Summer Solstice

I\'m moving...

Sun, 29 Aug 2004 01:32:15 +0000

Â Â Â This is what boring sem break days do to me. I\'m totally abandoning this site because I have a new one. I\'m in the process of figuring out how to upload pictures and archives into my new site.

Â Â Â In the meantime, please add, www.tabulas.com/~waterhole to your list of friends.

Â Â Â The _subersibo days were fun and now it\'s over.

wala lang

Fri, 23 Jul 2004 09:57:34 +0000

    What happened today? Wala lang... Mela and I went on an adventure to Bambang, in the heart of ghetto Manila. We cut class, took an LRT and got lost all in the name of a costume for Gege\'s party. What happened this week? Wala lang... It wasn\'t much of a hell week save for the fact that we had another math long quiz. Wala lang... It\'s ironic how this statement says so much and so little at the same time.

    In all that happened this week, wala lang described how wala lang namang masayadong masamang nangyari. Things went as planned. We weren\'t robbed in Bambang nor were we run over by some speeding vehicle (we still aren\'t La Salle urban legends- yung mga nasagasaan). Wala din namang masamang nangyari sa school. We had a lot of free cuts this week and I got to bond with many blockmates.

    At the same time, wala lang talks about how routinary life has been. Study. Go on a break. Tambay sa school. Go home. For the past two months, this is what my life has been. I\'ve always wanted this freedom and flexibility in high school. Now that I have it, I\'ve realized that I may not want it after all.

    Seeing it from the view from nowhere, that\'s what we really all are: WALA LANG. We\'re absurd little creatures who play the game of survival by putting meaning into everything we do. I can\'t help but ask, what for? Why do we put so much importance into what we think say and do, when at the end of the day, it\'s all matter of wala lang? We all think we\'re somebodys but how can we be when we started from being nobodys? How can you make something out of nothing?

    I think I\'m going crazy. Wala lang...

love ko \'to!

Fri, 16 Jul 2004 10:52:15 +0000

Â Â Â There are classmates who are nice. There classmates who are rude. There are classamtes you love to hang out with and others who are crude. There are classmates who are jolly and some who are never in the mood... Then, there's MELA.

Â Â Â She crushes over Celine Lopez as I do over Phoem Barranda. She's the protective friend who'd never budge on your secrets. She's one of my few blockmates I can rant endlessly to about everything. She's the girl who's always sinisipag mag-aral. She likes to get her work done... quickly. She taught me the art of the eating chesseballs with cream cheese.

Â Â Â For the Dondon smelling shirt yesterday, the Mc Do party today and that Marketing field trip abroad next year, I've had a blast with you. Happy birthday classmate, blockmate, groupmate and seatmate. Eighteen has never been this great.

mad in plaid

Thu, 15 Jul 2004 04:39:48 +0000

Â Â Â I did something weird today. My block did something weird today. The best part was that everyone was game. Amidst the denims, cotton tops and impending ban on rubber slippers, most of my blockmates came to school donning their high school uniform. I was mad in plaid as we made trial balances and tried to decipher the meaning of death. Today, my outfit menu for the week was given a break and for the first time in many days, I felt that I was part of my block.

Â Â Â Of course, we didn\'t get away from the speculative eye of the La Salle public. I wasn\'t spared from the whispers that could be heard five people away. Some thought it was part of the Pep Squad initiation. What a lame initiation that would have been. Others asked why we were wearing that. Uh... No reason really. A manang in the canteen couldn\'t hold her curiosity. She asked what school I was from and what I was doing in La Salle. Manang, Marketing freshman na taga La Salle din. Wala lang po kaming magawa ng block ko.

Â Â Â Nostalgia struck a high note as I wore the necktie once again and attached the Assumption pin on my collar. I remembered high school teachers and how their lessons were never too fast. The words, Miss/Sir, wait lang! meant that the lesson would really wait and time (on good days, the whole period) would be spent just making kwento. While wearing the uniform with my usual tsinelas, I realized how lonely college has become. Sure, I have friends and a bunch of people I make kulit but it\'s weird to wear something so familiar in a place that\'s so different. Four months after shaking the hand of my high school principle, I missed San Lo and the people and just about everything that had to do with Assumption.

