This is Strabismus

photo by josh murfitt

“Nicholas Christakis, 47, a physician and sociologist at Harvard University... suggests that happiness, like the flu, can spread from person to person. When people who are close to us, both in terms of social ties (friends or relatives) and physical proximity, become happier, we do too.”- Dan Ariely on Nicholas Christakis for The Time 100

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Yesterday, I just felt so angry. As if the barrel of emotions I caulked so well wasn’t able to hold anymore of my phantasmagoria of feelings, and so the staves of it gave up, and then came a flood,  where in I struggled to wade and flutter. Thank goodness for Facebook, my sudden realization that One Tree Hill is on, and CeeBriella’s (Cesar and Gabby =p) logic-- they helped me get meliorated.

Up until a few hours ago, I was still feeling some anger. The cause is sidelong, really. And I’m just not very good at getting angry, thus, its sudden burst. I was reading one of my favourite blogs-- so positive, so light, and fluff with niceness—and started feeling foolish for being angry. Anger, I must say, makes us stale. It hinders our thoughts, our actions-- our very freedom. An important thing to always remember is that we OFTEN have a choice. I wouldn’t be rash on saying that we ALWAYS have a choice, but I’m sure we OFTEN do. Between anger and niceness, based on firsthand experience, niceness bags the trophy. Whenever you choose to feel nice, you notice that the sky is blue, and that the clouds above you look like happy elephants. Whenever you choose to be angry, you give everyone a scary glare, gouges form in the middle of your eyebrows, and even when the clouds are far from looking like angry tigers, you'll think they look like angry tigers. Happy is nice. People die of both happiness and anger, but at least, those who die of happiness die happy. Ano ba naman yun, patay ka na nga, galit ka pa.  Between niceness and anger, choose the former, not the latter.

Someone dropped me a very thoughtful message a few hours ago (nothing romantic, really, haha), which made me feel quite ashamed of my bitching around. As I speak evil, there’s this person being so nice to me, as if I deserve it so well. Nakakapanghinayang, nakakahiya kapag nahuhuli mo yung sarili mo na baliko habang yung iba, mabuti ang tingin sayo. We lie, we cheat, we do and say bad things because we do not know any better. Once you find yourself realizing the futility of everything anger ensues, like lying, cheating, and saying bad things-- good job, now choose to be nice. Once you give niceness a try, you’ll start feeling silly for being angry at something petty. The awareness of both the good and the bad aids change.  Awareness often brings forth betterment.

Remember the scene in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind where Clementine asks Joel, “Now I’m nice? Don’t you know any other adjectives?” It made nice sound so bad. Then, “I have a confession to make,” says Clementine. “I actually like that you are nice.”

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But wait, remember, niceness is not equivalent to being a doormat.
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I'm loving this summer.

=)
 

"You know?... Vitwater.... You know..... Now you know!" yan lang ang nagets ko sa Vitwater commercial ni Manny Pacquiao. Ngunit fan na ako ni Manny P!  Lalo na't totoo pala na kapag may laban siya, halos walang krimen na nagaganap sa Pilipinas! (Seryoso, nabasa ko sa diyaryo kaninang umaga.) What a quick match!
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(dahil nainggit ako kay Kaye...)

INSTRUCTION: Try your very best to find all of the pictures asked for. Use facebook or the pictures stored in your computer. If you can't find one, that's okay. But leave all questions in the survey for others to find.

1. A picture of a night you regret

ito nalang. wala na akong maisip na nakakapanghinayang na gabi. bakit ito? kasi bumili ako ng kape sa Starbucks. kunwari mayaman ako. sayang sa pera! charing! 2007.

