Monday, December 31, 2012

I suppose this is the right time



...to write a year-end post and to do some kind of recollection. However, I am very sleepy now and I feel like I'm going to get sick.

Will be going up the roof to watch the fireworks later, though. I wish I had someone to watch them with. Maybe in 2014. This coming year, I intend to find love again. That's right. I don't think I'd ever give up on that, you know. Hahaha.

Anyway, happy new year, everyone. Here's hoping 2013 would be kinder to all!

Sunday, December 30, 2012

I still find myself hoping for it sometimes

He sits in front of the TV playing Call of Duty: Modern Warfare on the Xbox 360. An hour and a half later, he saves his game, turns the console off, and gets his ass off the floor. Outside, rain falls in tiny drops, making a tip-tip-tip sound on the roof. He takes his iPod out of his backpack and plants it on its dock. With a press of a button, music blares from the speakers. Music so familiar you begin to hum along as you watch him plod off to the kitchen. You roll out of bed to follow him out of the room, Jack Johnson expertly plucking the strings of his guitar in the background. It's Banana Pancakes—your so-called perfect rainy day song.

He is in the kitchen making breakfast. Your eyes search for the dusty clock hanging on the off-white walls. It's 3:50 in the afternoon. Yawning, you open the fridge and take out a carton of low-fat milk and a previously opened bag of Honey Bunches of Oats with Almonds. There is bread in the toaster, bacon in the fryer, coffee in the maker. It's a perfect morning, except it isn't really.

He takes a seat right across you and glances at your bowl of cereal. You scowl at him and he grins. You try not to smile, so you end up snorting. He laughs.

Post-breakfast you wash your bowl and let him do the rest. You march back to the room and lie on the bed. Jack Johnson's been replaced by The Kooks. Sway is playing. You sing along. Five minutes later, he comes into the room, grabs the iPod to turn the volume down, and switches the TV on—Animal Planet. He plants himself beside you and the two of you watch a bunch of mating baboons as if a game of basketball were on. His eyes are fixed on the screen, yours on him. Your mind flashes forward to tonight.

Tonight you are going on a quest together to hunt wyverns for rares. The thought excites you. So does suddenly remembering that it's his turn to cook. Dinner's gonna be good for sure.

You rest your head on his shoulder and take his hand in yours. The rain's still going tip-tip-tip and your ears catch Ben Folds' The Luckiest . You close your eyes and slowly fall back into a shallow river of sleep. It's supposed to be cold but you feel snug. There is warmth all around.

Warmth all around.

Warmth all around.

I Fucking Hate You

I wish you weren't so perfect.

I wish you didn't seem so right for me and that you didn't have everything on my goddamn checklist of what a wonderful guy should be like. I wish you didn't make me laugh with your silly antics. I wish I never knew what your voice sounded like, or that you liked to draw, or that you also happen to be into a lot of the shit I listen to.

I wish you weren't so fucking awesome. Because your awesomeness only makes me wish the universe made copies of you and hope I could have one of your clones to myself. Although, to be frank, I would much rather have you.

Oh boy. I fucking hate you.

You make me miserable without meaning to, without knowing you do. You make me wish I were special (as if I don't wish for it enough). You make me want to read novels and write a few myself, only to be reminded that you write even better than I do, so I scrap the idea for someone who will happen after you. Someone less bright, probably. Who won't notice the lapses in my grammar or comment on the mediocrity of my style.

You are just an episode. A really bad episode of an even worse sitcom airing on my mental TV. You are a one star record blaring in my ears, a B movie playing in my subconscious' cinema.

I fucking hate you. I fucking hate you.

I really really really wish I hated you.

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

Nothing is Lost


At the end of the day, the one who gives more is the one who wins on this bloodless battlefield.

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Getting Better

Slowly becoming comfortable with being alone again. I still long for company from time to time, of course, but being by myself's fine. I think things will get even better once I get paid. Haha. I'm getting through this sober.

Apparently, I've been certified already. So this week I started doing real work. And it's fucking tough. On my first day I was only able to do ten evaluations when my goal is twenty four. Goddammit. Today though, I managed to finish twelve and then do twenty sort-of-evaluations to meet my daily goal. The system slows me down. The program we're using is as slow as fuck, operating as if the workstation was running on Windows 98.

Anyway, I spent Sunday afternoon with some of my college friends and we had a shoot on my roof. That's right. The roof is mine. Here be samples from said shoot.







Well? What do you think? I'm quite happy with the outcome. Not satisfied, but happy. I don't think I'll ever be satisfied with my work. Which isn't at all a bad thing. Dissatisfaction should lead to a desire to do better, if dealt with properly. I want to be the kind of person who takes a single shot and it turns out awesome. I should really try using a film camera. Should help me learn to make every shot count.

Sure, maybe I'm far from talented. But I'd like to think I can take photographs that people might find beautiful. Yay motivation!

Here's a picture of me and my friend Natz, who's also a hobbyist. :)


Sunday, December 23, 2012

End of the World

Obviously, the world didn't end. But something in my world did. I'm not going to talk about it in detail. All I'm going to say is it's over, I'm doing all right, I'll recover. And that it hurt. Like the end of the world. Haha.

Training period is almost over. I'll be working once I get certified. I have a lot of spare time in my hands, some of which I intend to use to hone my skills in photography. Skills. I talk like I have them. But whatever. Doing something creative should alleviate, umm, the pain. IDK. Yesterday afternoon I had a shoot with a friend. Totally fucked up some shots though. I really am rusty and it makes me sad.






Still, I'm happy to be in Manila again. Once I get paid I should go somewhere and take random photos. Hopefully that should help me improve. Maybe I should also start writing again. Remind myself I only have this life to live, so I should make the most out of it. Whatever that means.

