Why I'm Not Sold on the 'Yan ang Pinay' Movement

Some people may find it strange that I'm not all rah-rah about the "Yan ang Pinay" movement, since I'm usually a rabid supporter of causes on women, and I'm proud of being Filipino.
However, I don't--and I can't--subscribe to a cause that I feel is a quick reaction, a palliative, to yet another thing that happened to offend our prickly national pride, no matter how noble the intention is. I've seen this before in my line of work. Congressmen would quiclkly jump to the defense of the Filipino at the first report that we are being slighted by foreigners without verifying reports, often making a mountain out of a molehill.

First of all, what is the "negative" perception of Pinays? That we are sex objects? Mail Order brides? Domestic help? Sweetheart, Pinoy Pride aside, our country's sad economic reality has forced our people to migrate wholesale, much like the Irish during the turn of the 19th and 20th century. The world knows this. Sex object? What woman isn't a sex object, either willing or unwilling? Italian women don't mind their wholesale reputations as bombshells, do they? Bottom line, YAP will not solve this "negative" perception, nor is a step toward a solution. We cannot convince foreigners who have preconceptions of what a Pinay is even if he or she meets a Pinay who isn't a sex object, a domestic help, or a mail-order bride, even if he reads article after article on the virtues of the Filipina. Blogging about the Pinay will merely flood the web with more chatter.

Second, changing the definition of the label "Pinay" is merely the different side of the same coin. This still promotes the same "herd" mentality that promoted the "hostile" image in the first place. Intellectually, we know that not all the French are rude, Not all Englishmen have bad teeth, not all Japanese have a driven work ethic. Good or bad, a label is a label. I don't think all foreigners are stupid enough to judge an entire race of women because of the decisions of a few. To assume so is demeaning intellectually, depriving people of the thought process to actually judge for themselves and form their own opinion. Aren't we also perpetuating the same prejudice, casting the same judgmental eye, on our Pinay sisters who decided to sell themselves because of their own will or for economic reasons? Maybe we should try saving those who were truly exploited by white slavery rings. Besides, shouldn't we consider people as individuals rather than attach a reputation to them, deserved or undeserved?

Lastly, are we, as a people, so insecure and have no self-esteem so as to be offended by the fact that some Pinays have chosen to be prostitutes, Domestic Help, or Mail-Order brides? I feel that the YAP movement has more to do with ego than with patriotism. In Cebu, onions are called "Bumbays." I don't hear protests from the Indian community. People poke fun at the French's reported snobiness and they take it in stride. The English make jokes at their own reputation of being hygenically-challenged. These Pinays may have given Filipinos a bad name so it needs to be "changed." Unless we, as a people, stop complaining, get some discipline, follow laws, and become kind people, Pinoys will always get a bad rap.

I'd like to talk about the woman I admire the most. My aunt, Marietta,put herself through college, has been the breadwinner of our family, has been my mother figure, and survived cancer. Could her attributes have something to do with being a Filipina? Partly. But it has more to do with the fact that she's an amazing human being.


NikkiAlfar
Tobie Abad
Gabby Lee
Andre Mischa Cleofe

Queers and Fears

From correspondent Ilyn Florese-Alanguilan, a report on Thom Filicia's visit to Manila.

Just covering all my bases people ;) Enjoy!

Gerry and I left San Pablo at around 7:30 am and reached Alabang at around 9:00 am yesterday. Had breakfast, got my stomach acting up again so I bought medicines then went to the activity center. We found out that we should have bought their book the day before for us to get 'tickets' to sit inside the cordoned area. We could've bought a copy, but the day before? Hmmm... I'm not like that, considering where I'll be coming from.

We tried to find a good place to stand and found one near the back. At around 10:15, there was a ribbon-cutting ceremony at the Homezone to open an exhibit of the work he did for the US Pavilion at the World Expo in Aichio, Japan. Then he was led to the stage where he was introduced by Daphne Oseña-Paez (I didn't know until yesterday that she's pretty in person). He commented at every one of his credentials Daphne was enumerating. He's happy and proud of what he did without sounding that he's bragging about it.

Thom with Daphne

He told a story about having 17 meals until since arriving Friday morning. "Didn't we eat just awhile ago?" Thom and Kyan would say to each other. Well, I'd say, welcome to the Philippines! :) Then, yesterday at their hotel, they were supposed to eat breakfast and when they asked around, they were led to the restaurant where a long table with a lot of women were there. "Kyan, I think they are trying to convert us."

Anyway, he conducted a lecture about the US pavilion, about design, did a critique on the works done by the PSID students and answered questions... similar to seminars we've been attending during our conventions. His manager, who looks also like a bodyguard, was laughing hard because Thom was funny and yes, he is charming.


Thom in action

Book signing was next. But unlike what happened there at Greenbelt, the ladies had a grand time taking pics with him even during the opening of exhibits. And even after book signing ended, Thom stood up and signed more books along the way. Then it's done. We bought some stuff and went home.


Thom charms the ladies

It was fun. Thanks to my husband for coming with me, and who was not embarassed of taking Thom's pic in a sea of women.

--------

I think I've been partying waaay too much lately. I need a break.

As someone once told me, "Sleep is good. Sleep is your friend."

Indeed.

Fete de la Musique was somewhat of a disappointment for me. Didn't enjoy the heat, the crowds, and the unruly and unwashed youth, whose idea of teenage rebellion was to get drunk and pick fights. While I bumped into many old friends and acquaintances, the crowds made it impossible for me to locate and unite my disparate group of friends, scattered across the fair grounds.

Anyway, it got too overwhelming that my brother, his girlfriend, her sister and I motored over to Absinth. Turned put that the samba band that played at the Fete had also headed there, along with other Fete refugees.

So there I was, dancing by myself and minding my own business, as I was wont to do in these places, when a girl with a pixie haircut and in a funky skirt decided to join me. So I decided to jump on for the ride.

Things got pretty heavy between us, as she grabbed my hand and led me to the VIP section. Once there, she decided that she wanted to get funky, so I thought, cool, let's get funky.

Bumping and grinding, pelvis against pelvis, sweat against sweat. I did my best to follow her rhythm. It got pretty hot. I had to admit that I was a bit turned on by it all. She whispered in my ear that everybody in the room envied us. I didn't really care because I was lost in the music.

Truth be told, I know I had told you guys that I have never been attracted to women. Well, there was this one girl. Just one. I was 22. I thought I was going nuts when I was almost paralyzed by my massive crush on her, because I know that I'm not a lesbian. Anyway, I decided to keep my distance and my feelings for her went away.

She got tired, so we plopped down a couch and cuddled. As I stroked her leg, we shared information about each other. Her name was Marge, 21, and yes, she was gay. Duh! she exclaimed. Wasn't it obvious? I replied that I don't like to assume things about people. I've danced with other strangers before, some of them women, but just because we decided to get down and dirty doesn't make them gay, right?

She told me her girl was out of town,so I asked her, won't her friends think that you're cheating on her girlfriend? She told me that her girl is probably cheating on her with a guy. Besides, it's like we we're doing anything wrong. I asked her wasn't her GF gay, too? She said that she likes to go out with "straight" women.

Anyway, my cellphone beeped. It was my brother, who told me we had to go. So Marge and I left the VIP section. I thanked her with a peck on her cheek. I didn't ask for her number because a) I'm straight b) I figured that if she's realy interested, she'd ask for my number.

Later that night, I dreamt that I bumped into her while I was on holiday in Spain. We chatted for a bit, then she asked me why didn't we exchange numbers when we first met? Then she gave me her number.

Damn, I really should've asked for her number.

Her Story

Reading the conclusion of Jonas Diego's A Girl's Story was like putting down a very satisfying novel. The storytelling was sharp and lyrical, the art was very effective in moving the story along. It may not have had a happy ending, but the story was thought-provoking and resonated emotionally.

What appalled me more than the guy's lack of compassion for a fellow human was his refusal to take responsibility for his actions. This is on top of my list of pet peeves. Every action has a consequence, a principle that is oft repeated in religion and science.

This is what I don't get with society: People love to hear stories of sex and scandal, but refuse to acknowledge the flip side of the coin.

This morning, after a night of partying, my girlfriends Jewel, Leslie, and I got to talking about our lying friends and gynecological stories. The conversation rolled at how people only want to acknowledge the good part of themselves, and would go to great lengths to lie about their weaknesses. People like them don't care if they step on toes, as long as they look good to those who they think matter.

Leslie noted that people only want to hear her sex stories, but her friends felt uncomfortable when the conversation shifted to the not-so-pleasant side of being promiscuous. Leslie and I are well aware that being sexually active could get us diseases or pregnant, and we are responsible enough to take precautions and look after our health.

Personally, I, too, am trying to find balance between my good and bad sides. I am struggling to acknowledge and accept my undesirable traits and embrace these weaknesses.

The more people try to cover up weaknesses, the weaker a person's foundation becomes. Leslie had earlier spoken about why the Japanese economy faltered as spectacularly as it did. I couldn't help but notice the similarity.

Make-Up 101: Eyes

Alrighty people, let's hustle. Moving on to the eyes.

Now men, women may seem to be risking blindness when they put on eye make-up, but really it's all for your benefit. Why the heck would we go through all these lengths to be pretty? Now when the make-up people say they want to "make the eyes pop," it means to make the eyes more noticeable.

Girlies, DO NOT look for them fancy ways of creating the illusion of bigger eyes or what not: that's not what this series is for. All I'm teaching are the basics.

Oh, and another thing: One of my pet peeves is when women color both their eyes and lips too strongly. Pick one area. Choose. Make up your mind. What's your asset? What do you want to emphasize? The eyes or the lips? If you're not appearing on TV, there's no use getting over-painted. P.S., don't forget to shape yer brows people!

