Inspired... Twice

Alright, I said that previous post was going to be my only entry.  Well, I didn't intend to tell a lie while typing that.  People are simply dynamic.  Ergo, they change their minds.

I actually intended to include this in the previous post but it's far too valuable and too far-fetched from that topic.  Fads?  Inspiration?  They just don't sound right together.  Sorry.

So, anyway,  I told the Facebook-sphere via status update that I would be undergoing changes soon - towards becoming the kind of person that I want to be.  My powerful young cousin has already started pressing me for them.  Well, I haven't even started thinking about it yet.  I've just been knocked over and I need time to get up properly and compose myself before I do something drastic.

My good friend and adopted sister, Mitzi,gave me a great piece of advice.  She said, "In making changes, let it not be a shadow of your old self.  Remember, remorse always comes after."  Wow!  I thought that made my day.  I was wrong.

One more great thing came my way!  A formerly unknown personality - now a new good friend - from Nicaragua sent me a message saying how she admired my writings.  I was already inclined to respond right there and then but I didn't know what to say.  You see, I've been dying for sensible and intelligent conversations for over a month now (since being in Manila with Lea Salonga) and when one was apparent, I didn't know what to do.  I started off with adding her as a Facebook friend.

While I was composing my response, she commented on one of my posts with very inspiring words.  I was awestruck!  Seriously!  I've never had such intelligent statements addressed to me in so long.  And then another response... and another!  She is definitely one to call a friend and to cherish.  It's amazing to find a friend who could appreciate what I do - from across the world.  Thank you.

I should say, the world needs more people like you.  You're such a blessing.


And, oh, she seems like a very reserved person so I won't publish her name here like I do others.

So Far Behind Fads

I won't make it a habit to blog about each and every single episode of Glee's second season.  That's just not going to happen here so don't expect.  I may say something about it after seeing it but that won't be the whole point of the entry.  Remember that post way down there with the Glee's trademark G-Loser-E-E where Charice Pempengco was even made mention of?  That wasn't even about the episode.  It was an unhappy rant about the obtuseness of some avid Glee fans. who think Glee now rules the world of goshdarned music.  Duh!  Not a chance, bucko!

Anyway, the day's almost over again and this is going to be today's only post.  I didn't have time earlier 'cause I was working myself half to death.  I woke up at 2AM and started working immediately.  I didn't even achieve today's objectives.  I had to stop.  I just had to.  I would have passed out!

Oh, wait.  Yeah, I remember.  That title up there... Yes, that!  It's because I have been so preoccupied with so many things lately that I haven't gone out to party in such a long time.  I don't know what my friends are doing outside the Facebook-sphere.  Moreover, I haven't seen Glee's second episode nor have I even started on Criminal Minds 6th Season.  Janette said she cried over it.  Many deaths and what not.  Gah!  The hard-to-handle-ness of cast rearrangement.  And another GAH for being so left out.

Well, there's nothing wrong with not being a faddist about things that are "happening".  Those things I mentioned above are really just things I'm genuinely interested in but have never been able to make time for.

I hope I could spare time tomorrow.

Lea Salonga & Guy Merola - The Prayer

Remember in my previous post I said I had to end it because I thought of something?  Well, this is it.  I know, I know.  I could have posted it right there and then.  But again, I already said I would never put Lea Salonga at the bottom of anything.  So, yeah.  You get it.

This morning during the moments right after getting up - after a glass of water - I noticed my roommate making sounds of joy and glee in front of the computer.  I went to check it out in an instant and I found myself doing the same thing.

Why?  We saw Allegiance: The Musical's post of a new video with Lea Salonga in it!  It turns out, after their screening in Hawaii, the host, Guy Merola, invited Lea to a good old-fashioned piano party where they did a totally impromptu duet of "The Prayer".  I was totally awestruck!  Everything about it was perfect that I had to share it right away and let all my friends experience the same joy!

Lea is the ultimate soul-soother.  She's an angel.

Anyway, here's the video.  I don't hope you'll love it 'cause I know you will.

I Know Him So Well

Why did I decide to blog about this?  Well, for weird reasons.  I was staring at the ceiling and all of a sudden I started to sing, "wasn't it good?"  And I'm pretty certain I didn't hear the song today.  So, there.

It's funny how you grow into a song and it just gets branded onto your heart.  Like Rainbow Connection, for instance.

If you don't already know this, then that's good 'cause you'll have something sensible to read.  I Know Him So Well is a song from the musical Chess, with lyrics by Tim Rice and music by Björn Ulvaeus and Benny Andersson, formerly of ABBA.

In the theatrical setting, it's a duet between Svetlana, a chess champion's estranged wife, and Florence, his mistress.  The song express their bittersweet feelings for him and at seeing their relationships fall apart.

Imagine being someone's wife and seeing your marriage fall apart because your husband saw sparks brighter than yours in another woman's eyes.  And then, you, the mistress will cross paths with the wife years later with your relationship with her ex-husband now broken.  That's the story Svetlana and Florence tell in this song.

Many have recorded covers of this song, and when you hear the lines, they'll probably get you thinking of Whitney and Cissy Houston, or Barbra Streisand and her murdered version perhaps.  (Don't get me wrong, though.  I love Babs.  I just really detest her version.)  But I say this is definitely one of those instances where nothing beats original.  No one can sing this song with as much power and heart as Elaine Paige and Barbra Dickson did for the musical's concept album.  Yes, even if the music video was ultra-minimalistic, it still holds the Guinness World Record as best female duo of all time.

