tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110741762012-01-29T10:54:03.293+08:00because actually, exploding is a way of life.bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.comBlogger5161100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-91450571735522578002012-01-18T19:17:00.016+08:002012-01-19T18:34:45.429+08:00

I've been trying to begin this paragraph for about an hour now but so far the only thing I've gotten out of it is the vertical blinking cursor judging me for the lack of anything of substance. It's been looking at me, judging me intently, with a kind of questioning glance that said, "How can you not say anything to Andee?"You see, therein lies the problem. Yes, there are so many things I can say

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-90954036063886925672012-01-16T17:22:00.002+08:002012-01-16T17:39:31.522+08:00

Listening to Deftones on a cool Monday afternoon while attempting to write a news article, reading about Rizal and the revolution, watching an impeachment trial, trying to review for math and logic for an upcoming (very major, life-altering) exam, wondering about the future.And all I can think of right now is I just want to get away.It doesn't help that Chino Moreno's voice makes your hormones

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-39619943048499363192012-01-15T15:46:00.000+08:002012-01-16T17:22:41.857+08:00

(Part 1 of On My Bedside Table's The Best of 2011 edition)First of all, an apology is very much in order. This was supposed to have been posted more than a week ago, but a lot of things got in the way, mostly acads and thesis, partly other personal stuff. I'm now thinking of not doing this list in succession as I fear that I may not be able to do it as religiously as I would want to, but without

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-9908694008087064732012-01-03T22:45:00.009+08:002012-01-04T15:24:40.484+08:00

I will be the first to admit that I have not exactly been reading for enjoyment as much as I would like to (and I have said this numerous times before), with most of my time devoted to writing papers, reviewing for LAE, or just plain bumming around, which has given me a huge backlog in my reading list. There were some books I am still in the middle of, and some books I gave up on as well. But the

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-46075331194941916292011-12-31T19:19:00.005+08:002011-12-31T20:08:23.173+08:00

To cap off the year, I saw The Sound of Music on stage last night with my family at Resorts World Manila. Nobody can contest that this is my favorite musical ever - I think I've seen this film more than a hundred, possibly even a thousand times. I grew up singing along to every single song and mouthing the words to every line, and every time I saw it as a kid I would find myself identifying with

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-59842551485534082032011-12-24T18:47:00.003+08:002011-12-24T19:03:55.281+08:00

I hope this midnight, tomorrow, and in the days to come, instead of thinking of the things we have lost or never got to have, let us be thankful for the family we have with us, the food on our table, and the gifts left unwrapped; the hands held, and the words said; the people in our lives, and the moments we've shared with them.Let's celebrate the love - the pure, unconditional love that was

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-40335232723362614152011-12-18T23:04:00.004+08:002011-12-19T13:13:05.491+08:00

They say most people today are always a half, a quarter, a part-something. Half-American. Half-Chinese. One-fourth Norwegian. Fifty percent blue-eyed. Twenty percent with hitchhiker's thumb; recessive gene. You get the idea. My parents are full-blooded Filipino, I was born and raised in Manila, and I have no significant clarifications regarding the pronunciation of my surname. I have always been

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-47947944508584112842011-12-12T02:44:00.008+08:002011-12-12T03:38:51.239+08:00

I took the Ateneo law entrance exam last Saturday. To say that I welcomed it with tremendous anxiety was an understatement: it was the first law admissions test I had to take (the UP LAE was moved to January 22), it was in an entirely different environment (hello, Rockwell), I had so many things to do last week regarding my acads, and the distress over my lola's passing is still pretty much a big

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-33387533946981669562011-12-11T22:24:00.003+08:002011-12-12T03:38:29.569+08:00

They say things find you when you need them to find you. I love you, Inang. --

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-55941675293868981392011-12-07T23:58:00.008+08:002011-12-08T00:45:50.834+08:00

My paternal grandmother passed away last Friday. She was the oldest person in the family (she was 91), but also the wisest, and quite possibly the funniest. She never had a trace of dementia or Alzheimer's disease; she was fully aware of how charming John Lloyd Cruz is, and never forgot the words to Doe a deer a female deer... even after almost fifty years. She was kind and gentle, but also

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-39104696047711150112011-11-28T11:15:00.012+08:002011-12-12T03:43:02.469+08:00

For my thesis, I've chosen to work on creative nonfiction, which I think is deserving of more attention as a serious form of literature, especially in the Philippines. For most people, creative nonficton is either one of only two things: the 1000-word (or less) features we read on magazines and lifestyle sections of the newspaper, or the kind of writing people "do" when they blog and talk about

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-82708756339548382162011-11-25T00:19:00.004+08:002011-11-25T01:04:54.662+08:00

(I know I promised to write about my thesis after someone asked it in my question box, but after this afternoon, this felt like it needed to be written first. It had to. I shall do a post about my thesis over the weekend.)--I ran four kilometers today after a year of not jogging at all, and after two years of not jogging at the Oval. Long story short, it has been (more than) a while, but I

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-24200559745440058332011-11-21T14:29:00.004+08:002011-11-21T14:34:39.333+08:00

