Now that the spell is over and J.K. Rowling with tears running down her cheeks finally presenting the last installment of Harry Potter to the world, I wouldn't be surprised if I'm still caught in a magical web spun by fictional characters turned household names. The enchantment still lingers and whether jinxed or cursed, the entire reading community is as good as stunned for not knowing what to do next after a ten-year journey with the boy who lived to Hogwarts, the Burrow, the Ministry of Magic, and all the places no one but a single mom dared come up with.
We traveled with Harry since his first year at Hogwarts. He was only eleven and new to the Wizarding community but already battling full-grown wizards for the elusive Sorcerer's Stone. We feared for his life when a basilisk that used to dwell in the Chamber of Secrets almost takes his life. What their second year fake Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher lacked, their third year professor, werewolf Remus Lupin, makes up for in a series of practical exams and real lessons. Harry finally gets to meet his godfather Sirius Black, a wrongly accused escaped prisoner of Azkaban.
I was about to say Harry's third year is his best but come Triwizard Tournament on his fourth year, the 14-year-old comes face-to-face with not only grindylows and foreigners, or a Moody impostor and a sphinx asking for a spider, but Lord Voldemort himself back from the dead, or incorporeal state, to be precise. Almost everybody wonders why the prefect badge went to Ron in their fifth year but Harry, having been cleared of all charges (for using magic outside Hogwarts) wouldn't have wished otherwise upon learning about the prophecy that tied him with the Dark Lord. With a newfound ability to penetrate his enemy's mind, Harry prepares for another adventure. My favorite character Sirius Black dies fighting alongside the Order of the Phoenix and into the veil his soul rests.
Snape finally gets the coveted Defense professorship, and where he lovingly gave our hero a big fat D in Potions, his new position gives a different light to his character that leaves the readers asking, hoping and even debating on his true intentions. Given his clear access to Voldemort's past, Harry sixth year is no ordinary quest. Snape, who turns out to be the mysteriously clever half-blood prince, kills Dumbledore, Harry suppresses his love for Ginny, and is left with the task of finding and destroying the seven Horcruxes before finishing off what his enemy started nearly fifteen years ago.
Ah, to be in a world where broomsticks fly and photographs move; where house elves, goblins, centaurs, giants, and merpeople co-exist with the wizards. And not until Harry's 17th year on earth, blood status is checked and Muggle-borns are wanted. Voldemort and his Death Eaters take over the Ministry of Magic, the Daily Prophet, and (surprise, surprise) Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with Snape appointed as headmaster. Harry, Ron, and Hermione camp from one forest to another while infiltrating different institutions with hopes of obtaining the Horcruxes and the Hallows, and finishing the mission thrust upon them.
Times have changed. The Dark Lord's name is Taboo and Snape's deepest secret is revealed. And as Harry finds some of his loved ones at the receiving end of the Killing Curse, he sacrifices himself and dies, only to live again and carry out the prophecy. Hogwarts becomes a battle scene and bears witness to the fall of Remus and Nymphadora Lupin, Fred Weasley, and Bellatrix Lestrange, among all the other wizards and witches who fought to their deaths.
Harry faces off with Voldemort, and with a swipe of his Elder Wand, he kills his enemy with no more than "Expelliarmus!".
No doubt any Harry Potter fan is doing or have done what I'm attempting to do now. That is, imaging that I'm one of the beloved series' characters or better yet, fantasizing about living in a world with Hogwarts and Diagon Alley, Quidditch and Chocolate Frogs, and dreams with spell-binding consequences.
Now, if I was in Harry's world and had to chose...
Blood Status:
Half-blood
Which house in Hogwarts:
Ravenclaw or Slytherin
What animal to bring in Hogwarts:
Probably a snowy or tawny owl
Favorite Hogwarts teacher:
McGonagal and Flitwick
Favorite subject:
Potions, Transfiguration, Ancient Runes
Least favorite subject:
Divination, Muggle Studies
Most adored ghost:
Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington
Favorite Diagon Alley shop:
Flourish and Blotts
Favorite Hogsmeade shop:
The Three Broomsticks
Kind of wand:
Holly and unicorn tail...doesn't matter though coz the wand chooses the wizard.
Quidditch or not?:
Nah...not the sporty type
http://www.destinationbride.com/files/regions/new-zealand.jpg
Yokohama Cosmoworld:
3-minute roller coaster ride with Claudio: Y700
Ferris University Staff:
Ito-sensei: best and coolest language teacher evah!
Dormitory:
Claudine couldn't stand the heat inside the lounge so she opens the sliding doors. She jumps when the alarm goes off, realizing only too late that it was past curfew (and that the police-linked alarm system has been activated). Dorm manager asks why she did it and Claudine could only apologize in the politest, most earnest manner. The TANGA factor? The lounge is equipped with two air conditioning units. Way to go, Claudine.
Hiroshima Study Tour:
Here's an excerpt of a supposedly hushed conversation between two Filipino girls amid an important tour lecture at the Underground Communication Room in one of the city's preservation sites:
Michelle (whispers): unsa'y "sleepy" in Japanese?
Dynamic Tokyo Tour:
I was glad Mich won the SONY writing contest that sent us preparing for a whole-day tour of Japan's capital, complete with lunch at the swanky Four Seasons hotel and an afternoon cruise at the Sumida River.
