Today (or rather, this week) marks the eighth anniversary of this blog. I KNOW. Eight years. As a good friend of mine said earlier, "Who keeps a blog for eight years? And in Blogspot, no less?"
That means this blog has been witness to three years of high school, four years of college, and almost a year of law school. That's an entire teenage-hood and a few years of adulthood. That's a transition from braces to retainers to bakal-free, from Chuck Taylors to ballet flats to platform wedges, from black-and-white school girl plaid to jean shorts to peplum skirts. When I first started this thing, there was still such a thing as Haloscan! And people still said "ex links?" on each other's Tagboards. God, I feel old.
It's insane how much I've changed in that span of time, but what's even more unbelievable is how constant and present this blog has been through all that. To be honest, there are many things I've written that I sometimes regret putting out here for everyone to see, if only because they were too personal or unnecessary. There are times I wish I didn't have to run to this place and instead chose another outlet, a journal where no one else can go through and use against me, like an actual diary (or a password-protected Wordpress).
But then, I'm reminded of why I started putting this much effort into this: because I don't always remember. I am a very forgetful person: the kind that forgets her keys all the time, the kind that always has to ask someone else to ring her phone, the kind that never recalls facts from the cases just by memory, the kind that forgets what time she's supposed to meet up with people. (Which is why Dory is my spirit animal.) And the thing is, I know this. I'm aware of how much I forget. It's funny, but actually kind of sad, to realize that not everything I felt genuinely excited, happy, or remotely interested about is going to stay in my head forever.
So, here. It's been eight years' worth of embarrassing fangirling, crushes, hell weeks, heartbreaks, and random musings. Perhaps they're not all significant and they're not all important enough to go back to - but hell, if it brings me somewhere in the past, somewhere I no longer remember - then damn it, it's fucking worth it.
Because it's always nice to remember. Even for a little bit, even for a while.
Right now, I don't think I have the words to recall everything in detail because I am still in a state of shock, disbelief, and overwhelming excitement. All I can say though, is that this goes down as probably the most awesome night of my life. I was in tears for almost every song, because they were just fucking perfect.
It was beautiful and amazing. I have so much love for you, Stars. Thank you so much - for the nights you kept me company, for the nights to come, for this night. You are wonderful.
The first time, through a very good friend's blog. She wrote a story about You Ex-Lover Is Dead, at a time when I was finally coming to terms with the conclusion of an era. It was already several months into the new culture, but it had to take a good listen to this song before I said goodbye with finality. I knew, the moment I first heard it, that it would be the anthem that will get me through anything. Anything. Live through this, and you won't look back.
The second time, in Geog camp. A female classmate of mine, in between jokes and sips of what she thought was Sprite (but was actually vodka), shared One More Night with me, when she found out I was the only one in the room who has heard of the band. I nonchalantly said yes when she asked me if I wanted her to send the song to me that night, not knowing that it would be the soundtrack of many more nights after that. One more night, that was a good one.
The third time, in my first dorm room. I was alone, it was a humid Tuesday afternoon, and my internet had surprisingly not expired yet. So, I downloaded Heart (the album), and two hours later, I found myself incredibly overwhelmed by Heart (the song). Time can take its toll on the best of us; look at you, you're growing old so young.
The fourth time, after being introduced to a group of guy friends at a computer shop in a nearby condo. It was the fifth day of the year, I remember - in fact, I remember a lot of other things: from the high school PE shirt I wore to the flush on the cheeks with which I said good night, and to Look Up, playing on loop in my iPod, before I went to sleep. Your girl, she's a renegade; a hurricane that keeps you there, safe.
The fifth time, one rainy night in July. My Favourite Book. Shattered, but not lonely.
"...and everyday, it's changed since then." *
You've truly changed my life, in many ways. I can't wait to see you tomorrow, Stars.
__
* taken from "The First Five Times," from their album, Set Yourself On Fire.
Today, in Karla vs. Oblicon (aka while reviewing for tomorrow's class), I got a little distracted when I remembered that the new Robin Sparkles episode of How I Met Your Mother just aired last night in the US. With a highlighter shade like this (thank you, Sharpie. You have forever turned me away from the shocking neon yellow of Stabilo. Oh, how wonderful you are, #FFCC00!) - who can resist drawing that umbrella?
Not this girl, who is certainly experiencing a rather extreme case of HIMYM dependency as of late. To say that I love this show is an understatement. In the last eight years, I have seen these characters grow up, fall down, and be torn apart - but they have never failed to make me believe that despite all that, nothing is too big or too trivial to become a good story - and consequently, a good life lesson.
I get tired when I hear people complain about the Mother and how long it's taking the writers to bring us there because it saddens me that to them, the only purpose of the show is Ted meeting the Mother. Whereas, if we take away that narrative, this is essentially just a story about a group of young individuals living in New York and enjoying the company of each other as they grow old and grow up. I think people focus too much on the end, rather than enjoying the ride that's taking us there. Sure, the title says How I Met Your Mother, and sure, it's rather unrealistic for a dad to be telling a story that long, with that much detail (even about his romantic and sexual conquests) - but at the end of the day, it's just a framing device to set it apart from every other show out there. The truth is, it's not about the Mother, no matter how central her role may be. It was never just about the Mother. It is about Ted, and Lily, and Marshall, and Robin, and Barney. It's about these people, and the fact that so-called fans don't care about their stories anymore and just want to rush to the ending - well, it kind of misses the whole point of being a fan of a show, doesn't it?