24You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you've done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you're tired. You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and you're trying not to tell him that you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-6813048696556348242011-11-19T11:21:00.006+08:002011-11-19T13:34:16.641+08:00

While I am guilty of not completely updating this blog as often as I used to, I shall not waste any more time apologizing and share with you a random moment of vulnerability instead.One of the few things I call my own and (sometimes) refuse to share with anyone else is my walk. Every afternoon after my last class, instead of waiting for the jeep in the Faculty Center waiting shed where everyone

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-13490467599921563492011-11-09T17:12:00.005+08:002011-11-10T19:10:33.198+08:00

First year, first sem. I entered the wrong classroom on the first day of class.Fourth year, second sem. I entered the wrong classroom on the first day of class.I'd like to think this is probably the universe's way of giving me closure, or making me come full circle - coming together with how I commenced, closing with how it opened, ending where I began - the whole shebang.I could always wax

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-60676369815339177312011-11-04T09:45:00.003+08:002011-11-04T11:54:47.794+08:00

The week of October 26th (and the few days after) had been quite exceptional. I went out with my family on the 26th. Had an extremely funny mall-hopping date with The Boyfriend on the 27th. Held a Rockband/Just Dance/Karaoke party at my house with my college friends on the 28th. Went out for drinks at BF with my high school friends on the 29th. Ate dinner out with my parents on the 30th. Scoured

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-6462623386736038222011-10-25T14:32:00.005+08:002011-10-25T14:43:02.345+08:00

Possibly my last picture as a teenager.(Also: learning how to smile without teeth)After last night's sudden urge to wax dramatic (which I will still blame on the hormones, while I still can), today I'm going to feel excited again! My birthday is always something I look forward to and no amount of dramatic decade-shift is going to take the good vibes away.So bring it on, October 26! :)

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-47386596372647705112011-10-24T21:50:00.008+08:002011-10-25T14:30:08.267+08:00

I have blamed you for most of my unwarranted episodes of sudden stupidity, used your name in vain when my logic failed to have been used appropriately, and hated your debilitating effects on my face and my body every twenty-eight days or so. Because of this I have given you a name that you probably don't deserve, but possibly secretly liked: whore-moans. Thanks to you, I have had the (dis)

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-43968002628028234272011-10-16T00:25:00.006+08:002011-10-16T21:55:50.726+08:00

I have been failing tremendously on my pseudo-New Year's Resolution to update my blog with more book posts this year. I promised myself that I should be doing more On My Bedside Table posts with the intention that with every update comes a new round of books at least twice a month. Sadly, I haven't had the time nor the money to afford to read new books at that frequency. I'm tired of using acads

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-685984015760096332011-10-13T22:19:00.004+08:002011-10-15T14:35:05.199+08:00

A peculiar mix of pour homme and jasmine milk tea lingered in the air while they drove along the streets just outside the university. She had an exam the next day and could use an extra hour or two of sleep, really. But it was a Friday and Fridays always held in it a certain kind of enchantment she couldn't say no to. He texted her if she wanted to eat out and without hesitation, she said yes.It

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-45174591514514267222011-10-11T09:41:00.005+08:002011-10-11T20:15:51.678+08:00

And so the semester nears its conclusion.As I type, I am in the middle of cramming Marxism and Cultural Studies for my Literary Theory exam while biting into my barely crunchy peanut butter toast. I just finished printing my 30-paged critical introduction for my thesis, whose final submission is today. (Ah, the smell of ink on new paper!) I am not even in the process of tidying up my room which

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-68158597821297864132011-10-01T13:25:00.006+08:002011-10-11T10:17:53.942+08:00

So it's the first day of October and I'm feeling particularly cheery, despite the probable presence of another storm (literally) raining on my parade. Nothing spectacular has happened to me, really, and in fact, I think I may have gotten myself buried deeper in a truckload of requirements thanks to the recent class suspensions. I'm supposed to be panicking and not having the time to even think

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-47953957627564324642011-09-22T23:27:00.006+08:002011-09-23T00:16:04.849+08:00

Once again, I've arrived at this time, this place, where everything feels like they weigh ten times more than what they should; where words that need to be said seem to hide themselves in cracks between other words that don't; where minutes appear to diminish exponentially as they by.Hello, hell week(s). We meet again.I wish I could blog more, but there is almost nothing going in my life that

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-17691821544747684262011-09-18T21:46:00.006+08:002011-09-19T13:16:27.277+08:00

(Photo credit: The Yellow Adventures)Last Saturday, the UP Pep Squad has once again proven its claim as the Icons of Reinvention in cheerleading after they defended their crown at the UAAP Cheerdancing Competition.There are dumb blondes, and then there are UP blondes. This year the team went all out in proclaiming their love for the Queen of Pop by donning bleach blonde hair and conical bras. It

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-86116049764598854562011-09-02T01:06:00.003+08:002011-09-02T03:18:47.057+08:00

While August was such a mentally-exhausting and physically-frustrating month, September 1st came in with chilly winds and a drizzle of rain, a kind of comforting, mellow arrival, edging through my calendar calmly rather than conspicuously. Which is what I need right now, actually. I'm so tired. Thesis, of course, is the primary reason. But more than that, just the pressure of being in my fourth

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-77689752135906531302011-08-22T22:26:00.010+08:002011-08-23T02:21:30.720+08:00

It was all a blur, last night. Bits and pieces of the Wednesday that was come to him one by one as he bites into his hastily made peanut butter breakfast. He wasn't supposed to be there last night, 2 a.m., pants undone, hair unkempt, his pulse beating heavily against her dirty white marbled floor. He was half sweaty, half cold. His back was damp, so was everything else within the realm of his

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-1904997631164979172011-08-20T14:03:00.001+08:002011-08-20T14:06:21.393+08:00

a frustrated being.

