AVID

Moving On

2011-05-24T20:41:00.001+08:00

After losing my mother, after losing a lover, after losing my innocence, after losing a dream, after losing hope... I've realized that it's never an easy or pretty process moving on.

It feels like sometimes you need a hundred thousand years and that you're fighting a hundred million men. But the harsh truth is that moving on may take an entire lifetime and you're only fighting with yourself. Sometimes you win but more often you lose.

It's hard but it's necessary in a life filled with loneliness, grief and despair if only to find that one true place where bliss lies.

Good luck to us all.

MY WORLD AND ALL THE REST

2011-01-26T18:14:00.001+08:00

Monday morning, I wake up to the sound of our neighbor’s motorcycle engine roaring.

It is seven in the morning and I still long to get some more sleep after staying up late to work on my thesis. It has been a long pressuring week of reading, researching, analyzing, taking down notes and creating a comprehensive written output for my Communication Research 2 class.

I try to muffle the sound of the annoying roaring motorcycle engine with a pillow stuffed on my head. But to my dismay, it did not work. The noise just irritated me further. “OH SHUT UP! People are still trying to sleep!” I exclaimed.

Perhaps, they did not hear me…

Perhaps, they were heating the engine for an important reason and that they could not be trifled with a neighbor’s complaint…

Perhaps, they just did not care…

I grunted and got out of bed. I turned on the television and saw yet again the devastating flooding in Brisbane, Australia – homes, schools, churches, business areas – everywhere was flooded. You could see people rowing small boats to salvage what they can from their ruined properties buried in the overwhelming depths of the water. Reports of thievery from grocery stores have been announced. Disgruntled families were appealing for assistance. The whole situation made me wonder, “How will these families rebuild their lives? What will happen to those who had nothing to begin with?”

The catastrophic images had in some way drove me to push the next button to change the channel. I do not like waking up to bad news.

Although it might not seem as tragic as the scene in Brisbane, the continuous discussion of corruption and injustice in the Philippine political and justice system without any resolution is a heartache that the entire Filipino populace bears. It is an exhausted topic but this was, however, the content of all the local news channels. It is a topic discussed every day, every hour…. The word “corrupt” has been so common in the past two decades, that even the uneducated understands its meaning. It is perhaps one of the most commonly used English words by Filipinos. And the result of such knowledge and commonality to the word is apathy. People have grown tired of the endless revelation of corruption, its endless discussion and the lack of action to resolve the problem; and I am not adverse to this exhaustion.

Changing the channel again, I find stories of serial arson, wars, child abuse, child pornography, battered women, drugs and mass murder. I turn off the television to spare myself from the morbidity of the world and try to find some entertainment through the internet.

I talk to my friend Hugo who is a young digital artist living in Portugal and he sends me a link to a news about the United Nation’s decision, based on a vote, to eliminate sexual orientation from anti-execution measures. Apparently, the majority of the member countries voted that it is perfectly okay to isolate and execute, if they see fit, the lesbians, gays, bisexuals and transsexuals (LGBT). Another structural violence – bigotry has succeeded in dominating the world.

I sigh at the saddening truth of world violence. Then I turn off the laptop and proceeded to my daily habit of visiting my nephew’s room to give him a good-morning kiss. For a long time now, it has been the only solace in my life- the only quiet moment filled with serenity and hope that today might better because his innocent smile says it so.

My father who was watching a documentary about Trinidad and Tobago at that same time, suddenly called out for me just to burst out his racist comments about my ex-boyfriend who was an African-American, ‘they look like gorillas” “OH my God! He’s thick lips would have sucked your lips off if you had kissed”. All I could do was slam my hands to my face and drag it down to the floor. But, I admit in all honesty that he was not at all good-looking. In fact he was downright ugly. It never bothered me though, for I loved him even with his shortcomings. But my father always had a way with stating his opinions about such matters and rubbing it to their faces. To him, ugly is ugly – nothing more, but everything less. And I’ve often wondered, will his racism and disdain for ugliness be another source of conflict between us when he finds out that I am yet again and more than ever in love with another black man. What if we ended up together and have an ugly baby, will he turn his head away from us?

All the simple and minute ideals, habits and biases we may have; and the actions controlled or uncontrolled, foreseen and unforeseen that has inflicted damage on a wide variety of people are but a conglomeration of both physical and structural violence in this world existing from the personal, family, group and to the entirety of our society.

With all the wondering I have already done, perhaps the biggest wonder of all is if peace is truly possible.

Peacemakers are said to possess seven attributes: compassion, conscientization, constructiveness, conciliation, communion, commitment and contemplation. These qualities however, in my opinion, are rare and can hardly be found altogether in an individual. And being human nature as it is – selfish and conceited – concerned only of his own benefits and his own pain, how can peace be attained?

If I ask myself if I am capable of being a peacemaker in the idealistic sense of the word, my answer would be a resounding no.