Got another shoot with friends later. I really like having friends around. Not that I'm bothered by solitude. I quite like being alone. It's just that, after what happened on the eve of the supposed apocalypse, I couldn't help thinking about him. And I don't like it because it depresses the hell out of me. I'll get by with a little help from my friends.

I want to make new friends, to meet new people. But as always, I don't know how to go about doing it. Sometimes I wish I were more extroverted. And more coherent. Bah.

Friday, December 21, 2012

Broken


I need a mechanic. I have a heart that needs fixing.

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Saturday, December 1, 2012

A sort of review: Durarara!!



I spent the last couple of weeks watching all sorts of anime, one of which is Durarara!! Categorized as shounen, action, and supernatural, Durarara!! is based on a Japanese light novel series by Narita Ryougo and follows a bunch of characters living in modern day Ikebukuro. I honestly did not know what to expect from this anime, as I didn't read any reviews, although I may have checked out the plot summary, just to see whether or not it would interest me. And it did, so I watched it.

As I've mentioned above, the story follows several people in Ikebukuro: a dullahan named Celty Sturluson, high school students Mikado Ryuugamine, Kida Masaomi, and Sonohara Anri, a shady information dealer named Orihara Izaya, his arch nemesis with superhuman strength, Heiwajima Shizuo, and Kishitani Shinra, an underground doctor who lives with Celty. Alongside these are a number of supporting characters including various members of Ikebukuro gangs Dollars and Yellow Scarves, students who go to the same school as Mikado, Kida, and Anri, Shizuo's brother, a woman who is in love with his brother... It's an insane cast of characters, really. Quite entertaining, though. 

I haven't watched anime in a long time. I think the last one was Ao no Exorcist, which I saw last year. I watched episodes of Slam Dunk from time to time, but that was all. A couple of weeks ago, though, convinced that I need as many distractions as possible, I started searching for new anime to watch, starting with a shoujo anime called Kamisama Hajimemashita and another one titled Tonari no Kaibutsu-kun. Both are really good, but are still ongoing, which means I can only watch one episode a week, so I decided to download completed anime.

One of the things I find most important in an anime, aside from the story, is, of course, the art. I love bishounen so much that I can stand watching a boring anime so long as there's plenty of eye candy in it. Anyway, there aren't any bishounen in Durarara!! and the art isn't really that pretty either. It's more on the simple side, if you get what I mean. It ain't fancy, but it's not bad either. It's okay. But the story more than makes up for that. It's so good that I went "Ooooooh." after almost every episode and couldn't help moving on to the next. I didn't watch it in one sitting though.

I'd like to think of Durarara!! as one of those stories where the characters are the plot. It's not too heavy on plot, and focuses more on the lives of the characters, how they act upon the things that happen to them and to the people around them, as well as the consequences of these actions. What I find most appealing about it though is how these characters turn out to be connected to one another, how these connections gradually unfold as the story progresses, and how complex the characters are in terms of their feelings and motivations. I am drawn to their humanity, to their darkness, even (I guess a part of me will always be attracted to certain dark things, although, to be honest, I find most frightening). The possibility of real people having such dark tendencies strikes fear into me. For some reason, though, it wasn't very disturbing. Probably because there's some humor in it too.

The dynamics of certain character relationships also sparked my interest, particularly that of Shizuo and Izaya (okay fine, this is just my fujoshi side talking). I seriously cannot help myself from imagining those two having violent, angry sex (just to be clear, this isn't a fetish of mine or anything; I'm a complete fluffball). Ships aside, I like how relationships are explored in the anime and how the characters developed overtime. This didn't apply to every character, of course, there's too many of them, after all, and even some of the main characters didn't undergo any real changes. Still, I find them human enough to relate to. Am I making sense?

I'm trying not to talk about anything specific to avoid spoilers, but in turn this review is becoming rather useless. Haha. Ultimately, Durarara!!, for me, is all about how complex human emotions and relationships can be and how they are the driving force behind our actions. I also like how the lives of these characters are connected, and at some point, intertwined in ways I didn't really imagine. And maybe that's one of its major appeals: it wasn't predictable. I consider Durarara!! one of the best anime I've ever seen and am therefore giving it a rating or four stars out of five.

Yes, just four. I'm stingy with my stars, so shut up.

Friday, November 30, 2012

Realizations

Yesterday, one of my students said something which I think is very important. While on the subject of romantic relationships, he said, "I can't even make myself happy, so how am I supposed to do it for someone else?"

A week prior to that conversation, I also had a similar realization: How can I help another person when I can't even help myself?

You cannot give what you do not have.

This post is premature



I say premature because it's only November and yet this is something like a recollection of the latter half of the year.

I don't want to talk about this but I guess I should just give in and do it. I have no one to talk to anyway. I temporarily deactivated my accounts on Facebook and Twitter because I figured I should stop pestering other people about my problems.

I'm not depressed, but a deep-seated sadness is swelling inside me. I'm looking for something but I don't know what it is. It's probably happiness, which I thought was something I myself could fabricate, or something I could control with my mind. But I don't really know anymore. A few months ago, almost everything was going smoothly. I had the job I wanted. I was with someone I loved. I was surrounded with friends and family. I was genuinely happy.

But I messed up. I don't know if I was at fault or if it was something I had no immediate control over. In any case, things got fucked up. I quit my job, left the school, and then problems in my relationship started to surface. There were also things at home that added to the stress that was already piling up. At some point, I found myself thinking almost every day how nice it would be if things were to just fucking end. Quickly. Painlessly. It would be nice to just disappear, is what I thought.

This, of course, wasn't new. I have had thoughts like that before. But that was all they ever were--thoughts.