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-31471230819159058442011-08-19T01:19:00.005+08:002011-08-19T14:18:07.910+08:00

It's Quezon City day today, which means for the first time in a long time, I once again get a much-needed break. Allow me to stretch my arms and yawn and relish in the moment of still being in bed at this time of day - aaaaaaaaaaahhh. There. This month has turned out to be the most stressful in the semester so far. (And I'm sure it's just bound to get busier.) I have been extremely occupied with

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-56411473901024057832011-08-09T20:47:00.003+08:002011-08-09T21:22:16.791+08:00

Happy, happy birthday! I love you more than I love Oreos, pancakes, and ice cream combined :)

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-65719592385274877812011-08-07T23:15:00.006+08:002011-08-07T23:56:20.066+08:00

The news on TV and my news feed on Facebook and Twitter are abuzz with updates about the UPCAT. Tips, complaints, traumatic experiences, dreams, futures - all suddenly sprawled before us. The virtual air is filled with a harrowing mix of excitement and tension, and I can't blame them. I can still remember the feeling after all - and very vividly at that. My memory serves me well especially in

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-77679114477332653002011-07-30T15:28:00.004+08:002011-07-30T16:05:56.586+08:00

The first time I listened to 30 Seconds to Mars, I was a fifteen-year-old high school junior who was just beginning to discover music that existed outside the sphere of the FM radio frequency. At a time where everyone else was bopping their heads to "Sexyback" and "Promiscuous" I was busy downloading albums off Limewire (RIP) from artists most friends haven't even heard of. It was the beginning

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-87550039052845661182011-07-27T22:12:00.009+08:002011-07-27T22:59:13.772+08:00

I found a picture ofme by your bed, my face onthe wall greeted me hello. I was disarmed for a while because it wasn't my best angle, and my hair was up just the way I don't like it. But from where my head rested, I felt it lookedworthy of your every goodnight. I pressed my thumb onthe wall. Sleep came easily,knowing that even when I leave, I don't.--

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-6389456286624071502011-07-22T00:51:00.010+08:002011-07-22T23:06:27.451+08:00

Phone, keys, umbrella, coins, I.D. (picture with red background), pens, more pens, colored pens, a highlighter (in pink), The Likhaan Book of Philippine Literature, notebooks, paper, letters, sentences, thoughts: like the color of your shirt or what you ate for breakfast, MRT card, hairpins, the scent of your hair, perfume, tissue, handkerchief, tears of all kinds (for laughing and also crying

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-16624951545596952832011-07-17T20:29:00.003+08:002011-08-06T12:47:51.487+08:00

When I was in Grade 3, I remember one of my mom's officemates, who was one of the "cool titas" that actually talked to me like an adult instead of the naive nine-year-old I really was, telling me about this new book that was taking the literary world by storm. It was starting to become popular in the States and in London, she said, and she thought it might interest me because she knew I loved

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-6385302490134540852011-07-07T19:54:00.001+08:002011-07-07T23:11:23.634+08:00

Last night, I found myself still awake by half past midnight, my thoughts aimlessly drifting to prose then equations then finally, hunger. I went up to the fridge, like I always do, but I was welcomed by a leftover box of chicken I couldn't remember eating. Beside it was a can of diet soda, a beverage I don't allow myself to drink. There was an opened pack of gummy bears, which I eventually reach

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-26456641029794930702011-06-29T15:53:00.005+08:002011-07-01T00:28:50.683+08:00

The first time I opened the maroon leather-bound book, I felt as if Reality, with a heavy iron-laden fist, just punched me in the face. Then in the gut. I think it left my nose bleeding for a while.Andee and I spent a good part of our morning at the library, looking through several Creative Writing undergraduate theses to give us an idea on how to begin our critical essays. While our list of

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-12854643211909909142011-06-24T09:19:00.004+08:002011-08-06T12:49:23.418+08:00

I was supposed to go to UP extra early today because I was to research at the library for related literature I could use for my thesis' critical introductory paper. On mornings like this (when I really need to do something despite my exhaustion and/or laziness) I usually go on auto-pilot, with my feet automatically being dragged to the kitchen, toasting my bread or getting my peanut butter or

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-66284927325861200032011-06-18T22:30:00.006+08:002011-06-18T23:32:46.663+08:00

All the little girls -In the eyes of their fathers -will never grow up.--

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-23152424034684913482011-06-11T01:58:00.004+08:002011-06-11T02:07:28.246+08:00

