ace chocolate crackers. Mon said I could use Graham crackers. I opted to purchase Ace because Graham is honey-flavored...and I'm a sucker for chocolates! Also, I realized I could substitute Hershey's chocolate syrup for condensed milk to make my munchkins "chocolatier"!

I spent the entire morning molding these. In the afternoon, I could not detach myself from the television while I was watching the Pacquiao-Cotto fight! Damn Miguel Cotto is hot! He even hugged Manny when he lost. @__@ It's my first time to see a fighter do that. Sweet!

Georgianna Kae on Pencil

2009-11-15T22:29:00.005+08:00

I support RH

2009-11-10T19:45:00.002+08:00

Despite the state's independence, most of its decisions are still poisoned with the church's opinions. Seldom can the two be separated. For this reason, I was so jubilant when the congress bypassed the church and insisted on promulgating the reproductive health bill. However, when I swept by the church this morning, I nearly threw up in disgust and disappointment when I learned that the issue is currently being reawakened. A huge banner screaming, "The archdiocese of Davao is against the Reproductive Health (RH) bill," was tied at the gates. I really cannot run along their old-fashioned line of thinking.

"Go and multiply," God said. However, He said this when the only humans on earth were Adam and Eve. If God will reappear in this century, I do not think he will deliver the same message--not when most of the regions are famished. Using artificial birth control techniques is the most practical way to address the exponentially growing population in the country. It's difficult to simply utilize the calendar method. Mating is what couples are meant to do. It's hard to dictate couples when to do it or when not to do it. It's as if they're telling a writer to write only at full moon.

I just hope the law-making body will not be dissuaded to revert their decision. Population boom is the last thing we need to endure this seemingly perpetual economic crisis.

Farm grass

2009-11-09T20:09:00.000+08:00

Thin grass
weak grass
grass too wimp to withstand hurricane
its hollow stick bows
bends to kiss mud
by the bulldozed road
a beggar in the farm
with its sons trapped under the saya
of washed women
who slip inside his boots
like thorns to prick soles
of rabid man,
man of no descent
man who plows the paddy at day
where he strangles grass
sickles grass
his sons shaded under the saya
of washed women
where little sand drips.

Freckled again

2009-11-09T19:41:00.004+08:00

The heat was intense; I knew I had to reapply. I unzipped my bag and searched for my sunscreen. I could not find it, unfortunately. The whole day, hence, I walked unprotected. I felt my skin aged ten days. I worried about acquiring more freckles and facial sun scars. I wished Kuya Rich would come back to Davao so I would not have to take water samples in his behalf. I'm not happy in the field. I'm so miserable in the field. I wanted to fly back to my lab, conduct preliminary experiments, sniff the airconditioned breeze... I wanted to; I couldn't. So I slouched back in the banana trunk, burried my burnt face on my palms, recollected, pondered...Dear God, I wish you made me a Man so I need not worry about ugliness. A woman can love without her eyes.

Chocolate Cake

2009-11-08T18:53:00.006+08:00

The chocolate icing was superb! However, for some reasons, the cake I baked yesterday did not rise. I can think of four possible causes:
(1) the baking powder has expired
(2) I forgot to sift the solids
(3) Instead of buying cocoa powder, I bought chocolate syrup
(4) mixing was not unidirectional.

I intend to become a virtuoso in this field! Soon, when I have ample time, I will bake chocolate cake again! By then, I will be able to publish a lengthy post containing tips and suggestions. Happy happy 21st birthday to me! :D :D

By the way, when I got back home after Friday night's Boom Boom, my dad did not get mad (for the first time ever). Is this a sign? Are they treating me like a grown-up now? I can vividly recall one night out last year. After a family affair one night and when I was about to gracefully glide away from the car to meet my friends, I told mom, dad, ate and Gus, "You guys, do not worry! I'm a big girl now!" My overprotective and austere younger brother who acts like my senior malevolently reacted, "Ha! Yeah right. Big girl! You're only----- (Bad word. He mentioned my height!)----." The "big girl" got drunk for the 1st time that night...and she kept crying. @__@

Oh well. That will not happen again! I'm a big girl now, really. Soon, I will be a full-fledged woman! Happy happy happy birthday to me!

Chocolate cake
Ingredients:

Sift:
2 cups all purpose flour
1 cup chocolate (Hershey's chocolate preferably)
2 tablespoons baking soda
2 tablespoons baking powder

Add:
1 bar butter (anchor)
2 1/2 cup white sugar
4 whole eggs
2 cups cold fresh milk

Chocolate cake icing:
1 can evaporated milk
1/2 cup chocolate
1/8 butter
5 tablespoons cornstarch
1/4 cup water
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup white sugar

Leche Flan

2009-11-08T17:27:00.030+08:00

Yesterday, I celebrated my 21st birthday with my grandma, my dog, my two siblings and Rose, our helper. Apparently, my parents were out again. I would have wanted a sumptuous and gluttonous dinner; but because they weren't there to cook for me, buy me dinner or take me out, I decided to bake and cook for my own birthday!

Here's one of the dishes I made. This is Van's favorite! When I was in high school, I also "attempted" to make one for Phoebe's birthday. I really really love Leche Flan! Among all desserts, this is my "best friend."
Ingredients:
Eggs (4 whole eggs or 6 yolks)
Condensed Milk (1 can)
Water (1 cup)
Sugar (6 tablespoons)

You can use whole eggs or pure egg yolks. If you want a softer Flan, use whole eggs; if you want a creamier Flan, use egg yolks. If you choose to make the latter, use a yolk separator. Furthermore, do not throw away the "egg white," you can lather it in your face to provide a soothing and natural face lift. You can also use it to make puto, white icing, etc. Also, if you want a creamier Flan, you can reduce the amount of water you put.

Beat the eggs and pour the milk. A hand beater/mixer (see picture1 below) is a must-have in baking.

However, I prefer using an electrical mixer (see picture2 below). If you really want to "get serious" in baking, buy this device. I don't think it's expensive.

After mixing, pour it in a molder with caramelized sugar and steam for 20 minutes. If you don't have a steamer, you can use the rice cooker! The Flan is cooked when: (1) of course, when it has hardened and (2) if you prick it with a toothpick, the egg/milk mixture will not stick. Invert the molder and Tada! You have your Flan.

Dear Blog,

2009-11-05T21:29:00.005+08:00

Every time I come home, my Super Girl cape instantly untangles. Mask splits open, falls...cracks. I don't think Mom and Dad will recognize me whenever I'm drape in that costume . Who will except a baby, who does nothing but sleep, eat and please everyone, to be commanding laborers, advising students, thinking logically, etc. I've been handling three projects since the other research assistant flew to Manila to attend a training. Since then, I started bagging this heavy weight on my shoulders. I handle three projects. Sometimes four. Sometimes five. My primary concern is the Nepenthes project; secondary to it is the Soil Conservation Project. I also handle the Artificial Soil project. But there are times when my professor would ask me to do something for Nipa Project and Bt Eggplant. Good God, why am I the only research assistant inside the research room? The other research assistants working for other professors only manage a single project. I have three! Three. Can you imagine? Three! I can barely breathe. I'm so tired. Jaded. Exhausted. Drained.

I would have been happier if I'm only handling one project, my primary concern: The Nepenthes Project. I adore the cozy, claustrophilic and isolated laboratory. In that cold nook, I never tire. I play with my cultures from nine in the morning until my stomach grumbles and begs me to eat. I can really tell that I belong in the lab. Not in the hospital. Never in the field. The two other projects however, demand that I sweat under the sun and summon all the melanocytes in my skin to shield me from UVA/UVB. I do not belong in the field, I know. I know. I will probably never flourish in the agricultural field--not when I worry about skin mutations and the subsequent effect in human aging. Hello world! I have to face the fact that I dwell in an agricultural country and that if I desire to pursue research, whether or not it pleases me, I will be compelled to cruise in that ocean again. I want to be a researcher--but not an agricultural researcher!

I don't want to go to med school either because I cannot imagine my life revolving around dying people. Nevertheless, I can always opt to pursue research which is in line with the human body but does not demand that I stay in a place as forlorn as the hospital. But I will have to endure four years before I can pursue PhD in biomedical research. I will have to wait for a long long time. And worse, I'm not even sure if it's worth waiting for. :-(

Heck, no. I'm sure it's worth all the wait. I must keep this in mind!

So then dear dear blog, I finally have a picture of what I'll be doing in the future. In my previous letter to you, I enumerated several "things to do" before my birthday. I can mark one now. Unfortunately, I realized that I'm still not fit to get a driver's license. I started a commotion in an intersection today. I'm glad the police officers did not arrive to pick me up. You see, in an intersection early this afternoon, I tried making a U-turn. Waaah. Oh yeah. I'm the only crazy human who does that. Hell, what was I thinking?

Dear Blog,

2009-11-04T21:53:00.005+08:00

I'll be turning 21 three days from now. I'm so excited, I can barely wait! I bought myself a present yesterday and I got so obsessed I had difficulty sleeping last night. I kept wondering how I will look like with my new badminton racket! :D I hope Mon and I can pull this habit off despite our hectic schedules.

I'll be partying with my bio friends this Friday. I met Jane early this morning; I was so euphoric to hear she's coming! So then, I'll be expecting Mon, Emo, Mai, Louise, France, Jane, Lei... who else will be coming? Who else will be coming? They'll probably be diluting Misery through goblets of alcohol again. And I guess I'll end up nursing their wounded hearts because mine is too whole to bleed. I desire to give them love on my birthday...prebirthday celebration, I mean. I still have to plan the events on the 7th. Bestfriend can't come. Mom's in Manila. Look's like I'll be spending the entire day with my dog. @___@

Anyway, I'm supposed to talk about Fairy Tail. I just fell in love with this series a couple of minutes ago. But because I'm more in love with myself than this show, I ended up talking about my birthday. Yikes. I'll scribble my insights some other time then.

Good night universe!

The Genome War

2009-11-02T15:32:00.007+08:00

The success of the Human Genome Project roots back to its leader, Craig Venter, the egotistic scientist who adamantly said, "I am right and you are wrong." If this man was coyed like Mendel, the father of genetics who died not knowing he founded a science, the whole world will never unravel the secret code.