Now that that has been established, let's move on!

Step 1: Put on eyeshadow. Now, I'm not a big fan of eyeshadow because there's so much room for goof. So to minimize goof (and having to re-do your eye-makeup), choose neutral colors like browns and pinks, something close (but not too close!) to your skin tone. Choose 2-3 shades you really like that belong to the same color family. Make an imaginary line dividing your eyelid into two or three. The darkest shade will always go to the part nearest the lashes. The lightest shade near the brows. DO NOT over-shadow or you'll look like you have a shiner. Black eyes, in my book, are unattractive. Think of your brows as the border. DO NOT put shadow past the part of your eyelid under where your eyebrows end. This is the imaginary border. However, this is not a hard or fast rule so go ahead and experiment!



Note on shadows: I am not a fan of blue or green eyeshadow, because of the aforementioned margin of error. However, I've seen morena girls with green eyeshadow and look fab. So my tip, keep it sheer, and use shimmerry, not matte eyeshadow. Or else you'll look like Mimi from The Drew Carey Show.




Step 2: Apply eyeliner. My sister uses liquid eyeliner, but I prefer soft-tipped pencil eyeliner that smudges easily, because it doubles as eyeshadow when I am in a hurry. I just place my finger over the corner of my eye, gently drag, and voila! Line the part of your brows where skin meets the lashes. I don't put eyeliner under my eyes because a) that's so 80's! b) Philippine humidity quickly gives me raccoon eyes c) more risk of poking my eye out? No, thank you!




Step 3: Pencil in the brows. Just trace in the lines and follow the shape so your eyebrows. YOur eyebrows should looked "filled-in" and "groomed." Use just enough pressure to darken your brows just enough so skin won't peek through the brush.



Step 5: I know Kurl-lash looks like an implement of torture, but it really does make your eyes seem wider. I swear! So close your eyes and curl away, then apply mascara. My sister is using Ever Bilena Mascara gel, perfect for the daytime, and it also doubles as an eyebrow groomer when I'm too lazy to use eyeliner (why, yes, I'm a lazy oaf).

Tip: Sometimes I apply black mascara at the outer part of my lashes, and clear mascara at the hairs closer to the corners of my eyes for a "Betty Boop" effect. Very dramatic.




I hope I haven't overloaded your brains with too much information, since you still have FOUR more people to visit! Hope you enjoyed this stop! Ta-ta!



Nikki
Alfar
Tobie
Abad
Gabby
Lee
Andre
Mischa Cleofe

He's here! He's Queer! and He's HOT!

The many faces of Kyan Douglas

HE'S HERE! HE'S HERE! My favorite gay guy is here! Kyan Douglas, the grooming guru of the fab show Queer Eye for the Straight Guy came to Manila to spread his message of positivity and self-improvement.

I've been popping pills like crazy since Thursday, determined that I be well enough to go meet Kyan on Saturday. Because of the damned weather the skin on my hands has broken out in rashes and I've been feeling feverish, and I got my period on Friday. I was a giant walking ache.

I staked out the place as early as 10:40 am. There were already a few stragglers there. I've been debating for the past couple of days whether or not I should buy his book, which I've already read thrice. But sensing that the only way I could get thisclose to Kyan was if I had a book signed, I decided to splurge. (bye-bye this week's budget!)

First one in, first one seated. I got the best seat I could, by the aisle in front of the stage. I dozed off in my seat as I waited, still feeling light-headed. Thank goodness I was wearing an unconstructed coat. When I woke up, the place was packed. All allotted seats were filled, and spectators and fans surrounded the cordoned area in the middle of the mall.

He arrived right on time. Girls started to scream, and he had a hard time getting the crowd to quiet down and hear what he really wanted to say. Poor Anton San Diego. He was the host, but nobody was listening to him.

Kyan spoke for the next thirty minutes about his life, how he got the Queer Eye gig, and his latest job as the first male spokesperson for L'Oreal cosmetics.

The reason why I like and identify with Kyan so much is because we have the same personal motto: To become the best person we can possibly be. He spoke about his life growing up, gay and Catholic in his hometown in Florida. He was a thin, shy, and awkward teenager, who disliked everything about himself. At age 15, he decided that he was sick of feeling that way and decided that he wanted to be fulfill his potential (lucky him! I reached that point at the age of 23). He studied Eastern philosophy, became active in yoga, watched his health and diet, and became a positive person.

He became involved in beautifying people by becoming a hair colorist. He excelled at his job and one day, one of his clients suggested that he audition for a show her friend was casting. We know the rest.

He encouraged everybody to "know thyself"--yes, it's unoriginal but it still rings true--to keep a journal, to become better on the inside. Feeling better inside, he said, will create ripples and affect how you look and feel outside. He also urged everybody to become the best at what they are doing, in whatever job or task.

For me, Kyan is the embodiment of how becoming the best you can be lead to success and other unexpected blessings. He is passionate about beauty. He worked as a salesclerk at cosmetic booths in department stores, before becoming a colorist for Arrojo Studios and a stylist for magazines and TV shows. He was perfectly happy and content and good at what he was doing and the world became his oyster.

He then answered questions submitted earlier about himself, his views on Manila and his stay here, and the show. One girl asked Kyan to marry her. Women screamed as Kyan slowly got down to one knee, then stood back up and said, "Sorry, maybe in another lifetime!"

As I lined up to get my book signed, the uber-strict handlers forbade me to have my pic taken with Kyan. He heard this and was kind enough to say "Oh okay, then you can take a picture of me while I sign your book!"


Kyan signs my book!

I told him that his message resonates. He seemed touched by what I said and thanked me.


Kyan signs more books

As I headed to the exit, I noticed that Kyan's car was parked near the entrance. So I decided to park myself right there and take more pictures. People multiplied as soon as word got out. Good thing I was in the middle of the landing, right behind the guards. People started to push when Kyan headed to the car, as I vainly tried to get a good picture. The poor girls who were near the stairs (it was only about 3-4 steps) tumbled down the pavement as they bore the brunt of the force of the "domino effect." I think one of the girls was the president of Pinoyslayers, the local Buffy fan club. I looked at them and tried to see if I could do anything, but other people had already helped them to their feet. Besides, I was no longer feeling too well, so no gatecrasher stories for you guys!

I slept until 8, and decided that I didn't want to be sick alone and went home to Parañaque.


Oh well, I have my book, I have his autograph, and I met Kyan. I am a happy munchkin.

Sinners and Saints

Enter the world of Sin City, where men are men, dames aren't all who they say and nobody plays by the rules. Everybody has a secret, and it's only a matter of time before it catches up to them.

I haven't read all of the seven-or-so graphic novels where the movie was based on, but I was thoroughly impressed by the ones I have. It reeks of sex, deception, crime, mental instability, and the agony of desire.

Because I had very definite ideas of the characters of the celebrated graphic novels, I was afraid that I was in for a disappointment. I wasn't.

The movie interweaves three of the novellas in the "Sin City" graphic novel series, where the characters from other novellas make an appearance. (The Babe Wore Red sequences were so brief, I didn't count it in).

To someone who has not read the novels, the connecting scenes of the movie may seem forced, stretched just to make the film appear as if it were one straight story. I also feel that the movie lumbers at parts because the directors wanted to be unerringly faithful to the comic. Reading "Sin City" then watching the movie "Sin City" for me was a jolting experience. The use eye-popping color in a sea of black and white was a visual treat. It was the novel, in the flesh. For the novel's fans, this should be a pleasant experience. I mouthed lines as they were being said. However, I felt that it wasn't wise to directly lift a lot of the dialogue from the comic. Some lines that worked for the novel seemed ludicrous when spoken out loud.

Robert Rodriguez cast the right people. Except for Brittany Murphy, who I felt didn't have the sass or the bravura of Shelly. Shelly was cheap, but undeniably sexy in an earthy way; she was ugly but she had a confidence about her that made her alluring. Murphy did get Shelly's cheap-ness, but I felt that her interpretation of Shelly was too jittery. While some actors didn't resemble their comic book counterparts, everyone had the mood and the menace down pat. I especially loved Elijah Wood as the sweet-faced cannibal Kevin. Look out for cameos by Frank Miller and Robert Rodriguez.

Among all the characters, I connected the most to Gail. I loved her costume, and I loved her gleeful bloodlust. Hm, what does that say about me? I guess I still have a lot of aggression to work out.

Would I recommend the Sin City graphic novels? Yes.
Sin City the movie is a film for fans by fans. I guess you just have to be a fan to thoroughly enjoy it.

Make-up 101

Okay folks we now begin our lesson on painting human faces. It's in time for the first week of classes and the inauguration of the Slinging Ink Writer's Web group!

If you have been a very good girl (or boy) and religiously follow the tenets of good skin care (enough sleep, water, cleanse/tone/moisturize), then you wouldn't need this tutorial. But not everybody could be a very good girl (or boy).
This is a practical guide on how to put on make-up on your face for everyday activities. I won't recommend painting your face all the time, since the skin needs a rest from all that gunk. But when you need to hide some blemishes here and there, my sister and my model, Grace demonstrate a quick fix.



1) On a clean and oil-free face, dab on a little concealer on blemishes, like Grace's zit. Focus on the bottom side of the pimple. Cover up under-eye circles, the sides of the nose, anything that's darker than your natural skin color. There are several colors of concealer that can be matched to skin tone or to counter-act the color of the blemish. Green concealer only works for fair-skinned people.



2) Dab a little foundation on a damp sponge (or your fingers)



3) Blend. Make sure any trace of concealer mixes in with the foundation. I like using liquid foundation best because it dries easily but doesn't leave my skin dry. I like Mary Kay medium coverage foundation, but use Nivea Natural Tinted moisturizer when I get lazy. I use Max Factor cake foundation in Tawny Beige when I know I will be photographed.



