from someone who hates romantic movies

You know how in those cheesy romantic movies they say “my life chaged when I met you”? And then we all roll our eyes and think about how many more cliches we have to endure just to get through the damn movie that our friends wanted us to watch. Then I’d probably blog about it; rant about how these film sequences never actually happen in real life. I’d say how stupid producers are for showing that it’s possible for longtime bestfriends to fall in love despite their own commitments and entirely different worlds. For goodness’ sake, someone doesn’t just hold your hand inside a shopping mall, or kiss you spontaneously in a movie theater, or tell you that you look pretty with your hair all over your face, or run aimlessly with you under the rain, or have conversations with you about nothing in particular for what seems like 80 hours at a time, or… or… well, people just don’t do that!

But I am in a cheesy movie. I hate it that cliches are such because they are. And I am writing it here because it’s too embarrassing to say it, and here is probably where he can’t read it. I am that unromantic protagonist in the film, who is confused by all this. Well, my old plans went poof because of you. I guess that’s change.

Still, I think people just don’t go kiss you spontaneously in moviehouses right? Ugh.

just so you know, i didn’t forget

Dear blog,

Four years and I am still keeping you. You are like an ex-lover that I can never let go. Even though this post is a week too late, I didn’t forget to greet you. I can’t pass my own birthday without remembering you. Four birthdays ago, you were there to listen to the child who struggled to find her place in the world. The following year, you endured the sharp rants and all the profanity that came with it. On the third year, you traveled far with a young lady who was looking for a fresh start. And this time, even though you were ignored for a long time; I still find you with your little blinking cursor, waiting for me to confide in you again. 

I have lost a lot recently, but you’d be glad to know that I am discovering new things. I am learning that less is more. I am appreciating spontaneity in life. I still panic, but I am less freaked out. Indeed, you are my ex-lover for a reason. I have found a new one. Someone who will listen the same way you do, but will speak gently to comfort me. And unlike you, he would not let me scream and punch the walls. The new one isn’t a lot better, he is just more like me. I am sure you understand. If this new one doesn’t work out, I know you will still be here to listen. That’s why I can’t let you go.

Until next time, blog. I’ll visit you from time to time and maybe share a fun story or two. Happy birthday to both of us.

’tis the season

I can’t count how many times I’ve said how much I hate Christmas. Sure, it’s fun to get the occassional gift or two; and nothing beats the feeling of being able to share. However, this is also the time of year when you feel compelled to give to people you don’t really care about, but must do so out of shame or to avoid being branded the scrooge of your family or workplace. It’s when you stress about what to wear on Christmas parties for work, when all you’d do is eat all the lechon you can manage and grumpily participate in silly parlor games for some petty cash. If you’re even luckier, you have this one huge clan that holds the annual Christmas bash with endless dancing and annoying karaoke until the sun rises the next day. All that… I can tolerate. But what bugs me is how everyone finds the time and effort to do all these things, just because it’s Christmas. Next day, most of our jolly Santa Clauses return to being the self-centered, grouchy hypocrites that they are during the rest of the year.

For the past several years, the only thing about the holidays that I looked forward to was the annual Christmas thing I had with my closest friends. This year, I don’t even know if I am still considered a friend, so what’s the use of expecting a frikkin celebration.

Yes, I hate it.  Even the radio stations that repeatedly play those Christmas songs annoy me. I cringe at the sight of children singing Christmas carols around the subdivision. Believe me, it’s this bad. I have become such a grinch to the point that it’s already embarrassing.

So thank you… for making it not seem so bad. At least now, I feel some sort of alien excitement because you have a magical way of making me look forward to each tidbit of time we would spend together. We’ve been planning fancy dinners and looking for new places to visit. But you know what, we can eat fishballs and sit on the sidewalk and I don’t care. We can talk about the same things over and over again, sit on the same bench for hours and I’d still be happy. You love the holidays, and you know I hate it. Still, I will rest my head on your shoulder as we watch the Christmas lights flicker; and somehow I know everything will be just fine.

uneventful, it seems

Okay. I know I haven’t been able to blog for what seemed like a very uneventful, uninteresting 5 months - which is supposedly the meatiest season of this year. But the truth is, it’s not that nothing happened… in fact, a whole new world has just emerged in this nerd’s existence.