Almost Another Day

It's almost another day and I figured I haven't written anything for my blog yet.  For the past how many hours, I've been too absorbed at working on my articles for my new job that I forgot about how writing is as much my emotional outlet as it is my bread and butter.

You see, this job I have right now is quite tough.  I don't have a problem with the general description; it's the required quantity of output that's the most challenging part.  Imagine writing 5000+ words-a-day split into several ideas.  Wow!  But you know what?  I'm gonna get the hang of this soon.  I'm probably just having the newbie syndrome right now.  This'll disappear in time - I hope.

Anyway, my friend Farrah is luckier than I am at this.  But I can't say I'm luckless.  She's just had more experience with looping around online and gracing her way to clients' hearts.  I wish I could say the same thing for myself.  Sadly, no.

I started with this at roughly 5AM this morning, and then I fell asleep half-way so I had to finish the other half upon waking at 8.  I'm being pathetic again.  And did I mention that I haven't had a shower in 2 days?  Or has it been three?  I honestly forgot when the last time was.  I think it was when Ricky came over.  Last Thursday, I surmize.  Well, I don't give a damn!  After I finish all this brouhaha I've gotten myself into, I'm going to take a long, cold shower.

Zero Hours of Sleep

I'm actually yawning while writing this.  I'm extremely exhausted right now.  A couple of hours ago, I just got a new oDesk contract as a writer.  I can't tell you who I'm doing it for or exactly what it is that I'm going to be writing for my new employer.

I loved how smooth the hiring process was, all I did was submit a cover letter to a job posting with references to a quasi-fitness-related article and this blog.  A few hours later, I received a notification telling me I was being considered.  And then after a short conversation with the employer, I got the job.  It's amazing how things favor you when you really want them.  It's also really important to know how to express how you feel about something you're aiming for.  I'm blessed with that gift.

So, anyway, so much for career talk.

I'm having a runny nose.  Apparently, my yawns, which are causing my tears, are causing my nose to drip.  I'm like a walking improperly sealed bottle of lotion.

Random thought:  What if our noses were to excrete spaghetti noodles instead of mucus?

That question made me think about The Church of The Flying Spaghetti Monster.

Am I even making sense right now?  I'm writing so I wouldn't fall asleep.  My roommate is cooking lunch for the 4 of us here and if I so much as allow my head to touch the pillow, I'm sure I'm gonna drift away.  And if I drift away, bringing me back is quite an arduous task.  I'd probably end up sleeping with an empty tummy and waking up at 7PM with a bad case of GERD.  I really don't like it when that happens.  I need to eat before hitting the hay.

I know what you're thinking.  Lunch at 3PM?  Night time sleep pushed all the way past 3PM?  Hello!  Eccentric male specimen here!

I miss my mom.  I'm going to send her a text message.

I can hear Janette talking about moving to another call center.  She's ranting about how she needs to get a job and how she feels utterly useless just sitting around the house all day burning her termination pay from CitiBank.  The pot's almost empty.

Anyway, I need to end this entry now.  My roommate should be done by now.  I'm reaaaly hungry already.  I'm so hungry, I could eat a horse!

Old Entry #4: Catch-22’s of the Dorm

It's past noon.  Yes, I'm done eating, but no, I haven't left yet.  I kind of said I would leave after breakfast and now it's about time for lunch and I'm still sitting in front of my notebook.  So I figured, "why not post another old entry?"  I need to, too.  You probably realize why by now.

WARNING: What you are about to read beyond the line below is full of profanity.  I was 18 and angry, so please forgive me.

Yeah, my old entry post today is amazingly full of profane expressions.  It's a condensed essay about my sentiments regarding my college dormitory way back in my freshie year at Silliman University.  Today, they call it Vernon Hall.  Back in my days, we just used to refer to the structure as "New Men's Dorm".  It was supposed to be the best men's dorm on campus.  I don't know what they were thinking boasting it that way.

So, yeah, here it is.  It's pretty long!

This was originally posted on Aug 18, '07 11:37 PM on Multiply.com.


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 The day before I left for college, I was all keyed up and ecstatic about it—first and foremost of what it would feel like living with two complete strangers in a dormitory miles away from home.  [“Gosh! Tomorrow’s the day my freedom begins!” I thought to myself.]  I double-checked my luggage (which I had finished packing three days prior), texted everyone my hasta la vistas, met with my then ex-girlfriend (who is now my girlfriend again) to hug and say goodbye, and had dinner with my dad at a posh bistro.  After that, all there was left to do was to wait for the next day to come.

Then, like a zap of lightning, it finally came.  After getting dressed and bidding my grandma and grandpa farewell, off we went—to the terminal and then finally onboard Oceanjet 2.  When the vessel started to move, I cried (of course, I now realize that was really, really stupid of me).  I sat there for two hours thinking of the people I was leaving, the people who were going to be missing me, and thinking of what would possibly be in store for me (of which, at that time, I hadn’t the slightest idea).  And then, the doors opened.  Getting down the ramp was a completely different feeling from those other days when I did.  I thought to myself, “I am now about to step into the land that will be my home for the next four years.”