From this book, I learned that indeed, scientific war begins with the intellect and ends with the ego.

Cheers to the egotistic scientists out there! Cheers to myself! :D

Sea(gulls)

2009-11-01T21:22:00.006+08:00

I had my sun-tan yesterday when my friends and I trekked a shore filled with calcareous corals located beyond the fence with the warning sign saying, “no trespassing.” “Shall we enter?” Lei asked. “If it’s worth the risk, why not.” I said. And so we broke the rule and boldly entered.

Lei and I stepped in to survey the place first. “Hey Lei, why did they call this place, Seagull?” I asked. “A thousand seagulls used to visit this place at a time,” he said. “But where are the seagulls now, Lei?” He fell silent; he knew that I knew what the answer to my question. We walked further until we spotted a lone tree. It was standing at the littoral zone; at high tide hence, half of it is submerged in water. I was so inspired to see the tree contented and placid just standing there alone with or without nourishment from sea water.

Inching further with my Rusty Lopez sandals and with my sunscreen wearing out, I clamored, “why are there so many dead corals here?” We had been stepping at dead corals the whole time; our soles barely touched sand. “You see that aggregated rock over there?” Lei pointed a boulder-like aggregate of dead corals. “Yes, and they are unusually numerous! This must be where the fishes lived years ago.” “Perhaps,” Lei said, “and do you know,” he looked at my dazzled face, “do you know that it would take at least 50 million years just to form this cluster of corals?” I was so awed to realize that I had been surrounded with lost treasures and I did not know because I never read Marine Biology books. “Really?” “Yes G,” he said. Just a moment after I saw a bird sweeping the sky! “Look Lei! What’s that?”

“That’s the seagull,” he said. A bird with sleek blue feathers and black plume tips was gliding unfettered up and away. I wondered why it wasn’t with its flock. Like the tree, the bird was lone too. “What a beautiful bird!” I sighed. “Shit!” Lei exclaimed. “What? Why?” “Look there!” he said. A band of sun-scarred teenagers was approaching. They were probably turning back to eat lunch. “Look over there!” he said. I saw one of them carrying a seagull. Is it alive? I asked myself. “I hope they did not kill it, Lei.” “I think they did,” he said. “Why? Is it because they’re hungry?” “Maybe. But that kind of bird gives very little meat.” “True,” I said, “they should have killed a chicken instead.”

The band of boys silently passed. When Lei turned around and followed their footing, he saw that they dropped the seagull behind. The seagull’s neck was ripped with blood, oozing. Its flaccid wings were spread across the cluster of corals. The blue bird was flightless…breathless. “One day,” I thought, “this sea will be alone too.”

Unregistered

2009-11-01T21:08:00.006+08:00

October 31, 2009

Before the night receded, I asked our helper to cook my breakfast early the next day because I was aiming to leave the house at around five so I could register to vote.

Arriving at Magsaysay park, I immediately glued myself at the tip of the long, winding, snake-like line. I heard that they would only be giving 800 priority numbers. I chilled at the thought; and then suddenly, I remembered my Dad saying that if I wanted to get registered, I had to look for this particular person. That would put an end to my agony, he said. But “Daddy,” I protested, “what about the people who are forming their lines?” “This is the real world, little girl,” Dad warned. I ignored him nevertheless and stubbornly pursued to get registered in a “clean way.”

People continued to pile up. The ComElec had not opened the window, yet. If not for the humorous lad in front who kept cracking sensible and politically pertinent jokes, I would have fainted of ennui. Two hours swiftly flew by. The sun was inflexibly pushing its rays on my skin—and on the people who were standing in line with me. Some had not eaten; others had not slept. A few had been waiting there since midnight. Many came before dawn broke. The ComElec officers had not opened the window yet.

“Do you know how many biometric scanners are there inside?” the humorous lad in blue polo asked. “I have no idea,” I said, “probably one per district. If they have a lot, I don’t think we’ll be falling in this very long line.” “There they are at last!” Someone from behind was pointing at two gold Toyota Hilux with plate numbers beginning in “S.”

There they were at last. The window had opened! Someone began to relay his instructions over a red, outdated megaphone with a very poor sound quality. He was talking in thunder; and the people at the back could barely hear the echoes. I could barely hear it too. The people started running forward in confusion. The long thin snake collapsed and curled like a centipede. They were squeezing themselves in the front line. I ran along. There at the center. My mind in turmoil. “Why did the line break?” I asked the middle-aged woman in front. “The ComElec officer asked us to form two lines. One for females. One for males.” “But the previous line was perfect already,” someone at the back complained.

I was there at center, squeezed between strangers. I did not think the man in blue polo could crack any humor in that. The heat was intense. “Let me pass please,” a fat lady was pushing herself affront, “Let me pass. I hold the key to open the camera. Let me pass,” she yelled. People were restlessly screaming at the ComElec officers who retreated inside the window. “It’s past eight! When will you ever give us the priority number?” one man climbed and protested. The others affirmed and they were screaming along. A cloud of foul breath was hovering. My neighbor’s yawn was warm. I tiptoed and fanned my nose while my sweat leaked. Barbaric men were screaming in a mocking baritone. Homosexuals were moaning, “ah.” Women were roaring like hyenas. “Give us our priority number! Give us our priority number! Give us our priority number!”

Just then reality grated my infantile ideals.

I could not change my country with a single vote, I realized. So I stepped out.

2009-10-27T21:26:00.010+08:00

I'm surprised I did not catch colds after getting drenched in the rain for half an hour and wearing the same wet shirt for another hour last Monday. Stress level is currently nearing its threshold. At this moment, I am finding ways to dull my senses so I will be able to deceive myself that I'm never able to detect stress in any form. "I am feeling so good," I tell myself this every now and then.

Lately, I have been lamenting over an issue which is supposed to be buried under the earth's mantle. For now, I will not think about medical school and the shit it brings. I will divert my attention to developing the skills and physical traits which I will be needing in the future. I need to regain the talent, the love of my life which I nearly lost. Writing. Dear Writing, how I love you! Whenever I hit the keyboard, the pigs always grow wings to fly aboard a cotton of cirrus-cumulus clouds. I feel unusual liberty while I drift with my pigs. I see the stars, the moon facing the star, the sun hiding, waiting for the moon to surrender... It's like I have this huge telescope at the tip of my fingers. I can see what I want to see by simply stringing words that paint a thousand strange thoughts.

In a village, the strangest one in the world, there erects a tree that grows a rainbow of feathers . Anyone who passes by squirts a juice of ambivalence as to whether or not they must believe what the elders tell them. That it is a tree. That it is a bird. Questioning themselves ceaselessly as they pass, the treebird, lures everyone to sit down and contemplate. Is it a tree or a bird? Feathers fall, fall and mingle over their skin. Anyone who sits down, unfortunately, commits the same err of wishing they can grow plumes too and look like treebirds...

Damn. I am sleepy. I wish to continue my story but a little more pushing, and my eyes will shut down.

Good night Blog. I will continue my story some other time!

Happy happy I finished my proposal,
G

2009-10-25T18:30:00.008+08:00

It's a week past my period; yet I continue to embrace each day with a smile forced upon my cheeks. I'm afraid. Baffled. Torn. Lonely. I tried alleviating this grief by going out with my bio girlfriends yesterday. We played badminton for two hours; several hours after, we went to Basti's and talked perpetually. Well, they were the ones who did all the talking. I was patiently listening to their med life stories. I never knew any of the characters they mentioned; but after listening for a very long time, somehow, I was able to draw pictures in my head. Parties. Beach. Cars. Cadavers. Nothing new. Nothing strange. I was regaled, somehow. That would have been my life had I gone to med school. And recently I've been entertaining the thought that perhaps, I will soon embrace that kind of life in case I will enroll at DMSF next year, which is, what will most likely happen because I love my grandma. I want to hone my skills in genetics. I badly want to! I tried eluding fate; but it's damn stubborn, it keeps tying me to itself...

I'm preconditioning my psyche, you see. A year from now, I will be that girl with a long curly hair. That girl who brings a book no heavier than her thighs. That girl who forgets names of people who greet her but happens to recall every part of the human body. If only she can name him, "vena cava" and her, "plexus." Now this girl sits on the third row near the window. She brings out her "notebook for everything," and starts rubbing her pen against the white sheet. She gazes at the professor, then the white board; and for a moment or two, the space between her world and the world she conceives, widens. She detaches. Herself. Away. There is a gap in between. And when the hoarse, high-pitched bell, rings, Reality falls with a confetti of responsibilities. Pass the exam. You must past the exam. Her friends invite her at Basti's for a group study. She buys sundae before stepping inside the coffee shop. She does not like c0ffee; so she excuses herself for a moment to buy sundae. The girls-on-a-diet shriek with a "Fatty. Ehw." But I never gain weight, she says and instantly pushes the sundae in. The sundae leaks inside her gut. Her gut leaks out, excuses herself, "I have to go." Then at home, she tosses herself in bed, begins to read several chapters at a time. Bored, she creeps to her pitbull's kennel, barks, rubs her belly and tells her, "Phi, I wish I took MS instead..."

Winter Solstice

2009-10-23T04:52:00.006+08:00

Last week, I realized that the reason why the sun frequently leaves sooner than the day preceding it, is because of the earth's slightly angular rotation and elliptical revolution. It's not because the sky is conspiring with my generally dampened mood. It just so happened that the earth and I are following cycles.

My period has passed, however. Yet, my unusually depressed status, persists. For the past days, I've been waking up rubbing the same mote of question. What am I going to do with my life? I know deep down that my heart belongs to writing, my hands to research and my conscience to medical school. I also know that I will be happiest if I choose research and writing--and not medical school and writing. However, doing that would mean annihilating traces of my superego, an act which I will probably have difficulty enduring. Research has a very murky road; to succeed, I must pass through cobwebs of vines and rivers of mud. In addition, I have to consider the uncertainty of material wealth. It is a risk; and my legs violently shiver every time the thought crosses.