Since yesterday afternoon, I have been officially enrolled as a college senior.That sentence has a lot of weight. Just saying it out loud (and/or typing it down) sounds so surreal - not just because I still cannot wrap my head around the idea that I am already in my fourth year, but also because before I was able to finally get my Form 5 and consider myself an eligible student for the incoming

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-9735234911588009972011-06-06T00:03:00.007+08:002011-06-06T17:02:44.908+08:00

The last time he ever wrote about her was right after their last– was at a friend's– before their fifth– when she was drunk and he wasn't– it was during– or was it after?– he wrote of her cheeks, no, her wrists—It was a long time since he last wrote about her.--

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-62138573590673016652011-06-05T14:48:00.005+08:002011-06-05T21:45:55.897+08:00

It's not unusual to hear people say they've given up on fairy tales. In fact, count me in on that statistic. I'm nineteen - hell, I've been rejected, I've cried myself to sleep, I've clung on to Jeff Buckley's Last Goodbye, I've been through what I'd like to call "life's ceremonial jade-ing." I've long believed that fairy tales do not happen, and for the most part, do not exist, really.Most

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-38865352162666555722011-06-03T17:03:00.005+08:002011-06-03T17:44:19.726+08:00

The high school barkada outing we have been planning for years finally, finally happened. (We have no "group name" we just refer to ourselves as "Friends" - which isn't exactly wrong, really, but isn't unique either. Oh well.) With a little luck and help from the universe (aka my parents) we were able to find a location at the very last minute and before you know it, we were off to Anilao.The

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-34491949590178714182011-06-03T15:59:00.004+08:002011-06-03T17:03:43.640+08:00

Our Striptease Aerobics class had our "mini-recital" on the last day of summer classes. For about three to four days, we mashed up our routines and choreographed our steps for our group presentations, with our polos in hand and hair cascading down our shoulders. It wasn't exactly an R-18 kind of show, of course, but let's just say it was sexy enough to raise the temperature with our hips swaying

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-63987041625169665282011-06-02T21:37:00.004+08:002011-06-02T21:53:51.157+08:00

I went with Mommy's officemates at BOI during their outing at Bagac, Bataan last May 6. It was my first snorkeling experience and it really affirmed my love with the water. I was the only girl in the group that decided to snorkel (the rest just stayed at the beach) and several of the young boys in the group, who were the sons of mom's officemates, thought I was a high school junior! Imagine that.

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-50393942631865948622011-06-01T13:46:00.009+08:002011-06-02T09:43:06.284+08:00

The Boyfriend was part of the team of five that the College of Engineering had chosen from the Mechanical Eng'g department to represent the school in the Bosch Power Tools Cordless Race Asia last May 15. They were to build a go-kart from scratch using six of the Bosch cordless tools as the main engine. For about two months, their team had been busy designing and creating the entire thing by

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-88436765692439412022011-06-01T01:02:00.037+08:002011-06-01T23:17:48.053+08:00

For about a third of my college barkada (yes we have a huuuge group; we exponentially increased the summer after freshman year), summer meant having to drag ourselves out the bed every morning for not-very-exciting-subjects-we-have-to-get-over-with. Yes, it's self-inflicted pain caused by our urgent desire to graduate on time, but it still doesn't take away the fact that We. Go. To. School.

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-54608326098968670032011-05-31T23:03:00.003+08:002011-06-01T01:56:40.208+08:00

The summer of 2011 has been a pleasant surprise. I was expecting a rather uneventful and acads-filled two months mainly because of summer class (my choice, really, but still) accompanied by a rather warranted sense of lethargy brought upon by the intense heat. To me, summer does not bring about images of sand between my toes and the glistening sea; it's usually just the dread of cougar-age

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-16671465359641667642011-05-24T14:21:00.003+08:002011-05-24T15:03:07.896+08:00

(Photo credit here)Isn't it thrilling how one person, one man, one stranger, can put into music the complexities of the sentiments you thought you were going through alone? How can words coming from a person you've never met sum up the entire spectrum of feelings you've attached to parts of yourself no one else knows? How is it possible that amidst the sea of faces and crowded arms, you feel like

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-51447107602468725322011-05-11T18:00:00.002+08:002011-06-01T22:38:47.049+08:00

He was playing with his phone, twirling it between his index finger and thumb, trying to make it seem like this was what he always did when there were pauses to fill between the how-are-yous and what's-your-next-class, but the quivering of his fingers said otherwise. I should know. I've mastered the skill of phone-swiveling."Don't you ever get annoyed that people never call you by your first name

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-71390690708426766102011-05-10T16:46:00.002+08:002011-05-10T20:36:09.316+08:00

A short story of mine, "In Her White Dress," has been featured on Stache Magazine's All-Art April 2011 issue - and it's such a thrill! I only found out about it today because honestly, as soon as I submit anything, be it for features or acads, I try to get it off my mind as quickly as I possibly can lest it gets me up all night worrying about typos, mistakes, could-have-beens, should-have-beens.