Getting down, we were met by around more than ten people who offered us rides and to carry our stuff.  My mom didn’t want to be helped so she tried to shrug them off with her refusal, but they just wouldn’t let us be.  And when a man had attempted to hold my giant bag’s handle, she flared up.  She positioned herself to hand chop him, but, luckily, he made the wise decision of taking his hand off before she could.  And so the story goes.  We took a cab to my dormitory.

Arriving there was of such pure exhilaration.  Of course, I was silent to the others on account that I was a newbie in the place.  I hurried to my room and settled my stuff in.  And I met one of my roommates.  It was he who assigned me my bed, which was the upper deck of his.  Quite difficult for me but thought to myself, “I’m the freshman. He probably underwent the same hitch back then when he was.”  So, I just decided to bear with it.  What choice had I, anyway?  He seemed quite aloof but I thought that was just because we had just met.  [I would only later learn that he isn’t nice at all.]  After which, my mom and I went out for lunch, and then we went shopping for my stuff.  At the end of the day, my mom had checked in at a small guesthouse that called itself a hotel and I went back to the dorm to sleep.  That’s when hell began.  As I was about to sleep, I noticed a certain cracking sound when I knelt on my bed.  I looked down to see if anything was cracking.  And, indeed, something was—the plywood supporting my mattress.  I called my mom to tell her and tell her I couldn’t sleep there that night.  But she had none of it.  [Damn!]  Just the first day and I already started to dislike the place.  And because my mom had told me to report what was wrong with my bed, I did in the morning.  They assured me that it would be replaced the following week but until now (August 16, 2007), it’s still here.  [Fuckin’ crap!]



The next day, after more shopping, my mom went home.  Damn! I was now on my own.  But somehow, I was still optimistic about things in the dorm getting better.  After going out with a friend from home who was also studying there, I went home to the dorm.  It was barely dark.  I was the only one to respond to bed check since both my roommates weren’t around when it happened.  [And that’s been the case ever since].  Right now, as I write this blog, I’m alone in my room my roommates are both not here yet.

Anyway, moving on… Weeks later, I was stuck in the internet café doing research on two term papers due the following day.  It was just 2130 hours when I finished my work so I was confident that I was still going to be back at the dorm on time.  But when I arrived, they told me I was late.  And when I asked the guard why, he told me that the curfew had been moved to 2130 hours.  [Oh, that’s just comforting!]  They’re so hell bent on imposing what’s printed on the contract but they themselves are not even abiding by it.  The contract clearly says “curfew: 10:00pm Sundays through Thursdays and 10:30pm Fridays and Saturdays.”  But they cut it short 30 minutes short.  [FUCK THEM!]  It’s bad enough for me that there’s a curfew.  But 9:30pm?  This is just ridiculous!

Now, let’s talk about devotions.  Devotions are supposed to strengthen our faith in the Lord.  But how in the blue hell called Earth would that happen if we’re being coerced into joining devotions.  They’re once-a-week starting at 9:30pm and ending at 11:00pm—10:30pm being the earliest.  Hello!  That’s my study time.  And when it ends, I’m always too tired to even touch my books.  Every single week, I sacrifice a night of study all for some gratuitous palaver of all-knowing declarative sentences and periphrastic questions.  On some nights, we’re called to the dining hall to discuss about meetings.  Still, with our attendance checked pedantically.  And what for? T-shirts, presentations, and what not.  Well, there’s nothing wrong, at all, with deliberating about those things but why not just leave it to the people who care.  They don’t have to force everyone to join those stupid meetings!  [I really, really abhor this!]  We’re paying for our stay only to be put against our will.

Now, let’s talk about something else.  Let’s talk about the food.  Not that I’m choosy or anything, but this is just plain torture.  They serve us different food each day but they just feed us the same things the next week—just in a different daily order.  I’m really sorry my parents have to pay for most of the meals that I don’t eat but it’s become a teensy bit sickening for me to bear.  I haven’t even started about specifically what they serve yet.  Oh, it’s just awesome!  Let’s start with breakfast.  On some days, we have hotdogs (a single small piece each), sometimes they serve us two slices of either canned luncheon meat or meat loaf, and other times they serve blue scrambled eggs.  [Eeck!]  How the hell do they turn those eggs blue?  It reminds me of the first episode of “Courage the Cowardly Dog” entitled “The Chicken from Outer space” wherein Eustace and Muriel at blue alien eggs laid by an alien duck that turned them both to zombies.  Ugh! I don’t even want to think about it.  [Scary!]  Ok, so much for that, let’s go to lunch and dinner (since they serve us the same food interchangeably).  Well, there are days they serve us beef (the rubbery part), on some days they serve us pork (the bony parts with cartilage), and on some days they serve delicious chicken (with sand-like texture).  My six-year-old cousin could cook better.  [Bah!]

Another thing, the noise here is just intolerable—guitars, drums, and loud unfathomable tracks repeating over and over each single day.  Plus, they do a derby at the lobby on some nights where they yell and shout like they’re in some sort of cockpit or something.  And there was one time when they ran around the hallways, chasing each other with water guns loaded with human piss. [GOD!]

Oh, and there’s more!  There are these upper class punks who walk around calling themselves big brothers.  [FUCK THEM!]  They bother people like block the way down the stairs (one time, this almost caused me to no-show on my departure).  And they come with seemingly imposing presences.  [TO HELL WITH THEM!]