If I were asked if I believe that true peace – both negative and positive peace can be obtained, I would answer with my brows raised and say “the achievement of true peace would stem from the elimination of structural violence which is the cause of physical violence. How do we eliminate corruption, bigotry and poverty among others when their roots are strongly embedded in one’s culture and history? Only the answer and the implementation of that answer to that question can bring forth the desired peace that we all aspire for.”

And so for now, I’ll continue waking up in the morning living day by day watching my world and all the rest move about in violence and chaos in hope of an improbable peace.

My Pain

2010-10-06T20:34:00.001+08:00

As my left arm painfully type the letters unto my keyboard and my right hand stroking the other from time to time, I sit here on a rocking chair in my favorite café thinking of nothingness and desperately wishing to grow numb.

My father and I have a very rocky relationship. We are very different from one another despite our physical likeness and our common stubborn attitude. But everything else seems to be a clear division of black and white. I love to read and he does not. I have a passion for language and the arts and he can barely speak proper English. He is an Education Math Supervisor whilst I find Math to be tedious and boring. He loves being surrounded with people and attaining powerful positions whilst I like the company of only a few and have no interest in power. He lacks empathy while I can easily put myself in the shoes of others; and it is because of this that he is capable of doing the cruelest and relentless acts to other people.

And being his only child have not spared me from the suffering much physical and mental agony from him. Do I deserve it? Perhaps, depending on where you stand on how a parent should react on their children as disappointments.

Yes, to my father I am not nothing more than a humiliation—a great big disappointment who has caused him much to be ashamed of because as he keeps repeating to other people, "Rhoda went crazy when her mom died that's why she threw away her scholarship and quit college for a while." Am I proud of what I have done? No. But do I regret it? Certainly not! I may not have the brightest future ahead of me now but I am sure that it is a future where I will find my happiness—the happiness that he does not comprehend or wish to comprehend.

I should be used to it now— the sprained arm, the bashed head, the taste of my own blood and the broken heart… It's nothing new. But as I caress my injured hand, I can't help but let tears swell up and fall from my eyes—my heart is injured too. I close my eyes and hope that these excruciating pangs would stop. How can a father continue to hurt his only daughter—the only family that he has left?

But truth be told, what pains me the most is the feeling that I am all alone because the person that should be supporting me, caring for me and loving me continually and without remorse bruised my body and soul.

The New Filipino: An Agent of Change

2010-09-27T16:57:00.001+08:00

The Filipino is a proud race— with our long lasting traditions, our captivating culture and our rich history deeply embedded in the fearsome blood flowing through our veins. Our dark eyes, hair and complexion--- beauty without comparison; our brilliant literary and mathematical minds— intelligence beyond compare; and our artistry—talent of great potential, this is the Filipino.

The Filipino have constantly faced adversity from the establishment of civilizations on the seashores and the riversides— battling against nature for survival, to the coming of the Spanish conquistadors and our enslavement for three hundred thirty three years, to the irrevocable rape of freedom by the Japanese armies, to the defilement of our lands by American nuclear waste and to the deprivation of basic human rights and liberty during former president Ferdinand Marcos’ regime. The Filipino had stood up against these adversities, constantly fighting for what is just and moral. The Katipunan and the EDSA Revolution, to name a few, are testimonies to the Filipino greatness.

However, this fire within us had been slowly dying out. The Filipino was getting tired, perhaps, of the corruption and poverty that have stricken and promulgated Philippine society, thinking that nothing is going to change and that our doom is imminent. Depravity in the government, bribery and brutality of police officers, envelope journalism… The Filipino stealing from the Filipino! It is truly disheartening.

Apathy, indifference and cynicism were starting to reign over the Filipino hearts, until the yellow flag was hoisted and Benigno Aquino III became president of the Philippine Republic. With the rise of a new president, of a new government rises the new Filipino. Still armed with the same beauty, intelligence and talent that were never diminished through the intricate and arduous course of our history; but this time, the new Filipino brimming with hope is prepared to face the evils that have dominated our society and demands for the future that we deserve. We can vividly see the active participation of citizens to eliminate debauchery and decadence. Ordinary citizens through the use of telecommunications and broadcast journalism give light to the problems of exploitation, venality, perversion, violence, fraud and degeneracy. The new Filipino is speaking and crying louder than ever for justice and righteousness. And it is this voice, which can no longer be ignored, that is moving our country forward – shaping the Filipino future.

The Right Words for You

2010-09-27T16:39:00.008+08:00

I have never found it difficult to find the words to express how I feel.

They might not always be the right words—the perfect words all the time

But the words truly come from my heart.

But I am certain, without any doubt and hesitation that this is true…

When you look at me, your gaze make me fidget

Fixing my hair, my dress, my posture

Wondering what you see…

To you, am I pretty?

When I stare at your photograph, my hand stretches to reach for you

I long to caress your face, touch your lips

Wanting to feel your warmth

Do you want to feel me too?

When I hear your deep voice, I close my eyes and smile

“My Vivi…”you would utter so sweetly

Yes, I am yours today, tomorrow and forever my boo

I hope you belong to me too.