4) Don't forget the neck! You wouldn't want to look like you fell face-first into a bowl of flour. This will ensure that the color of your face matches your neck. Remember that your face will be more tan than the rest of your body. But you already know that.



5) Apply pressed powder to set. My sister and I use Godiva pressed powder. We like the consistency of the powder, and it blends well with make-up.

I hope I do Kyan proud!
----

Dear boys who are boys.

The principle of this entire exercise is simple. Pretend the face is a wall with chinks and holes. You are about to paint this wall. Concealer is the masilya or putty used to smoothen everything out. Foundation is akin to the primer coat of paint, powder is the final coat of paint. Intiende?

In the immortal words of Jonas Diego, "Concealer before foundation makes you a sensation!"

Could that statement be any more gay?
----

P.S. DOES ANYBODY KNOW OF A WAY I COULD GET INTO THE QUEER EYE PARTY 7 P.M. GREENBELT BAMBOO PARK WITHOUT GATE-CRASHING?

ONWARD HOY!

He's Coming! He's Coming!

AIEEEEEEE!!!!!!
FANGURL SCREAMS SOME MORE!
AIEEEEEEE!!!!

JUNE 11! GREENBELT MALL!

AIEEEEEE!!!!!!

Citius, Altius, Fortius

Contrary to a Libra's supposed virtues, I am a competitive person.

I like to compete. I guess this is one reason why cosplay appeals to me so much. I like competing against myself, discovering new things, new ideas, new ways of doing and being. I also like the idea of pitting myself, my work, and my abilities against other people. Whenever I win or land in the semi-finals of a contest, I don't bask in the glow of victory. The thought that always runs in my mind is, Oh no, what could I do to top this?

I would like to think that I am a good sport, gracious in both victory and defeat. I am not a win at all cost kind of person, and am more likely to use whatever means is at my disposal. I have used my charm to get into and get out of many, many interesting situations.

However, I draw the line with pageants. Despite my family's continued proddings, I have never been comfortable in competing in events that pit beauty against beauty, physique against physique. That is just not fair. Short of plastic surgery, there is really little one can do with the looks that God gave a person. One can alter looks, but really, being judged with a criteria so subjective, how can anyone say one is more beautiful than the next? How can a competition based on that be fair? It may sound hypocritical from someone who joined (and won) a beauty pageant, and I may eat my words some time in the future, but that's how I feel about beauty pageants for now.

I like competing in events that I can prepare for, with a goal that I can work toward. Today I will be joining the Slimmer's World Olympic events squats competition, where I will compete against several women to do the most squats while lifting weights equivalent to 50 percent of the competitor's body weight. For me, that is equivalent to about 55 pounds. I've been preparing for this for weeks now. I never imagined that skinny me will be asked to lift weights!

Yes, I have many flaws. I am self-conscious, vain, sometimes pompous and self-centered. In joining competitions, I'd like to think that I'm building character, in my true quest of being the best me I can possibly be.

Nitpick, I Must

In order of annoyance:

10) Though it was excellent CG, too much battle scenes.
9) Lines like, "Oh Anakin, you're breaking my heart!"
8) Padme's diminishing control over her intellectual faculties and increasingly hormonal/emotional outbursts with every succeeding movie.
7) Inconsistencies, like, how come Anakin knew that Luke was his son but didn't sense Leia? Was it because she didn't have "Skywalker" next to her name? Wasn't the Force strong with her?
6) Hayden Christensen tries too hard.
5) The lovely couple discover their on-screen chemistry too late. Episode 2 was supposed to be the "romantic" movie, according to George Lucas. If Episode 2 is a geek male's idea of romance, humanity is in trouble.
4) Nobody goes to sleep in a pearl gown, perfectly coiffed hair and a mask of dewy make-up.
3) Nobody actually knows that Padme and Anakin, two very high-profile people, were married? They were living together for crying out loud!
2) With all that technology, nobody knew she was carrying twins? How could Anakin and Padme not know? I guess that shows how involved they actually were in the pregnancy.
1) In ROJ, Luke asks Leia if she remembered their mother. She described her as "very beautiful, but very sad." How could she have remembered her mom if she died in childbirth?

Please, Star Wars fanatics out there, answer my questions. My knowledge is limited to the movies.

***

Carrie Underwood is the new Idol? Bah! Dapat si Bo Bice! Pero in fairness, bagay sila. I hope Bo and Carrie end up together! They look so cute together! I want them to become a couple.

The funny thing about the Idol finalists, they want to make it big in the music business, but they end up becoming famous because they're famous, not because of their music. The musical credibility of past winners have been practically nil. Kelly Clark is the only one I know who is approaching that place. Hope that changes with Bo.

Cosmic Girl

Slaving Away for Slave Leia

Cosplay fever. Lack sleep.

Can't watch the Revenge of the Sith tonight. My costume is only 40 percent done and if I ever hope to finish it in time for May 23, I have to put in a lot of muscle. The universe has conspired to allow me to finish my costume by cancelling my appointments for this week, and am racing feverishly to complete it.

I had a lot of trial and error making the costume, and admittedly, I kind of let other priorities take over the past weeks, hence the cram. Thankfully, my dad has supervised my progress and helped me create things here and there.

I learned that lacquer based paint and plastic insulation for wires don't mix. Stickwel Glue has proven once again that it really is god, and that oh, candle wax is a great substitute for molding clay!

Then yesterday, my cosplay cabinet collapsed. I've expected it for sometime now, since the assemble-it-yourself container I bought didn't seem to be made of the sturdiest materials. I guess the sheer weight of all my costumes and knick-knacks I've accumulated over the years have taken a toll. To count My costumes (costumes only, excluding the wigs and props) are:

From Cowboy Bebop: Faye Valentine and Electra Ovilo
From Anito: Maya and Tinio
Kill Bill: Gogo Yubari (yes, including the mace)
2 Kimonos: 1 yukata and my L5R Kachiko costume
A Spice Girl maxi-coat I made for a school production in 1998
Mimiru/Black Rose from //.hack
1 gothic lolita ensemble I designed.
A Sumomo (Chobits) costume my niece outgrew before she got a chance to wear it.
Sailor Mars
Aeon Fluxx
Kunoichi

Cosplay is really a guilty pleasure: I feel so guilty that I like it so much! Sometimes seeing suffering people make me feel guilty that I can afford to cosplay. Sometimes I feel that the money I spend cosplaying is better spent on other things. But I can't seem to stop! I like the fact that I learn that I am capable of doing things I previously thought I couldn't do. I made the front plate of the Slave costume all by myself! Hooray!

I thought that I would've outgrown the bug by now...but if anything, I've infected my other friends with the cosplay virus! It's great but in the same way...I kinda wish i could find something else more...adult to channel my creative energies to.

As for now...no time to waste. Gotta...finish...the...costume....

Sister Act

My sister and I fought constantly when we were younger. At home, there were hair-pulling, punching, slapping, and even biting matches over everything: toys, attention, sleeping space. Communicable childhood diseases were always a good excuse to keep us apart. My frustrated grandmother would always sigh, "Dapat sa inyo paghiwalayin."

My mother constantly compared me to my pretty sister, poised, popular and athletic. I was the apple of my grandparents' eyes, and she probably also resented the fact that I was their fair-haired child: well-read and articulate.

Battle lines were not only drawn at home, the tension was also palpable in school. I was Daria: The English Nerd perennially on the "Bookworm of the Month" list. She was Morgan: Always a cheerleader during sports events. I could not remember a time she wasn't at the hub of coolness of some sort. She is smart, but her social life got in the way of her studies. She always had boyfriends. People always compared us to each other. "Why can't you be pretty and fix yourself up like your sister?" they'd ask me. "Why is your sister such a weirdo?" they'd ask her.

I became a source of embarrassment for her, I think. I deliberately made myself the anti-thesis of her: I'd go to school in mis-matched socks, kept to myself. Whenever I'd go out, I would manage to find the most horrifying outfit you could conceive. (you won't find pictures of myself aged 14-16: Except for my school photos in uniform, I burned them all.)

I was so happy when college rolled along: I was finally free of her shadow. I became free to experiment, and forge my own identity, which I did, free of criticism and comparison. It was then that I began to see that she wasn't the monster I thought she was, and my distance from home and independence became a source of admiration for her.

I read a column in a paper wherein the writer postulated that it is wrong to absorb the traits of other people people for the sake of social acceptance since it dilutes your essence. Au contraire, my dearest. In my case, I became secure enough in my own identity to see that hey, looking presentable isn't as bad as I thought it was. What's wrong with emulating somebody when it helps make you a better person? Social acceptance wasn't my goal, but it came with my decision to befriend my sister. I saw that being into the things she was into didn't turn me into her clone. I soon became interested in *gasp* boys, clothes, shopping and make-up. Yessirree, I turned into a typical female. At age 17. (sad no?)

I started out clueless in what it took to become female. In the beginning, I was dependent on her for everything: borrowed her clothes, used her make-up. I admire my sister's fashion sense: She's so savvy that anything she wears now would be seen on TV six months to a year later. Yes, folks, very forward taste indeed. Whenever I have to be dolled up for an event, nobody touches my face except for my sister. Nobody can do my make-up without her present. She knows enough about the quirks of my face to know what would make me look good.

Now that she has to leave for the US soon *sniff sniff* I had to learn to pick my own clothes and put on my own make-up. For me, the highest compliment I could think of is my sister giving her stamp of approval on anything I wear or on my make-up that was done without her supervision. Not that I'm dependent on her approval, mind you. It's the feeling that a young Padawan gets when the Jedi Master says that you've come. It means that my sister can leave for the US without having to worry about me embarrassing myself inadvertently with my taste in clothes.

