Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Show some womanity
So once in awhile, when I'm taking a break, I surf the net, check out GirlTalk and KALAKASAN's threads. Last night, I came across a thread discussing how men like to make catcalls at us girls, whistling, even going as far as leaning in close to you while walking and whispering words into your ear (as what happened to me). I was shocked at the replies of many of the girls. There was a long string of "Just ignore them" from different girls before I finally saw some girls with some sense who know how to stand up and speak up for themselves. Though I am aware that you simply can't make a retort at anyone and everyone who tries to harass you, there are also instances when you should know when and how to fight back.
Gauging from the replies and an e-mail from a friend, most of these girls are afraid to speak up because they feel that they are disadvantaged. Physically, men may have an advantage over us but at times, we shouldn't let this discourage us from standing up for ourselves. When we become afraid of people who harass us, we let them take away our freedom...the freedom that courageous women from the past fought so hard to gain.
Not to say that we should lash out at every whistle, every catcall or whisper. We should always assess the situation. No one in their right mind would talk back to a loony or a drug addict, but if it were some dirty bastard out roaming around simply looking for women to harass for lack of better things to do, then they need to be taught a lesson.
I had a classmate who was riding home in a bus at 3am because she came from a shoot. The guy beside her started masturbating and showing his penis to her. She stood up, started yelling and hit him several times. Once everyone on the bus found out what happened, they started beating the guy too and the bus driver and conductor brought him to the precinct. Imagine if she had just kept quiet. Takot kasi ang ibang girls na magscandalo. I'd rather embarrass myself by yelling and screaming my head off in hopes that maybe, that guy will think twice before making bastos another girl -- in fear that she might speak up too and perhaps even take things a bit further and do something that will make him wish that he never did such an immature, degrading thing.
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Monday, May 30, 2005
A sign
The Lord has quickly answered my prayers. I was on the brink of panic earlier. In fact, I had a post all written up and was about to publish it when the server decided to bonk out at that exact moment. Then, when I opened my mail again, I found that my problems were alleviated. Lord, please continue to guide me in my everyday life. Tonight, I'm bringing home my bible. I keep skipping out on praying and I think it's about time that I start again. My little blessing isn't simply a blessing, it's as a reminder that He is there for me and that I need not be afraid.0 Comments
Friday, May 27, 2005
A trip through Friendster-land
I used to play basketball in high school and college and I went to an all-girls school for both levels so it's expected that I know alot of lesbians.Caught with some free time on my hands, I went through my Friendster list of friends...took a look at how former classmates are doing, what they're up to, stuff like that. I came across some old basketball friends who were (but apparently aren't anymore) lesbians. I've seen them go through several same sex relationships, consoled them after it flopped, rooted them on when they were going after someone they liked. They were true blue butches.
In the past year, I saw two of them. But, they weren't butches anymore. All glammed up and clinging to boys, they were. And I felt my stomach churn. It's so weird to see them touching lips with guys when they were hard core lesbians when I knew them.
I'm not being a prejudiced bitch or what have you. I'm just in shock. I suppose you could liken the experience to seeing your mom having sex with your dad. Nothing wrong with both scenarios, just that...it's a weird sight to see.
Looking through Friendster sent me hurtling through a lifetime of memories. Cerritos days, running through those almost straight up vertical hills. Oh, Cerritos. I cannot even begin to talk about wonderful Cerritos. That, in its own, deserves another entry. Boracay Bliss. Photos of Nona, Stevie and Reo (my only Friendster connections to Boracay) reminded me of lazy, rainy days in Bora. Long walks to D' Mall from Station 1, getting swallowed up in huge post-storm waves and basking in the scorching sun make Bora Blissful. Former friends are married, engaged, making even bigger messes out of their lives and I'm not sure how I feel about that.
It's funny how a photo, a sound, or a scent can make you nostalgic.
That's why I can't bring myself to go to Sorsi's area, although I'm excited to see her. She just came back from Bora and I know that as soon as I see her lobster-red skin, envy will engulf me.