Miles of excruciating emptiness

Without your touch…

Without feeling your breath under my skin…

Without you beside me…

I can take all that and more

Because…

Only you

Make my knees weak just by thinking of your smile

Only you

Can break down my walls and make me weep in sweet sorrow

Only you

Can make my heart melt like butter on a hot pan

Because…

These are the right words—the perfects words

You are you, my boo

And I love you.

Choices

2010-08-10T10:29:00.003+08:00

“Destiny”

How often do we sing this word in songs, read in prose and poetry, and talk about with our friends? In wedding proposals and wedding vows you would hear: “We are soul mates.” “We are meant to be together” and at the wedding reception the song “Baby You’re My Destiny” by Jim Brickman would be playing. In epic novels, at the birth of the hero someone would say: “This boy is destined for greatness.” And let us not forget how we all have thought about: “What is my destiny?”

Every day we live our lives – playing, studying, working, eating, sleeping or just doing whatever – seemingly aimless. But this one word—this one very powerful word offers an explanation to what we do, to who we are and to what we are meant to be. D-E-S-T-I-N-Y… Destiny. But is it real?

It is quite a romantic idea, isn’t it? It always seems to give a sense of purpose especially to those who feel little or who have suffered so much that the belief of bigger important things to come gives meaning to all that they have went through. Unfortunately I do not share the same sentiments. Despite the excruciating pangs of my own life, I believe that a breathing human being is only destined for two things: to be born and to eventually die. What we do in between is life—a series of choices.

Relationships between two different people work because they choose to make it work. There are those people who move from rags to riches because they choose to earn and save money. Students fail their exams because they choose not to study for it or the teacher chooses to make it extremely difficult for a student to answer. A man dies in a motor accident because someone chose to drive drunk. A woman gets AIDS because she chose a very sexually promiscuous boyfriend who chose not to get himself checked and consider his partner’s safety. You do not get hired for a job because the employer chooses not to choose you. Much of what happens in one’s life can be explained by choices made.

But there are lots of things that an individual cannot perceive or control but were made through a series of choices by himself and other people and all the rest that cannot be explained by choice is just a matter of getting the better hand in life and working with it, such as in the case of the disabled. The disabled are ordinary people given extraordinary challenges, who did not choose or were chosen to be disabled. However, that does not change the fact that they are. They are still given a choice though- either to work with that disability or let that disability pull them down and the rest of their lives depend on the choice that they make. Choices: that is what it is all about.

Destiny, I also believe, has become a popular excuse by those who cannot accept their mistakes and their shortcomings. It is so easy to say that a singer did not win a contest because he was not meant to but the truth is that that singer was not good enough. It is so easy to blame destiny for a loved one’s untimely death instead of pointing out that he died because he smoked and drank a lot. We use this word – destiny to euphemize the otherwise mean but truthful occurrences or characteristics about ourselves or other people.

But the bottom line is: what we do, who we are and who we are meant to be are not determined by destiny. It is determined by knowing oneself – knowing our abilities and limitations and choosing our life’s path based on that knowledge and based on our will to be the best that we can be. So if destiny truly exists, it exists in the choices that we make.

The Spoils of War

2010-08-10T09:00:00.007+08:00

It is commonly said by the emotional, the loners, the sarcastic and just generally people who hate the world; how people are born alone in this world and die alone. And you would expect that an emotional loner like me would think the same way. But I found that there is a great amount of time in between being born and dying when you are not alone.

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It is within our nature as human beings to be very social. We live by, with, through and sometimes for other people; otherwise, such in the case of Tom Hanks in Castaway, being by ourselves would drive us insane. But then again, in the great war of socializing insanity can just as easily happen.

I am twenty-one years old and I have been in this war for roughly nineteen years. I have made alliances with the rich, the poor, the intellectual, the moron, the young, the old, the drama queen, the comedian, the proud, the tippler, the holy, the unholy, the talented, the clumsy, the busy, the lazy, the musician, the weirdo, the artist, the know-it-all, the unconventional and so many others. I have dodged some bullets, used myself as a shield for my allies and took a stab at my enemies. I have spied and have been spied at. I have betrayed alliances and been betrayed at. I have been stabbed, shot, tortured and almost killed within this great and bloody war. But astonishingly, here I am still breathing and I am telling you now that that is not a miracle. The miracle, my dear reader lies in the existence of true alliances – the existence of my true and loyal yet vicious best friends.

I am not very good with Mathematics that is why I have never dreamed of being an accountant but it does not take a mathematician to know that the odds of finding true and loyal friends are very rare. That is the reason why I feel blessed that I have found four – Josce, Amy, Meg and Chek.