And Oh, I’ve been late a couple of more times.  Twice, I didn’t even sleep here.  I’d be quite happy if the manager tells me I couldn’t stay here anymore.  That would be much more like it.  I mean, I’m really a “night out” person so I often come back late on weekends.  I remember this certain one time I was late.  It was 3am when I came home after drinking with a couple of friends.  After logging in the tardiness record, I knocked at the glass door for them to open it.  I was clearly visible to them but they just sat there.  There were two.  One was on the phone and one was reclining his sagging ass in front the TV set.  I had to get the guard to get one of them to open the door.

For me, real life begins at 10pm on weekends but how can that be for me if I need to be home even before it comes.  It’s like getting killed before even being born.  I liken it to abortion.  [SHIT!]

So, with that, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am definitely moving out next semester.  I can’t live like this!  It’s bad enough not being able to come home anytime you wish, but not having a kitchen is just HELL!  I’m a chef.  The kitchen is my haven.

What do you think?  Well, it doesn’t really matter what you think.

Glee Second Season

Yes, I'm a pirate.  I have no other way of being able to watch freakin' television if I don't share torrents.  I don't care what the FBI has to say about it.  I'm going to download every single freaking episode of which ever television show I want to see since I'm afforded the opportunity.

I'm not writing to talk about piracy and torrenting, though.  I'm here to write about the first episode of Glee's second season.  I have to download every episode from BTJunkie - so, yeah.  Do the two topics make sense to you now?

Anyway, I'm an admirer of Charice Pempengco and her awesome singing talent but I'm not necessarily that huge a fan.  I'm still a fan, nonetheless.  And now, she's on Glee and I love seeing her on it!  She's awesome!

Speaking of Glee, I have a sentiment.  Ever since Glee's pilot episode, I've been a gargantuan fanatic.  They have such amazing voices.  Such talent!  And I admire the show for introducing a new brand of cultural awareness to people who otherwise might not listen to - or even be aware of the existence of - musical theater songs.  How many young people from the common social class can claim that they knew the song Maybe This Time from pre-Glee era?  How many of them even knew Kristin Chenoweth?  These are the benefits the society has derived from Glee.

Yes, I am a Gleek like many my age are.  However, I call myself a sensible Gleek because I do love Glee, but Glee performances could never outdo or even come close to Bernadette Peters' Rose's Turn or Barbra Streisand's Don't Rain on My Parade or Lea Salonga's On My Own or Patti LuPone's I Dreamed A Dream or Liza Minnelli's Maybe This Time or any of the musical theater greats, for that matter!  It's just not possible.  These are legends we're talking about here.

Even if Kristin Chenoweth performed the latter song on Glee and even if she's one of the greats, that's Liza Minnelli, for goodness' sake.  Come on!

Glee's great and all and everyone should love it, but it's Glee.  It's primetime television.  Sure, Glee would easily outdo pop originals like Jazmine Sullivan's Bust Your Windows but definitely not real music in this arena.  No way!

Furthermore, everything should stop becoming a competition.  There are hundreds and hundreds of versions of every song and everyone has his/her favorite.  When Glee does songs from whatever genre, they're not trying to be better than anyone or show that they can do it better than the originals or the greats so there's no justification for invading Bernadette Peters' Rose's Turn on YouTube and going on and on about Chris Colfer this and Chris Colfer that!

Cultural ignorami just don't know where and when not to open their mouths!  Shut up 'cause you don't know what the hell you're talking about!

Old Entry #3: Imagine

I woke up at 6:30 this evening and I'm not happy about it.  I didn't need to work and there were no additional reading materials for me to devour so I figured:  why not sleep the day away?  But, no, it's not turning out as "okay" as I thought it would be.  I know I'm not gonna be able to get any more shut-eye until daylight or 4AM at the very least.  Ergo, I'll wake up just about the same time tomorrow night.  The idea pisses me off - big time!

In addition to all that, I'm hungry and I don't feel like cooking.  And it's not that nobody else can cook around here.  It's just that I don't trust them.  They'd probably end up with some salty Filipino overkill I'd have a hard time swallowing.  And for some reason, Melvin doesn't cook these days anymore.

Anyway, if you caught the title, this is just an intro.

Here's the third installment of the Old Entries Series.

This was originally posted on Aug 13, '07 8:13 PM on Multiply.com.


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I just finished listening to a song.  It was entitled “Imagine”.  It was composed by John Lennon and performed by Lea Salonga.

I used to hear it all the time on the stereo but I didn’t really pay much attention to the lyrics until I heard it sang by my favorite artist.  It used to be just one of the many songs I’d change the radio channel on when I heard. But when Lea sang it with perfect pronunciation of the lyrics, the song’s meaning was just magnified.  It found its way into me.  It really moved me the way it should have before.

The first line which says, “Imagine there’s no heaven,” may sound negative and unconstructive to several people; much more with the proceeding statements where we hear the line, “above is only sky.”  But if we try to internalize it, we will find that it really makes a lot of sense.  Heaven is a communal moss of hopefulness among people.  We take comfort in the prevailing idea of its existence after this life ends.  Going further in the stanza, we will hear the line that says “no hell below us”.  The idea of hell, for me, is nothing but a human being’s self-infliction of albatross if he/she chooses to believe it actually exists.

