(added sept 22, 2005) you start getting excited to open your yahoo email -- because it sounds so happy to see you: "WELCOME TONI! you have 354 unread mails." and it greets you by name too, every single time! (glad to see you too, dear yahoo! wow, i made a rhymie! =)
your idea of a conversation is making a blog post and waiting for someone to actually comment on it. (obvious ba na I’m fishing for comments?)
your idea of a real conversation (meaning with a real living person) is standing in front of a mirror and exchanging pleasantries with the person who looks ridiculously just like you. (hey! I like your shirt! You know, I have a shirt just like… hey, wait a minute!)
your idea of a bad day is getting irritated by the person on the other side of the mirror because he keeps on doing exactly what you are doing. (are you some sort of a wacko? stop that! and don’t talk when i’m still speaking! ‘y I ought’ta! )
your idea of cheap thrill is holding out your finger just above the water of your aquarium hoping that a hungry gold fish would indulge you, play along and actually try to bite your finger off. (here boy! here boy!)
your idea of a workout is intentionally doing laundry by hand even when there’s a perfectly working washing machine that can do all the work for you. (I never thought washing jeans could be this healthful.)
your idea of life is what you see in reality tv, where a person can date 10 people at the same time and end up as a millionaire, where you get the best advise about being a guy from guys who like guys, where makeovers are free (and suddenly, you’re a celebrity), and where matters of survival like gathering food come in thematically prepared challenges.
your idea of a lucky day is spotting her among a crowd of thousands, people all wearing green and white, and seeing her with that proverbial smile of hers. (ooh! ooh! there she is again! there’s ate ria and Jackie too! Animo La Salle!)
you ever do get out of the house and go to school, 93% of the people you meet call you kuya, 5% ask you, “what are you doing in school mr. cuesta? Taking up a masters degree I presume”, 1.5% don’t want to see you at all, and .5% say “haha, ikaw rin. Ang tagal na natin sa skul toni!”
you try to have fun by over-exaggerating (over na, exaggerated pa) your current situation and hope that people would find it funny even though you yourself think it’s pathetic.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Thursday, September 15, 2005
ayun lang
Sept. 15, 2005
So, that’s how she looks like on TV. Ganda. I think she looks better in person though.
Look, shudder and gasp.
Go La Salle pala! =)
Sept. 14, 2005
I so damn need to get my hands on a/n SLR!!! GRRRR!!! Three contests to join!!! Have to win! Kaya natin ‘to joey!
---
Just started a deviantart account. Now, if I can only find things to upload. Hahaha. Thanks mics. =)
---
I’m going to finish this thesis for my mom. I’m going to do this because I have to move on with my life. I’m going to do this because there are people who still believe that I can. (thanks cy. thanks ate ria. thanks jackie.)
Sept. 13, 2005
Ha! I never thought I could run that fast! Hay. I guess this means I can never walk in school the same way again. Hay.
---
So that’s how a mall looks like. Tagal ko nang di lumalabas ng bahay. Hahaha. Parang God must me crazy. Pinoy version. =)
---
Yellow and brown. Pwde palang combination yun? Haha.
Sept 12, 2005
I really hate that commercial. Please make it stop! Sheeesh…
---
got this from an article about Joseph Rosmon Tuazon from the PDI (Sept. 11, Sunday Inquirer Magazine, From Comic Book Dreams to Poetry Prizes by Eric S. Caruncho). He won the first prize for Poetry in Filipino at the 55th Palanca Awards.
“The collection explores the idea of ‘poem’ as the constant failure to recover, recognize, remember,” he (Tuazon) continues. “The failure to articulate is the inability to save oneself. The poet is the self-appointed tally keeper and assessor between these ‘calamities,’ a task that can’t even be entrusted to him since history and the inevitable are both true and made up in his hands. This he does to stay sane, perhaps, and safe, while caught in the deadlock of recall and anticipation. The poet could but rely on intuition, cross the path between hesitation and salvation. The poem is a reconstruction of memory and chance, and at times even the poet fails to see its purpose: his. He chooses the manner of his loss.”
Quite a mouthful. But a very interesting read.
Sept. 11, 2005
Oh my. I just found out that my mother wants to work for an NGO after retirement. It’s a good “oh my” by the way. I’m just surprised, that’s all. I’m proud of my mom.