Yes my sister, I have arrived.

---

With this, I announce the beginning of a series of tutorials on make-up for those who are *ahem* kikay challenged? I will demonstrate basic make-up application for the dummies like myself who didn't bother to learn how to put on make-up until I had to learn it on my own. Better learn how to swim, folks, before the time comes when you to need a life jacket.

The tutorials will also feature "Guyspeak," a portion to wherein I'd translate the make-up application techniques to make it more digestible to the male mind. I will endorse products that I swear by at the moment. Suggestions from other females are very much welcome! We are all here to learn.

Jonas suggested that I come up with the series when I showed him my "arsenal." His eyes glazed over when I explained to him the mechanics and uses of the contents of my make-up kit. I held his hand as I re-assured him that make-up is not something to fear, and I helped de-mystify make-up and its application for him. I do understand that all those make-over shows can be intimidating in layering on make-up advice. So I will only feature products and applications that I use and works for me and my friends. Huwag kayong malula sa make-up. You don't have to listen to everything put out there! You don't have to buy everything that's advertised! Try on something. Buy it if you like it. Throw it out when it starts to smell. Otherwise, your drawers will resemble you'r mother's stained make-up dresser.

Till then.

And Good Triumphs Over Evil!

COngratulations!

THE RULES OF THE GAME

1) Married couples do better

2) There has to be a male in the group

3) Play fair

4) Support each other

5) Don't bicker

6) Don't be last

7) Slow but steady wins the race

SUKEBE!

Manila is crawling with perverts.

I have had pevert-stalkers experiences in the past, when strange men would follow me home and I had to take great lengths to hide my tracks so they wouldn't discover where I lived.

Monday last week. I was on my way home from work. I was wearing a pencil-cut miniskirt and heels. I was walking by the Enterprise building when I noticed a man walking beside me. I thought nothing of him since I assumed that he was a fellow pedestrian. He was in a red shirt, grey sleeves and jeans. He looked normal and decent. I noticed that he was headed toward the Greenbelt Starbucks, and I went along my merry way.

I was traversing Gamboa street when to my surprise, I found Mr. Pedestrian walking beside me.

"Miss, anong pangalan mo? San ka papunta?"

I gave him a sour smile and crossed the street. I noticed that he was tailing me until I reached Makati Square. Oh no, I'm nearing home. I need to ditch him fast.

I went into the Don Bosco Adoration Chapel. As I was crossing the street, Mr. Pedestrian turned left, back towards Makati Square. I decided not to take chances and waited inside the chapel for 15 minutes. I thought he was gone by the time I left.

I was walking past Don Bosco School when I felt somebody grab my butt. It was him! I wanted to give chase and kick his ass but I couldn't run very well in heels and a skirt. Besides, I was more concerned that he would follow me home.

Mr. Pedestrian crossed the street and actually waited to see what I would do next. I decided to go into Jollibee Walter Mart and ate what must have been the longest meal of my life. He didn't follow me inside. He can bet I would've called security. I spent around 45 minutes inside the mall before I ventured out. Hopefully, I lost him for good.

***

Today I received this very interesting e-mail. I guess I'm starting to develop a reputation (?)

"I took my hands and spread your legs,
pushing your dress up. My head lowered to your cunt, my fingers spreading you
wide, my tongue plunging deeply into you. You gasped with pleasure as I
continued. I slowly began to undo the buttons on your dress, my hands exploring.
I undid your bra, kissing your breasts, licking the nipples. You moaned as they
hardened, pressing yourself against my mouth. I lifted you from the
couch,letting your dress fall to the floor...(blah blah blah...)

Interested in having that experience
honey? Send me your contact information ... you'll never regret it :-) -Randy"

Wow. I'm actually curious to meet him. His profile reads : 35, Married, PhD in Mathematics, University of Kansas, IT somebody in Makati, yadda yadda. What does Mr. Repressed IT man want with me? And does he really have all those credentials?

On second thought...nah. Too risky. Too weird. Too married. Too psycho. I think he knows me from somewhere.

Of Art and Fearlessness

The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.--Sylvia Plath

What is art? Is it really just self-expression? Does art really carry a responsibility to engender a better society? with the purpose of relating to people at the most fundamentally human level?

I am caught between two opposing thoughts. As an artist, I want to push boundaries. At the same time, I don't want to step on other people's feelings.

My writing, my work, and my subject matters are very personal. In cosplaying, in whatever I do, I tend to give a lot of myself. That's the way I do things. I try not to do things half-way because to me, half-way is half-baked, and to give somebody a half-baked version of yourself is unfair. I write about the people I know, things I have been through. Though I make light of a lot my experiences, most of the situations that I write about were painful when it happened. My sense of humor or irony usually pulled me through.

Many a blogger has questioned when to draw the line in revealing information about themselves. How much is too much? How much of yourself are you willing to put on display?

Already, I have been asked by a friend whom I have written about to delete information in a post that included him. I told him that he doesn't have the right to ask that of me, since his marauding girlfriend involved me in that situation in the first place.

It is impractical to reveal too much of yourself, since people with unkind intentions may use that information against you. In my case, it is becoming almost impossible for me to remain anonymous. Most of the people who read my blog know me personally, and I have become acquainted with many of the people who were strangers to me when they first read my blog. It is a fine recipe for the unwitting trampling on sensibilities and sensitivities. Try as I might to limit my readership to a valued circle of friends and acquaintances, I know that posting my stories online also opens my life to strangers, thereby exposing myself to further judgment.

I never hold my opinions, my thoughts sacred, because I know that somewhere down the line I may change my mind. When I write, I write freely, simply. I call a spade a spade. Whatever is written is my opinion, my feeling at the time. I myself will evolve in time. Whatever I write is a snapshot of me at a time, a version of me that will never be the same thing at any other time in my life.

It is getting more difficult for me to post my misadventures without the fear of reprisal or judgment. I am a firm believer of respecting opinions, even those that are contrary to yours. But it doesn't mean that I am not hurt when I hear them, that I don't bleed when they're dished out. I am also not the sort to indiscriminately give away my thoughts. I don't belive in censorship, because I am a firm believer of personal responsibility, of facing the consequences of my actions.

I don't want to write a blog where I feel like I have to censor what I say because Joe Blow has trouble swallowing my opinons. However, I am also afraid that I might end up hurting people who are important to me because of what I say. I don't like lying, or obscuring myself but unfortunately, it is the grease that oils human relations. I think that a lot of my material comes from my unspoken opinions. Whatever I mouth off may be kind, or cruel, but whatever I come up with, I know that there will always be a backlash. Am I ready to face it? Is it worth the risk.

I wish I were as fearless, or as foolhardy, as Tracey Emin.

A Family That Travels Together...Must be Crazy

My family's sensibilities are undeniably middle class.

We spent the weekend at the Fiesta Resort and Casino, a swanky facility high in the mountains of Rizal. I didn't help my family pack since I arrived from my place in Makati on Saturday morning, a few hours before we were to leave. I stood there horrified as the bellhop unloaded eight huge overnight bags (including my own), two bilaos, one filled with pansit malabon and the other with puto, a huge Tupperware container of rice, another Tupperware containter filled with adobo from the trunk of our car. Japanese tourists eyed our full trolley curiously as it rolled by the front desk.

"Ano ba yan, nagdala pa kayo ng pagkain. Nakakahiya!"

To which my sister replied, "eh ano naman ngayon? Nakatipid tayo sa pagkain"

Oo nga naman.

----

My family usually books a room in hotels on birthdays and special occasions. An urban getaway, if you will. My mother's birthday this weekend was no different. After unpacking our things and inspecting our room, we almost immediately got into our swimsuits and headed out to the infinity pool. The vista of the lake from the mountain was very photogenic. My brother, his girlfriend and I immediately went trigger happy with the camera. Megalomanic thoughts entered my brain.

Wow. They denuded this mountain just for us.

Click click click.

----

I was later drafted to keep and eye on my niece and baby nephew, who were taking a dip in the kiddie pool. I thought it would be fun to put my nephew on top of the little inflatable floater and drag him across the pool. Big mistake. As soon as I put him on top of his inflatable island he went in the water head-first. I frantically caught his foot and pulled him up. I was so frightened as my stunned nephew started coughing up water as I pat his back. He cried for the next couple of minutes, and coughed up more baby spit in my hair. I was so relieved that he was all right. I'm not sure if the experience has turned him into a little Achilles, but I am sure that his mother will kill me if she found out. He clung onto me for dear life soon after that. I don't blame him. I felt like I was a bad aunt.

----

An hour later my mother took the baby back to the room for a nap. My brother, his girlfriend, my sister and I lazed in our lounge chairs, chatting as we watched the sun set . Though we had the place to ourselves, the light from the torches and the poolside tiki bar were ablaze. We swam, made fun of each other and sang loudly off-key along with the hip hop and RnB songs blaring from the speakers hidden in fiberglass rocks. My brother and his girlfriend tell me later that they saw a meteorite streak across the night sky.

----

We had dinner at a Chinese restaurant in the hotel. The food was great, the interiors were better: reds, browns and oranges gave the place a '60s retro vibe. Save for us, the place was also empty. The entire family exchanged banter. It was a good time.

We had to pass through the casino on the way back to our room. It was then when we learned where all the people were.

----

I slept early. The next morning, I wandered around and took more photos. We had to take off at noon.

In Binangonan, I saw two dinosaurs in front of a restaurant and the Statue of Liberty in front of a house. I was told that it was owned by the same person, who ran a business making fiberglass statues. I thought it was hilarious.