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-33380491372151896992011-05-02T22:14:00.005+08:002011-05-02T22:32:51.820+08:00

UP, there just can't be any other.

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-41745666210051453082011-04-28T15:41:00.015+08:002011-04-30T09:53:07.170+08:00

It's about time I wrote something on the class that has gotten me all worked up and sweaty every morning.No, it's not Math 2. Although that gets my palms sweaty in a different kind of way - it's a different kind of rush when you're computing percent increases and VAT at seven o'clock in the freakin' morning. (I'd like to think of it as the "anti-rush" rush: the huge feeling of annoyance that

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-78698206002046782932011-04-22T09:19:00.009+08:002011-04-22T14:48:17.112+08:00

If there's one thing I'm surprised I can do quite well, it's detaching. Growing up, I've always thought I had separation anxiety issues - I would cry when my mom leaves for work, I would hang on to my grandmother's legs after every visit. I clearly remember one phase in my kindergarten life where my mom and I had this little routine: she'd bring me to the gate, I'd walk about thirty steps away

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-77169339590931926892011-04-12T00:54:00.004+08:002011-04-12T02:00:29.294+08:00

I started the day worrying like hell because I found out The Boynospacefriend has measles. It's driving me crazy because of course, natural girlfriend tendencies kick in and I want to take care of aforementioned boy, but due to the unexplainable stamina of my immune system way back in high school, I've been unable to catch the virus despite numerous classmates riding the German measles bandwagon.

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-47892946805415239762011-04-08T22:31:00.007+08:002011-04-09T00:02:27.447+08:00

I'm not a fan of the word "forever" - I don't like using it in my essays, stories, and even my very few (and lame) attempts at poetry on secret parts of my notebooks and/or scratch papers. The last time I used it as a punctuation to an excessive sense of emotion was for my (still undying, albeit now more quiet) love for Nathan Scott, the character from One Tree Hill I unabashedly obsessed over.

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-87130674640477080822011-04-06T20:14:00.019+08:002011-06-06T17:03:08.135+08:00

(1) So I walked into the room and it reeked of us.(2) So I walked into the room and it reeked of pizza and beer, with a little bit of sunshine spying on us.(3) So I walked into the room but it reeked of leftover pizza and beer. The sun is creeping through my blinds, like an intruder spying on my sheets that smelled of us.(4) So I walked into the room hoping to get some sleep but it reeked of

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-30926139693406757922011-03-30T14:43:00.000+08:002011-03-30T14:44:05.116+08:00

when read backwards says Desserts.Universe, what are you trying to tell me?

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-66656956933222034612011-03-26T21:58:00.012+08:002011-03-26T23:36:34.875+08:00

Pun intended.As if my bookshelves couldn't contain any more. My books are what's keeping me sane right now - they provide a welcome distraction to my otherwise mess of a life. Don't they always? Anyway, lately, I've been buying a lot of books that (1) of course, I want and (2) are on The Daunting List of Books in Philippine Literature in English That Every Creative Writing Major Should Read

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-35402697972179574182011-03-23T22:52:00.005+08:002011-03-24T01:55:47.790+08:00

Always when we fightI try to make you laugh'Til everything's forgottenI know you hate thatAlways when we fightI kiss you once or twiceAnd everything's forgottenI know you hate thatI love you Sunday songThe week's not yet begunAnd everything is quietAnd it's alwaysYou and me always, and foreverYou tell me I'm a real manand try to look impressedNot very convincingBut you know I love itNow we watch

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-65209240645884031572011-03-22T18:22:00.011+08:002011-03-25T19:31:22.155+08:00

First, get the definitions over with. An invertebrate is an animal without a backbone. Of all the animals in the world, about more than ninety percent of them are invertebrates. It is general knowledge that humans have spinal columns. Some don't, however.It is easy to secure an invertebrate. She looks like other vertebrates at first glance. But you will easily see signs of the lack of backbone

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-73058867238774888932011-03-18T22:57:00.003+08:002011-03-18T23:47:54.941+08:00

Everything else about that day was blurry - I don't remember much about what I said, what we learned in school, or what I had for recess - but there are some details I'm highly unlikely to forget. I was four years old, wearing my black-and-white checkered skirt for the first time in my life. I belonged to Kinder 1 - Pink AM, a first among the many shades of that color that would make a

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-5488555706259884052011-03-16T23:25:00.003+08:002011-03-17T02:10:51.761+08:00

Appropriate description for how this month has been turning up so far.Just to give you guys an idea of what (else) is taking up most of my time for the last few weeks and will continue to do so in the couple of days ahead:CW130 (Playwriting) final staged reading. Our event is on Monday already and getting actors is stressing me out. (Btw, free admission; you guys can come watch, if you want!)

