Utter Failure

Because I tend not to mimic other people’s expressions, I rarely say anything that people in the internet say a lot. Today, however, is an exception because it’s the first time I have said ‘fail’ out loud. I also hope it’s the last time. 

This all happened less than an hour ago. I was famished, and so I scrounged at the kitchen counter and found a bunch of noodles. I took a pot, lit up the stove, boiled water, threw some noodles in, and added cooking oil, soy sauce, chili and salt – not the most exciting ingredients, but past experiences told me such recipe wasn’t so bad. I then let the noodle simmer for 3 minutes until it had become soft and edible, and as its aroma started to fill all over the kitchen my stomach clamored for instant gratification. So I turned off the stove and took the pot by the handle, but for whatever reason, the handle decided to be a pivot and as a result it turned the remaining part of the pot upside down. All the noodles plus the soup spilled all over the stove. I took a longer time cleaning up the sprawled messes than I took cooking them.

Needless to say, I didn’t eat those noodles. So much for my midnight snack! 

You Gave Me the Mood Indigo

There’s this bit about Truman Capote that never ceases to amaze me. According to him, he can remember 94% of his conversations with anyone. And while I can only wish to share his genius, his superb writing skills, and his ability to document about killers in non-judgmental way (see: In Cold Blood), today I can gloat about being able to remember more than 94 percent of the conversations I had. 

Because it was you who I was talking to. 

Despite having said too often how much I don’t like being reminded of you, the rest of me are more fond of you than my words would admit. They like you so much, that I need not see you to know you’re already here. I can sense you from the way you speak, that unmistakable Ilonggo-accented Filipino words being muttered like the way a saxophone could play any notes beautifully. My brain suspends thinking about all mundane things they pass off as logic when you’re present. Every time you giggle the sound of it reverberates inside my ears for hours as if I need to let marinate every nuances of it. You look like a splotch of colors in the middle of an unused canvas that begs to be painted. 

So you did not come wearing that white clothes after all. So it was red. So you made it apparent that the color of my cheeks was trying to compete with that red polo shirt you’re wearing every time you say something too cute. Did you notice, the moment you held my elbow, that I was incapable of talking, incapable of thinking straight besides wishing that this moment lasted longer? Did you count how many times I said something very random and how I would get embarrassed after that? Did you realize how frustrated I was that I only have to remember 5 minutes of the span of time we talked because that was how long it lasted, because the world had set to expedite this meeting? Why did you have to leave so soon? 

But you said you might come back tomorrow. I can tell you this much: I was at the edge of my seat this entire day, probably anxious, probably too fearful, probably could not feel the ground no matter how hard I stepped. Yet if pressed to say whether or not I want you to come back tomorrow, I’m sure you know how I feel. I’m sure you know that remembering the things we talked about in five minutes is less than satisfying to me. I’m sure you know how much I cursed the taxi for arriving too soon. I’m sure you know I’d like to spend more time with you, if only to test how long I can sustain remembering 94% of what you say. Maybe if our conversation went for hours, I’d still prove to be better than Capote in that regard, but I’d still not be satisfied. 

Isn’t that right, woman?

Heart of Mine, Be Still

Remember (Hank Mobley)

Woman, you ought to know how annoyed I was when I heard that you’re coming here at an unspecified time tomorrow. I was neck deep into finishing the job assigned to me, you see, when that announcement was made and it disrupted all my train of thoughts. I spent the rest of the day fumbling about, not convinced that I wasn’t having a nervous breakdown, although somehow I made it home without being carried by stretchers.

But let’s talk about you. I resent that despite my insistence to not think much of you anymore so I can let go of bitter memories, you are some of the things that have clung to my recent musings like barnacles to barge. What irritate me more about you are why I become so invigorated whenever I wonder about you, why I keep thinking with certain fondness of all the possibilities of the day when you’ll come comes, and why I keep recalling the way you promenade gracefully and the way your smile makes me delirious like I wouldn’t believe. We’re not close. We haven’t spoken for months, and days of your absence haven’t exactly been reassuring to me that you think much of me as I do you. So what’s going on, then? Why the uncertainty, mixed with resentment, then hopefulness and anticipation?

I have a request for you, woman. Don’t try to act cute by wearing that diaphanous white clothing that I saw you wearing a year ago. I try to avoid talking to people about what my muse looks like, after all.

