"We all need a shot of that once in our lives."  - Glo Anne on the "emotional anesthesia" of Brechtian theater.

So if you're emo and you enjoy "the pain that numbs the pain", this wisecrack's for you.

Like I meant it. Wisecracks like that roll off the tongue easy.

"Chuck Norris makes the Oreo double filing manly." - First with Chuck.

"Sartre? The guy with the sexy intellect?" - Also a first in the context of "sound" ethics.

"Trend is the lifeblood of today. I saw the devil wear crocs this time." - Gave Meryl Streep a run for her money.

"Today a post it. Tomorrow dryer lint." - I hate flakes from my pants pocket when they're hot and fresh out of the dryer.

...

I'm sleepy and I sprained my finger playing Basketball this afternoon.

And to still tip tap away on my keyboard oblivious to the pain just to write this makes me doubly Brecht.

Nothing ventured. Nothing gained.

Recently I've been blogging sparse and random tidbits right off the top of my head. Brain fart (for lack of a better name). That's kind of it's call of nature.

Except it has kind of a "you can't fall asleep on a good idea" feel to it. So you can't exactly hold it till it leaks in Dawson's creek. It just stays there. Till it becomes stale and useless.

Pretty soon you'll be sneezing thought cobwebs you never knew you had up there. And plenty more. Until now.

I'd read these stuff I write and actually dare to publish for the world's eyes only and wouldn't know whether to laugh or take it off the second it goes online.

But this is my form of de-stressing.

Or to put it layman, if my brain had eye-mo, this would definitely be the closest it would get.

Hits the spot. Point blank.

There's such a quiet elation in the freedom of writing as intelligently or as freely as I want to left to myself.

Here's the part where I stare at my work for a couple of seconds, grin sheepishly at the thought of people ACTUALLY reading this,

Then I publish.

I have an hour to kill.

Skin a cat in the craftiest way. Not literally of course.

But call it an hour's worth of thinking what to do for the next hour. Reasonable yes. Worth is negotiable if it matters so much.

I guess it does now.

So what do you do with an hour to kill?

This.

Skip a pebble across a pond.

Virtually if that works for you.

Try to count as many letter "Q"s as you can see. Then satirically treat yourself to Barbecue.

Fog up your rear view mirror. Draw a face. Laugh. Repeat.

I have an hour to kill.

It pays to keep a hefty load of memories close by.

Photographs and little trinkets that mean more than what they are and the like. These I don't mind stumbling upon perchance and sometimes while going through them, they come alive a little too much that I am compelled to write about them. At least before the sentiment wears off.

Oh sure. Relive them in black and white. Why? I simply HAVE to upon seeing pictures from before. Old pictures. Old Pictures of other people and myself that I am embarrassed of / fond of / REALLY fond of / REALLY embarrassed of and fondly embarrassed of.

Too many.

Sometimes I wish life were always as "Forrest Gump" simple as this.

Don't you just love it when you look at a picture and remember it too much you could partially feel what you felt at that exact moment in time?

So downpour of "wala langs" and "these could've been nice" and more recently "First picture with (Insert name here)". Add more if you will. I may remember the rest as I go along foraging through pictures upon pictures that make procrastinating on my paper a little more worthwhile.

Not. Haha.

I was listening to this song on my way home misty eyed. Looped it quite a couple of times too. It just felt like the perfect heart song to sing to Him. Uh huh. I'm in love all over again. Very much.

This song, my heart song, reserved for such occasion basically says it all.

Now I sing this over and over. Heart and soul.



Ack. Yes. React if you must. It IS deathly chummy. But hey.

Baby Boomer.

You are envied.

You were lucky enough to taste the elegance, the prestige of Tinsel Town in it's prime.

Judy Garland. Never to prance about on that road of yellow bricks again.

Clark Gable. There's just too much about you to give a damn about.

Glen Miller. Genius. One of them.

Ray Charles. Genius. The one of them.

Charlie Chaplin. You are the immortal comedy in all of us.

Johnny Carson. Custodian of the airwaves. Joe D' Mango's run for his money.

Audrey Hepburn. Tinsel town monarch. Legend.

Fred Astaire. May you never stop swinging in our soul.

Never again an era to be graced by the same genius.