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-77531480467646169722011-03-12T12:41:00.007+08:002011-03-26T23:21:24.553+08:00

"...gives the most seemingly insignificant moments a sly potency. A benign encounter, a misunderstanging, a shy revelation can reconfigure the world."This is an excerpt from the blurb of No One Belongs Here More Than You, a collection of short stories by award-winning artist and writer Miranda July. This was one of the four books* I bought yesterday at Fully Booked Bonifacio High Street after a

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-42771477980633860082011-03-09T22:45:00.003+08:002011-03-09T22:47:04.193+08:00

“It’s just a dare, Mia,” I stared at the small piece of bread, round and flat, with the top a little more brown than the rest, the entire surface shiny and glistening, like the ones my dad used to bring home. Hopia has always been Daddy’s signature pasalubong; he said he never believed in chocolates and candies for dessert, and he always got them at a cheaper price anyway because the lady selling

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-11239146184654767862011-03-07T16:53:00.007+08:002011-03-08T15:11:11.353+08:00

Depending on what mood I'm in, Mondays are either the most productive or most useless days of my week. It is general knowledge that (most) UP students do not have class on Mondays so more often than not it can be the saving grace from the uselessness of the weekend (because God knows it's hard to be productive on Saturdays and Sundays) - you can catch up on your acads or catch up on your sleep.

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-70692394043300309252011-03-04T23:54:00.002+08:002011-03-06T00:13:13.344+08:00

The last few weeks have been toxic, really toxic. The next ones aren't going to get any better either, maybe even worse. The semester is coming to a close, yet I don't feel a sense of relief washing over me just yet. I just really want this semester to end already but there's still so many things to write, to revise, to do- it's completely frustrating.It's no secret that this sem is probably one

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-53928178690810225392011-02-26T00:46:00.014+08:002011-02-26T02:26:42.389+08:00

It just occurred to me that my blog turns six this month. Six years old. A lot can happen in six years. Just look at any TV show and observe the hair, the wardrobe and the apparent change in love team set-ups. Six years. That seems like ages in Internet years, doesn't it? I feel like I should go and do something different to celebrate, like give away iPads to random fans or finally buy a domain

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-84074921430883774142011-02-19T23:59:00.012+08:002011-03-25T23:40:18.333+08:00

The moon, in its bright, wistful glow, loomed over me like a repressed question waiting to be answered. I didn't believe in these things, I really didn't. But perhaps it was the infectious spirit of the crowd, the sudden longing for shawarma, the sense of adventure by being with friends, just plain curiosity, a combination of all these things, anything, really-- all I know was that there was

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-68717358031589847982011-02-14T11:40:00.005+08:002011-02-14T15:00:28.796+08:00

People overusing the "less than" sign and the number 3. Friends exuding the aroma of dark, black coffee. Teddy bears shooting up in sales. Beer and alcohol shooting up in sales, following the rejection of aforementioned teddy bears. The repressed cheese trying to break down the walls of my amygdala in an attempt to flood the rest of my brain with its virus. Yep, it's that time of the year.Unlike

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-28136485821806844422011-02-07T10:46:00.002+08:002011-02-07T12:55:28.797+08:00

I have this unexplained tendency to easily attach to things. I cannot let go of old reviewers, I cannot throw away meal stubs from Geog camp, I cannot say goodbye without looking back and asking for another hug. It could be a good thing, I guess, if I was the type of person who makes scrapbooks for fun. Or if one day, I become super famous and get some sort of cult following (HA. HA. HA.), I'm

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-68801362738852254162011-02-03T22:12:00.002+08:002011-02-03T22:48:07.706+08:00

I just finished watching this movie and right now I am just so moved, touched, and really emotional. It's just such a bittersweet, sincere and unapologetically honest way of looking at a family- a modern family, at that- but regardless, a normal one with typical issues and quirks. Annette Bening and Julianne Moore make such a cute, believable couple that it kind of makes you forget they're

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-60490454565709179662011-02-01T22:30:00.003+08:002011-02-20T02:15:07.933+08:00

Sometimes you don't need the words, the food, the flowers, the song- just that one night, that moment, where you look into his eyes and his fingers are tickling your feet and you know, you just know, that it has always been a we, and it always will be.

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-25374608319143777222011-01-29T23:16:00.004+08:002011-01-29T23:26:03.199+08:00

Do you know how frustrating it is to write a play? And how much more stressful it is to rewrite one? I do not feel like a playwright at all. I don't. The blinking cursor has been judging me for far too long.

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-81628533977163077592011-01-23T22:11:00.004+08:002011-01-23T23:11:44.606+08:00

It's the working title of my play for CW130. A short summary: Charlie wants to move out of her parents' house as soon as possible because at twenty-six, she feels suffocated and stuck in a rut. In the middle of the night, she rushes up to the attic to look for her missing suitcase, only to stumble upon her childhood crush, a rockstar in all his cardboard-cutout glory. They start to talk about

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-36519905854158232232011-01-21T12:52:00.000+08:002011-01-22T10:34:36.244+08:00

What I think most people do not know about creative writing as a discipline in the academe is that beyond the supposed "glorified suffering" of being alone with your unpredictable emotions, finding solace/anxiety in words, having your mind bled dry from all the thinking, [blah blah blah insert all the stereotypical writing frustrations here], is something more distressing, nerve-wracking and

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-16962861179461051152011-01-16T00:58:00.002+08:002011-01-16T01:24:25.983+08:00