I have known Josce Marie Caceres since the fourth grade and we have been best of friends since. It all started from going home together. We would often walk from school to our houses and spend that time to talk about—well, EVERYTHING! At first glance, you would think that she is the silent, mature and serious type of person. But you cannot be more wrong. She can be loud, immature and comical. She is a bundle of fun. I can still remember the nights I spent in Los Baños getting drunk with her and the mornings we spent laying in bed with the worst hangover yet laughing all the same. I can still remember how we were wrapped in each other’s arms as we cry about our broken hearts, then laugh about how pathetically silly and petty we can be.

But because we were separated in college, (she was an Economics student in Los Baños while I was an Integrated Marketing Communication student in Ortigas) new friendship also blossomed. Amelainne Sherina Cabuya, whose very feminine name does not suit her one bit, was my blockmate in my first year in college. She is a sporty, fun and extremely loud woman. She was a goalie for the University’s Futsal Varsity Team and you would usually hear her shouting “WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH” in the promenade. I swear sometimes it was embarrassing to be with her. I would smack her head a couple of times to bring some sense in to her. Like me, she has a lot of drama in her life – her first and long-time boyfriend to whom she has given up everything had beaten her up. I remember how we used to lock ourselves in the school bathroom and talk about our lives, our plans for the future and the cute but slightly obtuse guys at school.

Sadly, because our class schedules did not meet and my depression got the best of me, I left college for two years during which I found a new avenue for making friends – the onemanga.com chatbox where I met my youngest best friend, Meghana Kotikolapudi. Meg, when I first met her more than three years ago was a 14 – year old Indian girl living in England. Her passion for anime and manga was something we shared; and her honest, slightly mean demeanor and intelligence were qualities I found attractive for a friend. We enjoyed talking to one another so much that it came to a point that we only went online just to talk to one another. We shared our life-stories that believe it or not, is not something a wise person who has lived their lives online for so long would do. We trust each other and see each other like best friends. Our friendship was certainly not something that we expected to find online.

For that matter, another of my life’s unexpected happenings is the friendship between Christine Belle Zabala and myself. We have known each other since we were, perhaps, four years old. One cannot be certain about these things when you have been friends since before one conceived and understood the concept of time. We were never really friends from the start. She hated me. I hated her. I threw her shoe out the window after a wedding of our parents’ common friend. She slapped me and pulled my hair when we were in second grade. In first grade, I told our classmates that she is a witch, led them to run after her around school holding rosaries and cried out “Kill the witch! Kill the witch!” Hmm—those were the good times. But today, she is the greatest friend I have – my coffee-buddy, my book-swapper, the annoying voice in my head telling me not to be stupid - the very best of my best friends.

These friends – alliances that I have formed during different times of my life are what keep me going. They are fun, annoying and most of them are often bitchy. But I love them, especially now– Chek is in Cebu pursuing her dream job in Big Foot Productions, Josce is in Naga studying Accountancy, Amy is in Singapore living her life and Meg is in England hoping to get in to Oxford - miles of emptiness are between us yet they are always just a phone call, a text message, an email away. They are always hoping for my happiness, supporting what I want to do with my life and always ready to catch me again and again and again, over and over until their arms break.

What’s not to like—to love about these precious alliances, these diamonds in the rough, my spoils in war? Can you think of any?

Living by Me

2010-03-30T15:57:00.009+08:00

Many have asked me why…

“Why did you leave the University of Asia and the Pacific?”

“Why did you come back to Daet?”

“Why did you stop studying?” and,

“Why do you look so grossly fat?” So many whys…

It would be very easy for me to lie even if my moral compass points at the other direction. But everybody lies anyway and quite frankly, I have had enough with explaining myself especially to the number of people who only ask for the sake of gossip - the same people who created the rumor that I pushed my dad down the stairs, that I have a child and the worst, that I have lost my sanity.

People are amazing. They are very creative and imaginative. It is incredible how people can construct something out of nothing. It is pure genius or rather, it is god-like especially after the “creation” when they judge you like they can see and know who you are.

I think it is obvious at this juncture of this paper that I hold enormous grudges against quite a few people. And it is not because they ask questions but because they make questionable statements. Although it is not my main point, it cannot be helped that I make mention of the strong feelings I have for these people; for as I ponder and reflect upon the emotional aspect of my personality, I am reminded of the past five years of my life that has ultimately defined me.

I left my former university and the wealthy future that they would have offered me, I went back home and stopped studying for two years all because I wanted to. Some people think that it is a shallow reason. “Why should anyone give up the chance for success?” Heck, the reason why they think that I have lost my sanity is because I have given up the chance of a lifetime in one of the most prestigious and the most expensive college in the country. But is it really that shallow?

Yes, I wanted all those things to happen. It was my choice but the very root of that want, that choice is nothing less than my emotions – my humanity.

If you really think about it, aren’t all the actions of every single person motivated by emotions? Hate and anger drive us to hurt people; while happiness and joy inspire us to do good and to do right by others. And if you think about it even deeper, isn’t what makes us human our emotions? These emotions stir us to do unbelievable, extraordinary acts – acts that go beyond our selves, acts that make us proud and some that we regret… Perhaps, I have made a mistake but I do not regret it.