Another line in the song says, “Imagine there’s no countries.”  [It’s grammatically incorrect. But what the heck! Songs are excluded from grammar conventions.]  Going further, we will hear the lines “nothing to kill or die for”.  Now, this speaks of reality.  We are all aware of the fact that, throughout history, people have killed and died for their countries.  Remember the Holocaust and the Tutsi genocide.  At present, this is still even happening.  Racism is still ubiquitous.  Now, imagine if all these things didn’t exist.  People would be living life a lot more peacefully.  There would be less to fight about.

The same goes with the line that says, “Imagine no possessions… No need for greed or hunger… Imagine all the people sharing all the world.”  Damn!  This just hits the spot.  Materialism and greed are the very things that make this world chaotic; they are the very things that drive people and nations to utter anarchy and turmoil.  So many rich people lavish themselves with luxuries and what not, and yet far more than a million times their number are dying of sheer poverty and hunger.  Yes, there are good people but they are not capable of saving the entire world.  There are people like Jesus of Nazareth, Siddhartha Gautama, Mohandas Gandhi, Oskar Schindler, Nelson Mandela, and the Dalai Lama.  But sadly, up until today, they are outnumbered by the likes of Adolph Hitler, Niccolo Machiavelli and Ayn Rand.  And that’s just plain depressing.  Try to lie down and ponder on this with your eyes closed.

Books such as Rand’s “The Virtue of Selfishness” and “Harnessing Zonpower” are less read than the Holy Bible, the Qur’an, and the Bhagavad Gita, but people seem to be showing traits that are more subservient to the former than what the latter books teach.  To say that it is “human nature” to be greedy is such a lame and abused excuse for sheer evil.  And also, the idea of the world being nothing but a huge arena for the “survival of the fittest” is nothing but complete gibberish.

The song tells us many things.  It speaks of an unfeasible utopia.  And it may provoke sundry reactions among different people but if you listen to it [I mean really listen to it], you will realize something you can’t quite put in words—not even inside your head.  It will get you nodding and smiling without you knowing why.  It will lead you to a new light.

Why don’t you go listen to it yourself?

Second Chances

I intended to include this in my previous entry (which I posted just minutes ago) but it would have been too far down and Lea Salonga always deserves to be seen spot-on.

For those who don't know me well enough, I am an enourmous fan of Lea Salonga and there are no words to describe her talent and sheer adeptness in her field so I won't make an attempt right now.  Enough said!  If you're wondering how huge a fan I am, think of air and how you can't survive without it.  That's how she (and her music) is to me.  Get it?

Anyway, when I opened Facebook earlier, I found the newest video of Allegiance: The Musical and it was Lea singing a song entitled Second Chances.  I played it and I felt like I went to heaven without dying.  It was superb.  It was just Lea in front of a bunch of people in Hawaii, accompanied by grand piano music.  No microphones.  Pure, raw musicality complete with her stirring expressions.  Dang!

Here, I can't end this hour without sharing it to the world:

Boredom Makes You FAT

At 3AM earlier today, boredom took its toll on me again and I was left with little to do.  I delved into the fridge in search of something interesting.  Apples?  Wasn’t in the mood for them.  Pineapple chunks?  They were still very pale.  Not very attractive.  So, no.  Jam?  No more bread.  Cheese?  No! Had some earlier.  So I went back to my room to look for something interesting there since the fridge was of no help at all.

I had already eaten all the toffee so that wasn’t an option anymore.  Would have loved to munch on that all night, but, alas, my appetite for sweets proved too much for such a minute amount of inverted caramelized molasses and butter.

The after-dinner butter mints looked quite delectable but I haven’t touched them yet and I figured, once I start, I couldn’t stop.  I feared I might eat it all.  So, I opted not to.

And then there was hopia, masareal, and a variety of Oishi Sponge Crunch flavors.  But the thing was that I had to open them and render them unsealed in order to enjoy them.  I really didn’t want to do any of that so I trashed the idea of eating.  Completely!

I opened my notebook to discover that the HP Games window had taken the liberty of opening itself for my convenience.  Nice!  I browsed through its arsenal of pre-installed free trial games to try and look for a boredom remedy.  I found  something called “Bejeweled Deluxe 2”.  It looked interesting with all its shining, shimmering colors and what not.  When I ran it, though, it was almost exactly like my roommate’s mobile phone game called “Super Jewel Quest”.  Nonetheless, I played it.  I played it and I was instantly hooked.

An hour into the game - obsessively matching diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and the like, Janette popped out of nowhere ranting about how she couldn’t sleep.  I was well into level 20 when she sat beside me to talk about how she was tired of Cebu and how she wanted to go out of the country.  I was all “uh-huh…” and “really?” and “wow” for lack of anything sensible to add.  Ten minutes later, she left and said she was going to bed.

Into level 25 and she popped up again.  This time, she asked for some of the hopia.  I gave her the entire box and prayed she would leave me some.  Of course, she did.  And then, she went away again.

Level 30 and she came to me a final time.  This time, she was craving for some pineapple.  I was like, “go ahead!”  When she took the lot out, I sampled a chunk and decided I didn't like it.  It tasted like wood and I promised myself I would never buy pineapples from that store ever again.  After a while, she left.

When I finished level 30 at 6AM, I contemplated on washing my face before hitting the hay.  I left the notebook open and the light on while I laid on the bed lazily trying to make a decision.

“If I wash up, I’d have to get up, grab a towel, walk to the shower, and do my thing.  Afterwards: pat myself dry, wear sleeping shorts, turn my notebook off, and kill the light.  Whereas, if I decide to drift away right now and forget washing up, allow the notebook to auto-sleep, and ignore the light, life would be much simpler.”  So, yes, you got that right.  I chose the latter.