You put away all your teethAnd take us way underneath'Cause you could die if you take it aloneI watch you taste itI see your faceAnd I know I'm aliveYou're shooting starsFrom the barrel of your eyesAnd it drives me crazyJust drives me wild- Beauty School by DeftonesIn the movie of my life inside my head, this song would definitely be playing in the background in the epic, passionate scene in slow

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-71408043071101244992011-01-14T01:03:00.000+08:002011-01-15T16:39:20.353+08:00

You feel this tidal wave of change approaching and you are all sorts of nervous, anxious, and excited. It's never easy to deal with the aftermath of any kind of change, especially the abrupt kind. Like in most things in your life, you like change to be nice and slow: a gentle transition to slowly usher you into a new place. But then again, that never really happens. Things veer away in various

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-32664037445434612972011-01-13T20:55:00.005+08:002011-01-13T23:48:18.892+08:00

I wish I were making it up, I wish it were something that came out of my mind, like most of my stories do. On paper, how I long to sustain the tension, to extend the long periods of silence, to say something more with the absence of words. They say it's the mark of a good writer if a reader was evoked more by what was unsaid rather than what was actually written. Tension, they say, moves the

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-19812390938535529332011-01-11T00:28:00.002+08:002011-01-11T00:37:56.230+08:00

It's been said that actions speak louder than words. But sometimes, you need to actually hear "Everything's going to be okay," first before everything starts to feel okay. Then the actions just sustain the volume. Like someone's fingers getting tangled up in yours, someone's confidence making you believe, someone's arm on your shoulder letting you feel encouraged, someone's laugh causing

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-77956546859599615092011-01-10T10:32:00.005+08:002011-01-15T03:32:36.639+08:00

One question I just got in my ask box regarding books I've loved or I've read that are not novels prompted me to write an entire entry dedicated to it. Actually, I have quite a lot of non-novel books on my shelves (nonfiction, poetry, anthologies) that I really hold quite dear to me. Most of them I got from Book Sale and other similar bookstores, some I got from UP Press because several are by

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-31037441707262930532011-01-08T14:06:00.003+08:002011-01-08T15:31:59.472+08:00

My parents surprised me with a new bedside table when I got home yesterday evening from Quezon City. Since buying my new single bed, I've settled for this tiny black side table that can barely hold my books, lampshade, and some other stuff I'm too lazy to put somewhere beyond an arms' length when I'm already in bed. (Most of the time all my chargers, notebooks, my iPod and my phone just find

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-62690154647026930032011-01-06T23:55:00.007+08:002011-01-07T00:48:12.160+08:00

Ever!It's the first draft for our CW130 (Playwriting) class, which may I just say, is one of my most challenging subjects this semester. Probably my biggest mistake, which I'm getting to realize only now, is to underestimate playwriting. I took this as one of my genres to escape from Poetry, which is a genre I definitely felt uncomfortable with. I enjoy reading poetry, yes, but somehow it just

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-60545906403385432592011-01-04T18:47:00.006+08:002011-01-04T19:49:45.515+08:00

School started today. Just a few days after welcoming the new year, the reality of going back to UP again kicks in quicker than the fireworks vanishing into the darkness. As much as I would like to keep my eyes glued shut and my thoughts fixed on fancy, I had to peel myself off the bed this morning and pick up the pieces from where we left off: midterms to submit, stories to write, plays to

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-33015453099369020922011-01-01T11:36:00.008+08:002011-01-01T14:07:19.336+08:00

Dear January stop never get enough stop she's the sweetest drug stop you know this much is trueDearest February stop roses are red comma she was wearing a dress stop in backseat of the car comma a girl said yesDear Summer stop porkchop with Heinz and Viva Venezia pizza are best shared with someone who can explain dynamics of refrigeratorDear June stop run Forrest runDear July August September

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-50977662623329629682010-12-29T22:59:00.001+08:002011-01-01T14:39:08.017+08:00

The Alchemy Between Us - Young GalaxyAmid the cold lines of the citylay down your headto quiet all the sadness to feel what's possible insteadyour graceI think I found the perfect wayto explain itclose your eyes andmove within the alchemy between us.

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-22263385747199193822010-12-28T13:31:00.003+08:002010-12-28T13:32:19.015+08:00

I'm in denial that school starts again in a week. Before I get my festive spirit back on again for New Year, I better do something productive otherwise I'm dead meat.Yes, Philo150 and CW130, I'm looking at you.

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-52231018147383385032010-12-24T11:39:00.010+08:002011-01-02T11:00:23.284+08:00

(1) Mean Girls is the Best. Movie. Ever.(2) I've always wanted to do this number with my blockmates because(3) we've practically memorized the whole dance(4) even all the lines actually(5) So yeah.(6) Ohmygod is this social suicide?(7) I hope not. I love The Plastics. Haha.(8) Off to re-watch this movie again.(9) I hope your Christmas turns out to be sooo fetch!(10) Happy holidays!