2. A picture of you in your room

 

3. A picture of you posing with someone or something you liked before but something went wrong

( memories )</div>

Gabby and I were in UP Diliman this afternoon to attend a forum regarding a certain issue in Cuba. We got lost looking for room 1100 in CAL (yes, we already knew the room number and yet we still got lost! The rooms weren't arranged well! Haha) After walking around the first floor for several minutes and checking the room number a couple of times, we found out that the forum was postponed. So we decided to loiter around Palma. We sat on the stairs (fuck these prepositions) and saw Yeyel. We chatted and joked around for a bit. A few minutes after Yeyel left we saw Manfred and that's when the riot began... Our conversation topics ranged from History to Maria [edit:] Ozawa.

Kung may inamin ako sa sarili ko... ito na iyon: Aminado na ako, I've always been green-minded. And vulgar as well. Oh my gosh.

...I'm happy Gabby is, too. "WHAT ARE FRIENDS ARE FOR?" XD

( ...homerun! )

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Here I stand face to face with myself. Disconcerting, but necessary.

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Great day except for one thing... -1!!! NEGATIVE ONE!!!

Travelling from Manila to Manoag, Pangasinan (Pilgrimage to Manoag with mother) compelled me to make another list of things that make me feel happy! Not everything that's happening to me right now is exactly the way I want it to be, but hey, it doesn't hurt to be happy when you know it's the best state you can be in given your imperfect situation, right?

-from java musings by angelo v. suarez

( writing, ranting )

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"We can't really have enough of what we don't really want." -- 11th Hour

It feels good to say no to yourself. Really. Almost everyday, I spend more than five hours net and channel surfing (EACH, not combined.) Today, I decided to end those idiocy-inducing habits by limiting myself! I can only spend two hours surfing the net and two hours watching television. Because of my decision, I had a very productive day. Nakapaglaba ako ng mga basahan at nakapaglinis ng study table! Nakapag meditate pa ako in the process! Plus, I got to read and enjoy T.C. Boyle's Drop City. Oohlala!

...my two hours will end in 8 minutes. Baboo!

Some quotables, old and new....

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10 minutes ago...

Me: Ate, can you wax my nose?
Ate: Nose?!?
Me: Ay, can you wax my moustache pala... haha

Yes, I have a moustache. But it isn't as 'bad' as you might imagine. Haha. It's not like Juday's. :)) DEFENSIVE!

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Two weeks ago...

Jeje (10-year old cousin): Meron nakong bigote, yata.
Me: Wala pa. Wag ka muna magmadali.
Jeje: Meron kaya. Onti. Si ate din meron e.

*Ate, me, and mama laughs*
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While Ma'am Liwag was discussing Role Strain...

Paula: Corporate world sucks. Yun lang ang sagot diyan.
Lawrence: Not if you're the owner of the company...
Me: Or the wife of the owner of the company.

Well, well... Gold digger I am not. The corporate world sucks, yes. Shame on me if I end up being a corporate hog soon. Oh life. I might, against my will! :))

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Have a great summer!

You laid asleep by my side one night--the rhythm of your breathing and the warm air that came out of your nostrils made the baby's breath that have escaped the weight of our arms dance. It was the fourteenth of April and we had nothing to do. In the morning of that day, with the brittle sticks that have fallen down to the foot of the trees, we stirred the flotsam of leaves in the pond. An allusion to tornadoes and the secrets that lay in their eyes, I said. Our faces catched sunlight, making them golden and shining from all the oil and sweat that have come out from our pores. Alluding tornadoes, I said, is tiring. You stopped your stirring and dropped the rough and rickety stick you were holding. Who's alluding tornadoes, you asked. Before I could reply, you said that nobody between the two of us is. We are alluding emptiness and that is what is tiring, you added. I nodded, gathered my skirt to my knees and sat down on the grass. The mayas were chirping and you put a stalk in your mouth. With you standing up, all I could see was half of your face consumed by a golden glare. I heaved a sigh and felt the growing space in my chest, a space full of air, and air, and air. You rolled the sleeves of your shirt from your wrists to your arms with such care and precision, looked at me and opened your mouth, a preamble for your next kafkaesque words. But you stopped and tilted your head, turning your attention to your sleeves. Are we happy enough to allude emptiness, I asked you. You let a forced laugh escape from your lips and took my hands burried under the frills of my skirt. Maybe, you answered.