I was depressed. I did not adjust well to the kind of people in that university – rich prejudicial spoiled young men and women who were immature and self-absorbed. And although, there were a couple of people who did not fit that profile, they too felt like an outcast in that very small world. It was hard to fit in. I was not allowed to be myself and I not only say this because I felt it but also because the moments that I tried to show the real me to my so-called friends in that university I was demeaned.

By my second semester in college, my period suddenly stopped coming. At first it was convenient. Having a scholarship to keep, 27 units, hard-pressed projects, papers and presentations, and keeping up with my classmates socially and academically, not having a period was one hardship less in my life. But of course, consequences were inevitable. After several months, I had myself checked by a gynecologist and I was diagnosed with polycystic ovarian syndrome a.k.a PCOS. I am incapable of ovulating… Incapable of having a baby… What’s worse is that because of it I have become so unattractively grossly overweight making it even harder to socialize. I cannot explain the feeling when one says to your face, “Ay! Si Rhoda… naiwan sa kusina.” or “Buti naman hindi kumukupos ang gulong ng bike mo.” and let me not forget the whispers and the giggles as I pass by.

But even though I did not feel like myself in that school and even though I was not well, I stayed because the truth is a part of me loved being there. I loved my professors. I learned a lot from them. I saw the world in a different light because of them and most of them liked me too like Sir Antonio, my Rizal teacher who is a Palanca Awardee; Dr. Fajardo, my Theater teacher who is a nominee to be a National Artist; all three of my literature teachers; my mentors and Fr. Perez, the Spanish priest who teaches Theology and my spiritual guidance counselor. I think they liked me because I was eager to learn and I was. Being in that school, I had a good excuse to ask my father for money to go to museums, theatrical plays and ballets that I enjoyed and miss. That part of the UAP culture is the only part that I miss and it sure was not enough to keep me there long especially after the great tragedy in my life.

My mother died.

She died three years ago exactly a week after my 18^th birthday. A month before that my parents came to Manila. They told me that my mother was ill so she was just on leave to have herself checked and to recuperate. My mom said that I should not worry, she’ll be fine. I told her that she should have just retired from being a teacher because it is wearing her out but she did not want to. She loved teaching so much. After a couple of weeks, they told me that my mom has cancer but they still said she was going to be okay.

She was going to be okay…” I still linger upon those words.

Truth was I was not aware of the gravity of the situation. No one told me she was dying. They did not want me to know. They thought it was going to affect my studies badly. But I found it out myself by accident.

On my birthday, Friday, September 22^nd of 2006 I went to the Kidney Center where my mother was staying. I wanted to spend my debut with my family. So there we were – just my father, my mother and I. No parties. No cakes. All we had was sinabawan from the cafeteria. But it was okay. All I really wanted was to be with my mom and I told her that she should not give up because I do not know what I am going to do without her. She was my sanctuary. She was my greatest teacher, my best friend… my everything. She was my reason.

So I slept that night beside her and on the morning as I pretended to sleep, the nurse checked up on my mom, asked my father what stage of cancer was she at and was told that she was at stage four. I was shocked. I did not know what to do. I was scared and angry at the same time. I kept asking myself, “why did I not notice?” But even then I did not realize that she was dying or maybe it is better say that I did not want to accept that she was dying. I kept thinking there is still hope. I was hoping for a miracle. But eventually you realize that miracles are miracles themselves. They hardly ever happen. So she died a week after and after that I was slowly dying with her.

It is an understatement to say that I did not take my mother’s death well. I did not take it at all. I blamed myself. I hated myself. But I tried my best to move on. On the other hand, the world was not helping me do that. My dad can be such a jerk who cares more about my studies so I can make money for him than what I felt about my mother’s death and just what I felt in general. He even told me once, “Wala na tayong magagawa. Patay na si mama mo at minolestiya ka ng taxi driver. Ano ba ang gusto mong gawin ko?” Maybe it is his way of defending his heart. I know that he hurts too.

And yes, I was sexually harassed by a taxi driver almost a month after my mother’s death. By some luck, I was able to get out of there before the worst happens. That time is a time that I buried in the very depths of my memory. I do not want to ever remember. And buried with that memory is a part of my heart that has grown tired of people. So tired that for some time I had thought of putting that heart at ease permanently. It is funny how I used to laugh at the ignorant people who take their own life only to realize that I am also one of those ignorant people.

I took two years off in search of myself, to find my reason to live in a distasteful world and you know what I found? I found nothing.

The world is what it is and I am no one else but me. There is no one to find. There is no better or worse person. There is only me and what I make of myself in this world. Why should I care about the people who judge me without knowing the truth? Why should I listen to everybody else but not me? Why should I feel miserable for a choice that has made me happy?

I have only one life and I choose to live by my heart… by my feelings… by my emotions… by me.

Mr. I-Want-It-All

2010-01-30T17:05:00.004+08:00

Today is Saturday and I had my Social Arts midterm exam. I didn't do great 'cause I didn't study. But I doubt that I would fail. But that's really not the most interesting part of my day.