Let’s see. In the past five months, this blogger has: Lost a job, tried to find a better one, failed at finding it. Tried to learn how to drive, almost crashed, swore to temporarily avoid getting behind the wheel. Resigned to studying again, until finding out how rusty my chemistry memory bank had become. Had contact with some old friends,  and also celebrated ten years of laughs with the current ones. Got dragged into a nasty breakup,  found patience and learned sacrifice. Conquered a stepping block towards a better career. Discovered how emotions can also be a good thing.

And lastly, this person has learned that sometimes you have to be vulnerable to feel protected; and that you have to shut your senses to know where the love is coming from.

Until the next entry. Whenever that is.

three and counting

Hey blog, happy third birthday.

Your author wants to apologize, beacause it appears you have been neglected for such a long time. She also wishes to redeem herself for thinking about closing you down permanently. Good thing she can’t seem to let go of you even though you always remind her of her dearest pains and most embarassing thoughts. She chooses to keep you despite the fact that you make her look all shitty and messed up; because in the end, the greatest moments of her recent life were the countless times she rose from all that shit and mess.

Your author also wishes to let you know that you have a new brother. Yes, your brother blog shall receive more care and attention but that’s just how it is with newborns. In the meantime, you can rest easy with all the bloggie friends you’ve met in the past three years. I’m going to get you a new layout once your brother is settled nicely.

So cheer up because your author is not abandoning you yet. Be prepared for her violent mood swings and explosive idea bubbles that may well leave you with a life’s worth of clutter and incoherent ramblings.

para kay…

It’s eleven at night and I just got home from Manila. Since Monday, I had set foot in my own home for such a short time that it caused suspicion from the family. I slept over at oneechan’s house, along with my laptop and stuff, for a purpose my parents didn’t understand. Truth is, I went there for an overnight Bleach marathon; and she luckily had a spare bottle of red wine that we shared during that early morning. Being the bunso in my family, I had to explain in detail why I was leaving again today for the metro. I actually had no reason, so I just said I’d follow up a certain job application (which I never really did). I just felt the city calling me.

During the sleepover, I was also able to borrow Angela’s copy of Ricky Lee’s scriptwriting manual entitled Trip to Quiapo, the Signed Copy which she won at a raffle in Trinoma. This copy, as it turned out, would have something to do with today’s Manila escapade. I already started with the book but stopped; because all of a sudden I thought that if I was to take Ricky Lee’s writing advice, I would have to know him first. Sure, I’ve watched and loved a few of his movies and saw him on TV a couple of times, but I had to know, erm, understand him. So I had to read Para Kay B.

So today: When I got to the mall I love most in Manila, the first thing I did was run to Power Books for a copy of Para Kay B. Due to force of habit, I turned left towards the free reading section of the store. I admit that sometimes I am a freeloader. Immediately, I saw five copies of Para Kay B on the shelves for in-store reading and didn’t even blink as I grabbed one. I immersed myself in the book for the next four hours. The Power Books crowd had changed numerous instances by the time I finished the novel. Quoting the Boy Abunda review of the Filipino novel, “Hindi ko mabitiwan ang nobelang ito maski ihing-ihi na ako.” The book put a spell on me. I felt stupid thinking that it was the only reason why the city called me, that I rode the tricycle, bus and jeepney for several miles just to read this book?! Oo, alam ko, may National Bookstore naman malapit sa bahay.

I was still in a daze from reading when I met up with two college friends during the afternoon. The meeting was short and sweet, just catching up with the latest personal events. One of them asked me, “Why are you here again?”

I said I don’t know. I made the trip just because of a gut feeling. When they left, I opted to stay in the mall because I felt the day wasn’t done. I began the late afternoon searching for techie accessories but found none that I need. Suddenly, the day that had no purpose became a day of searching. I paid a visit to my alma mater, specifically to a certain laboratory. It was the lab I wanted to work in. I looked for a former classmate who worked there only to find her bench unusually clean and the only hint of her presence, a lab gown, perched on the old coat hanger. I left the building, literally circled my old campus three times,  catching glimpses of med students getting busy with books and chitchat. Some faces were familiar but most were strangers.