The sun set again, as it always does. Darkness came with a faint hint of the moon and we made slow love. No, not slow love, but slow fuck, I kept on thinking while you were gently thrusting your hips in between my legs. I pushed you off of me, you rolled to my side, and looked at me in the eye. Are we done, you asked. Maybe, I said, and dipped my index finger into the pond, and stirred, and stirred, and stirred the flotsam in it.
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People always say that any form of writing is reflective of the life of its author. In case you are wondering, no, I did not make love or fuck near a pond. But sometimes, although I lack the experience, the foundation to base the difference/s between fucking and making love, sometimes, I think I know of what draws the line between them. But these are words, go believe, see, and squeeze out anything you want out of them.

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Fucking is word that repulses the polite. It is repulsive, yes, but in it I find a sad beauty. Fucking sounds lonely, and although I have never fucked, I feel like it is lonely. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Give the word a chance. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Can you feel the hollowness in the middle of finishing saying the word? The OUGH after the Ffff? How about the pinning, almost nailing KKOUH?
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photo by anna wolf

UST-CCWS National Writers Workshop recently named the fellows for this year's workshop. Congratulations! It'll be an awesome experience, I swear! I still am not over my experience that's why I am making this entry, hahaha. It's definitely one of the highlights of my life.

A number of my co-fellows last year stumbled upon my blog when they searched about the workshop. So, if ever you stumble upon this blog, fellow (naks, fellow na siya!), here are some tips/reminders:

1) Expect criticisms. You are there for the criticisms.
2) Listen. Listen to the panelists, they know what they're talking about. So, listen.
3) Don't let yourself get discouraged no matter how harsh the words you hear about your works are.
4) Don't miss any photo opportunities with the writers! They're all very nice!
5) Bond with your co-fellows.
6) On your last day, (which, I read, will be in Clark, Pampanga) most probably, you'll have a drinking session. If you're a non-drinker, don't be a kill joy. Drink at least a shot, or pour the drinks for the drinkers. That's what I did last year. Haha.
7) Do take notes. After the workshop, I felt inept. I didn't write poetry for a long time, good thing I made notes! Your notes will guide you when the workshop is over. The learning does not end on your last day with the panelists.
8) Read the works of your co-fellows. It's very important. The panelists will ask you about them.
9) Don't be afraid to speak out. You can defend, explain your work, ask questions, and give your CONSTRUCTIVE criticisms about the works of the other fellows. It's very important.
10) Be prepared to gain weight. UST-CCWS loves serving food. We had alot of breaks and ate alot of food prepared by the center last year.
11) Have fun! Don't let the negative comments get into your head, but consider them. You are there to learn.
12) Be friendly to your co-fellows.
13) Never go absent. SAYANG NOH!
14) Listen to everyone. Write funny quoatble quotes, masaya sila balikan. The panelists joke alot, although they can be really scary.
15) Pag napikon ka, talo ka.

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Press release from Panitikan.com:
UST ANNOUNCES FELLOWS FOR 10th WRITERS WORKSHOP

The office of the UST Writer-in-Residence has announced the names of the successful applicants to the 10th UST National Writers Workshop.

The successful applicants for English prose and poetry are: Gilda Ysobel G. Galang, Nicolo Paolo O. Asprer, Racine Anne R. Castro, Anderson C. Tuguinay Jr., Victoria Isabel S. Yap, Raymond T. Calbay, Oscar T. Serquina Jr., Mario L. Mendez Jr., Nimruz A. De Castro, and Roy Rene S. Cagalingan.

The successful applicants for Filipino are: Jack Dison C. Pablo, Pauline Grace F. Ventura, Ronnie M. Halos, Shiela R. Castillo, Radney Ranario, Ruben Jeffrey A. Asuncion, Avie Felix, and Kevin Bryan E. Marin.