So here's the thing, I transferred to a college in my hometown and it's a lot less privileged than my former university but I have met a few people who have the capacity to go in to the same university I went to, one of whom is a guy who I will call in this entry as Mr. I-Want-It-All.

Mr. I-Want-It-All is actually good-looking. He's got the brains too. He's not my type though because aside from he's young, he's too much of a goody-goody and a loud-mouth. He's got organizations left and right and people are actually stupid enough to put him in-charge.

Why do I call them stupid if even I think that he's smart?

Well that's because him being smart does not necessarily mean that he's a good leader.

He's a worthless leader. It's because he keeps on taking on jobs that he can't do anymore. He likes to... "have it all", which is a stupid idea. No one can have it all. You prioritize and when you have had a lot of things on your hands already, you don't take on more responsibility. But he does. And he thinks that he's mature.

So anyway. We had a group meeting and he started crying like a wuss in front of the group because he says he can't take it anymore. "Everyone keeps on depending on me. I have an event tonight and another meeting later on . I haven't taken a single one of my exams and I want to get back together with my ex-girlfriend but I can't because we broke up in the first place because too many people were depending on me. But I want to get back together with her on the 14th." And I was just sitting there, pretending to be reviewing, holding my head down, biting my lip and trying not to laugh. It was pathetic. He actually cried like a little girl.

Come on! Does he really have to mention that he wants to get back with his ex? How is that even our problem? How does that even relate to our group problem? How does any of his problems our problems?

I'm sorry Mr. I-Want-It-All. You really just have to grow up and realize that in life you can't have it all. You can't pursue all things at the same time and think that you can do great at all of them. A successful life is made up of sacrifices. You have one specific concrete doable goal. And if that's done then you can go on and pursue another one specific concrete doable goal.

To be a success, you have to prioritize. The things that you want to do should be arranged according to importance so that in a situation where you have to choose which you have to do first then you would know what to do. Instead of feeling like you're in a pinch and you wouldn't have to waste time in deciding. Remember that time spent is time wasted.

You're the only one who is accepting all of these responsibilities. No one has forced you to accept any of it and that you could decline anytime. Do not make any excuses. It just makes you look pathetic.

Permanence & Mystique

2010-01-16T22:44:00.011+08:00

It's been a long trying week. We have been working on our two video ads for our Multimedia Studies and Digital Animation class. But I think it's worth it. I love the result of all our hard-work and our team is so much fun to work with. I love them all. Wonderful actors and fantastic editors but more importantly, they are just awesome pips.

It would be an honor for me to work with them again.

I hope the rest would also like our video.

A Leap of Faith

2009-05-28T00:54:00.008+08:00

The rainy season has come to the fair lands of the Philippines at last.

Looking up to the sky, I can only imagine the hot sun shining above all the dark clouds and I think about how wonderful it was to have felt the warmth of the sun against my skin in the summer.

But I remember a somewhat painful memory and I begin to wish that it was summer again so that I may change what I did.

Last summer on a very hot day, we - my cousins, my father and I decided to go for a swim in the river Mampurog. It was also my cousin's last Sunday at the countryside and she had hoped to go for a swim at the river. Everyone was so excited. We had fun even though there were just five of us, that is, before I ruined everything.

You know how people would jump in to the water? My cousins loved that and naturally they did it several times from a tree nested near a cliff. It looked like fun to me and I wanted to try it.

But right then, when I was about to jump. I froze. I couldn't jump. I saw my cousin in the water cheering me on but I couldn't.

Other people in the vicinity started to take notice. They too started to cheer me on or more likely they just thought it was entertaining. Everyone shouted at me to take the plunge. But all I could do was ask my cousins if it was deep enough... If I would be safe. They insisted that I was going to be but I found it hard to believe.

Was it my fear or was it that I did not trust them?

Many I believe would say it was the fear. I believe it was both.

I have always known that I was the type of person who would never get in to situations without knowing that I'll get through it. I made sure that everything I did was for sure.

I was afraid that I would get hurt. I was afraid that the water was not deep enough that when I hit the water I would hit a rock and fracture my legs. I was afraid that I was going to jump the wrong way, hit my head and die.

I felt that I had no assurance of what to become of me once I hit that water. I felt that my cousins' words were not enough assurance because I felt that I could not trust those words.

But the truth is, I cannot bring myself to trust anyone's words anymore. In the end, I couldn't make that jump. And as I passed through the spectators, one lady asked me, "why did you not jump?" All I could say was, "...because I could not see..."

The whole event seems like a little thing. Aside from embarrassing myself to a bunch of people I didn't know, it was and still is a big thing to me. I don't care that I disappointed my cousins and father, much less do i care about what those spectators thought about me. I care because I disappointed myself and finally realized what a horrible person I am - not because I was afraid but because I could not trust anyone to help vanquish that fear.