I knew I was looking for something but didn’t know what it was. I went back to the mall and walked all four levels in an hour. Then there was this urge to search for a tea shop, which turned into a search for books on sale, then for a good Japanese restaurant, then turned into a search for the best takoyaki. When I felt discomfort in my stomach, probably PMS, I settled in a Japanese cafe, satisfied a craving for takoyaki and milk tea as I drowned myself in oddly familiar J-pop music.

Even on short notice, I ended up meeting a friend who I’ve had for the last 13 years. We had dinner, caught up with our lives, talked about family, life, love, career and comedy. A most refreshing conversation after such a long time. The same question popped up, “Why are you here?” I was looking for something, I answered. My friend offered to help me look for it but I said it would be better for us to spend the night over dinner. We were just there, amidst plates of Italian food… talking.

I took home leftover pizza and pasta to my family, perhaps to thank them for today’s freedom.

Just so you know, I didn’t find it. Whatever it is.

for them

The recent shutdown of numerous big companies and the consequent lay-offs have been polluting the news these days. Unfortunately, I’ve seen this. We were also affected by this meltdown and I’ve watched people go in groups, with false smiles amidst pained expressions and teary eyes. I saw how the boss regretfully announced the sad news, the initial breakdown, the look of understanding on their faces and the peaceful resolution that came soon after. I’ve seen many of them strive hard for their dreams and families, only to be put away with all their hard work made to mean nothing. And as for us who were left behind, I know that no amount of sympathy from us can match the frustration and disappointment that each of them felt.

So for those who fell victim to life’s little naughty jokes. For those who are feeling like they just hit a wall. For those whose worlds crumbled down in mere seconds:

of greatness and beginnings

I am not a supporter nor a detractor. I’m just a humble soul from thousands of miles away, captured by words and hypnotizing cadence. I’m not doing this entry to attract more traffic or to join the worldwide hype, and in fact, I’m not even using the right search engine keywords. I just want to quote this phrase:

… greatness is never a given. It must be earned.

The phrase, among many others, sent chills down my spine. Since first hearing him speak in 2004, there have been many instances that the rhythm and substance of his words awed me.The quote above seemed to just, well, for some reason… hit home.

He inspired a new beginning for a lot of people. I have to admit, the world seems all so fresh now. Pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off? Alright, sir, let’s roll.

worm

People are always asking me what I read. I don’t understand why some people don’t have any idea how to gently interrupt someone from reading; why they don’t realize that reading for some people is just as deep as sleeping. I believe interruptions should be carried out with politeness.

So here’s what I’m reading: this new bestseller by Sophie Kinsella, who is better known for her Shopaholic series which has recently been adapted into film. It’s “Remember Me?”, a chick-lit novel about a skaggy woman who suddenly wakes up with amnesia to find herself a filthy rich careerwoman. To be honest, I wasn’t impressed by the overly slang first-person narrative style that the author used. I just continued reading it to shake away my initial lethargy before work starts. I began to enjoy the story eventually; besides, it was meant to be a light material. The clever plot and uniquely British humor made up for whatever flaws the novel had.

Anyway, I have a colleague who bought a book. She showed it to me excitedly and I was disappointed that she actually had to buy it from National Bookstore. It was Bram Stoker’s Dracula; so I thought: If she really wanted to read a classic, she could have bought one from a book sale for half the price instead. But then, she really wasn’t the type who looks at books as a hobby so I didn’t mention my musings. When they asked about her sudden purchase, she replied, “Because I saw her (me) always reading. And she’s good at her job; so I figured, if I begin reading, maybe I’ll get a bit better.”

I never guessed being an antisocial nerd who’d rather read than talk to people-type-of-person could touch someone that way. It made me smirk. It was good revenge for all those times I was taunted and interrupted from my book.

oh, nine?

My first thought as we entered 2009: I want to have a drink, please.

Again, I spent New Year’s Eve at work; a strange yet interesting way to start the year. Bosses gave away chocolates after the dreary countdown was over. People applauded and stood up to spread lousy greetings while I lazily type away in my computer. So I officially spent the last minute of 2008 and the first minute of 2009 working. Moments later, my colleagues talked about the pasta, variety of salads and leche flan (which turned out to be just delicious leche) that we were about to share for an early morning meal.