I stare blankly at my Fil-Am friends, not really seeing them, because if I took in the sight before me, I'd break down. I'd be reminded of what should have been my life.
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Wednesday, May 25, 2005
When nature works against you
I am having a horrid day. Creatures in my house decided to play a trick on little old scaredy cat me last night. My sibs will be in Paco until school starts so I have not only my room, but also the big house to myself. So I've been conveniently having friends over to keep me company and leaving one light on in the room to minimize the fear factor. Well I woke up this morning in comfortable darkness (don't you hate waking up to blaring light?). Normally, I'd curl right back up and continue travelling through dreamland. But I was wondering how the lights ended up unlit when the last thing I was doing last night was wrestling with my pillow and blanket so that they'd provide me with protection from the blinding light without stifling me to death. To make matters worse, I had that sickly feeling -- breathing warm air, strained throat, stuffy nose. And because I was already in a foul mood, I picked on my friend every chance I got, leading to her leaving the house before I did simply because she wasn't up to dealing with bitchy me that early in the morning.I should say all this is an aftershock from last night. It rained hard last night. For the first time ever, I was caught in the rain without an umbrella. And it just so happened that I wasn't in the mood for getting wet. Usually, I'm game when it comes to getting dirty. So, five minutes away from my house, I took a cab, made a detour because of the heavy traffic around my area and got lost on the way to my house. Yes, lost on the way to the house I've lived in for seven years. It turned out that the cab driver actually knew how to get to my neighborhood better than I do but I refused to tell him where it was beforehand and insisted on leading the way. The upside was that the cab driver was very pleasant. I'd folded my pants capri-style under a waiting shed while waiting for the rain to pass when I flagged him down. He said he was on his way home, really, but my funky pants got to him so he decided to give me a ride.
"Parati akong napapadaan dito sa may inyo. Dapat sa susunod na makita kita, nakaganyan parin yung pantalon mo kahit hindi umuulan ha?"
Apparently, he's never seen capris, gauchos, bermudas, ever in his life. Poor guy.
So I gave him a P40 pesos tip which was already P100 over my budget. (How is that possible, you say? Well, don't ask) I couldn't find anything in my darned house because it's under renovation so I got dinner started late. Because I spent P100 out of my budget, I decided to bring lunch today. Which, I forgot. What sucks is that all morning, I kept saying to myself, "Pack the darned lunch before you forget it." Sheesh.
Because of how my day began, I didn't mind the heavy traffic along EDSA because it let me sleep a good hour more. I'm planning to just sit at my desk and bond with my computer but the way things are going, today, of all days, everyone's going to need something from me.
I guess it's a good thing my day's been so weird. Otherwise I'd be freakin' over who switched off the lights last night.
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Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Writer Writer-an
I am just amazed with the number of spectacular writers in this little world. I've already come across a good number of blogs, each written in an exceptionally witty manner. I, for one, still feel like writing is my frustration. Once in awhile, I can squeeze out a good piece of work or two but it can't seem to compare to the art that other people produce. That's part of the great challenge that comes with this job. The element that keeps me hooked. To churn out PR after PR and have it printed by the broadsheets gets me on Cloud 9. I may not ever bag a Pulitzer Prize, but that's alright. For someone as easy to please as me, just having a couple of thousand Filipinos read my work makes me happy.1 Comments
Monday, May 23, 2005
And so the blob with the dark cape and hooked weapon strikes again
I recently read a friend's blog entry about death, losing loved ones and how she'd deal if she lost one of her own. See, her friend suffered a loss -- her friend's dad passed away and she said something about how her friend will never be the same again after that unfortunate event.
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.I, too, have suffered a great loss just earlier this year. And I'm baffled at how I handle death. Thankfully, I reacted to the death of my grandmother last January in a more "suitable" way -- a way I expect we should all react. With grief. A way I prefer over how I reacted to my mother's death. My mom died of breast cancer in 1997. I cannot remember how I actually felt immediately after. I remember forcing myself to cry for hours on end, even forcing my little brother and sister to shed tears because I felt that was how we should all react. But the mourning was fleeting. Too soon, I was pleading with my dad to allow me to go to the mall and to attend parties with my friends. I would't allow myself to feel the pain so I made myself numb.