I didn't want this blog to be another dump site for my problems or my feelings. But there's really nowhere else I could talk about these things. At least this blog isn't known to many. I don't think anyone really visits it, to be honest, so this is pretty much like writing in a diary.

I'm so sad. I feel like 2012 has been a Ferris wheel ride. Yep, not a roller coaster this time, because the movement was, well, more steady, I guess. Midyear was awesome, and then things started moving downward, downward. And now I'm back where I started. I wanted to hold on to my relationship, at least. But even that is slipping away and I can't do anything to stop it.

It hurts.

I know many people are going through something worse, but that does not, in any way, invalidate my own suffering. And rather than fighting it off, I guess I just have to acknowledge it and embrace it.

Almost every night, since I last talked to him, I've been having dreams of seeing him or talking to him again. And then I wake up and realize it had all been a dream. Then I cry, sometimes with tears to concretize the suffering, but often without. I know the easy way out is to just break up and move on, but something in me says I shouldn't and it's far stronger than the part that tells me to let go. I don't know if this is faith. A baseless one, perhaps. But it's there.

And then there's the job hunt. It's not really going well, although I am currently waiting for something. I hope all goes well this time. I hope to get hired before the year ends so I can start 2013 afresh, preferably by a company in Manila, because as much as I find living in the province comfortable and less stressful, I cannot deny that it bores me. And as much as I love being with my family, I feel the need to be on my own. In fact, even at home, I spend much of my time cooped up in my room, rarely interacting with the rest of my family.

These days, especially, I feel I don't have much energy to do anything, much less deal with people. But I'll be all right. If you find this, whoever you may be, worry not. I will be all right.

Although, if I were to be completely honest with myself, all I am longing for, really, is to be sought and to be found.

Friday, October 26, 2012

A Passing Thought

We want, sometimes even expect, to be loved a certain way, but the people we end up loving won't always love us like we want or expect them to.

What do we do then? Do we leave them and find someone closer to our ideals? Or do we forgo our expectations and simply accept them? The essence of loving, I think, is giving. And accepting someone for who they are and not trying to change them, for me, is a kind of giving.

Fiction: The Wrong Girl

It never bothered him that she could not give him a sweet kiss. Her mouth always reeked of cigarette smoke and her tongue had an almost permanent taste of burnt tobacco. In all honesty, it did bother him a little in the beginning. She was, in every respect, the wrong girl for him. Nights and nights and nights he spent plucking and hitting the strings of his guitars, trying to keep her off the carousel of his mind. But she was one stubborn girl. Instead of dismounting the little white pony she was on, she clung possessively onto the iron bar sticking out of the its plastic body and refused to get off. She gave him a grin so impish he was convinced it was the devil itself that smiled at him. And it could have well been the devil or, probably, one of its subordinates. Like, for instance, an evil witch out of a fairy tale.

There was one thing he was certain of: she was no princess. Not even in her past life. She got off the car before him all the time, never giving him any chance to open her door. Once she came home late and half-drunk. “I’m back,” she said, kissing him lightly on the head before casually walking into the bedroom to sleep without showering. He followed her in and sat on the bed, leaning forward to smell her hair, only to frown when he realized that every strand stunk of smoke, beer, and men. She had been drinking again with her male friends—something he had straightforwardly told her not to do in his absence. But she kept doing it nonetheless.

He ran his hand across her bare arm and felt a familiar feeling of warmth circling in his chest. That feeling he hated just as much as her habit of burning sausages for breakfast. Speaking of breakfast, she rarely made him breakfast. In that tiny apartment they shared, he had to learn how to make breakfast for himself. She liked doing the dishes though. That, at least, made her a little useful to have around the house. The laundry she never did herself. Their laundry basket was split in two, their clothes segregated like recyclable rubbish. He sometimes did the washing for her but doing that made her upset. “Leave my clothes alone,” she said. “I’m taking them to the cleaner this afternoon.”

She liked to sing in her early morning shower. And he had become accustomed to waking up to the sound of water spattering down the tiled floor of the bath, drowning some of the lyrics of her songs. He sat in front of the TV and watched the morning news, waiting for her to emerge from behind the bathroom door and give him her signature smile—which was more of a smirk, by the way—before getting ready for work.

Oftentimes, she made him want to tie her up and keep her in their bedroom. To keep her away from her friends. To keep her away from her job. To keep her away from everything that had been taking her from him. She was his, he decided. No matter how hard-headed a girl she was, she was his. She, who made it clear to him that there indeed was a fine line separating love and hate. For he sometimes found himself hating her as strongly as he loved her. At such times he wished she would cry and tell him she was sorry for whatever wrong she had committed, but she never did. Neither did she retort to his threats of abandoning her. What she did was leave him alone to quarrel with himself, with his conscience. So that by the time he was done mulling over the incident, he was already blaming himself for being a selfish prick, when in truth he was anything but.

She knew him well enough, this little devil of a girl.

She was, in every respect, the wrong girl to fall in love with. But love was a trap—a deep dark well he found himself plummeting into one summer day, when the air was still and moist. There was sweat on her brow and dust on the sturdy leather of her shoes. Her mouth reeked of cigarette smoke even then. He knew because he stood so close to her in the train, her chest almost touching his—something that should have bothered a normal girl.

But she was no normal girl.

She was, even at the very beginning, a very strange girl.

And she could have well been a witch. For she had him under a fucking love spell. No matter how many times he tried to walk out of her life, he kept finding himself stepping back into the flat they shared. For the life he was escaping was not just hers alone.

Even that, they shared.

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Missing Photography

Having worked as a college instructor for four months, I haven't had a chance to take photos as much as I used to. When I finally took my camera out of the closet a few months after I started teaching, I found myself fiddling with the buttons--I've forgotten how to use it! I still knew how to turn it on and how to click the shutter, sure, but most of what I knew was buried under teaching methods and literary theories, I had to dig it out.