Yeah you.

Quit twiddling your car keys.

Button up. There's a draft. Don't you feel it?

And maybe your mom could do something about that, oh is that what you call it? Perfume?

Suave. Too suave for words. Guys'll be asking what you have for breakfast. Typical.

Fresh. The way you wear your shades to block the moon out. Who you trying to kid?

Slick. You took the trash out. Like a good kid. Just don't break the beer bottles. Mom'll see.

Daring. Don't drain your phone batteries. They'll want you home before 11.

Debonair. Be polite. Ask before tearing from the fashion magazine from your dentist's.

Cordial. Never mistake a Madison for a Mary. Not ever.

Ravishing. Do hold your liquor should you think it's manly to down one too many.

Hey slick.

There are so many just like you.

Too many.

One can only stand engrossed in the loftiest and purest ideals of life wishing they would last forever before you wake up realizing you're falling fast from cloud nine...

eight...seven...six...five...four...three...two...THUD.


Rock Bottom.




And there's no where else to go but up. You wince a bit after recoiling from the fall. Shake a tail feather. And climb. Like you've never climbed before. Like the light leading to out of the pit is your only claim to sanity. You climb. One crack. One crevice at a time. Those jagged rocks serve a mighty purpose after all. You foot may slip on lose gravel. It's okay. Grab hold of the closest rock and keep going. You're almost there.

Not too long in your climb as the light gets nearer and nearer, your hand reaches out to feel for the next rock only to grab another hand, familiar. Hope surges through it to your body as another hand reaches out and hoists you out of the pit slowly. It disappears. The light gets bigger and bigger till you can finally feel it warm your skin and bones. You're finally outta there.

You look up to see where the light came from...and they look back down at you. Words fail them. Relieved to know you're alright.

Friends, you who have thrown me a life line in my hour of need more than once and isn't going to stop at that knowing I'll need so much more of you, have given me the hope and a promise of a full life spent with God and with you. I have nothing more to ask for.

Ooooh.

Look who's a good patronizing patriot. Singing the Star-Spangled banner in the Philippines as if it weren't already sung enough in all the wrong places in all the wrong times. Some Americans can give us a run for their money at that. Yes. I said Americans.

Some would even go as far as a Star-Spangled afro. Any takers?


Just some of my pre-4th of July sentiments:

- It's been EXACTLY a year now since my trip to Washington D.C. Remembering how it was such a tremendous honor for me to have experienced the 4th of July 07 first hand (and to dread the possibility of experiencing it with a REAL bang some hooligan thought of disguising as an innocent piece of luggage beside the Pentagon. I kid you not) gave me that "I was a part of it for real" feel that promised to visit me every year come this time of July.

- Can't say I don't miss the smell of Virginia marble & the spit-shine sleek diplomat shoes and their owners hardly dropping a wisp of espresso from their Starbucks cups to grace the streets of Georgetown in the morning.

- You'd think Jefferson had breathed his last amendment the day he bit the dust and turned into Bronze in a lovely memorial in the heart of D.C. Nuh uh. He made sure to leave his fellowmen an ample, rather hefty pile of homework that they put off till today and is still in black and white in the Library of Congress. Always worth visiting.

- If you're not the artsy fartsy kind of person and you still believe that the White House was painted the wrong shade of beige, TAKE HEART. The 4th of July presents a large variety of other things worth celebrating. The parades and bands add largely to the festive feel with MUCH gusto! Makes you glad the saints decided to go "marching in".

So there. I think I've rambled enough. Or too much. Oh well. History with a twist. Even if there is still so much to be said (or written) about the above. I guess this is already worth my two cents and a quarter (just in the spirit of the 4th of July).

Oo. Aaminin ko na hindi ako magaling mag tagalog. Kaya ko ang "conversational" tagalog kung tawagin. Kaya ipagumanhin ang anumang "slangage" or maling pagbaybay ng tagalog sa "entring" ito. Ngayon ko pa lang tinry (tinry - exampol ng maling slangage na dapat ipagpaumanhin) mag blog ng purong tagalog lang. At hindi ko iyon pinagmamalaki.

Sorry naman sa mga hangong UP. Sapaw na sapaw na tagalog ko sa inyo. Nakakahiya.