Now, now... I still have to finish writing a research proposal. I gave myself a deadline; and that's today, October 23. Scientific writing is much more difficult than prose or poetry. There are thousands of boundaries and rules which I am sweating to follow.

Anyway, here are the goals which I aim to accomplish before I turn 21:
(1) Register to ComElec
(2) Get driver's license
(3) Start preliminaries for Acclimatization Experiment
(4) Figure out what to do with my life.

I also intend to begin a healthy lifestyle. While I am dying to gain weight so that my cheeks would look fluffy, I realized that to maintain a 110/80 blood pressure, I must exercise regularly. Also, I need to improve my figure in preparation for my much awaited event one or two years from now.

The physical aspects which I badly need to improve on are:
(1) Teeth
(2) Eyes
(3) Skin
(4) Hair

The most important aspect however is:
(1) Confidence

Once I have achieved all these, I will be ready to pose for my bestfriend's soon-to-be business! Oh, the thought never fails to rekindle my enthusiasm! Now I am beginning to sniff the redolence of a happy happy winter solstice ahead of me!!!

Crossing

2009-10-21T00:41:00.008+08:00

The wheels dance
in the curving steep
bind on a blind slope in this meandering road
accelerate into my fatal doom,

I pass.

By the narrow lane
of pedestrians crossing
I do not read
signs: blind
slope.

Slide in the curving steep.

I hurt to grind my gears
in a frank attack
where gas salivates,
and engine grumbles
talk of it in a hushed monotone
while I...

hesitate.

Vampire

2009-10-21T00:10:00.015+08:00

Because I was really sullen awhile ago, I kept amusing myself with stupid things like... the camera! Because my bestfriend is far far away, I did a self-supporting photoshoot. You see, I realized that I will probably look stunningly beautiful in a horror movie! I've been dying (dying dying) to play a vampire's role! :D Oh by the way, I kept looking at the picture below. In that picture, I realized that my legs really look short. Hahaha. Well, that's because it's a bird's eye view. :D Anyway, anyway, this is me wrapped in my fave blanket:

And yeah! This is my upcoming horror movie:

I adjusted the contrast and at last! I look like a vampire now! Sometimes I wish I know how to do make-ups so I can look like any creature I want. I hate it when I always have to rely on my natural dark under and upper eye lids for my so-called "eye shadow." LOL. But oh well, this will do for now... @__@

Dear Blog,

2009-10-20T22:53:00.004+08:00

It's a relatively gloomy day with the sun leaving the sky earlier than yesterday. I was forlorn early this morning too--the weather somehow conspired with my cyclical hormonal imbalance. But I guess it's more than just that. Let's just say that I cried because I could no longer hold back the tears which served as septic tank for my human sorrow. This issue should have died months ago; but it's overwhelming power keeps hunting me until now...

Dear dear blog, I'm supposed to go to med school; but I didn't. I went to pursue my scientific ambition. I realized it's more profitable than pursuing the arts; but of course, it is certainly less profitable than medical school. Anyway, I sailed to become a research assistant. The pay is excruciatingly low: 14, 000 a month--that's like buying 14 hardbound and 28 softbound books. It's low; but considering the fact that I'm only twenty years old and I only have my stomach to feed, that's not a bad pay at all. Besides, people usually begin with a low pay, right? Initially, things were beginning to flow smoothly. But when I was transferred to another project, a better one where I get to conduct tissue culture experiments, I stopped receiving salary. Although, I am certain I will receive my salary, the direst question is "when" this supposed salary will arrive. I have not been compensated for three months now, you see. For the past two months, I kept asking from my parents; but suddenly, I felt that I have become a burden already, so I stopped. Besides, I could feel their unexpressed hesitation. I could feel that they were always reluctant to give. But then I knew they would never act that way had I gone to med school. They will provide me. Give me. Give me. Whatever I need. So, I stopped asking since the month began. However, after twenty days, I drastically emptied my bank... Early this morning, I really had nothing to shell out anymore. No tengo dinero. Nada. I realized that it was impossible to fly to the office without money and I felt so helplessly poor, my infantile tears began to trickle. Grandma saw me and immediately she asked, "why are you crying?" I was so ashamed to tell the truth, "Loli," I said, "I really do not have money anymore." Tears. Tears. They fell. Grandma picked me up and said, "I want you to be happy;" then she gave me cold cash. Stunned, I crumpled the money, looked at grandma and felt ashamed again. I had been planning to leave Davao next year to pursue my masters at Diliman; and despite knowing that if grandma's cute little pixie will leave, grandma will die, I stubbornly kept entertaining the thought. "Go on, here's the money," she said. "You know that I always want to see you happy," she said. "I want you to be happy," she said. I felt ashamed; and I cried harder. How can I be so heartless to think of leaving her? I thought. I really love grandma; and my parents too. I cried and cried. Even without tears trickling, I was crying and I bore the pain the entire day. :(

Beaver's here, Bringgy

2009-10-19T00:30:00.007+08:00

I'm supposed to retire; but then I suddenly missed my friend and I googled his name over the web. I found his blog and read his post about me:

I wonder where Georgianna Oguis is. Georgianna, known to her friends as G (or Gee, or in my case, George), was my friend in high school, the only one person to whom I voluntarily told my then-deep, dark secret, which to my vexation she had blurted out to her best friend. I think she must have graduated now. She went to UP Mindanao, the same time that I did, and she took up Biology. If you need any help picturing her, this was George as I remembered her: she’s short, with legs no longer than her torso and hair that gets tousled easily. She used to wear glasses. She has astigmatism and myopia, if I remember correctly. That may not be a flattering description, but all of these physical traits suited her: she cannot look like anybody else, absolutely, I think...

Dearest Bringgy,
I am certain you know alien language; with this, I am attempting to communicate with you via virtual waves. One of these days you will read this post! Here's how your beaver looks like now. Still short--with legs no longer than my torso! Hahaha.

I miss you like I miss dancing in the rain! X__X

Dear Blog,

2009-10-18T22:52:00.004+08:00

This is a lonely nook which nobody reads except my bestfriend and a couple of strayed virtual creatures. :-(

While I badly want to be read, somehow it's advantageous that this is left unknown to humanity because, here, I am able to freely pen in my thoughts without having to worry about people's reactions. I have not gotten over the four-year old trauma, I guess; and perhaps this is the reason why, until now I cannot write a simple essay and have it published in the local papers. I do not desire to die as a diarist. I promise myself to continue writing until I will be able to learn how "not to be afraid to embrace my art." I want to be a fictionist! My best friend is a poet. I tried writing poetry for some time though. Unfortunately, I am unable to control my turbulent river of thoughts. Because my eccentric ideas just flow haphazardly, the so-called "poem" I am able to build resembles an abstract edifice of randomly piled mud. Nevertheless, I will never give up! I will learn poetry too! But most of all, I will learn fiction!

Dear dear blog,
Yesterday, I was torn between reading a book and enhancing my driving skills. I chose the latter because, although reading is fun, learning how to drive is more practical (in real life).I finally learned how to fluidly shift from one gear to the next! :D Hooray! I also did a couple of crazy things like hitting a young tree and spinning and spinning and spinning. It's so addicting; if I did not stop, I probably have injuries now!

This morning also, I was (again) torn between reading a book and seeing my friend. Of course, I chose the latter because I badly miss her. :-( And because of her, I learned the real reason why the president of the Philippines canceled her visit to UP Mindanao. GMA, apparently, chose to dine with the circle of my friend's father. I will never forget that day! I accidentally burned my leg while I was riding the hh. Three policemen stopped me. I kept begging them, "please, I badly need to put a burn ointment. Please let me pass." It's a long long story. I do not think I have ample energy to jot my thoughts down. Good night sweet blog!

Namolla Family

2009-10-17T10:29:00.002+08:00

Because the music world spends most of its time airing RnB and other shorty-wanna-party kind of music, and I find myself too sober to listen to my usual artists of preferences like Secondhand serenade, Dashboard Confessionals, RHCP, Jason Mraz, etc., for months, I have gotten accustomed to listening to my brother's favorites: J-pop and K-pop. It has become a habit, my morning will never be complete without hearing my favorite songs.

Here's a list of my latest LSS:
(1) Kokoro no wakusei (OST of Law of Ueki)
(2) Winter sleep by Olivia
(3) Apple and Cinnamon by Utada Hikaru
(4) Hitohira no hanabira by Stereopony

and (of course)

Namolla Family's Love is so Easy! :D :D :D :D

I realized that there are very few people who know them; and there are very little Namolla Family fan sites. I do not desire to mar this blog with so many nonsensical posts; but I cannot help myself, today. I want people to discover Namolla Family! So here. This is my favorite, ever. I do not care if I cannot understand: Love is so Easy.

***

Love is So Easy
(Namolla Family feat. Tae In)

I believe nae soweon nae somang keudaega nal chajeulddaekkaji now..