Come mealtime, we had a festive Media Noche sustained by mere initiative to bring whatever we can or had. It wasn’t the worst New Year’s celebration for me… because at least we were not compelled to walk a kilometer to the nearest Jolibee just to have decent pseudo-festive food, which isn’t even that decent. Much better, AT LEAST we were not relatives who pretended to like each other at family reunions, or awkward friends of friends who were forced to socialize at a party. We were just people who happened to be in the same place at the same time doing the same thing. It really wasn’t that bad; but I just wanted to have a drink, that’s all.

I was too hard on myself for the past year, the least I could manage was finish off with a swig of liver poison. On to sober 2009 then.

noche buena

There are few things in the world that get my attention these days, and the holidays, don’t attract me any more than they did when I was five.

I spent Christmas eve and the first few hours of Christmas day at work. So me and my colleagues were mocking ourselves by setting a stopwatch in the computer and counting down to the official start of Christmas day. As soon as the computer clocks struck 12, people began greeting each other ‘Merry Christmas’ in a manner like strangers greet ‘Peace be with you’ in church. Some tears were shed for those who missed their families. I was laughing through the cheekiness of it all, but I thought it was amazing. Some people actually feel it that much, huh?

My colleagues brought food and we stuffed ourselves with pasta, doughnuts, brownies and coffee. It was refreshing to share Noche Buena with people I don’t know and who don’t know me as well. Somehow, we were not kidding ourselves.

Merry Christmas.

consuming barbecue

This entry would probably destroy whatever respectable impression I have with people who don’t know me well enough. You’ll get what I mean after reading this:

Friday night. I was on leave for no valid reason whatsoever. Even though I came from Manila that morning, I still had time to nap and go to work… but I chose to take a leave. You can’t blame me if I want to escape that Hellish Pit of Fatal Boredom even for just one day. Anyway, taking advantage of my leave, I watched the shows I missed on cable without realizing I dozed off on the couch. My brother took over the TV and ignored my journey to the abyssal dreamland.
A couple of hours into my sleep,

Me: Who was with me during THAT exam?
Bro: What?

Me: Who was with me in that exam?!
Bro: Well, why is it me you’re asking? (while pulling the computer chair near me)

Me: Duh? You’re the one sitting there!
Bro: So?
Me: What the heck, search for it in my laptop!

He kept quiet and continued surfing the net and watching a movie.

An hour later,

Me: ConsumeNgBarbecue.com.
Bro: What?!

Me: Consume-ng-barbecue-dot-com.
Bro: Consuming barbecue? (types away in the lappie)

Me: Consume NG!
Bro: Consuming?!
Me: NG! Consume NG! Tsk! (appeared irritated according to bro)

Bro: Are you really awake or just dreaming?
Me: I’m awake, dammit!

Again, silence. My brother began making mental notes about the conversation and tried not to burst in laughter. Meanwhile, my parents claimed to have heard us talking (slightly arguing) around midnight. So I guess my brother wasn’t fooling me… it really happened.

How can you be sleeptalking and be conceited at the same time? I don’t know, just ask me when I’m asleep.

insanity

I don’t know ’cause I’m not a doctor, but isn’t it when they diagnose you for mental disorder they ask if you’ve felt or experienced anything unusual? They’d backtrack towards events in your life or previous actions that might prove your sanity or otherwise.

Okay, so let’s backtrack…

*** After overtime***
After another crazy day at work without sleep, I accompanied my mom to the hospital for some routine lab tests; then we went grocery shopping. I usually don’t stare at other people but a certain girl caught my attention. She was confidently walking with her boyfriend inside the air-conditioned mall while wearing a) an orange bra, b) overlaid with a sheer white blouse, c) skinny jeans, d) a red scarf and e) dark shades. I was stifling giggles so much that my mother wanted to hit me. Hehe.

Sorry, I don’t intend to be mean… but girl, ano ba? Don’t contradict yourself! I don’t know if the ensemble was meant to be for summer or winter. It’s okay to wear a two-piece suit with a translucent cover-up on the beach but in the mall? And fine, for the sake of fashion, it’s okay that Pinoys wear scarves despite the equatorial weather, but not with exposed bright-colored brassieres. Maybe it’s just me; but forgive me for this one, I had a bursting laugh anyway.