---
I told my friend that I’m pretty lost right now. I still consider myself a perfectionist (on the things I like at least). And when failures keep on compounding, it’s only natural for one to feel down and maybe, at times, to have doubts on one’s self. But this afternoon is one of those rare moments when the planets are in position, the stars are aligned and the universe is in harmony -- and you just know exactly what you really want in life. I don’t believe in those things by the way—I just like to say them because they sound so dramatic. =)
And so: I want to have my own restaurant someday. Something between fun and fancy. A place where I can invite my friends to hang out. A cross between a bookstore, an art gallery and a fine dine place. =)
Also: I want to teach at the communication department. I feel I have so much to share to young people. To urge them to think for themselves. To inspire them to do something creative. Now, I just have to prove to the department that I CAN.
Yun lang, bow. =)
Sept. 10, 2005
Happy birthday Mamang Pulis! =) (thanks pala for making up the term. *wink*)
I love you Ma.
---
Wee, I won! =) After having a hearty meal, Mama and I went to National Bookstore to buy some cardboards. (we were supposed to see a movie but because of that wonderful film review by JJ about Red Eye, we decided just to go shopping. and grocery-ing. =)
Anyways, as I was/were (?) saying. We were at the NBS buying cardboards for my mom. She’s the chief Police Community Relations officer at the Central Police District Command, by the way, and she needs the cardcoards for a seminar they’re holding next Saturday. When we were about to leave the cashier, the saleslady/bagger told us to go to a booth. She said that the Star Paper have this promo and we bought enough (we bought 50 packs of 10s – 50 packs!) to qualify for a game!
You have to run a wire around loops of bare wire without touching it (it’s Buzzer Game for the Neopet people). My mom tried it first. She was pasmado so she didn’t get very far. So I said I’ll do it for her. And so I did. First station, as easy as 1-2-3. Second station, a little tension on the wrist but got through it just as well. Now, the third station is not that easy: three consecutive loops similar to that of a crazy roller coaster ride. Now the heart beats faster, the shoulders stiffen, the palms moisten. Deep breath, and out the third loop. Whew. The final challenge: a loop, a straight path, 2 consecutive loops and a spiral. Now, you don’t just have to turn the wrist but turn the whole body as well. Exag no? I feel all the blood in my body has found their way to my head and for no apparent reason decided to stay there. My heart’s up my throat too, sweat beading on my temple. I stopped breathing. No buzz.
“Galing nyo po sir” says the saleslady. Huh? Eeek! I won! Wee! She hands me a piece of paper with the instructions how to claim my price. Then I look at Mama. She’s smiling at me. You know naman mothers, even the smallest and most nonsensical thing in the world is a big thing for them as long as it was done by their child. So I said, “ma, akin na cel mo.” “Bakit,” she asked. “Basta!” I replied. Then I texted the number written on the piece of paper. 2 days later, she got the prize. =)
Ayun. =)
Sept 9, 2005
Tapos na =(
Great ending. Nothing mushy. Just right. Sounds like cooking pasta. Hahaha.
Pero ok lang. Meron namang... *drum roll*
Just started. Every week, Tuesdays, after Smallville. =)
---
Merlin, sorry di ako nakapunta sa party mo! =(
---
So, that’s how a sunset at Manila Bay looks like. Hmmm. Nothing really special. Ha!
---
How can i write about another person’s story when all i have is a vague idea what life is. Hay.
***
naipong ramblings over. =)
So, that’s how she looks like on TV. Ganda. I think she looks better in person though.
Look, shudder and gasp.
Go La Salle pala! =)
Sept. 14, 2005
I so damn need to get my hands on a/n SLR!!! GRRRR!!! Three contests to join!!! Have to win! Kaya natin ‘to joey!
---
Just started a deviantart account. Now, if I can only find things to upload. Hahaha. Thanks mics. =)
---
I’m going to finish this thesis for my mom. I’m going to do this because I have to move on with my life. I’m going to do this because there are people who still believe that I can. (thanks cy. thanks ate ria. thanks jackie.)
Sept. 13, 2005
Ha! I never thought I could run that fast! Hay. I guess this means I can never walk in school the same way again. Hay.
---
So that’s how a mall looks like. Tagal ko nang di lumalabas ng bahay. Hahaha. Parang God must me crazy. Pinoy version. =)
---
Yellow and brown. Pwde palang combination yun? Haha.