(Rap 1)
sarangddawineun pilyo-eobsdago uri ijeh keumanhajago
Mae-il bammada nanun uri sarangdo jeongmal jikeut jikeuthadago

ibbeun geu ibehseo na-on malikesseo? Kuireul uishimhaesseo
anilgeora naneun saengkakhaesseo
manyak keugeh neo-ui jinshimiramyeon keugeh neo-ui jinjja ma-eumiramyeon

(ijeh ddeonagado dwae) kidarinda naega neol jeongmal naneun neol
Dashi deungeul dollyeo naegeh wajulgeora naneun mideosseo
Ddeonagaran maleun jajonshimui keojitieosseo

(naneune keureon mal mothae andwae) uh! Naega saranghaessdeon neol keureohkeh swibkeh swibkeh
itgosalakal jashinissdemyeon jehbal naega naega keureul sumanissdamyeon…

(Chorus)
jehbal kajimara butjabado kkumjjeokanhnabwa (irohkehrado naega)
eoddeohkeh saranghanda malhaebwado soyongeobsnabwa (ijehneun soyongeobsnabwa)

amado naega shilhgo jinjeorina ddeonakanabwa (charari ddeonaka keudae)
dashineun andwaeneungeol almeyonseodo kidarinabwa nan…(naega jwongmal babokateun naega)

(Rap 2)
saebyeok iseul iseul biga naerigo aseul aseul nunmuli naryeogo
Ni apahseo anicheok aesseo nan uteoboryeogo jalchamaboryeogo

noryeokhaebwado andqineungeh issjanha deo-uk ni apeseon keugeh andwijanh-a
unda eojjeol su eobsi neo-ui nwi-ehseo unda namjaraseo sori-ebsi unda

(uldaga) ijehn ni apehseo uljianheulgeh
(uldaga) jeoldae nunmulddawin heullijianheulgeh
(keudaega) niga eodisaldeon chajjianheulgeh
(ddeonaga) oneulmaneun neoreul jabgoisseulgeh

(Chorus)
jehbal kajimara butjabado kkumjjeokanhnabwa (irohkehrado naega)
eoddeohkeh saranghanda malhaebwado soyongeobsnabwa (ijehneun soyongeobsnabwa)

amado naega shilhgo jinjeorina ddeonakanabwa (charari ddeonaka keudae)
dashineun andwaeneungeol almeyonseodo kidarinabwa nan…(naega jwongmal babokateun naega)

(Rap 3)
kaggeum saeng-gakina naega jweossdeon keumankeum
nae jeonbureul ilhgo kamdangkagi ehnkeun
ibyeol ibyeol ingabwa ani miryeon miryeon miryeoningabwa

charagi cheo-eumbuteo mannajimalkeol eonusae bbajyeobeoryeosseo my girl

beoteonaryeogo haebwado naega naega neomu jalala keugeh andwindaneungeol

(D. Section)
naega kidaryeobwado naega aeweonhaebwado
naega heuneukkyeobwado moreulgga

saranghaessdaneun keumal niga jeonburaneun mal
dashineun keu malhal su eobskessjyo nan…

(Chorus)
jehbal kajimara butjabado kkumjjeokanhnabwa (irohkehrado naega)
eoddeohkeh saranghanda malhaebwado soyongeobsnabwa (ijehneun soyongeobsnabwa)

amado naega shilhgo jinjeorina ddeonakanabwa (charari ddeonaka keudae)
dashineun andwaeneungeol almeyonseodo kidarinabwa nan…(naega jwongmal babokateun naega)

ddeona.. ddeona.. sarangi barameh.. nallinda..

Cisneros, O'connor and the lipstick

2009-10-17T08:52:00.004+08:00

After almost a century, I finally revisited my favorite bookshop at NCCC mall. But prior to that, I went to the second floor and attempted to scavenge for a pale pink lipstick because I noticed that my lips usually look horrendously red in the pictures even without an overcoat. I only possess one lip product, actually. It's a fruity Bench lip balm which ultimately lost its scent because I abandoned it unsealed in my dresser for several years. When I was fixing my clutters last May, I was so shocked to realize that I actually own one! :D

Anyway, I scavenged the ladies department in vain. Unfortunately, I could not find a cheap pale pink lipstick which I can afford to throw away after one or two uses. They frequently cost 150+ or 200+. If I purchased one and ended up using it once, it's like I went to Rai-Rai Ken, bought a bento box, licked the tempura and went off. And because I cannot imagine throwing a tempura just like that, I instantly condemned the thought, went to my favorite bookshop and hunted for a good read.

I bought two books: Sandra Cisnero's Caramelo and The Complete Stories of Flannery O'Connor. I have been wanting to read The House on Mango Street; unfortunately, I am yet to find a copy. I tried to pacify my cravings by purchasing one of her books. Unfortunately again, Caramelo is written in español; with my meager reading skills in Spanish, I doubt if I will be able to understand the entire text. Nevertheless, I saw this tiny speck of hope; I understood the title of part I: Recuerdo Acapulco. It means, "Memories of Acapulco." Further, when I flipped the page and red a couple of lines, I was surprised to understand the passages perfectly well.

One of the chapters began with:
"Acapulco. En una casa en forma de barco. Todo esta rizado como las frondas de un helecho. El mar. Nuestro pelo. Nuestro garauches secandose al sol. La pintura en la casa
barco."

I understood it this way:
Acapulco. The first house shaped like a boat. Every curl is like a fern's frond. The sea. Our hair. Our sandals leading to the sun. The paint in the boat's house.

Reading through I blurted out, "Damn! Cisneros is one crazy woman!" I will read and understand Caramelo before 2009 concludes. ^_____^

I bought Caramelo; but I continued scavenging and found a complete copy of Flannery O'Connor's short stories. I have always hated her; but (who knows), I have grown a lot, maybe this time, I will finally learn how to love her.

Dear Blog,

2009-10-15T23:37:00.007+08:00

I am so jaded I can die the next minute. Today's highlight is this:
(1)I met my psychologist and we talked about subjects which are mostly impertinent to what I was supposed to say. I intended to talk about my career and my love life; but I ended up talking about the former since I was so euphoric, I forgot pain, sorrow and disconsolation. And we talked and talked until he dropped me off at Matina. When we parted, I craved to see him and talk to him again. Then I wondered why... Why? Why? Why? Maybe it's because he's the sole non-relative male friend whom I trust; and I can imagine myself weeping if I'll lose the last one. I predict that I will lose him one day if he'll finally sweep off the girl he loves. I tried helping him to get her, actually. On his birthday, he lent me this book about... I do not know what it was about; I just feel that it's, no doubt, a good read. But then I read his emo blog about the girl he really loved but would never look at him. My eyes were welling up with salted tears. The next day, hence, I went to his girl and asked her to give him the book. And she did! She talked to him and he was euphoric. I asked, "how am I supposed to feel?" Dear dear blog, there I was, at the backstage, watching the magic sparkle with a tissue in my hand.

P.S. I left the car keys inside the car because I was hurrying to see him. Now what? How can I enter tomorrow? @______@ Stupid stupid key!!!

Man

2009-10-14T00:06:00.004+08:00

We talked about the silenced love stories of my boyfriend's grandparents. During the Marcos regime, grandmother met grandfather because grandfather was a spy. "A spy?" Indeed a spy, he said. And grandfather told her when he kidnapped grandmother's sister. He saw her weeping in a corner where darkness bred solace. He surrendered to the temptation of caressing her sleek fingers. And in the old times, when a man touches a woman, he marries her. "Grandfather married grandmother" while the sister slept in the prison. Anyway, grandmother met her new seed of happiness, so she forgot. "The sister, also my grandmother, was sleeping with grandfather because grandfather was supposed to watch over her," he said. "And they bore a child and the child bore me." Grandfather never had a child with her wife who died after she found out that her sister slept with her husband. "And whenever they ask me who my real grandmother is, I simply shrug my shoulders and say, 'Who cares? My grandfather is the man, for sure!'" I indignantly looked at my boyfriend and begged him to rectify his impulsive remark. "You mean, the ''who cares?'" And we looked at each other from a shooting star.

A crumpled paper

2009-10-13T23:56:00.005+08:00

Crumpled paper,
torn in between smooth curves
of underlined letters.

There is a hole in between.

A gust of air farts in between.
there, where its flaps parted and pouted.

A crumpled paper,
thinned with scratches of heavy pencils
thrusts so hard, the air pops,
eases the expulsion of words
in the hole
to shoot the reused lead.

Confessions of a shorty

2009-10-13T22:53:00.006+08:00

Despite my smart, serious and stern countenance, most people whom I interact with everyday are dumbfounded to discover that such a gifted girl who seems to possess a very pleasing personality, is sometimes stupid, dumb, ludicrous and crazy. This is a rare blend of traits in which very few people are bestowed with. Like a chameleon, I alter my skin and squirt a rainbow of colors just to make everyone happy. But when everything disappears and I am left alone in my cradle, I curl in a cool, isolated corner, sleep, clutch my book and say, "hey, this is so much fun!" The once bright, ostentatious and vibrant chameleon turns black and white. And I call that elegantly simple.

Fragments

2009-10-10T23:27:00.005+08:00

I'm surfing the world with unfettered freedom tonight. At last, my bestfriend finally told me. Like the other day, I shivered; and my heart was beating violently I thought it was going to come out--like I was going to give birth to a new heart through binary fission or something. The truth grated me; and my juice of pain was spilled in the room. There, I saw my formless self being stepped on by an illusion. Like shadows, darting. Like ravens, preening. I wanted to bang my head and cry. But I didn't. The hours ticked while I mourned. And when I felt everything has passed, I smiled. I have never been this free before!

***

Because my colleague went to Manila to attend a training (which will last for two months), I was left without a choice but to cover up for him. This means, that aside from doing tissue culture experiments, I will also be going to the field from time to time to gather data. For the nth time, I went to the field; but this time, the students who would be taking samples from the plots were to come along with me. I told them to meet me at 6:30 am. The two were late; but one of them was so late I could no longer hold back the innate sassiness in me. And so I texted him, "we regret to leave you but we cannot wait for you forever." Sent. Minutes later he replied with, "Ate, turns out I just missed you by a crucial minute. Apparently, I lack the finances to catch up with you at the site. Really sorry to have kept you guys waiting. I'm feeling really sorry for myself too. Have a nice day." It turned out that they have a sassy but merciful RA. I wanted to turn the wheels to pick him up; but then I realized that if I would do that, he would never learn. Hours later, I replied, "Will you be available this Monday?" And immediately, he said, "opo. sorry po ate..." And just like that, I forgot I was supposed to be sassy.

***

I must retire. Good night universe!

I feel like saying this random thought tonight...

2009-10-10T22:24:00.000+08:00

The story of a boy who throws starfishes back to the sea used to regale me when I was younger. After treading reality for a while, however, I realized that such act is futile and preposterous. With his two tiny hands, I doubt if he can even make a difference. The rate at which the turbulent current slaps the starfishes back ashore may even be twice as fast as the rate at which he swings his arms. It is illogical to declare, therefore, that he can alter the ocean's fate with such small deed. If he really desires to make a difference, he must aim for the ranks--for instance, he can work hard to become an influential environmentalist and persuade senators to pass a law that prohibits craftsmen from selling decorative materials using starfishes. Better yet, he can be a senator himself!

