Sometimes I find myself randomly surprised at the many things our bodies and minds can do under pressure, or strong will.
For instance, memorizing more or less a hundred and fifty provisions for a single test that requires specificity and particularity - an ironically difficult task for someone like me who appreciates the stories in the details, but who has the memory of a slightly-more-retentive goldfish - and writing them over and over again, until your hands no longer seeem to move within your control;
holing up in the library for an entire Saturday, just going through cases and reciting provisions alternately, endlessly, without the privilege (and peril) of a high-speed internet connection or other such good enough distraction (i.e. an actual person);
running, without pause, twice around the Oval, even when your legs hurt and your mind is tired, because you realize now that there is a certain kind of comfort, a physical kind of relief that washes over you and makes your cheeks flush, after catching your breath and realizing you have done what no one expects of you;
waking up earlier than usual to read more: to catch up on things forgotten, or to get a step ahead;
starting to like the place that has, since the beginning, only pushed you away, and seeing the beauty in the little things that make it whole: the wooden tables, the marbled tiles, the view of the Sunken Garden, the chatter of people both eager and afraid to get through the day;
looking away when the sound of a private message pops up from the laptop beside yours;
growing deaf to the sound of feelings you're afraid to admit you're slowly turning indifferent to;
choosing to see past mistakes and imperfections; or understanding what it means to mess up and realize what one wants;
forgiving;
welcoming the quiet and the chaos inside your heart that can only be traced to one;
putting yourself back together again, with the pieces that feel right, and the questions that know the answers even without being asked.
Stars is absolutely, without a doubt, my most favorite band in the world, and it's been days since I bought the ticket, but, man, I still can't wrap my head around the fact that I'm going to see them live. I have so much love for this band. Every time I see the tickets on my bedside drawer I go "Ahhhhh!" inside my head. I AM SO EXCITED.
Because we're smack in the middle of midterms week and I have nothing else to talk about anyway other than school, here instead is a picture of the steak I ate - nay, devoured - after our gruesome Constitutional Law II exam. Ain't it beautiful?
The peril of implied actions in obligations is that you can never be too sure.
Has the old obligation been extinguished? Was there an agreement on all parties involved? Is the new one valid? Are the old and new contracts incompatible in all points such that the old obligation is deemed unenforceable? How can you be sure about what to expect from the other party? What do you do?
Last Tuesday, my friends and I went to the Supreme Court to listen to the oral arguments regarding the Anti-Cybercrime Law. It wasn't supposed to push through because we weren't able to get passes to secure us seats inside the session hall, but we ended up going anyway because we've never been to the SC before. The huge LCD screen in the lobby showing the real-time developments were good enough for us. We were in the halls of justice! And, for once, we actually understood what they were talking about - right to unreasonable searches and seizures, right to privacy, levels of scrutiny, etc. - proof that we are indeed learning somehow. (Thanks, Consti!)
I won't deny that it woke up something in me, something I thought had long been missing, something that needed to be reawakened.It's difficult, and it's not something I will love as much as creative writing, but damn it, I want to be a lawyer.
The thing about looking at things one day at a time is that while it may seem too flighty and noncommittal, when you wake up suddenly to a beautiful feeling - a beautiful, tangled up knot inside your chest that can't wait to burst out - even though it's six and your class isn't until ten, even though you'd still rather sleep because you still have cramps, it makes your morning. And your morning makes your day. And one day can mean everything.
School starts again tomorrow, and I'm supposed to be welcoming it with dread (since midterms are coming, and well, it's law school - when is it not dreadful?). But instead, I'm starting the year with this good-vibes song. Doesn't it make you want to just grab someone and dance?
2013, make me dance.
Got you shackled in my embrace I won't let go of you
like I used to. I had the urge to grab an old notebook and write on the last page - a lyric, or a refrain - like I always do. I wrote the line to a song, a soundtrack to a rainy January afternoon of some years ago. But then the words veered away from the chorus, and suddenly they were singing on their own, without much effort or consternation. I couldn't stop it; I was no longer scribbling the lyrics to a song, I was writing my own prose of the same kind of wanting and searching and finding - as if merely re-writing someone's sentiments wasn't enough, as if it was a betrayal to my own feelings not having my say. It's been a while since I last wrote like I didn't have to chew the phrases, only feel them. And before I even lifted the pen from the paper, I knew. If they ask me why, I will tell them this. They will never understand, they won't have to. I am writing again. Finally, I hear the words singing from the page, we can form the sentences they've never allowed yourself to say.