Â Â Â The thought of high school, take two was a nice one but there are just some things that must be put to where they belong- in the past.

of impromptu midterms

Thu, 8 Jul 2004 10:54:30 +0000

How to take a Philosophy midterm exam:
1. Get any piece of paper.
2. Answer the question, what is a language game using the analytic definition.
3. Open your book and look for the answer but don\'t copy verbatim.
4. The first five people to pass their papers to the teacher will get an automatic perfect grade even if their answers are incorrect.
5. You have 5 minutes.

This is a true story because it is my story. Technically, this exercise was just a quiz since it has been the only written exam in Philosophy. But teacher rockista dropped hints thay it may be considred a midterm exam.

Did I mention that this was impromptu?

so what if curiosity killed the cat?

Fri, 2 Jul 2004 15:59:26 +0000

    Boy Abunda interview skills. Check. Bionic ears. Check. These are the two basic skills needed by chismosas. They say, curiosity killed the cat. I say, so what? At least the cat died with the satisfaction of having his questions answered. This is the mantra of chismosas. Read on if you are a chismis predator or prey.

    There\'s really something about finding discovering astounding news on someone you classify as interesting. It must be the lack of drama in one\'s life that drives people nuts dpa(deep penetration agent)-ing their way to the core of the romour mill. Although not always in the positive light, sucking the marrow out of chismis gives that satisfaction of knowing a little more than others do. The reasons are downright stupid and shallow but hey, someone\'s gotta do the dirty job.

    After discovering the earth shattering stories, you suddenly details that often go unnoticed. Say for example boy A who likes girl A of vice versa. Either of them have been dropping what seem to be useless remarks. After finding out about someone\'s little crush on the other, you realize that those remarks were actually silent screams on the real score.

    So at this point, you already know the dish. The big question that has to be answered is: Divulge or not divulge? For those belonging to their respective Tigbak authorities (Startalk linggo here), more chismis means more juicy information that can be safely shared if not with everyone else, at least among yourselves. You can be all giddy with your hot hot information but not all secrets are public property. Some are meant to brought to the grave while others... well... find their own way out. A little SOS though: If you slip, try not to make a big fuss out of it. What has been said cannot be taken back. But what can be done, is not to blow the issue into even greater proportion.

    They say curiosity killed the cat. I say, so what? At least the cat died with the fulfillment of his questions being answered.

taray queen

Thu, 24 Jun 2004 00:02:52 +0000

Mataray ba ako?

Â Â Â I asked my blockmates this question and the answer was a resounding and resonating yes. In a span of one day, two people I hang out with admitted to having been scared of me during the first few days of school. Three days later, another blockmate told me na nasindak daw siya sa boses ko during our initial orientation. The weekend after I launched my OPLAN: Don\'t intimidate, just initiate, I asked Toff the same question and I got the same answer. What is the world coming to?

I AM NOT MATARAY.

Or am I?

Â Â Â It must have been sheer boredom that led Tin-tin and I to start comparing our eyes. She noticed the folds on top of her eyelids. I noticed none on mine. In fact, instead of perking up, my eyes tend to droop more than than the usual. This drooping sensation causes me to look mataray or mad even when I\'m not. I didn\'t choose to be born with eyes like mine. Sorry, I can\'t do much about that.

Maybe it\'s the eyebrows.

Â Â Â I admit to being patient #1xxxxx of the bushy eyebrow syndrome. But a fateful meeting with Mamang Mantatabas (English translation: a gay eye brow plucker) gave mine eyebrows a whole new shape. I love how it curves up but not to the point of looking like the devil. Stray hairs appear every so often but the friendly neighborhood waxer works her wonders on it most of the time... and I like it that way. I love my (eyebrow) hair. I love it\'s color. But most of all, I love the waxer.

Can it be my voice?

Â Â Â Here at home, I get shit for having a voice like mine and truth be told, I\'ve never heard the end of it. You can ask my mom how, as a kid, I\'d cry like a man thanks to my low voice. Years after, when I turned grade 1, I was reprimanded for speaking at such a hushed tone. I must have sounded like a mouse then. After that incident, I made a mental note to speak louder. So, now I talk the way I do. I don\'t find it nakakasindak. I actually find it pretty normal.