More powerful people are better able to make a difference in the lives of many. A small, feeble and powerless human being dies without changing the world.

October 9, 2009

2009-10-09T21:23:00.006+08:00

It's the 9th of October, the day I first properly parked a car in its place without hitting shrubs and a pool of mud in a nearby canal. This is also the day when I have vowed to myself that I will never be afraid to write again. Never be afraid again... I love writing more than anything else; and to be entwined with my love, I deem that this is the only solution. Never be afraid... Never again. I promise myself that.

***

Dear Blog,

Last night, my bestfriend relayed an appalling scoop. After browsing the world wide web the other day, she discovered something which she thought I should know. Then she told me ; and my fingers froze. My heart murmured and skipped thousand beats. "Tell me! Tell me!" I begged her, "tell me." She gave me a hint... then the gist. But she never told me everything. I badly wanted to know. My heart throbbed when blood leaked in my head. I was mad with passion and I felt like crying. I badly wanted to know even though I knew it would hurt. But my bestfriend never told me; and I could not sleep just thinking about it.

***

When the color left him sooner

When the color left him sooner,
before the bats dangled to bed
and the razor lights shaved the night,
her daughter cried
and the neighbors empathized.
They protested to a being they knew not
and saw not once.

They wept with feathered rags
and crooned inside his house
over dunked biscuits
and boiling pitch-black coffee
embittered and sweetened
with the season's passing

October 9, 2009

2009-10-09T15:55:00.008+08:00

I logged in for the record. Today, I learned to park the car well!

The second girl who learned wingless flight

2009-10-04T15:45:00.004+08:00

When sea water began to leak in the creeks, and ultimately, inside our homes, I thought I would drown along with the people at Marikina who was too unfortunate they were never bestowed with the ability to fly. Despite the talent to imitate fishes combined with butterfly strokes, frog strokes or whatever maneuver taught to them at swimming schools, they had not succeeded in battling the turbulent current which eventually dragged them to the vast Pacific. My countrymen who were fed to the benthos and whose names we have forgotten already, sent their souls to warn me that night: You might die, they said.

When I awoke, and saw the water rising, and felt that my back never had a wing lump, I was immediately tossed in the abyss of hopeloss where I could see nothing but black curtains concealing the bleeding mud and the gritting pebbles. I regretted I tossed myself there when I could have simply stayed in bed, cried until mama came to my rescue. But on second thought, I realized that she could not pay the clouds to stop weeping either. Mama could not bail me out anyway; had I stayed and bawled, I would still probably drown. Slapped by the wet curtain, wet in mud and pebbles, in desperation, I cried out aloud to the being whom my grandmama used to refer to as the "Great Maker."

"Great Maker! Great maker! Mold my wings!" I begged. I begged aloud until my vocal chords struck the coarsest and deepest moan. And when I realized that my pleas would never reach him because the angered fluffy gates hindered the sound waves from moving out, I stopped crying.

Disconsolated, I sat in the pool of rising murky water and awaited my death. But just when I have finally swallowed my fate, sister peeped from above and screamed, "You silly! What are you doing there?" She jumped, landed with her right foot and clutched my hand tight until I clamored about losing the blood in my palm. She raised her left hand and flew without wings and pulled me with her. Swaggering in the wide horizon where we met sunset, she said, "sister dear, never,never let go." "Never," I said...But all the words slipped. I slid and fell because she could not bear my weight forever.

I waved my hand and asked her to fly alone. "Anyway," I screamed hoping the clouds never blocked the echoes, " I will learn to raise my left hand and fly too!" I said and watched her disappear.

I was in standing on a dormant volcano. Alone. Without mama and sister dear. The cold, wet earth was loving my foot; and I looked down in disgust because I have always worn shoes. No mama. Alone. Without sister dear. I raised my left hand, tiptoed and jumped like super girl. So many times I tried but always landed on the same dormant volcano. The water was rising and I could hear the villagers screaming. Like me, they had not learned to fly without wings (like my sister).

Nevertheless, I persisted to fly while I, all the more, hated the cold, wet earth which was loving my foot. I raised my left hand, tiptoed and jumped like super girl. And after I have cut my soles that I could no longer bear to stand on the volcano, I rocketed away. Thinking that I might not be able to succeed in my second attempt to fly, I wasted no time to rest on a higher mountain even though I knew, for sure, that the ocean could not follow me anymore...that I would not drown...that I would not die. I flew higher and higher and never turned back.

The storm ceased. And at last I reached another continent. There, I could see the people swimming in milk and wine. No mud. The streets were paved with almond nuts. I finally set foot and saw for myself how happy they were. I also learned to play the violin, the cello and all the other expensive instruments in my old town, because everyone else knew how to; and I badly wanted to blend. I died my hair too and changed the color of my eyes. I was happy--and I had never been. Nevertheless, there came a time when, at the zenith of euphoria, I wished to come back home and see what remained of Marikina. I wanted to come back to my forlorn roots and plant almonds on the streets. But when I wanted to fly again so I could return and make a difference, however, I saw sister dear, waving. "Dear!" We hugged each other and found home.

How Toyota Became # 1

2009-10-04T12:45:00.004+08:00

Much can be learned from the world's number one automotive company. Combining the principles of lean production, thrift, humility, costumer-oriented production, etc., Toyota surpassed the two pioneering companies, Ford and General Motors, thus, coveting the number one spot.

Although a business book, I encourage everyone to read this. It is a book that aims not only to unfold the secret of the number one car company, but more so, it aims to inspire, boost and enlighten.

Among the lessons I learned was Toyota's formula for excellence:
1. maintain strong principles
2. constantly change.

I put emphasis on the second principle. To succeed, one must constantly change! This is a bullet that went straight to my skull.

Gambling

2009-10-04T11:27:00.001+08:00

After three months of working as a research assistant, I realized that pursuing my ambitious scientific endeavor in my country, is very much impractical. I often shell out my own cash just to get something done hora mismo. And worse, I have not been receiving my salary for two months now. Good thing I have money to spare. If I were poorer, I will probably never survive.

I love research! In fact, when I started doing tissue culture, I thought I finally heard my calling. I ask too many questions; and I often feel dissatisfied when I do not get answers. I adore discovery! I constantly crave for new things. Warmed with these gush of emotions, I was immediately convinced that I "belong here." "This is my calling," I declared.

Recently, however, I began to entertain the thought of cruising to medical school. There, I can earn a lot of money, build a mansion and put up my own laboratory! And when I have acquired so much money, I can probably opt to retire in my wide library where I will sequester myself as I endlessly read and write... Indeed, it is so tempting to go to medical school. But I singled-out the possibility of going there because I do not desire to see people die everyday. Hospitals emanate a lonelier atmosphere than cemeteries; and I am too compassionate for the job.

So now, I am torn again... not lost but torn. Suddenly, the bitter reality slapped me in the face. Should I continue to gamble knowing that I might lose in the end? Or should I simply fold my cards and run away to play with a fiscally securer hand?

Sorrow

2009-09-30T00:08:00.005+08:00

Late in the afternoon, while I was packing my clutters just in time for me to conclude my day in the office, I chanced upon this short story by a writer whose name was yet etched in my long-term memory. The paper was stacked along with my unread scientific journal articles which I have been planning to peruse. I printed a copy of "Sorrow" last July; and it was only a while ago that I found it miraculously screaming in front of me, dying to be read.

Sorrow by Anton Chekhov. This short story has succeeded in capturing the folly of a wasted life. Some people throw away their lives because they have failed to extract meaning and happiness in simple things...

...What an interesting find! All the while, Chekhov has been lying in my folder, unnoticed. Damn.

How to turn off the spy-camera

2009-09-29T23:07:00.001+08:00

Lucky me

2009-09-29T22:40:00.005+08:00

I'm lucky I live in a paradise--unlike many Filipinos who opted to squeeze themselves in a highly-polluted, intoxicating and restless capital city. In the place where I live, there are no strong winds, no hurricanes, no flash floods, etc. There is nothing frightening here except, perhaps, for some mild and intermittent seismic activities. It is too mild; the intensity cannot even hit five.

Seeing the videotaped calamity in Manila, I cannot help but feel lucky I live here. I fervently pray this paradise won't sink into a wormhole of corruption and depleted natural resources. Only God knows what the sea can do to us.

The Thin Bone Vault

2009-09-27T02:52:00.002+08:00

Today, I traveled several miles away from my hometown just to do something vital for my future career path. After seeing fog in the darkness for several consecutive minutes, I finally arrived home with this unusual urge to travel the cyberworld. And then fortunately, I met my brother online and we chatted for an hour. Unfortunately, however, when he left, I could not sniff the aroma of a good night's sleep because it's already five hours past my sleeping time. Further, because I have nothing better to do, I will just reflect on the most recent book I read. The most recent was about seven days ago. I have been so busy with my work, I sometimes spend my weekends working (over-time) or sleeping (over-time, as well). This leads me to a backlog of three books next week. @_@

The Thin Bone Vault

This is a recently published book that attempts to explicate the origin of human intelligence without finding the need to reroute back to Darwin. In fact, the evolution of human intelligence cannot be oversimplified by any of his concepts--especially the widely encompassing theory on natural selection.

In natural selection, only the traits that are vital for an organism's survival, remain in the gene pool. Those that are not ideal (whether too much or too little benefits can be derived), are ultimately weeded out. Human intelligence, an impractical energy-consuming trait which is not that essential for perpetuating Homo sapiens, has unusually evolved. For instance, one might ask why we have learned music when it is useless in a hunting-gathering society. Why we have learned to draw, dance... these are not even essential for living. People can live without knowing about quarks, for instance...without learning about the different planets in the universe. Indeed, human intelligence is more than what we need to survive; and this concept is something which Darwin can never justify.

This seems like a rebound to David Papineau when he said:

" If only we can find something in the biological world that Darwin cannot explain, perhaps life will have a meaning after all. "

Perhaps life has a meaning after all...

Mrs. Dalloway

2009-09-07T12:56:00.007+08:00

At last! I finally bought a copy after what seemed like an eternity of constantly craving, wishing and yearning to own, touch and kiss this book with my flesh and soul.