I'm going to be first to admit that the show is no longer what it used to be, and that in the latter seasons, some episodes could have been written better, and some character arcs could have been executed more flawlessly. The latter seasons are not as funny or crisp as the first ones - in fact, I think nowadays it's less a sitcom and more a romantic comedy. But this is not to say that the show is no longer worth watching at all. In fact, I think it is precisely this turn to the rom-com genre that makes it all the more rewarding.
The fact that the show never just strives for laughs, but also for the tears, is quite commendable - and comforting. Because while it's true that we watch sitcoms to make us temporarily forget about our own sad, complicated lives, it's nice to also see a hint of reality in them, if only to make us feel less alone. HIMYM has never been afraid to deal with heartbreak, financial debt, abandonment, accidents, infertility, and even death - things that we don't usually expect in comedies, but things that we always experience in real life. The stories they tell, no matter how crazy or stupid or outrageous, are still essentially realistic. Over the years, the has truly become like a friend, whose exploits you still want to hear about, no matter how silly or irrelevant it may be to your life, just because it's a good story and you're a good friend.
Maybe this is what I like best about this show: the fact that every episode is just a part of a greater narrative, a bigger story. No matter how trivial or important an event may be, it's all just an element to the much grander picture. It's exciting, in the sense that, it gives me something to look forward to - that perhaps, the universe is still in the middle of constructing my ending, so even my inconsequential days may lead me to something huge. But, at the same time, it's comforting, knowing that every single day doesn't always have to be grand. It can be quiet, and simple, and trivial, and yet it will still make for a good story, regardless of whether or not I tell it in pieces or in whole.
And isn't that what everyone wants one day? That we get to tell these little episodes, these stories of us, and be able to laugh about it?
(Okay, my download just finished. Squeeee I can't wait!)
<b>My Favourite Book</b> - Stars
<i>And to this day, when everything breaks</i>
<i>You are the anchor that holds me</i>
<i>
</i> <i>And that is why we'll always make it</i>
<i>
</i> <i>How I know your face,all the ways you move</i>
<i>You come in, I can read you</i>
<i>You're my favourite book</i>
__
Because this is my favorite Stars song, and well, just because.
Today (or rather, this week) marks the eighth anniversary of this blog. I KNOW. Eight years. As a good friend of mine said earlier, "Who keeps a blog for eight years? And in Blogspot, no less?"
That means this blog has been witness to three years of high school, four years of college, and almost a year of law school. That's an entire teenage-hood and a few years of adulthood. That's a transition from braces to retainers to bakal-free, from Chuck Taylors to ballet flats to platform wedges, from black-and-white school girl plaid to jean shorts to peplum skirts. When I first started this thing, there was still such a thing as Haloscan! And people still said "ex links?" on each other's Tagboards. God, I feel old.
It's insane how much I've changed in that span of time, but what's even more unbelievable is how constant and present this blog has been through all that. To be honest, there are many things I've written that I sometimes regret putting out here for everyone to see, if only because they were too personal or unnecessary. There are times I wish I didn't have to run to this place and instead chose another outlet, a journal where no one else can go through and use against me, like an actual diary (or a password-protected Wordpress).
But then, I'm reminded of why I started putting this much effort into this: because I don't always remember. I am a very forgetful person: the kind that forgets her keys all the time, the kind that always has to ask someone else to ring her phone, the kind that never recalls facts from the cases just by memory, the kind that forgets what time she's supposed to meet up with people. (Which is why Dory is my spirit animal.) And the thing is, I know this. I'm aware of how much I forget. It's funny, but actually kind of sad, to realize that not everything I felt genuinely excited, happy, or remotely interested about is going to stay in my head forever.
So, here. It's been eight years' worth of embarrassing fangirling, crushes, hell weeks, heartbreaks, and random musings. Perhaps they're not all significant and they're not all important enough to go back to - but hell, if it brings me somewhere in the past, somewhere I no longer remember - then damn it, it's fucking worth it.
Because it's always nice to remember. Even for a little bit, even for a while.
Right now, I don't think I have the words to recall everything in detail because I am still in a state of shock, disbelief, and overwhelming excitement. All I can say though, is that this goes down as probably the most awesome night of my life. I was in tears for almost every song, because they were just fucking perfect.
It was beautiful and amazing. I have so much love for you, Stars. Thank you so much - for the nights you kept me company, for the nights to come, for this night. You are wonderful.
The first time, through a very good friend's blog. She wrote a story about You Ex-Lover Is Dead, at a time when I was finally coming to terms with the conclusion of an era. It was already several months into the new culture, but it had to take a good listen to this song before I said goodbye with finality. I knew, the moment I first heard it, that it would be the anthem that will get me through anything. Anything. Live through this, and you won't look back.