Tokyo Disney Resorts:
Tip: While in Japan, visit Disney Sea as it is only found in the land of the rising sun.
Kamakura:
We got to meet the Great Buddha and see what's inside him too!
Ueno:
Cherry blossoms and beer-drinking men, boating on the lake, and Jesman's unfortunate encounter with Grace's skirt *snicker...snicker*. Ah the fresh scents of spring...
Osaka:
Universal Studios Japan may not have half of Disneyland's charm but it certainly rocked. Spiderman the Ride and Snoopy's Water Slide, you completed my day at the theme park.
Kyoto:
Early in the morning, just prior to sight seeing, Claudio forgot to secure the Durian safely inside his duffel bag when we left the Utano Youth Hostel. By the time we returned to claim our rooms, the door to the storage area where we left our stuff already had a sign that said "DO NOT PUT DURIAN INSIDE THE ROOM". (!!!)
Oh well, I guess some Filipino tourist made these Japanese aware of the nasty smelling Durian waaay before our little slip. hahaha
Needless to say, with its historic temples sharing the landscape with futuristic buildings, Kyoto is THE BEST PLACE EVER!
This is a story about how we all dressed up for nothing, how church-boycotting Dirgy attended service, and how cap boy Boaz wore formal long sleeves...
how Donna and I looked like SUSG tWS party hopefuls...
how Nutri-fit walker Jordan decided against snoozing and only Micah got to usher...
how we ambled along the pavement looking for ways to appease our tummies.
Coughing on a Wednesday
Poor Odie for having Category 1 Tuberculosis and poor tWS staff (a.k.a. the Union)for fearing for their lives. Poor me for having just learned about the airborne TB and silly me for being so ignorant. Odie's my friend but if he's coughing all his pathogens away and we'll be working in close proximity with him, and he turns out to be contagious then I'm filing a restraining order. haha! Talk about sensationalism.
But seriously, as his illness is still level 1, he's no more dangerous than a kid with acute gastritis. He's under medication so there shouldn't be a problem as regards health issues and airborn diseases PROVIDED that he's getting enough sleep and eating the right kind of food.
Donna and Mich are gradually talking Odie into maintaining a healthy lifestyle, Kim is warning the Ed board to have their chests X-rayed, and some staffers are whispering, albeit in the open, about possibilities of acquiring TB. Apparently, Dirgy's killing himself if he contracts his Editor's celebrated illness. And until Odie steers clear of his midnight routine and strictly follows a balanced and guaranteed eating habit, I'm flying as far away as possible from the chamber.
Especially since I'm coughing myself...
No hard feelings Odie!!!
I almost forgot about one particular email message I wrote and almost sent to my brother. You'd think it was from a lonely flunky who desperately wanted to get out of a subservient existence she's been in for quite some time. Thanks to boredom that lead to me scan through my "Draft" mails, I found it! And, for the sheer purpose of blogging, decided to include it in my list of utterly irrelevant posts.
I can't believe I'm back.
I guess a year of luxury in Japan - with all their automated contraptions and anime-like people - had me craving for the adrenaline-pumping research assignments and extra-curricular activities I so enjoyed. Yet now that my feet are once again touching Philippine soil, specifically, Dumaguete soil, I'm confused as to what I'm gonna do next.
I don't have any money, don't have any real friends save for a pitiful two which, I'm afraid, is narrowing down to one.
In the event that you receive an urgent notice telling you what to do with my lifeless body, please bear in mind not to freak out as prior to that, I'll be sending signs and showing hints of dying* without purpose.
*By "dying" I meant figuratively...
Verna always points out that something funny happens to one of her friends on Friday the 13th. As last year's T.G.I. Friday hook-up of my good friend Xander with an infamous girl called Em-Em (whatever happened to her anyway?) turned out to be one of the most shocking news we've heard, Friday the 13th and its usual creepiness now gets associated with surprising incidents of comedic proportion.
After Xand's "ordeal" I'd rather not hear Verna say something about one of her friends' fate as I am one of them and would definitely not want something funny and unexpected to happen to me, as in the case of poor Xandy.
"Kinsa napuy maka-uyab og di mao?" we often joke as the auspicious date approaches, and Verna and Ren are throwing mischievous looks at none other than moi. What the...am I now to be preyed on just because I'm the only person in the group who hasn't been in a relationship before? Verna and Ren are only acting like excited parents eager to take prom pictures of their daughter and her partner. I am the daughter but I can't quite make out who the partner is. And even those who have caught my attention before pale at the thought that there's is that someone looking for his life-long prom date.
Problem is, he doesn't even know I exist and vice versa. But if I ever consider getting married or at least having someone to call a boyfriend, it wouldn't be hard to find a decent Christ-centered man who would take me right? I mean, how hard is it to find a godly, gifted, and good-looking guy?
Seriously, I've got to stop fantasizing about perfect knights in shining armor, or even perfect peasants for that matter because nobody's perfect and I've got to accept that the world does not tolerate a faultless human being; that it wouldn't give me what it is that I longed for in a man.
But just in case our world gets twisted and every fantasy becomes a reality, I might as well make a list of the qualities I look for in the person I'd be in love with.
