Labels: UP

I bought five bluebooks today as an early attempt to prepare myself for battle. I kind of get paranoid when it comes to things like this because, being the forgetful person that I am, I'm afraid that I might enter the room with no ballpen, no eyeglasses, or no bluebook. It's a recurring nightmare, trust me. (Second only to failing a class - but still.) So I bought five, even though I think I will only be needing three, just so I can be sure that that scenario stays in my head and never plays out in real life.


It's funny how we are made to feel like law school is such a different world, detached from the rest of the university. Even our bluebooks are special. (If you notice, they are much thicker than the regular bluebooks, and cost P10 each, as opposed to P2.50.) On most days, it's comforting, because everything inside Malcolm becomes familiar: when you see the same faces and walk the same halls, things start feeling like home. Everyone knows almost everyone - by face, by name, by affiliation. There's somehow an unspoken acknowledgement that you know each other - it's like you are all in this exclusive little world speaking a language no one understands.

But on some days, it can also feel alienating and suffocating for the exact same reason. Because our blocks don't get shuffled, we see the same faces all day, everyday. We rarely have time to go out of the building, so it's just the same food, the same library, the same environment. You can feel easily smothered just because you hardly feel like there is a life outside the marbled walls of Malcolm Hall.

A lot of days, I can't tell if I feel welcomed or stifled.

Today, however, we held our last Oblicon class - an integration/review class with another block - inside the Ambion Room, where I took my LAE more than a year ago. I remember thinking to myself that day that even if I never get to call this building my home, at least for just one Sunday, I was able to experience what it was like to take a seat on these wooden chairs and marvel at the wonderful sight of the Sunken Garden by the window.

This afternoon, while listening to our prof review the ways of extinguishing an obligation, I looked out those same windows. I miss being out there, I really do. But today, I'm glad to be inside this bubble. I just hope it's glad to have me too.


__


Finals are next week, so I'm spending my entire Holy Week here at my condo unit, alone and buried in cases. This is actually the first time ever that I won't be spending this week over at my grandparents' house in Batangas because (1) they are in Singapore visiting my mom's sister, and (2) I have exams. Both my parents will also be going on their yearly pilgrimage, so I really have no one else to keep me company this week other than my books - and my fear of failing. Ha. Ha. Hahaha.

Labels: law school, UP

My Saturdays are almost always spent in the Malcolm Hall library, holed up in my little corner at the third floor, away from most of the world with only my readings and notebooks as company. Sometimes, I anticipate the occasional snack or dinner invitation to get me motivated for the rest of the afternoon, but on most days, I start and end it alone. Yet there is something about Saturdays in UP that doesn't make it lonely or sad - just lovely in its quietness.


This is my favorite spot in the entire campus. It also has, for me, the most beautiful, breathtaking view. The way the lush green trees arch above the Oval, framing it perfectly, is just stunning. As an undergrad, when I used to get to this spot - to this exact point right across Law, with the view of Engineering a little up ahead - and I see this before me, I felt this overwhelming wave of both terror and thrill. It's because of many things, yes - the people, the places, the physics, the prose, the provisions, the possibilities. This exact location held so much promise and meaning, I could not remember a time in the last four years that I did not stop for a few seconds to marvel at this sight, and the many feelings it gave me.

And even now, as a law student, I still feel that every time I pass by this spot. This view still gets to me. It grabs me. It takes me by the hand and stops me. How can it not? I see this and somehow I forget being sad, or defeated, or tired. Just... glad. Glad that I'm here, glad that this is mine. Everyday, and especially on Saturdays, I have this to keep me company. I have this to reassure me that things will be alright. I have this to call home.


I can only hope many others still get to call it theirs too.



__

(My deepest condolences to the family and loved ones of the UP Manila freshman who committed suicide last Friday. UP loves you; it was unfortunate that the system made you feel like it didn't.)

Labels: UP

i have often wondered if there was a place where small kinds of sadness come to die, where faint shades of grey dissolve back to white, where tiny sighs can be heard. i often think that days aren't exactly seamless, that they are held together by little silences that speak louder than our words. those tender moments, those glances at the clock realizing we are late, or the quiet panic as we remember we forgot something, the uneasy glimpses at our still unlit cellphone screens; they are not heavy like paperweights dangling on your chest. they are blisters on your feet when you try to walk with new shoes. they are small tears you never try to wipe, those you leave on your cheek to dry.


__

Labels: An attempt at poetry, finger exercises

He started finishing Madeleine’s sentences. As if her mind was too slow. As if he couldn’t wait for her to gather her thoughts. He riffed on the things she said, going off on strange tangents, making puns. Whenever she told him he needed to get some sleep, he got angry and didn’t call her for days. And it was during this period that Madeleine fully understood how the lover’s discourse was of an extreme solitude. The solitude was extreme because it wasn’t physical. It was extreme because you felt it while in the company of the person you loved. It was extreme because it was in your head, that most solitary of places.