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-87876138221816952272010-12-21T00:49:00.004+08:002011-06-06T17:03:27.728+08:00

On the car stereo. Outside my bedroom window. Alone at night downstairs. At two o'clock in the morning on MTV. On shuffle mode. In the backseat. On my ride to school. In the shower. In between the sheets. Inside my head. While tangled up in you.It doesn't really go away, this song. How it lingers in my head long after the last note has been played, how it adores me despite no mention of my name.

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-79587433818399210452010-12-20T12:35:00.004+08:002010-12-20T13:03:01.976+08:00

My apologies for not feeling like writing anything coherent for the last week (and even today). Writers always get these big, huge blocks that stand in the way and sometimes we don't even feel like wanting to take them on.Right now, I am in trying to answer my Philo150 midterm exam. Operative word: trying. On the first day of Christmas vacation. Because I have so many other things to finish for

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-77338996751894400822010-12-14T00:07:00.003+08:002010-12-14T00:20:14.749+08:00

It's surprising how one can be capable of letting it all go with just a hello.

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-64805316390615218252010-12-13T14:59:00.002+08:002010-12-13T18:43:21.496+08:00

I can't even begin to explain how alienated I feel as I sit on this bed I've been calling my refuge for the last two years or so. For a great part of every semester, this place is home more than our actual house in Paranaque is. I go home every Friday to my parents, yes, and that is something I look forward to every week. But something about this small, little room along Katipunan keeps me warm,

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-85887966859603355572010-12-08T21:03:00.002+08:002010-12-08T22:11:51.154+08:00

When one professor constantly berates your work, referring to them as "trash" and calling everyone in class "lazy," it's difficult to find something right away to push you and do better. I know, it's something I should be used to right now. CW requires a gut made of steel: you have to be able to take criticism graciously at all times, no matter how subtle or harsh they may be. I've had my fair

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-6012225070656477492010-12-04T11:18:00.007+08:002010-12-06T20:18:26.641+08:00

Dear Karla,Your recent submission to Teen Ink has been posted on Teen Ink, our website of teen-generated poetry, fiction, articles, reviews, opinions, artwork, and more. Teen Ink allows you and others to rate work, provide feedback, and share stories with friends and family.On our website, the highest-rated stories in each section are prominently displayed on the home page and elsewhere. Your

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-90526673747579214012010-12-01T21:32:00.009+08:002010-12-01T22:26:17.411+08:00

It's funny how hugely different we are: I see the world through imageries and climaxes, not tension and mechanics. You stare directly at the road ahead of you, my gaze drifts about from the cars to the sky. I see the poetry in detail, you see the formula. It doesn't add up. It couldn't work out. It shouldn't mesh well. It won't go together. I am metaphor and you are science.But, literature has

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-57163643602317184032010-11-29T21:24:00.008+08:002010-12-01T23:40:04.161+08:00

Her fingers grazed his leg as his chest gently and slowly heaved up and down. With his eyes closed he looks different, more calm, like a little boy who resisted siesta time with all his might but eventually ended up falling prey. The curly, wispy strands on his calf enfold her index finger in a longing way that soothes her -- how soft and velvety they are to the feel of her hand. To her it feels

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-22163503844264316742010-11-25T21:31:00.005+08:002010-11-25T22:03:19.752+08:00

This semester is unarguably the defining point of my undergraduate career. Right now, I am taking up CW subjects on my chosen genres: Nonfiction, Fiction, and Playwriting. I also have one Filipino elective which happens to fall under the last category (MP174: Pagsulat ng Drama). So basically, it's all about the personal essays, short stories, novels, and plays for me this sem. It isn't supposed

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-54602687264088979672010-11-20T21:12:00.005+08:002010-11-20T21:34:42.756+08:00

Guess what I did today? Something so completely out of character that I didn't even tell my friends about it because they probably would shake their heads in disbelief until I actually pushed through with it :)) I ran for 3K at the Unilab Run United 2 held at Global City this morning!It was such a challenge because (1) I am the least athletic person I know, (2) I am a lazy-ass bum who hates

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-14835047531757446962010-11-16T22:28:00.005+08:002010-11-17T22:21:39.555+08:00

You melt your doubtand fall into meI find your mouthand try to hold itYou blame your loveI know it's harmlessBut we're both wisefor falling- Window Bird by StarsSometimes, it really doesn't need too much words. Just plunging head first into it speaks volumes on how special it means, but still wading through despite it all is so much more telling of how this time it's different, how this one you

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-55188717268053150172010-11-13T01:04:00.003+08:002010-11-13T02:04:10.464+08:00

Given that the semester has already started and at least two of my subjects already required us to read novels from our reading list/syllabus, I figured it was about time to wrap up my sembreak to-read list. For the last few months (right before the first sem ended), I've been secretly complaining about how I'm having such a hard time reading anything already because of the insane amount of work

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11074176.post-19284404418338455332010-11-10T17:26:00.004+08:002010-11-10T18:06:17.840+08:00

The second half of my third year began yesterday.But so far, the second semester hasn't really started for me yet. Only one of my professors in the last two days showed up (which is actually not surprising) and most of the people are still in an understandable state of languor and sluggishness. Add the fact that the weather is unbelievably snuggle-worthy, and you get an equation for laziness. I

bombastarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491noreply@blogger.com0