Physical Characteristics
1. I'm into charming sensible guy with a smile that knocks my socks off
2. I'm a sucker for dimples
3. I'm obsessed with long lashes, sexy nose without the big holes (hehe), and perfect teeth
4. I don't fare well with tattoos, piercing, and unkempt hair. (gotta be neat and organized dude)
5. I can do with someone who's at least 5'7 and 2-4 years older.
6. He's gotta have a healthy body
Traits and Personality
1. He loves God more than anything in this world
2. I'd court someone who's neat, tidy, and organized myself
3. He doesn't smoke, do drugs, and drink religiously
4. He's an intellectually stimulating, talented (can draw or write well… hehe), and well-rounded person
5. He's fluent in spoken and written English, and preferably any other language
6. He has an orgasmic sense of humor
7. He's proactive, disciplined, and mature
8. He's emotionally, spiritually, mentally, physically, and FINANCIALLY stable
9. He has a cool and loving family
10. He's gregarious, friendly, understanding, patient, loving, honest, loyal, hardworking, and God-fearing
11. He bonds well with my friends and family
12. He has eyes only for me
13. He loves and understands me - moody and grumpy or not.
14. Oh, and he cooks too
But it doesn't really matter, does it? When Love strikes, everything I see is flawless. Every imperfection that I've been avoiding becomes beautiful, and my wishlist becomes as valuable as trash.
When cupid aims, my heart is the focal point. It hurts yet I can do nothing to ease the pain but wait. I'm scared of being hurt, of loving and then leaving, of loving and then crying, or of loving and then regretting. I can't seem to settle in one place, let alone one person. I can't imagine myself being tied down to a limited scope of my life, exposing myself to all the pain and insecurities the world gladly harbors.
And if it means breaking free from Love that is yet to happen, I'm going solo. The risk is not worth the pain and it doesn't even justify the shame. I know how hard it is to love, how much more to be in love.
I musn't fall in love.
So even if a possible life-long prom date arrives and he loves me for who am, no buts, no ifs, no condition... and he understands my moods and is patient enough to put up with me... and at the end of the day he's reserved the sweetest hug that spells loyalty, and the umpteenth first kiss that promises devotion...and he's as silly as he's opinionated with punch lines that leave me laughing with myself and anecdotes that leave me pondering... and his overflowing initiative and gregarious disposition makes it easy for him to bond with my loved ones...and he cleans and cooks and looks handsome in his apron especially when he flashes his widest grin... and he leads the prayer and has an enviable relationship with Jesus Christ, and therefore avoids vices and lives for God...and he's romantic without being predictable, sweet without being overrated, and is as hardworking as he is humble... and he loves me and I find no reason for not loving him back...
I think I might consider falling in love after all.
I've been trying to convince myself that cleanliness isn't necessarily next to godliness and a little dirt actually helps enhance an individual's immune system but really, having survived our kiosk's opening week without so much as cringe for failing to scrub the small space clean or arrange stuff the way I think they're supposed to be arranged is a feat.I played quiet well in the game of nonchalance with the wet and grimy construction site, mosquitoes feasting on CBA blood, and too much solid waste not to mention leftovers and plastic utensils crammed in the same makeshift trashcan (gasp!) as my opponents. That and more would've easily sent me packing, shivering 'til I'm a hundred percent certain the whole area is thoroughly disinfected.
I could come up with something, not really grand, but enough to sort out the mess that's been invading our kiosk since day one. I could buy a kick-ass cleaning arsenal and wage war against molds, mites, and mildew. Or, I could cry, alone and defeated, in my room after a long and busy day's work.
On second thought, I could just adjust. And relax.Who cares if it rained noodles on the floor? Who cares about overflowing inharmony of unsegregated garbage? Or of cakes of mud on a rainy day? Or of the fact that [dirty] loads of money pass by my palms while I cook pancit canton or (gasp) eat tuna sandwich with unwashed hands (double gasp!)?
Me taking all these unsanitary part of life into consideration is like a meth addict thinking of giving rehab a chance. But really, the thought should, could, and ought to scare me but I feel pretty normal. Even I surprise myself when I try and succeed at looking at grime and then ignore it. (Whaaaat???!!???)
If surviving all these is normal, and being normal means being less of a neat freak, and being less of a neat freak means being more considerate of dirt then.......
Oh dear God I'm becoming BURARA???!!!!?????
*killing self now...*
US...
Posted Tuesday, March 13, 2007
So there goes my year as a tWS Business Manager.
Did I like my job? I guess so, what with last minute trips to the OIP and weekly visits to the Business and Finance only to find out that the papers have not yet been signed, or the employees whose signatures were urgently needed were on leave, or the last request for petty cash replenishment had not yet been approved (and its been two weeks already!).
Challenging.
But I’d rather not rant about my B&F triumphs and disasters or I’d die of grief caused by too much what ifs. I’m just relieved that my work is over, and happy to have emerged in one piece thank you very much.But just when I was beginning to miss everyone at tWS who brought color to my otherwise pathetic school year, the last of my to-do things brought me back to reality, telling me “Your work isn’t over yet, punk, so slave away!”
