One More Night - Stars You'll never touch him again so get what you can Leaving him empty just because he's a man So good when it ends, they'll never be friends One more night, that's all they can spend
he did the arm lock to attack all her weak points, which he still knew: feet, waist, armpits, wrists, and everything in between. and laughing didn't even feel wrong, just confusing in a comforting kind of way, because it was 2010 again that night.
The night is young at 12:22. She looks out the window while everything is at pause, while the silence - this silence - cannot be construed as an acceptance or a refusal, just a statement of fact. The lights left opened in neighbor houses comfort her, for it just means someone else is up at this hour, waiting for something just as well, just as much. Maybe they're waiting for answers too: to a homework, to a person, to a feeling. Maybe they too are bothered, or tired, or distressed. But then she realizes some people sleep with their lamps on, and suddenly the people behind those windows are no longer there - and she is alone again. She counts the hours she still has left before day breaks and takes the silence as a yes, a yes to finally saying good night, to this, to now, to an unrealizable future.
2.
When she realized what her hands were doing and where they were going, she stopped, for what good would that do? She was touching the seat belt, the buttons, the door, (not him, no longer him), in hopes of still finding herself in this passenger seat she used to call her own. And then after a few more minutes of nervous fiddling she got what she wanted: the perfume was still there, perfectly enclosed in its box inside the glove compartment.
3.
She looks at the mirror and she sees a different person. "You look anguished," a friend said last night, as an endearing insult. Somehow she hears the mirror saying the same thing, only with much resolve, and less humor.
4.
She looks at him, on the floor, and he is not looking back, for he is sleeping, he is away, he is somewhere else she couldn't hurt him. Maybe that's where he should stay, and maybe that's where she should want him to be. But she looks at the empty seat beside her and all she can think of is, What's taking so long?
Would you look at that, an actual weekend for once! I finally watched The Phantom of the Opera with my mom, papa, and tita (who took this picture) tonight. I've been waiting so long to have a break, and what better way to spend it than with an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical?
We last saw Phantom in 2009 at The Venetian in Las Vegas. But the performance tonight at the CCP was just as good, if not better. The actors were a delight to watch, and the overall effect of the sound and the set was a sensory feast. The only thing that puts the Las Vegas production a bit above this one was that the theater itself was built for Phantom, hence a bigger set and a much more realistic chandelier. Other than that, however, I found this production with much more pathos and bravado. I thought the performers were much better singers too, and every song was a delight to hear and see live.
(By the way, can I just say that in that scene where Phantom was forcing Christine into the wedding dress, all I could think of was, "But that marriage couldn't possibly be valid! For one, there's lack of consent on Christine's part! And where's the solemnizing officer?" Yes, yes, because that's how much I love Persons.)
I'm not regretting spending my weekend on this. Not at all.
No more talk of darkness, forget these wide-eyed fears.
One More Night - Stars You'll never touch him again so get what you can Leaving him empty just because he's a man So good when it ends, they'll never be friends One more night, that's all they can spend
he did the arm lock to attack all her weak points, which he still knew: feet, waist, armpits, wrists, and everything in between. and laughing didn't even feel wrong, just confusing in a comforting kind of way, because it was 2010 again that night.
The night is young at 12:22. She looks out the window while everything is at pause, while the silence - this silence - cannot be construed as an acceptance or a refusal, just a statement of fact. The lights left opened in neighbor houses comfort her, for it just means someone else is up at this hour, waiting for something just as well, just as much. Maybe they're waiting for answers too: to a homework, to a person, to a feeling. Maybe they too are bothered, or tired, or distressed. But then she realizes some people sleep with their lamps on, and suddenly the people behind those windows are no longer there - and she is alone again. She counts the hours she still has left before day breaks and takes the silence as a yes, a yes to finally saying good night, to this, to now, to an unrealizable future.
2.
When she realized what her hands were doing and where they were going, she stopped, for what good would that do? She was touching the seat belt, the buttons, the door, (not him, no longer him), in hopes of still finding herself in this passenger seat she used to call her own. And then after a few more minutes of nervous fiddling she got what she wanted: the perfume was still there, perfectly enclosed in its box inside the glove compartment.
3.
She looks at the mirror and she sees a different person. "You look anguished," a friend said last night, as an endearing insult. Somehow she hears the mirror saying the same thing, only with much resolve, and less humor.
4.
She looks at him, on the floor, and he is not looking back, for he is sleeping, he is away, he is somewhere else she couldn't hurt him. Maybe that's where he should stay, and maybe that's where she should want him to be. But she looks at the empty seat beside her and all she can think of is, What's taking so long?
