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First sentences
I came across a bunch of old notepad files filled with one-liners and unfinished sentences in my hard drive a few weeks ago. I was in the middle of moving and deleting old files to make room for more disk space when I stumbled upon these fragmentary notes. I remembered these from a few months, and even years ago; I used to diligently type whatever random phrase I'd hear or think about during the day. Some of them already had a story in mind, some still have yet to be figured out. Some were cluttered, others already made sense. They were just there, tucked away in different folders, waiting to be found, or finished.
I tried to remember the stories behind some of them; I wanted to finish the stories that awaited some others. It's a marvel wading through words you've long abandoned - it's like seeing a familiar face but not knowing his name. They weren't just mere construction of words - they were sentences that came forth from a time of my life that's long past, that no longer exists. Here were a kid's words. Here were sentences that that version of me thought were good enough to begin stories.
Joan Didion once said something about first sentences. When you write your first sentence, you're stuck with it. And by the time you write your second one, she said, you've closed out on all your options.
Out of curiosity, I attempted to put them together. I wasn't looking for anything, I just wanted to see where they will drive at: on their own, together.
It was twenty-two minutes in and their pancakes have not arrived.
They all promised her the sky, she remembered.
The thing about tuberculosis is you start caring about your lungs, but forget about your heart.
She came in expecting nothing, he expected to come in nothing.
If there was anything he now knew, it's that she didn't come with assembly instructions.
It's interesting where first sentences take you. I don't remember most of them; I don't even know where they came from, nor where they will go. I can't recall if I wrote them down after an interesting jeepney ride, or a tiresome day in school. They don't always have to make sense, but at the very least, you can be sure they will lead to something. That's what they are for anyway.
Funny how they were put together, once the universe decided it's done setting them apart.
_
Hello, May: for the first sentences you brought from a year ago, and all the ones that led to today. Labels: finger exercises
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First sentences
I came across a bunch of old notepad files filled with one-liners and unfinished sentences in my hard drive a few weeks ago. I was in the middle of moving and deleting old files to make room for more disk space when I stumbled upon these fragmentary notes. I remembered these from a few months, and even years ago; I used to diligently type whatever random phrase I'd hear or think about during the day. Some of them already had a story in mind, some still have yet to be figured out. Some were cluttered, others already made sense. They were just there, tucked away in different folders, waiting to be found, or finished.
I tried to remember the stories behind some of them; I wanted to finish the stories that awaited some others. It's a marvel wading through words you've long abandoned - it's like seeing a familiar face but not knowing his name. They weren't just mere construction of words - they were sentences that came forth from a time of my life that's long past, that no longer exists. Here were a kid's words. Here were sentences that that version of me thought were good enough to begin stories.
Joan Didion once said something about first sentences. When you write your first sentence, you're stuck with it. And by the time you write your second one, she said, you've closed out on all your options.
Out of curiosity, I attempted to put them together. I wasn't looking for anything, I just wanted to see where they will drive at: on their own, together.
It was twenty-two minutes in and their pancakes have not arrived.
They all promised her the sky, she remembered.
The thing about tuberculosis is you start caring about your lungs, but forget about your heart.
She came in expecting nothing, he expected to come in nothing.
If there was anything he now knew, it's that she didn't come with assembly instructions.
It's interesting where first sentences take you. I don't remember most of them; I don't even know where they came from, nor where they will go. I can't recall if I wrote them down after an interesting jeepney ride, or a tiresome day in school. They don't always have to make sense, but at the very least, you can be sure they will lead to something. That's what they are for anyway.
Funny how they were put together, once the universe decided it's done setting them apart.
_
Hello, May: for the first sentences you brought from a year ago, and all the ones that led to today. Labels: finger exercises
________________________________________________________________
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.
____Want more?
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)
Ask, and you shall be answered
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 QuestionAre 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.
Photo hosting: TinyPic, Photobucket
Question box: EmailMeForm, Ask.fm
Copyright © BOMBASTARR
Elsewhere, she wanders
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