Did I mention that I liked my job? Either way, it was definitely not a job well done. Something was always up and it annoyed me as hell that I couldn’t give one hundred percent effort in what I did. Couldn’t prepare the snacks on time, couldn’t get the money I needed, couldn’t find out when the B/F employees were going to be on leave (again), etc…etc…I hated writing columns (no surprises when the final output proved as smelly as dog poo). But I loved the lampoon column I wrote with Jordie, which just confirms how I sucked at the real thing and excelled (I think) at lampoons. So sad…
Wondering where to get funding for surprise activities (trans. Those not included in the budget) was always a challenge. And worrying about what to feed my fellow tWS babies always left me in a tight spot.It was just a job done (half done, actually). Neither great, neither terrible. And I’m not even sure if it was done out of fear, respect, or boredom. Yes, there was love, but there were times when I wanted to quit and relinquish my position to someone more deserving. Only my pride (I have lots of it) kept me from bursting. And only the people I worked with kept me from falling apart.
*************************************************************
I owe this position to Mich who cheerfully recommended me to where I had been these past two semesters. I do hope with all my heart she doesn't consider appointing me a mistake. But, it was indeed worth a tinge of regret...heheIf it wasn't for tWS, I wouldn't have known Kim, my kabsi, for who she is - the patient, understanding workaholic who'd rather not sleep just to finish all her chores than stay around and do nothing. The same Kim who thought I was a Masscom sophie almost three years ago. I wouldn't have gotten to know Odie and Micah, two of the most spiritual people I know and two of the smartest individuals I am proud to be friends with. I know they're good eggs but somehow I can point out where their cracks are.
Speaking of religious individuals, how can I forget John Steve and his "bitaw" tendencies, supergirl Rochelle and her juggling prowess, and word and number demi-god Nino, also known as Mr. Kris Aquino, or was it Inigo?Who would've thought Aiken and I would cross paths once again not as talkative campus ambassadors but as serious [huh?] tWS staffers. The second semester paved way for Aiken and his Beyonce-Lea Salonga singing voice, I'm just glad I lived to see the amazing talents of The Diva.I'm thankful for a lot of things actually. Thankful and amazed to have known the only paper boy with a kick-ass car (with a super cool sound system ready to substitute even the most effective massage chair anytime). Well, Paul, may your technology/gadget-worshipping and hopeless-romantic City of Angels-loving days never cease.
Although I wasn't able to bond with them, Pearl, Sesi, Eugene, and Marvin were as important a part of the Weekly family as all of us were. Should Pearl and Sesi abandon the hopes of becoming RNs, betcha big bucks they could swiftly earn their way to Broadway or Hollywood. The combination of Marvin's photos and Eugene's Photoshop skills truly explained why they were the heaven-sent Portal imports.But before them, the office was graced by meisters Claro (his pictures are the Man!) and Jeruel (di lang pang-lay-out, pang sinugba pa...hehe). Alongside Office master Jan Q they labored, but still managed to have fun like the lovable character Gong Gong created by, and not in the image of, my other tWS kabsi Joseph, who, in all his white glory, didn't need to apply powder on.
Skimmer wannabe John Boaz once told me I gotta choose on which side I render my loyalty. And as often stressed by the loquacious (as in super) Marianne, the Union always knew how to party. How I wish she and Of Beer and Pen blogger Dirgy tie the knot and have little Mariadirgys running around the living room. hehe...If it weren't for these people, I wouldn't have discovered Santander!The truth is I love the Ed Board as much as I love the Union.Happy vacation to those who drank Tequila and Tanduay with me - special mention to Bullfrog Jordan who hasn't even tasted beer and, ohmygosh, SANG, and Donna, whose rendition of Video Kill the Radio Star could've topped the Weekly charts...
The Amazing Award goes to Dirgy who despite red eyes and empty Tequila bottles remained sober and alert! Geek ba na?To those who helped me puke it all while enduring the nasty smell of my insides (again special mention to Michelle and Odie), you were the best. Daghang salamat.To those who understood my being an Obcompfreak, a bright clean future awaits…hehe…
Support the John Boaz-Marianne-Dirgy and Jan7-Donna love teams.
Kampay everyone...
****************
A hundred cheers to Yann Martel and the Life of Pi! Now I understand why its hot in the bookshelves.Curiosity got the best of me and I couldn't stop wondering what made a 401-page account of a 16-year-old Indian boy's struggle at sea a bestseller. Picture out a hundred chapters of a sole shipwreck survivor's life in a boat in the middle of the Pacific for 227 days. It sounds uneventful but, thank goodness I read it, the Life of Pi is anything but ordinary.
Did I mention that the 16-year-old Indian boy shared the lifeboat with a 450-pound Bengal tiger?
- It has a happy ending (not that its special or anything)
- The main character has three religions (Whoa!)
- Includes survival tips should you (or I) ever find yourselves (myself) in a predicament such as he was in.
- Gives more than sufficient information about the animal kingdom and religion.
And like all things borrowed, the book must now be returned to its owner. I must part with it but not without jotting down memories of Pi Patel.
excerpt from Chapter 23, page 84
...All eyes fell upon me.
"Piscine, can this be true?" asked the imam earnestly. "Hindus and Christians are idolaters. They have many gods."
"And Muslims have many wives," responded the pandit.
The priest looked askance at both of them.
"Piscine," he whispered, "there is salvation only in Jesus."
"Balderdash! Christians know nothing about religion," said the pandit.
"They strayed long ago from God's path," said the imam.
"Where's God in your religion?" snapped the priest. "You don't have a single miracle to show for it. What kind of religion is that, without miracles?"
"It isn't a circus with dead people jumping out of tombs all the time, that's what! We Muslims stick to the essential miracle of exist-ence. Birds flying, rain falling, crops growing - these are miracles enough for us."