I miss photographing people. Now that I'm without a job, I guess I can practice again, I just have to find models and schedule fun shoots with them. I did have some chances to take photos last month, though. I asked some of my students if I could take their pictures and they let me. I want to do more fashion shoots though. And boudoir, because the first boudoir shoot I had turned out great, if I do say so myself. Too bad I don't have the raw files in my laptop. I want to post-process them again using a different workflow.

I hope I get to take photos again soon. For now, I'll just post a couple of photos I took last summer.



Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Hello, I'm Alive

As I should be.

I quit my job. Yes, the job I've dreamed of having since graduation. Well, I had it and let go of it, which is totally fine. I've gathered a lot of experience and memories in a short span of time, so I really don't regret anything. I'm going to talk about this in detail in another post. The semester is over, but I remain buried in work--marking exams and final papers, computing grades. It's insane how laborious a teacher's job is. And yet, we get paid a measly sum for all our efforts. Teachers are fucking undervalued.

I haven't written in so long. Work has kept me busy and so has my relationship, although I've only seen my boyfriend once since I last wrote on this blog. This, too, will be saved for another entry.

In September, my short novel, Home, was published. It's in digital format, but a book is a book, so there we go. I'm a published author now, I guess. It's been a month since its release but everything still feels so surreal to me. See, I've always wanted to be published, but never actually believed it would happen. I guess this self-doubt will always shadow me, so let's leave it at that.

So, anyway, I present to you my first book, ladies and gents.

Photo taken by me. Cover designed by Adam David.

I want to talk about Home for a bit, while I'm in the mood.

Home was originally fan fiction. I wrote it when I was nineteen and obsessed with the Japanese band Alice Nine, particularly with the lead guitarist, Hiroto. At first, all I wrote was slash, being a fujoshi and all. And then I saw a few fans writing het, so I decided to give it a try. Home was my first non-slash fanfic. I had a decent number of readers then (on LiveJournal, if you're wondering), and Home got good responses, so I decided to write more. I never finished it though. That's the trouble with me. I'm always so excited to start something, but never quite finish anything. This applies not only to writing, but to other areas of my life as well.

So, there. That was how Home came about. I'm a little embarrassed when I'm reminded of how obsessed I was with Hiroto, but that was what made this book possible!

I always tell people that Home is just a simple story of two people falling in love and all that, but I guess that's its charm? I'm not sure. A few of my friends have bought and read it, so have a couple of my Japanese students in RareJob. One of them, Misako, wrote a review on her blog and posted it, too, on Amazon. I cried when I read what she wrote, because my biggest worry was that I may have inaccurately written about Japan and the Japanese.

That's it, I guess. I don't know how the sales are doing, but I'm not really worried about that. Haha. All that matters is that it was published. I'm a published writer (even if I'm still not comfortable calling myself one. And mind you, this isn't false humility).

I recently started running. Sort of. I have this app on my iPhone called Zombies, Run! which makes running super fun because it lets you imagine you're in a zombie apocalypse! I don't understand my own fascination for the undead. But, really, if you're into zombies as well, you must try this. It's fun and it does what it should. It keeps you running! Or walking, if you're like me. I can't run just yet. I have to alternately walk and run, otherwise I'd faint. Right now, I'm using the Zombies, Run! 5K Training app, hoping that by the time I finish all workouts, I'm all set to run using the main app.

I also started doing the 30 Day Shred. I hope I can finish it this time, since I quit after four or five days the last time. Being out of work gives me time to do all the things I haven't been able to do, like exercising and taking photos and drawing. Hopefully, I could do them all again. Of course, I have to get a job eventually, but, to be completely honest, I have no definite plans as of yet. Que sera, sera.

Sunday, August 12, 2012

How to Find Love

Disclaimer: This isn't exactly a step-by-step guide on finding the love of your life. I'm no expert at relationships or whatever. These are just things I've gathered from my experiences and things I've learned from others.

1. Love yourself. It's clichéd and all, but that doesn't make it any less true. The first step to finding love is to love your unpretty/imperfect/boring/(insert negatively loaded adjective here) self. Love the dark circles around your eyes, the pimple marks, the double chin, the muffin top. Love the scars you got from the bike accident ten years ago. Love that you can't do Calculus and that you flunked high school Physics. Love that you got your heart broken at fourteen because you were too young to love but did so anyway, and loved the wrong person. One who couldn't see past the same exact things that keep you from loving yourself completely. Love your failures, especially if you learned from them. Love your mistakes but try not to repeat them. Love your crooked teeth, love the crow's feet. Love that you're tone deaf, that you can only draw people with circles and sticks. Love everything you wish you could change and change them. Love the things you're stuck with and accept them. As Stephen Chbosky wrote in The Perks of Being a Wallflower, "We accept the love we think we deserve." Until you accept yourself at least 80%, you can't love someone else. You can try, but there's a high chance you'd fail. Trust me.

2. Find someone. It doesn't matter where. Doesn't matter how. You could go out and party if that's your thing. You could hang out at a coffee shop, read The Great Gatsby while sipping on overpriced cafe latte, and wait for someone to notice and approach you. You could play an MMORPG and fall in love with a stranger hiding behind an adorable long-sword wielding 2D knight with green hair and gray eyes. You could read blogs and find someone who shares the same interests, who firmly believes ketchup makes any food taste better, even mushroom soup and chocolate ice cream. You could pick someone from one of your existing circles of friends. Notice how your heart flutters at their nearness all of a sudden and how your stomach flips when they casually put an arm around you, although they've been doing so since freshman year and both of you are now twenty somethings surviving from paycheck to paycheck.