Sept 12, 2005
I really hate that commercial. Please make it stop! Sheeesh…
---
got this from an article about Joseph Rosmon Tuazon from the PDI (Sept. 11, Sunday Inquirer Magazine, From Comic Book Dreams to Poetry Prizes by Eric S. Caruncho). He won the first prize for Poetry in Filipino at the 55th Palanca Awards.
“The collection explores the idea of ‘poem’ as the constant failure to recover, recognize, remember,” he (Tuazon) continues. “The failure to articulate is the inability to save oneself. The poet is the self-appointed tally keeper and assessor between these ‘calamities,’ a task that can’t even be entrusted to him since history and the inevitable are both true and made up in his hands. This he does to stay sane, perhaps, and safe, while caught in the deadlock of recall and anticipation. The poet could but rely on intuition, cross the path between hesitation and salvation. The poem is a reconstruction of memory and chance, and at times even the poet fails to see its purpose: his. He chooses the manner of his loss.”
Quite a mouthful. But a very interesting read.
Sept. 11, 2005
Oh my. I just found out that my mother wants to work for an NGO after retirement. It’s a good “oh my” by the way. I’m just surprised, that’s all. I’m proud of my mom.
---
I told my friend that I’m pretty lost right now. I still consider myself a perfectionist (on the things I like at least). And when failures keep on compounding, it’s only natural for one to feel down and maybe, at times, to have doubts on one’s self. But this afternoon is one of those rare moments when the planets are in position, the stars are aligned and the universe is in harmony -- and you just know exactly what you really want in life. I don’t believe in those things by the way—I just like to say them because they sound so dramatic. =)
And so: I want to have my own restaurant someday. Something between fun and fancy. A place where I can invite my friends to hang out. A cross between a bookstore, an art gallery and a fine dine place. =)
Also: I want to teach at the communication department. I feel I have so much to share to young people. To urge them to think for themselves. To inspire them to do something creative. Now, I just have to prove to the department that I CAN.
Yun lang, bow. =)
Sept. 10, 2005
Happy birthday Mamang Pulis! =) (thanks pala for making up the term. *wink*)
I love you Ma.
---
Wee, I won! =) After having a hearty meal, Mama and I went to National Bookstore to buy some cardboards. (we were supposed to see a movie but because of that wonderful film review by JJ about Red Eye, we decided just to go shopping. and grocery-ing. =)
Anyways, as I was/were (?) saying. We were at the NBS buying cardboards for my mom. She’s the chief Police Community Relations officer at the Central Police District Command, by the way, and she needs the cardcoards for a seminar they’re holding next Saturday. When we were about to leave the cashier, the saleslady/bagger told us to go to a booth. She said that the Star Paper have this promo and we bought enough (we bought 50 packs of 10s – 50 packs!) to qualify for a game!
You have to run a wire around loops of bare wire without touching it (it’s Buzzer Game for the Neopet people). My mom tried it first. She was pasmado so she didn’t get very far. So I said I’ll do it for her. And so I did. First station, as easy as 1-2-3. Second station, a little tension on the wrist but got through it just as well. Now, the third station is not that easy: three consecutive loops similar to that of a crazy roller coaster ride. Now the heart beats faster, the shoulders stiffen, the palms moisten. Deep breath, and out the third loop. Whew. The final challenge: a loop, a straight path, 2 consecutive loops and a spiral. Now, you don’t just have to turn the wrist but turn the whole body as well. Exag no? I feel all the blood in my body has found their way to my head and for no apparent reason decided to stay there. My heart’s up my throat too, sweat beading on my temple. I stopped breathing. No buzz.
“Galing nyo po sir” says the saleslady. Huh? Eeek! I won! Wee! She hands me a piece of paper with the instructions how to claim my price. Then I look at Mama. She’s smiling at me. You know naman mothers, even the smallest and most nonsensical thing in the world is a big thing for them as long as it was done by their child. So I said, “ma, akin na cel mo.” “Bakit,” she asked. “Basta!” I replied. Then I texted the number written on the piece of paper. 2 days later, she got the prize. =)
Ayun. =)
Sept 9, 2005
Tapos na =(
Great ending. Nothing mushy. Just right. Sounds like cooking pasta. Hahaha.