----

It was a long trip home. My mom wanted to visit some of our distant relatives who lived in Antipolo. We got lost somewhere in the maze of streets. We were all eager to go home, except for my mom. We didn't even know of these people were to feed us. The situation didn't look promising. My parents parked in front of a 7-11 and a Wendy's as they bickered on whether or not to visit these strange people. At the back of the car, our stomachs growled louder and louder.

"Enough!" I said "Sige, I'll pay for the meal muna. Ma, you can pay me later. Please, kumain muna tayo."

Us kids trooped to the Pizza Hut beside the Wendy's and ordered. My parents grudgingly followed us a few minutes later. After the meal, we got lost some more, before finally finding the place at around three p.m.

Hooray to me, the peacemaker.

When we got there, they plied us with fried chicken and sodas. Ugh.

----

These relatives were apparently so eager to meet us that they didn't let us leave until 6 p.m. We were quite happy to go, an exhausted, bedraggled bunch.

Traveling families are crazy, but have fun.

----

All the pretty pictures.

What I Hate About Being a Woman

BRAS

I like breasts. I don't like bras. I do understand the need for and the benefits of a good pair o' underwear. I am a certified lingerie connoisseur. I am willing to fork over a lot of money for a miniscule piece of cloth. If there are two things that women should spend on, it is a good pair of shoes and a good pair of underwear. Other girls are into shoes, others are into bags. I definitely have a thing for lingerie.
Then why don't you like bras?
Because it's so damned frustrating to shop for one!
It's almost as complicated as finding The One. Aside from the fact that no two girls have the same sized jugs, even a girl's own pair are slightly asymmetrical. Flat chested girls are actually the luckier ones. Any full-chested girl has her own frustrating bra-shopping epic to relate.
But aren't bra sizes standard?
No they're not!
Check this out: In a Wonderbra I'm a 70-B; Avon and Triumph a 70 A; Any other brand I'm a 34 B. Every lingerie company has their own idea of how far out is far out. Unlike a guy who can stick their pair in any old pair of underwear, girls have to be more particular.

Yesterday I tried on 10 different pairs in three different stores before finally settling for a pair that I knew was perfect. Price tag: P 750. Yes, that's just for one bra. That's two pairs of shoes.

PMS

Another excuse for guys to pick on the abilities of females. Everything from flakiness to lack of leadership ability has been attributed to hormones.

I hate having my period. I can't do stuff. Changing tampons and pads could be a time-consuming business. I feel bloated, my tummy and breasts feel tender, my skin sucks. I am listless, more irritable and pessimistic in the first couple of days.

SAD MOVIES

I hate the fact that sad movies and news items make me cry. Yes, even those blatantly manipulative ones.

***

On a more serious note, what sucks about being a female is a culture of docility being pressed upon women. Women are supposed to be feminine, willowy, and all that blather. To have masculine traits is considered unattractive. To be anything outside the madonna/b*tch/wh*re spectrum is also unattractive. To stick out of a perceived category or label is considered unattractive.

The belief that women are weak and silent has promoted violence against our gender. I have sought counseling for experiences I have had previously, and learned that rape is not an act of violence that has nothing to do with sex but everything to do with power. A true man, a strong person, will never ever subjugate somebody else to feel power. Rape has nothing to do with the woman, but everything about the aggressor's feeling of inadequacy.

Jac, I feel for you. you should've spoken out sooner. Nevertheless, I'm glad that you have.

Have you Seen Me?

It all started on October 2004. One of The Boss' security men asked me whether I was in Cubao the week before. I said I wasn't in Cubao at the time. He told me that he saw me in line in the SSS building when he was updating his membership.

That was strange, I thought, but shrugged it off. People have told me that I resembled someone they knew.

Three weeks later, I was hanging out with friends in SM Megamall on a lazy Saturday evening when one of them asked me I was there at around three p.m.
"No. I just arrived. Why?"
"I swore I saw you at around that time near the theaters."

Whoa. This was freaky, I thought. Two sightings in a month? I forgot about it until last December, when I had a close encounter of the cloning kind.

I had just enrolled at Slimmer's World Pasay Road. I was chatting with the account executive I had submitted my application to when she told me an unbelievable story regarding my clone.

"Yeah, I thought she was you! She was with a friend, who was a little chubby. Her friend was the one interested in enrolling and I thought it peculiar that you came back the day after you enrolled. I thought you were pulling my leg when I realized that she wasn't you!"

"How'd you know it wasn't me?" I asked.

"Well, you have similar hairstyles, but hindi siya kasing-bibo mo. Mas mataba sa iyo ng konti saka hindi Inglesera. (She isn't as chatty as you are, a little chubbier, and she doesn't speak English). In fact, she seemed like the quiet type. She just sat there, and her friend did most of the talking."

I was so freaked out that I HAD to call my sister. For thirty minutes, we speculated about her identity. I learned that day that her name was Queenie, and she worked for a call center. Unless my mother had another surprise up her sleeve ("but how could you not know that I'm a twin?!"), we felt that she could be my half-sister from my anonymous biological father.

She never came back with her friend, and everything returned to normal, until last February, when The Blurb's Jonas Diego saw her at the diner I frequent!

He said that he was having lunch alone when he saw a girl he thought was me! Jonas would never mistake me as anybody else. We know each other well, and we meet at least once every two weeks. He said that he was in a queue when he noticed the girl, who was a little ahead of him in the food train.

"I was staring at her so hard I think I made her feel uncomfortable. She probably thought I was a weirdo. She really looked like you!"

This was just getting too close for comfort. Could she be my phantom? A clone? My doppleganger? For a fleeting moment, I feared we would melt into each other upon contact like in the Van Damme movie Timecop.

"So what made you stop from wanting to talk to her?"

"Aside from the fact that she might have thought I was a stalker?"

"Well you should have talked to her! You know I've been looking for her for months now!"

"Her hair was a little different. Shorter. Hers didn't flip away like yours do. She was a little taller. More weight. Had bigger boobs too."

I eyed him incredulously. "How would you know that she had bigger boobs?"

He shrugged. "I just know. Guys know."

"She did seem like you personality opposite."

So if anybody who reads this knows this girl, PLEASE contact me! Let's put a stop to this nonsense!

The photo above is just me, approximating what she looks like. I look ugly in it :P

***

I don't subscribe to personality tests but I found this as funny as hell.

http://hokev.brinkster.net/quiz/default.asp?quiz=Better%20Personality&page=1

This is what I got. Uncanny.

You are a WEDF--Wacky Emotional Destructive Follower. This makes
you a Menace to Society.Well, whether you're actually a menace depends on how
you choose to channel your energies. You chew your fingers and have an addictive
personality. Properly guided, you can be enormously productive--otherwise you
run amok, stir up trouble, and generally have a hell of a good time.To your
friends, you are a source of relentless entertainment. You often get into
trouble, but you almost always find a way out. You are strangely popular and
feed off others' energy. You live hard, seize the day, and although your more
sober friends would like to see you settled down, you generally have fewer
regrets and better memories than they do. Your tenet is that, at the end of the
day, one regrets only what one didn't try. You are right.You could benefit from
outside help in balancing your highs and lows. Or perhaps cutting back on the
caffeine.Of the 116881 people who have taken this quiz since tracking began
(8/17/2004), 4.9 % are this type.

Funny thing is, I'm not a caffeine junkie.

The Chandlers

I hate it when my favorite team is eliminated.

Habemus Papam!

Ah, yes I was wrong. I thought the Church was ready for reform, but I was wrong. Rats!

Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger is now Pope Benedict XVI. His name has been floating around for years, the buzz that he will be the next Pope has been going around since I was in college. I am not that impressed with him, though he reportedly has a very good head above his shoulders. He has performed his duties well as one of the late Pope John Paul II's executives. I think it is because I perceived him to be distant, a paper pusher, in contrast to John Paul's dynamic rule. Whenever I see photos of him, I see him hobnobbing with elite Catholics worldwide like the Kennedy clan of America, but not really with the people. Hindi masa ang image niya. Hopefully as his tenure continues, I, as a Catholic, will get to know and love the person who replaced the only Pope I have ever known.

I respect the Church's desire for continuity, being the good Catholic hypocrite that I am. Mabuhay ang Santo Papa!

Cali Boys

Either I need to change something in myself or Manila is getting to be too small for me. I seem to be dating the same kind of guys lately. I'm beginning to think of ways of how to re-orient the way I gauge a guy's attractiveness.

I spent the weekend with my friend Leslie, pulling back-to-back all-nighters. Friday night we went out for drinks with her boss, his wife, and his hot, hot cousin Joey. Leslie and I were griping about our boy problems when Joey said something very illuminating.

"The problem with you guys is that you're never willing to consider dating good guys."

The thing is, I thought that I was dating good guys. For crapssakes, I even dated a seminarian. I have a soft spot for quirky, talky, neurotic guys, but series of these cute oddballs I've dated seem to never work for me.

On Saturday, Leslie set me up on a double date with her friends Bobby and Jeff, Fil-Am Cali boys who spoke with sentences peppered with the words "b*itch, "*@ss" "motherf*ucker" and "It's all good." You know the type: bald, tatoos, biceps and testosterone.

She was with Bobby and I was set up to keep Jeff company. He was huskily built, and he seemed as slutty as the people who join those odd dating shows like The Fifth Wheel. During the course of the dinner, he made several requests that betrayed what he really was after.

That Leslie and I get it on in girl-on-girl action for him.
He asked me how many times I masturbated in a week.
Suck on an ice cube he was holding.
If I "go anal."

You get the drift.

The entire night was spent rolling my eyes and fending off his hands. He kept on trying to nibble my ear.

I thought the night was over when he and Bobby invited their friend Mike over, and we all went to Centro in Libis, a hip-hop club notorious for its cage-dancing contests.