"Feathers and rain are very nice, but we like to know that God is truly with us."
"Is that so? Well, a whole lot of good it did God to be with you - you tried to kill him! You banged him to a cross with great big nails. Is that a civilized way to treat a prophet? The prophet Muhammad - peace be unto him - brought us the word of God without any undignified nonsense and died at a ripe old age."
"The word of God? To that illiterate merchant of yours in the middle of the desert? those were drooling epileptic fits brought on by the swaying of his camel, not divine revelation. That, or the sun frying his brains!"
"If the Prophet - p.b.u.h. - were alive, he would have choice words for you," replied the imam, with narrowed eyes.
"Well, he's not! Christ is alive, while your old 'p.b.u.h' is dead, dead, dead!"
The pandit interrupted them quietly. In Tamil he said, "The real questions is, why is Piscine dallying with these foreign religions?"
The eyes of the priest and the imam properly popped out of their heads. They were both native Tamils.
"God is universal," spluttered the priest.
The imam nodded strong approval. "There is only one God."
"And with their one god Muslims are always causing troubles and provoking riots. The proof of how bad Islam is, is how uncivilized Muslims are, " pronounced the pandit.
"Says the slave driver of the caste system," huffed the imam. "Hindus enslave people and worship dressed-up dolls."
"They are golden calf lovers. They kneel before cows," the priest chimed in.
"While Christians kneel before a white man! They are the flunkies of a foreign god. They are the nightmare of all non-white people."
"And they eat pigs and are cannibals," added the imam for good measure.
"What it comes down to," the priest put out with cool rage, "is whether Piscine wants real religion - or myths from a cartoon strip."
"God - or idols," intoned the imam gravely.
"Our gods - or colonial gods," hissed the pandit.
*************
Hmmm, and I thought religious leaders are calm and open-minded.
Tsk tsk tsk...be it declared that sometimes the most pious spiritual leaders could come into blows with other pious spiritual leaders. Amazing, this world is.
Posted December 17, 2006
Christmas comes once a year and probably every tribe in the world is cramming to and fro in preparation for Noche buena or whatever it is different groups of people do on Christmas eve. People are scrambling, what with last minute shoppings and gift wrappings and thanksgiving services. It's the time when little tykes get away with asking two (or more) presents instead of one, and stingy godparents finally get to exhibit their prowess in eluding their little (and not so little) inaanaks. Even wives start talking their husbands into buying this furniture or taking an adventure trip somewhere, or else. The list goes on. Oh, and speaking of lists, no words can describe the infinite Christmas list I had when I was gullible (and stupid) enough to believe that Santa Claus will be materializing in our living room (how else would he be able to come inside without a chimney?).
Everyone is practically laughing their way to the malls, churches, schools, clubs, even the kitchen. Everybody is looking forward to celebrating Christmas.Well, except for those who don't believe in the season anyway. I mean, we can't force them to jump for joy and be merry for all its worth and not feel the real meaning of the occasion, right?
And what about those who are excited but don't have the means to bask in the warmth of Christmas? Those deprived of families and money and shelter? What about motherless children and homeless old people? What difference does this month make when they'd still be out there on the parks or stations living off on society's hand-me-downs? Are they looking forward to this supposedly joyous affair? The season of giving? *rolls eyes*
Why does Giving have to be a season anyway?
***
Is it me or there's just something in the December breeze that makes people giddy, excited, and generous (all of a sudden). In an optimist's point of view, monsters become saints and inner demons are partially overpowered by a pure imaginary light that occurs only on Christmas. A very powerful ray that, come January, will disappear until the next holiday. There's something in the air that lifts your feet, leaving you traipsing along Euphoria Lane. A Christmas freak that I am, I anticipate new beginnings and hope for renewed lives. I do wish people won't make Christmas a mere reason to be happy, that they don't make it merely a motive to give or an excuse to love. Why wait for Christmas when it can be done all year?
***
Home is my destination two days from now to celebrate Christmas with my family. Unlike before, we won't have Christmas hams (I don't eat red meat anymore) or lechon (EW!) or holiday cakes (um...i loathe these sweet things) and pastries and it's more than fine with me. We won't have fireworks 'coz my mom thought we could do away with these dangerous fire starters. We decided not to push through with the party or kris kringle or the usual Christmas stuff 'coz we can always put up a feast or give each other gifts anytime of the year. So, basically, all we have is each other. There's my mom who's probably the most organized person I know, and a superhero in her own right (she can do almost anything from culinary arts to horticulture to dressmaking to carpentry to accounting...). My dad's one busy tough guy. A God-fearing individual and the best provider next to God. He'll be working this Christmas (bummer!) but it doesn't mean we don't love him anymore. Just because you're loved one is far away doesn't mean you love him or her less, and vice versa=) My brother who's turning sixteen on the 22nd is one treasure I wouldn't trade for the world. Otherwise, no wrestling matches, no trash talks, no karate punch lines, no advertisement mockery, and no reluctant brother to hug! After everything we've been through, together and apart, need I say all I want for Christmas is
T-H-E-M?
***
Gosh, what a tedious year! Had I known better, I would've at least tried something extreme!!! But then again I'm too nutty to be extreme. But nutty or not, I wish everybody a Cheery Merry Christmas!!!