Pero ok lang. Meron namang... *drum roll*
Just started. Every week, Tuesdays, after Smallville. =)
---
Merlin, sorry di ako nakapunta sa party mo! =(
---
So, that’s how a sunset at Manila Bay looks like. Hmmm. Nothing really special. Ha!
---
How can i write about another person’s story when all i have is a vague idea what life is. Hay.
***
naipong ramblings over. =)
Saturday, September 03, 2005
afterthoughts
Sept. 3, 2005
(advance) happy birthday blog. one year na pala. makes you wonder how different things might have been.
***
Aug. 23, 2005
He had been staring at the damn thing for 2 hours. How hard can it be, he had been asking himself incessantly, just pick up the phone and dial her number, it’s not that complicated, is it?
***
Aug. 27, 2005
I don’t want it to be like this. I want it to be like… like… the truth is, I don’t know what I want anymore. All I have is this vague picture in my head, something great, something grand, something that I dream about endlessly – something perfect. It is something I want to write, but couldn’t. I always fall short. Always. Maybe, Sir was right, it’s just all blahblahblah.
***
Sept. 1, 2005
Opus Dei and MLM’s have something in common, they force you to do things that you would otherwise not do by making you believe that what they offer you is all there is to the world. Was I really that naïve?
***
Aug 29, 2005
currently listening to: The Company.
***
Aug. 15, 2005
If he had just been sensitive, nothing of this would have happened. During times of great anxiety, he has always displayed a keen sense of knowing what the other person was thinking, what the other person felt and what the other person wanted. But this time, it is different. Being sensitive always requires someone to be presumptuous, and an assumption is the last thing he needed now. He remembers that it was exactly his misreading her actions which led to this stand-off. And so he decides: he shall wait.
***
Sept 2, 2005
he was told that his being evasive is where his problem lies. but the truth is, he was just trying to be self-effacing. he always believed that he never had the audacity of a journalist and certainly none of the adroitness of a poet. telling a story required both. without the first, one becomes abstruse and ambiguous, without the second, one becomes rude and tasteless. so what does lack of both make him? he didn’t know either. what he believed though is that he was tactful, the same neutrality of character as someone who writes essays. he calls it “defined vagueness”, when one works with the intention of calling attention to himself but without showing his face or at the most, revealing only a glimpse of it. come to think of it, it was not skill in words or in thought that was lacking in him, rather, it was confidence.
(advance) happy birthday blog. one year na pala. makes you wonder how different things might have been.
***
Aug. 23, 2005
He had been staring at the damn thing for 2 hours. How hard can it be, he had been asking himself incessantly, just pick up the phone and dial her number, it’s not that complicated, is it?
***
Aug. 27, 2005
I don’t want it to be like this. I want it to be like… like… the truth is, I don’t know what I want anymore. All I have is this vague picture in my head, something great, something grand, something that I dream about endlessly – something perfect. It is something I want to write, but couldn’t. I always fall short. Always. Maybe, Sir was right, it’s just all blahblahblah.
***
Sept. 1, 2005
Opus Dei and MLM’s have something in common, they force you to do things that you would otherwise not do by making you believe that what they offer you is all there is to the world. Was I really that naïve?
***
Aug 29, 2005
currently listening to: The Company.
***
Aug. 15, 2005
If he had just been sensitive, nothing of this would have happened. During times of great anxiety, he has always displayed a keen sense of knowing what the other person was thinking, what the other person felt and what the other person wanted. But this time, it is different. Being sensitive always requires someone to be presumptuous, and an assumption is the last thing he needed now. He remembers that it was exactly his misreading her actions which led to this stand-off. And so he decides: he shall wait.
***
Sept 2, 2005
he was told that his being evasive is where his problem lies. but the truth is, he was just trying to be self-effacing. he always believed that he never had the audacity of a journalist and certainly none of the adroitness of a poet. telling a story required both. without the first, one becomes abstruse and ambiguous, without the second, one becomes rude and tasteless. so what does lack of both make him? he didn’t know either. what he believed though is that he was tactful, the same neutrality of character as someone who writes essays. he calls it “defined vagueness”, when one works with the intention of calling attention to himself but without showing his face or at the most, revealing only a glimpse of it. come to think of it, it was not skill in words or in thought that was lacking in him, rather, it was confidence.
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