I say find because it encompasses both the experience of discovering by chance and the act of getting something by making an effort. You could choose to do it either way. The method of finding is of little importance because what matters most in this whole finding-someone business is whom you find. You don't have to get it right the first time, but consider yourself very, very lucky if you do. But don't just sit there waiting for your soul mate to magically appear before you (I don't believe in soul mates though). Do something. Choose the more active definition of find.

3. Be realistic. It goes without saying that expectations don't always jibe with reality. The good news is, expectations are under your control. You can't expect the person you find to be perfect, because that's a surefire way to eventually lose interest in them. You can have an ideal, yes. You can write a list of things you want your future lover to be and to have, but you can't expect all the items on your list to be checked off. Some you'd have to rewrite. Some you'd have to drop. Remind yourself that perfect lovers exist only in parallel universes where people fall in love at first sight and get the happy endings they want. In the real world, love is a shapeshifter. On some days, it's as easy as a first grade spelling test. On others, it takes the form of a douchebag slave-driving boss who makes you want to pull off every strand of your hair and jump off the rooftop of your thirty-story office building.

And, no, you can't expect them to love you back, not only because doing so could lead to grave disappointment and unnecessary heartache on your part, but also because love, although ideally a two-way street, isn't always so. There are times when you'd find yourself treading a dimly-lit alleyway by yourself. You will get scared. You will want to turn around and dash back to the main street where you feel safe, along with other people who share the same fear. But you don't find love that way.

Which leads us to my next point.

4. Be brave. If the thought of getting your heart stuffed into a paper-shredder terrifies you, don't love. Okay, I kid. It's okay to be scared. Really. Because, as Nelson Mandela once said, "...courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear." Love like you've never had your heart broken. If you really haven't had it broken before, remember that hearts break all the fucking time, so why shouldn't yours? Granted, heartbreak isn't the easiest thing to deal with, but you have to remember that it's a metaphor. Your heart isn't literally going to break, goddammit, unless you're that princess in a fairy tale who has a heart made of glass.

Let's get this straight: you will get hurt. But as with expectations, you can control the damage a broken heart can deal. And I don't mean building a great wall of defense around you. Heck, no. It's the exact opposite, actually. Put your guard down. Feel naked. Be vulnerable. Acknowledge your fear and defeat it. Convince yourself that you're invincible, that no amount of hurt can paralyze you and keep you from loving again. Fall into the pits of unrequited love, fumble about in the dark trying to find a way out until you realize you can grow wings and fly. Soar. Rise in love.

5. Love someone. When you find someone who makes you feel like you're twelve again and are having a crush for the first time, love them. Indulge in the electric feels. Get lost in their words and drown in their eyes. Never mind that their eyes are probably just puddles. See past their occasional interchanging use of your and you're. Smile when they text you good morning, smile more widely when they tell you good night. Find someone and love them the best way you know how. Give them gifts if that's your style. And if you could afford to, of course. Tell them upfront. Praise them. Give them all your attention. It doesn't matter how you do it, as long as you don't tie a rope around their necks and strangle them with it, either literally or figuratively. Don't be a fucking sadist because love should be about being happy and making the person you love happy. If you can only find happiness and satisfaction in hurting your lover, go see a fucking shrink. Take this same advice if you're on the receiving end of an abusive relationship. Or, you could save yourself time and money and go back to point number one because, most likely, you're suffering from low self-esteem and have a distorted self-concept.

Love someone who makes you feel complete. I didn't understand this until much later, because I always thought, what the heck, I'm not incomplete, so why should I look for someone to complete me? Well, they don't have to; they just have to make you feel like they do. But, again, don't expect them to love you back just because you love them. Sometimes, you have to see love as a role-playing game with mind-numbing puzzles and monstrous bosses that would take you ten tries, or even more, to defeat, and victory equals getting the girl or guy of your fantasies. It's not Pacman, kid, but you're lucky if you find a love that is. Love someone who makes you happy, but don't rely on them too much.  Speaking of happiness...

6. Be happy. I think most people would agree that love is all about being happy. Isn't that what we're after anyway? Find someone who makes you happy, love them, and make them love you. If you succeed, work hard at staying happy. Together.

If you fail, feel hurt, cry, move the fuck on, and find someone else. Rinse and repeat.

And, please, remember:

7. Don't give up. Just don't. Okay?

Sunday, August 5, 2012

(Work) Rage Against the Machine

When I became a teacher, I didn’t think I’d experience the things I am going through at present. Some of them, I did foresee, like being requested to remove my nose piercing because it’s not very teacherly and being questioned on my giving research breaks to students. What I did not see coming was being instructed to tell my gay students they shouldn’t wear makeup or earrings because, essentially, they were still men. I never imagined being asked to require students to purchase a book written by another teacher in the college, which I honestly think is not very well written.

“How much does it cost, ma’am?” I asked.

“It’s two hundred and five, but you tell the students it’s two hundred and twenty. Fifteen pesos goes to you,” I was told.

I didn’t want to require my students, but being a new teacher, I wasn’t too keen on going against the people who had been in the institution for much longer. So I said yes. For weeks, I postponed breaking the news to my students because, first, I already had a book on which I based my course syllabus, one that was not only well researched and well written, but also practical and easy to understand, and second, I thought there was something very wrong about what I was asked to do.

I teach in a public school, a state university, in Pampanga, my home province. When I graduated from college, I thought, I want to teach at this school, but did not immediately apply because I decided to spend a year doing things I probably won’t have the luxury of doing once I started teaching. This year, however, I decided to give it a go. I got in. And this is where my story begins.

When I applied for this job, I took all my piercings off, concealed the tattoo on my upper back with a collared blouse, knowing I probably would not get accepted if the people who interviewed me saw them. They have expectations, of course, and coming in wearing a nose stud and a tongue ring, and flaunting the Japanese character for dream inked on my skin guaranteed a failure. I wanted to get in.