***Before overtime***
Everyday I get a lot of jokes about so many different things. Some are worth a little smile but most of them have been quite irritating. But behold, here’s one joke that actually made me laugh for a good minute:

     Two atoms are walking down the sidewalk,
     Atom 1: “Wait! Stop! I think I lost an electron!”
     Atom 2: “Are you sure?”
     Atom 1: “Yeah, I’m positive!”

Corny, hehe. But I laughed! Maybe I just missed chem (eh?). Ironically, later that day I was teaching a kid about redox reactions. LOL

***Sometime in the middle of work***
Girl: Alia, question. What do you call that middle groove below the nostrils and above the upper lip?
Me: Ah, that one. It starts with PH. Wait… (2 seconds) … ah, it’s PHALLUS.

Girl: Oh, actually sounds familiar. Thanks. *she begins looking it up at Google to look for a technical definition*
Me: (Teka, why does it sound weird? Sexual. Shet!)  Wait!

Girl: Huh?
Me: It’s PHILTRUM. Phallus is… erm, look it up on Wikipedia.

bitter and sweet = honey and clover

Honey and Clover, Hachimitsu to Kuroba, is a manga series that gave birth to two seasons of an anime series (2005-2006), a live-action movie (2006) and drama (2008) of the same title. The movie featured Arashi member Sakurai Sho in the lead role while the recent drama adaptation prides itself with another Johnny’s Jimusho protege, Ikuta Toma.

The story begins with Takemoto Yuta, a freshman who moves in Room 202 of a shabby apartment complex where he met his schoolmates from the same art college, senior Mayama Takumi of Room 101 and overstaying 6th year student Morita Shinobu of 203. Immediately he sees Morita’s out-of-this-world behavior, bringing home huge loads of a random food item and sleeping for long hours after coming back from his mysterious “jobs” - which is the same reason why he couldn’t graduate. Meanwhile, Mayama, despite his personal struggles, acts as a senior to both flatmates and even helps Morita get up in the morning. Their otherwise routine college lives dramatically change with the arrival of Hanamoto Hagumi (Hagu), the eighteen-year old art student who surprisingly looked and acted like a small child. They were introduced by the girl’s uncle and their professor, Hanamoto Shuji. As the semesters go by, Takemoto and Morita both realize their feelings for Hagu and show affection in repressed and strange ways, respectively. Meanwhile Mayama deals with his own romance issues with Yamada Ayumi, a very pretty pottery student nicknamed Tetsujin/Iron Lady for her determined attitude and karate kicking. Yamada’s love for Mayama was never returned because he pines for an older woman named Rika, the founder of Harada Design firm which he worked for. The lives of the five college students unfold in this series as they discover young love, battle through career issues, struggle with independence and do some soul-searching… with tons of hilarious memories on the side.

I’ve never seen an anime that induces any more nostalgia than Honey and Clover. The storyline is so uniquely crafted that from the first chapter you already know it’s more than the regular school dramedy. It’s mature, sentimental yet funny and heartwarming. Takemoto does the saddest monologues I’ve ever heard from a fictional character. He almost always looks like a teenager going emo over the simplest things. Overdramatic, dumb and overused but darn, I love it. And who doesn’t like stories of unrequited love? Yamada and Mayama’s stereotypical non-romance is odious at times but very addicting to watch. Their relationship is something you’d say you’d find tiring to understand but deep inside, you would probably relate to. I find the story’s strength in that despite Hagu’s nauseating cuteness, Shuji’s seriousness and undeniably adult presence balances everything out pretty well. Another crucial element of the story is Morita’s comical appearances (or disappearances, for that matter) along with the interesting sidestory that comes with his character.

The plot may seem slow-paced especially to those who prefer action-packed comedies or aggressive fantasy dramas. However, I think H & C is captivating and refreshing that sense. I may also be guilty with pressing fast forward during the long agonizing landscape shots of the anime but after rewatching, I realized how it all becomes part of the drama. It makes you want to lay back and take it all in; be absorbed in Takemoto’s monologues, let yourself loose with the occasional hilarity and just give yourself enough reason to cry. I admire the author for writing it in such a way that every chapter reflects something that people actually feel or experience. The author presents to us something simple, real and heartfelt.

Something called Life.

so what.