Posted December 5, 2006
Spending Mich's birthday at Santander, Cebu where the white pebbles meet the clear blue sea couldn't have been better than battling harsh Balinsasayao terrain. I've come to love my tWS family and now understand Mara's immeasurable devotion to the publication.
There's a memorable spark where crazy spontaneity meets anal retentiveness.
“Do you like the movie?” My Japanese host mother asked, putting another ladleful of do-rai ka-re, dry curry, on my almost empty plate.
As I was in the middle watching my favorite Japanese animated movie and chewing my octopus sashimi, all I could do was nod and utter a barely audible “Hai!”
“Anime suki dessyo?” You like Japanese cartoons, I remember her ask.“Hai. Daisuki desu yo.” Yes, I like it very much, was my reply.
What started out as a slight obsession for Japanese animation eventually lead to countless nights of devouring information, which only heightened my desire of one day exploring the unique archipelago of Japan. It began as a silly admiration for perky cartoon characters with big sparkling eyes and wind-tossed hair of different colors. I couldn’t remember what charmed me into what other people may think as nonsense entertainment but I knew I was gradually getting interested in the country from where these cartoons originated.
Amidst the pressures of high school, I could still find time to browse through Japanese history books (mindful of the fact that no detergent could ever remove the stain Japan left in our history), memorize complicated lines from Japanese books, or bring our trusty Countries of the World almanac to school just in case my Asian History textbook failed to mention why Japan’s capital was transferred to Tokyo.
Time passed and I went to college, bringing along butterflies in my stomach, must-haves in my luggage, and passion for animes in my heart. Perhaps one of the reasons why I enrolled in Silliman was its Japan Student Exchange Scholarship Program. Four sophomore students could get the chance to study in Japan for a year, all expenses shouldered by the Japanese host institutions.Destiny played on my side when, during my sophomore year, I applied for the said scholarship and got chosen as one of the four exchange students for the school year 2004-2005. It was, to put it mildly, unexpected. I remember waking up to the harsh ringing of my phone the day after the interview, with my friend on the line shouting the good news.
Wow…
I never felt guilty and excited at the same time. Guilty because I never told the panelist that Japanese anime had a lot to do with my wanting to study abroad. Sure I was curious about the Japanese culture, but part of the reason why I wanted to experience it was to confirm what I’d been seeing on TV. Do high school girls really wear short skirts as uniforms? Are their houses really typically small? Do gadgets come as ordinary as clothes?
It was one of those moments when I imagine myself in a different environment – be it exotic, high-tech, or laid-back, wearing different costumes, and eating various cuisines. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to tour Rome on a motorino, get lost in one of Baghdad’s bazaars (a childhood fantasy inspired by the book Arabian Nights), conquer the slopes of Mt. Fuji, or work my way to the ends of the Great Wall. How long have I waited for this opportunity?
Nineteen years is a very long time.The years spent waiting for my first international trip paid off from the moment I exchanged sharp glances with the PAL flight attendant (who was so mean considering her job) on my way to the Land of the Rising Sun. It was on that bright morning of September 5, 2004 that I made sure this trip would be something special.I've heard stories about Japan's incredible inventions and expensive lifestyle, patriotic citizens and disciplined society, but nothing prepared me for what I saw. I never really dwelled on the fact that Japan would be so... different.
My first few months were spent gaping at what would have been ordinary things like vending machines (practically scattered everywhere), automatic doors in probably 90% of Japan's establishments, automated ticket machines at train stations, rush hours, Japanese fashion statements, and earthquake-proof skyscrapers.A year in a foreign land wouldn’t hurt especially if it’s an all-expense paid excursion. Especially if you don’t allow that teeny weenie thing called Language to get in the way. I want to say that my experiences were all roses but I just couldn’t forget those times when my fellow exchange students and I had to pester several Nihon-jin (Japanese national) for directions. Most of the time they would just give us sorry looks with a curt “gomenasai” (Sorry) or an emphatic “No” gesture.
With little knowledge of the Japanese language, we would resort to sign language, or just flash our (hopefully) cutest smiles to those naïve enough not to realize our poor command of Nippongo!Exploring Japan, or at least Tokyo, meant experimenting with trains and subways, which would’ve been easy if it weren’t for those irritating Kanji, Japanese characters read in various ways. My companions and I were often left standing on ticket booths looking at subway maps - a multitude of Kanji characters, trying to figure out which one read “Shinjuku.”
Fortunately, it didn’t take long for us to get used to the hustle and bustle of Japan. We studied Nippongo’s complicated grammatical structure and worked our way from Greetings to Buying to Asking for Directions to Familiarizing the Kanji. I admit my Japanese is poor since we only had classes three times a week. I haven’t learned all there is to learn about Kanji and I absolutely still can’t read a Japanese newspaper. One has to know at least 2,000 kanji to be able to read a newspaper, and at least 5,000 to be able to understand a serious novel.Honestly, we only become “students” during our three-days-a-week Japanese Language class. Although my friends and I were “exchange students,” 90% of our time was spent touring major cities in Japan.
Three days after our arrival, we participated in our host institution, Ferris University’s Japan Study Tour to Hiroshima and learned how an industrialized city collapsed, and recuperated.Our planners were practically filled with monthly excursions that we fondly called “Major La-ag”- be it a day of fun at Tokyo Disney Resort in September, a day of food tripping at Japan’s largest Chinatown in October, Ferris Festival Conference in November, or a Christmas Party at the Philippine Embassy on December. We waited for year 2005 at the cold Yamashita Park shivering and praying for the rain and snow to stop. We expected numerous fireworks to light up the Yokohama skies only to find out there aren’t going to be any fireworks display after all.