I needed to get in.

And I did. Fast forward to my first week on the job, I was summoned into the dean’s office by the dean herself and was asked to remove my piercings.

“I hope you don’t take this negatively,” she began. “You’re pretty. You really are. But I think you’d be prettier if you removed that thing on your face and the one in your tongue. Our students might get the wrong idea. They’re not like students from other colleges. These students are future teachers. Why do you wear those anyway? Is it because they’re fashionable?”

I was offended. There I was, a newbie teacher, facing the dean of the College of Education alone in her office with the door shut behind me. “No, ma’am,” I said. “It’s not because of that.” But I didn’t say any more. How was I going to make her understand that my piercings weren’t simply accessories for me, that they were a part of me? My voice was shaking. I was scared.

I called my best friend and told her about it. I called my boyfriend too. I didn’t know what to do. It may seem like a small thing to some people, but it was a big deal for me. The reason I wore my piercings to school was because I wanted my students to learn that just because a person doesn’t fit the stereotype of a teacher, doesn’t mean they can’t teach. I did my best to speak well in front of them on my first day. I wasn’t trying to be cool or different, I was just being myself. I was celebrating my individuality, and at the same time, I was attempting to teach my students not to judge people based on appearances.

“My nose has nothing to do with my brain,” I remember saying. The students burst into laughter and, much to my surprise, started applauding. I was embarrassed because I did not expect that kind of reaction from them, but at the same time, it made me think that maybe, just maybe, I’m doing something right.

Until that incident involving the dean happened. I went home that afternoon with conflicting feelings. Both my best friend and my boyfriend said I shouldn’t remove my piercing because there’s nothing wrong with wearing it. But I was scared. I didn’t want to antagonize my superiors, mainly because I didn’t want to dislike or fear going to work. On the way home, I came up with a plan. I was going to purposely lose my nose stud in the shower, tell my mother it probably went down the drain, in case she asked, but when I finally got home, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

I went to the bathroom and started to cry. I cried for a long time. Bawled, even. It turned out I was angrier than I had myself believe. I couldn’t do it so, the following day, I removed the stud as I soon as I got to school, and then put it back on as soon as my classes were over. I still do that every school day. And this is something I hate myself for. Another is agreeing to sell my students that book. Only, I told them the truth about it.

I don’t know if I did the right thing, but I felt the students deserved to know what was going on.

“I’m not taking money from you,” I said. “I admit, I’m broke and I’m desperate for money, but there’s no way I’m taking anything from my students. Fifteen pesos is just fifteen pesos, sure, but with all the students I have, I could easily get four thousand pesos. I just can’t do that.” And then a student revealed that a teacher from another college sells the book for two hundred and fifty. Wow.

Just recently, I got in trouble again. I gave my Mythology class one meeting off as a research break and got a lecture from the dean again. Apparently, when students do research, the teacher has to accompany them to the library because, according to her, they might make noise and disturb other people. I was stunned. When I got over it, I politely informed her that I did not send my students to the library, that they were probably not at school and are doing their research elsewhere. I don’t remember exactly what she replied, except that she said something along the lines of “This is how we do things here.” And I remember her saying something about UP, which, I must admit, irked me.

I didn’t like telling people I was from UP. I didn’t want people to think I was bragging about it, or that I was being arrogant. I was scared of being judged wrongly, I guess. But that has changed. I’m not scared anymore. People can think whatever the hell they want, they’re probably doing that already anyway.

I’m not scared anymore. Well, not really. I still am, because I don’t know what sort of trouble I might get into next. Just today, a student told me that a teacher from another college stopped coming to school because he started asking students to open up to him regarding their problems at school. The student said it’s unclear whether he resigned or he was terminated.

I jokingly told the class, “I’m next.”

And maybe I am. My college friends never fail to remind me to be careful because “you know what happens when you challenge the status quo.” When I imagine what I could possibly get subjected to in case they find out what I’ve been doing and telling my students, I get scared. But that’s okay because it means I’m being brave. I’m doing something in the hope that things in this university would change for the better, regardless of the risk of losing the job I love, the job I’ve dreamed of having since college. But I realized I can’t be the teacher I am aspiring to be if I turn a blind eye to the things I see happening around me.

Once, a teacher celebrated her birthday at the faculty office and brought lunch for everyone. While I was in the kitchen, my student, who, I learned, works as a househelp, came in and said he was going to wash the dishes.

I was repulsed.

You do not make students do that. You just don’t.

And you don’t make students clean classrooms because this isn’t high school. They don’t have homerooms, so the cleaning is not their responsibility. You don’t ask them to buy you lunch because you can do that yourself. You don’t impose your beliefs on them because these students are not blank slates. They are people. Individuals who can think for themselves. You don't go around telling your gay students to act like heterosexuals because that's disrespectful.

Sometimes, I just want to cry because I feel so powerless. I chose this school because I knew a lot of the students here come from families that belong to the lower middle class or to the lower class, even. I want to help them. I want to give them the kind of education I received in UP. I want to teach them the things I learned as a student of UP and as a citizen of the Philippines. I want them to love the Philippines as much as I do. I want them to be proud of who they are, to celebrate their individuality. I want them to realize that they are capable of changing the world if they put their hearts into it.

I don't know. I'm sorry if I'm being incoherent. I could probably come up with something better if I tried harder, but this is all I can come up with right now. I'm still scared. But more than that, I am angry. I'll be honest. I don't know what to do. Which is why I wrote this note. This is a cry for help, I guess. So, um. Help?