So, why say I\'m mataray?

the Philo files: cut to fit?

Tue, 15 Jun 2004 11:50:39 +0000

Â Â Â This is paper # 2 of 4. Click on the break if you have nothing better to do. This paper is about the jologness that is me. ;)

My life

Â Â Â In the morning, I am ID holder #10420436, Marketing Management under the College of Business and Economics. By the time I get home, I morph into middle child number two of four. I have an older sister who has turned immortal (a privilege that has skipped our batch) in the halls of La Salle and two younger brothers who are being educated the Opus Dei way. The only salient information about them is that the younger one forgets that I am his sister. That aside, we are all part of a family with an Italian sounding family name that actually means spaghetti lover. Hereâs a peak into what was, what is and what will beâ¦ at least in my life.

Â Â Â During my formative years, weekends were spent in the heart of Manila. I remember afternoons in CCP, riding bikes with my dad and my sister. My tummy was made âmatibayâ by all the street food I ate. TV time was well spent singing to the songs belted by the weekday groups of the defunct, Thatâs Entertainment. The human cannonballs launched in Takeshiâs Castle was part of my afternoon habit. This was circa 1990âs, before the heyday of reality TV. It can be said, I met jologs at a young age and if it has had any lasting effects on me, itâs that my two feet have firmly been set on the ground. Iâm proud to say that you can put me out in the real world and I wouldnât make much of a fuss. If thereâs also another thing my childhood has imbibed in me is detachment. The cynic in me wins over as Iâve learned not to invest too much emotions on things and events that are transitory. Save for a handful of high school photos, I think can manage without many of the things I have.

Â Â Â A decade and inches and pounds gained later, much has changed. Spontaneity is rare and routine is frequent. In a nutshell, the past months have been about going to school, doing homework, waiting for the weekend to come and once itâs there, try to draw the line between being tired and lazy. And in the event that I go out, get home before curfew. Routine has made me tired and I feel like a 17 year old going on 71. Or maybe itâs because of Iâm the newest citizen in this age of cynicism, not getting what I want and making a problem out of it. The lack of instant gratification is indeed the mother of cynicism. The happiness factor is on an all-time low as well. What used to be something so indiscreet and easily found is as elusive as the absence of a professor. But like the latter, itâs something youâd throw a part for once it happens.

Â Â Â And so, the story of this self confessed jologs girl/cynic goes on. Another thing Iâve added to my mental list of things to do is to look forward to the future and just wait for things to unravel and take a course of its own.

ladies who lunch(ed)

Fri, 11 Jun 2004 09:51:21 +0000

Â Â Â Once upon a time, lunch time was not a problem. At the back of the 4-3 kingdom, 10/11 ladies lunched and shared stories of their princes (real and imaginary), tried to photofinish as much school work as possible and when circumstances allowed it, slept one top of the other. This story is leading to what this author is really trying to say: I MISS ALL- Tin, Lisa, Faith, Mia, Marga, Diona, Cielo, Julia, Ishy, Bianca- OF YOU.

Â Â Â I miss all of you. And it\'s not in the way that\'s begging for more comments on this entry. It\'s the type of miss that consumes my innards like mites consume wood. It\'s the type of miss that triggers my tear glands (although not completely). It\'s the type of miss that makes me sick to the gut knowing how much, rather how little I can do.

Â Â Â It\'s so easy to just type away and say we can meet up anytime. Truth be told, anytime is synonymous to never. Three weeks into school, I can tell you that the load they give can be a shit load at times. Free cuts and absent teachers are a rarity. Magpaparty na tayo pagmangyari yon. There is also the block factor. So many new people to meet, so little time.

Â Â Â Considering how good the food around Taft is, I\'d love to bring these ladies to the greener side of town. I\'ve discovered new places/eskinitas that convince me that cheap is really my middle name. Knowing how immune all your tummies are, I\'d love to bring you guys here and make you taste the cheapest sisig you\'ll lay your taste buds on.

Â Â Â And so, the story of the ladies who lunch goes on. Except that this time, there will be more ladies and gentlemen who\'ll lunch with them.