I dozed off in the midst of all that shining, shimmering brightness.

And, oh, remember I said Melvin disappeared yesterday?  He’s back now.  He came home last night.  Turns out he was out on an excursion.  Lucky him!  And now, the Fabulous 4 is four again!

Awesome, isn’t it?

And know this, my discovery of Bejeweled Deluxe 2 marked my triumph over my boredom this morning.  It just dawned on me, however, that Janette was also experiencing the same feeling.  And because she didn't have a computer, food was her only recourse.

My realization for today:  boredom makes you FAT!  I'm glad I'm not.

Old Entry #2: The Grin and the Confession

It's 3 in the afternoon right now.  And, no, I did not just wake up.  I've been up for quite a few hours now.  Of course, I slept at 6AM so an afternoon waking time would be expected.  Anyway, if you're wondering: Melvin is still nowhere to be found.  That's not what this entry is about, though.

This entry is all about... Yes, you got it!  Old entry #2!

Alright, if you're not open-minded about sexuality, don't even bother reading.  This is sort of about the ugly, horrible closet that I never ever want to go back in!

This was originally posted on Aug 13, '07 8:11 PM on Multiply.com.


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I have long accepted the fact that I am not straight—it’s been around ten years, I reckon.  It has been well over five years since I first mustered the courage to tell a person that I, in fact, have the inclination to admire people of the same gender as me.  True, I was already at an acceptance stage to myself then—for more than four years, but I did not feel quite ready with the idea of other people knowing it.

I was a high school freshman student when I first admitted to be something besides heterosexual.  It was not a direct confession, though.  I did not just go up to someone and tell the person right in the face that I was such.  It was really unexpected—especially on my part.  It was kind of a double confession scenario.  This was how it went.  At the school cafeteria, my friend and I were talking about girls—well, actually, girls who have had the ill fate of going through faithless little me.  I went on and on about my past relationships until we got to the point of talking about hers.  At the outset, it was all about men: her past boyfriends and her infatuations.  For what seemed like ages, she went on and on, and on.  She irked me with her palaver of redundant statements which to her, were of major “kilig” factor.

Things only began to get a little interesting, however, when she said, “Lud, I have something personal to tell you.”  My curiosity had awakened me.  I responded saying, “Yes, what is it?”  I was obviously more awake and more interested in what she was about to say than what she had been saying for the past several minutes since she acknowledged the widening of my eyes.  “I’ve never ever told anyone about this yet, ever!” she added.  And I replied, “Then why are you going to tell me?” seemingly unexcited but still bearing enough tone of concern to make her tell me anyway.  “Because I trust you,” she said.  Normally, typical best friends would have a sentimental hugging moment after such statement but we did not.  I was too excited about what she was going to say to even tell her I was touched.  She hesitated saying, “Oh, never mind. You might not understand.”  On that note, I already had a clue of what she was going to say.  I then sentimentally held her shoulder and said, “Come on. You know you can tell me anything.”  And then, after a series of “it’s-just-thats”, “ohs”, “shits” and “damn its”, she finally said it.  “Okay, okay. I’m into girls too.”  I tried to act as surprised as I could—though part of me actually was.  Everything just turned up-side-down.  [“I* knew it!” I snapped.]  And for about half an hour, I reckoned we were already talking about females, and it was she who was doing the talking.  I thought to myself, “no matter how hard the wind blows, I will never admit anything. I will never say anything that would ruin my reputation.”

I’ve always been viewed as a “man” by my friends.  A lot of people knew how many adverse relationships I’ve had since the school year began.  I didn’t find it pleasant, though, but at least they all thought I was straight.

Anyway, back to the story.  I was contemplating too much whether or not to tell her my own secret that I forgot to listen to her.  The next thing I knew was that she was looking at me an odd way.  She had this strange smile which, to me, suggested that it was my turn to say something interesting about myself.  And then there I was.  Somehow, I found myself in a skirmish against the urge to do something I know I’d regret in the future.  “What? Are you waiting for me to parallel your confession?” I asked.  She nodded, widening her smile and turning it from strange to utterly bizarre.  At first, I scrupled and swung my head but her smile just kept squeezing me and rendering all resistance futile.  So, after a few stuttered words, and “fucks”, I finally cracked.  I said, “Fine! Yes! I’m into guys too.”  She screeched like a rat whose tail got caught by a spring trap!  Everyone else in the cafeteria turned their heads at us and I tried to curb her from what she was doing.  Then I added, “But I always think of myself as the ‘man’ when I fantasize of other guys.”  Still, she went on with her “shock drama”; dropping her jaw down lower with every statement from me with matching exaggerated eye blinking, and the typical right-hand-like-a-spider-on-the-chest.  It was really annoying.  But, alas, I was eventually defeated.

What had been a complete secret for four years had now been revealed in a most unforseen way.  But, i have no regrets whatsoever.  I'm even quite happy that happened.

Going back to that moment, unlike her, I didn’t talk about any guys, though.  I wasn’t open to that yet.  But that confession was indubitably something big.  It opened another door for me.  It has certainly helped me no longer to be repressive of my feelings.  All thanks to one girl’s bizarre grin.

It seems a little funny that back then she was the only one who knew and I was so frantic about anyone else knowing.  And now, I tell almost everyone I meet very easily.  But anyhow, what's done's done.