The first day of the year found us lounging in McDonald’s eating our very first meal, comparing Japan and the Philippines.Experiencing the Japanese culture was never this hilarious. During our visit to Kyoto and Osaka, we had to reluctantly take a bath – naked, of course - with a bunch of other naked ladies (foreigners and Japanese alike). Try as we did, we couldn’t get past the dressing room in swimsuits since, posted beside the youth hostel common bathroom door was a giant note, “Do not wear swimsuits in the bathroom…Enjoy the Japanese culture…"
I didn’t feel nervous on my solo trip to Nara, the ancient capital of Japan, to see the bronzed Great Buddha, and Kobe, the city once struck by an earthquake that affected not only Japan’s citizens but its economy as well. I remember my friends saying “ka-isog nimo oy!”I never felt so happy in my entire life during our two-day ski tour in Nagano. There’s nothing more therapeutic than skiing, assuming, of course, that one already knows how to ski. Snowy Nagano was equally as inviting as sunny Okinawa, where a different kind of Japan exists. Palm trees and hibiscus graced us as we toured several World Heritage sights and ate traditional Okinawan delicacies.
Oh, and did I mention the food? The foooooooood? Where else can you find an affordable Shakey’s All-you-can-eat treat? Well, probably in other highly developed nations but still. Japan has one of the world’s most unique (and expensive) cuisines. For the best Japanese food, head to Nagoya and you surely won’t feel fats lining your jeans until its too late. Except for that slimy natto (which Verna and Jan unsurprisingly love so much), wasabi, and some wagashi (Japanese sweets that always made Michelle smile), Japan’s palate treats never fail to make my mouth water.A large bowl of ramen (Japanese noodles) can already appease one’s hunger but one is never enough when you see someone heartily slipping noodles in his mouth, feasting on the spicy flavors of beef, pepper, garlic, and herbs.
Now, my craving for tebasaki (Japanese-style fried chicken wings) and miso soup, curry rice and norimaki (rice wrapped in seaweed), and all kinds of sashimi lathered in fish paste is all I have. That is, until I go back there and grab myself an ichi-go-san-sai (a complete Japanese meal of rice, soup, vegetable, and meat or fish) or pig out at one of the tabehodai (eat-all-you-can) restaurants in Japan.
As I watched my calendar make way for another month, I dreaded the thought of leaving. August, our final month as exchange students has finally arrived and summer has become more overbearing. Summer in Japan is indeed hotter than summer in the Philippines.I admit I studied hard to be able to understand animes. However, Life was too exciting to focus on trivial matters as Japanese animation. What I’d seen on TV was mostly true. Most of the people (young and old alike) have dyed hair, most of the girls wear skimpy skirts as uniforms, and small as it seems, a typical Japanese house is tall and narrow because real estate is expensive.
I was full of dreams when I went there – childish dreams that involved attending an anime conference in Tokyo, collecting as much videos and comic books as I can, or even meeting a few graphic artists. However, Animes were nothing compared to the sights and sounds, to the seasons and festivities, to real images and actual situations of Japan. I did not attend any anime conference, buy expensive videos, or meet a graphic artist.However, I was able to visit Japan’s most significant shrines and temples, see maple leaves turn red in Autumn, and admire the cherry blossoms (which only bloom for two weeks a year) in Spring. Fun from watching perky cartoon characters with big sparkling eyes and wind-tossed hair of different colors was nothing compared to the joy of dancing in the year’s first snowfall, my first snowfall.
I was able to enjoy Nature’s Wisdom in the 2005 World Exposition (which happens every five years) in Aichi, ride a hydrogen-fueled bus, and get on a magnetically levitating train. And for my final “major la-ag,” my friends Mich, Verna, Grace, and I climbed Mt. Fuji, the 3,776-meter monster volcano, which, thank God, didn’t erupt while we were there. We didn’t reach the summit though because our bus might leave us (such a lame excuse). But still I’m proud to say that we reached the 3,500 mark. The trek was excruciatingly tiresome but what the heck…I have climbed Fuji!
Beat that Anime!
---this article was originally submitted to the author's EL 33 professor
I withdrew even deeper into the world of language, cleaving the diamonds of verbs and nouns, plunging into the brilliant light of poetry’s regenerative mystery. Words gave off rings of white energy, radar signals from powers beyond me that infused me with truth. I believe what I wrote, because I wrote what was true. My words did not come from books or textual formulas, but from a deep faith in the voice of my heart. ---Jimmy Baca
Who would’ve thought that a ninth grade drop-out could come up with these exquisite lines with words only imagined to have come from the minds of the most educated writers? For someone who did not know how to read and write until his late teens, Jimmy Baca has pawed his way through the labyrinths of the English language, and endured Life’s punishments in prison – his unofficial classroom where he obeyed his thirst for language. No one knew of the experiences – good or bad, memorable or not – he had undergone while pursuing his goal of conquering words, molding paragraphs out of phrases, and eventually mastering the English language. I came across one of his works, detailing his struggles before “coming into language,” and realized that it is never too late to learn.