The second time, in Geog camp. A female classmate of mine, in between jokes and sips of what she thought was Sprite (but was actually vodka), shared One More Night with me, when she found out I was the only one in the room who has heard of the band. I nonchalantly said yes when she asked me if I wanted her to send the song to me that night, not knowing that it would be the soundtrack of many more nights after that. One more night, that was a good one.
The third time, in my first dorm room. I was alone, it was a humid Tuesday afternoon, and my internet had surprisingly not expired yet. So, I downloaded Heart (the album), and two hours later, I found myself incredibly overwhelmed by Heart (the song). Time can take its toll on the best of us; look at you, you're growing old so young.
The fourth time, after being introduced to a group of guy friends at a computer shop in a nearby condo. It was the fifth day of the year, I remember - in fact, I remember a lot of other things: from the high school PE shirt I wore to the flush on the cheeks with which I said good night, and to Look Up, playing on loop in my iPod, before I went to sleep. Your girl, she's a renegade; a hurricane that keeps you there, safe.
The fifth time, one rainy night in July. My Favourite Book. Shattered, but not lonely.
"...and everyday, it's changed since then." *
You've truly changed my life, in many ways. I can't wait to see you tomorrow, Stars.
__
* taken from "The First Five Times," from their album, Set Yourself On Fire.
Today, in Karla vs. Oblicon (aka while reviewing for tomorrow's class), I got a little distracted when I remembered that the new Robin Sparkles episode of How I Met Your Mother just aired last night in the US. With a highlighter shade like this (thank you, Sharpie. You have forever turned me away from the shocking neon yellow of Stabilo. Oh, how wonderful you are, #FFCC00!) - who can resist drawing that umbrella?
Not this girl, who is certainly experiencing a rather extreme case of HIMYM dependency as of late. To say that I love this show is an understatement. In the last eight years, I have seen these characters grow up, fall down, and be torn apart - but they have never failed to make me believe that despite all that, nothing is too big or too trivial to become a good story - and consequently, a good life lesson.
I get tired when I hear people complain about the Mother and how long it's taking the writers to bring us there because it saddens me that to them, the only purpose of the show is Ted meeting the Mother. Whereas, if we take away that narrative, this is essentially just a story about a group of young individuals living in New York and enjoying the company of each other as they grow old and grow up. I think people focus too much on the end, rather than enjoying the ride that's taking us there. Sure, the title says How I Met Your Mother, and sure, it's rather unrealistic for a dad to be telling a story that long, with that much detail (even about his romantic and sexual conquests) - but at the end of the day, it's just a framing device to set it apart from every other show out there. The truth is, it's not about the Mother, no matter how central her role may be. It was never just about the Mother. It is about Ted, and Lily, and Marshall, and Robin, and Barney. It's about these people, and the fact that so-called fans don't care about their stories anymore and just want to rush to the ending - well, it kind of misses the whole point of being a fan of a show, doesn't it?
I'm going to be first to admit that the show is no longer what it used to be, and that in the latter seasons, some episodes could have been written better, and some character arcs could have been executed more flawlessly. The latter seasons are not as funny or crisp as the first ones - in fact, I think nowadays it's less a sitcom and more a romantic comedy. But this is not to say that the show is no longer worth watching at all. In fact, I think it is precisely this turn to the rom-com genre that makes it all the more rewarding.
The fact that the show never just strives for laughs, but also for the tears, is quite commendable - and comforting. Because while it's true that we watch sitcoms to make us temporarily forget about our own sad, complicated lives, it's nice to also see a hint of reality in them, if only to make us feel less alone. HIMYM has never been afraid to deal with heartbreak, financial debt, abandonment, accidents, infertility, and even death - things that we don't usually expect in comedies, but things that we always experience in real life. The stories they tell, no matter how crazy or stupid or outrageous, are still essentially realistic. Over the years, the has truly become like a friend, whose exploits you still want to hear about, no matter how silly or irrelevant it may be to your life, just because it's a good story and you're a good friend.
Maybe this is what I like best about this show: the fact that every episode is just a part of a greater narrative, a bigger story. No matter how trivial or important an event may be, it's all just an element to the much grander picture. It's exciting, in the sense that, it gives me something to look forward to - that perhaps, the universe is still in the middle of constructing my ending, so even my inconsequential days may lead me to something huge. But, at the same time, it's comforting, knowing that every single day doesn't always have to be grand. It can be quiet, and simple, and trivial, and yet it will still make for a good story, regardless of whether or not I tell it in pieces or in whole.
And isn't that what everyone wants one day? That we get to tell these little episodes, these stories of us, and be able to laugh about it?
(Okay, my download just finished. Squeeee I can't wait!)
<b>My Favourite Book</b> - Stars
<i>And to this day, when everything breaks</i>
<i>You are the anchor that holds me</i>
<i>
</i> <i>And that is why we'll always make it</i>
<i>
</i> <i>How I know your face,all the ways you move</i>
<i>You come in, I can read you</i>
<i>You're my favourite book</i>
__
Because this is my favorite Stars song, and well, just because.
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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