|
Parallax
The four of them wanted to see light. Atop the observatory, they were looking up at the stars, half-asleep and half-drunk, but fully expectant of every bit of dust and light that might shoot its way across the sky. They were lying down on the floor and talking, the kind of talk that was aware of how this wasn't the kind of talk they normally do, the kind of talk that was meant only to make sounds to keep each other awake and to keep each other warm. But it wasn't at all gibberish. It was the kind of talk that sang, it was the kind of talk that led to song. They were singing of Stars (or at least two of them were) while waiting for stars, while waiting for something significant, while waiting for a cosmic event that will set things in motion. Wasn't this how it always began? With a bright light and a wish? They were doing nothing else really, other than just look up, but somehow lying there, with friends, in a campus that wasn't theirs, in a night that wasn't even supposed to happen, meant something. The anticipation weighed just as much, if not more, and they knew it. They knew it in the way they clinked their shot glasses, in the way they nibbled on the chips, the way they traversed foreign territory just shy of midnight.
The meteor came - in fact, it wasn't even just a meteor - it was a fireball. It ripped through the black sky quickly, gracefully, almost as if it was ashamed of having ruined the perfect stillness of the sky. It was enough to keep them in awe, in a momentary state of shock. But it was only for a while, only in that instant that it was traversing the blackness across them. After it was gone, they went back to talking, about pasts, about futures, about song. About each other. About things that didn't matter, things that did. They found the light, yes. But it wasn't in the meteor.
__
Labels: bullets
________________________________________________________________
Parallax
The four of them wanted to see light. Atop the observatory, they were looking up at the stars, half-asleep and half-drunk, but fully expectant of every bit of dust and light that might shoot its way across the sky. They were lying down on the floor and talking, the kind of talk that was aware of how this wasn't the kind of talk they normally do, the kind of talk that was meant only to make sounds to keep each other awake and to keep each other warm. But it wasn't at all gibberish. It was the kind of talk that sang, it was the kind of talk that led to song. They were singing of Stars (or at least two of them were) while waiting for stars, while waiting for something significant, while waiting for a cosmic event that will set things in motion. Wasn't this how it always began? With a bright light and a wish? They were doing nothing else really, other than just look up, but somehow lying there, with friends, in a campus that wasn't theirs, in a night that wasn't even supposed to happen, meant something. The anticipation weighed just as much, if not more, and they knew it. They knew it in the way they clinked their shot glasses, in the way they nibbled on the chips, the way they traversed foreign territory just shy of midnight.
The meteor came - in fact, it wasn't even just a meteor - it was a fireball. It ripped through the black sky quickly, gracefully, almost as if it was ashamed of having ruined the perfect stillness of the sky. It was enough to keep them in awe, in a momentary state of shock. But it was only for a while, only in that instant that it was traversing the blackness across them. After it was gone, they went back to talking, about pasts, about futures, about song. About each other. About things that didn't matter, things that did. They found the light, yes. But it wasn't in the meteor.
__
Labels: bullets
________________________________________________________________
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.
____Want more?
Featured Works
Stargirl ( Cover story for Nadine Lustre, Scout, January-February 2017)
Surreal / So Real (at Scout)
Ode to a Great Love's 17-year-old Self ( Love.Life, Philippine Daily Inquirer)
Postcard from Diliman
( Youngblood, Philippine Daily Inquirer)
Writer for Philippine Law Register
A Call to Arms (January 2017)
Expecting the Expected (March 2016)
Former Writer for Stache Magazine
The Hero's Journey (June 2013)
The 8 People You Become In Your Youth (June 2013)
The Best Bad Idea That Is Argo (April 2013)
Mike Ross Remembers Everything You Don't (August 2012)
Style Between the Riffs (August 2012)
Book Lovers Never Sleep Alone (June 2012)
A Spectrum of Change (December 2011)
Digital Art (October 2011)
Elements of Style (June 2011)
In Her White Dress (All-Art April 2011 issue)
Morning After Pill ( Fervore: Literary Folio 2013, UP Portia Sorority)
How To Make a Blueberry Cheesecake ( Kalas: Kalasag Literary Folio 2011, UP College of Arts and Letters)
January 14th ( 100: The Hundreds Project, UP Writer's Club)
An Ode to The
Pillow Book (at New-Slang)
Introductions (at TeenInk)
One by One (at TeenInk)
Ask, and you shall be answered
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.)
Answers
Most Frequently Asked QuestionAre 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
This blog is hosted by PhilHosting.net, and powered by Blogger. The layout is coded entirely by me.
Photo hosting: TinyPic, Photobucket
Question box: EmailMeForm, Ask.fm
Copyright © BOMBASTARR
Elsewhere, she wanders
Friends, links & affiliates
Links & Affiliates
|