Reaction
To account an entire day in a single book is such an astonishing feat. I did not realize that a lot of things can happen in a single day. It may not necessarily occur in the physical realm; it may be in the head alone. Like for instance, at this very moment, I'm bombarded with thousands of thoughts: how I want to take a long long bath, eat a kilo of durian, escape out of my snuggery and hunt for wild books... how I want to log in to my neglected facebook account... design a floor plan for my lab, maybe... recline in my bed... think about the lighthouse which I always envision at night... ponder if the decision I took a week ago was right... Things like these just flash and flicker... and evetually fade because the moment is not caught. :-(

Insight
The book's content is very much reflective of Virginia Woolf. Human beings usually have two characters: the one people see and the one that resides in our the heads. The invisible persona, the latter, dauntingly came out while Woolf was writing this. She immortalized herself through the winding fragments of instantaneous thoughts coming from the different characters (Mrs. Dalloway and Septimus, mostly). This is way better than an autobiography!

Unnecessary Thought
By the way, this thought kept crossing my head...even before I read the book. I wonder. If all things come to an end, why does life have to begin?

The view from the center of the universe

2009-09-01T21:00:00.004+08:00

This opposes the existenliatist's view on cosmological insignificance... This might help people who are having a hard time seeking bliss and reason in their lives. But to the generally happy folks who believe that life is meaningful despite its brevity, this book is useless.

I cannot render justice to this book today. Personally, I find this boring. My brain crawled just to get to the last sentence last Sunday. @__@

I will be happier if I can feast on a good read tonight; unfortunately, my temperature is two degrees higher than usual.

With this impediment, hence, I bid good night to the universe!

Daughter of Iraq: Mayada

2009-08-26T22:55:00.009+08:00

I want to know Iraq but I don't want to go there that's why I bought this.

The voiceless started speaking through the throat of one woman who escaped the rotten prison cell in Baladiyat. The stories of the women who hid in their shadows for 35 years under Saddam Hussein's reign, and how much they suffered are vividly described in this book. Despite their pleas for innocence, they are whipped, kicked, raped and electrocuted.

Before I read this book, I was cynically opposed to Bush's line of thinking when he waged war against Iraq in 2003. Now I am rectifying my stand. The Iraqis who suffered so much might even owe Bush warm kisses for liberating them.

I did not go to medical school

2009-08-26T22:14:00.003+08:00

I did not go to medical school because my parents would not send me away. I am an ambitious brat and I desire to be trained in an institution better than DMSF. After running away from medical school, I then started collecting pieces of my drifting soul while burrowing in the tissue culture laboratory--a cool and isolated room where time does not exist. Outside of it, the clock throbs and it does heavily especially when I'm dining with my officemates. In haste, I eat then burrow. Again. The routine begins the next day; but I am never tossed in the blackhole of ennui because I always attempt to fish for new stars. The stars drift in the ceiling; and I cook whatever I can grab. Like for instance, yesterday, I learned that plants grow well in media if I make a diagonal incision. Blunt ends will stunt their growth. Similarly, in humans, we generally grow better if we have bigger and wider wounds. A little scratch will only itch and fade. That's why I kept slicing early this morning. I forgot time and time forgot me.

GI Joe!!!

2009-08-15T01:27:00.004+08:00

I really love watching a movie that begins with a BANG BANG BANG...especially when later, the building collapses, the plane crashes and the big screen fumes with hellfire! It's probably unusual for a girl. But I can't help but adore them despite the flat stories and the absurd and boisterous supporting actors. OH, My mind is spinning again tonight. I really really really really really adore GI Joe!!!
But putting my biases aside (ignoring Channing Tatum and the hellfire), some of the graphics seemed virtual and solely virtual. It would have been better if the artists had put more effort in subtly merging them with reality. The whole time, while I was gazing at the screen, I felt as though I was only playing a 2D game. BANG! BANG! BANG! That was it! It was not a movie. It was only a game; and hell yeah, I adore the game! Well, I guess it was really a good decision that I never attempted to play DOTA. Whenever I lose control and become so engrossed, I forget the world. I forget my parents. I forget food and sleep! Everything! Maybe, just maybe, the gamer's blood really runs in me; but I abstain from playing because I do not want to release my barbarity in a way that would distort my prim-and-proper-image.

P.S. I cannot wait for The Last Airbender!!!They will release the movie next year! To hell with Harry Potter, Twilight and High School Musical! :D

The Woman Warrior

2009-08-09T16:35:00.004+08:00

It came as a shock when I learned that I have Chinese ancestry. We were eating our breakfast that time. My brother, who was seated in front of me was languidly staring at his mug of milk. I was, as usual, trying to cook a story so as to pour enthusiasm in the morning table. Because picking on my brother was a bad idea, I decided to talk about him in front of everyone. "Ma," I said, "why does he have chinky eyes? Why do I have horrendously big eyes?" As expected, even before mom could utter a syllable, brother impulsively replied with a monotonous, "it's in the genes you idiot!" "Yeah, yeah" I said, "It's in the genes that I ended up short and with big big, circular eyes!" Drawing back my mom's attention, I once again asked, "Ma! Why does he have chinky eyes?"

That's when I learned that I'm 12.5% Chinese. My mother's grandmother was pure Chinese. I never inherited the flips in their lids. My eyes are as big as the full moon... which I probably inherited them from the natives, by the way.:D

Anyway, this appalling lineage is not in any way, similar to the plot in the book I read today: The Woman Warrior. I was slurped back to Communist China while drooling over it. The book is actually the author's autobiography. But what's so unique about it, as I have noticed, is in the way Kingston relayed the story. Images and ideas kept flowing haphazardly, I felt I was caged in a dream. The current of images were always buckled with issues occuring in her childhood; and this makes it appealing to readers who desire to unveil the past without having to consult a history book. Sexism and racism were rampant...so were poverty and crime rates. While reading the book, I got the impression that communism only brought plague to the people of China. The only way to succeed back then was to escape to another country. The author's family was one of them. When they got to the US, however, they still brought along with them the Chinese culture of ghosts and shamans. She fought all these while she was young!

I did not like the story that much (save for the second part). It's like a typical Amy Tan story. But lo! I bow down to Maxine Hong Kingston. Superbly written! The words strangled me in my chair. I tell you, I could not stop reading!

Take care best!

2009-08-08T15:24:00.003+08:00

Maybe it's a selfish act that I intermittently said goodbye to my bestfriend. I feel so incompetent, I cannot assume the role a bestfriend must play. She said that a bestfriend is someone whom she can talk to every night... someone who will be there for her when she has something to say...My definition of a bestfriend is different. A bestfriend is someone whom I can confide with when I do not want the world to listen. God blessed me with three: V, Ag and Pb. But I don't really need a bestfriend. I only wanted one. When sometimes, I feel the need to confide with someone, but the people I trust, love and care for the most are miles away, I simply curl in bed with a pen in my hand and a tear shattering in my paper... then I begin writing,

"Dear Imaginary Friend..."

But today however, I resent my imaginary friend. I intend to leave a message to world with a hope that a random being will read this and help me pray for the people I love. Please take care of them because I am breaking away now. I am cutting the rope because I badly want to grow.

In my diary, last July 5, I wrote and realized that "a person's maturity is gauged by his/her ability to accept that the earth moves."

Indeed, the earth moves... The sun spins and the universe expands! I am thus, obliged to flap my wings and move! Move! And I must do this before the year ends. Three things may happen next year: (1)I will go to med school, (2)I will be exiled in Georgia and (3)I will stay in the research room and wait for the perfect time to leave my nest. I might leave for Georgia next year...but that's not what I really want. I want to go to Dublin with my bestfriend! Then we will go to James Joyce's grave and sing alleluia!

The Red Limit

2009-08-02T21:15:00.005+08:00

I obtained this book more than a week ago. After reading the first few pages, I was left with no choice but to put it down because I had much to do. Being the kind of person who reads a book in one sitting (otherwise I'd go nuts thinking about the continuation), I never attempted to read it given the hour or two of free time every night. And so, today, I deliberately forgot about the upcoming contest this Wednesday and the presentation which I have to make just to read this book:

Scientists discovered that they can track the movement of stars and galaxies using the concept of redshift. If objects were approaching the observer (somewhere on earth), their lights would be shifted toward the shorter wavelength end of spectrum (blue). If these were receding, lights would shift to the longer wavelength end (red). After scrutinizing several stars and galaxies, they found out that lights of galaxies and stars tend to shift towards the longer wavelength end. This phenomenon is seen as an evidence that bolsters the idea of an expanding universe.

Many would agree that that the universe indeed expands. And Although many would believe that the universe is finite, it is at the same time boundless. Conceiving a limited universe is more difficult to imagine than thinking of it as boundless. "If the universe has a boundary, what is beyond the boundary then?" Shying away from this question, many would again go back to the idea of a boundless universe--the boundless universe that expands.

Anyway, I had fun traveling the cosmos today! The idea of an expanding universe did not shock me at all. The most unforgettable fruit I learned from the book, perhaps, is not about the expanding universe, it's rather about the idea of "lookback time." The stars we see at night is not really the stars in existent. Because their lights travel for millions of years to reach our planet, the image that we perceive is therefore, the image of the star millions of years ago... Logically therefore, a person "who wishes upon a star" in order to have a happy future, is in reality, looking at the past.

Oh, I will never wish on that twinkle twinkle again... :-(

Eating my words: 2ne1 and Toradora. What?!

2009-07-28T18:06:00.005+08:00

I have been incessantly chewing my words for the past days. Like for instance, I remember, I told myself that I do not like Korean bands because "they look so stupid and childish." But then, surprisingly, I suddenly changed my mind! When I heard 2ne1 singing, "I don't care," I fell in love with the beat in an instant. I got so addicted, I excluded other songs in my playlist.

Even without the music video,I really love it! Even if I cannot understand the lyrics, I still love it! I ask, "what the hell is wrong with me?" When I looked for the song's english version, the more I got mad. It may not be that poetic, but the way 2ne1 sang it somehow gave the song an artistic touch. Also, because of the way the notes danced up and down in the empty air, the lyrics became weightier. And so, the song goes, "I remember crying 'til dawn... For some time I really loved you but oh..."