Would you look at that, an actual weekend for once! I finally watched The Phantom of the Opera with my mom, papa, and tita (who took this picture) tonight. I've been waiting so long to have a break, and what better way to spend it than with an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical?
We last saw Phantom in 2009 at The Venetian in Las Vegas. But the performance tonight at the CCP was just as good, if not better. The actors were a delight to watch, and the overall effect of the sound and the set was a sensory feast. The only thing that puts the Las Vegas production a bit above this one was that the theater itself was built for Phantom, hence a bigger set and a much more realistic chandelier. Other than that, however, I found this production with much more pathos and bravado. I thought the performers were much better singers too, and every song was a delight to hear and see live.
(By the way, can I just say that in that scene where Phantom was forcing Christine into the wedding dress, all I could think of was, "But that marriage couldn't possibly be valid! For one, there's lack of consent on Christine's part! And where's the solemnizing officer?" Yes, yes, because that's how much I love Persons.)
I'm not regretting spending my weekend on this. Not at all.
No more talk of darkness, forget these wide-eyed fears.
She's a modern lover; it's an exploration, she's made of outer space
Hello, I'm Karla Bernardo. If you Google my name, you will find the Wikipedia entry of a Canadian serial-killer (and trust me, you do not want
to read about that - but I'm sure you will because now you're curious), which is why I suggest you type Bombastarr instead so you can stalk me better.
I spent eight-and-a-half years of my life in the University of the Philippines, where I graduated with degrees in Creative Writing and Juris Doctor. It is also where I learned how to speak a bit of Italian, got a taste of the best tapsilog, and took striptease for PE.
I love telling stories, as much as I enjoy finding them.
Got a comment, question, violent reaction, love letter, or random piece of information you want to share with me? Just fire away. I don't bite.
(I changed my form and went back to Freedback because Ask.fm's being a bitch, requiring people to sign up for accounts before asking questions. Because I love you guys, I tweaked my ask box a bit, so that the questions will now go directly to my e-mail, but I'll be posting the answers still on my Ask.fm for convenience. TL;DR - I'll still be getting your questions so no worries. You're still free to harass me / send me your love.)
Are you a pornstar? No, I am not a pornstar, stripper, or your friendly neighborhood call girl. It's just a fancy pseudonym with a long history, and two R's. Rawr.
Bombastarr.com
Bombastarr is my personal blog and my little corner in the Internet since 2005. Yes, I started writing here when I was 13 years old (aka when I was very angsty, hormonal, and always gushing at the littlest things) -- ergo, you'd have to forgive me if you come across an old post that reeks of immaturity and slightly unpolished grammar. I did a lot of growing up here, and from the looks of it, there's still a lot of growing up to do, so I don't think I'll be leaving this place any time soon.
The domain, Bombastarr.com, was purchased on June 2014 and
launched on July 2014, on the blog's ninth year (and fifth month, to be exact).
It's crazy to think that this blog is now thirteen years old, because (1) that seems like an eternity in internet years, and (2) that means if my blog were a kid, it's a teenager! That's insane.
Here's to more tales, explosive and otherwise.
So, why Bombastarr?
If you've been living under a rock and think I'm a threat to world peace or an object of covetousness, sorry to disappoint you, folks: it's just a fancy pseudonym.
As in most things, it started in high school. It began as a joke between me and a couple of friends during our freshman year. We were practicing for a field demonstration dance which involved the use of shawls, and being the crazy-always-trying-to-be-funny person that I was (or I always attempted to be) I started doing poses with the garment. Someone started taking my picture using my phone, and one shot looked like I was posing for those B-list movies (or should it be R-list, as in R-rated?) of the vegetable-nomenclature variety. #IKYWIM. Hence, the word, "Bombastarr." Yes, very cheeky, I know, but for a 13-year-old, it was quirky enough to figure as a username. That was 2005, right around the time I trying to decide on a URL for a new blog. It's been a lot of years since, and what started as a joke became something I've eventually embraced as an identity.
Despite the many other chances I've gotten to permanently move (to Multiply, Livejournal, Tumblr, Wordpress; to a bigger platform where I can earn or use the blog as a venue for commerce), I've come to realize that Bombastarr is something I can never truly leave behind. It is a place I've grown to appreciate and love because it is a place I can call my own. It's a venue for my rants, my views, my writing. It is home, and it is who I am.
Bombastarr is a glimpse of my life: the thoughts, ideas, and stories that shape it into what it is, and what it will still become. This journal has been with me for all my crazy, often embarrassing adventures, but I'm sure there will be more anecdotes and feelings and people to write about. Which is something I'm really looking forward to. After all, you know what they say about the greatest stories - sometimes, there's still a lot that's left unwritten.
Credits and thank you's
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