Awake at 6AM

It's past 6AM and I'm still wide awake.  I seriously need to get some shut-eye but I don't seem to feel like hitting the hay yet.  I woke up at around noon yesterday.  Worked, read some of 'em academic books and went out to buy some supplies.  It was a bit divergent from my usual routine waking up at high sun 'cause then I wasn't able to open Facebook early.  Then again, it was the first thing I did after I relieved myself of all sorts of physical discomfort in the washroom.

And guess what?  I'm at it again!  Facebook fever much?

Melvin hasn't returned since he left for work the other night.  He's been gone for over 24 hours and we have absolutely no way of contacting him.  He left his mobile phone inside his room, for goodness' sake.

He's been a bit indifferent for a couple of days now - to everyone in the house - but we've ignored the silence.  Who knows?  Maybe he's just going through a rough patch at the office or maybe he has some sensitive matter bothering him.  We didn't even bother asking him about it 'cause we know he wouldn't tell us anyway.

Janette's already worried.  She was contemplating calling the police last night and filing a missing person report.  She trashed the idea hoping her worries were all fruit of quasi-sisterly paranoia.  I don't know.  Maybe they are; maybe they're not.  I do hope he turns up today.  He wasn't even bringing a bag when he left last night.  Where could that dark dude be?

Anyway, I should end this entry here.  Milk, water, sleep.

And note to self and readers:  chocolate is so not good for people who intend to get sleep.

Get Up > Piss > Turn On PC > Facebook

 I've kind of gotten used to this habit.  When I wake, the first thing I do is piss (and, of course whatever else is necessary in the John).  Then, I head back to my room, turn on my computer, and then log-in to Facebook.

I don't know.  It's been like this for over two years now - sice Friendster got decommissioned from our hearts, so to speak.  My homepage used to be Friendster back in the days and my Firefox tabs would be a line-up of Friendster this and Friendster that.  I think it was the whole idea of being able to customize it that gave it that much kick over MySpace in The Philippines.

But then, of course, it was annoying.  Bottomline:  Friendster was fucking annoying - especially when you'd open someone's profile and then some loud-ass incubus music would play and then you'd be panicking to find the pause button.  That was what I hated.

Now that Facebook's here:  I'm free from all that - and then there's the chat part we all take advantage of.  Plus, status updates and applications.  Everything's easier.

But the thing is:  the Facebook cyberworld is slowly starting to replace a lot of things.  For example, talking to my cousin about charity grants for our NGO has been relegated to Facebook messaging instead of emails; party invitations have more often than not been turned into a Facebook thing.  What's next?

I'm not saying it's wrong or that I don't approve of it.  It's just freaking me out a little bit.  Maybe CNN might decide to do live TV broadcasts on Facebook!  Who knows?

Nonetheless, I love Facebook!  Who doesn't?  I just feel worried about myself Facebooking as early as 5 in the morning.  It's addictive, yah know!

And, oh, check out this video by HappySlip about Facebook.  It's called Facebook Fever.  It's fucking hilarious!  You'll love it!

Old Entry #1: Hypocrisy and Sunday Masses

 As I've mentioned in my first entry, I will be posting old blogs from time to time while waiting for October 1st.  Well, perhaps even after October 1st as bright ideas pop into my head.

Here's the first of the series of old posts.

Originally posted on Aug 11, '07 1:42 PM on Multiply.com.


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I live in the Philippines.  And in the Philippines, the most predominant faith tradition is Roman Catholicism.  On that note, most people go to church to hear mass every Sunday.  Most entire families wake up at the ungodly hour of four in the morning to take a shiver-causing, downright freezing shower just to be able to catch the mass at six a.m.  This has been everyone’s Sunday routine since who knows when

For the past 16 years, I have lived in observation of such monotony.  At a point in my life, I was even blessed with the privilege of having to participate in it.

I was born Roman Catholic.  Both my parents used to be so on account that both their parents are.  However, my parents are not typical shallow “stick-to-the-tradition” people.  They have always been into the study of different religions in the guise of understanding diversity and uniqueness, so they learned to accept different views on God as a supreme being.  Even then, since long before I was born, they have never really been regular church goers.  They have always been among the kind of people who would rather spend Sundays meditating or oversleeping rather than forcing themselves to attend some profoundly over fanaticized act of worship and hearing a bland palaver from some chronologically advanced hypocrite in an expensive bleached robe.  The funny thing was that I actually thought negatively of such cultural divergence.  I was enrolled in a Catholic kindergarten school run by nuns and every Monday, they would ask us to raise our hands had we attended the mass the day before.  I was very honest then so I kept my hand down.  And each time, they would spot the absence of any of my hands in the air and brand me with grown-up terms I really did not understand then—words such as slothful, indolent, apathetic, etc.  But I never really bothered asking my parents what they meant.  Eventually, because of my having-no-hands-in-the-air’s incessant recurrence, they branded me “lazy boy”.  And I really did not like that so I urged my parents to attend mass on Sundays.  That was not impossible for them to do, though.  We did go a couple of times or so, but we eventually regressed to what we were used to doing.  And at such an early age, they knew I would not have understood if they had explained it to me the way they viewed it so, for my sake, they devised a simple solution.  They would have the maid take me to a church or a chapel for as long as I wanted and have me taken back home upon my whim.  That way, I would be able to proudly raise my hand on the day that followed.