As I look up at the dark sky, I am anxiously waiting for summer to return - hoping that by then I could make that jump... hoping that I could take that leap of faith.

Blue Skies

2009-01-22T10:01:00.000+08:00

The soft wind brush against my face as I run through an open field. With one hand firmly holding the string of my kite, I run faster and faster to make it fly.

And it does.

So I stood there, wearing a big smile on my face and avoiding the stinging rays of the sun as I look up to watch my kite soar through the sky.

But I see it. So wide... So clean... So unbelievably perfect. I couldn't help myself but stare. I let my body drop to the ground. I unconsciously let go of my kite and I did not care! The blue sky was so enchanting that I just wanted to lay there forever. Watching... dreaming... hoping...

As I stared at the sky aimlessly, I began to realize how awfully small I am compared to such an infinite beauty. It made me think how big the world is and the endless possibilities there are. But despite it's grandeur, it did not intimidate me in the least. One the contrary, it motivated me. The blue sky inspired me to be part of the big world - to somehow make my mark as a person, to be remembered by someone.

I was alone on that field that day. But I kept thinking maybe somewhere there's another girl laying on her back astonished by this wide blue sky or maybe somewhere there's a boy who let go of his kite because he looked up and saw his kite drown in the beauty of the sky.

Blue skies - so beautiful, so seemingly infinite, so seemingly perfect. You can't help but fall in love with it!

Blue Skies - Susie Ariloli

2009-01-16T17:10:00.000+08:00

Out of boredom, I recorded this video a couple of months ago. I uploaded it in Youtube, got my friends to see the video and one my best friends, Josce told me in her sarcastic tone how it wasn't obvious that the song was dedicated to my boyfriend Darren. Yes, ladies and gentleman I am glad to announce that I am now in a relationship. Regardless of what my friend thinks, this video was and still is not dedicated to him. But I would really like it if people would comment on the video. Something constructive I hope. Thanks!

Saturday Night Live - Sarah Palin and Hilary Clinton

2008-10-29T18:20:00.000+08:00

TIna Fey as Sarah Palin and Amy Poehler as Hilary Clinton in a Saturday Night Live (SNL) episode ranked highest among others since 9/11, according to news reports. Their performance rightfully deserves such an honor. Tina Fey's astonishing resemblance to Republican vice-president nominee, Gov. Sarah Palin and how she completely copies her Alaskan accent made the skit effectively funny. That is of course, accompanied by hilariously witty lines created by the talented writers of the show. Amy Poehler's performance as Hilary Clinton was more or less at par with Tina Fey's impersonation of Gov. Palin.

A job well done to SNL!!!

Moving On: The Classroom

2008-07-08T19:11:00.000+08:00

One.. Two.. Three... Four...

It was the fourth drop of tear from my eyes that I tried even harder to stop the tears. I didn't want anybody to see. I didn't want anybody's sympathy.

But I couldn't stop crying... Crying silently... Yet each drop of tear felt like I was screaming...

Mr. Ungriano's story about a girl who lost her mother to cancer opened up the feelings that I've been keeping inside. Although our circumstances might not be completely the same, the more important aspects of our stories are - our mothers, the cancer, the secrecy, death and the excruciating pain.

I wanted to rush out of that classroom and cry my heart out. All the memories, the things that I wish I could have done for her while she was still here and the wonderful moments we would never share just came rushing into my head.

It is not easy to handle the death of a person who was there every step of the way to cheer you on, a person who understood you the best, a person who nearly died giving birth to you, a person who wanted the very best for you, a person who unconditionally loved you like no other does and will ever do, and a person you had hoped to give the same level of happiness as she did for you.

Unfortunately, that chance is gone. No more birthdays to celebrate together, no Christmases with her delicious cooking, no graduation with her clapping, no wedding with her wise words and no more days with somebody to tell your deepest darkest secrets (the type that you can't even tell your friends).

Perhaps at this point, you might be wondering why I am telling this story despite my statement earlier of not wanting sympathy. That hasn't changed. I am merely saying this because I can't do anything else but think of her. This is the only way I know that will help me overcome the sadness of not having her around and the loneliness of knowing there will be no other like my mother.

Pathetic it maybe to you of how it seems that I'm a mama's girl. But believe me I never was, atleast I thought I wasn't. I guess, the little moments that seemed unimportant to me before are now accentuated because it is no longer the same.

Yes, I'd probably get used to it because what else is there to do but move on. If I continue to dwell in the past, it will ruin me and the wonderful future that my mother had helped to build for me.

But, I will always look back... Because by looking back, I'm more motivated to move forward. I might not have realized this when I was in Sir Ungriano's class but I do now. My mother wanted me to be there in that classroom - to listen to lectures, to participate in discussions, to learn from learned people. By being present in that classroom perhaps I could move on.

NBSB

2008-07-08T16:37:00.001+08:00

No Boyfriend Since Birth or NBSB was a term that I heard during my high school years when having a boyfriend mattered a lot. The term basically meant that I haven't had a boyfriend before and back then being an NBSB girl did not have any implications.