Hanging out with friends, being the girls that we were, our mothers would often be injected in conversations, rants and raves. Only then would my friends find out that my mom was gone. And in a much too casual way.
"Will your mom allow you to have a boyfriend?"
"I can ask her right now." Then I'd tilt my head up to the sky and yell, "Momski bomksi, can I have a boyfriend?!"
Of course, this garnered weird looks from my gal pals and I'd explain, "My mom's dead."
"Oh my gosh, I'm so..."
"No biggie," I'd cut them off. "I'm over it."
I cannot recall ever missing her until a few years after. There would be moments when I'd miss her terribly, remembering how I felt that I could not survive without her. I was the ultimate momma's girl. I opted to go to the grocery with her rather than spend time with friends. I clung to her like a jellyfish. Maybe, as young as I was, I sensed that my time with her wouldn't last as long as it should. I don't think I'm coldhearted for not missing her as much as I should. I feel that it's because of my closeness to her that I don't weep for her often. I still try not to think about her to this day. I'd dream about her and each one would be so vivid that it was painful to wake up and realize that she wasn't really there...never ever going to be there again.
In high school, for our Personality Development class, my teacher asked us to write 101 wishes we'd like granted. Somewhere between the "I want a cute boyfriend" and "I want to go back to California" was "I wish my mom wasn't really dead. I wish she simply suffered food poisoning and the food company responsible for it kidnapped her and took her to a remote island so that we wouldn't sue them and now, she's escaped and is on her way back to her family." Ah. The impossible dream.
I still can't forgive myself for some things that I didn't do for her. Stricken with all the ailments that accompany cancer, mom couldn't really take showers. But, on a particulary boring and humid day, I offered to give her a bath. I had it all planned out -- hot water so she doesn't get cold, a clean, dry towel on hand to wipe her dry and warm clothes to wrap her fragile body in. She loved it so much she begged for more the next day. But for me, it was terrible timing. I kept making her wait until Flames was over so that I wouldn't miss Patrick Garcia's cute face. My sister ended up giving her the bath. I skipped to her room post-Flames only to find her clean and refreshed. "Di bale na. Your sister helped me instead." Guilt ripped through my selfish heart. The night before she died, my sis, bro and I were on our way out to have dinner with a very demented uncle. He didn't have an ounce of patience, manners, decency in his body. On our way to the restaurant, we passed by the hospital so that my cousins could say hi to my mom. So we rushed up, said quick hellos and was ready to sprint back down when my mom caught my arm.
"Can I have a hug?"
"Mom! Tito is downstairs, waiting for us. He'll get mad if we make him wait." (As if giving my mom a hug would take a gazillion years)
"Just a quick hug."
Begrudgingly, I gave her what she wanted. It wasn't a very warm hug. The next day, after school, I received a phone call from her nurse maid. Mom wanted to see us. Immediately. I felt butterflies in my stomach. When we arrived at the hospital, I found out that my Mom wasn't the one who asked for us. She couldn't have. At the time the call was made, she was already gone.
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Unconditional love
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.My sister and brother must feel like they're casualties of a divorce. This past summer, they've been shuffling back and forth from our house in Samar to our house in Paco, where my dad stays and back. And everytime they leave me all alone in our little abode, I feel a dark cloud looming over my head. And almost instantly, I'll receive a text. Something like, "Nakakalungkot.", or about how lonely it is at Paco. The last time they left the house in Samar, when we were still living in the "pink room" on the third floor, they left me little M&M post-its all over the place. Irritating as the first message was, it brought a bittersweet smile to my face. (It read: "Hala ka! May mumu behind you!" -- not a good joke for someone deathly afraid of mumus like me.) The cutest one was the one that was stuck on the back of the door, "Don't worry ate! We'll be back soon!" Then followed by "I hope" in my little bro's handwriting. My uncle loooved the one that read "We'll miss your stinky ass!"