As my eyes adapted to the sting of cigarette smoke, whose acrid smell I was sure would drench my hair and clothes, I realized that I was in a room filled with Jeffs. Overgrown frat boys eager to prove themselves to the world.

Though I no longer go clubbing as frequently as I used to, I can still party with the best of them. But seeing this crowd, barely legal girls stripping for attention, for a trip to Hong Kong, or for whatever reason, and guys secretly taking pictures of their panties, I realized that I have truly outgrown any desire to partake in any of this. I've been going clubbing for years and realized that I have been meeting guys like Jeff all this time: Fil-Am Cali gangsters or wannabe Cali boys out for skin.

I need a change of scenery. Got any clues where?

How To Freak Out a Girl in 7 Days

Work with her for three months and smolder with hidden desire and not tell her.

Spring into action four months later by inviting her to lunch.

While eating lunch, tell her that you're in love with her, and you have been since the first day she showed up to work. Bulldoze that factoid into her head as much as possible.

While at work, be as unkempt-looking as possible while around her. Then after confessing your feelings, try to look like you're spanking brand new.

The next time you see each other at work, stare at her as much as possible.

Put her in potentially awkward situations at work. Especially since you're the supervisor.

Tell her that you're not after her booty, and want to live with her forever and ever, that you'll be a dogged little chap, and you won't take no for an answer. All during your first "date."

During the first "date," insert the words "woo" and "in love" as many times as you could in a sentence. For example: "I told you that I'd woo you. The saleslady said that this bracelet I'm giving you right now is supposed to make you fall in love with me."

Send her freaky stalker-like text messages that sound witty in the head but scary out loud.

Examples:

"I do exercise. And I look fabulous under my shirt. FABULOUS."
"When you can, let's meet. I need to see you. I need to be with you." (and you're not even well-acquainted).

Press her for another date even when she says she isn't available.

Sound as desperate as you could. Look desperate. Act like she has no other choice but to say yes.

And try to ruin the relationships she has with males other than you.

Calling All 'Amazing Race' junkies!

The Department of Tourism is launching the Island Paradise Adventure Race (Luzon Leg), a 9-day auto rally through eight tourist destinations in Luzon based on an "on-time, all the time" system, featuring 35 teams. Each team shall be composed of 3 persons, one of whom will be required to perform certain physical and mental challenges at the control points and pit stops. At stake are top prizes in cash (P 1 million, P 300,000 and P 100,000 for the top 3 winners) and in kind, including trophies and recognition.
The rally proper will be from May 7 to May 15 2005. Registration of participants will be until April 15.
The race is open to the public. Drivers must be licensed with auto insurance and driving "street-legal" cars, and the team must be willing to invest at least P 35,000 for fuel, food, and accomodation. The teams could solicit for sponsors provided that the companies are not direct competitors of the event's sponsors. Registration fee is P 5,000. Please contact the DOT at 523-9031, 536-3153, and 524-2251 from Mondays to Fridays during office hours. Look for Anabelle or Faye

***

So is anybody game? I know I am. Paging anybody who owns a four-wheel drive. I am willing to sponsor the registration fee. :)

***

Speaking of the Amazing Race, I am starting to develop a severe dislike for media brats Amber and Rob. They have an advantage because they're popular, and they're milking it for all its worth. Haven't they won enough money already? I didn't watch them during their particular Survivor season, so I never really developed an opinion about them. But saying that Meredith pushed Gretchen over the cave, that went too far. And not helping The Brothers during the accident? Hmm, excuse my psychologizing, but not helping them seemed cruel. They like playing the game as long as it is to their advantage, but dislike being played. What gives? Again, if you can dish it out by bribing people to give misleading information to the other teams and stealing their cabs, you have to accept it when people dislike you severely. Accept the consequence.

***

Watched CSI:NY. Sorry, no dice. CSI Vegas is still the best. Not because it was the first on the block, but its writing is unmatched. Besides, everything about the succeeding CSI series seems so cliche. Top dog gives one liner, tilts his head, puts on his shades, gives a faraway look, then segue into the theme song. Regardless of sex, there's the sexy ballistics expert, the hot detective, the workaholic patholigist. C'mon people, don't try to infuse too much depth and story about a character during the first episode! You have an entire season to lay the groundwork! I thought I was gonna get into Mac whatever's character (Gary Sinise) during the first scene, anguished in a Church. I was intrigued. But you, you freaking writers, you gave it all away! Couldn't have we known that his wife died in 9/11 in another episode? I thought that having the three teams of CSI writers compete against each other would have motivated the NY writing. C'mon NY is the home of edgy. Give us edge! Not mac and cheese edge!

Billy Petersen (Gil Grissom) is so right. Stop turning the hit into a franchise. The product always gets diluted.

Up Yours!

The thing about being a person who is at peace with with her sexuality is that it allows people around me to let their guard down and confide details about their sexual activities that I feel should really be kept private. Sometimes, people have to learn how to spare me from losing sleep over unwelcome mental images. But then again, if I can dish it out, I guess I also have to take it in.

I have a close male friend, with whom I can engage in sexual banter comfortably. Out of the blue, he suddenly asks me:

"Hey, have you ever tried going anal?'
"What?"
"You know, have you tried getting f*ed in the butt?"
"Hell no! Why would I want to do anything like that?"
"Well..." a sly grin creeps across his face, "I have."
Classic. This is one of the few moments in my life where I have been caught utterly speechless. My jaw dropped and I couldn't stop myself from blubbering.
"Oh my. Oh my goodness! Oh crap. Really?"
"Really," with a twinkle in his eye.
I think the guy is actually happy that he was able to one-up me sexually.
"You mean to tell me that you haven't done it before? How weird! I mean you have been with all these guys. I can count the girls I've been with with one hand. And you're telling me that you haven't tried it?"
"Well, for me, to be able to do something like that requires a lot of trust. I haven't been in a relationship with a guy long enough to trust myself and and be free enough to do that."
He shakes his head. "Really...I can't believe it. All these guys, and no anal."
"Did it hurt?"
"No it didn't. Actually it's great! I mean, I can come more quickly because the hole is tighter. When I am at the point of orgasm, I switch sides. Good for me, good for her."
"Ah...did she hurt? She must be in pain."
"No. Actually, she likes it."
"Aren't you afraid that you might be giving her a hernia?"
He shrugs, "Not really."
"Did you use a lubricant?"
"Nah. Using condoms are fine. Just change condoms when switching sides."
At this point I cringe and my hand unconsciously wanders to my ass.
"No lubricants?"
"No."
Mercifully, he spares me the identity of the girl he did it with. I have had the pleasure of meeting some of his girls, and I begin to mentally take note of my suspects. With his boyish good looks, he didn't seem like the type who would do something like this.
"Really," he shakes his head again," all those guys, and no anal."
"You're making it sound like it's a bad thing."
"Not really. I'm just shocked. I expected that you'd be into something like that."
Curious, I sit there, in fascination, in awe, and mostly in sympathetic pain. Dude, that must be the one of the grossest things I've heard all week. But I choose to be wise and keep my mouth shut.

The Pope is dead

And my mom believes that the end of times is at hand.

I feel that the next Pope would be reltively young (in his 50s or early 60s) and most likely come from Latin America or Africa. Many Catholics interested in what's happening in the Vatican share this opinion. I personally hope that the ambitious cardinals who have vigorously jockeyed themselves to succeed the Pope years before his death would find themseves shut out of the race.

***

I normally don't use my blog for promotions, but my friends have pursued many note-worthy endeavors that need to be announced, and I have chanced upon many things that I really like.

My friend Jac Ting Lim (visit her blog, click PUTINGKUTING at the left) has joined The Slimmer's World Bikini Bodies Contest. She's smoking hot, and help her win the contest by sending in your text votes!

There's this other website I like, www.johnnyhollow.com. I like answering riddles. The website has an eerie Silence of the Lambs feel. Genius.

Watch Closer. If you aren't watching it for the solid material or for Mike Nichols, then watch it because Jude Law and Natalie Portman are in it. Again, I predict Jude Law in my future. And our kids will look fab!

Visit the blogs my friends. Many are comic book artists. Some have launched their own web comics, like Graphic Detail. Trés cool.

Tradition...Tradition!

Easter weekend was a very pleasant visit to my past. I love the rituals and traditions of the Catholic Church. To me, my faith is a light that beckons whenever I am morally lost, usually due to my own stubbornness and oftentimes misguided free will. I do not claim to be the most failthful and perfect Catholic, but I do try.

For an inexplicable reason, I woke up at three a.m. on Easter Sunday. I wasn't sure why I couldn't will myself back to sleep, so I played a computer game on the family PC.

Then I heard it.

The Church bells began to peal, and heard firecrackers being lit, reminding townfolk of the annual Salubong, a procession that symbolically re-unites Jesus and his mother Mary after his resurrection. I decided to get dressed and join the longer procession coming from my part of town, where the statue of the Virgin Mary was waiting. I remember my maternal grandmother would wake me up to join the procession with her every year when she still lived in Manila, and I felt that I should continue with the ritual without her.

I arrived at the barrio chapel, where there were over a hundred people milling around, ready with their candles. I didn't bring a candle, so I bought one from a vendor. A drumroll from the procession's marching band signaled the start of a mile-long walk to the parish church. Upon reaching the town plaza, the statue of the risen Christ had arrived from the church in the next barrio, and sparklers and all sorts of fireworks were lit to celebrate the official start of Easter. Schoolgirls in fluffy white dresses were ushered in to dance the 'bati,' a traditional Filipino Easter dance. Local officials personally hand-pick the girls who would join the troupe, though now usually families who are willing to pay officials to allow their little girls the honor of dancing the Pagbati are the ones chosen. I remember my sister joined the troupe when she was eight, chosen for her natural grace. As I watched the girls, I felt that my niece should continue with the tradition.