I’m doing what every blogger in the planet has done this week. I am writing an Olympic post.

People often talked about how China was more concerned about saving face than actually being part of the history of the Games. Why wouldn’t they? Foreigners suddenly invade a country that’s isolated itself for the most part of the last millenium (they even put up a wall, for goddness’ sake). Athletes worried about the thick smog and the quality of living as they arrive in conspicucous medical masks.  But then to cope up, China built a new airport terminal, reduced fifty percent of their land traffic, shut down factories in the city, conquered an architectural feat by erecting the Bird’s Nest and had their cab drivers learn English. However, the international press still felt constricted with the controversial firewall that would never be entirely lifted.They attempted to make the world’s greatest fireworks display in a densely populated, smog-covered city for the international audience; and the world still makes a fuss about the computer generated bit of it. A cute kid sings their national hymn with a big smile and the everyone keeps busy making an issue of the lip-synching.

So what if they’re saving face? At least they’re winning medals. We send what, fifteen Olympians, and some of them are not even true-blooded Pinoys? Sure, Phelps will always set records and the Dream Team will always hoard points; but we spent our taxes for our athletes to play in this momentous sports event (and for Manny to wave our flag in a backdrop of blue barongs). We don’t swim, fight or punch but we care, dammit.

Funny thought: I just realized that I actually weighed heavier than our gold medal pambato in boxing. Payat niya no? (Or it could go: Taba ko no?) Lol.

But then let’s go over the impressive ones… the ones who’ll get 10, 000 hits on Google just from busy bloggers. If the Games are really named after Mt. Olympus like I assume it is, then I say Michael Phelps is an Olympic god. And weightlifting’s Liu Chunhong is some sort of demigoddess- oh, how she made setting records look so easy. You know, Yao Ming used to give me the creeps. Asian guy standing over seven feet with a strong square-ish face… why won’t I find him creepy? Even my tall cousins used to scare me. But Yao Ming, recently, surprisingly impressed me. So what if he’s got injured knees, broken feet and an infected toe? So what if he’s all tired and burned out? So what if he missed seven of his ten shots? He played majestically; like nothing else mattered more than that orange ball and the pride of his country. So take a breather, big guy… while we patiently hope for a gold and China continues to battle with rival US for that number 1 spot.

Another thing. Because of the Beijing 2008 games, my dream destination- The Forbidden City- has been much more devirginized.

ghost hunting… otaku style

The manga and anime Ghost Hunt stemmed from a novel series by Ono Fuyumi, the acclaimed writer of Twelve Kingdoms. The 25-episode anime aired late 2006 until early 2007. I had finished watching the anime upon onee-chan’s suggestion.

Ghost Hunt tells of the adventures (sometimes, misadventures) of a paranormal investigation team known as Shibuya Psychic Research. The president of SPR is a seventeen-year old researcher named Shibuya Kazuya, nicknamed “Naru” because of his narcissistic attitude and the consequent cold treatment of other people. A first year high school student, Taniyama Mai was forced to take a job in the SPR due to debt from a camera she damaged accidentally. Her talents of clairvoyance and precognition were later discovered after several psychic investigations and an ESP test by Naru. She then learns to work with a complex but very talented combination of characters in the SPR team. Among them is Naru’s Chinese assistant, the reticent Rin Koujo who was revealed to be an onmyoji or a spirit master. Despite a seeming lack of affection from Naru, there are others who acted as Mai’s older siblings: Takigawa Houshou, called Bou-san, a Buddhist monk who is actually a rockstar by profession (specifically a bass musician); and Shinto miko priestess Matsuzaki Ayako who shares Bou-san’s expertise with exorcism incantations but often falls short of expectation. Also part of the team is a very young Catholic priest from Australia, John Brown, who surprises everyone of his ability to exorcise spirits at nineteen years old; and a popular spirit medium from TV, Hara Masako; who can be easily recognized with her kimono outfit. Another character, Osamu Yasuhara, was added to the team after a particular case that he was involved in. The anime featured eight files that the SPR team had investigated while the members struggled with their personal issues such as Rin’s taciturn nature, Ayako’s hidden abilities, Mai’s feelings for Naru and Masako’s resulting jealousy, among others.