The more Leonard pulled away, the more anxious Madeleine became. The more desperate she became, the more Leonard pulled away. She told herself to act cool. She went to the library to work on her marriage-plot thesis, but the sex-fantasy atmosphere—the reading-room eye contact, the beckoning stacks—made her desperate to see Leonard. And so against her will her feet began leading her back across campus through the darkness to the biology department. Up to the last moment, Madeleine had the crazy hope that this expression of weakness might in fact be strength. It was a brilliant strategy because it lacked all strategy. It involved no games, only sincerity. Seeing such sincerity, how could Leonard fail to respond? She was almost happy as she came up behind the lab table and tapped Leonard on the shoulder, and her happiness lasted until he turned around with a look not of love but of annoyance.

An excerpt from The Marriage Plot by Jeffrey Eugenides.

Sigh. Just when I thought I could not love this book even more. Oh, fiction.



__

Labels: books

you take your skirt off because it somehow felt heavy. the mint was a lovely backdrop to the pink belt, but only your mirror paid you a compliment, and it wasn't even convincing. they didn't understand what they were looking at when they see the gray bruise on your inner arm, the one that said blood had been taken away; a part of you had been taken away. your phone rings and you somehow know where this is going. your shirt is immaculate in white lace, but somehow it feels dirty, unclean, like a sorry that has been said but not meant, like an okay that hovers in the mouth but only faintly honest.


__

Labels: finger exercises

I was rushed to the hospital by my friends last night after a really, really bad case of abdominal pain. My monthly case of cramps is actually pretty regular, almost like an unwelcome visitor I've grown accustomed to. But for some reason, last night, it reached new heights, leaving me with no choice but to call for help.

After several blood tests and urine tests, I was discharged after six hours. It was dysmenorrhea, alright, but worsened by stress and fatigue, which led to that anxiety attack. Anxiety attack. At first, I couldn't fathom why or how. But then I recalled the lowest point of the night:

There I was on the floor, all curled up in pain, unable to move my numbing hands and feet, because my abdomen was hurting like it's being ripped apart. It was the worst episode of this I've had by far, and the most terrifying, because I was alone, and I only had my books and my readings with me, and the people I was trying to call weren't answering right away. I had every reason to be scared and to panic, and even though I knew I wasn't going to die, it was still frightening, especially when I was literally gasping for air. Yet in between sobs and dialing numbers, I remembered very clearly, all I could think to myself was, "Shit. I haven't finished my digests."

Labels: UP

I bought five bluebooks today as an early attempt to prepare myself for battle. I kind of get paranoid when it comes to things like this because, being the forgetful person that I am, I'm afraid that I might enter the room with no ballpen, no eyeglasses, or no bluebook. It's a recurring nightmare, trust me. (Second only to failing a class - but still.) So I bought five, even though I think I will only be needing three, just so I can be sure that that scenario stays in my head and never plays out in real life.


It's funny how we are made to feel like law school is such a different world, detached from the rest of the university. Even our bluebooks are special. (If you notice, they are much thicker than the regular bluebooks, and cost P10 each, as opposed to P2.50.) On most days, it's comforting, because everything inside Malcolm becomes familiar: when you see the same faces and walk the same halls, things start feeling like home. Everyone knows almost everyone - by face, by name, by affiliation. There's somehow an unspoken acknowledgement that you know each other - it's like you are all in this exclusive little world speaking a language no one understands.

But on some days, it can also feel alienating and suffocating for the exact same reason. Because our blocks don't get shuffled, we see the same faces all day, everyday. We rarely have time to go out of the building, so it's just the same food, the same library, the same environment. You can feel easily smothered just because you hardly feel like there is a life outside the marbled walls of Malcolm Hall.

A lot of days, I can't tell if I feel welcomed or stifled.

Today, however, we held our last Oblicon class - an integration/review class with another block - inside the Ambion Room, where I took my LAE more than a year ago. I remember thinking to myself that day that even if I never get to call this building my home, at least for just one Sunday, I was able to experience what it was like to take a seat on these wooden chairs and marvel at the wonderful sight of the Sunken Garden by the window.

This afternoon, while listening to our prof review the ways of extinguishing an obligation, I looked out those same windows. I miss being out there, I really do. But today, I'm glad to be inside this bubble. I just hope it's glad to have me too.


__


Finals are next week, so I'm spending my entire Holy Week here at my condo unit, alone and buried in cases. This is actually the first time ever that I won't be spending this week over at my grandparents' house in Batangas because (1) they are in Singapore visiting my mom's sister, and (2) I have exams. Both my parents will also be going on their yearly pilgrimage, so I really have no one else to keep me company this week other than my books - and my fear of failing. Ha. Ha. Hahaha.

Labels: law school, UP

My Saturdays are almost always spent in the Malcolm Hall library, holed up in my little corner at the third floor, away from most of the world with only my readings and notebooks as company. Sometimes, I anticipate the occasional snack or dinner invitation to get me motivated for the rest of the afternoon, but on most days, I start and end it alone. Yet there is something about Saturdays in UP that doesn't make it lonely or sad - just lovely in its quietness.