After twenty years of living as a human being with emotions (though frequently concealed), I realized that the creatures who can hurt me are those whom I love and care about. I guess sometimes, one really has to stop caring so as not to get more heart abrasions. The first time I stopped caring was summer of 2005, just before I entered college. I abhorred our school directress that time. She was the reason why I was (and maybe I still am), afraid of airing my thoughts in public. But then I eventually got so sick of hating, I decided not to care. And it worked! My torn heart healed faster.

I guess this defense mechanism is universal and should replace the "love and hate" concept. They say there is a thin line between love and hate. This is why when lovers break up, they frequently end up hating each other. A much healthier way to deal with this is to obliterate every trace of emotion and stop caring at all. And when one looks back (because memory is harder to do away with unless one is hit by a bullet train), it might be surprising to reckon that he/she does not feel the same way as he/she did. In fact, one might not feel anything at all.

Anyway, I need to go home now. I'm supposed to rant about Toradora, the anime I watched with my brother last night. Last month, I remember myself saying that I will never watch this. But what the heck. I'm eating my words again. Yet who cares? Toradora reminds me of School Rumble. I will resume watching with my brother tonight. Hopefully, I can coerce him to download all the episodes so I can compare which one is better. Toradora or School Rumble? I say, it's Code Geass!

My cross-eyed seatmate

2009-07-25T21:57:00.004+08:00

I used to have a cross-eyed seatmate when I was in first grade. Being born with the stigma, he was, theoretically, very prone to other children's teasings. Surprisingly, however, he never cried, pitied himself nor felt like he was inferior than the rest of the kids with 20/20 vision because, as a coping mechanism, he proclaimed himself "the class bully." And so, one day, the teacher assigned a cute little girl named "Zhi" to sit next to him.

Every time he would talk to me, the blood in my veins would tick a little bit harder. So as not to receive a paralyzing blow from the "class bully", I would always, act as though I was seated beside the most agreeable man in the world. I would flash him the biggest smile in the morning. Despite his stench at noon after playing with other stinky boys, I would still flash him with the biggest smile. My countenance assured him that I was always happy whenever he was around. I never feigned affection because indeed, I was happy; but a part of me could not help but violently shiver in cowardice. I just didn't want to get hurt.

Except for a few cute, prim and proper girls (I, included), he tormented everyone in the classroom. But one day, I thought I would never be spared.I remember. It was a dry and fiery noon with the sun high above the cirrus clouds. My seatmate left his lunch box open on his seat while he ran out of the classroom to wash his hands. I, on the other hand, was packing to meet our maid for lunch. When I turned around, I accidentally elbowed his lunch box and spilled the hotdogs on the floor. The other kids who saw this, shot me a dark, precautioning gaze.When my seatmate walked in, beads of cold sweat oozed out of my forehead. Instinctively, he yelled, "Who did this? Who did this?" I saw his hands clenched and ready to kill. He saw a wimp beside him whom he immediately collared, "Did you do it? Huh? Did you do it?" He was about to pound his formidable fist when at last, I yelped, "I'm sorry I dropped your box. I didn't mean to. I'm really sorry." I did not bring my eyes to look at him as I was staring at the floor, digging my grave. And just when I was so ready to die, he said, "It's ok Zhi, I will just buy my lunch today." Everyone was apppalled. His mood changed in a snap! And just like that, I changed my mind about him too.

A different universe

2009-07-20T16:56:00.004+08:00

I'm currently showing symptoms of classical asthma. But it's a comforting fact that I only had an asthma attack once; and that was more than ten years ago. I'm constantly coughing and occasionally wheezing. Breathing is laborious. Talking is a pain. I wish the symptoms will die down so I can get back to work tomorrow. I can only think of two reasons why I'm suffering so much today: it's either I abused my body, I audaciously ran and got drenched in the rain yesterday or I'm allergic to our new dog-- a chihuhua-spitz hybrid with long, thick fur and a very short (I mean really short) body.

Anyway, I didn't do anything worthwhile today except laboring to breathe while finishing the last few chapters of the book which I've been reading since last week: A Different Universe. I decided to read this because Nobel Laureates in Physics (like Richard Feynman) tend to be very good writers. Indeed the book is well-written! Physicists are able to express themselves well. Basically, what Laughlin is trying to say in the book is that the age of reductionism must be replaced with the age of emergence because he pontificated that nature can better be understood by studying it's collective properties rather than breaking and scrutinizing the parts. The latter being a futile act, is impractical. Let's take for instance, asthma. In order to understand why people have asthma or what can relieve asthma, doctors must study the emergent properties of bronchioles. Studying the atomic properties of bronchioles is an impractical move which will only lead to a blind end!

Damn those Japanese film makers

2009-07-20T16:50:00.001+08:00

Even though I have not fully recovered from the unknown bronchial disease I incurred last Thursday, I still went out with my bestfriend the entire day last Saturday and Sunday afternoon just to watch the Japanese Film Festival. If not for the quality time I spent bonding with my bestfriend, I would probably wind up cursing the festival's organizer for mercilessly luring me to waste my time! The Japanese films I saw (there were only three: Tony Takitani, Mind Game and Memories of Matsuko) were catastrophically shallow and boring. They are akin to dirtdust if compared with Korean, European and American movies. In fact, I am ashamed to admit that Japanese movies are just like Filipino movies. But this is surprising considering the vast gap between the technology in my country and Japan's. I wish I watched anime at home instead...or picked up a random European independent film instead. I am so dismayed and disappointed my bestfriend and I got soaked in the rain just to watch those idiotic films. They could not even give justice to Haruki Murakami's Tony Takitani! It's supposed to be a brilliant book with dynamic characters and a well-constructed plot. Yet, what did the film makers do? They murdered the soul of the story! RAGE!!!!!!!!!!!

I hate Hayden Kho and Boys Over Flowers!

2009-07-13T20:09:00.003+08:00

I frequently read the papers with my mom at night. Though time-consuming, it's way better than listening to the sensationalized news which are so pathetic and not even new because they are being aired each day. For more than a month now, the media are putting emphasis on three trivial issues: (1)Hayden Kho's sex scandal videos, (2) A(H1N1) virus and (3) Boys over Flowers. All of these are then further seasoned with the usual reports on rape, murder and street fights.

The daily news tell me that life never gets better in the Philippines. Even though we're not rich, I hardly feel that my country is collapsing because I am forever guarded and well-provided for by my parents. Once in a while, I also get to dine in fancy restaurants and sit languidly in expensive coffee shops. I hardly feel the impact. But the people in remote areas endure all the shock waves. Last week, I've been talking to several plantation workers who were instructed by the company to "do whatever I asked them to". As much as I wanted to read a book, I didn't; instead, I chose to listen and glean kernels of wisdom from the impoverished people who are fortunate to know what "real life" is. They kept regaling me with their stories... from their capricious wives, to their children, girlfriends, pastors, etc. They even told me several hilarious stories about witches and vampires. But the most heart-breaking story I heard was from one worker who quit mining at Mt. Diwalwal:

In rough vernacular he asked me, "Do you know why it's called Mt. Diwalwal, Z?" Quizzical, I asked him spontaneously in a crooked Bisaya-tagalog manner. "It's derived from two words: 'wal-wal' and 'dila'," he said. In English, by the way, wal-wal means hanging/drooping. Dila means tongue. Dead miners frequently come out of the mountain with their tongues, drooping. From this, the mountain gets its name.

Indeed, the miners are risking their lives just to earn money. They are not even paid with a fixed amount each day, he said. They have to dig through the mountain and make sure to bring a barrow-full of soil. They have to stay down the tunnel for a full day, bringing with them their lunch packs at the bottom. They cannot even leave when they're too exhausted because before coming down, they have to deposit their bags. The only way out is to flee and run topless in the wilderness. He said that in Mt. Diwalwal, miners' lives are never important. "When you get in and can't get out, you can't get out, Z! We won't even have time to pray once the tunnel collapses," he said. "And suppose the tunnel collapses?" I asked. "Then you die, Z! That's the end for you. Then our employer will just tie up the deads whose tongues are drooping and sticking out and pull them out of the mountain as if they are pulling a stone."

Oh well, that's life in the Philippines. There is a clear demarcation between the rich and the poor. While the rich are too preoccupied daydreaming about the perfect blend of eye shadows, the poor, on the other hand, have nothing to think about except a kilo of rice and a can of sardines which they are yet to loan from a nearby sari-sari store.

The most important lesson I learned in driving

2009-07-06T21:46:00.002+08:00

Everytime I log in at one of my social networking accounts (which is on rough estimate, once or twice a month), I always feel overwhelmed and awed after seeing the remarkable metamorphosis of the people I know way back in highschool. I always find myself frozen over long deep sighs while I silently whisper, "I wish I changed like them too." While I browse their faces page after page, I cannot help but feel so incomplacent and dissatisfied after drawing the heart-wrenching conclusion that "I haven't changed at all! I haven't!" To verify that I am not unscrewed that I frequently come up with such a conclusion, I always face the mirror and (always, again and again), to my dismay, validate the allegation by seeing the face of the girl I saw five years ago in exactly the same mirror.

It's as if I've been sitting in a corner, rusting along with my stool, watching everything, everything! Trees grow. Flowers bloom. Moon shines. Clouds hover. Earth spins. Everybody passes. They move! They all move! And I am in a corner, unmoved, static...

For years I have wallowed in this misconception. I cannot believe I only needed one good drive to straighten my thoughts. When I was maneuvering the steering wheel early this afternoon, I realized that I have been moving after all. Despite the seemingly unchanged countenance (in contrast with my classmates' metamorphosis), I have been moving all these years! I just didn't realize this, because all the while I have been riding in the passenger seat. In that seat, I was perceiving the world simply as a dynamic object that boldly unfolds in front of me. I sit by watching trees sway while they swiftly pass. Driving, on the other hand, is a different tale. Not only do I perceive a dynamic world, I also begin to recognize the fact that I am moving along with it.

