The UP Lantern Parade is always very special to me. It's been 6 years of attending this event, consistently and with no fail. And while for some, it's nothing but a spectacle of lights, for me it's also a display of love -- best spent with the people closest and dearest to your heart.
This year is so different from all the previous ones I've had, but it's also the most special, methinks. Law school's been tough, but it was great to close out this year with so much love, laughter, and a little bit of luck :)
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P.S. These are just pictures from my phone! No photos yet from Inter-D (our block party) and those from other people's cameras. Will upload and share soon.
This weekend, I went home to Paranaque for the first time in a while. I rarely get to go home these days-- actually, this has been going on for some time now. Ever since law school started, Paranaque has rarely been home. I haven't been able to go home weekly like I used to in college, which is sad, because I miss going home to newly-cooked food every weekend. I miss hanging out at your house on Saturdays. I miss hearing mass and eating lunch out with the family every Sunday. Even when I was dorming in undergrad, I never really felt like Katipunan was home, because every week there's our little town to go back to.
Things are different now. Last night, Papa and Mommy brought me back to my condo. Yes, on a Sunday night, and not on a Monday morning, like I always used to. Lola, I live alone now. I have my own place, and it's not as neat and tidy as I'd hope (or as you'd want) it to be. But at least I don't have to worry about my underwear being stolen-- something you always, always reminded me about. No, lola, I don't have roommates who will nakaw my panty.
It gets lonely sometimes. Okay, a lot more often than I'd care to admit. Even if I never had a sibling and was used to being independent, I'd still feel alone. Sometimes at night. But mostly in the morning. I didn't grow up to a house full of people; just me, mommy, and papa. But I was still used to having people around to say goodbye to when I left. I'd say to goodbye to Lola M, and Lola O, and Lola B. I'd say goodbye to Tita Guads when I get to your house. And of course, I'd say goodbye to you.
I miss saying goodbye to you, Inang. I miss climbing atop your bed, and laying beside you, even though there's hardly any more space left. I miss playing with the fleshy, jiggly part of your underarm, and you not minding it. I miss stroking your hair, and playfully asking for your bejeweled headband. I miss hearing you tell me that I should never tire of doing my best in school because I'm "madunong," I miss letting you say how you've always dreamt of being a lawyer.
Sometimes, Inang, I wake up in the morning and don't know why I'm still in law school. All my life, I've always thought I was sure of wanting to be a lawyer. But now that I'm here, on most mornings, I find myself asking why. Do I want this, really? Why am I still here? It's hard to find a concrete answer when it's shaky ground I'm standing on.
Then I think of you-- the goodbyes I still want to say, and the goodbyes I still want to hear. The goodbyes you would've said as I left our house for QC, for Malcolm. And while they are goodbyes that can never be, they are goodbyes worth thinking of. Because Lola, for everything that I have questioned, and for everything that has changed, I still hear your voice and your reminders and your sweet, sweet goodbyes. I hear you wishing me well; it permeates the silence of dawn creeping in, it resonates amidst the chaos of the morning commutes. And quite frankly, it's enough to get my head out of Paranaque, to get my head out of my room.
And on most days, that's enough. Just the memory of our short little goodbye ritual before I left - me kissing your forehead, you complimenting my earrings - it's enough. It's enough to make me want to leave my room and say, "Yes, today is a day to make the people at home proud."
Thank you, Lola, for always wishing me goodbye every time I left for school. With you, goodbyes were never sad. Goodbyes meant seeing you soon, goodbyes meant going out so that I can have new stories to tell. Goodbyes meant coming home. Goodbyes meant leaving the house with a promise, and returning with a purpose.
Goodbyes meant not letting people at home down. I hope I'm not letting you down, Inang. I miss you.
__
* Today marks the second death anniversary of my paternal grandmother, Inang.