The 10th National Writers Workshop will be held from May 4 to 9, 2009 at the St. Raymund’s Building, University of Santo Tomas , España, Manila . The last two days of the workshop will be tentatively held in a resort in Clark, Pampanga.

The six-day workshop will focus on poetry, fiction, and creative non-fiction both in English and Filipino. To conduct the workshop are Ophelia A. Dimalanta, Cirilo F. Bautista, Eros Atalia, Carlomar Daoana, Al Dimalanta, Michael M. Coroza, and Gerry Gracio. Guest panelists will also be invited during the workshop proper.

“The number of applicants to this year’s writers’ workshop was a lot more than we expected,” Dr. Ophelia A. Dimalanta, UST Writer-in-Residence, said. “Because of the overwhelming response to the 10th National Writers Workshop and the quality of the works submitted, we will be holding the 11th edition of the workshop sooner, which is sometime in October of this year, and we will be choosing from the pool of writers who submitted their application but were not lucky enough to be chosen for the summer edition,” she added.

The 18 successful fellows for the summer workshop are required to confirm their participation via e-mail to aldimalanta@gmail.com not later than April 8, 2009. Those who do not confirm their participation on or before this date will forfeit their slots.

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"In the Backseat" by Arcade Fire

With my earphones on, I told the tricycle driver the street he should take me to. After a few seconds of driving, he peered down to say something to me. I could barely hear him, so I tried to read his lips. At first,  I thought he was confirming if he heard my street right, so I gave him a nod and said to him, "Oho, Samuel po." He repeated the act the second time and I gave him the same reply. I took off my earphones, so that I'd finally understand completely what he was saying, when he peered down the third time. With a smile, he asked, "Miss, anong pangalan mo?"  Automatically I gave him a bad look and put back on my earphones.

I went off the tricycle when it got in front of our house and called my mother to ask for some loose change since I was P7.00 short. I knew that giving my fare would be awkward for the driver. It was. When I turned to face him after getting some coins, his right arm was propped on the roof of the tricycle's sidecar, almost covering his whole face. He put it down and streched his arms to get my fee for the ride.

"Ang wirdo nung driver," I complained to my mother when I got inside the house.

"Bakit?" she asked.

"Tinatanong pangalan ko."

"Sana sinabi mo, 'Sipa.'"

( chronicles of... )( chronicles of... )( chronicles of... )

In this big world, sometimes it easy to find us all as microcosmic beings propelled by potentials and are endangered by our very own potentalities

Edit: Sometimes, it is not just hurtful, but it could also end up becoming something trite. So fight well, with grace.

The Festival of Hebrew Song,Arad 1997.The annual festival brings tens of thousands of young people to this town in the Negev Desert and to the nearby historic heights of Masada, where Jews committed suicide rather than surrender to a Roman siege.The sounds range from rock to Hasidic pop, and to folk songs...

Photography and caption by Micha Bar Am

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Frenzies and shindigs--- whether of bodies, words, or even thoughts---- they often misconstrue the epicentre of fact and reason.

(Here I am, distracting myself again. I have a quiz tomorrow, but my mind is partying away. As always.=p )

Drugs. If past lives exist, I probably used to be a druggy. Sometimes I see neon lights during cold nights like this. In my head, I am smoking pot and munching on E, laying like a roman god on a divan made of cashmere, cushioned by feathers, and framed with gold. My eyes are glassy, blank,  taken away by lights, caterwauls, and heat.

Touch is longed for. If given, it is well received with frenzied affection

and hunger.
and thirst.

Drugs elicit thirst.

The city is breathing and I am competing for the oxygen.

Crack cocaine under my nose. Heroine on my fingers. Love in my arms


---and I am high.

Just a while ago, while exploiting Rizal Library's free internet service, I had a good time reading for Theology while listening to the two freshmen beside me who were too noisy to be in the library.