Banality

I don’t know what’s happening to me. Last week I could still be awake at 2 AM without feeling a hint of drowse. But since three days ago, I’ve been sleeping early. Like, from 9 PM all the way to 6 AM. Having a day of long, uninterrupted sleep is fine with me. I’ll even concede that uninterrupted sleeps make me recharge. But with three straight days of that, I get irritated. I feel like I should, instead, spend two more hours doing more productive things, like, I dunno, surfing the net! Or playing videogames!

I don’t have the data, but I’m think most people of my generation dislike sleeping early. At least I can attest such claim whenever I look at my brother, who often retires later than 12. He usually draws, makes 3d arts or reads books until then. Maybe it’s not good for his health, and maybe he should stop drinking too many caffeinated drinks to keep him awake, but at least he does finish a lot of stuff. The only thing I have accomplished since 3 days ago is outline a report, which I really should make more elaborate. To make things worse, I’ve been waking up not on very high spirits since this week. It’s like waking up in the morning and dreading the predictability of life, and preferring the inanity and the lawlessness of dreams. I feel that way because of not having anything to look forward to.

So, few days after Holy Week vacation, I’m bored again. It’s not good to have nothing to look forward to during summer, because at least back when I was a student, summer was always the time for celebration, for relaxation, for going to beaches or for going to foreign lands. I’m two years out of school now and this is my third summer as someone who works, but it’s only this year when my summer has become so dull. There’s not a word of having a company outing. I won’t to see the girl I met in Bora last year. My sister’s not coming back from US (but since when has she come back since she left, 7 years ago?). I’m out of touch with some of my closer friends. I’ve been overspending on cheap thrills and not receiving any satisfaction. I’m having a reader’s block (err, it’s like writer’s block, except it’s more of losing the capability and the desire to read). The further "urbanizations" of my immediate surroundings have become blase.

I’m only 24, but fate seems determined to claw away all my youthful energies. I miss my passionate self! I miss waking up everyday with the "I’m ready to take the world by storm" swagger. Cliche and obnoxious all these successful people’s pep talks may be, there’s something about their optimism that I admire, that I do not have and that I feel envious about. I don’t feel that being passive while maintaining these bleak outlooks will do my sanity any good. I need a stimulant. I need activity, and not one that’s overfamiliar.

And you just read a blog post that goes nowhere. Durrr. If you feel that I may be an interesting person, now’s the perfect opportunity to start a conversation with me.

Acerbic Wits Extraordinaire, At It Again!

She shall, proceed, and continue, to sock the mind: http://www.manilastandardtoday.com/?page=goodLife2_mar10_2008

 

The problem with blogging….

By Malu Fernandez

Just this morning I got a text telling me to check out some blog with juicy gossip about the so called “Gucci Gang” curiously enough I logged on and read all the gossip and juicy details. Whether or not the stories were true I didn’t really care to find out nor do I care to be involved. It makes no difference in my life who did what to whom it was just a leisure gossip read and I was just one of the many people who read the blog but halfway through I became quite disturbed as it made me reminiscent of the numerous blogs I was once the hot topic of.

Before I go any further I must stress the point that this is not about my previous issue, but simply the point of view of someone who has been a victim of vicious blogging and blogging as a new communication medium. To those of you who are mass/volume or dense (that’s the physics formula for density to those who are clueless) again, I repeat this is not a reaction toward my past actions.

So let me continue, first of all I believe in the freedom of speech. By all means say what you need to say. Unfortunately for most of the bloggers without advertising you get paid nothing. If in fact you do get paid then hooray for you. But blogging, aside from Perez Hilton and the other big time bloggers (you know who you are) is for me a slacker job or a medium and pastime for lonely people to connect. Unless you’re in bloody Siberia or in a Gulag prison, try stepping outside your comfort zone and turn off the laptop or pc, you just might find some real live people to talk to instead of typing away in cyber space.

On the flipside blogging can be a good source of information and a great way to exchange ideas. This I strongly encourage whether it is about politics, fashion, food or whatever topic you may choose. Friendly and healthy discussions are always great.

The difference between a journalist and a blogger is that journalists have to adhere to certain guidelines that govern the freedom of speech. And whatever a journalist chooses to write about—be it popular or unpopular—we do not hide behind an anonymous name and are resigned to the fact that we have to take as much as we dish out. However, I simply detest people who place vicious comments and slanderous statements in blogs yet sign their messages as ‘anonymous.’ If you have something to say, don’t hide behind a false name. It’s just plain cowardice of you to do so. I have more of a deep sense of respect for those—however unpopular or vicious their statements are—who post their views with their real names and make no bones about it. At least they stand for something; I would rather take it from them than the cowards that hide behind false names.