Sometimes I find myself randomly surprised at the many things our bodies and minds can do under pressure, or strong will.
For instance, memorizing more or less a hundred and fifty provisions for a single test that requires specificity and particularity - an ironically difficult task for someone like me who appreciates the stories in the details, but who has the memory of a slightly-more-retentive goldfish - and writing them over and over again, until your hands no longer seeem to move within your control;
holing up in the library for an entire Saturday, just going through cases and reciting provisions alternately, endlessly, without the privilege (and peril) of a high-speed internet connection or other such good enough distraction (i.e. an actual person);
running, without pause, twice around the Oval, even when your legs hurt and your mind is tired, because you realize now that there is a certain kind of comfort, a physical kind of relief that washes over you and makes your cheeks flush, after catching your breath and realizing you have done what no one expects of you;
waking up earlier than usual to read more: to catch up on things forgotten, or to get a step ahead;
starting to like the place that has, since the beginning, only pushed you away, and seeing the beauty in the little things that make it whole: the wooden tables, the marbled tiles, the view of the Sunken Garden, the chatter of people both eager and afraid to get through the day;
looking away when the sound of a private message pops up from the laptop beside yours;
growing deaf to the sound of feelings you're afraid to admit you're slowly turning indifferent to;
choosing to see past mistakes and imperfections; or understanding what it means to mess up and realize what one wants;
forgiving;
welcoming the quiet and the chaos inside your heart that can only be traced to one;
putting yourself back together again, with the pieces that feel right, and the questions that know the answers even without being asked.
Stars is absolutely, without a doubt, my most favorite band in the world, and it's been days since I bought the ticket, but, man, I still can't wrap my head around the fact that I'm going to see them live. I have so much love for this band. Every time I see the tickets on my bedside drawer I go "Ahhhhh!" inside my head. I AM SO EXCITED.
Because we're smack in the middle of midterms week and I have nothing else to talk about anyway other than school, here instead is a picture of the steak I ate - nay, devoured - after our gruesome Constitutional Law II exam. Ain't it beautiful?
The peril of implied actions in obligations is that you can never be too sure.
Has the old obligation been extinguished? Was there an agreement on all parties involved? Is the new one valid? Are the old and new contracts incompatible in all points such that the old obligation is deemed unenforceable? How can you be sure about what to expect from the other party? What do you do?
Last Tuesday, my friends and I went to the Supreme Court to listen to the oral arguments regarding the Anti-Cybercrime Law. It wasn't supposed to push through because we weren't able to get passes to secure us seats inside the session hall, but we ended up going anyway because we've never been to the SC before. The huge LCD screen in the lobby showing the real-time developments were good enough for us. We were in the halls of justice! And, for once, we actually understood what they were talking about - right to unreasonable searches and seizures, right to privacy, levels of scrutiny, etc. - proof that we are indeed learning somehow. (Thanks, Consti!)
I won't deny that it woke up something in me, something I thought had long been missing, something that needed to be reawakened.It's difficult, and it's not something I will love as much as creative writing, but damn it, I want to be a lawyer.
The thing about looking at things one day at a time is that while it may seem too flighty and noncommittal, when you wake up suddenly to a beautiful feeling - a beautiful, tangled up knot inside your chest that can't wait to burst out - even though it's six and your class isn't until ten, even though you'd still rather sleep because you still have cramps, it makes your morning. And your morning makes your day. And one day can mean everything.
School starts again tomorrow, and I'm supposed to be welcoming it with dread (since midterms are coming, and well, it's law school - when is it not dreadful?). But instead, I'm starting the year with this good-vibes song. Doesn't it make you want to just grab someone and dance?
2013, make me dance.
Got you shackled in my embrace I won't let go of you
like I used to. I had the urge to grab an old notebook and write on the last page - a lyric, or a refrain - like I always do. I wrote the line to a song, a soundtrack to a rainy January afternoon of some years ago. But then the words veered away from the chorus, and suddenly they were singing on their own, without much effort or consternation. I couldn't stop it; I was no longer scribbling the lyrics to a song, I was writing my own prose of the same kind of wanting and searching and finding - as if merely re-writing someone's sentiments wasn't enough, as if it was a betrayal to my own feelings not having my say. It's been a while since I last wrote like I didn't have to chew the phrases, only feel them. And before I even lifted the pen from the paper, I knew. If they ask me why, I will tell them this. They will never understand, they won't have to. I am writing again. Finally, I hear the words singing from the page, we can form the sentences they've never allowed yourself to say.
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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