I will write about you, one day, when enough time has passed, when I have detached myself enough from the wake of your tumult - because if I try to force it now, it will only end up with words desperately trying to make sense of feelings that are yet to settle. You have been happy and sad in many ways, in varying degrees, some moments heftier than others, but mostly just really difficult. And while there are many things to be thankful for (like all the fantastic, beautiful friends I've met, gained, and found again), I cannot lie through my teeth and tell everyone that you have been a welcome change to my life. Because the truth of the matter is, I'm not yet there - I don't think I'm at that point where I can be completely objective about you and say, without hesitation, that you have actually been wonderful in your entirety, a blessing in disguise. Maybe six months, a year, ten years from now, you will be. But right now, I don't believe that yet. Not even on the brink of the first day of the new year, I don't.
Instead, I'll wear a polka-dot top and a red skirt, in a jocular-but-actually-kind-of-desperate attempt to attract good vibes or good fortune (or both) for the coming year. Because there's nothing else to do at this point but hope for the best - and try to look pretty in the process.
Nowhere to go but up, right.
So, to you 2012, I just want to tell you what I've been meaning to say for the last six months of my life. Good riddance. I can't wait to finally get rid of you.
Everyone has crosses to bear, fights to battle out, and secrets to carry; but for one day every year, we are called to forget, to suspend, to put on hold - and sometimes, the calm, albeit temporary, may surprise us, bringing more good rather than harm, more permanence rather than delusion. And perhaps, even for just a day, that's good enough.
Have a happy Christmas, friends! Spread the love, the joy, and the holiday cheer. :)
♥
It's the night before the night before Christmas, and you are trying desperately to remember the last time your bedside table was this clumsy, this full of books still unread.
But nostalgia isn't a direct flight, and it isn't even a taxi ride. Before it gets you to where you want to go it stops at different locations: bizarre ones, heavily-populated ones, ones you used to go to, ones you never thought you'd buckle yourself into again. Sometimes it takes a while, sometimes it doesn't; sometimes it surprises you how quickly you're brought back to a place, a person, a point. Once you're there, you're confused and ecstatic and all kinds of lost, because you know this isn't where you're going but it feels almost sublime - not quite, but almost, and God knows how enough that almost feels like. You stay, you linger, you latch on to it, until you realize it's been a while and you're not supposed to be there on those steps (or at least not anymore). You start walking, in an effort to get to your stop - or maybe just back to your point of origin, you're not sure, you're kind of disconcerted now, the landing was kind of bumpy and you forgot to take your aspirin - but do your feet bring you there? Do your hands?
You look at you bedside table, and you are only halfway through you stack of unfinished books. Then you see No One Belongs Here More Than You, bottom of the pile on the other shelf, yellow cover still pristine - and of course you reach out for it, of course you do, but not before mouthing the words to the first few lines like the chorus to a favorite song.
Robin: What do you want me to do, Ted? Run up to that roof, knock the ring out of Barney's hand and say, "Sorry to interrupt, but you should be with me,"?
Ted: Is that what you want?
-- How I Met Your Mother 8.12 (The Final Page, Part 2)
"Yes, it's a mistake. I know it's a mistake, but there are certain things in life where you know it's a mistake but you don't really know it's a mistake because the only way to really know it's a mistake is to make the mistake and look back and say 'Yep, that was a mistake.' So really, the bigger mistake would be to not make the mistake, because then you'd go your whole life not knowing if something is a mistake or not. And dammit, I've made no mistakes! I've done all of this; my life, my relationship, my career -- mistake-free."
I had a way then losing it all on my own
I had a heart then but the queen has been overthrown
And I'm not sleeping now the dark is too hard to beat
And I'm not keeping up the strength I need to push me
You show the lights that stop me turn to stone
You shine it when I'm alone
And so I tell myself that I'll be strong
And dreaming when they're gone
I will write about you, one day, when enough time has passed, when I have detached myself enough from the wake of your tumult - because if I try to force it now, it will only end up with words desperately trying to make sense of feelings that are yet to settle. You have been happy and sad in many ways, in varying degrees, some moments heftier than others, but mostly just really difficult. And while there are many things to be thankful for (like all the fantastic, beautiful friends I've met, gained, and found again), I cannot lie through my teeth and tell everyone that you have been a welcome change to my life. Because the truth of the matter is, I'm not yet there - I don't think I'm at that point where I can be completely objective about you and say, without hesitation, that you have actually been wonderful in your entirety, a blessing in disguise. Maybe six months, a year, ten years from now, you will be. But right now, I don't believe that yet. Not even on the brink of the first day of the new year, I don't.
Instead, I'll wear a polka-dot top and a red skirt, in a jocular-but-actually-kind-of-desperate attempt to attract good vibes or good fortune (or both) for the coming year. Because there's nothing else to do at this point but hope for the best - and try to look pretty in the process.
Nowhere to go but up, right.
So, to you 2012, I just want to tell you what I've been meaning to say for the last six months of my life. Good riddance. I can't wait to finally get rid of you.
Everyone has crosses to bear, fights to battle out, and secrets to carry; but for one day every year, we are called to forget, to suspend, to put on hold - and sometimes, the calm, albeit temporary, may surprise us, bringing more good rather than harm, more permanence rather than delusion. And perhaps, even for just a day, that's good enough.
Have a happy Christmas, friends! Spread the love, the joy, and the holiday cheer. :)
♥
It's the night before the night before Christmas, and you are trying desperately to remember the last time your bedside table was this clumsy, this full of books still unread.
But nostalgia isn't a direct flight, and it isn't even a taxi ride. Before it gets you to where you want to go it stops at different locations: bizarre ones, heavily-populated ones, ones you used to go to, ones you never thought you'd buckle yourself into again. Sometimes it takes a while, sometimes it doesn't; sometimes it surprises you how quickly you're brought back to a place, a person, a point. Once you're there, you're confused and ecstatic and all kinds of lost, because you know this isn't where you're going but it feels almost sublime - not quite, but almost, and God knows how enough that almost feels like. You stay, you linger, you latch on to it, until you realize it's been a while and you're not supposed to be there on those steps (or at least not anymore). You start walking, in an effort to get to your stop - or maybe just back to your point of origin, you're not sure, you're kind of disconcerted now, the landing was kind of bumpy and you forgot to take your aspirin - but do your feet bring you there? Do your hands?
You look at you bedside table, and you are only halfway through you stack of unfinished books. Then you see No One Belongs Here More Than You, bottom of the pile on the other shelf, yellow cover still pristine - and of course you reach out for it, of course you do, but not before mouthing the words to the first few lines like the chorus to a favorite song.
Robin: What do you want me to do, Ted? Run up to that roof, knock the ring out of Barney's hand and say, "Sorry to interrupt, but you should be with me,"?
Ted: Is that what you want?
-- How I Met Your Mother 8.12 (The Final Page, Part 2)
"Yes, it's a mistake. I know it's a mistake, but there are certain things in life where you know it's a mistake but you don't really know it's a mistake because the only way to really know it's a mistake is to make the mistake and look back and say 'Yep, that was a mistake.' So really, the bigger mistake would be to not make the mistake, because then you'd go your whole life not knowing if something is a mistake or not. And dammit, I've made no mistakes! I've done all of this; my life, my relationship, my career -- mistake-free."
I had a way then losing it all on my own
I had a heart then but the queen has been overthrown
And I'm not sleeping now the dark is too hard to beat
And I'm not keeping up the strength I need to push me
You show the lights that stop me turn to stone
You shine it when I'm alone
And so I tell myself that I'll be strong
And dreaming when they're gone
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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