The UP Lantern Parade is always very special to me. It's been 6 years of attending this event, consistently and with no fail. And while for some, it's nothing but a spectacle of lights, for me it's also a display of love -- best spent with the people closest and dearest to your heart.
This year is so different from all the previous ones I've had, but it's also the most special, methinks. Law school's been tough, but it was great to close out this year with so much love, laughter, and a little bit of luck :)
__
P.S. These are just pictures from my phone! No photos yet from Inter-D (our block party) and those from other people's cameras. Will upload and share soon.
This weekend, I went home to Paranaque for the first time in a while. I rarely get to go home these days-- actually, this has been going on for some time now. Ever since law school started, Paranaque has rarely been home. I haven't been able to go home weekly like I used to in college, which is sad, because I miss going home to newly-cooked food every weekend. I miss hanging out at your house on Saturdays. I miss hearing mass and eating lunch out with the family every Sunday. Even when I was dorming in undergrad, I never really felt like Katipunan was home, because every week there's our little town to go back to.
Things are different now. Last night, Papa and Mommy brought me back to my condo. Yes, on a Sunday night, and not on a Monday morning, like I always used to. Lola, I live alone now. I have my own place, and it's not as neat and tidy as I'd hope (or as you'd want) it to be. But at least I don't have to worry about my underwear being stolen-- something you always, always reminded me about. No, lola, I don't have roommates who will nakaw my panty.
It gets lonely sometimes. Okay, a lot more often than I'd care to admit. Even if I never had a sibling and was used to being independent, I'd still feel alone. Sometimes at night. But mostly in the morning. I didn't grow up to a house full of people; just me, mommy, and papa. But I was still used to having people around to say goodbye to when I left. I'd say to goodbye to Lola M, and Lola O, and Lola B. I'd say goodbye to Tita Guads when I get to your house. And of course, I'd say goodbye to you.
I miss saying goodbye to you, Inang. I miss climbing atop your bed, and laying beside you, even though there's hardly any more space left. I miss playing with the fleshy, jiggly part of your underarm, and you not minding it. I miss stroking your hair, and playfully asking for your bejeweled headband. I miss hearing you tell me that I should never tire of doing my best in school because I'm "madunong," I miss letting you say how you've always dreamt of being a lawyer.
Sometimes, Inang, I wake up in the morning and don't know why I'm still in law school. All my life, I've always thought I was sure of wanting to be a lawyer. But now that I'm here, on most mornings, I find myself asking why. Do I want this, really? Why am I still here? It's hard to find a concrete answer when it's shaky ground I'm standing on.
Then I think of you-- the goodbyes I still want to say, and the goodbyes I still want to hear. The goodbyes you would've said as I left our house for QC, for Malcolm. And while they are goodbyes that can never be, they are goodbyes worth thinking of. Because Lola, for everything that I have questioned, and for everything that has changed, I still hear your voice and your reminders and your sweet, sweet goodbyes. I hear you wishing me well; it permeates the silence of dawn creeping in, it resonates amidst the chaos of the morning commutes. And quite frankly, it's enough to get my head out of Paranaque, to get my head out of my room.
And on most days, that's enough. Just the memory of our short little goodbye ritual before I left - me kissing your forehead, you complimenting my earrings - it's enough. It's enough to make me want to leave my room and say, "Yes, today is a day to make the people at home proud."
Thank you, Lola, for always wishing me goodbye every time I left for school. With you, goodbyes were never sad. Goodbyes meant seeing you soon, goodbyes meant going out so that I can have new stories to tell. Goodbyes meant coming home. Goodbyes meant leaving the house with a promise, and returning with a purpose.
Goodbyes meant not letting people at home down. I hope I'm not letting you down, Inang. I miss you.
__
* Today marks the second death anniversary of my paternal grandmother, Inang.
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
This blog is hosted by PhilHosting.net, and powered by Blogger. The layout is coded entirely by me.
Shawarma and Eng'g steps date with Ria before the Lantern Parade
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