I'm 19 years old turning 20 soon and I am still an NBSB girl. I haven't been courted by any guy or even a girl (courting is a common practice in the Philippines); I haven't dated; no guy has confessed to me and I haven't confessed my love to any guy although I had fallen in love before. I was just unfortunate enough to have fallen for someone who had fallen in love with a friend.

I will not deny that I have longed to be in a romantic relationship with a man who I love and who loves me back. But as my friends say, "You haven't had a boyfriend yet 'cause God is still making the most beautiful love story for you." Yes, I have very corny friends but I appreciate how they try to comfort me.

There is nothing wrong with being single at my age. I have lots of friends who are also NBSB girls and I know others who are or were NBSB girls at nearly 30. But being single for this long and looking at couples in the mall or in campus, some NBSB girls would start to think "why isn't that girl me?", "why don't guys find me attractive?" or much worse, "is there something wrong with me?". Insecurities start to build up. You start asking yourself "am I not pretty?", "am I not interesting enough?", "am I ugly?" and "do I not have a personality?"

I have asked myself these questions before. I was so insecure that I started to hate myself. I wanted to revamp myself -a complete makeover. It also came to the point that I blamed my overprotective father for being so scary that he probably scared off any of my prospects. But neither did the work. Heck! I'm still single today!

It didn't come to me that I could not completely revamp myself. If I had to change completely then that wouldn't be me. In the end, I wouldn't be happy even if I were in a relationship because I wasn't free to be myself.

Also, I missed an important fact about being in a relationship... Love. There might be something wrong with us, NBSB girls. Our friends and family could also be a factor in our solitude. But being in love and being in a relationship means that the two of you accept each other's merits and flaws. To the other person, it doesn't matter if you're fat, stupid or ugly. You're you and he loves you for being you. It is only by being with that guy can you really change yourself for the better. Although, other people's opinion affect your relationship, which it surely will, in the end it all comes down to the two of you.

In short, God is indeed busy making the best love story for us, NBSB girls. We just have to wait for Him to finish. =)

Daughter

2008-07-01T17:56:00.000+08:00

It was late and I could not sleep. I had been thinking for awhile now if I should proceed with my plan. I stared out the window looking for the moon like I always did back home in my room. The moon had a way of calming me down and I had hoped that it would give sense to what I was about to do. But to my dismay, there was nothing up there but the series of windows of the adjacent building. So I look down at the palm of my hands and started to count them – that thing that will help me. "One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… Is this enough?" and I counted them again, "One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight…Is this enough?"

I counted the pills so many times and always ended in wonder – how many should I take? How much would be enough to stop the pain?

I paused from counting. I closed my eyes and suddenly tears dropped from my eyes. I knew that what I was about to do was wrong but I felt that it was the only choice I had to stop the pain. As the tears fell from my eyes, it reminded me every great memory I had – every happy moment that made me who I am.

I remembered how Mama used to call me Rhodania in the morning with a loud angry voice to wake me up to go to school and how I would open my eyes only to find that Papa's arms were wrapped around me, calling me Dangkikay so gently and asking me to get up. I remembered how Mama always scolded me in the morning because I moved so slowly and was thus, always late for my class. I remembered how they both cheered for me when I went up to the stage to receive awards and how Mama helped me to get them by teaching me through the summer and every night after school and by constantly encouraging me. In many ways, my mother was my strength – she was the voice who woke me up, taught me and drove me on to be what I can be.

But I also remember how I held her almost lifeless body in my arms as I called to her to wake up. She was in a coma. The cancer cells had gone up to her brain and there was nothing I could do. She was dying.

I remember feeling useless and angry for not knowing that her life was about to end. I hated knowing that I was not there when she needed me most. I kept thinking that she had sacrificed so much for me but I could not even be there by her side as she went in and out of the hospital. How stupid I was not to realize the severity of her illness earlier on! How could I not see how much pain she was suffering!

I remember how her body felt when they opened the casket so that we, her family would be able to touch her for the very last time. But as I touched Mama's corpse, all logic had escaped me. I was almost driven mad by the feel of her hand. It was not my mother. I refused to believe that my mother's body could feel so cold and hard because I remember every touch, pat, embrace and kiss that Mama ever gave me.

I do not know how to accurately explain how deeply damaged I was when she died. It was like there is something in me that died with my mother, like my heart had become hallow and a precious dream had suddenly diminished. How I wish I could get it back but I do not think I ever will.

And there is a lot that I can say about my life – how I was able to get 19 medals when I graduated from grade school; how I was constantly an honor student until senior year in high school; how I won various contest during interschool competitions like the Regional Intel Science Investigatory Project and the Regional Schools Press Conference; and how actively I participated in school politics being the president of the school when I was in grade school and high school. But none of it can be said without mentioning the person who had loved me more than anything else in this world – the guiding force who was behind all of my achievements and right now, in spite of all the excruciating pain I cannot imagine my life without having been her daughter.