I couldn't un-hear them so... haha

Girl1 to boy: O, bago phone mo?
Boy: hindi, binebenta, 'to, tinetest ko lang. I wouldn't recommend it, though.
Girl1: Bakit, di mo gusto?
Boy: Hindi. *puts phone on his left ear* Pero bagay sakin,  noh?

----
*Boy and Girl talk about texting their other groupmate*
Girl1: Dadating ba yun.
Boy: Bakit hindi?
Girl1: Malay mo may class, nagp-PE....

*So di na sila nagtext*

After a few minutes......

*Girl2 arrives*

Girl1: Natanggap mo text ko?
Girl2: Hindi...
Girl1: Ay oo nga hindi pala kami nagtext.... *talks about research*
Girl2: Magreresearch na ako nito....

*Girl2 leaves*

Girl1 to Boy: It's a sign from heaven!
Boy *matter of factly*: Taken na siya.
Girl1: Ay oo nga, nakita ko sila naglalakad.

*Girl2 comes back after a few minutes*
*Girl2 leaves again*

Girl1 to boy: Boto ako sa kaniya eh.
Boy: Taken na nga siya.
Girl1 *hinampas ng notebook si boy, yata*: Ano ka ba! Kahit nga may asawa na naaagaw pa e!


O, deviance. o_O
 

This letter was written by my UST-CCWS National Writers' Workshop co-fellow, Phillip Kimpo Jr.

 

( Alabang Boys/ PEDEA-DOJ bribery issue )

For the record: my father NEVER received any bribe money for the "Alabang Boys" case. In fact, he has NEVER received any bribe money in his entire career. If he did, we would now be wallowing in wealth instead of driving an old car and renting an apartment unit. Kahit tingnan pa nila ang laman ng mga bank account namin, wala silang makikita. We have nothing to hide. Even my dad's fellow public servants at the DOJ know of his incorruptible character.

While we haven't exactly lived a hand-to-mouth existence, we have followed a modest life all these years. It is very heart-wrenching to see all our sacrifices tarnished by false allegations. I never imagined that one day, I would be a writing a letter such as this.

At the risk of getting soppy, there was a time in my childhood days when our apartment unit was the only one along the street that was lit by candles. (Unpaid electricity bills.) There was a time when we had to settle for Maggi-and-egg dinners, on loan from the nearby sari-sari store. Nililista lang, walang pambayad e. There was a time when my only entertainment were books and radyo-nobelas, because we had no money to fix or replace our broken TV. (Of course, these problems do not compare to the poverty experienced by millions of Filipinos, but these are problems you wouldn't expect to find in the homes of people of high position.)

If my dad wanted to give me a more comfortable life through unethical deeds, he would've already done it back then. But he stuck to his principles, principles I dearly believe in and espouse through my literary works.

Our financial situation only took a turn for the better when I became a scholar in the Philippine Science High School, which was followed by UP Diliman. The free tuition took a lot of the burden off the shoulders of my father. Even in UP, I worked as a Student Assistant, carrying computers despite my asthma, so I can chip in my meager Php 2,500 monthly salary to our finances.

I am currently working at home as a freelance Internet writer while finishing my first book. Now, because I'm able to help with the bills, the belts around our waists aren't as tight as before...which is another reason why my father does not need extra money obtained deeply against his values. Who needs millions when you can have a peaceful, guilt-free life?

We rent an apartment unit in Galas, Quezon City, and this is the only home I've known in my whole life. Our car is an old, dented, second-hand Mitsubishi Lancer whose headlights are nearly falling off their sockets and whose paint is cracked and flaking. We have stuck with this car because we don't have the luxury to buy a new one, and also because why would we? It's not a necessity to have a great car. Our old Lancer, while a tad embarrassing to ride in, suits our needs just fine. We don't feel the pressure to have a shiny model to park side by side with other government officials' more grandiose cars.