Saturday, July 21, 2012

This Feels Like a First Love

Sitting in bed on a cold, rainy Saturday afternoon, I read through the emails we sent each other last Christmas. These are what I like to call our post-breakup emails. I reread them from time to time and feel a familiar ache, as if a wound inside never healed and your words, our words, pierce through my skin, drill through my bones, and poke at the wound like a rascal would. It may seem cliche but I really don't know what the future holds for us, you wrote, if we'll get back together, if we're meant for each other.

I don’t know if we’d ever get another shot, I said.

I've lost count of the times I've read and reread that final correspondence. Each time I felt a twinge of sadness, of disappointment. On some days, there was anger too. A raw and unforgiving anger that burned like wildfire. Sometimes I felt regret too and wished I hadn't fallen in love with you. My whole 2011 felt wasted on a relationship in which I had invested so much time and emotion, which left me with a splintered heart. At first, I welcomed the idea of a second chance, but I eventually buried it in the murkiest part of my consciousness, along with what remained of the love I had for you.

You see, when I contacted you again six months after we broke up, I was over you 100%. Sure, there were times when I still felt the rush of anger, but they were nothing more than a small wrinkle in the perfectly ironed fabric of my happier life. All I had to do was run my hand through the crease and everything would be almost-perfect again. I was surrounded with people who loved and cared for me. I had the job I had wanted since college. I had someone with whom I felt a special connection, who could have taken the space you once occupied if he tried.

Until that text message happened. I didn't think I was treading on dangerous ground at all. I felt safeguarded by my interest in another and by the certainty that our story had reached its hapless ending. There was no rewriting or continuing that story, I thought, especially since I was convinced things were really over for you too. So how did we end up where we are now?

I don't know how it happened to you, but this was how it was for me. When I asked you if you have moved on (without specifying what it was you've moved on from) and you said you have, I cried. I said I have too, and it was true, except after that, it wasn't anymore. See, this is the problem with feelings. They either leave you or you consciously drive them away, only to come back and haunt you at the most inopportune moments. If they remain underground, in the casket in which you buried them, good, but if they don't, you're screwed, because they come back stronger.

I'm not really screwed though. I mean, I felt I was, at first, that night I realized I loved you again. Or that I loved you still. I don't feel like that anymore. You know what this feels like, more than anything? A first love, that's what.

This feels like a first love.

This feels like a slow bike ride in a drizzle, a popsicle on a hot summer afternoon. This is forgetting to do your homework because your brain had turned into a bowl of alphabet soup and the letters in it are only those found in the other person's name. This is staying up past bedtime talking on the phone about nothing of significance, but those nights, those moments would feel like the best ones until you get to the part where you kiss for the first time.

This feels like plucking petals off a flower chanting he loves me, he loves me not, except this doesn't have that uncertainty anymore. You love me and I'm sure of it. And I love you too, more than ever, more than I did all the other boys of yesteryear. I sometimes wonder if I ever really loved anyone before this, and maybe I have, but not like this.

And maybe that's why this feels like a first love. Maybe a first love is what this really is. :)

First Half: A Recap

I was born in the year of the dragon. Which is why I dream of someday having a Japanese dragon inked on my back. 2012 is the year of the Water Dragon, according to Chinese astrology. I don't know what that means exactly, but I'd like to think that this is a good year for me because I'm a dragon-born.

So far, so good.

Having gone through a bad breakup late last year, I decided to focus on myself in 2012. So, in early January, I picked up a new art: painting. I've always wanted to learn how to paint, but couldn't afford to buy materials, so I never did learn it. Well, I had art classes in grade school but I realized they didn't really teach us how to paint then. Or maybe I wasn't paying attention? I don't know. In any case, this year, I finally started learning. I bought a set of cheap watercolors, some cheap brushes, and a cheap watercolor pad. I watched tutorials on YouTube, looked up artists online for inspiration, bought books, the works.

Realizing I could finally afford one, I bought my first DSLR in January too. I have always liked taking pictures. When I got Lilith (my iPhone) in 2010, I became more interested in photography because of apps like Instagram and Hipstamatic. And then, seeing my photographer friends' photos on Facebook, I kind of got jealous so I decided to get a DSLR too, albeit a basic one, and fell in love with photography all over again. I made friends and family pose for me, which was a lot of fun. My favorite shoot, though, would have to be the one with Anna, who was introduced to me by one of my best friends. Oh, and there's this boudoir shoot with my college friend Gia that's also a fave.



The first half of 2012 has been filled with art, just as I wanted it to be. ♥

In March, I turned twenty four.

In April, I got a publishing offer from Flipside.

In May, I decided to apply for the job I've wanted since college: to teach in a public university. I got it. I started teaching in June and finally understood what it meant to have a job that doesn't feel like a job. Until then I worked as a tutor in RareJob and a part-time instructor at World English Reviews. I haven't been able to do either since I started working though. But that's okay. I'm happier teaching college students. I'm still just a part-timer, but I work full time. I have about five hundred students in total, and I teach five courses: Speech Communication, Remedial Instruction in English, Interactive English, Mythology and Folklore, and Literary Criticism.

I'm not satisfied with my performance though. I think I'm still very irresponsible. I tend to forget things. I digress a lot in class. I have trouble managing the classroom. But that's okay because, at least, I'm aware of my shortcomings. Awareness is the first step to solving a problem, yeah? Besides, I'm only starting out. I'm still learning. ♥

When I got this job, I thought, ah, my life's almost complete. There was still one thing missing: love. I was in a relationship last year, with someone I had very strong feelings for. Sadly, the relationship only lasted a few months. We didn't break up because we didn't love each other anymore, though. It was more complicated than that. Anyway, it happened. So this year I was single again and oh so ready to find love. Working at a university, I thought there was a good chance of finding someone new this year. I actually daydreamed about meeting another professor from a different college. Say, for instance, someone from the College of Engineering and Architecture!