Who would have thought a two-dimensional animated show could scare the bejeezus out of a person? I’m not referring to myself but my onee-chan, who was haunted with a couple of sleepless nights if not nightmares. At first, Ghost Hunt appealed to me as a bunch of short stories about the paranormal much like the long-running live drama series Yonimo Kimyona Monogatari. After several minutes I came to realize that the plot of this anime was creative in its own right, perhaps even better than all those popular Asian horror flicks. There still were the commonly used concepts like poltergeists, disturbed spirits, occult phenomenon, haunted buildings and objects; but the various expertise of the SPR team members make their escapades a little more interesting. I’m particularly fond of John because even though he’s very kind and soft-spoken, I think he’s the most kickass personality in their team of psychics. One moment he’s just the cutest boy but once he dons the cassock and begins his exorcism prayers, you know it’s definitely showtime. It was also entertaining to watch Naru’s arrogance and intelligence and how it strangely draws Mai closer to the leader (although it is debatable whether she was falling for the actual Naru or the Naru in her dreams). Favorites aside, the anime honestly got me glued to the screen for hours because of all these characters that add more color to the already captivating storyline. The CG for all the bloody and gory scenes had such an attractive aspect to it. It’s also worth noting that for several episodes, I didn’t skip on the intro and closing credits as I usually would when watching on DVD. The graphics and music were so cool that it didn’t hurt to watch it again and again. The only disappointment I had was that the anime left me hanging. Bitin, is a perfect way to describe it. It also pains me that the anime adaptation was only a small part of such a grand plot in the novel, which must be a great read if only I could get my hands on it.  

coffee, nonfiction and that place in LA

I’m a coffee junkie. To prove my point: before coming back from the US, I even removed a bundle of clothes from my luggage so I can fit a three-pound can of Colombian coffee to bring home.  

I consider coffee shops one of the cleverest gastronomic inventions along with French Fries and the automated ice cream churning machine. Because strangely, the aromatic air and tame background music seem to always spark my very rare lengthy conversations with people. True, their merchandise appears ridiculously pricey, especially if you can get the same tasty beverage with ol’ Kape Puro; but these shops have been my venue of choice for catching up with family and friends or random serious talks.

So why then, don’t I have a story to tell for a contest that has a grand prize worth fuzzing about? If you’ve been to any The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf store recently, you’ve probably read that they’re giving away a trip to Hollywood in a story-telling competition. I saw the ad on a TCBTL table while hanging out with a friend several weeks ago, but I remembered to view their microsite just recently. I’ve read a couple of the contest entries and thought, “I can definitely write something like this.” I write fiction. I can concoct the strangest yet most interesting love story or barkada drama for this contest. However, in the spirit of fairness, I thought maybe I should write a true story for once. Here’s the problem… as much as I try to dig my memory bank, I don’t have a TCBTL story. I could say that I have a Starbucks story; but it happened in… well, the greatest business rival of The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf… uh, Starbucks. So, should I change the mocha frappucino part of the story into chai latte?

Oh, I could definitely use the grand prize. I have a valid visa (and everyone knows how hard it is to obtain one these days). Besides, I’m having this sort of wanderlust that I can’t seem to shake off. A few days away from people-bugging-you-about-what-to-do-with-your-life doesn’t hurt either.

There’s just this thing about the prize. If ever I do win it, I might be going alone. Though I can always call my Chicago-based cousin to fly there and join me, it just feels absurd. It’s friggin’ Hollywood. It’s this big, fun place with beautiful faces and handsome cars; and there I appear as this nerdy tourist in a lousy t-shirt. I’m never a fan of big cities anyway, and I hate crowds. I don’t want to come back being asked how my Hollywood vacation went and all I have to show are bad photos and crumpled brochures.

Why am I even thinking of this in the first place?

a shake for the rainy season

No one can predict an earthquake. That I know. Aside from detecting subtle changes in tectonic activity, I reckon there’s no existing technology that can allow us to predict the exact magnitude, date and time of a future quake.  

Unless you’re a self-proclaimed psychic, apparently.