Perhaps it is the Filipino culture to foster backstabbing because they never mean what they say face to face. Just how many times have you dealt with co-workers who will smile in your face when you ask them to perform a task or engage in just plain conversation, when in fact they are quite uncomfortable with the situation and are forced to do what they absolutely detest with a smiling face. I guess it’s the kind of culture brought about by 300 years of Spanish colonization. To one particular blogger of Spanish descent but with an Indio face, don’t act like a peninsulares and quote Spanish words from the generation of your abuelita… jeez and they call me elitist. The Spanish rule is over, get over yourself and your Español relatives who used to have power… but I digress (oops, my bad…) Let’s move forward.

It’s just like all this hullabaloo about ousting GMA. You deposed ERAP in Edsa Dos. Now you’re unhappy with his replacement. Make up your minds. (For the record I’m not pro anybody I’m pro whatever lesser evil is out there). You can’t overthrow one president then decide you made a mistake with your second choice. I’s not like buying a green Hermes bag and suddenly deciding, oops I should have gotten the black one instead. Unfortunately that’s the kind of nation we have become, a bunch of wishy-washy whiners who whine about everything under the sun and found the blog sphere to be the new medium for whining. Yes we do what we have to do as a nation to get things done and stop corruption and evil (I’m all for that) but we never seem to be happy with what we have, hence the complaining and whining. It just never stops.

I suppose I started some kind of trend by eliciting nasty comments and reactions via blog because of my indiscretion. But it seems to be a comfortable medium for people to vent their anger on just about everything they disagree with. I have been called an irresponsible journalist so what does that make you? It is easy to hide under the guise of anonymity you can say just about anything you want because you have no repercussions to deal with. It’s easy to hide behind a false moniker isn’t it?

Just a thought to ponder on… Maybe I should start an anonymous blog and really let go… but then again I don’t want to be responsible for World War Three and I would sleep much better being brutally honest in your face than hide behind an anonymous name. Wouldn’t it be hilarious if I started a blog just to shake things up and got a ton of money in advertising? If I do decide to do that I thank you all in advance for inspiring me… I’m always a glass half full kinda girl anyway…

Good Heavens.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is written by a journalist of The Manila Standard. Now not only do we have politicians, but also life-column journalists decreasing our standards.

As someone who has a sizable distaste of some blogging trend, I feel NO SYMPATHY to Malu Fernandez. She brags about being such a fascinating journalist, yet she sure doesn’t know the first thing about writing. The grammatical felonies she committed in that article were so shocking, it’s almost postmodern!

She ridiculously claims that us, Filipinos, are a culture of whiners. And what was she doing exactly? Not whining? Hypocrisy much? Maybe in that bubble where she lives in she actually isn’t a citizen of our country. And wow guess who’s the blogger she looks up to. Perez-freaking-Hilton! Why am I not surprised.

And by the way, that mass/volume metaphor is BRILLIANT! RAW GENIUS! So HILAR-ASS it is, that it demands explanation in case we the inferior being living outside her bubble DIDANT GIT IT!

Just to prove that I’ve got better editing skills than those unremarkable trolls from Manila Standard, I scrutinized Malu’s article and wrote some comments so she could change her draft. Click more to see how it would look like.

(more…)

PWN GLORIA LOLLERZ

I’m not the type of person who does what everyone else does (go ask anyone who’s been with me in real life), but today’s an exception.

It’s Jen’s idea to blogswarm (what the heck, another bloggy pseudo-word?! How many of them will they make? They all sound silly, for sure!). She proposes that bloggers who are opposed to Gloria should post their choice "OUST GLORIA" pic on their own blog, just to be heard (The pen is mightier than the sword, jen quotes Rizal. But jen, we’re using teh keyboardz! Is ASLKJ$&(*#UWE&%@(#!LOLLER@#%^^57soaaw23AA$#BBQ!!(ONE)! mighty? And does Wacom’s stylus count?). We’re supposed to do that on Friday, but I don’t think I’ll blog that day, so, I’m posting that pic prematurely.

Anyway, I’m sure these bloggers will go to images.google.com (or maybe gettyimages) to scrounge for their "unique" Gloria pics.