Bah-rowk na kung Bah-rowk. Tanggap ko yun.

Aray.

Ngayon ko lang na-"realize" (Pahiram muna nito Colbie) na kahit halughugin ang sang-kabuuan ng aking mga blog, wala kayong makikita, ni katiting na tagalog. Hamakin nyo? Ngayon ko pa naiisipang itry yun?


Hahaha. Wala lang. Naalala ko lang si Rizal. Kahit na tapos na ang BERTDEY nya...ay...Kaarawan pala. Sori. Peace tayo, Dok. Hindi ako filibustero (labo. Bakit may ganun?)

At kung merong mang hindi kayang gawin ang mga dayuhan bukod sa patumbahin si Pacquiao, ay ang mag kaintindihan sa gitna ng samut'saring mga "dialect". Ika nga nung komersyal na di ko na maalala pero sumikat dahil dito: "Walang ganyan sa istaytes". Walang wala. (Wala rin silang poster ni Bayani na kasing laki ng poste ng mga Flyover sa Cubao. Bayani is my Hero. lol)


Bakit ko naman naisip mag tagalog ngayon? At patungkol saan naman ang mga pinagsusulat ko? Mga palaisipan na tanong na kahit ako, di ko masagot. Pwedeng para maiba naman? Pwede. May karapatan ako doon. Karapatan. Yun nalang ang libre at hindi nagtataas ng presyo sa bansa natin. Hahaha.

Uy! May patutunguhan din pala tong blog! (Meron nga ba?) Haha. Sa totoo lang, talagang gusto ko lang subukan to. Keri naman pala kahit papaano. Wag niyo nalang ito pagtawanan. Sabi ko nga di ko pinagmamalaki na madalang akong mag tagalog.

(Yehes naman.)

Hey! I have to start somewhere don't I?

To the wonderful young-adults in my life. Yes you. Hahaha. Something I, dare I call it, doodled for the sake of?

They’ve seen me red and flustered

They could’ve walked away

But with all the love they mustered

Ignored any dismay

 

They’ve seen me trip and tumble

 And graze my teenage knee

How awkward do I fumble

And dawdle carelessly

In all their young-adultness

They stoop to make me great

But in my young-sixteen-ness

I’d have to learn to wait

 

Forgive my spontaneity

And if I sound detached

Here’s the nitty-gritty

Of my gratefulness unmatched

 

By now, ya’ll think I’m corny

And downright jologs too

A penny for your thoughts from me

I've been waiting for what I thought was the answer to my long awaited theatrical break after joining our University thespian org (Go Viare!). I was so ready to nail any audish and haul all the juicy roles ripe for the picking. Or so I thought.

I received a text message from our org president asking me to stage manage our first major production. Take note: STAGE MANAGE. Something I didn't sign up for. Now it may sound trivial, and but no one knows how BADLY I want to be ON stage and not BEHIND it (or at the wings in my case). Who was I to whine? Where's the sense in turning down the offer just because it wasn't what I really wanted? To put it bluntly: I WANTED TO ACT.

Then I remembered the ever so reliable advice of Patrick Bonnevie (a thespian seasoned beyond words), on how theater wasn't about soaking all the limelight and glory and stage time. Far from it. Theater meant working my way from the bottom up...especially if it meant working behind the scenes, which isn't a bad start to begin with. I had a lot more to learn before becoming a full fledged thespian. I knew it was a question of humility and obedience and how ready I was to SERVE.

Cliche, but I think it calls just for an application tidbit. May it serve as a reminder for me the next time they call for my stage managing services:

Ecclesiastes 9:10

Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might, for in the grave, where you are going, there is neither working nor planning nor knowledge nor wisdom

Matthew 25:2“His master replied, ’Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!’

 

A STARBUCKS PLANNER.

Badly.

Or any decent planner I could use. I just realized the importance of COMPARTMENTALIZING now that I'm in college.

Any kind soul out there who could spare me a Starbucks planner? Or you prolly had one lying around and you didn't know and now it's all dusty and you don't want to use it. I don't mind.


I would even consider BUYING it. Seriously.