The internet has been buzzing with news of a certain Brazilian professor Juseleeno Nobulega Daroose predicting a huge earthquake to hit the country on July 18th. The psychic had claims of being able to predict Princess Diana’s demise, the 9/11 tragedy and the location of the late Iraqi leader Hussein before his capture. The latest of his so-called predictions included the massive quake that hit China several weeks ago, and now, he’s claiming that we will be the next ones to get shaken. Following the China quake and the series of low-intensity earthquakes that Luzon has experienced recently, it will come as no surprise if another shake-up happens soon since there’s already an obvious display of tectonics at work. At the said magnitude of 8.1, if true, the event will mark the end of this place as we know it. Convenient, huh?

Whether it be an educated guess or precognition, shouldn’t we always be wary of these emergencies in the first place? The forces of nature have long been ganging up on us anyway. Even as a mere dot in the Pacific Ring of Fire, we are no strangers to destructive volcanic events and quakes that can kill thousands. It actually troubles me that I can’t remember learning anything in school about earthquake preparedness. I’m probably one of those who’ll spend 10 seconds figuring out where to go and would get smashed by a broken ceiling in the process.

Come to think of it, it would be utterly convenient yet a waste of planetary energy to have my life end that way. With my closest friends only knowing me as the female personification of Detective Conan and my family branding me a kid with a thousand frustrated careers… there’s nothing to write on my tombstone.

Until that marble slab will have a description worth meticulous etching, I should learn to save my life.

algebra suddenly made sense

I loved math. Then I hated it. Then I liked it again.

I don’t know if this love-hate relationship with mathematics in general stems from several failures in school and then the strangely excellent marks I get in certain couses. There were times when I could sit for hours, solve ten pages of calculus problems and even feel refreshed afterwards. There were also times when I would sit for hours and not understand how to solve that single equation at the top of the page.

Sometimes it just didn’t make sense. I had thought the same towards the science (or pseudoscience?) of numerology. 

But guess what, I tried this numerology site upon the suggestion of a colleague who was amazed with the results. And here is my “reading”: (more…)

oddities, on a lighter note

After my latest post, I realized there are a lot of ways to prove how strange my household really is.

–A conversation, around 9PM–

Me: Remove it yourself.

Bro: I don’t normally touch frogs!

Me: What, you think I do?!

Bro: You have a naked frog swimming in formalin in your room! Don’t tell me you can’t pick one up!

Me: FYI, I gave that frog away. Besides, my frogs were sedated. I don’t necessarily chase them around.

Bro: Whatever, you do it. I’m not touching a frog.

Mom: Anong klase ba naman yang kuya mo?! (What kind of older brother is that?!) 

–The Story–

During the recent rains, we discovered a frog living in our front yard. It was average-sized, wasn’t that much of an eyesore and it wasn’t destroying the plants so we didn’t mind.

One night, however, I was washing the dishes in the kitchen when my brother was suddenly yelling for me to come. Startled, I rushed to the living room thinking that something horrible had happened. I had a bunch of theories in my head; that maybe there was something unbelievable on TV, that he broke some stuff, or worse, that it was something electrical. It turned out that the harmless frog had entered the house as my brother came back from his yosi break outside. My brother was screaming and telling me to pick the frog up and throw it back outside ’cause HE DIDN’T WANT TO TOUCH A FROG.

Let me explain this further. My 25-year old older brother is a straight, grown-up, normally adventurous male with long hair up to his shoulders, tan skin, broad shoulders and a stocky built to match… but he didn’t want to pick up a frog.

I told him I was busy washing dishes but he insisted I remove the frog before it goes any deeper under our furniture. I asked him why he can’t just do it himself; and he told me that he doesn’t normally touch frogs. (Like I do?) My mother overheard the argument and was irritated at first, but then started laughing as she took over the dishes I left in the kitchen. Anyway, in fear of the creature possibly having poisonous skin, I got a pair of latex gloves before attmepting the hunt. To my brother’s happiness and amazement, I caught the frog easily in one grasp. He instructed me to throw it out the gate. I might have thrown it a little too far as I saw it fly towards the other side of our street. It was a just a few inches from my neighbor’s property, who almost woke up to find a smashed amphibian at their gate.

I really didn’t mind having to get rid of that frog, except that some kind of sticky, icky, yucky mucus got stuck in my gloves and my brother didn’t want to clean it either.

Oh well, LIFE IS ODD. Nowadays, baby sisters get to save their brothers from little harmless amphibians.