Actually, there was someone I was interested in, but he was in a different country, so it wasn't something I could take seriously (no offense to people in long distance relationships or people who met their lovers online, this is an entirely personal thing). Anyway, I eventually lost interest in him, especially when I got into One Direction.


In May, I started talking to my ex again. The same ex I broke up with last year. My mom kept asking about him, so I thought, I'm over him anyway so I might as well ask how he is.

Wrong move.

Well, not wrong. At first it seemed wrong, but turns out it was right. To cut a long story short, we eventually got back together. And we're happier than ever, so I regret nothing. ♥

In June, Api gave birth to an adorable baby boy. I haven't been able to hang out with friends as much as I used to, but that's all right. These are people I've been friends with for over a decade now, so few weeks of not seeing each other won't change anything between us.

So there. The first half of 2012 wasn't so bad, was it? I mean, I'm broke and all, but this is the happiest I've been in a long time. And that's what life is all about to me anyway: being happy. Hope yours was great too!

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Notes on My Last Conversation With the Arian


I waited days to speak with you again, expecting it would be like the last time, only it wasn't. You sounded weak and weary, like all hope was drained from your body and thrown into the sea. And I thought, "Oh shit. I guess I'm playing shrink again tonight."

So I listened to you grumble about how you dislike your job and how people in your workplace underestimate you and how you feel bottled up and unable to reveal your true self, which, in many occasions, you have revealed to me. It is that side of you I like most: smart and funny and someone I would very much want to meet and maybe marry (yes, I have had thoughts like that, because we get along so well it's a shame we live an ocean apart).

But that night you sounded terribly lonely and your loneliness resonated and I almost cried because I, too, was feeling lonely. And I wanted to talk to you to infect you with my own loneliness, but you beat me to it and unknowingly bestowed upon me a fraction of your misery. It was then that I realized again how menacing loneliness can sometimes be. How it tears you apart as if cutting along dotted lines, the hurt little by little growing like a small potted plant abandoned on a windowsill, the curtains drawn not letting sunshine in. And while you were pouring out your feelings unto me, I hated you, unfeeling Aries, I hated you while telling you what I think you should do to make things better, while convincing myself I could save a person from falling into the pits of depression even without a degree in Psychology. And I tried to brighten up the mood, used up my arsenal of sunbeams but managed only a flicker.

I eventually gave up, resigned myself to the sad reality that the conversation was going nowhere happy. So when you said you were going to bed I didn't bother to protest.

I fell asleep wondering if you understood what I said about happiness being in your hands and woke up worrying I had not said enough. So I sent you a message, an appendage to our last conversation, and with it I sent an unwritten farewell.

I don't want to talk to you. At least not until the loneliness you fed me has completely dissipated and I feel I am myself again. I cannot afford to lose myself, not when people incessantly stray from who they really are, with some never finding their way back, leaving behind a fragment of themselves, nothing but dust from a fallen star.

Sunday, April 22, 2012

To My Lover at Fourteen


Disclaimer: Just because this has line breaks doesn't mean it's a poem. It just felt more natural to write it like this. This is nothing.

you may or may not have been
my first love:
until now, i still have no clear understanding
of when and how like evolves into
love. but I was very fond of you,
that I must admit.

whoever finds true love at fourteen is
lucky, i guess,
and whoever doesn't isn't necessarily
the opposite--only ordinary, maybe.

we found love untrue at fourteen, in between the lines
of notepaper, in the negative spaces of pictures
we drew, in the split second breaths
we took between our words
and syllables.

you were so tall, you were
maybe close to six feet when I first
kissed you
when i held your hand, your palms
sweaty and your heart racing like it
was your first time, wait

it was your first time.
and mine too.

i remember the details: the color of dusk
the smell of crude oil on the wooden floor
sickening and, yes, crude
like you and i were

we were not prepared for love. we were young
not exactly wild, but we were free, at least
and we loved like loving was all
we were in school for
and we exchanged words
promised we would be together
for a long time, but
we left those promises hanging in the air
left them irretrievable

and that is why the love we had
at fourteen was no more
at fifteen. a love like that does not last
i realized. so we let go
and we never kissed again
the harmless kiss of that
afternoon.

Friday, March 30, 2012

033012


This thing that we have now isn’t so bad, is it? In fact, it’s pretty close to what I’d consider ideal. We talk for hours through wires and satellites, through plastic buttons and glass screens, not minding that we both have to get up early the following day to do jobs we both feel no love for. We go through days like a pair of words meant to be printed side by side on a page, but written, instead, on the first and the last pages of a book.

We talk about days in places we call home, places we’d rather not be, because our place is in the woods, far from the pressures and the expectations of people we'd rather not please but need to, far from the lives we are leading but rather leave, because we have other things in mind, like a life where we roam the streets of Paris, or one where we have yakiniku together after watching the swans in the river.

But these are merely fabrications of my imagination, things that crept their way into our conversations. These are things that may be happening in a parallel universe where we appear as a portmanteau scribbled on a piece of paper, where you are a person, not a mere voice uttering sentences that, in the end, don’t mean anything.

Because what could this mean, this thing that we have now? What could this be, other than a game we play for hours, rolling dice and counting squares? Every game has its end, no matter how long it is played and I can only hope this ends in a draw. In some games, they say, you win or you die. In this game, I say, you win or you cry, which is a kind of dying, really.

But I maintain that this is close to ideal, because it has no strings (unless I choose to believe in the fabled red string), no walls, and best of all, no name, which makes it nothing and everything I want right now. So yes, it's not bad at all, whatever this thing is. Its impermanence and its inconsistence may just be what you and I need in this reality where youandi does not exist.