I swear I will by forever grateful. :)

Anyone? :)

I have every reason in the world to believe he is the best. Because he is. There are just too many things about my dad that make him all the dad I'll ever want and more, quirks and all. It took me till this afternoon to think about writing them just because I'm all warm and fuzzy inside. And it's the father's day week.

Hence, a blog about how my dad sometimes loves to cut loose and be himself. Not to shame him in any way. But to show the world how proud I am of him.



MY DAD AND OREOS - I found my dad one afternoon watching THE SOUND OF MUSIC for the nth time beside a stack of Oreos. It's just funny the way he enjoys licking the vanilla till it's all gone, then smiles like a kid after biting the chocolate cookies for a laugh. Works everytime.




MY DAD AND CARTOONS - So he loves spongebob and tom and jerry as much as the next ten-year old. Can you blame him? I mean what more can you ask for from a dad who'd rather spend an entire monday evening from work laughing in front of the tube with his two favourite girls? CHEEZY. But I swear it's one of the funnest things to do in the world.



MY DAD AND DISNEYLAND - This one's a personal fave and it happened while we were in Hong Kong. My dad was up BRIGHT and EARLY on our Disneyland day. And by bright and early, I mean 5am! He was all set and ready to go by 6am...The rest of us were still asleep because our ride to the theme park wasn't till 9am!




MY DAD AND CONCERTS - Once my dad accompanied me to one of my school battle of the band concerts so I didn't have to wait for him to pick me up after. So it was a rock concert. You'd expect a rowdy crowd of high schoolers jumping up and down and going ballistic over the bands. My dad looked around and made the rock sign in the air all of a sudden, and to my surprise yelled "MUSIC SUUUCKS!!!" Which he told me was supposed to be "ROOOCKS" after looking so embarrassed having yelled that.


So there, just SOME of the things I'm sure any of you wouldn't dare tell other people about your dad. But I think all these little quirks he does shows that he loves me enough to still keep up with the times. That and just being number 1 in the job he does best. Hahaha.

Chummy. Hey. It's almost father's day.

Been looking for internet for the last 4 days...

On my last day I realize this hotel in Hong Kong had Wifi. They spelled it out in cantonese.

Now I have a couple more hours left to use it before we depart.

*Bumps head on laptop*

There are a lot of 'em.

Reasons I mean.

Reasons to be happy. I'll tell you that much.

Like now.

I'm really happy that I feel so much better than two days ago. Folks, I'm good and stable again. (Thanks for the prayers)

I'm really happy for my last-hurrah before summer ends. Although I wouldn't trade my entire summer for it.

I'm really happy for my new found team 2 family. I could not say that enough. I love you guys.

Those and a load of other reasons too.

I'm just really happy.

By "glory", I mean slugging it out 7 hours a day everyday for nearly more than two months. Taking every step it took by all means in making Pink Hippo history. Not for our glory, but GOD'S.

And there we were. Brimming with the passion to DANCE, ACT and SERVE. The passion that powered through ALL and I mean ALL attempts against our cause no less. By the grace of God, Team 2 braved sickenesses, pain, hunger, the whole nine yards, and every trial known to man and hippo. Again, we would rise unbowed and stronger as if to say, "is that the best you've got?". This was just another day at the office for our heroes in pink.

Ours was a race against time as May 23 loomed closer and closer. Decisions were on a make or break basis and our gauges were running low. Some began to buckle under the weight of it all. Scenes like these that make every production come alive. Just a friendly reminder from God that left to ourselves, we couldn't do squat. He kept us up and at it more than any other energy drink would make you believe they do. More than Bacchus.

 

Yes, all that paid off to the very last day. Till the Campus Harvest cheers drowned all anxiety as the pink hippos made their way on stage to clap, stomp and shake like a hippo for the last time.

For the record, we were able to pull off (according to pastor J) a "FANTABULOUS" show. It was nothing like any of us would've expected. And the best part of it, God was magnified above and beyond the Pink Hippos or anything about the Primetime. That made all two months MORE than worth it.

 

Last few by the way, allow me to just tip my hippo ears (if there is such thing) to everyone who pitched in regardless of how big or small the effort to help make Pink Hippo History! You guys have done our God proud!

To everyone! See you all in CH 09!

My mood hit an all-time low today. Dunno why.

Tired. Extremely.

Thanks for understanding, you guys.