Easter mass was celebrated in the town plaza, and I met up with my childhood buddies, the now-aging altar boys who were there to assist the procession. People clapped as a girl dressed as an angel lifted the black veil over Mary's statue. I had been chosen as the angel for two Easters in a row when I was 13 and 14. I wondered why the girl just lifted the veil. How unfair. Under my watch I was made to memorize an entire monologue in Tagalog! And all she had to do was lift the freaking veil. Oh well, she was on a pedestal overlooking the crowd. I remember having to deal with acrophobia then act as if I was used to hovering above people, so I guess I can forgive the perceived slight.

I returned home at around 6 a.m. and slept soundly for three hours when I was roused by my mother, who said I should start dressing up because the family has to go to the Santarin family reunion in Cavite.

Santarin is my paternal grandmother's family, and apparently our esteemed lineage includes Sen. Richard Gordon. I dread going to family reunions. Being an unmarried woman in her 20s supposedly gives people the license to ask why I am not on the family way, unlike my dutiful younger sister, whose fertile ovaries and wide 'child-bearing' hips spit out two children into the world before reaching the age of 25.

The party was to be held at the Santarin family compund, where over 200 people, all bearing the same chinky eyes and square jaws milled about in color-coordinated tables and outfits. Shoot, our branch was supposed to wear green, and I was in white. Nobody told me. No wonder my mother and sister were dressed in green.

And as family reunions go, everybody feasted on the mounds of beef, pork and chicken dishes, all swimming in grease. And as tradition dictates, I was asked for the 4th year running when was I going to bring a boyfriend to the reunion. I have learned to cooly reply that nobody has caught my eye yet. Damn my brother for bringing his girlfriend along.

As usual, talk revolved around family scandals; who was getting married, who was pregnant, who was in the hospital, who was sick, who was on drugs, and who was in rehab. I sought refuge from the heat and the talk with my baby nephew, who had to stay in the family car where there was air-conditioning. I didn't mind baby-sitting him. Apparently my father also had enough of the chatter as well, and joined us. He was probably avoiding his older brother, who had just gotten out of rehab. They haven't spoken to each other in three years, for reasons I have forgotten.

Mercifully, my mother decided that she had had enough a little before three p.m., and said that it was time for us to head home.

In the embrace of tradition and family dysfunction, I felt an odd comfort. Maybe it was the familiarity of it all.

Forgiveness

Events that took place in my life last week had been a lesson in humility. I realized that I can't win all the battles I pick, and sometimes I could gain more from losing than from victory. I don't realy feel defeated; I feel surrender would be better word to describe my sentiments.

To let go of things I cannot change. To accept inalienable truths about other people. That I don't have to fight for things I want all the time. That I was critical of other people because actually, I felt that I was not perfect.

I thought I had let go of my hard-heartedness, but I was wrong. I had counseled Jei to let go of his bitterness. That sometimes, we all have to take the bitter pill by swallowing our pride in order to be "the bigger man." It hurts but it has to be done. I don't want to be a person filled with hate and anger. I don't want to live with bitterness in my heart. I realized that I had to put my money where my mouth is.

I had sought refuge and counsel from friends and mentors. I had done a lot of thinking. Poured all my emotions both positive and negative in my journal. I had made peace with an old demon, resolved to stop feeding it. Hopefully, I will be able to keep it at bay.

I had e-mailed an old boyfriend who hurt me a lot and I'm pretty sure I hurt a lot as well. I made a lot of apologies to a lot of people. I tried to reach as many people whom I felt I needed to make peace with. I would contact them all if I could find them.

I feel joyful. It pays to be the bigger man.

Mi Famille

Seated: Me, the parents, my niece
Standing, Brother, Christopher senior with Chris junior, sister

Today I watched my niece's end-of school production number. She was dressed as a nurse while singing "Who are the People in your Neighborhood?" with her classmates.

I am amazed at how my family has gone full circle. In my mind's eye, my brother is 5, in his blue-and-white kindergarten uniform. My sister is in third grade, with bangs and buck teeth. Now she's a mother of two (with another on the way) and my brother is 21.

How did we all grow up so fast?

My brother has just quit call-center slavery to pursue his dream of becoming a computer programmer, and has proposed that us three put up a shawarma-taco-burrito shop called "Shawarmamania!" Its so cool! I'm very excited at the prospect of going into business with my siblings. Since we live near three schools and a church, I feel that this would be a profitable endeavor.

It's amazing how our relationship has evolved. Did we really pull stunts we learned from the World Wrestling Federation on each other? We used to weasel out of our afternoon nap by messing up our hair and use our fake just-woke-up voice. Oh geez we're all grown up!

What is Wrong with Me?

Love is something that cannot be forced. And I'm kicking myself right now because I can't give it to a guy who wants to love me.

Jei (from my Hey, Jealousy entry) had broken up with Jo two weeks ago. Being a good friend, I had been helping him mend, hanging out more frequently than we usually do. Last Monday I took him around Intramuros. It was his first time, and admittedly there was something electric in the air. We sat on top of the ramparts, looking at the golfers and had a great conversation about the night sky. He told me about his childhood in Saudi Arabia, and I introduced the city to him. Apparently to him, he felt that the electricity was between us.

I had told him about my heartache with the writer, how rejected I felt and how torn up I had been because he couldn't love me back, despite what I was willing to offer him. And I listened to him as he poured out his bitterness.

Today, we went to see this French movie about two ill-fated mad-cap lovers. Then I took him to Baywalk along Roxas Boulevard because he hasn't been there, either.

Tonight, at the steps leading to my front door in Makati. He confessed that he had feelings for me and gave me a silver jewelry set. He told me that I shouldn't feel guilty because I couldn't give him what he wanted from me. He said things that I wanted to hear from the writer. Here he was, willing to offer me his heart. But my heart was telling me that Jei wouldn't make me happy in the long run. Jei isn't the one.

I asked him if he was on the rebound. He said that he had a thing for me even before he and Jo broke up, but he only decided to go for it after last Monday, "with the moon, the stars, your gorgeous eyes and pretty hair."

I feel so bad because he is cute, he is smart. He's basically the perfect guy. But he's not perfect for me. He said that I was being stupid for holding out for someone who was hurting me, and said that I shouldn't be confiding in him anymore because it hurts him every time he hears me tell a new story about a new guy and how much this guy was taking me for granted.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME???????

The Morning After

I had spent Saturday night with a guy I had been seeing for a few weeks now. Of course, my mother was completely clueless. I would usually spend the weekends at my parents, but I had told her that I was out partying with the anime-otaku crowd, and was too pooped to go home to their house, so I wanted to spend the night at my place in Makati.

I arrived at our Parañaque abode just in time for lunch. It was a warm, sunny Sunday. My sister, my brother, and his girlfriend were preparing beef steak and mashed potatoes, and my mom dancing to the "Ha-ha-ha-ha" song blaring from the computer speakers. All is right with the world, I happily thought.

So I went along in my merry way, made gravy for the steak, played with my baby nephew, lazed around, went to church. Oh what a great day it was.

I woke up at 5 am on Monday to get ready for work. I was surprised to see my mother up and about, bustling in the kitchen over two bowls of oatmeal. Oh cool, I thought, could get to eat breakfast before I left for work. Little did I know that this was a ploy, a trojan horse, a sneaky tactic from a sneaky woman.

As we sat down to have our porridge, my mother gently, with a smile, started to pry into my life. We had an argument a few months ago, so my conversations with her lately have been limited to sundry questions. "Have you paid for the gas? The water bill? We need rice," that sort of thing. I have never really been open to her about my life.

"Did you have a date last Saturday?"
"Wala. I told you I was with the anime kids."
"Who is this guy you've told your Tita Margie about?"
"Oh, no one, really. He's a writer."
"Is he your boyfriend?"
With wide eyes, I vehemently reply, "NO!" It was the truth. He wasn't my boyfriend. As best I could I tried to downplay the truth, lest she demands to meet him and make the relatioship I have with the guy go deeper sooner than I want it to.
"I mean, It's not even serious. We've only been on two dates. Marami pang pwedeng mangyari" (there's still a lot that can happen.)
"Oh really? Then what's a box of condoms doing in your bag?"

I nearly choked on my oatmeal. I had completely forgotten that I had it in my bag, and didn't think she would bother to check. In the year since I left home, I had completely forgotten that my mother was a snoop. And unbelievably curious about her children's sex lives. She would regularly check my sister's bag for cigarettes. Once, while she and my brother were watching TV, she suddenly asked my brother, "Dj, virgin ka pa ba?" (are you still a virgin?) My brother was saved from "the inquisition" by the sudden wail of my niece. It was my turn under the spotlight.

With a nervous laugh, I try to buy time to think up of the first cockamamie excuse I could think of.

"Ah, that? Wala lang. I was with the anime kids last Saturday and they were playing with the condoms, making balloons. They had some left over and they didn't want to bring it home so I offered to take it off their hands. I had used the same bag last Saturday and forgot to clean it out before coming here."

"Oh." And we continued eating our porrige in silence.

I think she bought the story. Or did she?

Santa, Blackman, and the Tooth Fairy

My five-year old niece believes that when she does something bad, Blackman will dot her heart with tinny black spots, then her evil, black heart will eventually rot with the evilness of her deeds and wither. She cries when I pretend to turn into Sadako from The Ring. Of course, being an astute little girl, she knows I'm not actually Sadako, but it's fun to scare the crap out of her, nevertheless. She believes in Santa Claus. That Baby Jesus and Papa Jesus are two separate entities, and that they love her. Once while we were playing, I pretended that I was being sucked by an evil force under the bed. As I was teetering over the edge of the mattress, she burst into tears. "Tita Cathy baka kunin ka ni Blackman!"