(If you have doubts about this tale of mine, I will gladly meet you so I can 'tour' you around our apartment unit and show you our car. My contact details are at this letter's end. My main website is also there; my life is kind of an open book in my online journals.)

To be honest, I am not expecting a response from you -- after all, who am I to elicit a reply from one of the country's top columnists? Still, I am hoping that my letter will somehow urge you to take a second look at your views upon the matter, and that you will share this with your many readers. Yes, people, there are honest prosecutors in the Philippines. Hopefully, your column will be a medium with which to spread that message.

Sir, you too are a son like me, so you understand my pain and my personal intentions. As a journalist, you have championed the truth for years probably longer than my young lifetime. We are both writers. I was a campus journalist. I also believe in the truth, and I pray that it will come out soon so that my dad and I can go back to living a simple -- and quiet -- life.

Thank you very much for your time. May God bless you.



Kindly yours,

Phillip Kimpo Jr.
http://phillip. kimpo.ph

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Between fight or flight, when it comes to having to attend my P.E. classes, I often choose “flight”.  I used to be an active kid, really. I played a lot in the streets, what, volleyball, patintero, jumping rope,  even tumbang preso. I even competed in our intramurals when I was in 4^th grade! We learned in Development Psychology that some neural connections that are not being used before the age of ten get pruned. They atrophy. That is why for older people, it’s harder to learn new things compared to the younger ones. My neurons seemingly did some major pruning the second time around when I was in highschool, when I totally shied away from playing sports. Now that I am in college, my body is loose and lame as a cow’s boobies. Well, not really, I just hate P.E. so much.

Now I’m thinking of dropping out of my last P.E class, swimming. I swear, it will kill me. While all my classmates are busy finishing their 6^th lap, I’m still fluttering to get through my 3^rd.  I often take shortcuts and pretend that I’m done as well. Sometimes I think of Micah Phelps while I struggle underwater just to get through.  Micah Phelps, yes, the version of me who could swim like a pro. One lap is a journey to the underworld in my planet, but to disprove the idea that I am, indeed, lame, I cheer myself in my head, “Onti nalang! Micah Phelps! Kaya pa!”

Two of my main problems are my heart and my barely existing muscles. Swimming is highly cardio-vascular, but the doctor said that it’d be good for me. I don’t think so. I loved swimming after the first session. After the second or third, I began to think that no way is swimming good for me at the kind of pace my teacher is going (I can swim for fun, but swimming as a P.E. class? No way.).  My heart palpitates easily and I run out of oxygen faster than my classmates do.  Imagine me during our upcoming midterms: 20 laps in 20 minutes. No stopping per lap. Hello, I have never finished one lap in 2 minutes! Let alone finish a lap without stopping in the middle of the lane! When I heard of how our midterms would go, I let out an exhasperated, "Put*ng*na, dito na ako ibuburol! Mamamatay ako!" (I said that to my classmate, not to my teacher. haha. cussing is therapeutic sometimes.)

Psychological and physical torment befell me two P.E. sessions ago when I couldn’t follow the strokes Sir I-don’t-know-who was making us do, because I cut the previous session due to my bad mood. He made me do the strokes, over and over, after demonstrating me how. I couldn't follow. My mental processes don't translate well into movements. He shouted at me out of frustration as my classmates watch from the other end of the Happee Pool. I think the torture lasted for five to ten minutes.  Anyway, I just got really tired and unwilling to swim. He talked to me afterwards, and he was nice. He asked why I was even allowed to take swimming given my prolapse. I thought I’d still be fine with P.E. after the incident. But now, I hate P.E. more than ever. I dread it and hate it.

I’m going to the doctor tomorrow and talk to him/her about my situation, to prove that dropping P.E. is the wise thing to do. I’ll also complain to the guidance counsellor on Monday how death is hovering in my world then he’ll write a letter to my mother to allow me to drop the subject if she wants to keep me alive, or at least, physically and psychologically healthy.

Micah Phelps will soon take home 8 gold medals for fleeing so quickly.