Such routine was eventually halted when I entered grade school.  Life went about until I grew to learn the dire truth about people’s obsessive fixation with attending masses on Sundays.  Yes, I have now understood why.  My grasp of this discernment did not take a single word from my parents.  It just slowly dawned to me that there are several reasons why people seem so self-willed to attend masses every Sunday, and the most ubiquitous reason is depressing.  Alas, it is not faith that drives people to the churches and the chapels every Sunday; it is fear.  True, people do go because they want spiritual enlightenment but they do it not because they really want to.  It comes as no surprise since instillation of fear has been the tradition since childhood.  No less than twice a dozen times have I heard a mother scaring her children that Jesus would get mad if they misbehaved in church.  And that is just plain revolting.  Such mentality has been carried into adulthood.  People do the things they do because they dread the consequences they might be faced with if they fail to do so.  Roman Catholic doctrine teaches that not to honor the holy Sabbath day is a mortal sin.  And for most Roman Catholics, attending mass is the only way of honoring it, and that is the very thing that saddens me.  As a result of this prevailing fear, people fool themselves to thinking that the lies they tell themselves and others are true.  Many times have I borne witness to people who seemingly keep a façade showing how inspired they are of they priest’s sermon but then, afterwards, they completely regress to the way they were as if nothing had happened.  Once, I sat beside a woman who repeatedly nodded her head as the priest spoke about understanding children.  But then, when the sermon concluded, she pinched her son’s ear for hugging her inside the church.  That left me wondering, “Where did all the priest’s words go and what was all that nodding for?”

When I was living with my dad, each Sunday I would wake up to the earsplitting sound of our neighbor’s baby girl’s screeches while suffering the remorselessly low temperature of the ice cold water she was being bathed with right after having been taken out of her bed inside an air-conditioned room.  And then I would hear the high-pitched yells of a woman, who was obviously the mother figure if not the mother, pressuring everyone to hurry up and threatening the children that they would otherwise be left behind.  Come noon, the same family would return to their house in a mood no different from the way they were before they had left.  Sometimes, the children would even come home quarrelling and I would hear a door being slammed and a scream from one of the female children.  That made me ponder, “Is that really what mass does to people? I would have better chances at entering their heaven not attending their masses if that is all it does to me.”  It is all just plain and utter hypocrisy—nothing more.  Well, there are people who do heed the words they hear but they can only be counted with fingers out of all the people inside one colossal cathedral.

In my outlook, to be a good person, one does not really need to go to church and listen to some rehearsed speech.  One simply has to act upon the will of his positive conscience.  We must always remember that there is no magical phenomenon whatsoever that transpires when a priest gets ordained.  He is still a human being who commits the same mistakes we do—some even worse.  The only differences are that he is no longer allowed to walk down the aisle as the groom; he gets people to willingly work for him without him having to pay for it; he could eat at practically anyone’s home and be served the best of everything; he does not have to queue for anything; he is treated better by common society and looked up to by common people; and people now believe he is someone holy.  It is rather amusing, is it not?  No question, priests do give good advice.  The ability to speak positively spontaneously is one of the prerequisites to their ordainment.  But it is an entirely different story when we speak of priests who actually practice the things they preach.  Their number runs along the same number of people who actually heed their advice—poignant to say.  Well, there is no reason why we should not heed good pieces of advice if we hear them.  If we find that an idea is useful for us, then let us apply it.  But let us not let the church, or any institution for that matter, dictate our beliefs.  There are a lot of better things we could do with our time on Sundays.  But then again, if you do want to attend mass then, by all means, go!  Just make sure you go by your own unfeigned will.  Do not go because you feel obliged or because you fret something bad might come out of not going.  Always remember that anything done out of fear will amount to nothing good.

Try to ask yourself why you hear mass in the first place.  Let us all be real.  Let us all stop fibbing and bamboozling ourselves!  Do you not think it is about time?

I've Just Started

I've been meaning to do this for a while now but I just got the chance (courage) to do this today.  Not that there haven't been hours-of-nothing-to-do in the past, it just occurred to me to create an account with blogger a couple of minutes ago so I did.

And now, here I am!

I got the idea of a-blog-a-day from my friend Adrienne which she got from watching the movie Julie & Julia (starring my favorite actress of all time, Meryl Streep).  I've seen the film already - even way before she mentioned it to me - but I didn't derive any idea of blogging out of it.  It just encouraged me to keep cooking.  Julia Child is one of my culinary role models.  She's second to Jamie Oliver on my list.  Yes, she comes in second and before you start ranting about how you think she's way better, remember that this is my blog and it's the things I say that matter.  She may, indeed, be better but Jamie's still my #1.

I already have a blog, actually.  In fact, I've been blogging for quite some time now.  However, my entries are quite seldom.  I only post entries when I feel like it.  I didn't turn it into a habit like Adrienne did.  I want to create something different here.  I want to make this a daily habit.  With that said, though, I'm not going to start today.  I'm going to start on the first day of my birth month, October.  It's not a good idea to start in the middle of the month since it would have less symbolic meaning compared to something that begins on a "1st".  Don't you agree?

So, what I'm going to do here while waiting for October 1st is introduce you to a series of old posts from my old blog.  It will be like getting to know me.  Be forewarned that these posts I'm talking about are quite lengthy and aren't really topics one would readily be interested in.  I'm posting them anyway.

Enjoy!