Just who this shadowy Blackman character is, she doesn't know, but it hasn't failed so far. "Eat your peas!" " No more Chickenjoy!" "Don't bite your playmates!"

Adults believe that children will believe anything we say. This is the lie we adults delude ourselves with. We talk down to children. We take advantage of their gullibility. Adults lie so consistently to children that it's amazing that the world isn't populated with people with a very skewed perception of the world. Having had parents that lied to me all my life, I'm amazed that I turned out all right. Then again, I could be wrong.

But I knew, I knew. I always knew something was not right.

I remember how frustrated I felt when I was a kid for being a kid. I felt that nobody ever listened to me, my opinions did not carry any weight, and my political opinions were always met with an indulgent pat on the head, "oh, isn't she being so precocious?" and what I felt was a half-derisive smile. Nobody ever believed me when I said that I hated being in an all-girls school, that the little bitches that infested it were satan's daughters as far as I was concerned, and I wanted to transfer to a co-ed school.

"No"
"But Mama!"
"No! and that's final!"

I just hated the powerlessness of being young. I hated the fact that nobody believed in anything I said, or pretended that I didn't matter. So I retaliated by being smug.

Not all the Bumbays and the Igorots and the other racially blighted people they tried to warn me about and scare me with could keep me off the streets even when the Angelus bells were ringing. I remember my grandmother, with a switch, a hanger, a belt in her hand, and the threatening look in her eyes, half-comical and scary, trying to get us kids to go home. I felt that the world owed me a favor because I ate the cauliflowers and actually liked the broccoli in my chopsuey, while my brother and sister detested vegetables. That because I liked books, I was better than everyone else. Even then, the only idiosyncracies that made sense were my own.

I understand rules. I understand the need for limits in children. But I feel that scaring discipline out of children will never work. I vowed never to lie to children. Then came the day that it backfired.

As I grew older, I realized that I needed to sugar-coat the world a little. I think that I scarred my niece psychologically when my grandfather died. As I explained to her that Lolo Daddy had gone to heaven because he was old, she asked "Si mama ba magiging old?" (Will mama become old too?) When I answered yes, she suddenly cried "AYOKO MAGING OLD SI MAMA!!!" For weeks she would beg my sister to never grow old. Of course, aging is inevitable, but how do I explain that to my niece? My sister did a better job at explaining death to her, and gave a surprisingly sophisticated metaphysical explanation that my niece actually understood.

It got me thinking. What if adults never lied to children? If I didn't lie to children, I would be denying them the magic of childhood, the magic of Santa and the Tooth Fairy. My truth would deny them imagination, music, love, faith, hope. I decided what the heck, maybe kids needed to be lied to sometime, then let them discern whether they were being fed bull.

Adults never give children enough credit. Kids understand more than we think. Two months ago I was having a very emotional argument with my mother in her room when the door opened. My niece peeped into the room. As if on cue, my mother and I suddenly force a smile on our faces. I was pretty sure that my smile looked more like a grimace. Two wide-eyed, teary women with scary, toothy grins frozen on our faces.

"Ano ginagawa ninyo?" (what are you doing?)
*SMILE*"Nag-uusap lang kami" (we were talking) my mother replies.

A pause.

Then my niece says, "Huwag mo awayin si Tita Cathy" (Stop fighting with Tita Cathy) and walks out of the room.

Our surprise was enough to end the argument. Children are so much wiser.

Random Nothingness by a Neurotic with Hormones on Overdrive

I am a reality show geek. I love The Amazing Race and American Idol . I think 'manly' geeks and nerds and gay guys are hot. My latest crush on the American Idol circuit is Anthony Federov (as an example). I had a crush on John Peter Lewis from Season 3. I don't like men with large builds. I don't like hairy guys. I think all the guys on Queer Eye are hot. But I think of them all Kyan Douglas is the hottest.

I am obsessed with the shows Manhunt and Outback Jack. I think the guys there are absolutely mouth watering. Keanu Reeves should father my son. Jude Law should help me with a daughter. Aussie and Kiwi guys rule. Their unassuming nature is adorable. My turn-offs are arrogant boors, guys who try too hard to be funny and witty, and men who don't have depth. I am trying to get over my fascination with neurotic men. Based on my most recent dalliances, boys aged 18 to 21 are drawn to me, I think. Compulsive liars should stay away from me. Never try to steamroll me to any cause. I will just resist you and unconsciously (subconsciously?) sabotage your cause with the truth, the most stringent bleach. I am not afraid of speaking my mind, or the truth. However, I am starting to ponder whether I should be more circumspect.

I love British humor, especially Brit-Indian humor. God Bless Star World for exposing me to Parkinson, Coupling, Goodness Gracious Me, and The Kumars at No. 42. God Bless John Cleese. He's the funniest man on the planet.

CSI Las Vegas. Period.

I prefer rockers to hip hop heads. I think Damon Albarn, the guy from Suede, and many others are hot. Pulp singer Jarvis Cocker is hot in an Alan Alda sort of way. Constantine Maroulis from American Idol Season 4 is also hot. I don't think he'll be as hot as he grows older. I think he'll end up looking like Omar Sharif.

I had a crush on Omar Sharif after watching Dr. Zhivago. When I was 12 I had crushes on Mel Gibson and John Malkovich.

I try to watch Oprah when I can .

I like the beach. I like mountains. I prefer the beach. I want to live on a bluff overlooking a beach. I like to dance. Men who can't dance are tipping the balance of attractiveness. Selfish guys suck. Guys who sulk when they don't get their way suck. Men who can't dance well but shake their little booty to their heart's content anyway is adorable. As long as they don't overdo it.

I am not obsessed with sex, contrary to common belief.

I am not afraid of death and dying. When you're dead you won't care what happens around you, anyway.

I like bishonen men. I like 'bishonen-ish' women. The whole ambiguous sex thing is really hot in my book. Surprisingly, I'm not into yaoi or yuri anime. I am not gay, I've never been gay, and couldn't stomach the thought of being in a relationship with a woman. I wish I were lesbian since their relationships don't seem to have a lot of hang-ups.

I am working toward a career in TV or print media. I do voice acting and hopefully, hosting.

I am a big personality. People are intimidated by me.

I couldn't think of anything else.

Hey, Jealousy

Every girl's nightmare is to have another girl go on the warpath because she thinks that you're after her man. Recent example is the Sunshine Cruz/Julianna Palermo scandal that caused everyone to titter behind their backs. Girls are scary to fight with, this I know. When I was in Fedex I had been harassed at work by my ex's now-wife, when I didn't even know that they were together. I have been called a b-ach, a boyfriend-stealer, names through the years.

I have been at the receiving end of this rampage again recently, from a girl . Imagine my surprise when I received a text message last night that said:

"U SL*T. U MADE THINGS WORSE BETWEEN ME N JEI. U R A SL*T BAKIT MO SYA SINABIHAN ABT MY E-MAIL. NOW HE'LL END IT BECOS OF U. PUTA KA."

Even just reading it is painful.

A quick recap.

Jei is an aquaintance from the anime community. He's an animator, working special effects on commercials and films. We became good friends when we became fellow voice actors in a cartoon we're working on called "Jobert."

Jei is from Iloilo, where his girlfriend is working as a Medical Representative. They've been together for six years. Now, Jei is cute, but he isn't my type. The guy is a complete softy, and bleeds easily. I shared my quest for career fulfillment with him, and he has cheered me on in auditions, through job hunts, disappointments, and other career opportunities.
Jo came here for a visit from Iloilo last month. Jei wanted us to be friends so she won't get jealous whenever Jei tells her that he and I are doing something together. I think it backfired, making her feel more insecure and jealous.
On Valentine's Day, she sent me an e-mail pleading me to refuse any invitations to go out with Jei even if he asks me. I felt slighted. How presumptuous of this girl, I thought. So I told Jei of the insult. He has been having trouble with Jo's paranoia for sometime, and he has been pouring out his heart to me, about his troubles, asking for advice and consolation. I keep on telling him to remember what it is about her that drew them to each other.
I understand where she is coming from. A long distance love is very hard to maintain. I am very disappointed in her now. I liked her. I thought that we could be friends. She asked me to keep an eye on Jei for her. And now this? I feel very betrayed.
I wanted to take the high road and refuse to acknowledge the insult. Of course, my sister, who is the palaban (spitfire) among my siblings, was outraged and answered on my behalf.
Whatever happens next, happens. I'm tired of having people throw their crap on me. I already have enough crap to deal with.

Valentine, Schmalentine

Guys, sorry for not posting for some time.

I'm working through major issues right now. I find myself at a crossroads, and as usual, I have no idea of what fork in the road to take. The thing about life is, nothing is what it seems, and there are no guarantees. The dream job is never handed to you, the dream guy is never what he seems, and "friends" stab you in the back. I have lived my life knowing that what's here today is here today. But I am talking about the future here...so here goes...

If there is one thing I know, I will recognize my guy I will be with the moment I see him. Definitely. I'm such a romantic!

After I am able to thresh these out, you will be able to enjoy my regular weekly postings.

Valentines Day is around the corner. Every time Valentines day rolls around, whether I have a boyfriend or not, I wear black to protest the over-emphasis of romantic love in popular culture. I believe that there are more, deeper kinds of love. Filial love, friendships. I treasure friendships greatly, that's why I never mess around with my friends and I try my best to be a good and supportive friend, no matter what my opinion is on how my friends live their lives.
I've been doing this since 1997. I remember V-day 1998 I sat in the bus and nobody wanted to sit beside me because I looked like I stepped out of a coven.

I love freaking people out.