Then, when they're a few weeks back under my wings and all is blissful, my dad will suddenly send me a text message, saying how much he misses us. And I instantly wonder if I'd made the right, unselfish decision. Mind you, my dad is not an easy person to deal with, thus making dealing with him an emotional rollercoaster. He's one person I practice unconditional love on. He drives all of us crazy ALL THE TIME, but I can't seem to stop caring about him. He's the most difficult person to deal with, but I'd turn my back whack the head off anyone who hurts him. So when he reacted like a mad, selfish person the day I told him I've decided that my siblings would stay with me in my lola's house in Samar, I half felt bad for him, half felt angry at him for not thinking of us first. "You're abandoning me? How can you abandon me?!" was his accusation.
Until now, I have mixed feelings for my dad. I want to take care of him, but at the same time, because he is who he is, I want to stay as far away as possible from him. Which makes me want to hate him because he tears me into pieces. He puts the blame us, always sees things his way -- only, is stubborn, one-track minded and impossible. But that doesn't keep me from sitting down with him at the dinner table to listen to his disagreeable notions.
Sometimes, after I walk away from him because I can't stand talking with him any longer, I turn around and look at his solitary figure -- I know how lonely he actually is and that just makes me want to yell at the world for being so unfair. I know that we are all he's got and I wish that we could give him more than what we already are. But most of the treatment he receives, he asked for. Nowadays are better days for us. Our hot tempered dad always had us cowering in fear and now that we're not as dependent on him as we used to be, we've unleashed years of pent up negative energy (anger) and lashed it out on him.
But no matter what he says or does, the fact remains that he's our father and that merits even a little bit of respect and love. A cousin once pointed out that this is what unconditional love is. Caring about and loving a person despite his imperfections. If that's the case, then it feels good that I'm capable of loving unconditionally. I just hope that he knows that we do love him and that our hearts, especially mine, goes out to him.
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Thursday, May 19, 2005
Bio (?) phobic
When I was younger, I didn't think I'd live past high school. I couldn't, for the life of me, imagine living beyond that. I was deathly afraid of the adult life -- while most kids couldn't wait to grow up, I couldn't fathom the inevitable. Thankfully, I was able to get through college in one piece, but not without the fear of the working world. I subjected myself to all kinds of torture simply because I believed that the more I inflicted pain on myself, the easier it would get. I didn't quite hit the spot. Yes, it did get easier (you kind of become numb from all the worries flitting through your head) -- after the initial fear, I found that I could do things I never would imagine myself doing. But the fear never really does go away. It just lurks in the shadows, ready to consume you.Even though I was never an achiever, there was always a voice in the back of my head, whispering, almost tauntingly, that I'd never get anywhere if I let my fear of life get the best of me. That's what's kept me going, I suppose.
Point proven: I started off as a PR Assistant at Summit Media. It was pretty much a simple job. No major decision making responsibilities, just lots of clerical tasks, coordination, stuff like that. Then, Frances left and I had to take over her position. My first month as PR Associate put me through the ultimate psychological and emotional test. It (I) drove me insane. Destructive thoughts entered my head -- I felt I wasn't worthy to be where I was, I imagined people talking behind my back, mocking me. I'd burst out crying in the middle of nowhere. Aside from driving myself insane, I drove my workmates and my best friend through the roof.
What added to it was that I was assigned to handle a title I could not relate to -- PREVIEW magazine. The country's style bible.
Say what?! Yes, those were my thoughts too. I hated it, loathed it even. Who is Kiko Escora? What is Tod's? Is that the barok way of saying large frog (toad)? My PRs were horrible, peppered with strokes of red. You knew my boss was checking my PRs when you saw her head lodged tightly between her two hands, as if pleading for mercy. All except for when she was editing my Preview PRs. Those were spared from the red pen. That was the first inkling that maybe, just maybe, Preview and I had a chance.