Kind of lame, if you ask me.

LEARN FROM THE GURU!

Yikes (UPDATED)

You're about to read about my first disaster since I turned 24.

The person owning the YM handle don_django is Don Riosa, who is my best friend from since when I was in elementary. A while ago, he messaged a request that I buy him 13 P300 loads, and he would pay me through my bank account.

At first, I refused and asked a lot of questions, like why he couldn't just buy them himself. He said he's living with his aunt and there isn't any Globe shacks nearby. I thought he sounded earnest, so I was convinced that he really needed my help, despite my minor reservations about why he would need that much cards in a day. I even gave him my bank account number so that he could pay.

So I went to the bank and withdrew fat wads of cash, headed off to the nearest prepaid card dealer (which wasn't very hard to find) and bought 13 P300 cards. I then went back to don_django and started giving him the cards' codes.

At the very moment when I was about to scratch off the 7th card's protective ink, my mobile phone beeped, and I received this SMS (I'll edit it to non-text speak):

"Jou, it's Don! Add my new YM dpr_busta. Disregard my old ID don_django! A lousy bastard is using my [bleeping] ym! [Bleeping] ina niya."

I looked at the sender, and it was indeed Don Riosa. And just then, I stared stupidly at the phone while I get this sick feeling inside my gut. I even called Don Riosa to confirm that it was indeed him who sent the SMS. He was shocked. Well, Don, you're not alone.

My god, I've been swindled! Apparently someone has hacked into my best friend's email account and were sending strange requests not only to me, but also to my best friend's other associates. One even agreed to meet "Don" somewhere, and boy do I hope that nothing bad should come out of this.

I know there might be some smug ass readers who will lecture me on all the should-have-beens but there's just no way, absolutely NO RETARDED way, that you'd have acted differently. Why? Because it's best friends we're talking about here, and then came a jackass who took advantage of their trusts toward each other.

It's a good thing Don actually sent me an SMS, because it only validated that the real him is still a trustworthy person.

I'm very pissed, so I may be losing a lot of logical reasoning at the moment. See, I couldn't even write this blog properly, and right now I feel like my eyesights are fading. I think I need to lie down. Anyway, I'll just say that you should be wary of hackers. If someone sends you an instant message asking for some favor, find a way to confirm that the sender is the real owner of that chat account. 

And if you're Don's friends, please delete don_django from your YM because don_django is someone you used to know.

So now I've got that warning out of the way, can someone tell me what the possible risks are if someone knows my bank account number?

UPDATE:

I just regained consciousness, and then I ate. It's funny how sleep and spinach have a weird pacifying effect on me. No, there's no way of reclaiming the cash, but I think I'm okay now.

It's funny that with the rise (and I'm hoping now is no longer the stage of it) of all the emo's popularity, it's been really vogue to paste angel wings behind everything. You know, these days anything with angel wings attached is "the shiznit". So let me tell you this: once you have those angel wings attached on your money, suddenly they're not so cool anymore. 

I received commiserations from my kindest friends (thank you very much), and I retrospected. Maybe I've been too naive, but how the hacker behaved seemed so natural. Honestly, Don's almost my exact opposite. I'm a little antisocial while he's the poster boy for "party animal", so the possibility that he'd need this much load made sense to me.

What I should have done is ask 3 questions with answers only Don and I know, like when it is we became best friends, who his favorite basketball player is, and who my most hated elementary teacher is. But whatever, there's no reversing time. Sometimes life has a funny way of teaching its lessons by bitch-slapping you.

For future references, I'll say some helpful information about me. I am someone who rarely finds himself ever needing financial help of people outside of my family. Actually, I don't like how it feels to have debts, and if I borrowed money from you (a deed I loathe) I always make it a point to pay back as soon as possible. So what's my point? I'm saying that if in yahoo messenger you have received a message from my ym handle saying it needs financial assistance, you should be very suspicious. First, you should try to contact me by other means. And if that's not possible, ask my ym handle my personal information related questions, like what my zodiac sign is and what my abstinences are.

During tough times like this I find it helpful thinking about a completely unrelated optimistic thing, like the Shanghai trip I'll be having this Christmas. It's been helpful, and I'm better now because that's where I focus my thoughts. So, yes, I should be more alert, but there's no point of being angry for too long.

That said, if anyone finds out who the hacker of the don_django account is, please send him/her my coldest regards.