Dogs and Demons

2009-07-04T08:09:00.005+08:00

I remember a conversation with my uncle six years ago. Because he was (and is) working for the UN, he fortunately had the chance to travel Asia and the world. When we were dining one night, I remember him saying that "the golden ages of Japan is coming to an end and that, one day, China will arrive to overthrow it." And indeed, like a prophecy, events are currently unfolding the way my uncle described it to be.

I could not understand what he was talking about years ago. Now that I am twenty years old, and I'm currently drowning myself with a pool of books, I'm finally beginning to get the picture. I read Alex Kerr's Dogs and Demons: The Fall of Modern Japan. This book tells us that Japan is not without flaw; it has only successfully managed to conceal its imperfection. For instance, according to the book and from what I've heard with friends who had been there, News in Japan are always positive. They are doing so in order to tell the people that they're as if living in a Utopian country where nothing bad and everything good is occurring every now and then. I am so amazed! It is so perfect indeed that many Japanese commit suicide: "Kill me! Kill me! I am so happy!"

I've never been to Japan, thus, I can neither affirm nor falsify what has been written in the book. I admire Japan in general and I dream of going there just to experience sleeping under the cherry blossoms; but I certainly do not want to live there. Corrupt government. Concreted seashores. Narrow streets with screaming announcement boards. Glaring lights. Gaudy and sleazy fashion. These are some of the things which I abhor the most!

Another hard-hit. This book blew me off again.

I'm so euphoric! I finally read a book!

2009-06-28T20:34:00.007+08:00

Salome
I fell in love with Oscar Wilde the day I read The Picture of Dorian Gray. Nevertheless, the book was not compelling enough for me to install Wilde in the pedestal where my ten favorite writers stand. But after reading Salome, however, I can now give him all my praises.

This book is the most blasphemous erotica I have ever read so far.

Writing a book of such kind is one of the best ways to attack the church. The words were wild and venomous, priests will probably die when bitten.

1

2009-06-27T14:23:00.003+08:00

I'm frightened I might show up empty-handed on the 1st of July. One batch of data is flawed and I cannot possibly string it with the rest. I barely have four more days. I badly want to get this done so I can get back to my library. I've been dying to read another book! I've been desperately craving to read a book since the day I started analyzing my data.But of course, I never did because my conscience drew me back again. I have this "maligned" conception of reading:

Reading is a sin when it's not time to read.

However maligned, I do not know how to define it in a "right"way without sounding so irresponsible.

Anyway, I'm supposed to scrawl a succinct reflection on Mansfield Park today; but I'm not in the mood to do it. I'd rather read articles regarding Michael Jackson's death. I'm his fan--even after he morphed into a monster when he got his nose "fixed." A pity that the Pop God died too soon that he was not able to redeem his name.

Oink

2009-06-22T16:30:00.011+08:00

Initially, I thought of reading Darwin's Black Box immediately after putting down The God Delusion. The latter, however, kindled a transient cerebral turmoil. For my sanity then, I decided to veer away from eating books about God and Religion. My appetite for such books will probably resume this October--just in time for me to meet my personal counselor/psychiatrist/my only trusted male friend left.

As I have ranted in my earlier post, most of my time (prior to the concluded weekend) were devoted to slacking off. I decided to write today so I can plaster the solid proof in this so-called "blog" so that the next time I visit this nook again, I will be able to proudly declare that I learned something despite my unpardonable indolence!

Akira
The movie is more hopeful than I thought. Should there be another world war, the Neo Tokyo depicted in the movie will be in a more desperate condition that than. The highly-improved nuclear weapons will definitely mash all lichens left in the warring countries.

I was pondering on the character, Akira, the boy with god-like abilities who was in turn, the root of WWIII. I kept thinking what Katsuhiro Otomo's (the writer) motives were and his line of thoughts while he was conceptualizing the character. Was Akira alluding to the capitalists who, in a way, are able to manipulate the people's mind? Or was he simply referring to the God many people conceive out of their human energies?

Porco Rosso
I do not know how the movie concluded. I was left hanging. "What?!?"

Porco used to work for the military but he broke away because he didn't want to become a fascist.

This is not one of my favorite Miyazaki films, I cannot say much except... Well, if this will occur in real life (and in my country to be specific), a military who will desire to turn against the government will either rot in jail or rot at home, broke. Either way, he will live a miserable life. I'm not pessimistic. I'm simply telling the truth.

Kanon
This is so gay. I dropped the series after the second episode.

I abhor this so much that the mere sight of the character on the left stimulates my palate to secrete more saliva while I grit my teeth!

Spice and Wolf
Despite the faggotry, I surprisingly found myself so hooked into this series!

This lightly taps business in the 18th century and early 19th century. It's a very risky job that requires superior wisdom and sagacity to succeed. My family went bankrupt because of a two-time failure in this field. Like the political arena, it is difficult to discriminate friends from foes. Anytime, the tables may turn.

I love this series because I see myself in the character.. Oh never mind, I do not wish to elaborate. I really enjoy watching shows that mirror one of my faces!

Eden of the East
This is the best of all the shows I watched. I was only able to view the latest episode two weeks ago: episode 9. This show deserves a long reflection, hence, I'm saving my thoughts for later.

Mansfield Park
This also deserves an individual post.

This did not put me to tears unlike Jane Eyre. My only frustration after I read the book is this:

The classical men in the 21st century are either gay or married!

I hate to admit this... And so, in conclusion, I did not learn much. The only productive activity I did was reading Mansfield Park! I wasted so much time, leaving me with merely nine days to finish my first draft. Nevertheless, I had fun! And I love this summer!

Anyway, I just lit the fire early this morning when I finally began analyzing my data. I took a break to write this. Now I'm heading back to the "serious life" I started this morning. This marks the end of my college life, the life of cheerleading, parties and movies! Now, it's time to grow up!

Several sentences

2009-06-18T22:37:00.004+08:00

I always look at the general trend before I begin dissecting a large chunk of data. When I did this last week, I was immediately taken aback. I noticed a huge "hole" near the scaffold and right at the beginning of an intellectual bridge.In order to cross, I either had to fill the hole by coming up with plausible explanations or abandon the data all at once because the hole was evidently due to negligence! Although it's tempting to just resort to the second option, doing that would mean terminating the attempt to write a journal article. Seeing that hole in front of me, I suddenly collapsed. I knew I had to pick up my shovel, dig, dig and dig until my professor will show a bit of "mercy," ask me to pack my bags, toss my shovel and tell me to forget about the journal. I foresaw my death right then and there.

Yes. I will probably die. With the lack of hope, last week, I decided to continue slacking off and resume engaging in nonsensical activities. I trained my dog, watched too much shows, played the guitar, slept for 12 hours, etc. My only accomplishment, perhaps, was that I was finally able to acquire my Student's Permit. In other words, I am legally allowed to learn the road game! Weee!

The long break was not put to waste as it certainly gave me an overhaul! I pondered in my recluse and later came out feeling so much different from the person whom I used to be a month ago. Now I no longer envy my sleek cats and their nine lives. I am a woman--and I am so much better.

The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya

2009-06-08T17:53:00.004+08:00

I was feeling quite melancholic early this morning that's why I decided to "rewatch" Season 1 of The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya. Haruhi is a reflection of the part of me which I allow most people to see. It's a defense mechanism, I guess. At home, I'm a hybrid of Asahina and Yuki: clumsy, submissive, passive...and I don't care about the world as long as I have a book! But I cannot be myself when I'm out there in the cruel world. I have to be on my guard all the time. For this reason, I put on the Haruhi mask and start pumping adrenalin!

Go, fight, win!

This icon just reminded me that I'm supposed to attend a cheerdance practice today. I actually got the message from my professor when I was attending a symposium last week.The chancellor requested my former organization (where I was the President, by the way) to perform this 18th of June. "I don't want to be a cheerleader anymore...neither do I want to be President."

I stubbornly want to enjoy this serene life for a while. Besides, tomorow, I need to start working on a journal article which will hopefully be published next year. My mentor just sent the three-year data awhile ago; and I will be devoting my time analyzing and squeezing the juice out of these. I don't want to play the hyper-active, capricious and assertive Haruhi for a while. I badly want to detach myself from the crowd so I can digest all the numbers, tables and graphs...

I want the world to stop spinning for me because that's exactly what makes Haruhi, melancholic.

I'll be gone for a while...

zx01111010

The trade is like that

Aug 3 2010

Evolution For Everyone

Yearning for graduate school

Remembering G day

Sophia! :D

Playing Carbies with my Brother

My First Kiss

Night

How to Not Drown

On the floor

Bedroom

Interview

Julian, Jr.

Market scene

Apple and Cinnamon Blondies

I want butter!

*%*^#()&

January Escapade

overprotected

Maybe going to Manila next June is such a bad idea.

Dear Blog,

Dear Blog,

Beauty Pageant Questions

Happy New Year!!!

The planter's fireworks

Oatmeal cookies

Simple Way to Bake Pies

The Mayon Erupted

An afternoon with the deaf

Dark Faerie

No Sans Rival :-(

Regrets

Virgin Hair

Chocolate Brownies

The Gioconda Smile

The Vampire Returns

I use loose powder!

Evening feast

Purple Yam (Ube) Butter Cake

How to bake a chocolate cake

Love, Green, Neurosis

A case of cholera

Munchkins!!!

Georgianna Kae on Pencil

I support RH

Farm grass

Freckled again

Chocolate Cake

Leche Flan

Dear Blog,

Dear Blog,

The Genome War

Sea(gulls)

Unregistered

Winter Solstice

Crossing

Vampire

Dear Blog,

Beaver's here, Bringgy

Dear Blog,

Namolla Family

Cisneros, O'connor and the lipstick

Dear Blog,

Man

A crumpled paper

Confessions of a shorty

Fragments

I feel like saying this random thought tonight...

October 9, 2009

October 9, 2009

The second girl who learned wingless flight

How Toyota Became # 1

Gambling

Sorrow

How to turn off the spy-camera

Lucky me

The Thin Bone Vault

Mrs. Dalloway

%^#()&