Now, I'm faced with the biggest, grandest event of the year. You guessed it: Preview's 10th Anniversary. At first, I ran around like my head was cut off when I found out how big the event is. Then as it slowly sank in, it doesn't seem so frightening after all. Maybe this unstylish, sloppy, laid back girl can hack it after all. And maybe this is how life is really like. Scary in the beginning -- scary all the way till the end, but the ups and downs, the adrenaline pumping through your veins are what make it all worthwhile.
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Tuesday, May 17, 2005
A Night with the FHM babes :$
I have yet to recover from the FHM 100 Sexiest Victory party. Though it wasn't as crazy as last year, the word "crazy" will never leave my vocabulary when describing FHM. Unlike Cosmo's Bachelor Bash, ushering the half-naked models to and from the interview area wasn't as much fun. After all, I've got what they've got, plus a little more flab here and there, a few more blemishes across my face and a little less meat in the bust area. Nothing too exciting. I'm happy with my body just the way it is. Well...maybe slicing off the pot belly would be ideal.For the first time, I was left at the press registration area. I fared well, I must say. I think I should offer thanks to a particular Saga personnel. Even before the press could come flooding in, this woman went up to me, commanding here and there to move our belongings every where we didn't want them to be. Feeling the blood rise to my head, I, as Ro would describe it, yelled my head off, my curls bobbing in all directions in a mad display of anger. I couldn't, for the life of me, decipher what the woman wanted from me. It turned out she just wanted to "make our lives easier". Well, damn it! You could've granted both our wishes, and at the least, kept your mouth shut but if that was asking for the impossible, simply stated what in all the half-naked-girls-at-NBC-that-night's name that you just thought our area to be an eyesore. Never mind that the table you provided us was stripped clean of any decent tablecloth and that the one you sent hurtling our way looked more like a rag than anything. Thus, the explanation for the absence of a smile on my face while everone else giddily expressed their happiness.
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Tuesday, May 10, 2005
Piglet and Pooh
. I have trouble keeping friends. Or maybe it's the other way around -- friends have trouble keeping me. I have two who I have managed to keep close: Aruni and Ramona. Aruni is my "international" best friend and Ramona is my "local" one. Neither one is better than the other, both accept me fully for who I am. They're two of the most important people in the world to me.With that said, everyone, meet Ramona and Aruni.
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Friday, May 06, 2005
Rejoicing at immorality
. I do not condone infidelity. But in Rorie's (Gilmore Girls) case, I was elated when she slept with dean. It almost got me into a heated dispute with my younger sister who disagrees with me. She hated that episode (she loved it that Lorelai ended up with Luke, but could not justify Dean and Rorie's actions). Don't get me wrong. I feel there is no excuse for having an affair with anyone -- married or single.
I am ashamed. But I cannot disguise my happiness. Dean and Rorie were perfect. There never should have been a Jess. I cringed whenever Jess kissed Rorie. Dean took care of Rorie to no end, even when he was with Lindsay and she (Rorie), with Jess. How can I possibly take happiness from someone's (Lindsay and all the parties involved) tragedy?
Knock me on the head, I know they're fictional characters but I relate to Rorie so well even if I'm nothing like her. Okay, maybe just a little bit like her.
When Dean and Rorie got together, my cousin, sister and I squealed in delight. When they broke up, tears fell from our eyes. The Gilmore Girls has made such an impact on our lives that it's shameful.
Rorie's life is the kind of life I'd like to live. Quaint town, quiet and friendly -- not without intrigues, mind you, but friendly intrigues. It reminds me of the kind of Western life I could be living.
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Thursday, May 05, 2005
Computer war
I am having a crazy afternoon. My computer has been on the spitz since I can't remember when. I'm irritable, I've lost my drive and I am not a happy camper. I am a computer squatter. I keep using my boss' pc, the standby pc (the one I'm using now) and whatever Mac's available over at the Total Girl editorial department. Every computer I touch breaks down. What kind of curse do I have? What did I do to deserve this? HARDCORE!!!On the upside, we had lunch with the wonderful people of Magic 89.9. THAT is an awesome group. We laughed alot, talked not so alot (sucky grammar but it's the best way to put it) and just kicked back and relaxed.
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