At times when I feel angry or frustrated about getting my homework done, I would look at the computer screen or stare at my poster-filled wall and utter, “Why, oh why, do I have to do this?” Then a tiny voice would emanate from the depths of my head, slowly but surely enumerating all the reasons why I need to do all my assignments.Math problems were never a problem. Sure, there was the traditional mind-boggling showcase of equations one needs to simplify in order to extract an answer. But that’s it: there is only one final answer. However, if one gets bombarded with reaction papers, essays, or research papers to be completed within the next few weeks, chances of procrastination are quite high, unless of course one adores writing as much as he or she loves a favorite pet.
I used to write poems and compose short stories that never went unnoticed. Back in high school, my teachers would encourage me to “edit” my work not because it needed improvement but because it had to be changed completely.What was I thinking? Why was I trying to become a literary disciple when I couldn’t even distinguish one right prose from a series of wrong ones; when I couldn’t even master my tenses? Hadn’t I learned my lesson when a teacher who I still despise humiliated me in front of the class for writing “plotform” instead of “platform”?
Essay writing contests would become a source of great anticipation only to have my works neglected; only to be condescended upon.“You’re compositions are not contest material.” I remember them say. Daunted, I abandoned my short stories, locking away my imaginations and hiding them in a chest full of disappointments, and found comfort in my journals. I remember writing about my rebellious escapades at fourteen, my turning points at fifteen and the seemingly endless quest for a better life at eighteen. I found a partner in my journal where I can write whatever I want heedless of parallelism, tenses, or focus.
From the moment I open my journal my imaginations fly free, as if knowing their places in every page. All these years I seek refuge in my journals that until now, I lighten up after thirty minutes worth of writing. But what started as a hobby didn’t exactly evolve into passion. To coin a phrase from Jimmy Baca’s story, it helped me “come into language.” Baca’s story made me realize that huge mistake I made about giving up and giving in to my fears. My teachers thought my stories were trash so I retreated, leaving them victorious. Regrets are not really sweet but how I wish (clichés, clichés) I had practiced…how I wished I were strong enough to go on.I wish I had discipline, just enough to slap my face once in a while. I admit to being an impatient person, and am contented with my hasty disposition.
I go into details and make sure I’m doing things efficiently, but when it comes to writing I tend to float and just blab it all away on paper. I wanted to create a prose that could move my readers, one that is contest material. I wanted to organize phrases into paragraphs that blend reality with fantasy. But somehow, my soaring imagination remains stuck in my journal waiting to be unleashed. Right now I can’t seem to get my head on the right words. I feel that whenever I start with a few lines, pen dangling between my fingers, and paper waiting to be doodled on, I seem to forget what I was supposed to write. You see, I like writing but it clearly finds ways of evading me.
This is probably why I ask myself “Why, oh why, do I have to do this?” when showered with reaction papers and writing projects to be submitted in the next few days.Who would’ve thought someone with more than ten years of education could easily get intimidated by small things like a bunch of English assignments? Who would’ve thought someone who once dreamed of creating a poignant story would just trash those dreams out of fear of being rejected?
I know Baca’s hurdles were nothing compared to mine, but he succeeded! His work transcends ordinary achievement, all because he worked hard to pursue his dreams. I’m currently dancing to the tunes of college pressure, and am learning to dwell on my strengths. I may not possess the gift of words but a vision of me finishing an inspiring novel lingers in my mind. My compositions may not be “contest material” but I know they are true.
Like Baca, I want to write “the way I wept, and danced, and made love” and think I would succeed.One way or another, I know I shouldn’t be afraid because the words I put on paper, the computer, or the wall, are words that resonate from the crevices of my heart.
---this was originally submitted to the author's EL 33 professor.
I can't pretend to write something nice for the sake of updating obcompfreak. I can't pretend to have run out of things to say for fear of hurting anyone's feelings. I can't compel myself to be all bubbly and cheerful when I'm bleeding inside.
Why maintain a blog that only shows half of me?
So, as a tribute to my first Obcompfreak blog, I've decided to transfer choice posts that actually matter to me...
Posted Wednesday,Oct. 11, 2006
Love never considers...
You're wrapped in it all your life
yet still feel something amiss
You bask in its radiant glory
yet know it could blind you with pain
You take the road hesitantly traveled
yet the wheels burst and you're not even half way there
You dream at night, dawn, and day
yet your nightmares' promises keep you at bay
Your smile tames even the most daring of tempests
yet your tears signal the world's last bliss
You offer your heart - whole, half, a portion
yet the gnawing of your soul comes undiscovered
You're trapped in silly poems and giggles
yet still wail upon a chanced escape
Your heart paves way for passion
yet you shut the curtains just as the show begins
Love never considers
simply because fear rests on your shoulders
(I know I'm not much of a poet and I can only laugh at myself)
Posted Saturday, November 11, 2006
When I looked at the mirror
and saw an untamed expression,
I touched its silver surface and shivered
How long has it been since I saw that last ray of glee?
How long has it been since I smiled away my anxiety?
I tried to grasp what the glowing glass said
But the unadorned plane simply stared back
How could I have let indifference reign?
(another poetic suckfest...i promise this is the last...)
Unsay concept sa Koreano for NOT ordering our food upon submission of the snacks requisition? Hadn't I made it clear that his job entails, aside from managing tws transactions, purchasing snacks for post mortem meetings? unsay concept niya for asking - no, more like telling - me to just get what I want to eat?haller!