This is my favorite spot in the entire campus. It also has, for me, the most beautiful, breathtaking view. The way the lush green trees arch above the Oval, framing it perfectly, is just stunning. As an undergrad, when I used to get to this spot - to this exact point right across Law, with the view of Engineering a little up ahead - and I see this before me, I felt this overwhelming wave of both terror and thrill. It's because of many things, yes - the people, the places, the physics, the prose, the provisions, the possibilities. This exact location held so much promise and meaning, I could not remember a time in the last four years that I did not stop for a few seconds to marvel at this sight, and the many feelings it gave me.

And even now, as a law student, I still feel that every time I pass by this spot. This view still gets to me. It grabs me. It takes me by the hand and stops me. How can it not? I see this and somehow I forget being sad, or defeated, or tired. Just... glad. Glad that I'm here, glad that this is mine. Everyday, and especially on Saturdays, I have this to keep me company. I have this to reassure me that things will be alright. I have this to call home.


I can only hope many others still get to call it theirs too.



__

(My deepest condolences to the family and loved ones of the UP Manila freshman who committed suicide last Friday. UP loves you; it was unfortunate that the system made you feel like it didn't.)

Labels: UP

i have often wondered if there was a place where small kinds of sadness come to die, where faint shades of grey dissolve back to white, where tiny sighs can be heard. i often think that days aren't exactly seamless, that they are held together by little silences that speak louder than our words. those tender moments, those glances at the clock realizing we are late, or the quiet panic as we remember we forgot something, the uneasy glimpses at our still unlit cellphone screens; they are not heavy like paperweights dangling on your chest. they are blisters on your feet when you try to walk with new shoes. they are small tears you never try to wipe, those you leave on your cheek to dry.


__

Labels: An attempt at poetry, finger exercises

He started finishing Madeleine’s sentences. As if her mind was too slow. As if he couldn’t wait for her to gather her thoughts. He riffed on the things she said, going off on strange tangents, making puns. Whenever she told him he needed to get some sleep, he got angry and didn’t call her for days. And it was during this period that Madeleine fully understood how the lover’s discourse was of an extreme solitude. The solitude was extreme because it wasn’t physical. It was extreme because you felt it while in the company of the person you loved. It was extreme because it was in your head, that most solitary of places.

The more Leonard pulled away, the more anxious Madeleine became. The more desperate she became, the more Leonard pulled away. She told herself to act cool. She went to the library to work on her marriage-plot thesis, but the sex-fantasy atmosphere—the reading-room eye contact, the beckoning stacks—made her desperate to see Leonard. And so against her will her feet began leading her back across campus through the darkness to the biology department. Up to the last moment, Madeleine had the crazy hope that this expression of weakness might in fact be strength. It was a brilliant strategy because it lacked all strategy. It involved no games, only sincerity. Seeing such sincerity, how could Leonard fail to respond? She was almost happy as she came up behind the lab table and tapped Leonard on the shoulder, and her happiness lasted until he turned around with a look not of love but of annoyance.

An excerpt from The Marriage Plot by Jeffrey Eugenides.

Sigh. Just when I thought I could not love this book even more. Oh, fiction.



__

Labels: books

you take your skirt off because it somehow felt heavy. the mint was a lovely backdrop to the pink belt, but only your mirror paid you a compliment, and it wasn't even convincing. they didn't understand what they were looking at when they see the gray bruise on your inner arm, the one that said blood had been taken away; a part of you had been taken away. your phone rings and you somehow know where this is going. your shirt is immaculate in white lace, but somehow it feels dirty, unclean, like a sorry that has been said but not meant, like an okay that hovers in the mouth but only faintly honest.


__

Labels: finger exercises

I was rushed to the hospital by my friends last night after a really, really bad case of abdominal pain. My monthly case of cramps is actually pretty regular, almost like an unwelcome visitor I've grown accustomed to. But for some reason, last night, it reached new heights, leaving me with no choice but to call for help.

After several blood tests and urine tests, I was discharged after six hours. It was dysmenorrhea, alright, but worsened by stress and fatigue, which led to that anxiety attack. Anxiety attack. At first, I couldn't fathom why or how. But then I recalled the lowest point of the night:

There I was on the floor, all curled up in pain, unable to move my numbing hands and feet, because my abdomen was hurting like it's being ripped apart. It was the worst episode of this I've had by far, and the most terrifying, because I was alone, and I only had my books and my readings with me, and the people I was trying to call weren't answering right away. I had every reason to be scared and to panic, and even though I knew I wasn't going to die, it was still frightening, especially when I was literally gasping for air. Yet in between sobs and dialing numbers, I remembered very clearly, all I could think to myself was, "Shit. I haven't finished my digests."

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.

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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)

   

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This Is How It Doesn't Start

this is how it doesn't start, in eleven parts

Labels

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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 Question

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 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.

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.

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